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So close, I could see the glint of tears dropping from her eyelids but also the ghost of a faint smile for me as she looked up. In that moment, the Christmas Spirit itself seemed physically to radiate from the face of this heartbroken but supremely courageous mother. I was shaken. My formal duties at the funeral were now completed; it was just as well.
At the family’s insistence, I stayed with them for two more days after the funeral. They took me out to a relative’s ranch for dinner (lunch). Everything home-grown, home-preserved, and home-cooked. And everything as delicious as the warmth of their Texan hospitality. In fact, I soon began to feel vaguely concerned, for there seemed to be some sort of plot afoot to “keep” me. But when I finally suggested that maybe it was time for me to get back to the war, the Spurlins gracefully apologized for having been selfish.
Upon my return, I reported to Commander Schrader, the C.O., relating some of my adventures on the trip. After giving me a “Well done" for carrying out an “unpleasant" duty, he expressed his regret that I had to miss out on Christmas and a very successful squadron party.
I shook my head, “Skipper, I didn’t miss out on a thing. I reckon I ran smack dab into Christmas on this trip.”
Without asking for explanations but with an amused expression on his face, the commander genially dismissed me. He seemed to know something more than he had told me — or that I had told him.
But he couldn’t have.
Before the next Christmas came around, the Commander himself was lost in combat over Formosa.
Robert VC. Eastham is a resident of Flint Hill. This story is taken from his autobiographical sketch, “Time Out for War. ’’
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