I grew up with an appreciation for Swing and Big Band music (even before its renaissance in the 1990s). I grew up being exposed to all sorts of old 1940s films and movie stars that my mother liked to talk about or have me watch with her. I felt very akin to her generation and often wished I could go back in time and perhaps double-date with her and her boyfriend Johnny Kirkpatrick in Cumberland, Maryland where she grew up.
My affinity for the 1940s inspired a Christmas short story in the winter of 2000. For today's blog entry, I will simply post a revised copy of it for your holiday reading enjoyment.
"The Ice Miracle"
Long Ago and Far Away played
softly on the radio as Catherine O’Donnell stood in her tiny living room, a
hand poised in the air with the last bit of tinsel for the Christmas tree that
she had just finished decorating. Just a small Carolina pine that her father
had brought over and helped drag in, but lovely all the same. He had said, “Now
Cat, don’t be spending Christmas Eve alone this year. You know what it did to
you last year. Why don’t you come with us to Christmas Eve service, and then
stay over for the night? Mother’ll make you a nice Christmas breakfast in the
morning.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” she’d said, giving him a hug and relishing being folded
in her father’s strong, protective arms. “Maybe I will.”
Now she stood there, tinsel in hand, wearing a smart crimson suit dress,
her only pair of nylons, and a pair of black pumps that her mother
swore she didn’t need anymore—but Catherine knew she was only saying that so it
wouldn’t seem like a handout. Her hair was pinned up at the sides, lipstick
freshly applied, and the pearl necklace Bill had given her for a wedding
present adorned her neck. All dressed up
and no one to see her. No one to look
her up and down, whistle and say, “Gee Cat, you sure are a sight for sore
eyes!”
Catherine dropped the tinsel onto a pine bough with a sigh and glanced at
the clock on the mantle. It was time to
leave for church, but she couldn’t seem to take the first step. Something didn’t feel right. She didn’t want to go to the service or her parents’. Here she was, twenty-three years old,
standing alone in the little home she once shared with her husband—a fortuitous
inheritance from his departed and much-beloved grandmother at a time when
housing was so hard to come by—until he was sent overseas, and “making do”
without him for the third Christmas in a row.
So much had changed since he’d left. She was such a young girl then, and
felt so very old now. This year, she’d been drained of any holiday cheer, and
was only going through the motions.
Catherine had gone to the movies earlier that day, in need of some
distraction from the loneliness, but the latest newsreels filled her with
angst. They always did. Sometimes, even
though she knew Bill was in a Top Secret location, she hoped that she’d catch a
glimpse of him in the background of the footage, just to see what he looked
like these days. To know he was still
alive over there.
Bill getting killed in action was one thing Catherine was not going to allow into
her thoughts. They were meant to be
together, ever since they first set flirtatious eyes on one other across the
risers in high school choir practice. They were going to have children one day,
too, and so dying was out of the question. This whole war was one big, fat
inconvenience in their young lives and the sooner it was over, the sooner they
could get on with things.
The first few months after he left were the hardest, crying every night
and barely able to pull herself together enough to make it to her secretarial pool
each morning. Catherine lived for every
letter that he sent. Then she went numb,
perhaps in self preservation, feeling disconnected from needing
him…disconnected from the physical yearning for him that had become greater and
greater since the first night of her honeymoon.
But lately, for some odd reason, sensations were returning to her
body. Sometimes it was anger, sometimes deep
sadness…and sometimes she would get so randy that she found herself staring at
the local high school boys as they passed her on the street, with a dark desire
to generously give them their first lessons in love. She was not ashamed of herself. She knew she wasn’t alone in these feelings,
for she and half the women in town had been put through rather cruel and
unusual punishment with their men ripped from them and sent far away for God
knows how long. All of this had been swirling around and around her head all
month, robbing her of any holiday spirit. All she wanted for Christmas was
Bill, back in her arms.
Catherine stooped to switch on the tree lights, and then stood back to
admire her work. The sudden illumination of the room seemed to set in motion a
magic spell, for what happened next was too surreal for logic. Over the voices
of the Pied Pipers singing, Dream…when
the day is through, she thought she heard the thudding of boots on the
welcome mat outside the front door, stomping off snow, and she whirled around.
Dream…and they might come true…
Whoever was out there wasn’t bothering to ring the bell. In fact, the
doorknob was turning and the person was coming into the house before she could
even think to do anything. Perhaps it was her parents, coming to pick her up. A
man stepped into the entranceway.
Things really aren’t as bad as they
seem…so dream, dream, dream…
It was shadowy where he stood, but the light from the Christmas tree
shone on him, and she could make out a long naval coat and white hat. His brown
hair was a little shorter than usual, and his face with the dramatic crease between
his brows was slightly thin and drawn. It was like seeing a ghost. A scream
of alarm, surprise and delight escaped her mouth as Bill emerged from the hall,
taking off his hat.
Catherine took a step toward him, studying his features carefully to be
sure it was really him. “Bill?”
A tired smile spread across his strong, handsome jaw, and that intense
gleam shone in his green eyes that she so loved. “They gave me a last-minute
Christmas furlough. I didn’t call because I wanted to surprise you. My God,
Cat, you’re still a sight for sore eyes. Even more beautiful than I remember.”
Catherine covered her mouth with her hands and stood there, trying to
overcome the shock of seeing her husband come walking into their home when she
imagined him across the Atlantic, drinking spiked eggnog with fellow officers
at some makeshift Christmas Eve party. She was also overcome with joy at
getting the wish she wished for in that precise moment, as impossible as it
seemed.
Bill looked around the room, re-acclimating to his home and taking in the
twinkling beauty of the Christmas tree. “I was hoping you’d have the tree
up.” Then he looked at her again and
laughed. “Well, are you going to stand there all night, or do I get a proper
welcome from my wife?”
“Oh God, Bill….” Her heels clattered on the hardwood floor as she ran
across it, into his arms. His uniform coat felt cold and stiff, but she clung
to it, grabbing handfuls of its thick fabric, then reached up to touch his neck
and hair. He held her tightly, and she heard a shuddering sigh escape from deep
inside him.
“Cat, I swear…just the mere thought of holding you in my arms again has
kept me going day after day.”
She nodded, eyes closed, listening for something, but didn’t hear it. She
pulled away and began to unbutton his overcoat. He watched her, amused. Once
his blue sweater was exposed beneath it, she pressed her ear to his chest and
listened again. “Ahhh,” she breathed,
smiling. “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“Your heart. I memorized the sound
of it the night before you left, while you were sleeping, and kept thinking of
the day when I’d hear it again.”
“I love that.”
They held each other a long while, then all too soon realization crept
into their bliss like the smell of smoke in a house that has caught fire. This visit would be but a brief interlude in
the nightmare of the war.
“How long can you stay, Bill?”
“Just two days.”
Catherine squeezed her eyes shut and grasped him more tightly. No, she thought. I don’t ever want him to leave
again. Please, God, find a way for him to stay…or get back here more often. A
position in Washington…anything besides going back overseas!
Bill pulled back this time and gazed at her. “Ohhhh how I’ve missed this
face, these eyes…I told the fellas that you were Rita Hayworth-beautiful, you
know.”
Catherine blushed and shook her head.
“And every time they played I’ll Be
Seeing You on the radio, my heart just ached. I kept trying to imagine you dancing with me.
I was afraid I’d forget what you even felt like in my arms.” He had a shameless tear in his eye as he
spoke, and Catherine felt a lump swelling in her throat. Ever so gently, he
lifted his hand and caressed her cheek, eyes never leaving hers. The cheek grew flushed beneath his fingers
and she felt a warm waterfall cascading down the inside of her body, melting
the ice that had started to form there.
She put her hand over his and closed her eyes, taking in the renewed
love. Before she had a chance to open them again, she felt his lips on hers,
light and uncertain. It felt like a first date, all over again, after all this
time. But it wasn’t long before body memories returned and hands re-navigated
old, familiar curves and shapes. Bill held her closer to him, and their
breathing quickened with an eruption of passionate kisses. They separated from
one another for a second, communicating with their eyes, and sizing up the
other’s level of desire. They glanced around at the couch, then the floor. Breathless,
Catherine laughed, “I dropped a lot of ornament hooks down there. Let’s go
upstairs.”
With a spark of adventure in his eyes, Bill scooped Catherine up in his
arms and she screamed in delight as he trudged up the staircase.
In the earliest hours of the morning, Catherine lay against her husband’s
chest, listening to his breath move in and out slowly. Their legs were intertwined
so, that she couldn’t even sense which ones were her own. Her insides hummed
with a deep peace that had settled in as the fire of climactic energy subsided.
In her final moments before slumber, time stood still and she savored each
moment that passed and each breath that they took…until her eyes closed.
The sun poured over the bed on Christmas morning, waking Bill and
Catherine, and as they opened their eyes to one another, they smiled.
“Merry Christmas, love,” Bill murmured.
“Yes, it is,” Catherine whispered. “The merriest Christmas ever. I never dreamed I’d be waking up to you,
today.”
Bill just sighed, stroked her shoulder and closed his eyes again.
“I confess, I was a little worried last night. So many of my friends have
told me that their husbands or boyfriends felt like strangers when they came
home on leave—and that they needed a day or two to get reacquainted. If not
longer. But I didn’t feel that with you, Bill. Not at all.”
His eyes opened again and beamed love at her.
“We could never be strangers.”
Bill leaned across their shared pillow and kissed her. She returned it
with hungry fervor, and the energy between them intensified. They made love
again, slow and lazy this time, loving the feel of their naked bodies beneath
the warm covers in their freezing bedroom.
Afterward, Catherine caressed his face, relishing the sight and feel of
it even more. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Let’s just lay here in bed all
morning. Forget church…forget the family. We can go later.”
Bill grit his teeth with a pained smile. “As much as I’d love that, my
darling, I have to tell you that I’m simply starving.”
“Oh!” Catherine cried, sitting up and knocking the covers off them both. “Let
me make you a huge breakfast, then. I haven’t had a chance to cook much or bake
due to sugar rationing…but I’ve got eggs and bread and sausage!”
“Gee, that’d be swell, Cat. And I’ll make us a fire. It’s damn cold in
this house!”
They tore themselves away from the comfort of their warm bed, donned bathrobes,
and headed downstairs. On the way, Catherine noticed Bill feeling the soft
flannel of his robe and looking at it as though he’d never seen it before. How
funny it must be, she mused, to come home and put something on that you haven’t
worn in almost three years.
In the kitchen, Catherine pulled pots and pans out of the cupboards. In
minutes, Bill had a roaring, toasty fire in the fireplace. Then he turned on
the radio and she heard the merry strains of the Andrew Sisters singing Jingle Bells in their signature
three-part harmonies. Bill kicked off his slippers, crept up behind his wife
and grabbed her arm, pulling her into a spontaneous jitterbug.
Catherine dropped her wooden spoon on the stove with a clatter and giggled
like a schoolgirl.
They rocked back and forth and did a couple of spins.
“I miss dancing with you,” he told her. “Those women at the USO dances…they
can’t hold a candle to you, baby!”
“European women?” she asked, one eyebrow raising, pretending to be
jealous.
After a few more steps he released her with a playful ruffle of the hair,
and stood back to look at her once again. “Catherine, my eyes just can’t get
enough of you. If you were a bottle of
wine, I’d be drunk! It’s so good to be home.”
They stared at each other, intimate smiles lighting up their faces. Then,
as if hearing the clock ticking with the time remaining on the furlough, the
smiles faded. Both of them knew that
duty called, and how critical the war was at this juncture. It was a miracle
that he had even been given leave in the first place.
“Say, Cat, do we still get a morning paper?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, pointing to the front door. “It should be out on the
front porch.” Catherine bent down to get some eggs out of the ice box, heard
the front door open, and felt a cold draft creep into the kitchen from the
outside. After gathering a handful of eggs and cracking each one into a bowl,
the kitchen grew frigid and her skin covered with goose bumps. “Bill, close the
door!”
There was no answer, so she wiped her hands and went to see what was
taking him so long. When she looked out the front door, a gasp escaped her. Bill was lying in a heap at the bottom of the
porch steps!
“Cat, I’m hurt,” he said, wincing in pain and clutching his right thigh.
“It’s bad.” Catherine started to hurry
toward the steps, but he warned, “Be careful! It’s icy…that’s why I fell.”
Catherine noticed that the paper had landed three feet short of the porch,
which was the reason he’d gone down the steps in the first place. “Oh Lord,
Bill,” she cried, descending the steps gingerly, grabbing the handrail for dear
life. She knelt beside her husband. The way his leg was bent looked very
strange, and she knew it was broken.
“Can you get up?”
“I don’t think I should try.”
“I’ll get blankets and call for help. Will you be okay?”
“Just hurry.”
Catherine gave him a quick but tender kiss before rising and scrambling
back up the porch, grasping the railing till her knuckles were white.
“I’ll bet you never bargained on spending Christmas Day in the hospital,”
the kindly nurse said to them after Bill’s leg had been set in a cast, in the
emergency ward of the military hospital. She stood over him, one hand clutching
a clipboard, the other on her hip. “The doc says this leg was broken in three
places…and that you might not be able to return to duty for a long time…maybe
not at all, depending on how it heals.”
Bill nodded, but said nothing. The pain medication they’d given him
earlier was kicking in, and his eyes were glazing over. Catherine sat next to
him on the bed, a protective arm around his shoulders, beaming up at the nurse.
“Doesn’t look like it’s taken any of your
Christmas cheer away,” she remarked, glancing at Catherine’s inappropriate grin
that contrasted her husband’s painful situation.
Catherine shook her head.
“Well,” the nurse sighed, hanging the clipboard with Bill’s information
on the edge of the emergency bed, “I’ll go rustle up a gurney so we can get you
into a proper bed on the next floor.” She walked off, closing the white
partition curtain behind her.
Catherine gave Bill’s shoulders a triumphant squeeze. He was all hers,
once again. Weeks of recuperation at home, in their bed. In her heart, she gave
thanks for the careless paperboy who didn’t throw the paper far enough. She
gave thanks for the leaky gutter that dripped water onto the porch steps, and
the subsequent ice that formed there overnight—causing her husband to fall. But
most of all, Catherine thanked God for sending his only Son to Earth….because
if it hadn’t been for Christmas, her husband would not have been granted leave,
and would still be on some ship in Europe or wherever it was they sent him,
ready to go into the war zone again on two good legs.
~Alexandra Lander, 2000
