The mine administrators had assumed they did Papa and me a service, placing the Jansens in the neighboring apartment. Really, how dissimilar could Dutch people be? They didn’t understand that the Netherlands was like a bunch of tiny countries squished into one, its shape as orderly as a splotch of ink. While my father spoke standard Dutch, Arie’s parents used a dialect from the Groningen province. More than that, with their family being Protestant and mine Catholic, we mixed about as well as oil and water.

Right then, however, from the doleful way Arie stared at what was left of his plane, he didn’t seem so foreign. No doubt it was the only present he expected to receive.

I ventured closer, wanting to help. “Maybe you can fix it.” Even as I said this, I knew it was unlikely. The wings and propeller had been reduced to little more than splinters.

Through hair now mussed, he looked at me with a tinge of defiance. “Doesn’t matter. It was just a dumb toy anyway.” His voice had an older quality, the natural huskiness in it. Sadness might have contributed, certainly; if tears filled his eyes, I couldn’t have blamed him. But he appeared intent on upholding his pride.

I angled away to leave him be, then remembered the object in my hand. It was a gift I never would have asked for. One of two I’d been given, not even counting the candies.

Father Lawrence’s homily echoed back from last Sunday’s mass: Christmas is not about receiving but giving however we’re able, especially to those less fortunate. Already I sensed the looming guilt.

I gave the locomotive a final glance. Allaying my conscience, I turned back. “Here. You can have it.”

Confused, then comprehending, he shook his head. “That’s yours.”

“It’s okay. I got two things. And I’ve never even liked trains that much.” Historically that was true, though it did pain me the tiniest amount to say so right then.

I straightened my arm to press the offer. Temptation stirred on his face.

Good grief, he was making this tough. “It’s even got a hiding spot inside. Watch.”

At my demonstration, his expression perked. He set the aircraft remnants on the floor and accepted the train halves. After examining the compartment, he reassembled the pieces, studying how they worked. With the toy nestled on his palm, the curled tip of his pinkie holding it in place, he examined the features from different angles in the style of a shrewd judge at a science fair, and a glimmer entered his eyes, the lifting of a fog.

He seemed to be wrestling with how to say thank you when a shout sliced through the din.

“Fire!”