Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

“What’s this?” he asked when I handed him the package.

“Open it,” I said, struggling to contain my excitement.

He carefully opened the paper, not wanting to tear it even a little, and deep wrinkles cut into his forehead as he concentrated. I took the wrapping from him as he uncovered the bundle of dark material. Confused, he held it up, watching it unfold then take its shape as a thick, black wool overcoat.

“Very nice,” he said, smiling. “A gift for your father?”

I shook my head. “It’s for you, Mr. Rabinowitz.”

He stared, uncomprehending, then quickly folded up the coat and held it out toward me. “No, no. This is too much.”

I put my hands on his. “I hope you will accept it in the spirit it’s given. It’s actually a thank-you gift. My editor loved your story.”

He frowned, confused.

“Yesterday, do you remember that we spoke about your life in Poland?” I pulled out a copy of the story. “My editor wants it to run in tomorrow’s paper. I hope you don’t mind.”

He took the paper, and I held the coat as he read. “Why, I never saw nothing like this in my life,” he said softly.

“Is it all right?”

He didn’t say anything more as he read, and I bit my lip to calm my nerves.

When he looked up, the faded white of his eyes shone, but his expression was clearer than I’d ever seen.

“I remember now,” he said, the words slow and gentle. “Ava. My dear Ava. She was so beautiful, so kind. I loved her very much. The cancer took her from me.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “In this terrible world of war and poverty, it’s easy to end up alone. You have to remember the good things in life, dear. When you find someone you love and they love you in return, that’s a miracle.”

Memories stirred within me, and I felt again the wonder of being in Max’s arms. Of his lips finding mine. I’d tried so hard to forget, knowing it never should have happened, but now the longing in Mr. Rabinowitz’s expression made me want to bring that memory back. To keep it close for the times I felt lost.

He looked at the paper again, shaking his head slightly. “But this story, it’s our story. Ava’s and mine. I forgot so much. I thought it was all gone.” His cold fingers touched my cheek. “Thank you, Molly. For asking me about my life, and for writing it down. It hurts some, remembering she’s gone, but it’s good to have this.”

I blinked back my own tears, then held out the coat. “Will you put it on? Just to see if it fits?”

He examined it closely, his thumbs rubbing the sturdy seams, and I knew he could feel the good quality of the heavy wool. He slipped off his old, ragged coat, and I helped him into the new one. All at once he looked taller. Stronger.

“I don’t know how this is a thank-you gift,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “You’ve given me two wonderful gifts today, sheyne meydel. I may forget a lot of things, but I promise I will never forget this kindness.”

The next day, I flipped through the paper and stopped at page ten, seeing my name printed right above my story about Mr. Rabinowitz, and pride spread through me in a glow. I’d done it; I’d finally broken through. I had earned my place and changed my life again. But even more than that, today I had been given the greatest gift. I would never forget the smile Mr. Rabinowitz had given me in that moment, shining with gratitude. After all the years of wanting to make a difference through my writing, I finally had.

thirteen MAX

Max dropped his arm over his eyes, shielding them from the dim light within the Sham Shui Po barracks, but that didn’t stop his temples from throbbing. Most of the men of D Company, his company within C Force, had left the barracks for the day, leaving only the hush of a few men sleeping or writing letters. Max had overdone it yesterday with that bottle of Johnnie Walker scotch, but he hadn’t been able to resist it for only $1.85. Arnie and David had sat across the table from him, downing ten-cent bottles of beer all afternoon, nodding while Max loudly aired out his complaints.

“It’s been nearly a year and a half since we signed up,” he’d ranted. The scotch had loosened his voice, but he didn’t care. He’d been frustrated and quiet about it for months. “Now here we are in Hong Kong, of all places. This wasn’t what we signed up for! Eh, Arnie?”

Arnie had wholeheartedly agreed, though he’d happily left the vocalizing to Max.

Today, Arnie and David were out on the streets of Kowloon, enjoying themselves in the sun while Max groaned in his coconut husk mattress. Lesson learned. He’d stick to beer from now on.

Nobody could have predicted the Royal Rifles would end up in Hong Kong. After spending nine chilly months in Gander building runways and hangars, exercising, and fighting boredom, their regiment had taken a train all the way across the country to Vancouver, picking up more men along the way. Max had won the coin toss with Arnie over the window seat, and he’d spent the trip spellbound, staring out at mountains and frothy rivers, blinking as they dove into pitch-black tunnels, then again as they emerged into blinding sunlight. That journey alone had made enlisting worthwhile, he’d thought at the time.

Once in Vancouver, they’d been joined by the Winnipeg Grenadiers. The Grenadiers, like the Royal Rifles, had only ever served on garrison duty, but they’d done it in Jamaica and Bermuda while Max and the others had shivered in Newfoundland. Together they formed C Force. Halfway through October, Sergeant Cox told them they’d be shipping out, but it wasn’t until the day after Max, Arnie, David, Richie, and the