Henry
Hadn’t Rusty told her anything? She had a right to know. It was her life, her history. He may have been young then, but he remembered how Irene had argued with Rusty over calling Mike’s family. Rusty wouldn’t hear of it. “He’s gone, Mama. He’s probably on a ship in the Pacific by now. Anyway, I don’t want to marry him.”
“You should have thought of that sooner,” Irene told Rusty, one of the only unkind remarks he’d ever heard from his mother.
Irene shipped Rusty off to Aunt Ida’s in Santa Monica, California, where Rusty supposedly met and married a boy who was going overseas. When Max had the second stroke Rusty took the next train back and Irene didn’t try to stop her. She needed all the help she could get.
He remembered the murky stories Irene concocted to explain to anyone who had the guts to ask how Rusty happened to be pregnant, or later, how Rusty happened to have a baby, or even what happened to the boy. When Rusty balked, Irene told her, Too bad.
He loved his sister, he admired her, he took her side, but he didn’t think this was fair to Miri.
Elizabeth Daily Post
CONTROLLERS SAW SMOKE FROM ILL-FATED PLANE
By Henry Ammerman
DEC. 18—The Miami Airlines C-46 that crashed here on Sunday was a doomed flight. It had been turned over to maintenance personnel just one hour before its scheduled departure that morning. They worked furiously behind the scenes as passengers fretted in the departure lounge. The flight was delayed five hours.
It was not long enough. As the aircraft climbed, air controllers saw smoke trailing from the right engine. They called the pilot and authorized him to return on any runway. He never answered that call, but witnesses saw the landing gear lowered. The pilot struggled to turn in the fatal moments before the flames and a collapsed wing deprived him of control.
Parts of the plane rained down on residential neighborhoods. Home owners on Verona Avenue, a mile from the crash, found pieces of aluminum and belting material in their yards. Joseph O. Fluet has been placed in charge of investigating the disaster for the Civil Aeronautics Board. He has put out a call for any found parts to be turned in to the police.
4
Miri
Some parents suggested it might be seen as inappropriate to hold a Christmas pageant this year. Others asked what could be more appropriate than celebrating the birth of Jesus and the spirit of the holiday season.
The principal decided the show must go on. It would be performed twice—once in the afternoon for the kids at school and the parents who didn’t work, and again that night, for working parents and friends. That’s when Rusty would come.
Miri marched in the choir. She loved the green choir robe with the white collar, and carrying the slim pencil flashlight that looked like a candle. The sound of their voices singing together gave her goose bumps it was so beautiful. She felt the same when she listened to the choir at Temple B’nai Israel but that was just on the High Holidays, the only time her family attended services, except for seventh grade, when the boys in her class had been bar mitzvahed and every week there was another celebration. Then she’d had to go with her friends to Friday night and Saturday morning services. The parties were lavish affairs at catering halls or places like Chi-Am Chateau.
But no matter how thrilling it was to Miri, she couldn’t convince Irene to come to the pageant. Irene said it hurt to hear Miri singing songs about Jesus. Miri explained over and over that the songs didn’t mean anything to her. They were just songs. So what if they were about Jesus? He was a Jew, wasn’t he? They’d had this discussion every year since Miri joined the choir at Hamilton. Every year Irene told her it was against her principles. Why didn’t they celebrate the story of Hanukkah and sing Hanukkah songs, too? Deep inside, Miri knew Irene was right. It was unfair to celebrate only one religion. Still, she continued to march down the aisle singing “Adeste Fidelis” in Latin.
Natalie’s mother didn’t mind that Natalie was portraying Mary, mother of Jesus, in the Christmas pageant. It’s about acting, Corinne said. Not about believing. If only Miri could convince Irene of that.
On the day of the afternoon performance of the pageant, halfway through, something happened onstage, something Miri couldn’t see because the choir was seated in front of the stage, facing the audience, and the pageant was unfolding behind them. A murmur went through the audience, and when Miri turned to see what was going on, Natalie was sobbing. This was not part of the pageant, although the audience didn’t know it yet. Natalie wasn’t supposed to talk or cry or do anything but look holy while cradling the baby Jesus, who was played by a doll swaddled in a blanket.
“I hear the babies crying,” Natalie said once, clearly, before she ran offstage. The audience still didn’t get it. They were probably thinking this was some new, hastily added tribute to those who had lost their lives in the crash—until the other Mary, the nighttime Mary, Lois Morano, took Natalie’s place onstage. When Lois picked up the baby Jesus the pageant continued.
Miri was both surprised and not surprised. Since the crash Natalie had been acting weird—that business about the buzzing in her head and Ruby talking to her. Natalie could be overly dramatic but she would never give up the chance to be onstage. Miri caught sight of Corinne, rushing out of the auditorium as the choir sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” She wondered if she should leave, too, because, after all, she was Natalie’s best friend. But that would be awkward since she was seated smack in the middle of the middle row of the choir.
After the recessional, when the choir marched out singing “Joy to the World,” Miri tried to find someone who could tell her what happened to Natalie. Mrs. Domanski, the choir director, explained that Natalie had suffered stomach pains, probably brought on by stage fright, and had gone home with her mother. Miri knew that Natalie never suffered stage fright, though she often had stomach pains.
She hadn’t expected to see Henry. “Thank you for coming,” she said, hugging him. She knew how busy he was.
“I was in the last row. Missed the processional, but caught the change of Marys onstage. What was that about?”
Miri shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Henry was the only one in their family to own a car—a ’38 green Chevy coupe with a rumble seat. But today was no day to sit in a rumble seat, unless you wanted to wind up frozen to death, so Miri sat up front with Henry and asked him to drop her at Natalie’s house. He glanced over at her but didn’t ask any questions.
—
MRS. BARNES WAS TALL, with excellent posture, and wore her silvery hair pulled back in a bun. “Natalie is upstairs, resting,” Mrs. Barnes told Miri, when Miri rang the bell.
Miri didn’t ask for permission to go up. She took the wide stairs two at a time, but before she reached the landing, Mrs. Barnes called, “Miri!”
Miri stopped.
“I hear you were there when the plane crashed.”
She nodded.
Mrs. Barnes said, “My son Tim is a pilot.”
She nodded again. Mrs. Barnes was always talking about her son, the pilot.
“He says the pilot of that plane tried to avoid the residential area. That’s why he brought it down in the riverbed. He saved a lot of lives.”
“I know. My uncle wrote about it in the Daily Post.”
“I forgot your uncle is a reporter. He should talk to Tim. He says it was maintenance. That’s the problem with those non-scheduled airlines—you don’t know who’s doing the maintenance. They don’t have the same standards as the majors. It’s a risk to fly them. Tim flies with American. Top-notch. You can trust them.”
“I’ve never flown,” Miri said.
“When you do.”
“I doubt I will.”
“Of course you will.”
Miri shook her head. When she learned the fiery thing that fell from the sky was a plane, she vowed she would never set foot on one.
Natalie was lying on her bed, her pale curls fanned out on the pillow. She looked like an angel, her cheeks still rosy from stage makeup, the Pixie Pink lipstick not yet worn off. Miri sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Natalie’s hand.
“I made a complete fool of myself,” Natalie said. “I’ll never be able to go back to school.”
“Everyone will understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You know.”
Natalie looked at Miri, waiting for her to spell it out.
“Understand that you’re…” Miri began.
“What?”
“Understand that you’re sensitive.” Miri was proud for coming up with such a good word.
“Is that like saying I’m dramatic, or crazy?”
Miri was careful now. “Sensitive is better than dramatic, and it’s definitely not as bad as crazy.”
“You saw the crash but you didn’t cry in the middle of the Christmas pageant.”
“Everyone is different.” Miri didn’t add, You don’t know what’s inside of me. You don’t know about the smell in my nostrils, you don’t know how I have to sleep in bed with my mother half the night, or that the only thing she’ll say about it is, It’s over and it’s never going to happen again.
Natalie held on to Miri’s hand, and looked around as if there might be someone else in her room. Then she lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “You know that dancer, Ruby Granik?”