{"id":10216,"date":"2023-12-02T21:54:51","date_gmt":"2023-12-03T03:54:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=10216"},"modified":"2023-12-21T12:55:24","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T18:55:24","slug":"leaving-for-christmas","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/leaving-for-christmas\/","title":{"rendered":"Leaving for Christmas"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

By Patricia Crisafulli<\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Author\u2019s Note: <\/em>This story is the sequel to \u201cWaiting for April<\/a>,\u201d which I recently published. Now it is three weeks after the chance meeting between Thomas and April, and three days into their married life\u2014with Christmas approaching \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

December 4, 1953 \u2013<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Thomas peered into the oval mirror above the scratched and pitted dresser as he knotted his tie. Black shoe polish, always an occupational hazard, smudged the crumpled silk, and he tucked the ends into his sweater vest to hide the stain. Running his palm over the top of his head, he studied his dark hair, threaded with gray and a little thin at the temples. As he moved his hand, light glinted on a gold band, half of a his-and-hers matching set bought from a pawnshop three days ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A married man.<\/em> He whispered those words to his reflection, trying to find an anchor for himself amid the whirlwind of the past three weeks, from the evening he met April to the morning at City Hall when he married her. Slowly, he sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on the gray wool blanket spread atop the covers. It was serviceable and clean enough but ugly, like everything else in this apartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April should have nice things, pretty things, he scolded himself. Not just a two-room apartment, but a house\u2014the kind with flowerboxes and curtains in the windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            His irritation over all that he\u2019d never be able to give to his new wife triggered the doubts he\u2019d been trying to ignore. His own feelings he never questioned. From the first moment he saw April, he\u2019d fallen hard for this beautiful woman of twenty-six. Now, she was saddled with him: a thirty-eight-year-old man who repaired and shined shoes in a tiny shop in Union Station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            When would April wake up and realize what a mistake she\u2019d made?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWhat time is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The groggy voice jarred him out of the worried loop, and Thomas exchanged the lines in his face for the creases of a smile. \u201cA little after seven.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Groaning slightly, April pulled the covers up to her ears. \u201cI\u2019m just so tired.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Leaning over, Thomas kissed her forehead, smelling the floral scent of her shampoo or maybe it was the face cream she put on every night. \u201cStay in bed,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI\u2019ll come by the shop,\u201d she murmured. \u201cMake myself useful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Lingering, he watched her eyes close. A sigh took her back to sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            One hand on his fedora and the other holding up his collar, Thomas headed into a December wind that carved him like a knife. It was cold enough to snow, yet only icy rain fell. At least the apartment was warm, he told himself, and April could sleep late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            All along the fifteen-minute walk to Union Station, in the heart of Chicago, Thomas thought back to that November night when April walked into his life. Memories spooled like a movie reel: how he\u2019d looked up from his workbench and locked his eyes on a young woman crossing the great hall of the train station. He had watched her, purpose and grace in every step, until realizing she was heading to his shoe repair shop. At nine-thirty at night, his had been the only open door along a row of shuttered stores inside the station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cIs there a pharmacy nearby?\u201d she\u2019d asked, then explained that she wanted something to settle her stomach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A gust of wind knocked Thomas in the chest, and sleet raked his cheeks. Chicago weather at its worst.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He retreated into the warmth of the memory\u2014how he\u2019d dug through all the drawers in the workbench and then his jacket pockets to find a roll of antacids.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas couldn\u2019t remember if he had introduced himself first, or if she had told him her name\u2014April. She\u2019d just come in on the eastbound Glider, from California to Chicago. In an hour or so, she\u2019d depart on the next train that would take her all the way to the East Coast. Then conversation had turned to confession, which Thomas supposed happened between strangers who never expected to see each other again. April told him how she\u2019d gone to California with a girlfriend who wanted to be an actress. Her friend pursued the glamor, but April had been glad to land a job as a secretary in a movie studio. Now she was heading back home to New Jersey, where her parents expected her for a Thanksgiving visit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThey don\u2019t know,\u201d April had said, her voice soft. \u201cI\u2019m pregnant. I have nowhere else to go, but I\u2019m not sure they\u2019ll let me stay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Even before she finished her story, Thomas had made up his mind. All his life, he decided, he had been waiting for April. Two-and-a-half weeks later, when the justice of the peace asked if he took this woman to be his wife, he\u2019d never been more sure of anything in his life. But now, living in his tiny apartment where they bumped into each other at every turn, Thomas had to wonder if, instead of rescuing April, he\u2019d ruined her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Ducking through the side door of the train station, Thomas entered the great hall and passed Jimmy at the newsstand. Jimmy made a sweeping pantomime of looking at his watch. \u201cTwelve minutes late. Somethin\u2019 keeping you in bed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas acknowledged the teasing but didn\u2019t stop to talk. He had a ten-hour day ahead of him, maybe even twelve. He needed to make as much money as possible before the baby arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Unlocking the door to his tiny shop, Thomas plunged back into familiarity: the shoeshine station; his stool with its cracked and patched red vinyl seat; polishes arranged by color and brushes by size and coarseness; his workbench lined with the tools of his trade. Thomas slipped on a leather apron with deep pockets and tied it behind his back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A customer stopped for a shine, and Thomas got to work. The shoes were fine leather\u2014Italian, no doubt\u2014and probably custom-made. As he rubbed polish over them, Thomas thought about the man in California\u2014April\u2019s boss, who\u2019d gotten her pregnant. Thomas didn\u2019t know much about the man, but he could imagine him, wearing an expensive suit and shiny shoes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            He bit his lip and buffed the leather briskly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            All morning, Thomas tried to keep his mind and his eyes on his work, but every few minutes he scanned the great hall of the train station that swarmed with travelers and commuters. April had said she\u2019d stop by, but now it was nearly noon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Hungry, he put the \u201cback in 10 minutes\u201d sign on the door, bought a ham sandwich from the deli across the station, and ate standing up at a high table where he could see across the expanse of the station. Amid a sea of gray and black and brown, muted tweed and subtle plaid, a flash of red caught his eye: a neck scarf being unwound\u2014once, twice, three times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas stuffed the uneaten half of his sandwich in its waxed paper wrapper. His walk became a run across the floor to where April stood in front of a decorated tree. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as if ready to say something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou didn\u2019t come this morning,\u201d he blurted out, then kicked himself for how accusatory it sounded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April blinked. \u201cI-I got a call. Then I took a little walk. I\u2019d felt queasy, and the cold air made me feel better.\u201d Her voice trailed off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The man in California<\/em>\u2014Thomas would bet on it. At a loss of what to say, he thrust the half-sandwich out to her. \u201cHungry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April shook her head. \u201cI had tea and toast.\u201d She dug her hands into the pockets of her coat. \u201cYou going back to the shop?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas nodded, and April fell in step next to him. Jimmy called out from the newsstand, \u201cIf it ain\u2019t the newlyweds.\u201d April waved, and Thomas gave him a tight smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Then he felt the cool fingers that reached for his hand, and he sighed. If April really did leave him and go back to California, the loneliness would kill him. But for now, at least, she was still here.<\/p>\n\n\n

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\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            The days passed with quiet busyness. Thomas worked Monday through Saturday, then on Sunday afternoon he and April strolled along State Street admiring the decorations. Small crowds stood in front of the windows at Marshall Fields decorated with elves with presents, angels with trumpets, lights and glitter. The figures moved, and April laughed, as giddy as any of the children. Thomas thought of what a wonderful mother she\u2019d be\u2014young and energetic, quick to play and reluctant to scold. He tried to insert himself into that mental picture, but fear moved him to the background, the disconnected observer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April slipped her arm through his, and he gave a little grunt. He covered up the sound with a cough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She looked at him. \u201cCould we buy a poinsettia? The apartment is too small for a tree, but something a little bright\u2026\u201d She waited, expectantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Patting her arm, Thomas continued walking. \u201cThe flower shop won\u2019t open until Monday, but we can get it then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            And, just as he\u2019d said, Thomas came home on Monday night with a bright red tropical flower that took up nearly half the tiny table for two. They had to push their plates closer together, their elbows touching. April took a bite of peas and carrots, then put down her fork. \u201cI need to ask you something,\u201d she said, her eyes never leaving her lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas tasted bile in the back of his throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cAre you disappointed with me?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cNo\u2014\u201d Thomas\u2019s eyes prickled and burned, his heart raced. He made the leap before April could say another word, blurting out his fear. \u201cYou\u2019re leaving, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            When Thomas looked at her, he saw the tears caught in her dark lashes. \u201cI thought I\u2019d done the right thing, asking you to stay\u2014to marry me. Maybe you were only scared,\u201d he went on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April dropped her head and sobbed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cIf you want to go back, I won\u2019t stop you. I just want you to be happy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April jerked her head up. \u201cBack? Where?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cCalifornia.\u201d Thomas spat out the word like a vulgarity. \u201cIsn\u2019t that the reason you\u2019ve been getting so many calls?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Anger flashed in her eyes. \u201cI\u2019d never go back there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n

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\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

             Years later, Thomas would recall the jolt of electricity, as searing as the touch of a live wire. It sent him to his feet, knocking over his chair. The clatter of wood on the old linoleum made April jump, but he reached out and cradled her in his arms. He loosened his grip for fear of squashing the baby. She laughed when he told her that and hugged him back, hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            That night, in the twist of their bedcovers, April rested her head on Thomas\u2019s chest. \u201cI do have something to tell you, and I\u2019m not sure how you\u2019ll feel about it.\u201d    <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas wrapped his arms around her. \u201cTell me. Whatever it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April wiggled out of his embrace to raise up on one elbow. \u201cMy mother has been calling me almost every day\u2014sometimes twice and day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Her mother\u2014not some man in California. <\/em>Inwardly, Thomas groaned at his own presumptuous stupidity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cMom has worn my dad down, telling him he\u2019s going to be a grandpa. Now they want us to come for Christmas. But I don\u2019t know how you feel about that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Thomas gazed at this young woman\u2014his wife\u2014for whom he\u2019d go to the moon and back. \u201cI\u2019ll get the tickets tomorrow. We can leave on the twenty-third and be there in time for Christmas Eve.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAnd be back by new year\u2019s,\u201d April added. \u201cI want that time alone with you.\u201d
<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

            For all his years working in Union Station, Thomas had never boarded one of the trains. But there he stood, two days before Christmas, holding a suitcase in one hand and his wife\u2019s arm in the other. She looked poised, a seasoned traveler in the wool coal and matching hat she\u2019d worn that night they\u2019d first met. He wished he could have afforded a new topcoat for himself, to make a good impression on April\u2019s parents. Marv and Donna<\/em>, he repeated the names to himself, trying to picture the faces he\u2019d only seen in a photograph April carried in her wallet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April looked up at him, her eyes softening. \u201cThere\u2019s something you need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas could guess what she\u2019d say next: how her parents would be cool to him, perhaps even hostile, because they believed he was some stranger who had seduced their daughter and gotten her pregnant. That had been the assumption when April had told them she\u2019d eloped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cTwo days ago, I called my father and told him the truth\u2014about the man in California, me meeting you in Union Station, you offering to marry me. Everything,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas braced himself for the indictment, knowing her father would question his motives. \u201cWhat did he say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            April turned to face him. \u201cThat you are a good and honorable man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Thomas\u2019s mouth quivered. \u201cI don\u2019t know about that,\u201d he began, but the train station announcer\u2019s booming voice drowned out his words. Now boarding on platform six, the eastbound Metropolitan Express, making stops in Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and New York\u2019s Penn Station\u2026.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 April slipped her hand in his and tightened her grip. \u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d she whispered. Together, they were leaving, for Christmas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n
\n
\"Leaving<\/figure><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

By Patricia Crisafulli<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2212,2,18],"tags":[6,38],"class_list":["post-10216","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-holiday-fiction","category-original-online-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli","tag-christmas","tag-holidays"],"yoast_head":"\nLeaving for Christmas | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/leaving-for-christmas\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta 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