by Terrie Todd
Had Mrs. Marshall returned home yet and found her note? With any luck, the woman would be worn out and go straight to bed, and not realize until morning that Charlotte was gone. The more distance she could put between herself and Winnipeg, the better. Now she could focus on the mission ahead: get to Petawawa and find a way to Reginald’s army base.
Marlajean and Trudy returned looking energized and happy. Marlajean settled her daughter with a coloring book and crayons and began chatting with Charlotte.
“It’s going to be a long trip, but I’m so glad we’re on our way. Trudy and I are going to wait out the war with my parents. Hopefully, when we return home it will be as an intact family, with my Frederick back safe and sound.”
“I hope that for you, too.” Charlotte didn’t know what else to say.
“When is your baby coming? I would guess . . . November?”
“The end of September.”
“That soon?” A look of motherly concern came over Marlajean’s face. “It’s late for you to be traveling—do you have your doctor’s blessing?”
The thought had not occurred to Charlotte. She’d seen Dr. Olson only one time. He had confirmed the baby’s approximate due date and Charlotte’s general good health. Before that, her family doctor back in Ontario, Dr. Bruce, had first confirmed the pregnancy. Now, she supposed, she would need to find a new doctor.
“Not exactly, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“I assume you’re going to visit your husband?” Marlajean’s eyebrows were raised high and a wide smile broadened her pretty face.
“Yes.” Charlotte smiled back and nodded enthusiastically. “I can’t wait.”
“How long has it been?”
Charlotte thought about the day her beloved Reginald boarded the troops’ train in their hometown, before even she knew about the coming baby. “Too long,” she said. “Seems like a lifetime.”
“I know what you mean.”
The evening passed pleasantly enough. It being too dark to read, Marlajean continued chatting with Charlotte until they both dozed into a restless night as the train kept chugging along.
In her dreams, Charlotte ran through a crowded train station, dodging soldiers and old women and children as she fought her way through the throng. A sense of urgency engulfed her, and she looked over her shoulder every few steps. Her legs felt like they were trying to carry her through knee-deep water, making progress nearly impossible. Each time she awoke to the rocking motion of the train, a sense of relief washed over her—only to return to the same dream. The entire thing was overshadowed with a vague sense of guilt, but she refused to let her mind dwell on that. She was doing what she had to do.
At some point in the middle of the night, Charlotte awoke to stomach cramps. She lumbered to the rear of the car to use the lavatory, but her discomfort only grew. She returned to her seat and tried to relax. Had the chicken in her sandwich gone bad? She shifted her position every few minutes, but sleep would not return. Another two trips to the lavatory didn’t help.
The sun was peering over the eastern horizon when Marlajean awoke, rubbing her eyes and stretching her limbs. After just one glance at Charlotte, motherly concern swept across her face again.
“Are you okay, honey? You’re looking awfully pale.”
Charlotte groaned. “No, I’m not. I think I ate some bad chicken last night.”
“Did you throw up yet?”
“No. It’s not really that kind of sick.”
“Diarrhea?”
“No. Just pain. It comes and goes.” Charlotte laid her hand across her abdomen to indicate where the pain was.
“Oh no.” Marlajean placed her hand over Charlotte’s. “When did you say this baby was coming?”
“Not for five more weeks.”
Marlajean sighed. “Okay. Try to relax, honey. This is probably just false labor.”
“Labor?”
“False labor. It might come and go for weeks.” She pulled a blanket over Charlotte’s shoulders. “I’m taking Trudy to the lavatory. You try to relax. I’ll bring you some tea to sip.”
Charlotte felt weak as she watched them leave, as if a lifeline were being pulled away from her. How could she get sick now? By the end of this day, she’d be with Reginald! She couldn’t show up sick, she just couldn’t. Maybe Marlajean was right. Whatever this “false labor” was, it would soon pass.
“I’ll be okay,” she whispered. “God, let me be okay.” Charlotte could not recall the last time she’d called upon God for anything, but she had no sooner done so than a gush of warm water soaked the seat beneath her. It took her a minute to realize it was coming from her body.
“Marlajean?” Her call came out in a distressingly weak croak. She tried again. “Marlajean?”
CHAPTER 9
Reuben had accompanied Maggie home from the funeral before returning to his office, where he spent several hours writing Sunday’s sermon on “Comforting the Mourning.”
There seemed to be enough mourning within his congregation to merit a year’s worth of sermons. Someone had left a note on his desk saying the Richards family had received word their son was wounded. His life was out of danger, but he’d be returning home with no legs. Reuben made a note to visit the boys’ parents first thing in the morning.
And the needs didn’t end with his parish. Hardly a home in the city was untouched by some sort of disaster, it seemed. Even today, he’d felt a pang of guilt over spending so much of his time ministering to Maggie Marshall because she was not officially part of his congregation. No one had complained yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time.
“Your flock pays your salary, Reverend Fennel,” Walter Mitchell had told him late one night after a lengthy board meeting. “We’re happy to have you reach beyond, as time allows, of course. But not at the expense of our own.”
If only he could convince his people of the need to minister to one another and help carry the load. Even Jesus had a team of disciples to help distribute the loaves and fishes he provided. Reuben based the sermon he was writing on Galatians 6:2: “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”
When he was finally satisfied with his work, he looked up and was surprised to see the sun had gone down. With a sigh, he turned off his desk lamp and walked to Mrs. O’Toole’s boardinghouse. One lamp in the entry remained on, and his landlady’s calico cat rubbed up against his leg in greeting.
“Good evening, Sheila. Are you the only one still up?” He crouched down and stroked the black, orange, and cream-colored fur until the purring began. On the dining room table, a plate of food sat covered with a dish towel. He lifted the edge of the cloth and peered beneath. Some sort of potato-and-ham dish with a side of sliced carrots filled the plate. Even the wonders that typically flowed from Mrs. O’Toole’s kitchen couldn’t fuel his appetite tonight. But, knowing he’d never hear the end of it if he left the food untouched, he carried the plate upstairs to his room and laid it on his desk. Perhaps he could eat the meal later.
After peeling off his jacket and clerical collar, he splashed a little water on his face at the sink in the corner of the room. He lay across the bed, staring up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. It had been a long day and he had accomplished so little.
He couldn’t get his mind off Maggie Marshall.
The woman was simply not the same person he’d once known. When she wasn’t being grouchy or downright mean, she acted like a frightened sheep, looking to him for help he felt completely inadequate to provide. Somewhere beneath that bitter mask, though, the joy-filled girl he had once known must still be hiding. He felt sure of it, but how on earth did one begin to find her?
The jangling of the telephone downstairs caused him to stir, and Reuben realized he had fallen asleep still fully clothed. He glanced at the clock on his dresser. Four a.m. How long had he been asleep? Was that a parishioner in need of his services? Please, Lord. Not tonight. I’m so tired.
When a knock sounded at his
door moments later, he knew the call was for him. Mrs. O’Toole stood in the hallway in her robe and slippers.
“Telephone for you then, Rev’rend.”
“I’m so sorry your sleep was disturbed, Mrs. O’Toole.”
“Nonsense. I was readin’ in bed, I was. Couldn’t sleep anymore. And if it’s the Lord’s work you’re bein’ called to, I consider it a privilege to be a part of it.”
“Thank you.” Reuben plodded down the stairs and picked up the phone, praying it was not Bonnie Cartwright on the line.
“Reuben Fennel here.”
“Reuben? It’s Maggie.”
“Maggie? Is everything all right?”
“That darn girl has run off.”
Reuben’s brain couldn’t shift gears fast enough. “What girl?”
“Charlotte. My waitress. I wasn’t concerned at first. When I got home, I found a note saying she’d gone walking and might visit her friend Rose. Rose’s family runs the bakery up the street, and the girls have gotten acquainted. I was exhausted and went to bed.”
“What do you mean, she’s run off?”
“She’s still not back. When I went to check her bedroom, it was stripped of her belongings. Well, almost. She left a few items, but I haven’t seen her wear any of them since she first came.”
“Did you check with Rose?”
“Yes, I walked over there and woke up the whole family. They were none too pleased, let me tell you. Rose said she hasn’t seen Charlotte for a week or more.”
“Have you called the police?”
“I did. They said they don’t consider someone missing until it’s been twenty-four hours.”
“Did you tell them she’s pregnant?”
“No. Didn’t think it would make a difference.”
“What about her parents?”
“Charlotte’s parents are not . . . how can I say this?” Maggie sighed. “They’re off on a holiday. When I called their home and got no answer, I remembered Charlotte mentioning that they were traveling through the western states, then back up to Canada, and would pick Charlotte up on their way home to Ontario. Guess they figure she’ll have had the baby and given it to the adoptive parents, and it will all be over by the time they get here.”
Reuben shook his head. What kind of parents treated their daughter that way?
“I have a hunch, though,” Maggie continued. “Someone scribbled some numbers on my ink blotter, and it wasn’t me. Sure looks like a train schedule. I think she might be trying to go see that boyfriend of hers in Petawawa.”
“Is he the father of her baby?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know anything about it. Looks like he’s about to find out, though. Unless I can track her down first.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Maggie.” Reuben couldn’t imagine what he could do, but he was fully awake now.
“Know anybody who’s got a car and would consider loaning it to me? I figure maybe if I leave right away, I can find out the train schedule and get to one of the stops before her train does.”
Reuben knew that was nearly impossible. The roads into northern Ontario were rough gravel at best and boggy trails everywhere else. “Have you traveled much? The roads—”
“I wasn’t calling for your opinion. I’m looking for a car to borrow.”
“But Maggie, you’ll never—”
“I have a regular customer who makes the trip all the time in his delivery truck. Says he can get from Fort William to Winnipeg in a day.” Reuben could picture the stubborn set of Maggie’s jaw.
“You’d never catch up with a train.”
“Besides, the train has to stop at every town along the way. I don’t.”
“Still. She’s way ahead of you, Maggie.”
“I’ll drive all the way to Petawawa if I have to. She’s bound to get off there.”
Reuben could hear the determination in Maggie’s voice, but the idea sounded ludicrous to him. “Surely if you wait, the police will be able to help you.”
“I’m responsible for that girl, Reuben. If you can’t help me, I’ll keep asking elsewhere. Good-bye.”
“Maggie, wait!” Reuben sighed. “I have a car. It’s been parked for months, ever since they started rationing gas. You can use it.”
“Thank you. Can you meet me at the train station so I don’t lose any more time?”
“Wait! What about fuel?”
“I’ll figure that out as I go along. We’re just wastin’ time yammering on the phone.”
There was no way Reuben was willing to see Maggie or any woman taking off cross-country without adequate fuel rations, and it would take nearly a year’s worth to make the round trip she was considering. “Listen. One of our deacons works for the oil controller’s office, and he got me one of those Special Class A ration cards for church emergencies. I, um . . . was supposed to turn it in if I put my car in storage, but . . . it’s not technically in storage. If you insist on going, then I insist that you take the card.”
Silence.
“Maggie? You there?”
“Thank you, Reuben.” Was that a catch he heard in her voice? “I’m leaving for the train station the minute I hang up this telephone. I’m going to find out if anyone saw her. No sense going off on a wild goose chase if she didn’t actually get on a train.”
“I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. But for the record, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
The phone went dead without a good-bye from Maggie. Replacing its receiver, Reuben tossed up a quick prayer for help and took the stairs two at a time. He changed his clothes, threw a few items into a bag, and looked out the window to where his car had been sitting for months. The light from his bedroom window reflected off its hood. Would the thing even run properly?
Mrs. O’Toole stood in the hallway wringing her hands.
“Has something awful happened, Rev’rend? Have we lost another one of our boys?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m going to help a friend, that’s all. I may be gone a day or two, Mrs. O’Toole, and I’m taking my car. You can help by praying it’ll start right off.”
By the time Reuben got the 1938 Plymouth running and a thick layer of dust washed off the windshield, the sun was coming up and Mrs. O’Toole had pulled together a bag of sandwiches. He accepted it gratefully when she handed it to him with a somber “God bless you.”
He didn’t know whether he’d need the lunch, but he knew one thing for sure. He was not letting Maggie Marshall go on this quest without him.
CHAPTER 10
Maggie took one step inside Union Station on Main Street and was bowled over by memories. The scents of luggage and floor cleansers and the sounds of train whistles and destinations being called out over the public address system took her right back. Suddenly it was 1926 and she was sixteen years old again.
At first, she’d been excited about the plans to accompany her mother to Calgary to visit her aunt Audrey. It was her first train trip, and she and her mother would not return for three weeks. The station was still relatively new then and was bustling with activity and travelers. The magnificent dome overhead and the elaborate circular design in the marble tiled floor filled her young heart with awe. But though she gawked long and hard at all the unfamiliar sights, her heart was heavy.
Maggie’s best friend, Susan Cuthbert, was carrying a secret burden no girl should have to shoulder. Maggie and Susan had become playmates as preschoolers. Susan lived just four doors down from Maggie and once they started school, they grew inseparable. People teased them about being Siamese twins, but they loved it. They shared everything—clothes, books, and secrets. Even when Susan started going out with Bobby Lodge, and Maggie was still years from having her first boyfriend, their friendship remained strong.
It had been a month since Susan confided her fear.
Maggie had tried to convince her to see a doctor to confirm the pregnancy, but doing so would mean telling her parents, which Susan refused to do.
&nb
sp; “They’re going to find out sooner or later, Suze,” Maggie said. “I’ll go with you. It’ll be okay.”
And so she had. But it was not okay.
Even as Maggie packed her bag to accompany her mother on this trip, she knew Suze was packing her own bags. Her parents were sending her on a trip too—not to some place where she could have the baby, but some place where they would “take care of it.” Susan would return in a few days, no longer pregnant. The nightmare would be over, no one would be the wiser, and her parents would make sure Suze never saw Bobby Lodge again.
Three weeks later, Maggie and her mother returned to this same train station. She couldn’t wait to visit Susan. Her father met them and carried their baggage, but was unusually quiet. Maggie immediately began peppering him with questions. Was Susan home yet? Had he seen her? Could Maggie go see her?
“We’ll talk when we get home” was all he said.
Before Maggie could even carry her bag upstairs, her father sat her and her mother down at the kitchen table. Until the day she died, Maggie would never forget the expression on Daddy’s face nor the wave of nausea that overcame her when he told her Susan was dead.
“What did they do?” her mother demanded. “Take her to some filthy backstreet witch doctor who—”
“No, Martha. Susan never even left home.” He swallowed hard. “She took her own life.”
Maggie could only stare. It had to be a mistake.
Daddy opened the drawer where they kept scissors and string and pulled from it a sealed envelope with Maggie Sutherland written on the front. When he handed it to Maggie, she immediately recognized Susan’s handwriting.
“I would appreciate it if you could read that here, with your mother and me, Maggie. But if you want to wait—or take it to your room—I understand.”
Maggie looked at both her parents. She could read in their faces their concern for her and knew they had loved Susan like their own daughter. With a massive sigh, she opened the envelope but did not read aloud. Doing so would have been impossible. Her parents waited patiently while she read in silence, disbelief flooding her heart with every sentence Susan had written.
