The Unfinished Gift (10 page)

“Down Baltimore Pike, then MacDade Boulevard.”

“Then you rode right past Clifton Avenue to get here. It’s that wide road the trolleys run on. That’s where they are. Check Hodgins’s Grocery or Ray’s Meats. Two best bets.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back?”

“You got a woman shopping with money in her hand. Anybody’s guess. But you should have no trouble finding them. Just turn back the way you came. Park on the first main road you come to. Look for a big Italian woman all dressed in black dragging around a little Irish boy.”

Katherine looked at her watch. She had only given herself fifteen minutes for the visit, unless she had found Patrick in a bad state. She could waste all that and more hunting through crowded shops looking for them.

“Heard anything more on the boy’s father, when he might be back?”

First, it’s the boy, she thought. Now the boy’s father . . . though talking about his own son. “Not yet,” she said. “Talked to an officer this morning who’s looking into it.”

“What are they saying?”

“I haven’t been able to find out anything other than the approval for his leave has gone through.”

“Shouldn’t be long, then. In the First War it took weeks crossing the Atlantic by boat. Now with these planes, he should probably be in here in a couple of days, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Collins. I’ll let you know if I hear anything more. I really have to go if I’m going to catch Patrick before I head back.”

He walked back into the house and started to close the door. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, turning around. “I’ll need some ration coupons for the boy. Mrs. Fortini is using hers and mine to buy some supplies.”

“That’s right. I meant to give them to you the other night.” She dug them out from her satchel and gave them to him. “Sorry about that.”

He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at them through the glass, as if trying to figure a way for them to penetrate the glass without letting her in.

“I suppose you’ll have to open the door, after all.”

He did, just a crack, and she slid them through. “Just trying to keep out the cold,” he said. “If you miss him on Clifton, I’ll tell him you stopped by.” He walked back into the house and closed the door.

“Do that,” she said to the closed door, watching her breath vaporize then disappear on the glass.

One more group of four ladies, then it would be her turn to get into Ray’s Meats. Seeing the others made Mrs. Fortini realize she’d forgotten to pick up her jar of waste fat back at the house. The other ladies had theirs in hand. She’d been growing her jar all week, straining every last ounce of cooking oil, bacon grease, and used-up lard she could find. With the new rations it would have netted her at least three or four red points, which she could have used to buy more meat.

Collins had given her plenty of cash, but since the war, cash wasn’t enough anymore. The Office of Price Administration, or OPA, kept strict controls on the prices and quantities of any food sold in stores. At first, she thought she’d never get it down; the whole system seemed far too complicated. Now it was just part of life. Red stamps for meat, fish, poultry, and the like; blue stamps for everything else. When it came to meat, each cut was given a different set of points. Ground round could be four points per pound, pork chops five points, a brisket seven.

As an incentive, the OPA rewarded people extra points for collecting certain things. Oddly enough, waste fat was among them. She smiled looking at the row of ladies in front of her, dutifully cradling their big jars of fat like grandbabies. Hard to imagine fat ever being a good thing. But they said fat contained something they could recycle into material for making explosives and different kinds of medicines. She couldn’t imagine how that was possible.

All she knew was, you turn in your jar of fat, you get more meat.

Once inside, she became part of another line that wrapped in a horseshoe past the glass case. There wasn’t as much chatter in the store as usual. A moment later, she understood why. Standing next to the scale, as out of place as a pig in a parlor, was a man in a black suit and tie. Everyone knew he was an OPA man, probably making his rounds of all the butcher shops in the area: checking the scales, keeping the merchants honest, making everyone nervous. She used her time in line to eye the case and add up her points, see what combination of meat and ration stamps she could put together.

She wondered how Patrick was making out at Hodgins’s Grocery. He was such a beautiful little boy. Somehow she had to make that old buzzard see. She had promised her best friend, Ida, before she had died, that she would do whatever she could to get father and son back together again. It had become a topic in her morning prayers every day since Ida had passed.

She didn’t know how, but she had a growing impression that, somehow, Patrick was the key.

Sixteen

Patrick entered Hodgins’s Grocery like a brave explorer through some uncharted jungle. He had never been inside a store without holding his mother’s hand. Hodgins’s was similar to the corner store his mom had shopped near Clark Street. Only everything seemed bigger and more threatening. He also had the feeling that every eye in the store was watching him, wondering what a little boy was doing in here all by himself.

He looked up at a man behind the counter ringing up purchases, probably Mr. Hodgins. He was a tall man, slender except around the middle, and had a well-trimmed mustache. He wore a thick sweater under his white apron.

A stock boy stacked a fresh supply of White Rose green beans down the center aisle. Patrick almost walked right into him, his eyes so focused on his list. “Excuse me,” Patrick said, backing up.

The stock boy smiled, and his thick glasses slid down his nose. “You’re awfully young to be shopping on your own, aren’t you? Your mom nearby?”

The question stung like a bee sting in Patrick’s heart. He realized this had been the first day since his mom had died that he hadn’t cried, and that made him feel guilty somehow.

“Is anything wrong?”

“I’m not here with my mom. I’m here with Mrs. Fortini.”

“Mrs. Fortini? I know her. Big Italian lady.” The stock boy looked around nervously, as though he’d said an improper thing. “I mean, she’s really nice. My name’s Harold, by the way.”

“I’m Patrick. Mrs. Fortini’s next door buying meat. She gave me this list and said to set the things on the counter till she came. She said Mr. Hodgins wouldn’t mind.”

“No, he won’t. You need any help?”

“I might. I was looking for green beans.”

Harold reached over and lifted a can off the shelf. “Here you go. White Rose. You can check one item off your list.”

Patrick smiled as he took the can. He looked at the strange writing on top: “.15/10 pts.” “What’s this mean?”

“That’s fifteen cents and ten points. Got any ration stamps with you?”

“No. That mean I can’t buy it?”

“Do you have any money?”

“No.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Fortini does. She told you just set them on the counter, right?”

“Right.”

“She’ll probably take care of the bill when she comes in. You might want to get yourself a basket over there by the door first. You’ve got quite a few things on your list.”

“Thanks.” Patrick took his can of beans and found the baskets. As he set the can inside, a strange sense of joy came over him. He was doing it. Shopping by himself. Just then, the door opened and he heard someone call his name. He turned and looked. He couldn’t believe it. “Miss Townsend!” he cried.

He dropped his basket, and it crashed to the floor. Everyone watched as he ran and jumped into her arms.

Katherine felt those quick tears forming in her eyes. She bent down and lifted Patrick up. He was hugging her so tight.

“How are you, Patrick?” she said as he slid to the ground.

“Is my father home yet?”

Katherine tried to hide her sigh. “Not yet, but I was talking to a man this morning—an Air Force major—who said he would try to find something out today.” The look on Patrick’s face broke her heart. “Don’t worry, Patrick. I promised I would get him home as fast as I could, and I will. How is your grandfather treating you?”

“Sometimes okay, I guess.”

She could just imagine. The boy’s fine, went through her head. She noticed a young red-haired man dressed in a white apron coming up to them.

“You his mom?” the young man said.

“No, just a friend.” She didn’t want to embarrass Patrick by revealing her official role. Besides, she was a friend.

“A relative of Mrs. Fortini?”

“Who?”

“He said he was with Mrs. Fortini. Isn’t she at Ray’s Meats?” he asked Patrick.

“Yes.”

“That’s right,” said Katherine. “Your grandfather said his next-door neighbor brought you. She left you in the store alone?”

“It’s okay,” said Patrick. “I’m having fun. I just got my first thing. This can of beans.” He walked over and picked up his basket and can. “Harold was helping me.”

“Ray’s is right next door,” Harold said, giving her a look.

She knew that look, a more innocent version of Bernie Krebb’s look. He looked down at her hands, as if searching for a wedding ring. She quickly walked over to Patrick before Harold asked her what time she got off work. “Well, Patrick,” she said, bending down. “I can’t stay too long today, but I wanted to come out and see for myself how you were doing.” She talked quietly and turned her back to Harold as she spoke. He seemed to get the message and walked away.

“I’m glad you came. I missed you.”

That smile. Those eyes. She wanted to take him in her arms again and make him her own. “I missed you too. That’s why I came. You know, my boss didn’t want me to. He wanted me to wait a few more days to give you and your grandfather some more time. But I wanted to see you.”

His smile grew even wider. Then a frown. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t know why.”

“Your grandfather?”

Patrick nodded.

“I think he likes you, he just . . . I don’t think he knows how to show it.”

“He yelled at me yesterday, really loud. But I don’t even know what I did that was wrong.”

“Do you want me to talk to him? ’Cause I will.”

Patrick thought for a minute. “I don’t know. That might just get him madder.”

“Has he hurt you? In any way?”

“Just in here,” he said, pointing to his heart.

She felt a pain in her own heart. How could this man not see what a precious gift he was throwing away?

“It doesn’t seem to matter what I do, he just doesn’t like me. I need my dad to come home. That’s all what I need.”

He started to cry, and she pulled him close. “I’m going to bring him home, Patrick. As soon as I can. I’ll keep calling those army people until they make him come home. But you know what? You haven’t told me what you want for Christmas yet. It’s only a few more days away. I’d like to get you a present, if it doesn’t cost too much.”

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. His smile was returning. “I know what I want most of all—except having my dad home, I mean.”

“What is it?”

“It wouldn’t cost anything, but I don’t know how you could get it.”

“Try me.”

“It’s something I saw in my grandfather’s attic yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a wooden soldier. You know, the kind you carve with a knife. It’s about this tall.” He spread his hands about eighteen inches apart. “It’s just sitting up there all dusty. It’s not even finished. It doesn’t have any feet yet, and it’s not painted any colors.”

“Have you asked your grandfather about it?”

“I started to on the attic stairs.”

“What happened?”

“He grabbed it out of my hands and started yelling something about me being just like my dad. But it didn’t sound like he thought that was good. I didn’t understand him. He was so mad I just ran to my room.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. Is there anything else you want? Like something at a store? Something you heard about on the radio?”

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

The door opened behind them. Katherine turned to find a large Italian woman all dressed in black. “Patrick,” she cried. “Are you all right?”

Katherine stood. “He’s fine. Are you Mrs. Fortini?”

“Yes.” She walked over to Patrick and put her arm around his shoulder.

“Hi, my name is Miss Townsend,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m with Child Services. I’ve been with Patrick since . . . well, I’m looking after him until we can get his father home from England.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Mrs. Fortini. “Do you think it will be soon?”

“I hope so. Right, Patrick?”

He nodded.

“So how’d you make out on your first shopping trip?” Mrs. Fortini asked.

“I just got started, all I got was the beans.”

“Well, we’ll do the rest together, and then you’ll be all trained for the next time.”

“I better get going,” Katherine said, looking at her watch. “I’m already overdue.” Patrick ran over and gave her another hug. “I’ll keep checking up on you, okay? And you call me if it gets too hard for you at your grandfather’s.”

“I’ll keep an eye on that situation,” said Mrs. Fortini. “I know what you’re referring to.”