The steady hubbub of people coming and going surrounded us.
“All aboard!” The conductor shouted, the train giving its warning whistle, letting everyone know it would be leaving in five minutes, but I was oblivious to all of this. I was looking into the handsome blue-gray eyes of my older brother.
“Please don’t go, Jack,” I pleaded, throwing myself at him. He knelt down and scooped me into a hug.
“Hey, Em, it’s okay. I won’t be gone very long. Just until December, then I’ll be back, okay?”
“But December’s almost a whole year away!” I said exasperated.
“Just 10 months. It’ll go by really quick, I promise you.”
“But you can’t go, Jack,” I whispered, tears coursing down my cheeks. “What if something happens to you? You can’t go!”
“Em, I’ll be okay. And, if it’s God’s plan for me to go while serving my country, there isn’t a person out there who’s going to be able to save me.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I hiccupped between sobs.
“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine. I’ll be home in time for Christmas.”
“You promise?”
“Promise,” Jack said, hugging me again. The train whistle blew again, giving its last warning. “Got to go, kid. Be good for mother and dad. They’ll need your help a lot while I’m gone.” Jack gave me one last hug and then rose to mother’s watering eyes.
“Make sure you write often,” mother said, kissing him on both cheeks.
“Yes ma’am,” Jack said smiling.
“Take care of yourself son,” Jack and daddy exchanged a hearty handshake. Grabbing his suitcase, he gave one last wave and hurried onto the train as it gave it’s departing whistle. My eyes scanned the windows and brightened a little when I saw Jack’s head peeking out one towards the end of the train. He waved and we waved back, shouting our goodbyes until the train was only a speck on the horizon.
The walk back towards the car was silent. As we drove home, I curled up and willed myself not to cry. Not now. Not until I could be within the sanctuary of my room. I looked up towards mother and daddy, watching mother dab her eyes with a hanky and noticing that even daddy’s eyes were a little misty. I would’ve lost it and started crying again too if it wasn’t for Jack’s promise. He’d be home for Christmas. I clutched my hand to my chest as if it held the secret itself, not wanting it to escape. Jack had never broken a promise before and I knew he would keep this one to the best of his abilities.
*********
Jack had written at least twice a month for those ten months. Sometimes we got a letter every week. He could never give us his location but he always promised us that he was fairly safe and that everything was going as planned and that we should plan on him for Christmas. I had taken to keeping a calendar by my bed where I could mark off the days until Jack was coming home. When Thanksgiving came around, I could barely wait to put up the tree. I wanted everything to be perfect for Jack coming home. I wanted it to be the best Christmas he’d ever had. Mother had been saving up some of the rations for months now, wanting to be sure that all of Jack’s favorite dishes were on the table. The house was decorated to its max. I don’t think the mantel could’ve held another nativity figurine if we’d have tried. I proudly finished my first pair of socks and wrapped them with a big red bow and put them under the tree, waiting for Jack’s feet to slip into them.
Finally, it was last week before Christmas. Everything was ready. The only thing I wanted for Jack was snow. I wished I could make it snow. But the weather forecasters on the radio kept saying they didn’t think there would be any snow this week. It would be a brown Christmas. But that was minor. It would be perfect no matter what it looked like outside if Jack was here.
The days of the last week were waited in breathless anticipation. I could barely contain my excitement as school ended. Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow was the day Jack was supposed to come home. And then it would be Christmas and the best Christmas ever to boot. I practically ran the entire way home, leaving my friends behind to gawk at the window displays on Main Street. Taking the steps two at a time, I burst into the house.
“Mother, I’m home!” I cried, hanging my coat by the door and kicking off my Mary Janes. “Mother?” I walked into the living room and was surprised to see daddy sitting there with mother on the couch.
“Daddy! What a surprise! Why are you-” I stopped short when I saw mother crying. “What’s wrong? Is it cousin Richard?” Mother’s sister’s, Aunt Sally’s, son Richard had been deployed for almost two years now and had been severely injured in a bombing some weeks ago. The doctors didn’t think he was going to make it very long but he wasn’t well enough yet to send home.
“It’s not Richard, Emily,” daddy said solemnly.
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked, looking from mother to daddy and back again. Mother took a deep, shaky breath.
“We just got a letter from the army. Jack won’t be coming home tomorrow.”
“What!?!” I exclaimed. “But they told him he could come home for Christmas! They can’t just not let him come!”
“Emily,” dad’s voice cut through the room like a knife, making me shiver. “Jack’s plane was shot down the Wednesday before last. He was MIA for a week and they were about to notify us when they found his plane.” My face want slack. I was so empty I didn’t even have any emotions to do anything.
“So that means…” Even my voice was empty and listless.
“Yes,” daddy replied gently, solemnly, hugging mother as she started to cry again. “Jack won’t be coming home again.” Mother opened her arms to me but I turned and ran out of the house, barely stopping to slip on my boots. I ran as fast as I could not even noticing how cold I was as the brisk December wind whipped my hair into my face. I ran, not stopping until I got to the river.
Climbing up the rickety, old ladder, I burrowed into a corner of the old clubhouse. Jack and I made it together a few summers back. It had been our secret place. We had promised to never show it to anyone else.
Jack. How could this have happened? How could Jack have been so careless to get shot down? Suddenly, I was angry at him. Angry that he had enlisted as a pilot. Angry at my parents for letting him choose to be in the Navy. Then I was mad at the government for having to draft my brother. It didn’t take long before I was mad at my brother, my parents the government, Hitler, Germany, and all the other people and countries that had started this stupid war. And suddenly, I was angry at God.
“You could have prevented it!” I screamed into the gray, overcast sky, framed by the brown skeletons of trees. The only response I received was the gurgle of the river and the distant caw of a bird. I sank to my knees, tears streaming down my cheeks. It was exhausting being angry. Curling into a ball, I rested my head on my knees and just let myself cry. The wind found its way into the tree house and tousled my hair. I shivered. Then I felt something cold and wet land on my hand. Looking up through red, puffy eyes, I watched the first snowflakes of winter drift to the ground.
“Thank you,” I whispered, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I suddenly realized how dark it was getting and how worried mother and daddy must be. Carefully climbing down the ladder, I jumped to the ground and hurried home through the falling snow.
Christmas Day was a solemn occasion. We ended up giving all our Christmas presents and the food from our Christmas Day feast to the Salvation Army. They weren’t as important or exciting anymore. I don’t think I could’ve eaten any of that food if I’d wanted to. To many memories in even just a piece of ham. Like Jack bartering for our Christmas ham two years ago after the war had started and rations had begun.
We had a funeral service after New Years. The army had sent us his belongings but there wasn’t a body to bury. Lots of people talked about Jack and what a great guy he was. I hadn’t realized how big of an impact my brother had made on so many lives and it made me proud to listen to them talk about him.
It was some months later that a letter came in the mail. It was my birthday and I had a few friends over, playing games and eating popcorn balls. We hadn’t been getting much mail lately besides the usual bills and such of course which were usually delivered to daddy’s office so it was very surprising when the mail deliverer arrived at our door step.
I continued to play with my friends but when I saw that mother had been crying, curiosity built itself up in my so much that I was liable to explode from anticipation. When the last girl had departed, I hurried to the kitchen where mother sat at the table, cutting up greens for a salad. She seemed a little happier than usual, no quite as gloomy.
When she saw me standing in the doorway, I didn’t even have to ask. She nodded at the envelope sitting on the kitchen counter.
“You might want to find someplace to read it alone,” mother suggested, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “Take as much time as you need.”
Tucking it into the pocket of my spring jacket, I slipped onto my bike and pedaled through the streets towards the tree house, making sure not to go past anywhere that my friends might be. I still wanted it to stay a secret.
Climbing the ladder, I sat on the edge, dangling my feet down and letting the wind caress my head, kissing my cheeks with its cool, whispering voice. Pulling the envelope out of my pocket I opened the letter and began to read.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Parker,
My name is Matthew Allen and I am a member of the United States Army. I am from Springfield, Illinois.
I am writing to thank you, sincerely from the bottom of my heart. I don’t know if this is the time for this to be written, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t write it.
I knew Jack pretty well. He was a nice guy who was always discouraging us younger ones from messing around and pulling pranks on some of the more cranky upper generals. I was always the ring leader. Jack was respected by everyone except by me and my gang. We considered him the ruin-er of our fun.
Well, the Navy boys had been in a skirmish just a few days before and a few of the planes had gone down and a few men had been injured but Jack’s entire group had come back intact. One of the best flyers from one of the other divisions had been severely injured though so when they called for a full fleet to go attack on the night of December 7, my buddies and I figured that one of us should take over for the guy who was injured so I volunteered. No one noticed that I was going with the pilots. Everyone was too worried about this raid. It was going to be dangerous but, since I had never actually been in battle or anything in a plane, I always had figured that the only way to get shot down was to drop down too far. I always thought that the people who got shot down were being careless.
Anyhow, I suited up and hopped into one of the planes waiting on the runway. I was two planes behind Jack and ended up falling into his group. I listened to nervous voices talk over the intercom. I wasn’t sure what they were so nervous about. I was loving the feeling of flying. I hadn’t flown much before but I knew what I was doing for the most part. It was when codes started to be spit out at point-blank speed that I became lost. It was dark and I knew that we were over a German base but I had no idea what any of the formations meant. Several times, Jack and another pilot had to pull me up above the clouds when I became overwhelmed by the codes. I was the one who alerted the Germans when I accidently dropped a bomb. The entire squadron began to descend, dropping bombs as the Germans fired from the ground. I was suddenly terrified. I didn’t drop any more of my bombs because I was afraid I would hit one of my own but I didn’t know how to get back to our base. I began to fly in circles and pretty soon I had the attention of many of the ground forces and became the target. It was Jack who diverted their attention, his plane being shot down in the process. We were all called back, one of the other commanders not wanting to injure Jack, if he was still alive.
I was given a harsh reality that day. I had gone into the army thinking it was a joke. I had thought that you only got killed by being careless and stupid. Well, that was what I was and I should have died that day. But Jack sacrificed his life for mine. He went down fighting. He died so that I could live.
I now have a completely different outlook on life. While I was punished for my carelessness, I signed up for another term after mine was up in January. I am back where I need to be. I share my story with others like me. The brutality of war is horrendous. But I make it my mission to save as many lives as I can and only to kill when it’s necessary. Because I was given a second chance at life, I have been promoted and was able to save a group of children from a building that was about to be bombed. I received a medal of bravery for that.
In this envelope, you will find that medal enclosed. I know, it’s nothing huge. When I was a boy, I always imagine these huge silver medals. But it’s a medal and I want you to have it. I don’t deserve it at all. Jack does. Without him, I would never have received it so I believe he’s the rightful owner.
He talked about his little sister a lot. I want Emily to know that her brother was a great guy. He was respectful and a gentleman, even in the middle of war. He always talked about how he had promised her he would be home for Christmas. I’m terribly sorry he couldn’t be there. It’s my fault so if you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. But I hope you’ll forgive me. I understand if you won’t or can’t. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have lost your older brother.
I just wanted you all to know that Jack died an honorable death. He saved my life, and for that I will be forever grateful.
Sincerely,
            Matthew Allen

I reached into the envelope and pulled out the medal. It was small, something that would have been pinned on a jacket. But it was beautiful. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Jack, your wonderful,” I whispered, fingering the medal. In those tears, all the anger that I’d been holding inside of me for all these months flowed out. I hadn’t even realized it had been accumulating, but it felt good to let it out too. I watched the river move along to wherever it was going and felt peace settle over me. Was I ever going to be able to look at a picture of Jack and not shed a tear? Probably not. But could I let go and be like the stream, moving on to better streams? Yes, I knew I could. Because, even though Jack hadn’t made it home for Christmas, he had given the best Christmas present to someone else he could’ve ever given. He gave his life. And that was something I was proud of.