Christmastime 1942

by Linda Mahkovec

  “What’s that?” asked Gabriel, with a mouthful of pasta.

  “It’s a meteor shower that takes place every year around this time. We’re at the tail end of it, but with the darker skies, it should still be visible. We should see a whole host of shooting stars.”

  Tommy suddenly sat up. “A telescope! You got us a telescope!”

  Charles nodded, delighted that Tommy was so excited about it.

  “Can we open it now?” asked Gabriel, pushing back his chair.

  “Not in the middle of dinner,” laughed Lillian. “I didn’t know you two were so interested in astronomy.”

  “It’s because of Gino,” said Gabriel. “He knew everything about the stars. From being a sailor.”

  “Yeah,” said Tommy. “He told us how you can steer by the stars. First you have to find Polaris, and then you can figure out where you are.”

  “That’s the North Star,” explained Gabriel.

  The energy level of the dinner was boosted with talk of falling stars, and constellations, and how a telescope works.

  An hour later, they were all in the living room, Tommy and Gabriel taking bites of plum pudding in between listening to Charles read the instructions, and then handing him the pieces he pointed to. The telescope was almost assembled.

  “We can look at the stars every night,” said Gabriel. “Hey, we could have a New Year’s Eve party on the roof. Remember that time in Brooklyn, Mom, when we all went up to the roof on New Year’s?”

  “Can we, Mom?” asked Tommy. “The spotters would be happy about that.”

  Charles caught Lillian’s eye, and saw that she gave him a small nod to proceed. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you boys about.”

  Tommy had seen the exchange between them and was on high alert. He tried to read his Mom’s face, but she had her eyes fixed on Charles.

  Charles set the instructions down, and rested his eyes on Tommy and Gabriel.

  “I’ve received my orders to ship out. I’ll be here all week, but I have to leave right after Christmas. So I won’t be here for New Year’s – but you can have the party without me, and then tell me all about it when I get back.” Try as he did to minimize the news, the boys stared at him with open mouths, their eyes full of fear. He tightened a screw on the telescope and picked up the instructions. “I don’t think I’ll be gone for too long this time, but it looks like I’ll have to leave more often from now on.”

  Gabriel looked around at everyone, and then lightly shook his head. “Uh – I don’t think you should go. I think you should tell them you can’t. Maybe later.”

  Tommy blanched and stood up. “You can’t go. Mom, tell him he can’t go.”

  Lillian began to stack the plates on the coffee table. “Now boys, you know he doesn’t have a say in the matter.”

  “You knew, didn’t you, Mom?” Tommy asked angrily. “Pretending that everything is normal, and that it’s going to be a good Christmas.” He whipped around and addressed Charles. “You can’t go! You don’t have to go. You’re too old.” He crossed his arms in front of him.

  “I do have to go, Tommy,” Charles responded gently.

  Tommy released the long- suppressed words inside. “No! You’re just saying that! You could have stayed here with us. With Mom. That’s what she wanted. We were supposed to be a family. We finally got a dad and now you’re leaving us!”

  “Tommy – ” Lillian started to explain, but he cut her off.

  “It was supposed to be different! Better. It’s worse!”

  “Tommy!” Lillian scolded.

  “What?! My real dad would have stayed!” He spun around and headed for his bedroom.

  Lillian sat up. “Thomas Hapsey!”

  Silence filled the room. No one moved.

  Tommy slowly looked over his shoulder at her. “Hapsey?” he sneered. “See, Mom? Even you don’t think of him as my dad.”

  Lillian jumped up from the couch, about to light into him, but Charles placed his hand on her arm. “Let him go. He doesn’t mean it.”

  Lillian brought the dishes to the sink and began washing them with a loud clatter. She was angry at Tommy’s behavior, angry that she had used her old married name when she yelled at him. And she was disappointed that her carefully planned evening was not turning out as she had hoped.

  Charles took up the instructions, but after staring at them for a few minutes, he set them down, and went to Tommy’s room.

  “Go away, Mom!” Tommy started to say, but then he saw that it was Charles. He sat up and hugged his knees, waiting to be lectured.

  Charles stood next to Tommy. “You all right?”

  Tommy nodded but kept looking at his feet, his face scrunched up in defiance.

  Charles lightly placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and felt that he was all tense and tight – an adolescent bundle of anger and fear. Charles sat down next to him.

  After a few moments, Tommy shifted a bit, and let out a deep breath, as if he had been holding it. Charles noticed that he had dropped the hard look, and some of his tenseness was gone.

  “Sorry,” Tommy said, almost in a whisper.

  Charles shook his head, as if it didn’t matter. “Tommy, the day I married your mother, and we all became a family, was the happiest day of my life. There were so many things I was looking forward to. Moving to a house. Family trips. Baseball games. All of us being home together in the evenings. But we’re at war. And I have to do my part.”

  “I know that,” said Tommy. “But I still don’t want you to go.” His voice began to quiver. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He roughly wiped away the tears that had spilled onto his cheeks.

  “Tommy, you know I can’t talk about my work with the Navy. But if we want to win this war, we have to keep our shipping lanes safe. It will mean that fewer men like Gino will die.”

  Tommy bowed his head and sniffled. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He sniffed hard and sat up straighter.

  “You really have to go?” he asked, for the first time looking up at Charles.

  Charles smiled at the sweetness in Tommy’s face, and saw that his eyelashes were clumped together with tears. He was torn between wanting to hold him like a child, and treating him like the growing boy he was trying to become. “Yes. And you’ll be in charge, once again. Think you can handle that?”

  Tommy nodded. “You can count on me.”

  Charles put his arm around him. “I know I can. You’re doing your part in this war, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. Helping your mom and Gabriel. Helping our servicemen with the salvage drive. Helping me, so that I can do my job.”

  Tommy gave a smile with one side of his mouth.

  “We’re going to get through this war, Tommy,” Charles said, feeling that they had turned a corner. He watched as Tommy pulled at a button on his cardigan and twisted his mouth, as if struggling with something. Charles squeezed his shoulder. “So, we’re okay?”

  Tommy gave a slow nod, and bit his lip in indecision. “Can – can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, you can.”

  Tommy looked up again with that sweet vulnerability that melted Charles. “How come you never call me son?”

  Charles had to look around the room for an answer. “Don’t I?”

  “No. You call Gabriel son, but you just call me Tommy.”

  Charles was kicking himself for being so insensitive, and tried to pin down why what Tommy said was true. “I don’t know. You so rarely call me dad, that I guess I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

  “I thought maybe it was because you like Gabriel better than me. Everybody loves Gabriel. He’s always happy.” Tommy nearly pulled the button off his sweater as he explained. “I get in bad moods and say things I don’t even mean. Gabriel makes everybody happy. ” He gave a little smile. “Even me.”

  “Aw, Tommy, that’s not it at all. You have different personalities, but one isn’t better than the other. I love you both the same. And I think of you as my son. That
’s how I refer to you when I tell anyone about you.”

  “You tell people about me?” he asked, raising his face.

  “Sure!” he said, lightly hugging him. “Everyone I work with knows that I have two sons. And that one of them is really good at baseball, and is doing a heck of a job on his salvage drive.”

  Tommy grinned and leaned into the hug.

  Charles gestured towards the door. “How about we finish putting the telescope together so we can look at the stars tomorrow? It’s supposed to be a clear night. If we’re lucky, we’ll get quite a show.”

  Tommy smiled and scooted off the bed. “You think Gino can see the stars – wherever he is?”

  Charles gave it some thought. “I like to think so.”

  “Is that why you bought the telescope? So that we think of Gino and his star?”

  “In part,” Charles said mysteriously.

  Tommy looked up at him for the rest of the answer.

  With a glint in his eye, Charles added, “And I thought it might make a good science project. With the right partner.”

  Tommy’s eyes widened as all the gears clicked into place. “For my class! Oh, man, wait till I tell Amy that I have a real telescope! Think I can show it to her tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” said Charles, as they walked back out to the living room.

  “Mom!” cried Tommy, rounding the corner. “I finally know what my science project is going to be! The stars!” Then he saw the look on her face, and remembered his earlier words. “Sorry, Mom,” he said in a subdued voice. “I told Dad I was sorry.”

  That he had referred to Charles as his dad made Lillian suddenly very happy. She held Tommy close to her and kissed his cheek. “My darling boy!”

  He briefly put his head on her shoulder and then looked up. “Can I show the telescope to Amy tomorrow? It’s supposed to be a clear night.”

  “Let’s have a stargazing party up on the roof!” said Lillian, drawing Gabriel to her other side. “With hot chocolate to keep everyone warm. I was going bake cookies tomorrow anyway. How about we make some of them star-shaped and hand them out to the spotters?”

  “We’ll help you decorate them, Mom,” said Tommy.

  “Maybe Amy would like to come early and help decorate them, too,” she suggested.

  Tommy’s face lit up at all the wonderful things that were suddenly happening to him.

  “Can I call her and ask her? Now?”

  Before Lillian could say yes, Tommy had dashed for the kitchen, with Gabriel right behind him.

  “Tell her about the cookies,” Gabriel said. “Tell her to come early to help us.”

  As Tommy dialed the number, Lillian smiled at Charles in gratitude.

  “Hey, Tommy,” they heard Gabriel say, “we can put three stars together and make an Orion’s Belt cookie!”

  *

  In the middle of the night, Lillian woke from a deep sleep with the sudden clarity of the image she would paint for the poster contest, seeing it in perfect detail. She shivered in the cold as she crept out of bed and slipped on her robe.

  She quietly went into the living room and turned on the lamp behind the couch. There was the telescope, pointing up, as if in readiness to search the heavens. She was glad for the stars, for their high, untouched beauty that could not be sullied by war, by humanity. She took out her sketch pad and pencils and began to draw.

  It didn’t matter what Rockwell or anyone else thought of it. It was a drawing that she had to make – for Gino, for Tommy, for herself, for Charles – for anyone yearning for hope and love in the darkness.

  Filling the sketch pad she drew two separate night scenes – a small town and a smoky battlefield – both under a starry sky. On one side, a young woman leaned against a porch railing, holding a letter and gazing up at the stars; on the other side, a dying soldier lay propped against a tree, clutching his side. He also held a letter in his hand, and beheld the same stars.

  Lillian studied the drawing, holding it out at arm’s length. “No,” she said, resting it on her lap again. She erased a few lines and redrew the soldier. Not dying. Wounded. There must be hope, she thought; hope that our men will come home. I can’t live in a world without hope.

  She added more stars to the skies, trying to convey the belief that high above a war-torn world, the glittering firmament shone benevolently over earth, and that in the end, all would be well and whole again. Simple, humble, human love would help to piece the world back together again.

  For another half hour she filled out the drawing, envisioning the colors she would use. She would take it into work and finish it in watercolor and ink – it would be both sharp and soft, dark and illuminated.

  She closed her sketch pad, and turned off the lamp. And then tired and cold, but filled with tranquility, she slid back into bed, next to her warm, safe husband.

  Chapter 12

  *

  Mrs. Sullivan paced about the office of Drooms and Mason Accounting, turning something over in her mind. She had noticed a change in Edith for the past few days, and was sure it had to do with her young man. Desmond had actually stopped by the office the day Edith called in sick, desperate to talk to her – and since then he had called several times. Each time Edith had stepped out of the office, saying to take a message.

  There was no denying it; the light had gone out of Edith. She smiled and was pleasant to all, but there was a different air about her – resignation. That was the sentiment she exuded. And there was a decided coldness between Edith and her brother.

  When everyone left for the day, Mrs. Sullivan, never one to pry, nevertheless determined to ask Mason about it when he returned from his outside meeting. She suspected that he had a hand in whatever had happened, and was prepared to speak her mind.

  Mrs. Sullivan had worked herself into a state, her heart breaking for the sensitive young woman. When Mason came in, she scarcely waited for the door to close before launching into her questioning.

  “Mr. Mason. It may be none of my business, but I feel that I must speak. Whatever is going on between you and Edith has taken a toll on her.”

  Mason hadn’t even gotten out of his coat and hat, and was taken aback by the unexpected attack – not least because he had also noticed the change in Edith, and felt responsible. Though he had used harsher words with her than intended, he still believed he had done the right thing and that she would soon come to her senses.

  He set his briefcase down on his desk, opened it, and took out a few papers. “She’ll get over it. She’s just letting me know that she’s angry with me.” He hoped his simple explanation would put an end to Mrs. Sullivan’s interference, well-intentioned though it may be.

  But she was not to be so easily put off, and followed him to his desk. “I think it’s more than that. Her young man has called here repeatedly – twice today, and she won’t take his calls. What on earth happened? I’ve never seen her like this. She’s keeping up a good front, but I know a broken heart when I see one.” When he didn’t respond, she pushed him a little further. “You didn’t say anything to discourage her, did you?”

  A flash of guilt crossed Mason’s face. “Well, for her own good, yes, I did say something.” He didn’t want Mrs. Sullivan to make more of it than it was. He began to shuffle through the already opened mail, and spoke in a casual tone. “I’m afraid I told her to break it off.”

  Mrs. Sullivan threw her hands up. “Well, if that doesn’t beggar all belief!” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. “Edith is a grown woman. She has proven herself to be a level-headed business woman, she’s been an ideal role model for your younger sisters. You yourself said she’s been working since she was sixteen, she’s educated. Good gracious, what more do you want of her?”

  Mason had opened his mouth twice to speak, but Mrs. Sullivan wasn’t finished.

  “And now she’s found someone she loves and who loves her. Hasn’t she earned the right to that? Why would you want to come between her and happiness?”

  Mason
jerked his head back at the accusation. “How can you think such a thing? Her happiness is exactly what I’m trying to protect.”

  He held up a hand before she could get in another word. “Mrs. Sullivan, with all due respect, I know my sister better than you do. You’ve only known her for the past year.” He didn’t feel it was his business to speak about Edith’s personal life, but neither did he want to be charged unfairly.

  Mrs. Sullivan raised her chin and folded her hands in front of her, patiently waiting for the words that would explain away his interfering handiwork.

  Mason sat down and let out a deep sigh. “In part – or maybe wholly – I’m responsible for what happened to her, when she was young. There was a time when – She was so devastated when – ”

  Mason rubbed his forehead and looked at the cracks in the floorboards. Where to start? The memory that came to him softened the line of worry that forever creased his brow. “You didn’t know her, before. Before the polio, she was more like her sisters – high spirits, fun-loving, more outgoing.” He waved his hand at her whimsical nature. “She used to write poetry. Sew costumes for herself and the girls. They all went swimming in the summer, skating in the winter. She always had that dreaminess about her, but she was so – ” Mason searched for the word that would describe the old Edith – “enamored with life.”

  “And then she contracted polio,” said a softer Mrs. Sullivan.

  “No.” It took Mason a moment before clarifying. “And then I contracted polio.”

  “You, Mr. Mason?” Mrs. Sullivan blinked at the information. She had worked with him for over twenty years, and never knew of this.

  “Yes. And Edith was my nurse. She never left my side. There wasn’t enough she could do for me.” He lifted and dropped his shoulders. “Apparently, I had a mild case. I recovered. But then Edith came down with it. Hard. And the doctor and everyone feared that it would sweep through the house. So they quarantined her. Hired a nurse. Edith had a difficult time of it, but eventually she recovered. She underwent it all with remarkable stoicism – because she was in love and was going to be married.” He waited a few moments before adding, with a hardened tone, “To my best friend, Jack Mittford.”