Christmas 1945
West Virginia, USA

My mind has wandered. The tune of Jingle Bells draws me to the present as the newsreel rolls.

"All over the nation, bright and shining presents can be seen packed into shop windows for all the family. American youngsters are on their best behavior as they wait in line to sit on the knee of good ol' Saint Nick."

I stare at the black and white screen. A blond boy in a pea coat presses his nose against a window, watching the line of children move closer to the department store Santa Claus. The scene cuts away to a narrated montage of toys popular this year. It's the usual fare of dolls, hobby horses, and train sets.

"My nephew is itching for one of those," Ned Miller, Cal's friend from high school, whispers as he pulls an arm around my shoulders.

Distracted by his touch, I only catch the words 'war relief' on the title card for the next segment. I flinch farther away from Ned. He doesn't notice.

A priest surrounded by a group of children bearing canned goods speaks about the misery around our war ravaged world. His words don't make a dent to the teenagers in front of us who are throwing popcorn at each other.

"Pipe down, will yah!" Cal whispers harshly, drawing forward.

One swivels to say something in retaliation, but bites his lip at my brother's deadly glare. The kids sink into their seats and eat their snacks in silence. I smirk and shake my head in Cal's direction. With a snarl still on his mouth, he winks at me before settling back and situating his arm around his redheaded date.

"...to strengthen the wasted and worn bodies of other children throughout the world who are suffering and starving. We hope to bestow goodwill through this charity to the suffering people, wherever they may dwell this Christmas season. During this week, every Catholic parish in the United States will be a receiving station for canned goods..."

I wonder if any cans from our family's parish, St. Mary's, will make it to Europe. Perhaps even all the way Germany, to the northwestern corner where the British are in control. I have the address memorized, the place on the map circled in my old atlas from high school.

The movie starts. I have been anticipating it all day, even if it means enduring a running commentary from Ned Miller hot in my ear. It's the colorized musical, State Fair. It rings of everything for which our boys fought and died.

As the first musical number begins, I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The film begins with a busy family of four in a quaint pastoral landscape as they prepare to attend the fair. The parents aren't worn beyond their years or grief stricken. The daughter is well-kept with silk stockings and a pouty red mouth. Her mother chides her for moping. The son is healthy, his eyes are alive, and he has all his limbs.

I file through my thoughts and try to think of a family that appears this whole. Perhaps that's why they make movies like these nowadays, so we can learn to pretend to be this happy.

"Excuse me," I whisper, peeling Ned's arm off my shoulders. "I need to go to the ladies'room."

He props his elbow on the seat back, smacking his gum as he admires the actress. "Sure thing, honey."

I wince at the pet name. I have only been on three dates with him. I don't know why I am on this fourth one. Cal throws me a concerned glance as I tip toe up the aisle.

The female lead sings her first song. She is restless with life, unsure of the next step. Sitting at her window, she stares longingly into the distance.

I hesitate at the exit. Resting my hand on the door frame, I peek back at her bright, perfect face. The song strikes a nerve. It's only a movie, but I understand her intimately in that second.

"I keep wishing I were somewhere else, walking down a strange new street. Hearing words that I have never heard, from a man I've yet to meet," she sings.

I see it in my mind's eye as though it's playing onscreen. A strange street, rubble ridden and chilled by years of war, with a man missing a leg below the knee. Haggard and care worn with the sharpest of eyes, he pivots towards me. The scene fades.

I've envisioned it a thousand times.

For the remainder of the movie, I am too distracted to follow the storyline. It's a blur of vibrant color and cheerful show tunes with not a uniform in sight.

"Ruth. Ruth." Cal leans across the booth at the diner and snaps his fingers in my face. "Ruthie, hello!"

I jolt, my gaze snapping up to him from my egg creme. I have been swirling the streaks of chocolate syrup into the soda with a red striped straw. Again, my thoughts have drifted far away from the drug store where we all sit. Cal's date Mary giggles lightly, resting a freckled cheek on the heel of her hand.

"Where have you been? You've been dreaming all evening," Ned comments, picking up his hamburger with one hand.

He has his arm once again around the back of my seat. I wish he wouldn't act so possessive. We aren't even going steady. Though I know our mothers would be thrilled for that to take place.

Two nice, Irish catholic kids always make plenty of babies for eager grandparents. With his new job at the mine, he could take one of the prefabricated homes built by the coal company in no time for us to start our lives. Just like so many others I know in town.

"Spring fever, even though it isn't spring," I reply dryly, quoting the song from the movie.

Mary and Ned laugh, but Cal is studying me with narrowed dark eyes. I shirk away from his gaze. He knows me too well and I don't feel like explaining myself tonight.

"So Ruthie," Mary chirps, using my nickname even though she has only just met me. "Cal tells me you were a nurse over in Europe. That must have been so exciting!"

"Exciting is certainly the word for it." I take a sip.

"Were you close to any action?"

"A couple times."

"Were you ever scared?"

Scared of losing my own life? No. Scared that I'll never forget the teenager from Idaho bleeding out on a stained stretcher? Yes. But I know I can't say this with Christmas carols playing on the radio and the druggist hanging paper holly strands along the window frames.

"Sometimes, but I knew I was safe." I bite my lip.

"Did any of the boys that you nursed ask you the marry them?" She grins.

Ned's posture stiffens as he tears a bite from his burger. I shake my head.

"But you're such a pretty girl! None of the soldiers tried to romance you even once?"

I take a long drink of my soda. I shove away the memory of him leaning against the canvas wall in the summer sun with his shirt buttons loose at the neck. I swallow and fashion a smile.

"We were awfully busy."

"I should have thought it would have been terribly romantic." Mary twirls a strand of red hair around her pointer finger with a sigh. "I would've joined up, but my ma wouldn't let me. I did host a couple canteen dances in the next town though. And grew a Victory Garden. Rationing was so horrible over here! You wouldn't believe."

Cal winces at her whiny tone, but his arm doesn't move from her shoulders.

Outside the drug store, Ned say she'll call me later that week. He kisses me on the cheek after giving me a light hug. Tugging his toboggan over his black curls, he tucks his hands in his coat pockets and trots towards his father's Chevy. After Cal and I drop off Mary, I stay in the back seat. Biting my thumbnail, I count the Christmas trees visible from front windows as we drive through town. It snowed yesterday and it's beginning to look like the season.

"Ruthie, talk," Cal commands from the front, peering into the rear view mirror.

"Hmm?" I break away from my foggy thoughts.

"You have been loopy all night. Actually it's been going on a lot longer."

"You aren't a social butterfly either. Why are you ragging on me?"

"I'm not ragging on you." Cal turns the corner sharply in our family car. "I'm concerned."

His troubled tone pricks at my heart. I realize once again how much I had missed him. It's happened many times since I got home in September.

"You don't have to be, I'm fine."

"The hell you are," he growls, shaking his head.

"Oh? And you're happy?"

"Considering the circumstances, not bad." He pats the prosthetic leg that he recently received from the government. "Do you like Mary?"

"She's nice."

"You don't."

"Not really. She called me Ruthie. She's only met me once."

"Well, it's not like I'm going to marry the girl."

"Then why date her?"

"Why are you with Ned? You planning on getting hitched anytime soon? Should I mark my calendar for a June wedding?"

I shift in my seat, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. "It's been difficult getting used to home again. I'm doing the best I can. Honest, Cal. Anyway, you said yourself that it's been hard for you too. And I don't have much room to complain when I think of you."

"Perhaps that's why I'm going with Mary. Her mother doesn't look sideways at a crippled boyfriend like other parents in this town."

"Don't call yourself that."

"Why not? It's true," he snaps. 

I keep my mouth shut the rest of the drive.

Cal pulls onto our little street and up to our house. It's the same single level, white board home with a short porch like all the others down the avenue. Mom has left the lights on in the front room. The prickly silhouette of the bare Christmas tree is dark against the glass pane. He switches off the engine.

"I know you are trying." He swivels around, but keeps his eyes on the passenger side window. "You are doing a good job. I know Mom and Pop are proud of you. I am too."

"I'm proud of you too, Cal." I force a grin. "If you ever need to talk about anything..."

"C'mon, mom mentioned something about helping decorate the house in the morning and she'll be up bright and early."

He gets out of the car, snatching up the crutch from the floor before he shuts the door. Immersed in the silence of the empty cab, I dare to conjure up Leon Wagner's face from my memory once more. I am thankful for the copy of Faust and the letters he left behind. Without them, he'd be even more ghostly.

I have been sleeping awake since I came home.

The voyage over on the Queen Elizabeth from Europe then the bus ride home felt normal, but now nothing seems real. Leon is the most dreamlike. That is why I haven't been able to mail the book and letter to his mother. Without them, it would be as though he had never existed. He haunts me and I don't even know if he's dead.

I step out of the car and try not to slip on the black ice slicking our front walk.

∆∆∆

July 1946
USA, Tennessee

Closing my eyes, I prop my bare feet against the wooden railing and lean back in the rocking chair. A rhythmic chorus of insects' whir in the thick summer trees. Their evening song echoes across the open yard. The heat is a comfort, the humidity wrapping around me like a blanket. I could almost fall asleep.

The screen door creaks. I open one eye to see Florence emerging with a bottle of chilled Coca Cola in each hand. The screen slams shut behind her and bounces noisily before settling into the frame. Her gaze scans the field in front of her family's country home. A few cattle graze in the far corner of the fencing, one laying down with a calf cuddled into its side.

"You've thrived here," I comment as she meanders towards me.

"It's in my blood, I suppose." She sits down in the chair next to me and holds out a soda. "Was bound to happen sooner or later."

"You just never expected sooner?"

I tip back the bottle, the condensation on the glass slipping between my fingers. Florence props her boot up on her knee, smoothing out the denim on her pant leg like it was silk and not soiled, work slacks. She lights a cigarette and sinks into the seat, blowing a cloud into the thick, summer air.

"My father was getting on in years when I left. He had me when he was older, almost sixty," she calmly states. "When I first got back, I couldn't believe he was actually gone. He always seemed so much younger to me. More a pal than a father."

"Did you get the chance to say goodbye?"

"He was the one who brought me to the train in Memphis before I left for the front." Florence gives me a brief smile. "That was our goodbye."

I press my lips together, taking the hint to drop the subject. "How is your mother?"

Florence whistles. "Fit as a fiddle according to her doctor, though not according to her. She's always complained of one ailment or another. That woman will outlive me, I swear. She's healthy as a horse."

"Will I meet her?"

"Do you want to meet her?" Florence takes a swig from her bottle, "Yes, I suppose I should swing you by the town house while you're here. She stays there mainly, always has. It was just me and dad out here most of the time while I was growing up."

"I'd prefer it out here as well." I lay my head back and close my eyes again. "Do you ever get lonely?"

"No, I don't get a chance to be honest. The ranch and the rail line keep me busy. There are always farm hands, overseers, solicitors, endless tax forms..."

"You certainly are a wonder."

"How's your brother?"

"Doing well, started work again in the company store though I don't think he'll be content with that for long. He's got that GI bill to use and he's planning on not letting it go to waste. He wants to get his degree. Nothing keeps that man down."

"I'm not surprised. You hear from anyone these days? From back then?"

She speaks like it's been more than a year since we were all in Austria. I know who she means to ask after, but I don't know if I want to talk about that yet.

"Lawrence is back in Indiana, he's doing fairly well. I got one letter from him around Christmas. I think he might have buried some of his wounds from war deep down." I take another drink. "They are only coming to the surface now."

"Poor Lawrence."

"Never thought I'd hear those words from you."

"He ended up impressing me. How well he dealt with... you know..." Florence peers over at me. "Everything that happened at the end there."

I stand restlessly, the neck of the bottle held lightly between my fingers. I approach the porch railing and lean my back against the nearest post. A flash of a snake falls from a willow by the pond in the field. It leaves a curly-queue ripple on the surface of the water. I take another drink.

"Have you ever tried to contact-"

"No," I cut her off, my eyes falling to the dusty wooden boards under my feet.

"I'm assuming he hasn't tried to contact you as well."

"He wouldn't know where to start, if he's even alive," I answer with a shrug. "Besides, have you seen the newsreels? Things are bad over there. He's probably too preoccupied trying to make sure his loved ones are fed."

"He left without a word?"

Talking about him is like prying open rusty hinges in my gut. I swallow hard. Florence sets her boot on the ground and leans forward onto her knees. Her blonde French braid tumbles over a slim shoulder as she narrows her eyes. She waits. I sigh.

"He asked me to send his mother a book and a letter home, in case he didn't make it."

"Did you?"

"Can I tell you something kind of crazy?" The corner of my mouth curls up. "Sending it by mail doesn't feel like enough. Whether he's alive or not, I want to give it to her... myself."

Florence blows smoke out the side of her mouth, her gaze returning to the far horizon. "You mean go to Germany. That's a hell of a trip."

"I know."

"Especially now."

"I know."

"When do you leave?"

"Whenever I get enough money saved. It may take some time, but I have been making a good living at the paper mill not far from town. Also working part time at the coal company library in town."

"You going alone?"

"Looks that way."

"No. You're not." Florence stands and marches towards the railing. "And you'll be going a lot sooner than that if you wish it."

I shake my head. "What on earth- Florence Wilkins-"

"Don't argue with me on this. Just say yes."

"I can't let you."

"Too bad because it's happening whether you like it or not." Florence lifts her bottle towards mine and clinks them together. "I've got more money than I know what to do with. I can't sit here and listen to you talk about when you'll have enough scrounged up. On top of that, it might be trickier getting into that cesspool of a continent than you think. We have some family friends in DC that might come in handy. You know I'm right. Don't be prideful, just accept it."

I bite my lip, but I don't argue.