Verhovayak Lapja, 1941. július-december (24. évfolyam, 27-52. szám)
1941-12-25 / 52. szám
Verhovaval< Lafyja December 25, 1941 CHRISTMAS BELLS By ROBERT SIGMUND (A Member) Page 2 Our Boys The Army Private Alexander F. Toth, 50 F. A. Service Battery, Fort Custer, Michigan., is shown standing in front of a huge Army motor truck. Private Toth is a member of Branch 187, Granite City, Illinois. Private Arpad Kish, Jr., aeronautic mechanic of the 302nd School Squadron, Flight B, Kessler Field, Biloxi, Mississippi, makes an excellent pose with the barracks as his background. Private Kish is a member of Branch 226, McKeesport, Pennsylvania. The Navy Seaman Louis F. Sima, serving aboard the U. S. S. North Carolina, 2nd Division, is pictured in a surrounding of domesticity, with back yard, trees, fence, The noon bells of old St. Mary’s Church were faintly dying away and Mrs. Grega had just finished the Angelus. She sat at the little table by her kitchen window and glanced out between the tattered curtains. The sky was grey. A tiny snowflake floated before the window, finally vanishing on the window pane. It looked as though it would snow heavily tonight. Mrs. Grega sipped her coffee and ate her bread. It was strange, this story of Mrs. Grega. This old woman, ill most of her life, had to care and provide for herself. Marsha, her daughter, had run away in her early teens and gotten married. Mrs. Grega tried to find her, but all was in vain. Even now, after ten years, she thought she saw Marsha in the back yard. She thought she was little Marsha jumping about and waving her arms, trying to capture the tiny snowflakes in her mittens, but this only added pain to the moment. Mr. Grega had been dead for many years, before Marsha left, and Mrs. Grega had to support hersfelf. She was the one who worked in the downtown offices, sweeping and scrubbing grit on her aching, rheumatic legs. The coal train dashed by in back of the house, and at the bend some coal always fell from its cars. Every noon the train tooted on its way to Chicago, and every noon Mrs. Grega, coal pail on arm, would hurry to the bend to pick up the pieces of coal that had fallen off the cars; but today Mrs. Grega ignored the tooting and rambling of the freight. She would not be here long. She had enough coal. She had enough coal until tomorrow. Sister Lucretia looked at Mrs. Grega. This was just another case of an old woman who must be taken care of, but she was pleased. “Mrs. Grega, you have your pastor’s letter, of course?” she asked. “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Grega replied, “I have it in my pocketbook.” She opened her pocketbook and took out an envelope which containclothes prop and clothes line, and neighbor’s house. Seaman Sima is a member of Branch 76, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. ed her pastor’s letter. This she handed to Sister Lucretia. Sister Lucretia read the contents of the letter. “Mrs. Grega,” said Sister Lucretia, “we are very happy to have you here, and though your stay is indefinite, we trust that it will be most enjoyable. You will love our orphans, and the nuns are all very kind.” Mrs. Grega knew she would enjoy it here, for already smiling Sister Lucretia seemed to be an old friend of hers. “Your pastor comments that you are a very good housekeeper, so wouldn’t you like to help in the kitchen? You could help Sister Laura bake bread, and see that breakfast, lunch and supper are always prepared for the orphans.” “I am very good at baking,” said Mrs. Grega. “Good! Your sleeping quarters will be in the little room adjacent to the kitchen,” added Sister Lucretia. “That will be all. You will have to consult Sister Dianna across the hall for more details.” Mrs. Grega had been quite busy that afternoon. There were records to be made and arrangements to be taken cared of. The orphanage, convent and chapel were places of interest, especially the small chapel where Mrs. Grega knelt before the blue Madonna and whispered a little prayer. It was at nine thirty o’clock when Mrs. Grega really sat down to rest. The snow was falling heavily against the window and piling on the pane. The orphans were tucked in bed. Faintly one could hear the orphans’ Palestrina Choir practising Christmas carols. Mrs. Grega had just finished preparing her bread dough, ready to be made into loaves and baked in the morning. She thought of the snow and then her thoughts wandered to her old home. It would not be long, she thought, a matter of a few years when she would be called home to God. But why think of this when Christmas was only a few weeks away? Christmas time was a time for joy. And she had plenty to be joyful for now, especially a warm place to live in, food, and a few heavenly hours of prayer. Mrs. Grega meditated. Her eyelids began to droop and she realized she ought to go to bed. As the days passed Mrs. Grega became a favorite among the orphans, especially of Bobby Victor. The orphan girls loved to have her embroider some fancy design on their doll’s dresses, but of course, whenever Mrs. Grega had time. This morning Bobby entered the kitchen, early as usual, to help the old lady. “Good morning,” he called with effervescence. “Good morning,” replied Mrs. Grega. “You are always the first in the kitchen to help me with the chores, Bobby. You still could have been sleeping for about a half hour.” The morning bell always rang at 6 o’clock. “Well, I know you need some help, Mrs. Grega,” said Bobby. “Are the loaves baking?” “Yes, Bobby,” she laughed, “you can prepare the coffee.” Bobby went about the task. Mrs. Grega loved Bobby a great deal. She often wished she had a boy, or perhaps, a girl like him. Someone who would make the sun shine for her—someone who would make her happy. After the coffee was simmering in the huge kettle Bobby turned to Mrs. Grega. “Mrs. Grega, how do you like this place, I mean the orphans and everyone here?” he asked. “Why it is all right,” thought Mrs. Grega. “It costs money to feed so many hungry mouths, Bobby; the nuns are all very kind.” “I know, but don’t you sort of wished you had someone to take care of you— someone different, someone who’s an old acquaintance?” asked Bobby, not quite sure what he meant. “Yes, Bobby, and though I am provided for here I have a longing for my home. I long to see my daughter, and I long for the earthly happiness which every hu* man should have.” “You know,” added Bobby, “when I’m twenty-one I’m to receive several thousand dollars. Mother left it to me when she died. And some of the money is now being used by Sister Lucretia to pay my expenses here.” “You are fortunate, Bobby,” said Mrs. Grega. “I hope you will invest it in education.” One late afternoon Mrs. Grega walked past the office on her way to the chapel when she heard a call: “Mrs. Grega, please.” Mrs. Grega recognized the voice as that of Sister Lucretia, and she entered the office. “Mrs. Grega,” said Sister Lucretia smiling, “you are quite fond of the orphans, aren’t you?” “They are all so kind—* so good,” she replied. “But you are fond of one in particular—Bobby Victor.” She was, it was true. “Oh, yes,” she said, “Bobby is a wonderful boy.” ! “Mrs. Grega,” said Sister Lucretia, “as I noticed you going past I had to call you. I have very little information concerning Bobby, except that we are paid to provide for him until he is twenty-one. It seems that Bobby Victor is heir to a few thousands. You said you had a daughter Marsha. Whom did she marry?” “I do not know,” replied Mrs. Grega a bit shameful, “Marsha never told me.” “Mrs. Grega, I have this information,” added Sister Lucretia, “that Mrs. Victor’s maiden name was Grega—• Marsha Grega.” “Sister Lucretia, you mean—” Mrs. Grega was I faint. j “I mean that in all probability you are Bobby’s grandmother. Of course, ij have not the necessary information. Today I wrote a letter to Mr. Wellington, in Middletown, and I hope to' get a reply soon. Mrs. Victor’s will is in his posses-! sion.” “And when the reply will come will you let me know?”, asked Mrs. Grega. “I wouldj be the happiest woman in the world to know that Marsha’s little boy is mine—* now.” I Two weeks had passed and1 Christmas was just a week and a half away. Mrs. Grega walked frequently past Sister Lucretia’s office, hoping that the reply from Mr.i Wellington had come and she would be informed. Was it true? Was Bobby her boy? Marsha’s boy would really be] hers. This morning she was! in the chapel. Morning ser-] vices were always beaut if uu The nuns had already erect^
