by Ciara Knight
A frustrated whistled blew from Ms. Cramer. “Thank you for wasting my time.” She turned and marched toward her car.
If Davey had waited only a few seconds more before he burst through the back door, they would’ve been home free. Yes, Vic had lied, and he wasn’t proud of it, but he’d justified it the way he’d justified stealing supplies. It was for the greater good.
The door slammed against the wall so hard it bounced. “Help!” Davey bent over, resting his hands on his knees, gasping for air.
“Ran off, huh?” Ms. Cramer approached as if ready to slap the cuffs on Davey and take him away.
Why’d he come here, knowing he risked his freedom, his future?
“Ms. Rosie, she sick. Collapsed,” Davey managed between huffs and puffs.
Vic froze, unable to process Davey’s words. The fear coiled in his belly and knotted him into a tight ball. For a moment, he’d forgotten Ms. Cramer stood only feet away, ready to apprehend Davey.
She crossed her arms in front of her and bent over Davey with the posture of a priest declaring sin. “Show me where the other children are, young man.”
The room spun, Vic’s belly protested, and he nearly lost his breakfast, but in that moment, he knew two things: He needed to get to Rosie, and he needed the children safe. He grabbed his coat, buttoned it as if he were going to church, and snapped his fingers to distract the woman. He positioned himself as to block her advance, but instead of speaking to her, he yelled, “Run, Davey.”
Before the woman could make her way around him, Davey had bolted out the back, and Vic knew he’d get the others and hide. “The police can find me at home with my wife, but you’ll never find those children now. There is no way they’ll reappear, and there is nothing I’ll be able to do to find them.”
Chapter Sixteen
The pain in her head hammered without mercy. Her throat was raw and sore. The cold ground caused a chill that brought daggers plunging deep into her marrow. She mustered all the energy she could to crawl with one hand at a time, one knee at a time. The door handle required more than she thought she could give, but with a ragged breath, she managed to reach above her head and turn the knob. Quiet, so as not to disturb or scare the younger ones, she scooted inside, and with one last burst of fading energy, she managed to shut the door and collapse to the hardwood floor.
Fear corroded her insides. Not about her own health but how Vic would interpret this as being about the stress from the children. Now wasn’t the time to give in to the depths of despair, so she managed to keep the nervousness at a distance while she focused on her situation. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. One breath at a time, she pushed the awful thoughts from her mind and faded in and out of sleep. She didn’t want the other children to find her in this state, so she hid in the corner until she knew Vic would come home.
The door flew open, and Davey hopped over her and ran for the parlor. “Get to the fort. Bad lady’s comin.”
Rosie forced her eyes open, panic taking hold, and she used the burst of energy and pushed to her feet, wobbled to the parlor, and collapsed into the chair.
Davey held Reggie by the shoulders and pressed his head to his like some sort of medieval send off to battle. “You can do this. I’ll join you soon. If I can’t, Mr. or Mrs. B will help.”
“No, Davey. You come,” Gina cried out, crocodile tears rolling down her high, full cheeks.
Rosie swallowed through the rawness and forced her voice to work. “No, you all stay. We’ll fight for you. Vic won’t let them take you. I know he won’t.”
“He told me to run.” Davey ushered them to their coats.
“Why?” she mumbled to herself, but she couldn’t find a reason unless the state was going to take them and they were on their way here. Beyond what she thought her body could do, as if on borrowed strength from some force beyond herself, she made her way to the kitchen and packed food, retrieved the presents she’d made for them, and put them in the bag. By the time she managed to make her way to the door, she dropped to her knees. In an attempt to hide from them how bad she was fading, she pulled the gifts out and handed them to the children. “I thought to give this to you Christmas morning, but you need them now.”
She tugged the knitted mittens onto each little hand as they headed to the door, but when she turned to Davey with his red and white snowflake mittens, he shook his head. “Not going. Staying with you.”
The cold air blasted through the house when he opened the door and the kids took off hand in hand into the snow. The bitterness penetrated her skin and bones and settled in her soul. Not from the cold but from the idea of the children out in the cold, alone.
Davey helped her to the chair by the fire and covered her in blankets, his eyes wide with fear. “Mr. B was right. We’re too much for you.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Davey pulled out a little package he’d obviously wrapped himself and opened it for her. Inside was a little wooden carved piece. “Made this for you.” He twirled it in his hands as if studying the small object. “It’s a flame. My grandma told me it’s used to find your way home. It was meant as a Christmas present, but I want to give it to you now.” He spoke as if trying to say each word clearly, as if she wouldn’t understand otherwise. “When Papa would have a rage, I’d run off and leave Esther behind.” His voice cracked on the name they hadn’t spoken about since that awful night years ago. “He took his anger out on me. Never hit my sister ’cause he always thought she was his beloved wife.” Davey’s hands shook, and tears filled his eyes. “When he’d settle, my sister would make a fire outside to guide me home. She was brave. I wasn’t. That’s why she dead.” A tear rolled down his face, over his lips, and dropped to the floor. “I want you to have it ’cause you make it safe to come home.”
Tears gushed from her eyes so thick she had to blink through them to see the little man who’d won her heart. And in that moment, she wanted to tell him how much it meant to her. How it wasn’t his fault but his father’s, but the words lodged in her inflamed throat. The fever won. Her mouth was so dry she fought to speak, to tell him how special and brave he was, but at the sound of people outside, all she could manage to say was: “Go. Run.”
Before he had a chance, the front door swung open and in stepped Vic with Dr. Anderson in tow. He tossed his hat to the floor and raced to her side. “Dear Rosie, I knew you were overdoing it. You have to be well, my darling. I can’t lose you now.”
His wild gaze bounced around her face and body as he knelt before her, but Dr. Anderson put a hand to his shoulder. “Get her to bed, and I will examine her there.” He looked down at Davey. “So, the rumors are true. You took in all the street children.”
Vic lifted her into his arms. “They’re not street kids. They are special children. This is Davey.”
Dr. Anderson nodded and grunted, “This is probably the root of her illness. Street children probably brought disease into your home.”
Rosie feared the worst, that the doctor’s words would send Davey away, if not of his own volition but because Vic wouldn’t allow them in their home any longer. “No.”
“Shh, my love. Rest.” He gently placed her on the bed. “Please tell me she isn’t pregnant and losing a baby again.”
“Allow me to examine her, and I’ll tell you with more certainty what is wrong.” Dr. Anderson ushered Vic out the door, and he went to work. After a thorough exam, he called Vic back into the room.
Her poor husband looked as if he stood at the edge of darkness, waiting to tumble into it. She wanted to tell him not to worry, that she was strong now and could fight anything. “Vic, I…”
“Shh, Mrs. Bessler, you mustn’t try to speak.”
Vic settled by her side, kissing her hand. “She’s so hot. Is it a baby?”
“No.”
Vic’s body crumbled with a dramatic exhale. “Thank God.”
“It’s the fever. As I suspected, she has some sort of virus and an infectio
n in her throat. Most likely one of the children brought it into your home. She needs rest, fluids, and give her these antibiotics.” The doctor closed his bag and looked to Vic. “She’s lucky we have these drugs now, or she could be in serious trouble.”
Vic nodded. “Magic bullets. That’s what they called them during the war.”
“I’ve heard the term. The fever is the main concern now. Once that breaks, she should be well. If she gets worse or is not better in a few days, send for me. Even after the fever breaks, she should remain in bed and rest to allow her body to recover.”
Rosie’s eyes were heavier than she’d ever felt, as if someone were pushing them shut.
Vic escorted Dr. Anderson to the bedroom door a few feet away. “I’ll make sure of it. Thank you, Doctor.”
Her eyes closed, but she fought against the darkness.
They whispered but loud enough for Rosie to hear. “She is not out of trouble yet. Keep an eye on her throughout the night.”
The bed dipped, and she knew Vic was at her side. “You stay with me. You hear me?”
She managed to open her eyes, if only briefly, to show Vic her strength. “I will. Please, go check on the children.”
“Shh, go to sleep, my love. You’re my concern now.” He kissed her forehead, and at the sight of Davey in the doorway, she slid into the deepest sleep of her life, dreaming of Christmas morning, waking to presents under the tree but with no children to open them.
Chapter Seventeen
Davey’s little snores were a welcome distraction from the silent night. Vic clasped Rosie’s hand and held it to his cheek. It was irrational and he knew it, but he felt as if he let her go physically, she’d slip away in the night. Her skin smelled salty from her sweating through the fever but with an undertone of her favorite Jergen’s lotion she used each night before bed.
She stirred, and something fell from her hand. Vic squinted in the low light and discovered it was the flame Davey had carved. The young boy sitting vigil on the other side of Rosie jolted awake, placed the flame gently back on her belly, and then put his head down once more to sleep.
In the silence of the night, he spoke to his love. “Rosie, don’t leave me, my darling. I’d give you anything to stay with me.” Conviction plagued him, and he had to tell her how sorry he was, even if she couldn’t hear him. “I’m full of shame for causing you so much stress. What have I done? I’m a selfish man who took what he wanted with no regard of your well-being. What if you were to get pregnant? What then? Just being home with you is gift enough. More than most men I knew in the war.”
The sound of mortar echoed in his head, reminding him of the gift God had given him by returning him home. How could he have been so ungrateful? They had each other. They didn’t need any more. They didn’t need children. He choked but swallowed through the tears threatening to take his words away, clasped his hands together, and closed his eyes. “Dear Lord. I promise to never make love to my wife again if you will allow her to stay with me. I have been selfish and taking instead of being thankful for all the gifts I have in my life.” He allowed tears to fall since no one was witness to his emotions. They tumbled down his cheek and fell in dots that rolled down Rosie’s fingers. “I promise to cherish my wife and want no more for the rest of my days.”
A rooster crowed in the distance, startling Davey awake.
Vic swiped his tears away with his sleeve and looked away so Davey couldn’t see his grief.
Davey bolted from his seat and eyed the window. “Need to check on others. Be back.” He kissed Rosie on the forehead. “I’ll be back. Don’t go nowhere.”
Vic choked at the realization of his words. In his grief, he’d forgotten about the children hiding in the fort tucked behind their home in the woods. “Take more food and any other blankets. The thought of them out there all night is terrible. Tonight, if I can leave Rosie’s side, I’ll go check in town to make sure the woman’s gone. If so, we’ll sneak all of you back into the store.” He wanted them at home, but not while Rosie was ill. Not when they could’ve brought something into their home that had made her so sick.
Davey looked at his worn secondhand shoes they’d been able to get him. “Don’t worry about us. We’re street kids. We’ll survive.”
“No, Davey, you and the others are not street kids. You are young people who have amazing strength, intelligence, and hearts. And you are the reason they have grown up so well.”
Davey’s bottom lip trembled, but before Vic could say another word, he ran off the way he’d been conditioned to run away his entire life.
Sounds of him rummaging through the kitchen reminded Vic of how lively the house had been in the last few weeks, but bringing those kids into Rosie’s life had been his biggest mistake since returning from Europe. If she had caught something from them and died, he’d never forgive himself.
The front door slammed shut, so Vic stretched the kinks from his back and neck and then went outside to get some snow. The footprints leading from their home to the woods were like a path to the lost and forgotten of Sugar Maple. Vic wanted to go out there and bring the children home, but instead, he returned to Rosie. Once the snow melted, he soaked rags in the cold water and pressed them to Rosie’s beet-colored skin. It was almost purple more than red, and he didn’t like it. For most of the day he sat by her side, holding her hand and praying until his own eyes grew heavy and he dozed off into fitful sleep.
A loud thump outside jolted him awake. In his groggy state, he imagined it was Rosie, but when he blinked through the fog, he found her still in bed looking like Snow White who’d eaten a bad apple.
For another fifteen hours, he only moved for snow to dip more rags into keep her cool, to use the bathroom, and once to change his clothes. Davey hadn’t returned, and Vic worried for him and the others, but he couldn’t leave Rosie’s side.
It had been too long since she had awoken. It was time to call Dr. Anderson again. Vic pressed a hand to Rosie’s forehead, and her beautiful lashes fluttered.
“My darling, can you hear me?” He willed her lids to open, and to his joy they did, revealing Rosie’s bloodshot but beautiful eyes.
After a strange noise that sounded like her throat clearing, she managed to whisper, “Where are the children?”
Her lips were so chapped and her words barely audible. He grabbed the cool water pitcher he’d put on the dresser in case she awoke. “Here, drink this.”
Two loud gulps and eyes shut tight told him that her throat had to be drier than the morning after the night he’d spent at the English pub with his fellow soldiers before they were transferred to France. A night that was followed by an awful morning where they had to board a rocking ship and he swore never to drink again.
“My darling, I’m so happy you’re awake.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Don’t worry about that now.” He held the glass to her lips once more.
After two more sips, she pushed the glass away. “The children. Tell me.”
He took her hand. “They’re fine, my love. Don’t worry about them. Davey’s with them.”
“But—”
“Shh. Save your strength.” Vic squeezed her hand and then stood. “I’ll get you some soup. You need to eat.” He bolted from the room and heated some soup, but by the time he returned, she slept once more.
For two more days, he nursed his lovely Rosie, but on day three she awoke with more determination than before and he knew he couldn’t keep her contained much longer, despite what was good for her. “I refuse to eat until you tell me about the children. What happened with the orphanage? Where are they? Why aren’t they here?”
“Calm down.” He held a spoon to her lips, but she batted it away, causing bits of chicken and yellow liquid to splatter on the blanket. She crossed her arms over her chest like a child and jutted out her lip like a girl version of Davey.
Two could play Davey. “Fine. I’ll tell you something each time you take a bite.”
She swished her lips and dropped her hands to the side but still didn’t release the small flame Davey had made her. “Fine. What happened with the orphanage?”
He held up a spoon of soup to her lips, and she opened and then swallowed. This time it appeared to go down easier. “She said that she wanted the younger ones but we could keep the older ones.”
“Davey will never go for that. And neither will I. They need to stay together. All they’ve ever had was each other. You take that from them, and they’ll never have a good life. We’ve made so much progress. Davey was even talking about spending a week with us from Christmas to New Year’s. That was his special gift to the younger ones.”
The way her words came rushed concerned Vic. He wanted her to remain in bed resting, not chasing after children.
“What did you tell that woman?”
He held another spoonful to her lips.
She huffed but accepted the proffered soup before she said, “So?”
“So, she said we couldn’t keep them.”
Rosie scanned the room as if looking for answers. “Then we’ll fight.”
“Rosie.”
“Don’t Rosie me. Those children need a home, and we have one. You and I both know Davey won’t survive an orphanage. He won’t even stay here. We can offer the others a place to sleep, and he can come and go as he pleases with the rule that we are the ones who care for the rest, not him.”
“We can’t. I won’t let you take on so much, my love.”
“So much? It isn’t a job. It’s a pleasure. You won’t consider trying again for our own baby, so this may be what God wants. This may be what we were meant to do as parents.”
“Even if we want to fight, we won’t win.”
“Why? Why can’t we?” Rosie’s voice cracked.
