by Ciara Knight
“Rosie…”
Vic’s voice shattered her visit to the past, but as if stuck between the two times, she sat frozen. He knelt by her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
Tears streamed down her face, but she managed not to fade away completely into her grief, as if his touch kept her sane. She needed to trust him if she hoped they’d ever mend the distance between them. “This was Esther’s. She was a little girl I cared for while you were away. Davey’s twin sister. For a short time, she provided so much joy in a dark world.”
He ran his hand down her hair, neck, shoulders, and back, sending a wave of calmness through her body.
“These were the princess dresses I made for her that she loved. The material still smells of her favorite treat as if she wore them this morning.”
“And the baby powder?”
She bowed her head. “Yes. That, too. I always had to bathe her and put this on her due to the rashes being so bad she couldn’t sit. She would have accidents, and her father would make her sit in them as punishment.” Her words sounded strangled, as if the memories coiled around her neck and squeezed.
“I’m so sorry you went through so much while I was away.” He hesitated, closed his eyes. She knew he was struggling with opening his own heart to her. She squeezed his hand for encouragement.
He squeezed her in return. “I would do anything to turn back the clock and be here with you, but I can’t. I still feel so much guilt. It keeps me awake at night. Guilt for the men I lost, guilt for the lives I took, guilt for leaving the lost and forgotten behind, but most of all the guilt that you were hurt and I wasn’t here to protect you.”
She dropped the dress into the box and shoved it to the side. “No. Don’t carry that guilt. It is mine to bear. I know you’re my husband and protector, but I’m responsible for my own actions, and I vow to you that no matter what happens, I’ll never try to take my life again. I’m older, wiser, stronger.” She swiped the tears away and forced the stone façade to block the memories once again.
“Don’t do that.” Vic took both her hands and held them as if she were his life raft in a great Atlantic storm.
“What?”
He shifted to face her, knees-to-knees. “Pull away. Hide your pain from me. I may not have been here then, but I’m here now.”
“Are you?” she asked but didn’t want to know the truth of it. “Do you really want to be here with me? Or is it too late for us? Will we be strangers forever?”
“No.” His gaze darted to her eyes, hair, chin, cheeks, lips. “We will be strangers no more.” He took her in his arms and kissed her with enough passion for a thousand lost moments, a million renewed promises, a zillion years of wanting and desire until he left her breathless and wanting.
And then he was gone.
He pulled away from her with wide eyes and open mouth, panting and holding his chest. She saw the struggle within him, and despite the overwhelming desire to be with her husband as one once more, he wasn’t ready. But in that moment, she was sure of one thing. He did want her.
Rosie closed the box to the past, put it away, and then stood, smoothed out her skirt, and offered Vic a hand. “Come on. I’ll get that stew you like so much heated up. I can make some fresh biscuits, too.”
“Rosie, I…”
“Take my hand, Vic. We will continue on the journey we started last night.”
He rose to his full, commanding height. His face looked less gaunt, and she knew in a matter of weeks he’d be back to his strong, pre-war stature. “I-I…” His chin fell to his chest. “Thank you.”
She took him by the hand and led him to the dining table. “Sit and relax. I’ll have dinner out shortly.”
“Wait.” As if he’d snapped out of his guilt trance, he shot up from the chair. “Today. With Davey.”
She could feel the corners of her mouth pull into a frown and her teeth clench tight. “That’s a topic for another time.”
“But are you upset with me for having him in the store? Is it because he reminds you of Esther?” Vic blinked at her expectantly.
“No. I’m glad he’s in your store with you.” She marched to the kitchen before he could see the sadness she knew she couldn’t hide at the realization that she was no good for Davey. Perhaps every time he looked at her, he saw the death of his sister. She pushed away the awful memories and began heating the stew and making biscuits so she could have some time alone. They always had one rule… If you weren’t helping in the kitchen, then you weren’t welcome.
True to his word, the vacuum cleaner cut on while she kneaded dough with her aching hands, cutting it into biscuits, and baking them. While working, she remembered she needed to convince Vic to allow her to deliver the furniture on Saturday. He’d been so kind and open to their new roles, but this was all still new. Would he react the same way to her driving to another town alone? He’d always been so protective.
She plated the food, removed her apron, and delivered the biscuits with warm stew to the table.
“Looks delicious. Thanks.” After a silent prayer, Vic dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
Rosie settled into her seat, but nerves kept her from eating. “I know this won’t be convenient for you, but I was wondering if I could borrow the truck on Saturday. I’ll make breakfast before I go, I’ll leave a sandwich for lunch, and I’ll be back to make a nice dinner.”
He slurped another spoonful before he spoke. “What for?” he asked in a tentative tone.
“I need to deliver the table and chairs.” She swirled the stew around with her spoon and then looked up at his blank expression. “It’s only about an hour and a half drive to Clinton, so I won’t be gone that long. The town is booming with new construction, so Mr. Richards, the owner of the furniture store there, sells mine in exchange for a percentage of the profits.”
“Clinton?” Vic lit up like a Christmas tree with a thousand lights.
Rosie eyed him, trying to assess what his delight meant for her plans. “Yes.”
“Perfect.” He dropped his spoon and sat forward with his elbows uncharacteristically on the table. “I wanted to invite you to see a brand-new picture on Saturday that is playing at the Ritz theater.” He straightened his tie and sat tall. “Rosie, would you like to go to the theater with me on Saturday? We can make a day of it, just the two of us.”
The way he fidgeted reminded her of the first time he’d asked her out. Was he really that nervous after being married so long? It warmed her heart to see how much he cared.
“And we can take the furniture with us?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. We can deliver it before the show.” He gripped his bad knee but didn’t say anything about pain. Did it hurt? If so, would it get better with time?
She straightened the napkin on her lap. “I’d be honored to go with you.”
He lifted his spoon once more and dug in. Hopefully, after Saturday night, there would be no valley-sized obstacle between them. She’d find a way to break through that fear and guilt and be his wife once more, even if he didn’t want to take the chance of having a child. “I also need a few supplies, so could I borrow the truck tomorrow, too? Just for an hour or so.”
Anxiety mixed with excitement at the thought of her plan. She’d seen the advertisement about contraception and how men returning from war could purchase them in the States. But she hesitated. Would they even sell a woman contraception at a pharmacy? This was new territory, but even if she could manage to have a conversation with Vic without blushing or stumbling over her words, it would give him a chance to say no. It was up to her to fix their marriage and make it whole since she was the one who had broken it. Perhaps someday they could discuss trying again to have a baby, but for now, she wanted her husband.
“Sure. I don’t need it.”
And with those five words, Rosie relished in the possibility of tomorrow for the first time in four years.
Chapter Eight
For three days, Vic enjoyed life. He�
��d found a rhythm that suited him. Up at three in the morning, sneak out of the house, cover the children behind his shop, and Davey coming in at the first rays of light. He’d brought an old space heater to the shop so they’d all be warm during the day. Davey would return blankets and begin cleaning each morning. Rosie would slip in through the back, and he could hear her work, but she’d never come into the store to visit. Perhaps it was too painful for her to see Davey, but when he’d halfheartedly offered to send Davey away, she’d refused to allow it. Still, it was nice to have Rosie in the building, even if he couldn’t see her.
“Time for coffee and learning.” Vic set the mug on the table and put out the four new blocks he’d made that had the letters M, N, O, and P.
Davey huffed but plopped down on the stool next to Vic and shuffled them around a few times. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G…” he sang in the softest of tones, but when he reached the current letters, he put them in the right order with a beaming smile.
“That’s right.” Vic patted him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s try a word. Here.” He took the A from the first day and placed it between the M and N. “What does this say.”
“Don’t read, remember?” Davey shoved away from the table with a loud scratch of metal stool and feet to wood.
“Mmmmm.” Vic made a sound like he was eating ice cream.
Davey quirked a brow at him.
“The sound M makes. Mmmmm.”
Davey looked to the blocks and squinted as if to decipher the code. “Mmmmmm. Aaaaahhh.”
“Yes. Now, try it with the N.”
“Mmmmm. Aaaaah. Nnnn. Man! The word’s man.” Davey’s eyes went wider than they had the day he held that slinky.
“Wow, you’re a fast learner.”
Davey returned to his seat and shifted all the letters around, trying to find new words as if they were a map to the hidden treasure of reading. Once he’d practiced all his letters, he looked over at the scrap wood pile and apparently decided it was time to practice his other skill. “Tomorrow, we finish alphabet. Time to read.”
Vic abandoned his current project and returned to carving letters into blocks and even had Davey work sanding some.
When he finished sanding the other blocks, Davey picked up a scrap piece and worked to carve it into something, but he didn’t take to the trade quickly. He didn’t possess the patience. He reminded Vic a lot of Rosie at times, always working hard but not enjoying the tiny details of things.
He chiseled away at something, but Vic didn’t want to ask what he was creating.
With a loud harrumph, Davey tossed the wood and chisel onto the workbench.
“What’s wrong?” Vic asked in a calm tone.
“I wanted to make a Christmas tree for Betty. She said she misses that most.” Davey crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his bottom lip out that quivered, but he wouldn’t cry. He considered himself too much of a man to do that.
Vic retrieved the small pointed object and held it up to the light. “You know, sometimes we make things that we’re not expecting. This is a beautiful flame, like a candlelight.”
Davey dropped his hands by his sides and leaned forward. “Fire?”
“Yes.” Vic held it up to him. “Sometimes our hearts win over our minds and we make things we want even more. Perhaps you made this because you want to be warm. Why don’t you take the blankets tonight so the rest of your friends won’t be cold?”
“Nah, that’s not it.” He took the carving from Vic and turned it to see every side. “It’s from my heart though.” Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, but Vic had no idea why. Obviously the fire meant something to him.
“Still, how about those blankets?”
“No. No charity. We agreed.”
“Yes, sir.” Vic held up his hands, not wanting to lose the ground he’d made with Davey with the morning man cup of coffee and learning to read with the letter blocks. But it was growing colder outside, and he needed to be smarter if they weren’t going to freeze, and tomorrow night would be dropping down to below thirty degrees.
Davey swept up his mess and arranged the letters from A to P in order and said them aloud as Vic worked on more blocks. After serving two precious customers, Vic returned to his seat and realized he’d have to close shop tomorrow. Perfect. “I have a favor to ask, but it’s a big one.”
“What’s that?” Davey peered from below his cap that he obviously kept on for warmth.
“Never mind. It’s too much to ask. It’s a big job.” Vic painted the V red and handed it to Davey so he could put it on the drying rack.
“You don’t think I can handle it?” Davey straightened his too short jacket that rose an inch above his wrists, yet swallowed his tiny frame.
“Oh, I know you can, but as I said, it’s a tough job. It’s super important, but I know you wouldn’t want to do it because you’d have to be inside all night.”
“Why’s that?” He narrowed his eyes with suspicion, but Vic was in this far. He had to try.
“You see, since there are so many people without money this year, they’re having to take things for their families. Now, I want to help them, but this is my business and I’m struggling, too.”
Davey looked indignant with his chin high and proud. “Taking’s not right. We don’t take. Well, nothing but food.”
“Right, but my problem is that I need to be home at night, so I can’t watch the store for people coming in here and taking things. I need someone to stay here at night to watch the place. As I said, though, it isn’t right to ask you another favor when I can’t pay you.”
Davey looked at the drying painted blocks as if trying to read the right answer. “No, it’s not right to work for no money.” He bit his thumbnail for several seconds. “I’ll do it, though. For you. Only if Betty, Reggie, Eva, and Gina stay inside with me. I’ll do this favor in exchange for using the blankets. You’ll pay me with that, and I’ll work for you.”
“You’re a shrewd businessman there, Davey.” Vic offered his hand. “It’s a deal.”
“I don’t know what shooed means, but it’s a deal.”
Relieved with one major dilemma settled, Vic finished the entire alphabet and managed enough business to buy the movie tickets and food for tomorrow.
An hour after he heard Rosie sneak out the back, Vic removed his key from his pocket and handed it to Davey. “I won’t be in town tomorrow, so just lock up whenever you leave, or you can watch the store all day if you want. Just make sure none of the younger ones touch anything sharp. And don’t ever leave the space heater running when you leave or at night when you sleep. It’s old, and I don’t want to risk it. I’m going to get a new one as soon as I can.”
Davey held out one small hand, palm out. “Got it. No need for the key, though. Your back-door lock doesn’t latch all the way. I can get in that way.”
Vic would think the young man had been squatting here for a while, except each time he arrived at three or four in the morning, they were outside. “I’m going to head home early. I want to make sure the truck is running well before we head out in the morning to make deliveries. I don’t want anything to mess up my special day with Mrs. Bessler.”
“Go. I’ll handle the shop.” Davey waved him out of the store with a broad smile. Had he really just offered unsupervised space to children? Would his place still be standing when he returned? One glance at Davey, and he knew the kid wouldn’t harm anything or anyone. Unless you messed with his gang. Then those tiny fists would come out ready to fight.
Mr. Mason was sweeping his front entry to his store. “You still letting those street kids in your shop, I see.”
Vic forced a smile, despite his agitation at the term street kids. “As I told you, Davey is helping me in the shop.”
“You spend too much time focused on those kids, and your wife might be looking for other way to spend her time.”
The thin line of proper etiquette snapped and the soldier in him came out. He bolted forward within fighting dis
tance. “You don’t ever speak about my Rosie that way. You have no cause.”
Mr. Mason narrowed his gaze with what appeared to be a reason for his insult, but then he backed into his store. “My apologies.”
Vic rounded the building and took a lap around town before heading home once his anger had waned. He yearned for tomorrow; they’d spend the day together. There was nothing more exciting to him than the thought of taking a long drive together, holding hands, and seeing a picture.
He whistled on his way home and didn’t even mind the dropping temperature now that he didn’t have to worry about the children freezing. He’d keep this little arrangement a secret for now, though. Not that he would lie if Rosie asked, but there was no reason to volunteer information that might upset her before their big day.
He found Rosie putting dinner on the table. “It smells amazing.”
“Thank you. Sit, please.”
Like the last two evenings, they enjoyed sipping hot tea fireside. But like the other times, once their cups were empty and it was time for bed, Rosie began fidgeting and she eyed the hallway. He knew she was trying to obey his wishes. Her nerves appeared with her straight posture and trembling hands, causing the dishes to clink together as she returned them to the kitchen before she headed to her room. She paused and waited for him to open her door and bid her good night.
Vic found his room frigid. He looked under the bed and in the armoire, but there were no extra blankets. He knew there had to be more in Rosie’s room, so he went to her door and knocked lightly. The door wasn’t latched, so he pushed it open. “Hi, Rosie.”
Rosie threw something in a drawer and slammed it shut, shooting up straight. “What’re you doing in here?”
Vic eyed the drawer. Warning signals sounded in his head. Mr. Mason’s words had taken hold, despite the insanity of them. “It’s cold in my room. I came for another blanket.”
