Right Where We Live - 5. Chapter 4: Stars of Silver and Gold – Part 2

Chapter 4: Stars of Silver and Gold – Part 2

Voin and Reed worked from opposite ends of the table to stack dirty dishes.

They were alone in the dining room; Reed's mother was already in the kitchen, bustling about and lightly banging drawers; the two older folks were strolling arm-in-arm towards the plush and inviting comfort of the living room sofa. Olive and Duffy exhibited the telltale, senior-person type of fatigue which could make the hearts of their grown children glow.

Just a few minutes ago, the Johnson family matriarch had placed her hands on the table and pushed herself up regally. She said "Let's relax in the living room with our coffee and cake." Patti had stood too, insisting that she and Reed clear the table and Voin should go through to sit, but the Store Chat contributor would have none of it. So, while she went to 'sort out the java situation,' Voin and Reed ferried a relay of silverware and dishes to the sink.

"Your mom's eggnog pie sure was delicious." Voin leaned inwards – fingers braced against the edge of the table for balance – to blow out the candles nearest him.

"Mr. Voin…?" Reed stopped in his stacking; his tone was laid bare to the older man. "What exactly is a 'nog'? You know, in eggnog – what's the nog part of it?"

Reinhardt stopped cold in his own motions; he was honest with the lad. "Reed, son, I have no idea." He chuckled once he saw the boy's shoulders slump and a smile come to his face. "But, I have a gal I work with. I'll ask Betty. She knows lots of things – some would say she knows everything – and I bet she'll tell us what 'nog' is."

Voin left his stack of plates at the head of the table and moved down to blow out a second set of candles.

As he got to the last one still left glowing, he realized he had been a bit selfish with the 'fun.' Voin glanced over his shoulder to see Olive and Duffy comfortably settled on the couch, and then turned a knowing expression on the boy. He beckoned with his hand, and Reed came to him. "You do the last one."

The eight-year-old's smile became as wide as the Mississippi. He too glanced quickly at this grandma and turned around.

When Voin saw the lad raise his arms slightly, he reached around from behind and lifted Reed up. Little hands braced themselves in the table and his cheeks puffed up to extinguish the last taper.

Voin set him down, and they both grabbed their final pile of dishes. "Good job."

Reed was the one glowing now and they made their way into the kitchen.

As soon as the swinging door was open, the man could smell the hearty, earthy aroma of coffee percolating.

The faintly steamy room was of the old-fashioned variety – a large utility space with windows onto a back porch, lemon yellow tiles on the wall, and painted cabinets with glass fronts.

Patti stood at the spacious table with its holiday-patterned oilcloth cover and popped the lid off of a huge storage tin. Meant for Christmas use only, the dark-red container for cakes and cookies featured a framed snowscape – with a blue, star-lit sky, snowy hillocks, a large-but-bare tree in the foreground, and two cabins in the distance with straight-arrow streams of chimney smoke – while a waxy red candle on a black background stood to the picture's left. This taper was lit, and down below were poinsettia, pinecones and boughs. Reaching tendrils of green holly and red berries traced out the L-shaped edge of the snowscape picture.

"Oh, my!" Patti cried out as if startled. "You can place them by the others."

Voin dutifully led the way, first setting his stack by the rim of the porcelain sink, then reaching down and relieving Reed of his collection. On the stove, the glass knob of a percolator bubbled merrily.

"Patti, the coffee smells mighty darn good."

"Why, thank you, Voin."

Patti was busy arranging treats on serving dishes, but Voin was glad Reed's mother omitted the formality of 'mister' for once.

Her son sauntered up to her side, finger at his mouth, to see what she was doing. "Anything I can do?"

"You can help by letting me finish, please."

Reed made a sour face for Voin's benefit.

The Store Chat columnist caught his cough-like laugh just in time and followed mother and son over to the table.

The open storage tin was deep, and on top of a wax paper liner, piles of chocolate drop cookies were neatly stacked. One by one, they got selected and carefully arranged on a glass serving plate.

"Thank you both for helping out with the dishes. Reed, where's your grandmother?" Her attention left her task for just long enough to glance and smile at the lad.

"In the living room."

"Patti, I was wondering about your son's name."

She offered her attention to Voin with a wide-open grin. "Reed?"

"Yes. It's not a very common name."

"Well, I suppose it's not. He was named after my grandpappy, Owen Reed."

"Ahhh," Voin sighed. "A family name. Same as me."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Voin is an old Russian name meaning 'warrior,' I believe. My father's brother was named that, and it seems every generation of Reinhardts must have a 'Voin' in it."

Reed plopped an elbow on the tablecloth and let it slide till his armpit was locked on the edge; he inspected Voin with an amicable grin.

"That's very interesting," admitted Patti. "Family names are always so personal."

"I agree," Voin said sincerely, then let an impish wink settle onto the boy. "Of course, I'm the best 'Voin' the Reinhardts have ever produced."

Patti laughed, but Reed's eyes grew wide in admiration. The columnist smiled at the lad before addressing his mother again. "Don’t you miss your folks back in K.C.?"

"Reed and I go back a few times a year. We were just there for Thanksgiving."

"How nice. You like your other grandparents, Reed?"

"Yep." The kid went on excitedly. "Last time, Grandma and Grandpa Greene said I should have a dog – said every growing boy needs a pup to look after and take care of."

Patti sputtered. "Yeah, generous of my folks to offer a puppy when they don't have to deal with a job and a mother-in-law who's not too keen on messes."

"Is that right?" inquired Voin mildly.

"Yes – we'll see about a dog, sometime in the future, Reed – when the time is right. You know, Mr. Voin, Olive never let Austin have a dog either, and he told me he always wanted one."

To the columnist's eyes, the sagging young man looked sad, but Patti laughed, patted Reed's back to 'help' him stand properly again, and then refocused on her drop cookies. "Olive, despite all of her ways, is a winning woman, and well, she's my family now too."

A fleeting notion came to Voin, namely, how wonderful was real family, and not just obligations.

The snowscape lid went rattling back on the tin, and as Patti reached for a second canister, she told the assembled, "Now, you two go. I'll be out shortly, and Reed, in the meantime, why don’t you show Mr. Reinhardt our Christmas tree?"

The 'men' made their way out the swinging door to leave Patti to her preparations.

Through the dining room, and heading towards the living space, the first noticeable change was in the radio volume. A band was playing a rollicking version of Jingle Bells. The Andrews Sisters crooned out the lyrics in their infallibly contagious way: the way to make toes tap, heads bob, and fingers want to snap.[1]

"Welcome, welcome!" Olive called out cheerfully from her seat at the end of the sofa. "Grab a chair."

"Not yet, Grandma. I have to show Mr. Voin our tree."

"Oh. All right, dear." A natural smile appeared in her tone, and then Duffy and she returned to chatting softly about 'old times.'

The huge room was much like the dining room, and much like Saint Louis parlors of the time this house was built, in about 1915. Mesquite-colored woodwork tricked out Craftsman-style overhanging window tops, atop which stood decorative Delft plates and bud vases for color and interest. This same molasses-rich wood tic-tac-toed the white ceiling in elegant box beams. The walls were golden-yellow, and flaunted not a hue achieved via paper or paint, but hand-rubbed into the Venetian plaster.

A fire blazed.

The artistic brick fireplace, mantel and framed mirror anchored one long wall from the center, while directly opposite it were a series of picture windows looking out on the generous front porch. The sofa sat below these, and easily hosted Duffy and Olive's chat.

While Reed slipped his hand in his and led him through the room, Voin's heart sank. Passing the mantelpiece, he first perceived the cotton batting on top imitating snow for a myriad of little mica-flecked houses, but below the village scene, hooks held stockings. Each had a name embroidered on the white fur cuff, and the correspondent read them off in his mind: Olive, Reed, Patti, Austin and Jack.

They continued to place stockings for the two Johnsons who would not be able to ever dump them on the living room carpet again.

Reed stopped leading, and Voin refocused. Before them – in the corner of the room beyond the fireplace – was a nine-foot-tall Douglas fir. Lights all of one color, a moodily deep magenta, pinpointed spots of illumination from deep within the thicket of branches. Up to the minute, American-made ornaments peopled the ends of the limbs in see-through balls, pinecones, and modernist fancy shapes. Ornaments had ceased being silvered inside because of metal shortages for the war, but Voin always liked the subtle transparency of the pastel Shiny Brites; the look was fresh and beautiful.

However, despite its ornaments, the true breathtaking glory of this living tower seemingly resided on the tip of every needle – thousands of angel-hair thin strands of silver tinsel twisted quietly in the currents of air circulated by the house furnace.

A friendly voice called from the sofa. "Tell him, Reed. How we do tinsel in this house...?"

The boy cocked his head glancing up at Voin. A smirk came to his lips as he said, "One at a time."

"That's right," Olive confirmed with glee. "You have to do it strand by strand, or else. We don’t want no clumpy trees, do we, Reed?"

The boy's smiling expression never left Voin. "No, ma'am!"

The reporter suppressed his laughter, and in another moment, Olive and Duffy resumed their conversation.

Reed slipped his hand in Voin's for a second and tugged. Then he released and crossed his legs as he sat on the floor.

Voin took off his jacket and sat in the same pose next to the boy.

"Do you like our tree?"

"It's beautiful, Reed." Voin allowed his eyes to scale the heights.

The young man leaned over so his torso was almost in Voin's lap. The reason was so the young man could confirm the guest in his home could see all the way to the top.

He straightened back up, and then pointed. "See the star on top?"

Voin could indeed. It was a flat silver tree-topper about ten-inches from tip to tip of it five points. "I sure can."

"My dad and me made it last Christmas."

Little-boy eyes met Voin's; they weren’t sad, they weren’t happy either; they were just the honest glance of a truth-teller.

"Christmas last year," Reed continued, "was pretty down around here. My grandpa was dead, but my dad was home. Since the tree was already up, my dad said he wanted to do a little project with me – so I'd remember, he said."

"So you made the star?"

"Yep. He said he did the same with Grandpa years ago. But we couldn't get any foil from anyplace because of the war."

The boy momentarily placed his chin on his shoulder, looking back to see that his grandmother was busy with her own stuff and not eavesdropping on them. Satisfied, he turned his high beams on Voin. "Don’t tell her now, but my dad found my grandma's stash of Hershey bars."

Voin chuckled, "He did?"

"Yep. We unwrapped each one, removing the liner with the foil, and put back the chocolate bars – "

"All of them?"

"Well, almost all of them."

"Go on; then what did you do?"

"While my dad got out a ruler and drew the star on the lid of a Famous shirt box, I sat there and peeled off the foil from all the wrappers." Reed suddenly giggled. "It was one by one – just like Grandma and her tinsel."

"You're a patient young man."

"Yeah. So, I got them all off, then my dad spread the cutout with paste – flour and water – and we carefully tin-foiled the star."

There was nothing sad in the boy's voice. In fact, a smile was on his cherubic face, but Voin almost felt himself becoming awash in a desire to cry.

He managed to say, "It's beautiful, Reed. Your father must be so proud of you."

As he allowed his vision to mount the tree again, Voin could not help but think of a second star. One not very far away from where he sat with this boy; one not made of silver to match Olive's tinsel; but one of gold, and hanging on a white fabric banner in the window of this house.

Rattling china and footsteps sounded behind him, and instantly, Reed jumped up to help his mom.

Patti Johnson, with a glow on her face and a heavy tray of cups and saucers in her hands, waited patiently as Reed cleared books and knickknacks off of the coffee table.

Voin rose to his feet, and Olive called out to him.

"Please sit here, Mr. Reinhardt." Her hand gestured to an armchair on Duffy's right, which matched the plush comfort of the sofa.

"Thank you."

"Be right back with the coffee and treats," Patti sang out, and strolled away.

The columnist folded his suit jacket and laid it over the back of his chair before going around and sitting.

"As for you, young man," Duffy's mellow timbre called out to Reed. "You sit here…" he patted the sofa cushion – the one next to him "…and keep the fellas company."

Reed ran and plopped down, letting his final expression linger on Voin as a contented grin.

The music now was a ballad sung by a crooning young man. Not exactly a Christmas song, it nonetheless spoke to many about the holiday spirit of this year.[2]

"…Love Letters…

straight from your heart

can make us near

when miles still keep us apart…"

Many men and women in uniform would be home this Christmas, many would not, and too many would never be whole again.

Olive cleared her throat.

Voin glanced up and into the expectant expressions of Duffy and Reed's grandmother…. He suddenly remembered his manners.

"Mrs. Johnson, Olive, in all honesty, I have to say it's about the most beautiful Christmas tree I've ever seen."

Olive bit her lip; a wave of excited pleasure animated her whole form. "Why, thank you, Voin. I know you're not just saying that."

"Oh, no ma'am…." A wink was squeezed out for Reed, as now they shared the ma'am deference for the boy's grandma. "It's really about the single most glorious tree I've seen."

Thankfully, Patti arrived with a second tray. This time a halo of tempting aromas joined her.

As she drew her knees together, and sat elegantly in the floor still holding the tray, Olive groaned slightly and scootched up on the sofa seat.

The older lady set a cup on a saucer and held it for her daughter-in-law to fill. Once done, she handed it to Duffy.

"Reed," his mother said while pouring a second cup. "Your glass of milk is here."

The boy stood and retrieved his full juice glass from the tray.

While Patti handed the second coffee cup to Voin, the store correspondent let his eyes fall to the content of the food salver. Besides the glass plate of chocolate drop cookies, a china dish held a stack of cake bars.

"What are those?" he asked. Little strips of orange-red color peeked through.

"Baked carrot squares with molasses."

"Oh." Voin settled back comfortably with his coffee. "I'll have to try one of those."

Olive laughed. "Your wish, Mr. Reinhardt, is my command." One cake bar, and several drops were placed on a plate and handed to Reed to pass along.

"Thank you." Voin balanced the plate on his thigh.

Olive filled a second plate and gave it to her grandson. "Duffy?"

"I'll try the cookies."

"Coming right up."

Patti had poured coffee for her mother-in-law and herself, and then shifted into a more comfortable position on the floor.

Voin took his first bite of carrot cake. It was sweet and rich, but not cloyingly so. If frosted, he'd probably never know there was carrot in here.

The man glanced to his left, and shared a moment of smiley-eyes with Reed while they ate.

Duffy spoke up to the boy. "Son, you sure are lucky to have some talented chefs right here in your own home." A not-so-sly edge crept into his baritone as he told Voin, "If things continue as they are, Reed won't be able to take his mom to very many 'good' places to eat when he gets his job at Sports Illustrated."

The young man being talked about continued to eat unphased, but the women in the room stiffened.

Patti tried to poo-poo Duffy's serious line of thought. "Things will be a whole lot better by then."

"Are you so sure, Patti?" Duffy restored his attention to Voin. The not-so-subtle tone was back in force. "You heard about the protests at Stix, Baer & Fuller last year?"

Voin knew the man was referring to a civil rights protest targeting one of Famous' department store rivals. "You mean the sit-ins at the Stix lunch counter?"

"The non-violent protests, Mr. Reinhardt."

It was the first time Captain Smith had addressed him as Mr. Reinhardt since he had asked him to use his first name, and the gravity of it over 'Mr. Voin' could not be missed.

"They had a good point to make, Captain Smith. Separate but equal means never good enough, and that should not stand anywhere in Saint Louis anymore."

"A point, you say – "

"Duffy," implored Olive with a hand reaching to squeeze his arm.

"No, Mrs. Johnson," Voin said with growing self-assurance. "Things will never change without protest, and I for one – and I know many feel as I do…." He stopped, noticing Reed's careful inspection of his face. "Many feel the Civil Rights group did the correct thing in halting the protests because of the war. We all needed to do our part to end the fighting, and the deaths."

"Hear, hear," chimed Olive.

Duffy let the mood settle a moment by blowing on and then sipping his coffee. "Remember, Reed, what I told you about the Advent calendar?"

The boy nodded, signaling a bit of confusion. "I think I do."

Duffy looked straight at Voin. "Just keep faith in the future and keep opening them doors."

A quick glance at Reed was punctuated with a wink, which made the young man giggle and nod.

Duffy sipped again and continued in a nice way. "So, Mr. Reinhardt, now that the war is over, do you think management is prepared for protests happening in our basement eatery?"

Voin slumped back in his chair. A fleeting glance to his right caught Olive's glorious tree, homespun star crowing the whole affair. He spoke as plainly as he could, and with total conviction. "It's like you told Reed with the calendar, no one can predict what will be happen, but we all must be flexible and willing to do what must be done."

That sentiment, and its import, sent a little current of excitement through the gathered adults.

Reed, apparently missing the reason but not the message, offered up his own enthusiasm. "Look! Look, Duffy!" He tugged on the older gentleman's sleeve and pointed. "Grandma lets me keep it down here, and I only open one window a day."

Sitting on a small table next to the fireplace, and leaning against the base of a lamp, was Duffy's gifted Advent calendar.

Even from across the room, the miniature version of Famous-Barr's façade was strikingly beautiful.

Reed went on, "I do just open one window a day, but I'm dying to know what's behind the big doors at the bottom."

Duffy laughed and patted the boy on the shoulder. "Well, it's only a week and two days now. You can wait, Reed. I know you can."

"Yes, sir."

Patti sighed. "Hard to believe it's December the 16th already, and soon it will be 1946! Can you imagine? Where does all the time go?"

As the grownups contemplated the question, and Reed drank his milk, Voin noticed the music on the radio was mellower. While they had been chatting, The Andrews Sisters program had ended and been replaced by a local disc jockey spinning holiday favorites.

The mood was perfect for the crackling fire and the subtle motion of Olive Johnson's tinsel tree.

Reed's grandmother told Captain Smith. "You remind me of my father. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Nope. Can't say that ya have."

"Well, it's true. It feels good to kick back and shoot the breeze with you about 'the good old days!'"

"Yes," Duffy said with a taste of dreaminess. "Things are changing, but some moments in the past did pave the way."

"You mean The Fair?" Olive asked tentatively.

Duffy grinned. "I do. David Francis not only made the World's Fair happen, and brought the Olympics to the Untied States, but he made it all a smashing success. The greatest Fair ever, and the world will never see its likes again."

"Yes," Olive confirmed. "A great man, a great Saint Louisan, and a true American."

"They even wrote a song for him. Did you know that, Mr. Voin?"

"No, I didn't know."

Duffy began pulling a melody out of the air; bits and strains of a tune current forty-one summers ago appeared. "President Francis…. A man for every hour…."

While Duffy slowly reconstructed the ragtime-era tribute, Olive softly explained to the others. "It was David Francis who personally risked his own position and reputation to see that no Jim Crow existed anywhere inside The Louisiana Purchase Exposition."

Duffy chimed in, "That was a glorious thing all by itself."

He started to sing softly and with a tone lost in nostalgia.

"David Francis, the man of every hour,

the President who wields great power

to fold the corners of the world

and let all the banners unfurl.

David Francis, the man of every hour!"

In the following silence, everyone's attention was drawn to the radio. Bing Crosby offered what was nearly a holiday prayer.

In Voin's mind, it was hard to believe the war was finally over, but it was.

"I'll be home for Christmas,

you can count on me.

Please have snow and mistletoe,

and presents 'neath the tree."

This song was a tearjerker, and for the last few Christmas seasons had both spoken to folks in the armed services wanting to be with family at this special time of year, and to families who had lost a son, brother, or father to the war.

"Christmas Eve will find me

where the love light gleams.

I'll be home for Christmas,

if only in my dreams."[3]

Now, it was over, but not the loss. Tears again threatened to flow behind the shield of Voin Reinhardt's glasses. They came as he considered a pair of stars within this house – one of silver, one of gold.