Immerse yourself in a special Midnight Christmas Eve Service: Attend a midnight Christmas Eve service at Reims Cathedral. Imagine sitting amidst cold stone walls on ancient wooden pews and visualize the scene when the electricity goes out and flashlights go on. Hear the impactful sermon delivered to the soldiers.
I hope you enjoy this glimpse into Chapter 25, Christmas Eve at the Cathedral. As Kathy and Krystyne experience the poignant beauty and harsh realities of a war-torn Christmas Eve, their encounter at the Cathedral highlights the resilience and hope that persist even in the darkest times. Your continued support means so much to me, and I look forward to sharing more of their journey with you.
CHAPTER 25
CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE CATHEDRAL
Krystyne should not return to her room alone among people whose language she could not speak. Kathy planned to go into Reims to the midnight mass at the Cathedral. The Chaplain had ordered an Army truck to make the trip. Kathy spoke to Krystyne in German, inviting her to come along and spend the night with Kathy.
Two Red Cross girls and twenty GIs went along with Kathy and Krystyne. The ride in the canvas-topped truck was cold. Inside, the Cathedral seemed even colder, sitting among cold stones. The stained-glass windows had been so brilliant when the light of the day shone through. In the dark night, the windows were a dull gray framed in leaden black. A harsh light glared from bare electric light bulbs hung by long black wires from the vaulted roof, deepening the shadows in the walls damaged with bullet holes.
There were no evergreens, no poinsettias, no banks of warm candles along the walls. The Cathedral seemed a pile of cold stones and statues. The candles on the altar were feeble under the glaring light bulbs. When the choir sang, their music was overwhelmed by the shuffling of people, their sneezes, sniffles, and coughs. The bishop’s magnificent gold-and-purple embroidered robes, and the red-robed acolytes swinging a smoking incense burner, seemed out of place.
Suddenly, the electricity went off. The electric light bulbs faded. The organ music dwindled to silence. In the darkness, the candles on the altar glowed warmly and brightly. The silver cross above the altar seemed to float, gleaming in the darkness. The congregation caught its breath in the wonder of the light in the darkness. The shuffling and coughing stopped. Now, only the music of glorious singing filled the church.
Flashlights were silently switched on. Their beams followed fluted columns up till they blended into the heavens above. Beams of light picked out statues that seemed to rise out of the darkness. Apostles and saints soared in light.
Kathy remembered the words heard in Episcopalian services all her life, “...therefore with Angels and Archangels, and with all the company of heaven.... Glory be to thee, O Lord Most High.”
The bishop was escorted up the circular stairway to the pulpit by acolytes carrying candles. They left him in darkness alone in the pulpit. He began to speak, and his voice seemed to come not from this world, but out of the darkness above. His deep voice rolled out over the unseen congregation.
“The war is ended. We can again know peace on earth. Good will toward men makes peace on earth. Peace doesn’t just happen; it is made. Now is the time in which we are to live and to act. Do you know what forces we could unleash in so many areas with the love and service of our fellow man?
“There are some 500 people here tonight. What an impact we could have. We could change history. We could make history.
“We can do it. This is our hope. This is our joy. This is the Christmas hope and the Christmas joy—because, after all, what we are celebrating tonight is the way God changed history with just one man.”
The choir sang the jubilant “Handel’s Messiah.” Krystyne and Kathy joined the French singing the universal “Alleluia.” The echoes of music faded, and the congregation knelt for the final benediction. “The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord; and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, be amongst you and remain with you always. Amen.”
Krystyne stayed on her knees a few minutes in silence.
She turned to Kathy, kneeling beside her, and spoke in a quiet, serious voice. “After my mother died...in the work camp...after they killed my mother, I hated. I knew I too would die. I could not endure. A nine-year-old boy had been in that hungry camp three years. He said to me, “Pray. Forgive. Live.” I prayed. I forgave. I lived.”
The congregation brought their flickering flashlights beams down from the vaulted ceilings and statues to the floor, to light their way out. The two Red Cross girls left the cathedral through the center door, passing under the benediction of L’Ange au Sourire, The Angel of the Smile. They smiled back at the angel. Her snow cap sparkled in moonlight. Ridges of snow heightened the folds of her robe. Her wings, edged in snow, were luminous. The stars shone so brightly in the sky over the cathedral that Kathy could imagine a star in the east gleaming above the rest. Krystyne stood under the angel, her head tilted at the same angle, smiling the same smile.
The men in the truck offered helping hands to lift the girls in. Two men stood to offer them seats, one seat on each bench on opposite sides of the truck. Sitting closely together, they warmed each other, and the atmosphere was not so chilling.
From the open back of the truck, the charming village houses and rolling hills were peacefully covered with white snow. Bomb-shattered rubble was hidden under mounds of soft snow. Rows of round tents, covered with snow, blended in with the hills. The moonlight sparkled on the snow on tents, hills and houses alike. The heavens were starred and the earth was white, except where the Army truck left two black lines on the road.
The Private on Krystyne’s left put his hand on Krystyne’s wrist. She moved her arm away. He put his hand on her knee. She lifted it off. A chill wind blew through the truck.
The Corporal on Krystyne’s right said, “Promenade?”
Krystyne sat silent.
He put his hand on her knee. “Promenade? Amour amour? Couchez-vous?”
She pushed away his hand.
So, this was why the “gentlemen” had offered them seats on opposite sides of the truck, to get Krystyne away from Kathy’s protection. Kathy would put them straight. “Now don’t get the wrong idea about Krystyne. She’s a lady.”
The Corporal answered by putting his arm around Krystyne’s waist. He spoke in GI German. His meaning was clear. Krystyne sat straight and still.
Kathy spoke sternly. “I said she is a lady. She’s my friend. Leave her alone.” The Corporal removed his arm.
The Private put his hand on Krystyne’s thigh. “Couchez-vous?” He laughed. Two other men joined in, and in a polyglot of languages invited Krystyne into bed with them. Krystyne did not answer. She did not move, even to push away their hands. The wind, now bitter cold, swirled under the canvas. The wind blew fiercely against the round tents, whirling away the clean snow, leaving black cones shivering in the cold.
Over the roar of wind and engine, Kathy shouted at the men. “Didn’t the sermon mean anything to you? Have you no good will? You can make peace on earth, you can...”
The Corporal laughed. “Couldn’t understand a word. He didn’t speak my language.”
It was after 2 a.m. when the truck stopped at their hospital. The lights were out here too. The area was deserted, except for a solitary barking dog. The two girls, clutching their collars against the wind, hurried off to their quarters. All the men started in the opposite direction, except the Corporal and the Private, who followed the two girls.
“Come with me,” said the Corporal. “I have Scotch.”
“Come with me,” said the Private. “I’ll warm you without Scotch.”
The girls turned their faces away from the men, away from the wind.
“Come. Couchez,” said the Corporal. He grabbed Krystyne’s wrist.
Krystyne took a step away. The Corporal pulled her wrist, stopping her. She tried to jerk it away while he held it tight. He pulled her a step toward him. Her feet slid on the snow trampled by his big brown boots.
Kathy grabbed Krystyne’s other hand and pulled her back. They tugged her back and forth between them, Together, Kathy and Krystyne could not free her wrist from his clutch. Women needed a force stronger than brute strength against men. Kathy assumed a command. “Let go! That is an order, Corporal.”
He let go. Kathy pulled Krystyne into their barracks and into the safety of the living room. She lit a candle.
Krystyne was shivering. Kathy opened the doors of the tiled stove. The fire was low, but alive. When she added fresh wood, the bark caught fire and lit the room. They stood in front of the stove to warm their frozen fingers and toes.
“It is not good to have a baby without a husband,” said Krystyne. “My friend in Paris had a baby, no husband.” She cradled an imaginary baby in her arms and shook her head. “It was not good.”
“Krystyne, come to my home.” Kathy reached out to hold her hands. “Come to America and be part of my family. My father has money.” She took some francs from her purse because she hadn’t learned the German word for money. “A lot of money. He could buy you clothes and send you to the university. You would not be cold or hungry again. You would be safe.” Krystyne looked thoughtfully at the money. She sat down on the wing-backed chair, and with her worn shoes, propped her feet up by the fire.
“My father can buy you shoes. He has enough money to care for many families. This is his pleasure. He would take care of you.”
Krystyne did not answer.
Money itself was not enough. Kathy stuffed it back into her purse. She had more to give. “I want you. I want you in my family.” But Kathy was not yet going home.
“My mother would love you. It’s easy for my mother to love. She would be delighted to have you.”
Krystyne gazed into the fire a long time before she spoke. “You do not need me.”
“We do.” Kathy looked up words in her pocket dictionary. “We need your character, your spirit.” She knelt beside Krystyne.
Krystyne faced Kathy, with her calm, dignified look that respected herself as it respected Kathy. “I will stay.” Everything Kathy offered, clothes, college, everything that money could buy was, not rejected, but passed by as unimportant.
“You cannot stay here, to freeze and starve in rubble, and to be prey to wolves,” Kathy said.
“My country needs me. My people need me. I have work to do. I will stay.”
Krystyne could and would help rebuild a country and a civilization. It wasn’t the impossible task for her that it seemed to Kathy. She believed in the Christmas hope that she could make and change history.
After the disasters of war, these people, the Krystynes and the Oscars, would regroup themselves to make a new country. Kathy had a feeling, not rational because the Germans remained enemies and the Russians allies, that Krystyne might marry Oscar and live with him in Germany rather than return to Russian-occupied Poland. If anyone could build a civilization destroyed by war, they could.
They tip-toed up the creaking stairs, trying not to wake anyone. Vivienne turned over in her bed as they came in. “I’m awake,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep. Hi, Krystyne. Nice service?”
“Ja,” said Krystyne. “It was good.”
Vivienne sat up in her bed. “Your orders to Biarritz came, Kathy. You leave January second.”
Thank you so much for your continued support! Your enthusiasm and encouragement mean the world to me, and I'm grateful for the chance to share this story with you. Your interest and feedback inspire me to keep writing and bringing these characters to life. I look forward to sharing more of their journey with you and hope you'll continue to enjoy each new chapter.
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