Christmas Past

This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and is not for profit. All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In 1941, children with Down syndrome were referred to as Mongoloids. It is only in keeping with the terminology of the time that I use the idiom which today is considered inappropriate for people with Down syndrome. I apologize for any distress the term might cause. Thank you.

A special thank you to Al's "brunette in Delaware" for her permission to publish this story. It was written as a Christmas gift and therefore truly belongs to her.

Christmas Past

Chapter One - Someone Cares

Winter, gray and overwhelmingly cold, descended on Little Italy in 1941. Despite the bombing of Pearl Harbor only weeks before, the neighborhood paid glorious homage to the holidays with lights, Christmas trees, gifts, and those special scents that made everyone dream of home. The little seven-year-old boy walked down the cold concrete, his face to the ground. Pulling his thin coat around his body, he debated whether he would go home or not. His mother would be there, but so would that man, the one she was fooling around with while his father was off somewhere earning a living for them. Home didn't seem like a good idea, but his sister was waiting and she needed him. She was a Mongoloid and their mother seemed embarrassed by it all. He couldn't figure that one out. His little sister was a good kid who only saw the best in people.

When she was born, their father thought, because of her disability. she would always see the truth and that she would always be truth. So, he named her True. It was big brother who called her Trudy. The big brother was only eleven months older, but still he fought his fair share of fights protecting her from people who decided that making fun of her was amusing. For Trudy's sake, he would go the small apartment they had. The cold was chilling his skinny bones anyhow.

A school chum saw him and called from the window, "Hey, Calavicci! Hey Al!"

Looking up he saw Jerry Priori, "Hey, Jerry."

"You want to come for dinner?"

A hot meal sounded inviting. He was so tempted, but too much was on his mind. "Not tonight. Got to get home to Trudy."

"Merry Christmas!"

He didn't bother answering because Merry Christmas was an empty phrase to him. Jerry's window closed and Al was alone again. Home was half a block away and he dreaded getting there. The apartment on the fourth floor of the walk-up didn't fit into the season's festivities. There was no tree, certainly no presents, just the complete antithesis of the holiday. He felt lucky if their mother remembered to make a hot meal. Too often, it was his job to open the icebox and find something to give his sister to eat. He wished he knew how to cook so that Trudy would have warm food inside her.

If things went as he expected, his mother would be in the bedroom with that man. Trudy would be in the front room rocking and possibly needing to be changed since she hadn't really been able to understand toilet training yet. He'd help clean her up and then scrounge for food and milk. The two of them would sit together while he read her stories and sang songs. She'd fall asleep and then he'd start in on his books. At seven, he was able to read far beyond his years and his father wanted him to skip a grade or two, but teachers said he was too small to keep up with the big boys. So his books at home kept his active mind alert and open to ideas and a world that maybe existed outside his barren apartment.

He had only three books in his prized collection, but they were his salvation. There was a collection of poetry. It was a thick volume and he liked imagining all the things the poems told him. The second was really hard for him to read, but the story was about a man named Gulliver who ended up on an island filled with Lilliputians, tiny little people who had their own tiny world to live in. The third book was his favorite. His father read it to him just the year before. It was called A Christmas Carol.

For a few moments, he was happy thinking of his books, but then the reality of his life came back to haunt him like Christmas Past. He hated the man his mother brought home all the time. There was a mean streak in the guy and he didn't like children. Too often, Al felt the back of a hand across his face. A few times, the man took off his belt and whipped the little boy raising welts that stung for days.

Praying that wouldn't be the case today, he entered the apartment and heard his sister crying. The little girl was sitting by the front window, her face against the glass. Steaming breath and the cold winter air had iced the pane over. She was still crying as he pulled her away from the frigid window. All Trudy would say was, "Mama! Mama!"

His heart sunk. Somehow he knew, but he ran from room to room checking. Their mother was gone, her closet emptied of clothes. He took Trudy by her arms and shook her a little. "Trudy, where is Mama?" The little girl's face was a mess, her nose running and tears streaking from her eyes. Al wasn't sure she understood. "Listen to me, Trudy. Tell me where Mama is."

"Mama gone! Mama gone!" She cried harder than before because someone was there to hold onto her.

"Did she go with the mean man?" Her tears burst out louder and he had his answer. "Is she coming back?" He had to shake Trudy to get her to hear him. "Listen to me, is she coming back?"

"Mama go way f'ever. Go way f'ever."

Al cradled his sister trying to get her tears to end. In about an hour, she finally stopped more out of exhaustion than anything else, lying half asleep on the couch. Dinner was his priority. Trudy had to eat. A quick look in the kitchen found some bread and salami. After smelling the open bottle, he poured a glass of milk for his sister and set it on the table. Trudy was still on the sofa, her thumb in her mouth and a profound sadness in her eyes. Big brother took her to the kitchen, made sure she ate and then he put her to bed.

Part of him was glad his mother was gone because that meant the mean man was gone too, but he still loved Mama and maybe he could care for Trudy and himself long enough for her to return and realize her mistakes. Most seven-year-olds lived in a world of naiveté appropriate for young children, but Al's naiveté flew out the window years earlier. And while he wanted to believe in Santa Claus, he knew better. As much as he wanted to have the world's best mother, he knew better about that, too.

There was one more day of school, but he wouldn't go. Someone had to care for Trudy and since he didn't know where either parent was, that responsibility fell on his slight shoulders. He sat on his cot in the room he shared with his sister and counted out the money he had hidden for the day when he and Trudy would run away. Surprisingly, he found seventy-eight cents, but that included the dime he took from his mother's pocketbook when she wasn't looking. Seventy-eight cents and a plan was all he had. The next morning, he and his sister would leave New York City and travel to wherever it was, Ohio maybe, where his father was working.

While his beautiful little sister slept, Al packed a small satchel. He filled it with her things. He could make do, but his eye caught site of his books. He snuck the smallest one inside the case. Al would wake Trudy before dawn and together they'd take the subway to Grand Central Station. Even though just seven, Al had already developed a skill for sneaking into places without being seen. This time, he'd have to sneak onto a train with his little sister in tow, but somehow, he was going to get to Ohio and find their father.

Long past one in the morning, Al collapsed on his cot and fell into a fitful sleep. He woke up before dawn. They had to get going soon because the truant officer knew his name better than he should have. He helped Trudy dress and eat breakfast. He didn't bother doing the dishes. Bread and lunch meat was tucked into a brown paper bag for Trudy to carry. Trudy drank her fill of milk. Then, Al gulped the last of it and the empty glass bottle was left on the kitchen table.

He bundled Trudy up against the cold, took one last look at the apartment and together they walked into a pre-dawn Manhattan to take to the road.

They got to Grand Central Station as the crowds came into the city for rush hour. Al studied the schedules for the trains going east. The next one would be going toward Ohio at eight o'clock. The big clock in the center of the atrium declared an hour until the train left, but boarding would begin soon. Pulling his sister to the side he told her, "You can't say a word. You don't talk to anyone. You understand me?" She nodded. "Honey, you can talk to me, but not to any grownup. Don't talk to any grownups. Okay?" She nodded again and he hoped she understood the instruction. It was usually a hit or miss thing, but that never diminished her perfection in his eyes. "Okay, no talking. Come on."

He took her little hand and walked with confidence with the crowds going toward the eastbound sleeper train. While the porters were helping people with baggage, he and Trudy slipped onto the train. No one used bathrooms when trains are in the station, so he pulled Trudy into one and locked the door. He put Trudy on the toilet and was grateful to hear her emptying her bladder. One less accident was always a good thing. The flushing would have to wait. Her hands were washed and dried and then they waited.

The train chugged out of the station. Almost an hour went by before Al thought it was okay to take a peak. The city was gone and New York City morphed into a pastoral scene that Al had never seen before. It was incredibly beautiful and for a brief moment, he felt light-hearted and hopeful.

Big and bold, as if they had every right to be there, Al took Trudy's hand and walked down to the Club Car. He put his little sister by the window and she stared at the passing countryside with both hands pressed against the glass in delight. The waiter came to them. "Good morning. My name is Halsey. Can I help you, son?"

Al looked up at the tall, young black man wearing a white starched jacket and black cap. "Thank you, sir, no. We're fine."

The porter was a bit concerned. "Now, you two aren't traveling alone, are you?"

Al had to lie, "Oh no, sir. Our mother is asleep. She told me to bring my sister here."

The story sounded plausible, but the porter wasn't convinced. "What car is she in?"

Al started to panic, but he covered, "I'm not sure of the number, but we can find our way back." He took Trudy's arm. "Come on. We have to go."

"Wait now. I'm not sending you back. I just want to be sure you're safe." The man smiled and looked genuinely concerned for them.

Al took note of the kind face. He wanted to trust someone and Halsey looked like someone to trust, but the child cynic didn't allow it. "We're safe, sir. Thank you."

"Okay, son, you stay here as long as you want to." The porter walked away.

Sighing in relief, Al fell back in the big seat and relaxed just a little. He even allowed himself to close his eyes and without even noticing, he fell asleep. Trudy climbed into the seat with him and laid her head on his shoulder. Her little thumb went to her mouth and she joined her brother's slumber.

Almost an hour passed before Al woke up. Trudy still slept with her thumb in her mouth and her other hand grasping Al's coat. He gently pulled himself from under her and took the seat by the window. Pretty soon they'd have to find another place to go. Staying put too long would bring attention to them and he wanted to be invisible.

Halsey saw Al was awake and he came to him again. This time, he knelt to look the young runaway in the eye. "You feeling better now?"

Conversation could lead to getting caught, but he not answering would lead to it even faster. "I was sleepier than I thought."

"Looks like." The porter lovingly straightened out Trudy's errant curls. "Your sister is quite the little princess, isn't she?"

He couldn't help but smile. Al always thought Trudy deserved to be a princess and have people attend to her every whim. "Yes, sir. She's really special to me."

"I can see that. You're special to her, too."

If he had learned anything in his few years it was the fact that he wasn't special to anyone and never would be. He was trouble from day he was born and was going to end up in trouble when he grew up. That's what his mother said. His teachers, most of the neighbors, they all thought the same thing about him. "She's the good one."

Halsey smiled at him. "Son, any boy who loves his sister as much as you love her is something special. I know it can't be easy sometimes because she's different from most of us, but I tell you the truth, she is blessed by God to have you."

It didn't seem possible that he was a blessing of any kind to anyone. "She's the blessing. All she wants is for people to love her. That's all. So she loves everyone else including me." He thought he said it only in his head, but the words found sound, "Someone has to."

Halsey put his arms out toward Al and picked him up. The little boy was dwarfed in the tall man's strong grip. He took Al's seat by the window and spoke softly and kindly, so softly and kindly that Al for a brief second believed in Santa Claus, a tall, black Santa, but it felt like a visit to the ultimate children's advocate. "Now, I need you to tell me the truth. Where's your mama?"

The lied popped out, "She's asleep."

"Baby, where's your mama?"

Al wanted to tell him, but couldn't. "I told you where she was."

Halsey cradled him. "It's okay to tell the truth. You're not in trouble."

Someone warm and caring was holding him like a child needed to be held. Someone comforted him and spoke quietly without anger or malice. Someone recognized how beautiful Trudy was despite the features that made her the butt of horrid jokes. Closing his eyes against the tears, he whispered. "I don't know. She ran away with a man yesterday and didn't say where she was going."

Halsey rocked tenderly back and forth. He held Al in a way the boy didn't remember anyone ever holding him. "It's okay, baby. It's okay." The porter began to sing, "Rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham. Rock my soul . . ." The rocking and soothing voice didn't stop for a very long time and Al let himself imagine that there could be a life like this for him, that someone would be at home to hold him and sing to him, that he could actually be a child. He fell asleep again with that sweet dream in his head.

His tiny body was placed on the seat and Halsey left to make arrangements for someone, a friend of his, to meet them at the next stop. She would take the two Calavicci children and make sure things would be well for them at last.