Jennifer Robins

To all the wonderful grandparents who tell tales of the great depression and how it affected them—how they fell in love regardless of the difficult times in our country’s hist
o
ry.

December 1939 Cleveland, Ohio

Daintily patterned snowflakes fluttered in front of the large display window at Maybees department store on the square. Little children pushed their faces up against the glass to observe the wonderful yearly holiday spectacle. Large layers of white cotton bedded the many toys and plush mannequins of elves bobbing up and down. The toys hovered over the train that ran across the layout and around the back to reappear again on the other side. A large Santa in the rear bounced up and down in laughter.

Ho ho ho
,
Rachael thought as she stood on her tiptoes to see over the many young heads in front of her. A tall man with a little boy on his shoulders stepped in front of her. She had to move to the right to get a better look.

She pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck and chin and held it there to block the cold air from her face. Now worn and thin from age, the garment had seen better days. It was of no concern to Rachael; most everyone else had either old clothes or hand-me-downs. The depression was making it impossible for many to afford new wardrobes or anything new for that matter. Jobs were scarce, leaving many without the necessary means to support their families or themselves. Rachael, on the other hand was one of the lucky ones. She had a part-time job at the farmers' market in town, where she worked three days a week at various jobs. It not only paid a few dollars but it provided some food items she didn’t have to pay for. The market also supplied many of the churches with leftover foods for their soup kitchens. With little means for refrigeration, the ice melted much too fast. They would rather see the food go to the people who needed it most, especially the children and elderly.

While she worked at the market, her father spent days on the road construction projects the government put in place through the Works Project Administration, known as WPA. As a husband and father, Andrew Taylor made sure his family was taken care of despite the hard times.

The crowd in front of the window began to dwindle as the light from the sun lowered in the western sky and clouds hovered overhead. The streetcar would soon be arriving and it was time for Rachel to go home. She stepped away from the departing viewers and walked to the stop sign where the streetcar would stop.

In her hurry, she collided with a young man who seemed to have moved right out in front of her. “Excuse me,” she said as she tried to go past him. She looked up into his blue eyes and was about to say something when he interrupted her.

“I couldn’t help watching you back there. You had a wonderful, happy face when you viewed that display. I always liked what they did in the window too.” His brown curly hair stuck out from his knitted hat. It was pulled tightly over his head and framed his square face. His five-o’clock shadow brought out the masculine line of his jaw. "Will you be getting on the next streetcar?”

“Yes, I will be. I need to get home before dinner. My folks will be waiting for me.”

He stepped aside for her to pass but kept up with her as they walked along. “I’ll be taking the same car,” he told her.

The
clang clang
of the streetcar bell signaled the arrival of her ride. It had started to snow. Rachael brought her coat collar up around her chin and blinked when the snow hit her eyes. Soon it was coming down much harder and large flakes rapidly covered the sidewalks and roads.

Hopefully, the snow and wind wouldn’t detach the electrical wires above and halt traffic.

With the screeching of the streetcar’s wheels coming to a stop, everyone huddled on the corner hurried from the curb to get into the car and out of the elements, Rachael and her admirer right with them. He took her arm and helped her up the metal steps. Passengers dropped their coins into the box next to the conductor while they piled in, then moved on to the seats behind him. The car filled up quickly with only a few seats left in the rear.

Rachael made her way back to find one unoccupied seat. Before she could settle in it, an older woman slipped by her and took the seat without hesitation. Her companion took her by the arm and led her to the other side, where a gentleman stood and let her have his place. The streetcar began to move, passing the area where groups of people had set up camps that people had started referring to as Shantytowns or Hoover Towns. Separate units were covered with slabs of wood, old burlap, or cardboard to house those who had no other means of shelter. Smoke from a tall metal drum swirled up into the growing night and dissipated high above as it reached for the sky.

“There ya’ go.” He assisted her in settling in the offered seat. “By the way, my name is Stanley but everyone calls me Stan. I hope you don’t mind me talking to you like this.” He pulled the cap from his head, letting his curly locks fall loose around his face as he squatted down in the aisle beside of her. His eyes now in line with hers, he apparently waited for a response.

“No, I don’t mind.” She scooted back and let her hands drop to her lap. “My name is Rachael and everyone calls me . . . Rachael.” Blushing, she let out a little giggle and laced her fingers together in a nervous hand hold. The woman next to her glanced over at Stan and gave him a shattering look of disapproval then turned her head and stared out the window.

“Do you have far to go?” he asked.

“About three stops from here, at West Baker Street.”

“I think that’s right where I’ll be getting off too. Maybe I can see you to your door. Is it a ways from the stop?” he asked as he continued to squat beside of her.

The bell on the top of the car sounded, sending the alert of an upcoming stop, and the conductor shouted out the location. The car slowed and came to a complete standstill. When the doors opened, a rush of cold air swept in, hitting the passengers huddled in the aisles.

Once the ones who had exited were safely out, the doors closed, and with a jerk, the car started forward again.

Stan resumed his position, crouching in front of Rachael. He let his eyes drift to her hands. She got the idea he might be looking for a wedding ring. He looked up at her and smiled. He seemed to want to know everything about her, but all he asked was, “Do you come downtown often?”

She leaned over to speak to him with more privacy. “Yes, I work at the market three or four days a week. Do you come down often?”

“I deliver newspapers to the stores. It doesn’t pay much but I’m just happy I have a job. There were over two hundred people applying for it when I went to see about it and I got it over all of the others. I think it was because I showed interest in the news business. I only work the two days a week when the Herald comes out.”

A little shy to ask, Rachael stammered through her next question. “Do you live in this area?”

“Not exactly, but close enough to see you to your door with no problem. That is, if it’s all right with you.” He reached for her hand, but she drew it up closer in her lap away from him.

The snow flying past the window to her left had her wondering how cold it would be walking to her house about a block away from where she’d be let off. She glanced over at Stan’s lightweight jacket and felt bad he’d be escorting her in the winter storm brewing outside. The jacket didn’t appear to be very warm.

When the streetcar came to the next stop, many of the passengers exited through the back doors while others moved up front where it was a little warmer. Rachael stood to let the older woman next to her out, then slid in to take her place by the window. The next stop would be hers but she wanted to allow Stan to sit the rest of the way. He took the seat next to her.

He seemed to be interested in learning more about her and he kept on talking. “Have you lived here long?”

“All my life. I was born here,” she said as she turned toward him.

He made her feel something she was not used to...tingles down her spine, a warming in her stomach and an indescribable need she had never experienced before.

Slightly embarrassed by her feelings, she turned back to the window and stared out at the snow and the sights rushing by as they traveled toward her destination.

The conductor’s voice came loud and clear. “West Baker Street.” She heard the bell of the streetcar ring and the screeching of the wheels on the rails.

Stan rose and let her out and followed her to the door, holding fast to the poles as he made his way to the front. He then stood behind her ready to help her off.

The jolt of the car coming to a stop almost threw her backward into his arms, but she held on to the pole by the door to prevent contact with him. The door opened, letting in the brisk cold of the wintery storm.

Going around her, Stan reached up for her hand and helped her down the two steps to the street. Once she exited the streetcar, her worn boots sank into the snow. The cracks of age had taken a toll on the soles, but they still kept her feet dry and somewhat warm. With his arm in hers, they stepped quickly to the curb and up to the snow-covered sidewalk.