“Lorrie!” Mrs. Aksamit called, “come for lunch.” Mrs. Aksamit handed me a bowl of cold porridge. I managed to swallow the gooey, cold, tasteless porridge. At least I had food. Sometimes, we don’t have food at all. Mrs. Aksamit opened her home for children who lost their parents, or were separated from them, like me. The war was hard on us children. I was only 5 years old. “How many more days until Christmas?” I asked Mrs. Aksamit. “Seven,” Mrs. Aksamit replied. I squealed in excitement. Mom promised to come back to me on Christmas day. I thought about when Mom will be back. She’d bring me my favorite treats and food. I’ll ask her to cook my favorite dish. I trudged back to my bed, which was mainly just a pile of dusty worn blankets on the floor in the living room, along with many other children. I lay there, thinking about when Mom comes back. She will bring me gifts. Then, an idea hit me. “I should make something for her too,” I whispered out loud, sitting up. I went outside to look for scrap materials. I picked up some dried grass and straws. Perhaps I can make her a doll? But how? After a few attempts of tying dried grass and straw together, I grew frustrated and started crying. Mrs. Aksamit hurried over when she heard me crying. “What’s wrong, Lorrie?” she asked gently. “I want to make a doll for mommy when she comes back, but I can’t!” I said, stamping my feet. “Here, let me help you,” she said, gently taking the straws and grass. She managed to tie a string she found on the ground around a bundle of grass, forming a head and a body. “Now, find some sticks or branches for the arm and legs,” she said. I wiped a tear away with my dusty hands and obeyed. I returned with a few branches I found. Mrs. Aksamit attached it to the body and tied it together. After a few more pulling and tying, handed it to me. “It isn’t the best but–” she began. “It’s great! Thank you, Mrs. Aksamit,” I said, smiling. “What will you name the doll?” Mrs. Aksamit asked. “Alina!” I said, smiling brightly at the doll, “I’m sure mommy will love it!” “Yes, she definitely would,” Mrs. Aksamit smiled warmly. I smiled. I cannot wait to see Mom’s face when she sees this. She would be delighted. I could still remember her gentle voice, talking to me on the train. I was crying because we had to leave. We had to leave home. We also had to leave Daddy behind. I didn’t want Daddy to leave. I kept asking Mom why he couldn’t come with us. “He had to fight for our country, honey,” she’d said. “Will we see him again?” I had asked. “I can’t guarantee that,” Mom whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. I remembered saying goodbye to Daddy at the train station. He gave me a tight hug. He kissed my Mom. He cried too. Daddy never cries. If even Daddy was crying then… “Is he going to die?” I exclaimed, a little too loudly. “Shh, shh, if he does, we’ll see him in heaven, sweetie,” Mom said, her voice shaking. “W–will you,” I stammered, unable to speak, “do you need to leave me too?” “No, Mommy is not leaving you,” she reassured, putting an arm around me, “if we get separated, I will come back for you. I’ll make sure I come back to you to spend Christmas with you.” “Promise?” I whispered. “Promise,” she said, “no one can stop me from coming back to my little angel.” --- The night before Christmas, on Christmas Eve, I was restless. I was busy making Alina look as beautiful as possible. I was restless and fidgety all day. I couldn’t stop hopping around. My heart was thumping in excitement. I’ve been waiting for months. Finally, I could see my mom’s face again. “Mrs. Aksamit!” I exclaimed when Mrs. Aksamit walked by. “Yes, dear?” she replied. “Tomorrow is Christmas!!!” I squealed, unable to contain my eagerness. “Yes, it is!” Mrs. Aksamit smiled. “Mommy’s gonna be back!” I said, beaming, “she’ll love the doll I made her, won’t she?” “Yes, she definitely will,” Mrs. Aksamit said softly. “I will introduce you to her. I think you two can be best friends,” I thought about how Mrs. Aksamit was almost like a mother to me sometimes. "Alright, young lady, time for bed," Mrs. Aksamit said. She tucked me in, but I couldn’t stop squirming. “Don’t worry, Lorrie, being restless won’t bring your mother here any faster,” Mrs. Aksamit smiled, and kissed me on the forehead, “good night.” “Good night,” I said, trying to close my eyes and stay still, “see you tomorrow.” --- My eyes fluttered open. It took me a moment to remember what day it was. It was Christmas. I sprang upright. The sun had just risen. The sunshine felt warm on my face. I picked up Alina and sprang up. I ran outside. “Mommy!” I called. I figured she might’ve arrived before I woke up. I searched the house, but found no sign of her. I went to Mrs. Aksamit, who was in the kitchen. "Where’s mommy?” I asked. “Oh, you silly child,” Mrs. Aksamit chuckled, “it’s but early in the morning! Give her time.”
“Right,” I muttered, disappointed. For the rest of the day, I kept a lookout for the familiar face to appear at the doorway. I’d sit at the window, watching the horizon, waiting for Mom to appear. Perhaps, I reasoned, the train was delayed. By the time the sun was starting to set, I grew restless. Clutching Alina, I ran outside. I ran up a nearby hill and waited there. Perhaps I can see her better from here. And so, with Alina held tightly in my hands, I waited. And waited. And waited… --- “Lorrie? Lorrie, wake up,” said a voice. My eyes fluttered open. I realized that I had fallen asleep on the hill. “Mommy? Is that you?” I whispered. “No, it’s me, Mrs. Aksamit,” Mrs. Aksamit said. “Oh, has Mommy arrived yet?” I said, rubbing my eyes. “No,” Mrs. Aksamit said softly. “What’s taking her so long,” I whined, “the sun had already set" I stopped rubbing my eyes and looked at Mrs. Aksamit. She was studying me steadily. “What?” I said. Mrs. Aksamit opened her mouth to speak, then closed them again. “What?” I asked again. Did Mom arrive earlier and Mrs. Aksamit didn’t want to tell me? Is Mrs. Aksamit playing a joke on me to make me think that Mom has not arrived yet? If it was a joke, it isn’t funny. Finally, she spoke, “Lorrie, do you remember when you were on the train?” “Yes, that’s when Mommy told me that she’d come to me on Christmas,” I said, squeezing Alina. Mrs. Aksamit is making me feel frustrated. “Do you remember what happened after that?” she asked gently. “Not really,” I said, realizing that I could not recall what happened between the train and Mrs. Aksamit’s place. “Do you remember anything at all?” she asked. I tried really hard to remember. I closed my eyes. I suddenly remembered the smell of smoke. Burnt metal. Then, I remembered screaming. I remembered seeing twisted metal. I thought hard. I remembered feeling my body ache. I remembered tasting blood. “Smoke,” I whispered, “yelling, screaming… and blood.” Mrs. Aksamit sighed, “The train you were on got in an accident.” “Oh, that’s right,” I said, suddenly remembering waking up in the hospital. “That’s why Mommy and I got separated right?” I whispered, slowly connecting the dots, “and she isn’t here because she’s taking a while to recover!” I looked up at Mrs. Aksamit, “Oh, is she badly injured? Take me to her! I need to be with her, it’s Christmas!” I began to sob, thinking about Mom laying on a hospital bed all this time. “You should’ve brought me to her sooner!” I exclaimed, “don’t you know how much I missed Mommy?!” “I’m sorry, Lorrie, I’ll bring you to her tomorrow,” Mrs. Aksamit said. “Now!” I insisted. “No, it is too dark,” Mrs. Aksamit said, pulling my arm. I refused to move. “Let your mother rest, don’t bother her for the night, you may go in the morning,” Mrs. Aksamit said wearily. I reluctantly got up and followed her back into the house. --- I followed Mrs. Aksamit down the path. Mrs. Aksamit had left her eldest daughter, Annalise, in charge of the house and the other children while she’s gone. I trudged along next to her, clutching Alina tightly. I still couldn’t believe Mrs. Aksamit never told me. How could she? I was anxious. Suddenly, Mrs. Aksamit stopped at a field. “We’re here,” she said. I looked around. There are no hospitals in sight. “This is not the hospital!” I said, “Mrs. Aksamit, this is not funny.” “I never said she was at the hospital,” Mrs. Aksamit sighed, “I just never corrected you.” “Then where is she!?” I cried, bursting into tears. Mrs. Aksamit pointed ahead. I followed her gaze. I froze as I saw what she was looking at. “I’m sorry, Lorrie, I should’ve told you sooner,” Mrs. Aksamit whispered, her voice shaking, “you were so excited.” “It can’t be,” I choked, staring in disbelief at… a tombstone. “Mommy’s not coming back,” Mrs. Aksamit whispered, “she died in the accident.” “No…” I said, blinking in disbelief, tears rolling down my cheeks as the truth slowly dawned on me in a wave of devastation. It’s all over. All hope is gone. Mommy is gone. I’m an orphan, just like the other kids. “No… no, no! No!!!” I shrieked, unwilling to accept the fact. “Lorrie,” Mrs. Aksamit said, taking hold of me, trying to calm me down. “No!!!” I screamed. I threw Alina into the dirt. I wailed in despair and buried my face in my hands. She’s… gone. --- “I’m looking for Loretta Hart,” I heard a man say at the door. “Lorrie, s–someone’s looking for you,” Mrs. Aksamit called. “Be right there!” I said, putting the lump of dough down, and wiping my hands on my apron. It’s been a year since the war ended. I am now eleven years old. Mrs. Aksamit kept this orphanage running. “Sir?” I said, anxiously walking to the door. I looked up at the man. His shoulders are stooped and tired. He has a shaggy beard and a weary face. A veteran. Yet, he was still recognizable. “D–Dad…?”
