McMorris, Kristina - Letters From Home by McMorris Kristina

Author:McMorris, Kristina [McMorris, Kristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780758268075
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2011-07-15T22:00:00+00:00

22

December 18, 1944

Chicago, Illinois

Liz gripped the creaking ladder as she reached out in a rush, but her reflex had kicked in too late. The glass sphere skimmed her fingertips and shattered at the base of the tree.

“Oh, murder,” she groaned.

She ought to quit her job this minute. Surely someone else on the nursing home staff could have handled hanging the ornaments. Not everyone was preparing to head out like Julia. Or baking meat loaf like the chef. Or cataloging medications like her supervisor.

Besides, Christmas was only a week away; in no time they’d be taking all the garish decor down again. Whatever survived that long, anyhow.

She descended into the moody shadows created by the fire in the hearth. Kneeling on the cherrywood floor, she gathered the large triangular shards and tried to ignore the pungent smell of tree sap. The noble pine, fully loaded with blinking lights and shimmery garland, showed like a display at Macy’s, only feeding her annoyance. In fact, the whole sitting room could have been a Norman Rockwell sketch. Even snowflakes feathered the corners of the window with their clingling, taunting crystals.

Liz had aimed, once again, to make it through the Yuletide season without untucking old family memories. Yet what chance did she have when tomorrow marked the official anniversary? The afternoon of their quarrel. The night her mother packed her bags, leaving behind only a single wrapped present beneath the tree. To: Elizabeth, the small gift tag read. Characters from The Nutcracker on red matte paper covered the square box. A thin solitary white ribbon ran through the middle of the Sugar Plum Fairy. For months, Liz had fallen asleep staring at that wrapped gift on her dresser, bartering her hopes like a little girl—as if not opening the box, a demonstration of the restraint that had escaped her, would have brought her mother home.

To this day, buried in Papa’s basement, the package remained sealed.

“It’s beautiful.” Julia’s voice pulled her back to the tree-in-progress. The redhead stood between the open pocket doors, dressed in her navy winter coat with a curly lamb collar. Her notoriously heavy suitcase rested at her feet.

“Thanks,” Liz replied. She tried for a smile that fell flat when the velvety voice of Bing Crosby drifted into the room. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” The king of all merciless holiday tunes. Lyrics about snow and mistletoe caused her chest to ache, straining to uphold its weakening walls.

Liz stood and placed the glass fragments onto the claw-footed table. “I just hope they don’t take this one out of my wages,” she said, forcing a joke.

Julia didn’t smile. She seemed preoccupied, as though engaged in another conversation in her head and deciding which snippet to share aloud. With her reserved demeanor over the past several weeks, she was clearly storing up comments regarding the moral dilemma of Betty’s letters.

Not that it mattered anymore.

For several weeks nothing but bills and Christian’s weekly posts had arrived in the mail. The accumulation of gold stars in neighborhood windows continued to compound Liz’s anxiety.

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