Christmas After All Page 9

  Later

  We were all trying very hard to be merry down at the tearoom, but maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go because we saw lots of families with mothers and fathers and I guess we did feel a little incomplete. The chicken à la king didn’t taste quite the same and at least two of Mama’s friends from the Fortnightly Club and one from the Woman’s Club came over to see how we were doing. You knew exactly what they really wanted to say: “Any word from your father?”

  There were fashion models in the tearoom that sashayed around the tables in dresses and gowns from the French Room, the most expensive department in Ayres. But I don’t know who can afford to wear these clothes anymore. Gwen says they just show a few of the fancy ones for entertainment — like the movies. It kind of distracts you to see something glamorous. And it was as if these models weren’t quite real. They could have been up there on a movie screen. I mean, what are they going to model? Hoover blankets? One model sort of slithered up to our table and said, “Good afternoon, ladies. I am wearing an ensemble by Monsieur Montaldo. It is tiers of chiffon overlaying a bias-cut skirt with this lovely evening coat trimmed in white fox. Isn’t it perfect for the holiday season?” And we all nodded. Yes, it was perfect, and I think every one of us pictured Mama in it. Mama has such a nice slender figure she would have looked lovely in it. Most of the ladies eating lunch, like the ones who came over to ask how we were doing, were “portly,” as Clem says. I say “fat,” but Clem says that is not a polite word. Fat is fat as far as I’m concerned. It is not a question of being polite. All these ladies had their fat laced in or hooked in or zippered up with corsets. Mama doesn’t even wear a corset.

  After lunch we went to Charlie Mayer’s. They have the most elegant gifts in the world. Willie Faye’s and my favorite things were the snow babies. They are tiny china figures that can be hung on Christmas trees. We loved the one of a baby riding a polar bear. Our other favorite thing was a cuckoo clock that played “We Three Kings” and then the Wise Men popped out, each holding his gift for the baby Jesus. That clock cost three hundred dollars! But it’s just like the models and the clothes: Who is going to buy a three-hundred-dollar clock or even a snow baby that costs eight dollars? But there were scads of people pressing up against the glass at Charles Mayer’s.

  Sometimes when I think about this Great Depression I think that there has never been such a collision between realness and fantasy. It is as if we are standing with our feet in the muck and grime of these hard times but our noses are pressed up against the window of some fantastically glamorous world. These times are so strange. And that reminds me. Mama is talking about shutting down another room — her and Papa’s bedroom. She says that as long as Papa’s not here she might as well sleep in with Clem and Gwen. What if the winter is really long and cold? Where will we get enough money for coal?

  When we got home Ozzie wasn’t there. Lucky boy! Mr. Jasper, who is Jackie’s gentleman friend and owns the best barbecue place in town, had come by in his Hudson and driven them over to Indiana Avenue to have lunch. Mama wouldn’t go, of course. But Ozzie did. Jasper’s B’Cue, unlike the tearoom, is no sissy place. There are pinball machines, on Saturday nights they have a jazz trio, and they serve the best catfish in the state of Indiana. Ozzie ate seven catfish!! Catfish aren’t that big but I bet he ate almost two pounds. Then he had pecan pie and Coca-Cola, which Mama would die if she heard he had a Coca-Cola. She thinks Coca-Cola is the worst thing in the world for children. Anyhow, you can bet that at Jasper’s there were no white ladies in corsets with sappy eyes being nosey about Papa.

  I can’t quite believe that it is December 23, that tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and that there still is no word from Papa. Whatever can he be thinking? He has a whole family waiting and worrying and wondering, and it is only two days until Christmas. It is very hard believing. I almost get mad at Willie Faye. I want to say, How do you know about any of this? How do you know what it’s like for us? But then I realize that she does know a lot. Willie Faye is a real, genuine orphan. She has seen a dead body, her mama’s. She had to live in the same house with it for two days. No, Willie Faye has seen a lot. I can’t really get mad at her.

  I’ve finished wrapping all my Christmas presents. Mama said that this year we have no money for fancy wrapping paper and ribbons, so we have to be inventive. Well, I used the funny papers for lots of my presents, and then Willie Faye got this great idea of using scraps of material from Lady’s fabric chest. I made the decoupage boxes look really pretty by tying them up in pink satin, and then I found a lovely piece of red cut velvet that is more beautiful than any Christmas wrapping paper. Lady said it was fine for us to use the scraps.

  Opal’s cousin Harry came by today. Lady and I think he might be sweet on Gwen. How will they hold hands? Well, I guess he still has one she could hold but she’ll always have to get on the right side. It could be awkward. Still, even with one hand he is a thousand times better than Delbert Frink.

  December 24, 1932

  Early morning

  I can’t believe this is the day of Christmas Eve. I don’t even want to get up. I mean, how am I — how are we — ever going to get through this day and tomorrow? I just can’t imagine us hanging up our stockings or sitting around the Christmas tree. Clem is going caroling with the O’s. They invited Willie Faye and me to tag along, but I can’t imagine singing. I think I’ll start crying. When I think about Papa I picture him in some shantytown like Curtisville Bottom. I imagine him stand­ing over an oil drum burning with coals, warming his hands with some hobos. I wonder if he’s become a hobo and is riding the rails somewhere. How could he give us up for that? I’m not supposed to think this way. I am not supposed to give up. I have to try to believe like Willie Faye said to. I heard Mama on the phone in the upstairs hall with Mr. Fromeyer. It didn’t sound promising. Just lots of sighs from Mama and the occasional, “Oh, well.” This guy is no Dick Tracy. I hear a lot of commotion downstairs. I better get up.

  Twenty minutes later

  The commotion was Marlon and Harry. They arrived with a live turkey for our Christmas dinner tomorrow. Jackie’s going to kill it now. Willie Faye ran down to tell her to save the feathers and not scald them off because that ruins them. I don’t know how Marlon and Harry got hold of this turkey, but they did. Now Marlon says we are all to put on our warmest clothes. We’re going to go skating and sledding. We don’t have any ice skates that will fit Willie Faye but she can sled.

  Late afternoon

  We did have fun out at Lake Sullivan. Marlon is the most beautiful ice skater. Harry isn’t bad, either. And he didn’t need any help lacing up his skates even though he only has one hand. Willie Faye and I went double on the Flexible Flyer and then Homer Peet had his toboggan and six of us went down the big hill on that. We usually bring marshmallows and roast them. But no one dared ask Mama for money for marshmallows. I guess I got as jolly as I could get, considering the circumstances. I worried, though, about Mama and Ozzie. Ozzie refused to come. At least Jackie is at home with them. She and Mama were going to start cooking the Christmas dinner today. I think there is going to be a lot of au gratins. Ozzie says he hopes they don’t “gratinize” the turkey that Marlon brought to make it go further. Mama had this really fierce look on her face when I asked her if she was going to make the mincemeat pies. “Of course!” she barked. “This is going to be Christmas as usual.”

  Well, I didn’t argue with her and Gwen gave me a look that said I better not even think about opening my mouth. But this is not going to be Christmas as usual. And you don’t have to be Albert Einstein to figure that out.

  We never do anything very grand for Christmas Eve dinner, and this year it is especially so. Jackie made a big noodle casserole and fried up the last of the green tomatoes. There was Waldorf salad with chopped apples and nuts, and my favorite — chocolate pud­ding. Christmas dinner is much fancier. Sweet potatoes stuffed in hollowed-out oranges and topped with melted marshmallows, but no marshmallows this year and no ora
nges. I think the sweet potatoes are going to look a little naked on the plate. And we always have a three-colored Jell-O mold. Ozzie says Jell-O is really cheap so we’ll still probably have that. But tonight I was kind of staring down at my plate thinking that I was glad that the food wasn’t fancy. Without Papa it would be so hard looking at all the Christmas food. And what will we do tomorrow? I wasn’t even really hungry. Then I noticed that absolutely no one was talking. There was dead silence around the table. I looked up and every­body was just like me, staring at the food on their plates. Then Lady said, “I’m not really that hungry.” And she pushed away her plate.

  “Me neither,” said Ozzie and sank back in his chair.

  Clem suddenly stood up. “I think we should all go over to Curtisville and take this food. None of us is hungry, or maybe we just don’t have the heart to eat. But we shouldn’t waste this food.”

  Everyone thinks this is a terrific idea except for me. You see, I am afraid that maybe Papa is living over there. Maybe we will run into him.

  “What about the caroling?” I asked.

  “We can carol over there,” Clem said. “I’ll call Marlon and he’ll bring his car and with two cars we can all fit in. You’ll go, won’t you, Mama?”

  “Of course I’ll go,” Mama said and squared her shoulders. The soldier is back!

  I’ll write more later. I wonder if we’ll hang up our stockings when we get back from Curtisville. I wonder if we’ll even feel like hanging up our stockings.

  Nearly midnight

  I don’t think I’ll be able to write hard enough, fast enough, or maybe it should be slow enough to tell what has happened. We went to Curtisville and delivered our food, and the people were very happy and then we all sang Christmas carols and Mama sang, too. She really did more than soldier on. Willie Faye and I told her about the little boy with the dirty face that we had given the Santa Claus cookie to before and she said, “Well, let’s go find him, girls.” But we couldn’t find him or any of his family. We found the tire house that Marlon had made safer for his family, but another family was living in it now and nobody seemed to know where they had gone. It started to snow really hard and Marlon said we had better be getting home because he was worried that the roads might turn slippery. Gwen was driving the Packard and she hasn’t had much experience driv­ing in snow.

  We all piled in and said good-bye to the people who had come out to thank us once more. One old lady grabbed Mama’s hand. Her fingers looked like claws and the knuckles were the size of marbles. She was almost bent double, but she came out from the little tar paper hut where she lived with her son who had a problem, she said, with “the drink.” I think she meant whiskey. She said to Mama, “God bless you, lady. May only goodness come your way.” And I saw Mama’s eyes fill up with tears. I couldn’t help but think that Mama could become this lady in a few years. What will we do if Papa never comes back? How will we live? I tried to imagine all of us stuffed into one little tar paper house.

  I climbed into the Packard with Gwen and Mama and Willie Faye. Clem and Lady and Ozzie went in Marlon’s car. We were all very quiet driv­ing home. I think we were all thinking the same thought. Right now, in this hour of the year 1932, we are still better off than all those people in Curtisville. But how long will it last? And I was thinking that it surely is stupid to hang up our Christmas stockings and maybe it was even stupid to have a tree. That is the last thing I remember clearly thinking. I say “clearly” on purpose. Because what happened as soon as we drove up to the house now seems like bright bits and pieces of colored glass jiggling around in a kaleidoscope.

  When we began to walk up the drive, through the frosty windows I could see that something inside the house looked different. It seemed dimmer but at the same time I could see what appeared to be a lot of candles. Everyone seemed to notice it at once. Mama said, “I could have sworn that I left the dining room light on. And what happened to the porch light? It’s off, too.”

  Then Lady said, “Look, Mama, don’t the walls look funny?”

  It was almost as if we were afraid to go into our own house. We all crunched through the snow, which had gotten deep. At that moment through a side window I could see the mantel over the fireplace. “Mama! Our stockings have been hung up.” We all crowded up to the side window of the living room and gasped. Not only had our stockings been hung up, with one for Willie Faye as well, but also someone had woven together pine boughs. The walls of the living room were covered with them. It was as if a magical forest had grown in our living room. And on every table candles were lit and glowed softly, their light pale and golden. Marlon whistled low.

  “What’s happened?” Ozzie whispered. And for the first time in his life I think Ozzie really didn’t know, didn’t have a clue about what was going on. I heard this voice in my head. “You just kind of got to believe. You try too hard to understand. Your whole family does. They are just so filled up with ideas and words.” It was what Willie Faye had said at the Christmas pageant except I could hear it clearly now. I looked to see if she was really speaking. But she wasn’t. Her face seemed to sparkle just like it had when she stood up on the angel platform. Now snow swirled around her head just like a halo and some flakes lighted down on her eyelashes. It was Willie Faye who led the way up the walk and was first at the door.

  “Willie Faye,” Mama said, “you’ll need a key.”

  “Oh, no,” Willie Faye said softly and she pushed the door open. We all went inside. There was the smell of warm candles and cinnamon and fresh pine. The Spartan glowed in the dark and Kate Smith was singing “O Holy Night” in a voice so beautiful you thought she was an angel. The stockings were not only hung but filled. There were candy canes, and small presents gaily wrapped, poking out. In one, in Mama’s, a beautiful gold chain with a heart hung over the edge. The big wing chair had been pulled up to the fire. Suddenly we heard a voice. “Oh, my goodness. You caught me snoozing.”

  It was Papa! He stood up. He was the most welcome, wonderful sight I had ever seen. Forget about angels. He was our real life Papa. Clean shaven, eyes sparkling as they used to. He was dressed in a new shirt and his favorite tie and his old plaid bedroom slippers. “Merry Christmas, children. Merry Christmas, Belle — love of my life.” And he walked toward her and embraced her and then we all just flung ourselves on Papa. He teetered a bit toward the Spartan. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” He laughed. “Let’s not crash into the Spartan or else how will we listen?”

  And that is how he told us. Papa had gone all the way to Chicago, to the offices of the National Broadcasting System. And our Papa had sold them three scripts for a radio program called Ozzie, the Boy Wonder, the stories of a boy who makes contact with life in space! That is what he was doing up there in the room on the third floor every day he came home early. K-chirp! K-chirp! The typewriter! It suddenly hit me. “But Mama sold the typewriter!” I blurted out.

  “You did what, Belle?”

  “Sam, I sold the typewriter. I thought you never used it and I needed the money.”

  “What for?”

  “I hired a private detective. I was so worried, Sam.”

  “And I sold the chemistry set,” Ozzie said.

  “I didn’t want him to, Sam, but you don’t know how desperate we were.”

  “Oh, Belle. I said I’d be back. I said hold on.” Papa stopped a minute. “I would have told you where I was going and what I was up to but I wasn’t sure if I could sell it. I didn’t want to raise anybody’s hopes. But now I have sold it. Belle, they gave me six hundred dollars.”

  Six hundred dollars! That was more money than any of us had ever even dreamed about. Six hundred dollars! Why, Papa didn’t make that much in a single month as head accountant for Greenhandle’s. “But I have to write three more stories fast.”

  Gwen said she could borrow a typewriter for him from Bobbs-Merrill.

  And then we all started laughing and crying and nobody was tired enough to go to bed, so we opened our stockings. Papa had brou
ght back the most wonderful gifts for all of us. A necklace for Mama, a slide rule for Ozzie. A locket and chain for me and a bracelet with a glass heart for Willie Faye. A pretty hair comb for Gwen with tiny gold stars on it. For Lady, black lace gloves that went up to her elbows. For Clem, a book of poems.

  After we opened our stockings we still weren’t tired, so we thought why not give out the rest of the presents. Everyone loved the hats that Willie Faye and I made. We had secretly made one for Lady in addition to the earrings. And Willie Faye loved my decoupage box. She ran right up and got her pumpkin seeds and the picture from the newspaper and put them in it along with some hair ribbons and a lovely set of barrettes that Mama got her. Ozzie went wild over what Clem got him. It was a poster from that movie Freak that they closed down. She said that Marlon got it for her because he knew the ticket taker at the theater where it had played. Clem made me a scrapbook of Amelia Earhart with pictures and newspaper stories and then at the end, I couldn’t believe it, an autographed picture of her signed to me. She had found out where to write to Miss Earhart and written and asked her for it. The picture says, “For Minerva Swift — dare to dream. Best wishes, Amelia Earhart.” I could scarcely believe it. Lady had made me a replica of the flight jacket Amelia Earhart had worn and a canvas flight helmet. Gwen had bought me a pair of goggles. This will be perfect for sledding even if I can’t pilot a plane yet.