While the Aherns entertained Vivian, Marek reread a letter delivered that day. He marveled at how quickly Klaudia’s reply had arrived; she had dated it less than two weeks ago. Marek inspected her handwriting, which seemed like a bright ribbon waving in the sun as she noted how much she wanted to see him, and that she would await further information in the coming year. Again she signed the letter Love, Klaudia, words that Marek allowed into his heart as though she stood beside him, whispering the sentiment into his ear.
He didn’t call Lynne, for he would see her, Laurie, and Jane soon for dinner. Caramel slices waited on the kitchen counter, then Marek wondered if Klaudia would like them. He wanted to speak to her, so much on his mind, but would try reaching her tomorrow. If he called right when he woke, he might get through, but lines would be busy with others connecting with loved ones far away. He briefly thought of Eric, then prayed over that man. Marek stepped into the vestibule, gazing toward the altar. Unlit candles stood on stands, a tree to the left, dark now, but lights would blaze after he returned from supper. He smiled, pleased that the Snyder-Abrams trio would be joined by the Aherns that evening, then all would be together tomorrow for lunch, seated around Lynne’s dining table. Sam was cooking and it reminded Marek of his childhood, a variety of guests, but all were family. Marek walked toward the front of the church, where on the right a nativity scene was staged. Mary knelt over an open space, but Marek would place the baby Jesus in front of her before he lit the candles. He sat in the first pew, gazing at the figures, Joseph next to Mary, shepherds behind them, lambs and cattle framing the group. The main characters were Jews, which seemed an afterthought to most Christians. Since Hanukkah, Marek had felt drawn to that aspect, which now was stark to the Lutheran pastor. Jesus’ Jewishness was more keenly noted at Easter, but on that afternoon, Marek couldn’t escape that facet of his savior.
Was Klaudia at all religious, he wondered. Her family had been Catholic, as were most in their village. She had written nothing related to faith in any of her letters, then he smiled. In a matter of weeks, she would be standing near him, not the girl he recalled, but still she was…. She was the only living link to his past, a woman he had never been able to set aside. How much of a miracle was that, he considered, wishing Eric was there, for only with that man had he noted the depth of his feelings. Lynne understood, not that Marek had shared the inner workings of his heart, but he hadn’t needed to. Klaudia had set the wheels in motion, and indeed Lynne was a perceptive soul. Marek looked forward to watching those ladies interact, if only that around Lynne, Klaudia would have a hard time hiding her emotions. Marek chuckled, then gazed around the building. He hoped she could see the beauty past wooden beams and stained glass, finding within this space such peace. Yet that peace emanated beyond the structure, and he stood, feeling a lasting warmth. He went back into the kitchen, gazing at the caramel slices. Then he looked at the clock; he was due at Lynne’s in an hour. Klaudia’s letter sat on the table and he retrieved it, then took a deep breath. He exhaled, then headed to his room, where he placed the letter with the others. He went to his knees, giving thanks for that blessing as well as praying for God’s presence with one far from home.
Jane stirred from her nap just as Lynne woke. Glancing at the clock, Lynne saw it was nearly four, then she smiled, hearing footsteps along the hall. The nursery door was opened, Laurie crooning to Jane how nice it was to see her. Lynne was pleased that Jane didn’t get up from her new bed, banging on the closed door like she’d been imprisoned. And a mother was grateful for an extra pair of hands to change Jane’s diaper.
As Lynne exited her room, Laurie and Jane were stepping from the nursery. Jane leaned toward her mother, but Lynne didn’t take her. “I wish I could explain why,” she said to Laurie, patting her belly as if for emphasis. Jane looked confused, then leaned against her uncle. “At least she doesn’t seem to mind,” Lynne smiled.
“Nope, she’s a smart girl.” Laurie kissed Jane’s cheek. “Feeling better?” he asked Lynne.
She nodded. “Gonna be a late evening, for me at least. But it’s funny, I feel like….” Had she dreamt of Eric? Probably, yet this time her dreams seemed with a purpose. Or maybe she was appropriating the impending holiday’s significance.
“You okay?” Laurie grasped her hand.
“Yeah, it’s just….” She smiled, then shook her head. “After you two,” she said, motioning to the stairs.
Laurie and Jane led the way, then the trio went into the kitchen. A pot of soup simmered, a recipe from Rose that Laurie had been keen to try, if only to tell his mother he’d made it. Lynne sat at the table as Laurie put Jane in her tall seat, then he brought water to Lynne, milk for Jane, accompanied by thin slices of pie for each. “What’s this?” Lynne asked.
“Just a little Christmas Eve treat. I was thinking about having a piece all afternoon.” He sat between the ladies, a mug of tea in his hand. “Finally about half an hour ago I broke down and ate the last of the peach, well, what was left after I cut some for you sleepyheads. I know Marek’ll be here in a bit, but I couldn’t help myself.”
Lynne laughed, for a quarter of a pie had remained. She glanced at the counter, seeing only an empty tin. “What’ll you eat for breakfast tomorrow?”
Now Laurie chuckled. “Gonna make French toast. Mom sent that recipe too, don’t want her to think you’re doing the cooking.”
Lynne smiled, then ate her pie. Jane did the same, but she finished before her mother. She asked for more, but was told there wasn’t any. Skeptically she looked at her uncle, then at her mother. “I don’t think she believes you,” Lynne said to Laurie.
“Well, it’s the truth.” He took Jane from her seat, putting her on his lap. She was placated, although she stared at Lynne’s plate. “She’s eyeing yours,” Laurie snickered.
Lynne finished hers, then pushed the plate in the middle of the table. She gazed around the room, stopping at the cupboard containing cookbooks. The sketch Eric had made exactly one year ago remained in that cabinet and Lynne stood, walking that way. She retrieved the drawing, studying her image, but what Eric had drawn took on a new meaning. She brought it to the table, placing it out of Jane’s reach. “It looks different today.”
Laurie gazed at it, but he sighed. “I’m glad you think so.”
Lynne wore a small smile, then retook her seat, leaving the sketch on the other side of the table. “Do you remember what I asked you when I first showed this to you?”
He stared at her, then nodded slowly. “Lynne, hell’s gonna freeze over before Stan….”
Lynne laughed as Laurie apologized for his language, on that day of all days. She wouldn’t tell him that she’d written to Stanford, but hope bubbled in her heart, and not only for that couple. “The day Eric drew this was the same day Sam and Renee learned….” She sighed only for a moment, caressing Jane’s face. “Now they have Paul and Ann, my goodness a lot’s happened this year. Laurie, just remember what you promised me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. Then he glanced at the drawing. “Wherever Eric is, he’s thinking about you today.”
“I’m sure thinking about him.”
Laurie put Jane on her feet, then turned his chair outwards. “Lynne….” Laurie paused, then again gazed at the drawing. Then he met her eyes. “He drew you, but not as a sacrifice. You’re a conduit, maybe you’ve always been that for him, but this time it’s different.”
She nodded. “I was just thinking that. When he left before, he always came home so guilty, like he thought it would be his last time. But I knew he couldn’t help it and now….” She smoothed her blouse over the baby. “Before he left for Miami, we talked about how he and Stanford would be alone. You had Seth then, now us.” She picked up the illustration, setting it between herself and Laurie. “This’s what Christmas is about, realizing how necessary is our very existence.” She inhaled, then looked at her daughter. “Jesus came to free us, but he took the form of a helpless baby, asking us to care for him in
stead. God is magnificent, but I also think he wants our love as a much as a little one needs its mother.”
Laurie motioned for the drawing and Lynne handed it to him. “Assuming that’s right,” he chuckled, “then I should be glad Stan threw me out. That he has to, oh my God….” Laurie laughed, then sighed. “Like I said before, from your lips to God’s ears. But I just don’t see how….”
Lynne placed his hand on the baby. “I was barren for years. Anything is possible, anything we could dream.”
He bit his lip, then nodded, finally meeting her gaze. She smiled, praying for her husband to know not only God’s peace, but her love. I love you Eric, she wanted to say. Merry Christmas, she added, as a baby wriggled under its mother’s skin.
As Marek and Lynne prayed, a man in Texas sensed those intercessions, although he wondered if they were merely sensations stirred by a rather prophetic baker. Yet Susie Bolden’s talent with pie crust was nearly as important as her psychic abilities, although in mixed company Susie kept mum about what she thought. John ached to speak with her about what she had told Dora and whatever else she might know. However, on Christmas Eve night, as children clamored to open just one present, simpler delights ruled.
To John, Susie’s pies were so reminiscent of home that he alternated wishing he could squeeze in one more piece or just flee to the shed. But he remained seated in the Richardsons’ kitchen, the rest in the living room, for to step away seemed sinful. He wasn’t sure if that was due to Susie, the children, or the idea of…. Within that home fragments of his life were displayed, although he couldn’t put a single name to any of the characters. And some were still beyond his grasp; Luke and Callie were clear, as was Callie’s wife, although he couldn’t imagine that his pastor made pies. Tilda was a relative of John’s, but he wasn’t sure how they were bound. Dora was a friend, distant at times, but also close, even if she might prefer to remain aloof. Now that she knew he had a wife and children, she alternated between speaking her heart or avoiding him. Whether or not Walt was present seemed irrelevant. And as for that man….
The more John got to know him, the bigger of a mystery he became. His prejudices, and those of whom he approved, seemed incongruous. He shirked from Susie’s supernatural gift, but heaped praise upon her culinary prowess, seemed indebted to her for what John couldn’t tell. He knew his bed was courtesy of the Boldens and Callie was indeed Walt’s best friend. And now that John knew Walt had served in Korea, the men’s friendship was better understood, even though their races demanded certain separations. Yet on that evening the adults spoke harmoniously as children played together nearby. Luke was the oldest and while the Boldens only had daughters, he got along well with their eldest, Myrna. Noelle was their middle child, a little older than Esther. Her birthday was the day after tomorrow, hence her Christmas-themed name. But she only seemed interested in what Santa was bringing, Luke the only child not to believe.
John gazed at that boy, who nodded as if he had requested John’s attention. Luke’s blue eyes made John’s heart ache, yet that strange peace kept him inside that house. As Luke approached, John’s heart felt heavy. He glanced at the adults, wishing to catch their attention, but none gazed his way. Luke stopped a foot in front of John, smiling widely. “So Mr. Doe, how’re you doing?”
“Just fine. And you?”
Luke peeked over his shoulder, then tapped his foot. “Well, to tell you the truth….” Luke stepped close to John. “I wanna open a present, but we hafta wait till the Boldens go home.”
John hid a smile. “Really?”
Luke nodded, then stepped toward the door. John followed Luke onto the porch. “Yes sir.” Luke spoke softly. “We get to open one present on Christmas Eve, but they, well….” He clasped his hands in front of him. “They wait till tomorrow. They ain’t got much, you know.”
John noticed Luke’s humble demeanor. “Well, they seem to have all they need.”
“Oh they do, I mean….” Luke shook his head. “It’s just that….” The boy sighed. “Mr. Doe, do whites and Negros go to the same schools where you live?”
John wasn’t sure, and he shrugged. “But Luke, do you realize that your father and Mr. Bolden are probably each other’s best friend?”
Luke nodded. “Yes sir, I do. What I don’t understand is….”
Walt stepped onto the porch. “Son, come inside. Time to say goodbye to our guests.”
“Yes Daddy.” Luke ran into the house, but Walt gave John a look.
John nodded, then followed Walt inside. Dora and Susie shared an embrace as Callie gripped his hat, his girls at his sides. Tilda, Esther, and Gail stood together and John studied the two sets of sisters. Then he looked at Luke, who shook Callie’s hand, then received a warm hug. Luke nodded to Susie, who ruffled his hair, then she met John’s gaze.
He learned nothing from her stare other than she was praying for him, but as he was no closer to recalling his past, there would be plenty of time for them to speak. That fact didn’t bother him, which he chalked up to a Christmas miracle, which made him smile as Callie approached. “You have a good Christmas now John. We’ll be seeing you before the new year.”
They shook with their left hands, which made Luke laugh. John then extended that hand to Susie, who clasped it tenderly. Again she didn’t speak, but her warmth was a tonic. John nodded to the Bolden girls, who didn’t meet his gaze, although Marian giggled as she walked by him. He remained in the house as the rest went to the porch, their goodbyes and wishes for a merry Christmas ringing through the air.
After the Boldens left, four children ran back into the house, hollering to open a gift. John took his leave and wasn’t missed by any of the kids. He could hear their delights from the shed, the sound like a tinny recording lodged in the back of his head. He didn’t go back inside once it was quiet, only Luke to come out, wishing him goodnight. John wished the boy a merry Christmas, then after Luke was gone, John closed the shed door, wishing he felt more tired.
Yet sleep eluded him and he stared at his surroundings. Then someone knocked. “Come in,” John said.
It was Walt, who wore a light jacket. “You all right?” he asked.
“Yeah, just tired.” It was a lie, then he sighed. “All the kids asleep?”
Walt shrugged. “They’re in bed. Mind if I join you?”
John smiled. “No, have a seat.”
Walt took the metal chair, facing John, who sat on his bed. “Just wanted to see if you were okay.”
John gazed around the small room. “I’m….” He was weary, the weight of this strange life starting to prey on him. “I’m fine,” he said blandly.
Walt smiled. “Now that’s a lie if ever I heard one.”
John chuckled. “Suppose it is. But I am thankful for your hospitality.”
That was the truth and John smiled. “Tonight was nice, I mean, the Boldens are good people.”
“I’ve known Callie all my life. He is a good man and Susie’s….” Walt raised his eyebrows. “She makes a delicious pie.”
“That she does.” John wouldn’t broach her other specialty, but he grinned. “She’s not from around here.”
Walt glanced at the floor, then met John’s gaze. “Nope. Sometimes that makes it a little difficult. But usually there’s no problems.”
“Well, she and Callie have lovely daughters.”
“They do,” Walt smiled. “Dora helped with Noelle’s birth and Susie named her Noelle Dorie, boy, that was a day.”
As Walt spoke, a memory was triggered, making John queasy. He leaned over, taking deep breaths as Walt asked if he was all right. John couldn’t place how that figured into his life, but the prompt was painful. He sat up, still felt nauseous. Then he gazed at Walt. “Sorry,” John mumbled. “Just that it reminded me of something.”
Walt leaned back in his chair. “Dora said she told you about the…babies.” Walt coughed, shaking his head. “Not so sure about it, but I guess we’ll see.”
“Hopefully they’ll be fine.
”
“Maybe,” Walt shrugged.
Silence loomed and John wondered if Walt would simply stand, then say goodnight. Then John was gripped by a clear memory, which again made him sick to his stomach. He doubled over, retching even, bringing Walt to his feet. He then knelt beside John. “You all right?”
The notion of standing beside his wife in a Catholic cemetery was so strong it was as if John was back on that late summer’s day, palpable grief swirling in the shed. Two tiny boys were being laid to rest, but they weren’t his children. Those twins belonged to…someone connected to John’s best friend. John opened his eyes, half expecting to be standing amid a sea of mourners, yet it was only Walt beside him. “What is it?” Walt asked.
“Nothing, it’s nothing.”
“Bullshit! Now you tell me or….”
As John spoke, he expected Walt to stand angrily, then stalk away, maybe slamming the shed door behind him. Yet Walt only nodded as John explained the entire scene. He left out nothing, not even that it was someone related to his best friend. His sister, John suddenly blurted, again feeling that awful pain, although it wasn’t only for the death of premature twins. Some other ominous event was connected, but that remained another mystery.
Walt quietly retook his seat, then folded his arms over his chest. Yet he gazed at John with what appeared like sympathy in his eyes. “Did they ever have another child?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” John sighed. “They named them Simon and Andrew.” He shook his head. “How I remember all that and not my own name….”
“Sometimes we don’t wanna think about the past.” Walt snorted, then grimaced. “So your friend’s Catholic, huh?”
John nodded, then smiled. “Hope that’s all right.”
“There’s worse things.” Walt cleared his throat. “Dora told you about me being in Korea, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“She tell you about the Jew?”
John smiled. “She mentioned something about that.”
“I figured.” Again Walt crossed his arms over his chest. “I owe my life to that damned bastard.” Then he smiled. “Only one man in that whole platoon was a better shot than me, and it was that little Jew boy. Who’d guess some New York Jew could shoot so good?”
“My friend was in Korea, but he never talks about it.”
Walt raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’ll just say this; I wouldn’t be sitting here today if not for Gordon. He was a crazy bastard, but lord almighty, he could pick off gooks like nobody’s business.”
John stared at Walt. “What was his name?”
“Don’t remember his first name, we just called him Gordon. They all called me Richards, Richardson was too long, I guess. You probably can’t remember if you went or not.”
“No,” John said absently. Then he gazed at Walt. “Gordon doesn’t sound Jewish.”
Walt smiled. “Nope. We used to tease him about that, he never said much though, just kept to himself most of the time.” Walt seemed lost in the memory, then he stared at John. “I went home before he did, never knew what happened to him. Probably not much good.” Walt shook his head, then he stood. “You remind me a little of him, I mean, he was blonde, had blue eyes though. When he looked at you it was like….”
“He wanted to be free.”
“Yeah, just like that.” Walt gripped the back of his chair. “He enlisted, never knew why. The rest of us, most of us anyways, was drafted. But that crazy Jew enlisted. Guess I’m lucky he did.”
“I think I’m lucky too,” John smiled.
“Maybe.” Walt looked at John. “Best let you get some sleep. I’m, uh, sorry, for your friend’s sister. Don’t say anything to Dora about it, you understand?”
“Of course.”
“And uh, thanks, you know, for listening. You sure you weren’t in Korea?”
“Who knows?” Now John was tired, also frustrated. He furrowed his brow, gazing at Walt. “That man, was his first name Seth?”
Walt shivered, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, he nodded. “By God, I think it was. How the hell would you know that?”
“I don’t know.” John trembled, then closed his eyes as a warm surge descended upon him. “His name was Seth Gordon from….”
“Brooklyn,” Walt offered, again sitting in the metal chair. “He was from Brooklyn, New York.”
John opened his eyes, but didn’t know what else to say. Yet peace swirled all through him, although it wasn’t merely associated with the tangled thread connecting him and the man seated across. Instead it was as if John’s wife stood behind him, passing these snippets like a lifeline. John looked toward the shed door, wishing she would step inside, whoever she was and wherever she might be. I love you, he wanted to say, but he kept still as Walt spoke, at first in a halting tone, then in a rush as a flood of war-time memories spilled from that small shed in Karnack, Texas.
_______________
Liner Notes
I started this novel in October 2013; at the time, I assumed I’d be penning another short story, the form I had been working in for much of that year. However, at over three-quarters completed, The Hawk currently stands at over 700,000 words. Never before have I embarked upon such a large project.
Over the last three years, other than poems for NaPoWriMo, I have written nothing else. Quilting has overtaken some of my free time, as has caring for my family; recently I have become a grandmother. I have also nursed my father through the end of his life, which fell upon the heels of my first grandchild’s arrival. Now with time to write and revise, I have chosen to share this behemoth in a beta-type manner. Part Ten will most likely be released in late autumn, but please bear with this author while grandchildren, fabrics, and a new familial normal take precedence. In the meantime, thank you for joining me on this journey, which is a search for my Father as well as Eric’s. As this is a novel in progress, comments concerning this tale are welcome and can be sent to annascottgraham at gmail dot com.
About the Author
Anna Scott Graham was born in 1966 in Northern California. A mother and grandmother, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, some hummingbirds, and numerous quilts.
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