Sugar House (9780991192519) Read online

  Uncle Feliks handed Joe a rectangular box wrapped in brown paper and tied with a simple white string. "Didn't think your Matka would let you go sledding this year, Joe, so I had to think up something a little different for you." Joe slid the string off, ripped off the paper, and stared at the box. He couldn't believe his eyes! In large print across the top of the box were the words Empire Express. Underneath was an image of a powerful black locomotive chugging fiercely down the tracks, a trail of black smoke pouring out its stack. Joe stared at the picture of the bright headlight illuminating the darkness as the train made its way to far off places. Joe's face beamed up at Uncle Feliks from where he sat on the wood floor.

  ''A train? You bought me a train?"

  "Well, open up the box and find out, Joe."

  Joe carefully lifted up the cardboard lid and peered inside the box. He pulled out the shiny black engine and examined it, noting the silver wheels and smoke stack. A small coal tender with the words American Flyer Line rode behind the engine, followed by a light brown passenger car with windows. Joe jumped up to shake his uncle's hand but excitement got the better of him and he gave him a hug, thanking him over and over.

  "All right, Joe, you thanked me enough." he said, pulling Joe off him and laughing. "Just keep getting better, and that'll be good enough for me, all right?"

  "Yes sir, I will!"

  Joe pulled the four curved track sections out of the box and connected them into a circle. He gently placed the engines wheels on the rails.

  Uncle Feliks sat down on the floor next to him and picked the engine off the track. He pulled out a shiny metal key from the empty box and inserted it into the side of the train and wound it up. When the key could move no more, Uncle Feliks set it back on the track. "Just push that lever on top of the engine Joe and it should go."

  Joe pushed the small lever, and the train took off, speeding around and around the small track until it was spent. No smoke came from the stack ,and there was no light from the front of the engine as the box had portrayed. But to Joe, it was the most magical gift he had ever received. He could imagine himself standing in the front of the little engine, driving the train, feeling the heat of the hot coal as it burned in the firebox, powering the engine faster down the line.

  "Let's hook up the other cars to the engine and see if it still goes as fast," he said to his uncle.

  ""Joe you need to put the train back in the box and carry it home now," Matka said, stopping him.

  "Oh, Matka… ."he said, looking up pleadingly.

  "Sorry Joe. It's time to get ready for midnight Mass." "Merry Christmas, everyone! We will see you at church." Ojciec picked up Stephan, and they gathered their things and went next door to get their coats and hats.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Blanca worried about allowing Joe out of the house and exposing him to so many people, but her devotion to God conquered her worry and she relented. Joe was eager to go to church just to be able to be somewhere besides his house, and also to see his friends.

  "Joe, go upstairs and get dressed for Mass," Matka said when they returned home. "Wear your long-sleeved shirt and sweater. And two pairs of stockings—it's very cold out tonight," she called as he ran up the stairs to his room. Joe quickly changed and ran back down the stairs to the front hall. He shrugged his coat on over the heavy sweater. His arms felt tight and uncomfortable.

  "Ready, Joe?" Matka asked as she came out of the kitchen into the hall. "Don't forget your hat and scarf." Joe knew he'd be sweating within five minutes of arriving at the cathedral, but he knew better than to complain or argue.

  The air was cold. Several inches of snow lay on the ground, but the sidewalks had been shoveled. Joe enjoyed the fresh air as he inhaled it into his one good lung. They walked quickly down the wooden sidewalk, Ojciec carrying Stephan and Matka holding his other arm to steady herself as they traversed icy patches. Joe listened to Frank jabbering about his sled and how he'd be faster than their girl cousins when they went sledding. Joe looked in the brightly lit windows of the homes they passed and waved at classmates on their way. The sound of jingle bells rang down the street as an elegant sled pulled by a large chestnut horse pulled its occupants down the lane.

  "If you're tired-let me know, Joe," Matka told him as they approached the great cathedral.

  "I feel fine, Matka," he replied, and he did. Joe had done his best to continue the exercises the doctors had taught him, and he was regaining his strength every day. Earlier in the week Joe had visited Dr. Levy. The physician had been extremely pleased with his progress and had cleared him to return to school after the Christmas holiday. He was still under strict orders not to overexert himself by running and playing with the neighborhood boys, but he was hopeful his mother would lift his house arrest now with the consent of Dr. Levy.

  Joe enjoyed the Christmas Eve ceremony despite the two-hour duration and the sweaty discomfort of his layered outfit. The congregation was in a jocular mood and sang loudly and harmoniously to all the traditional Polish Christmas hymns. Several times Joe heard a parishioner coughing and watched as they got up and walked to the back of the church to avoid interrupting the Mass. He hoped they didn't have tuberculosis, and he prayed he couldn't catch it again. He was pretty sure he needed at least one lung to breathe.

  The worshipers greeted each other after Mass, kissing and hugging and wishing each other a Merry Christmas. Joe was tired when they arrived back home and went directly upstairs to change out of his sweaty clothes. "Joe?" asked Frank as they lay in bed.

  "Yes Frank?"

  "Will Święty Mikołaj(Santa Clause) visit a boy if he's been bad?"

  "Why? Have you been bad, Frank?"

  "I took Emilia's Crayola Crayons. I took them and I buried them in the backyard."

  "Why would you bury them in the backyard?"

  "Because I was mad at her. She got eight of them for her birthday and she wouldn't let me color with them. I saw them a couple of days later lying on the front porch. I was just going to color with them a little so I brought them to our room but when I got here I couldn't find any paper to color on."

  "So you buried them?" Joe's eyebrows rose.

  "Well by then I heard her looking for them and I didn't want to get caught so I figured no one would find it there. Do you think Święty Mikołaj knows?"

  "Yes, yes I do," replied Joe. Frank started to cry, and Joe felt bad for his brother, but he thought it was a lesson he had to learn. Frank had to know stealing was wrong, but Joe didn't want to ruin Frank's Christmas.

  "I know how you can fix it before Święty Mikołaj comes tonight."

  "How?"

  "Do you remember where you buried them?" he asked.

  "Sure, right behind the outhouse. I was going to dig them up when I found some paper."

  "All right, come on. Our parents are still next door visiting. I'll help you dig up the crayons, and you can put them back on the front porch before Święty gets to our house," Joe said, already sitting on the side of the bed and tying his shoes.

  Frank jumped out of bed and threw his shoes and clothes on. The two boys quietly sneaked down the dark stairwell, and Frank headed for the back door. "Wait," said Joe, and he went into the kitchen and came out with a large spoon. "We need something to dig with." They walked to the back door and opened it quietly so no one would hear them next door. They needn't have worried; conversation and laughter from the adults in the adjacent house could have drowned out a train. Apparently, his parents and aunt and uncles were still exuberantly celebrating the holiday. Avoiding the light from his aunt's back door, they stealthily walked to the outhouse. Frank pointed to the spot where he had buried Emilia's crayons. Joe handed his brother the spoon and Frank started digging. There were several inches of snow on the ground and Joe was worried the ground would be too frozen to penetrate. Frank had only buried the crayons under a couple of inches of dirt, though, and he recovered the box after a few minutes.

  "I've got it!" Frank had wrapped the small green b
ox containing the eight crayons in an old sock, so it wasn't covered in dirt.

  "Shhh… be quiet, Frank!" Joe whispered. Joe wiped the dirt off the spoon on the leg of his pants as they walked back toward the house. They crept up the stairs amid the raucous laughter pouring out of Aunt Hattie's house and went inside. Joe motioned to Frank to put the stolen crayons on the front porch, and when he returned they ran up the stairs to their room. Careful not to wake Stephan, they climbed back into bed, giggling quietly with the victory of not getting caught.

  "Will Święty Mikołaj bring me a present now?" asked Frank.

  "I'm sure he will, but don't ever steal again, OK?"

  "OK Joe. Thanks for helping me." With his worries over he pulled the covers up and fell asleep.

  Frank awoke early the following morning and shook Joe awake. "Come on, it's Christmas morning Joe!" Then he ran to their parents' bedroom to wake them. Joe grabbed Stephan out of his crib and followed him down the hallway. They woke their parents and Matka and Ojciec sleepily followed them down the stairs.

  Joe would remember that peaceful Christmas morning as his favorite for the rest of his life. The image remained like a postcard on his heart. Ojciec and Matka sitting by the crackling fireplace, watching the boys open their meager gifts. Joe, opening a box with a sweater Matka had knitted and a pop gun from his father. Stephan sitting on his mother's lap or crawling on the floor playing with the wrappings. Frank, tearing open his gifts of small metal planes and cars. Ojciec, proudly carrying in a large Victrola he'd hidden at Aunt Hattie's. Matka exclaiming at the extravagance of the gift and her excitement as he placed the first record on the machine and played a lively polka. Joe, savoring the breakfast of warm omelet, cake, stuffed mushrooms, and slices of oranges as he watched his parents dance the polka around the living room floor with the tree shining in the background.

  Chapter Nineteen

  1917

  One year later and Joe was stronger than he had been before his hospitalization. His cough had subsided and he'd been without one remission so his mother had finally relented her strict rule of school and home only. Able to explore the city again with his neighbor Sam, he noticed a different atmosphere on the city streets. Black bunting hung on doors and porches on his block in remembrance of soldiers who had died. A big black cauldron sat in the front window at Dom Polski, the Polish club in his neighborhood, into which people could drop their jewelry to donate toward the war efforts. Flyers hung on the walls of the club, calling men to join the United States Army and help the allies in the Great War. There were smaller signs for women, asking them to join the nursing service with the Polish Army in France.

  Every day the newspaper listed the Detroit soldiers who had died, almost half to the Spanish Influenza that ravaged the world that year and killed millions. Living in isolation in the hospital and at home for the last year and a half likely saved Joe's life. During his confinement in the fall of 1918, the Spanish Influenza raced across the country like an evil cloud of destruction. Spurred on by the movement of American soldiers traveling on trains and ships, it quickly spread to citizens of every age. People on the street wore gauze masks to keep from getting ill. Every policeman and soldier was issued one.

  Blanca told Joe that during his hospital stay the school and church had been closed for the months of October and November to stop the illness from spreading. Red Cross workers had made daily rounds through the neighborhoods in trucks to pick up the dead. His father had worn a gauze mask to work and had stayed with Uncle Feliks to avoid getting his mother and brothers sick. The illness rushed through the city, and although pockets of new cases appeared now and then, it seemed that it had run its course in Detroit. Ojciec had been lucky and had somehow avoided the epidemic, although thousands of his fellow employees had succumbed.

  Ojciec had registered for the draft when the U.S. entered the war. All men ages twenty-one to forty-five were required to sign up no matter what their citizenship. If drafted, an immigrant would automatically become a U.S. citizen upon completion of his tour, as would his spouse. Joe's father had prayed at church every Sunday that he wouldn't be called for the draft while Joe was recovering from his illness. God had listened to Mikołaj's prayers and kept him near his family. Now that Joe had recovered and Stephan was almost two years old, Ojciec went down to the recruitment station and volunteered to fight.

  Matka had begged him not to. She was terrified he'd be killed or maimed, but he wouldn't listen. He believed God had generously listened to his prayers, and he felt that he owed his new country loyalty and service. America had been good to his family, and he wanted to repay her. He still had distant relatives living in Poland, and his enrollment would benefit his birth country also. Ojciec was called to duty on March twenty-eighth. He had one week to get his affairs in order before reporting to Fort Wayne on the south side of the city. Ojciec told Matka the factory would hold his position for him until he returned, but he hoped he'd be able to learn mechanics by working on trucks or planes in the army so he'd be able to obtain a skilled position when the war was over. Matka and Aunt Hattie got busy knitting khaki sweaters and scarves so he would stay warm. At the end of the week, he kissed his wife and sons goodbye and walked to the streetcar to report for duty. When Ojciec was halfway down the block, Joe jumped off the steps of the front porch and ran after him calling his name.

  "Ojciec! Ojciec! Wait!" he yelled as he ran. His father stopped and turned as he ran the last few yards to catch up to him. Breathing heavily, he said, "Please Ojciec, wait."

  "Now Joe, I have to go. We've discussed this. You are to be the man of the house while I'm gone."

  "Yes, Ojciec, I know. I just have to ask you something before you leave."

  "Yes, Joe?"

  "Why? Why do you have to go? I know you told Matka that you wanted to help your new country, but can't you help some other way? There are lots of men without families who can go and fight, and we need you here. I feel like I just got back from being away for so long and now you're leaving." Joe looked up at his father's face, with one small tear falling down his cheek.

  "Joe," his father replied kindly, kneeling down on one knee on the sidewalk to bring himself to his eye level. "You are truly an American. Yes, you're Polish, but you were born here. That's why Matka and I named you Joe and not Joseph or Josephat. You have the fighting spirit of an American and no one can ever take your citizenship from you. I want to be a true American like you. When I come back from fighting for this country, everyone will see that I am a real patriot and I will be a true American. Do you understand?"

  Joe slowly nodded that he understood. Ojciec stood up again. "Now take care of our family, and don't let Matka be too sad while I'm gone, OK?"

  "Yes Ojciec. You can count on me." Joe wiped away a tear.

  Joe watched his father's figure grow smaller as he walked away, but he knew he'd be able to see him again before he left for Europe. Ojciec had to train for a month at Fort Wayne before deployment.

  Marya stitched a star flag for Matka to hang in their front window. Mothers, sisters, and daughters of men serving in the war were lovingly sewing little red and white striped flags with a blue star and hanging them on their doors or windows to let their neighbors know a soldier's family lived there. Uncle Sam started a campaign for children that week with a plea to the youth of the city to buy at least one twenty-five cent thrift stamp for the War Savings campaign. With the price of food skyrocketing due to shortages from the war and his father's cut in pay, Joe decided he should earn the money himself. He went door to door, asking the ladies in the neighborhood if they had any small jobs they needed done to earn the twenty-five cents. He cleaned out a chicken coop, cut wood, cleaned windows, and ran to the market for grocery items. He really didn't mind the work (except for the filthy chickens), and within four days he had more than the required amount. Joe bought his stamp and proudly brought it home, where he put it in his nightstand drawer.

  With so many in the army or dead, few men were lef
t in the city, and Joe had stumbled upon a way to help make ends meet at home. He wouldn't clean out any more chicken coops, but he continued to do odd jobs for the soldiers' wives and war widows after school. Joe built a small wagon in the backyard to carry wood and groceries for his customers. Soon, he was a regular sight walking down the sidewalks, pulling his little wagon. Shopkeepers and foot patrolman called out greetings to the small boy as he wound his way through the market gathering groceries. Between school and his new occupation, the days flew by.

  The time for his father's deployment arrived. Joe was allowed to miss school so he could attend the deployment parade. The parade down Woodward Avenue had changed over the last year. In the beginning, great crowds would gather on the sidewalks, and traffic would be stopped for hours to allow the throngs to cheer for the men and wave their goodbyes and well wishes. During the height of the flu epidemic, the government forbade the public to congregate; soldiers marched quietly to the train station with their mouths and noses covered in gauze masks, with no send-off from family and friends. Now the crowds had returned, if perhaps with less enthusiasm than a year earlier.

  When Joe and his family reached Woodward, they walked towards Campus Martius Park to find a place to sit and wait for the soldiers. There were other families already waiting when they arrived, but Joe found Matka a place to sit on a concrete ledge near the Michigan Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument in the center of the square. Throngs of people passed by as the family waited. Matka saw Mrs. Stanislewski walking toward them from across the crowded street. "Dzień dobry, Mrs. Stanislewski! Hello!" she called.

  Mrs. Stanislewski waved at Matka. "Hello, Blanca," she said as she and Walter neared the Jopolowski family. "How are you?"