Christmastime 1942

by Linda Mahkovec

  “Going out, Edith dear?” her mother asked, as Edith passed by in her coat.

  “Just a quick walk in the park, and then a little shopping,” she said, ducking out before they could press her.

  The day was cold but sunny enough to add a bit of warmth, so she made her way to Central Park, thinking the fresh air would help to clear her thoughts.

  Yet as she walked, her mind remained mired in shadowy gloom. The relentless news of the war weighed down on her; the world seemed to be slipping into malevolent chaos. She wondered if human nature would ever rise to the heights that were possible, or if its darker side too much enjoyed the lower urges that prevented it from soaring. And would her own nature be forever fraught with weakness and doubt, struggling to rise, only to stumble and fall again? Perhaps that was simply the way of the world. Perhaps life thrived on tension and conflict, and peace was just an idle dream, some illusive, distant beauty – worth striving for, but not worth achieving.

  She shook away such thoughts. Though she was at a low point, she would heal and strengthen and become whole again. She knew how to do that, had long ago developed the skill and was confident she could summon it at will. So why haven’t I? she asked. What’s different about this time?

  She stopped on the snow-dusted path and lifted her head, as if listening for the answer. She had the feeling that this time she was not being honest with herself. And without her truth, she could not see clearly. Clarity. That’s what was missing. She sighed, and resumed walking, only now looking about her.

  Though she had intended to take a different route, she nevertheless found herself nearing the Castle, every turn reminding her of Desmond and their time together. She gave in to the impulse, and climbed the stone steps that led up to the Shakespeare Garden, and continued up to the Castle.

  She crossed the courtyard at the base of the tower, and walked over to the stone wall, resting her elbows on it. There was the pond, down below, ringed in snow-covered boulders and withered, dry cattails. Stretched out before her lay a snowy expanse, and farther out, a smudged line of bare trees marked the horizon. She peered far away, past the trees, past the skyline. Beyond lay a world weeping with war, and all around sat heartbreak and sorrow. She closed her eyes and resolved to get through the coming weeks, the holidays, the months ahead.

  Her mind was off in a lonely gray dimness, when from down below came the laughter of children. A group of boys and girls played at some game, making designs in the snow. Others made snow angels, moving their arms and legs as if in flight, and then jumping up to see the result. Her lips lifted in amusement as they began to throw snow at each other, falling down in the drifts, oblivious of the cold.

  A father walked by with a small child on his shoulders; they stood in front of a snowman and the little child leaned over to pat it.

  On the path below, a soldier in uniform linked arms with a young woman. They paused to kiss, and embraced tightly before continuing on.

  Approaching from the other side, came an older couple walking arm in arm. They stopped to watch the children, the man gently squeezing the woman’s arm. Edith wondered if they were reminded of their own children. The woman laughed, and briefly rested her head on his shoulder. Then they resumed walking, moving with the ease and familiarity of long years together.

  Such tenderness and love in the world, Edith thought. How could I have forgotten?

  She beheld the scene below, thinking – until recently, I was a part of all that. I belonged to that world. With a sense of loss, she understood how profoundly happy she had been. Why had she so easily given up? She had always thought of herself as a fighter, someone who did not give in to adversity. And yet, she had all but run away from Desmond – and worse, did not give him a chance to explain, at least to hear him out. He had repeatedly reached out to her, but she had refused his calls. She hated to admit it, but in that respect she was exactly like Robert. Making a hasty judgment and then stubbornly holding to it.

  Edith looked out over the snowy world, and knew that there were only two choices for her: life with Desmond, or life without him. It was as simple as that. She recalled her life before she met him – going to work, helping with the children, her sisters, nights at home with her books. It was a familiar, secure world, one that had served her well. A small, safe world with a closed door.

  Then Desmond had entered her life and shown her a dazzling world beyond the door, a rich wide world, with moments of exuberance and excitement, alongside even more cherished moments of quiet togetherness.

  Of course it also meant the unknown, and risk – risk of heartache and disappointment. Maybe the actress was an old love. Maybe there would be others from his past, or even one from the future, who would cause her pain and sorrow. But she would take that risk.

  Even as she steeled herself against a possible onslaught of actresses, some part of her indignantly rejected the idea. The part that believed in Desmond and knew that he was true and that his love was deep.

  She filled her lungs with the pure winter air. And in a moment of profound clarity, she realized that it was she herself who had placed the limits on her life – not Robert, or Jack, or the polio. She had allowed her deeply buried insecurities to pin her to the ground, and keep her from the soaring heights of love and happiness.

  Enough of that, she thought. That locked way of living is now behind me. In a gesture of release, she raised her arms up and out, as if releasing a captive bird.

  Late afternoon lay before her all golden and rosy in the slanting sun, with shafts of light interspersed with shadows of blue and gray among the rocks and trees below.

  With her shoulders straightened, and her chin raised, she embraced her new resolve. She would take the risk of pain and sorrow, but she would live. She would choose to live in the bright, happiness-infused world that Desmond had opened to her, come what may.

  Edith looked down again at the couples strolling and the children playing in the snow. She smiled to hear their laughter ringing in the clear cut-crystal air, and to see the gilded light spread over the earth. She pressed her hand to her chest and thought, how beautiful it all is. How beautiful is human love! How glorious this winter day!

  Her heart beat faster and her breath came quicker. She could feel herself coming to life again. She wanted Desmond. Nothing else mattered. He is my love, she thought, whatever twists and turns our path may take – this is my love, and I will treasure and protect it.

  She hurried back down the stairs. She would go to him. He would understand.

  *

  Desmond walked quickly on his way to Edith’s home. Though she had asked him not to call on her there, he went against her wishes, fearing that perhaps she was ill.

  What other explanation could there be? He stopped momentarily, on remembering that she had gone to work, for he had called there, only to be told that she had stepped away. He picked up his pace again. Perhaps not ill, exactly, but something had made Edith suddenly turn from him. He had been so sure of her feelings for him.

  He replayed their last few times together. Surely she hadn’t misinterpreted the old dance number with Valerie. Though it was possible. When he had afterwards brought Valerie to introduce her to Edith, he discovered that she had already left – and hadn’t given it another thought until after the rehearsal when she still hadn’t returned. Or had her brother finally prevailed on her to break it off? He thrust his hands deeper in his pockets. He would get to the bottom of that, too.

  He tried to remember what he had last said to her, what could have possibly been misconstrued. Was it that he was leaving soon, and she didn’t want the heartache of waiting? Or had someone else entered her life, some old love come back to claim her? And yet, he was sure of her love for him. He must find her.

  *

  Mason arrived home and felt cheered by all the bustle and laughter that filled his house. This was the way he liked it, everyone busy with some Christmas activity. He would prepare himself a cup of coffee, sit in his armchair and pi
ck up Nicholas Nickleby – read smack in the middle of it all. He chuckled inwardly, remembering where he had left off in the book, with the Infant Phenomenon.

  In the living room, his mother sat reading a review of their Fractured Follies show to his sisters, who sat on the floor cutting fabric and pinning patterns to pieces of red satin.

  He popped his head in the kitchen and hugged his wife as she directed the children on decorating the gingerbread house, their hands and faces smudged with white icing. Everyone was in the holiday spirit.

  “Where’s Edith?” he asked.

  “She left about half an hour ago,” answered Susan. “To go on a walk. She had that faraway look in her eye.”

  A stab of regret shot through him as he remembered Mrs. Sullivan’s words – that she knew a broken heart when she saw one.

  “Robert, dear!” cried out his mother. “We need the hamper from Edith’s room. Can you fetch it for us?”

  “Top shelf in the closet!” added Alice.

  He climbed the stairs and saw that the door to Edith’s room stood ajar. A book lay open on the bed, next to a rumpled velvet throw, as if she had decided to leave suddenly.

  He found the hamper, an old picnic basket full of remnants of fabric and trim, and lifted it down. He was just about to leave, when he noticed the edge of a small notebook between the bed and nightstand. He supposed it had fallen and he bent to pick it up.

  The pages opened to drawings and writing – reminding him of the notebooks Edith used to fill when she was younger. Had she taken up her old habit? He briefly flipped through the pages and saw that they were full of fragments, sketches, words, and smudges of color that meant something to her.

  He opened to the latest drawing: a sundial in a snowy garden. A castle tower with the words beneath it: My kingdom for a kiss.

  Other pages showed a sketch of bare trees. A lamplit bedroom. Colors of midnight. Words scattered seemingly randomly on the pages: Longing. Perchance to Dream. A flight of stone steps. A hand that beckoned. Husband. Till it be morrow. All impregnable to him, though no doubt having to do with her Shakespearean actor.

  He was just about to replace the book, flipping back to the earliest pages, when he saw an image that arrested him – an image he immediately understood, as he hadn’t the others: a slender white bird, something like an egret or crane, staked to the ground, but trying nevertheless to lift off. A red gash on its white neck where the restraining rope cut.

  He knew it was wrong to look at something so personal, but here was a glimpse into the heart that Edith never revealed to anyone. The words written below the struggling bird pierced him.

  I wanted to Soar

  But loving cords kept me Bound to Earth

  Neck straining, Wings flapping futilely

  Eyes fixed on the beckoning blue Sky

  A wash of pale blue hovered above the bird, a blur of green beneath it. Anguish in the eye of the trapped creature.

  Was it him keeping her bound to earth? Is that what she meant? His stomach clenched as he mentally defended himself against the words. Hadn’t he been helping her all these years? Had he been mistaken? Was she so wounded?

  He closed the book and carefully placed it back where he found it.

  He walked down the stairs with the hamper. Edith was forever a mystery to him. She inhabited a world of her own that he had no business trying to influence or shape. To think that he had tried to hold her back – that she had perceived his intention to protect as cruel restraint – cut him deeply.

  I can’t know her heart, he thought. Only she can. She knows what she’s doing. And it’s not my business. Any more than what happens between me and Susan is hers. How could I not see that? How could I have intruded into such a personal, delicate space? The sacred space of love belongs to the lovers – not to the outer world. What can outsiders possibly know?

  He placed the hamper at the feet of his mother, and then went to the kitchen to find Susan. He pretended to be interested in their progress with the gingerbread house, but in truth, he just needed to be next to her, anchored in her. He understood her and her ways. She was a part of him. He could only hope that Edith would find the same.

  He kissed Susan’s cheek, thinking that he should have listened to her, should have trusted her impression of Edith’s young man. She had met him at one of the Fractured Follies rehearsals, and couldn’t say enough good about him.

  The doorbell rang. Susan was icing the roof and held up her hands, indicating that she couldn’t get the door.

  “There’s someone at the door!” Claudia hollered from the living room.

  “I’ll get it,” he hollered back. “I’ll get it,” he said to himself, walking down the hall.

  When he opened the door, he immediately knew that the man standing there was Desmond Burke. And yet the image did not correspond with the one in his head. Here was no dashing young man with a goatee, wearing a doublet, and sporting a rapier at his side. The man before him was close to this own age, perhaps older, with graying temples.

  The man extended his hand. “Desmond Burke. I’m looking for Edith.”

  His manner was courteous, refined. Mason took the extended hand. “Robert Mason. Edith’s brother. Come in, come in.” He held the door open for him to enter, but Desmond remained standing.

  “Is she here? Is she all right?”

  Mason noted the worry in the man’s eye, and felt a twinge of guilt. “She’s gone out. About an hour ago. For a walk.”

  Desmond didn’t want to intrude any longer in the place Edith had asked him specifically not to come to.

  “Thank you,” he said, and turned to leave, descending the steps.

  “Mr. Burke!” Mason called after him. He waited for him to turn. “She often walks in the park.”

  Desmond tried to read the look on her brother’s face. He had expected to be treated rudely, to be told to stay away. This man seemed warm, welcoming, obliging even. “Thank you,” he said again, and hurried off in the direction of the park.

  Mason closed the door, and stared down at the tile in the hallway. He liked the man. And he seemed to suit Edith somehow, to match her in some hard to define way – just as Susan had said. He should have known that Edith would be level-headed in her choice – that for all her wistfulness, she was at heart, clear-sighted. Yes, he had to admit, the man was well-suited to Edith.

  “Who was it, Robert?” Susan asked, poking her head around the kitchen door.

  Mason met her question with a sad smile, wondering how he could have been so wrong.

  *

  Desmond was relieved to know that at least Edith wasn’t ill. That provided some peace of mind. But if that wasn’t the reason, then there must be someone else. Perhaps someone from her past had resurfaced, and sought her out. And that’s why she was avoiding him. Not wanting to give him pain. Hoping he would figure it out. He crossed into the park, and dismissed that thought – it just didn’t sound like Edith. There was an unflinching directness about her – at least before all this.

  The light was fading; soon it would be dark. He let out a deep sigh, his breath white in the wintry air. He hadn’t thought she would go walking on such a cold day, reminding him once again, of how wholly unpredictable she could be – in some things. When it came to her heart, however, he still believed her to be unwavering, steadfast. Surely her avoidance of him stemmed from some simple misunderstanding that they could clear up.

  He cut through the park, revisiting some of the places they had been to – the Castle, the Shakespeare Garden, the fountain, a flight of snowy stone steps that seemed to mirror his lonely state. Evening was settling in now. The gloaming revealed the soft glow from lamplights in the deepening shadows. Should he go back to her house? Should he go home and try to call her?

  Over and over, he replayed their last few nights together. Had he been mistaken in their closeness? No – everything was fine until the evening at rehearsal. He needed to see Edith’s face in order to understand, to hear her voice.
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  It was several hours since he had left his apartment, and he was now cold and weary as he climbed the steps and unlocked the door. The thought that he had perhaps lost Edith weighed down on him, making him forget why he had been so happy of late. Why he had trusted himself to that sunny future? Hadn’t his past taught him that the only sure thing in life was loss?

  He unlocked his door, cursing the cold; his apartment was like ice. He was just about to light the stove to boil some water, hoping a cup of tea would help to warm him – when he noticed Edith’s rose-colored coat draped over the living room chair. And his heart leapt. Beat wild and high in his chest.

  He walked to the bedroom, and pushed open the door. The light from the hallway fell on Edith’s sleeping face, illuminating her like a painting in a museum. She was dressed, but with half the covers pulled over her. He knelt down next to the bed, clasped her hand and kissed it.

  “My Edith,” Desmond whispered.

  She dreamily opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “I was so cold,” she said simply.

  “Oh, my God, Edith, I thought I had lost you.” He wrapped his arms around her, almost weeping with relief. Then he leaned back and studied her face. “Did I hurt you somehow? Did I do something wrong?”

  She shook her head and pulled him to her. “No, Desmond. I’ve been in a foolish place, is all. I’m sorry to have doubted you.”

  Desmond crawled in next to her, and pulled the covers over both of them. “You doubted me? I thought maybe you were leaving me.”

  Edith pressed next to him and laughed. “What a pair we are. I thought you had changed your mind about me.”

  “Never,” he said, holding her close to him. “Never.” He drew back and searched her face. “But why did you think that?”