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It helped to wake up on Christmas morning and see the sun shining on the snow, and the delight of the other girls when they stumbled into breakfast to be greeted by Captain Linoleum, a six-foot-tall roll of linoleum with a face chalked by Nell, a khaki cap, stick arms holding a Smith Unit “comfort bag” with a generous check from the class of 1904, and a ribbon-decked wastebasket at his feet (Kate’s, borrowed and bedecked) holding a pile of presents.
“Captain Linoleum offers his Christmas greetings to the Unit and will soon unroll himself on the barrack floor to warm our feet,” said Emmie breathlessly, distributing such luxuries as hot water bottles, briquettes, and all-weather socks amid cries of delight, while Marie’s contribution, coffee, real coffee with real cream from their own cows, steamed on the table in their red-and-white cups that looked more like bowls.
“New phonograph records! Thank goodness! I thought if I had to hear Alice playing Caruso’s ‘O Sole Mio’ one more time, I was going to scream!”
“Oh, look, this one’s a fox-trot. We can dance it with the boys tonight.”
“In our hobnailed boots?”
“Better than our rubber rain boots.”
“I knew I forgot to pack my dancing slippers.”
“Socks! Socks without holes! I may avoid frostbite yet.”
“And cream for chilblains!” Emmie said happily. They all had chilblains, and nasty things they were. “That nice doctor in the hospital in Nesle told me what to get—he says it’s a sovereign remedy.”
“Dr. Stapleton?” said Kate, glancing at Julia.
“Make sure it doesn’t have arsenic in it,” commented Julia shortly.
“Didn’t people used to use arsenic for their complexions?” asked Alice. “Or was that belladonna?”
“Hand it here,” said Dr. Stringfellow, and sniffed. “Well, it won’t kill you, at least.”
“I don’t care if it kills me,” said Nell fervently. “I’m putting it on now.”
There were parcels from home as well, parcels and mail. Emmie’s mother had sent a letter and Emmie’s heart lifted as she opened it, only to plunge again when she saw it was only a series of clippings, press related to the passing of the suffrage act in New York last month, her mother holding a banner.
The good work continues—first the state, then the country! her mother had scrawled along the top.
Underneath was a bank draft, with the scribbled injunction: For your village schools.
She hadn’t expected anything, not really. Emmie had arranged for presents for the boys before she left in August, knowing her parents would never remember: a new phonograph for Jack, a camera for Nat, a glass case for George to house his rock collection, a phenakistoscope for Bobby. They would have been put under the tree by the housekeeper.
Kate had cut the strings on a brown paper parcel. “It’s a present from my parents and brothers. New boots. My mother says—” Her voice caught. “My mother says the saleswoman at Gimbels told her these are the very best for keeping the damp out. She must have bought these and had them sent right after we left.”
“My mother sends Christmas greetings and wishes us all well,” Emmie lied. It wasn’t entirely a lie. She was sure her mother did wish them all well. When she remembered. Her mother had always liked Kate. “What are those?”
In the middle of the table was a pile of paper scrolls tied up in ribbon.
“A surprise for you,” said Dr. Stringfellow complacently. “Santa made it through last night and left a note for each of you.”
“Santa’s handwriting looks strangely familiar,” said Julia.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re meant to read them aloud and guess who they’re for,” Dr. Stringfellow added helpfully. “Go on now, children.”
“I think I’ve found Emmie’s,” said Anne, unrolling the first scroll. “‘Our angel of the barrack, she tramps both near and far / Through snow and mud and dark of night, not waiting for a car. Although she may not be able to tell a rooster from a hen / When it comes to building chicken coops / Her strength is the strength of ten.’”
Emmie winced. “No one will ever let me forget those roosters, will they?”
“They made very tasty soup,” said Alice, trying to make her feel better.
Liza put the next scroll right up to her nose, squinting at it. “This one’s cheating—there’s a name in it. ‘Though small of stature she may be / Her heart is undismayed / By broken trucks and missing coal / And shipments all delayed. / Our patient Kate, our canny Kate—’ Couldn’t we be trusted to guess?”
Dr. Stringfellow shrugged. “Literary license.”
“‘She keeps us all on time / She bosses and she wheedles / And finds in every haystack / A regular crop of needles. Our stalwart assistant director / She keeps us all on time / And so it fits her schedule / I’ll promptly end this rhyme.’”
