by Terrie Todd
“I’m not married. My baby is only six weeks old, and I was hoping that if I could work here, he could come with me to work. I’m good with children. I have a vivid imagination and can dream up all sorts of fun games and activities. Why, just give me a bag of old clothes and I can keep young children entertained for hours! I can play the piano and sing, too. Musical instruction is important for little ones, don’t you think?”
Charlotte stopped. Had she said too much? Ruth Hudson was making notes on the application form before her.
“Most young women in your position are encouraged to give up their babies for adoption.”
“I was as well. I have chosen to raise him.” Charlotte could feel her bravado beginning to slip, and raised her chin a notch.
“You realize that’s going to take a great deal of courage?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“People will call you all kinds of things. ‘Fallen woman’ and far worse.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“They will call your son names too.”
To this, Charlotte had no reply, though an urge to defend Darcy rose within her at the mere suggestion. Then Mrs. Hudson surprised her.
“How do you know Maggie Marshall?” she asked.
Truth—come what may, Charlotte reminded herself. “I lived with her and worked in her restaurant during my pregnancy. I live with her still.”
“I see. And, may I ask, how did you find her to work for?”
Charlotte swallowed. Would now be the time to bend the truth? Maggie had been horrible, there was no other way to say it. But now Charlotte understood why. She couldn’t betray their newly formed friendship, but she felt bound to be truthful. And if she admitted to having run away, she’d never get the job! God, how do I say this?
“It was a challenge, and there were times I behaved impetuously. But I feel I learned a lot from Mrs. Marshall and have come to value our relationship and appreciate her work ethic.”
Mrs. Hudson smiled. “Before the war, I was a regular customer at Bert’s Restaurant. Anyone who can work for Maggie Marshall should get along just fine with us, Miss Penfield. Your little son would be enrolled in our nursery program, and you would not be assigned to that department.”
“I understand.” Charlotte knew any mother would be tempted to give her own child more attention than the others.
“We pay ten dollars a week, one of which would be deducted for his care—the same rate as our other clients pay after subsidy. If you can live within those parameters, you’ve got the job.”
“I can!”
Mrs. Hudson tapped the application papers together on her desk. “We need someone for the seven a.m. to four p.m. shift. You get a half hour for lunch.”
“May I visit my baby during my lunch break?” Charlotte began calculating the hours between opportunities to nurse Darcy.
“Certainly. But lateness will not be tolerated. Can you start tomorrow?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Charlotte stood to shake the woman’s hand.
“Stop and see Miss Stephens on your way out. She will outfit you with a uniform and a copy of the employee manual. She can also register your son for the nursery. Welcome aboard, Miss Penfield.”
Charlotte smiled all the way home on the streetcar. She’d done it! Just like a real grown-up, she had gone out and found a way to support herself and Darcy—without Reginald and without her parents’ help! But not without God’s, she remembered. Thank you, Lord. And somehow, Maggie had been part of this, too.
As she hurried up Mrs. O’Toole’s sidewalk, she could hear Darcy squalling to be fed. She opened the door, dropped her purse, and took the infant from the frantic woman.
“Thank goodness you’re home, love! He’s been fussing for the last hour!”
Charlotte settled into the parlor chair with its back to the doorway. “Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. O’Toole! But I got the job! Tomorrow he’ll be going with me.”
“Oh, gracious, child! Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
“I need to be, Mrs. O’Toole.” Darcy began to nurse greedily, his little face still red from distress. “We’ll make it work.”
“Well, that’s grand. I’ll go fix us a pot of tea.”
Charlotte watched Mrs. O’Toole walk to the kitchen, then looked down at her tiny son. “We’ll make it work, won’t we, Darcy?” Even as she found herself brimming with hope, Charlotte sensed this new chapter might be her most challenging yet.
CHAPTER 40
Maggie couldn’t believe it. First Charlotte had declared her independence. Now Reuben was leaving for good.
I know it’s for the best, she mused, watching through the kitchen window as Reuben loaded his belongings into his car. He needs a job. The church in Roseburg needs a pastor. He’ll be a perfect fit. So why did it feel like a piece of her insides was being removed?
Returning for one last box, Reuben turned toward Maggie.
“Well, I guess this is it.” He laid the box on the counter near the door and took a couple of steps toward her. “I want to thank you for putting me in touch with the Bakers. I really needed this position, and I think it’ll be good to get away from the city. They seem like lovely people.”
Maggie nodded, trying to ignore the lump forming in her throat. “You’re welcome. It’s not like I didn’t owe you anything, though. I can’t begin to make up to you everything you’ve done for me.”
“Just trying to be a friend.” Reuben’s brown eyes held her gaze.
“And you’ve been a good one. The best. I’m sorry our friendship cost you so dearly.”
“I’m not.” Reuben glanced toward the hallway, then back at Maggie. “I might have stayed at that church for years, bowing to the whims of arrogant hypocrites and losing my very soul in the process. Our situation forced an end that needed to come. I hope they find a leader who can wake them up, stir up some compassion and genuine faith. I wasn’t that man.”
“I hope your new congregation appreciates what a good man they’re getting, that’s all I have to say.” Maggie tapped Reuben lightly on the chest with the palm of her hand. “Now you better hit the road if you want to get there before dark.”
“You and Charlotte should come visit sometime. After I’m settled.”
Maggie paused, trying to imagine it. “That would be a little awkward, Reuben. Don’t you think? Best if we leave things be.”
“Will you write?”
Maggie studied his face and saw the hope in his eyes. Her heart longed to continue the friendship, but where could it possibly lead? He needed a life partner, a wife. And once he found her, their friendship would become more awkward still. Better to end things now, for his sake.
“A Christmas card, for sure,” she said, though her heart cried Don’t go! “I’ll let you know how we’re managing.”
Reuben nodded, then looked down at his shoes and back up at Maggie. “I’ll look forward to it. And you can watch for one from me as well.”
“Let’s hope the war is over by then.”
“Reuben! Are you leaving?” Charlotte hurried into the kitchen with Darcy in her arms. “I haven’t said good-bye!”
“I wouldn’t have left without saying good-bye, Charlotte.” Reuben held his hands out to take the baby, but Charlotte rushed into his arms, sandwiching Darcy between them in a familial hug. “I don’t want you to go!”
“Now, Charlotte,” Maggie warned. “That’s not helping.”
When Charlotte pulled away, tears ran freely down her face, as bold as brass. Maggie sniffed. When would that girl learn to keep her emotions to herself? Why, it was like hanging your undies on the line outdoors instead of drying them inside, like any lady knows to do.
“You three have helped me more than you know,” Reuben said. “May I pray for you before I leave?”
“Oh, yes, please!” Charlotte smiled up at him, the tears still dripping off her face and onto Darcy’s blanket. Maggie said nothing, but allowed Reuben to lay one hand on her shoulder while his other r
ested on Darcy’s head. The baby began to fuss.
“Lord,” he began. “Bless and protect my friends Maggie, Charlotte, and Darcy. Provide for their needs, Father. Keep them healthy and safe and happy. Show them the path you want them to walk, and grant them peace. Amen.”
With that, he bent to kiss the top of Darcy’s head, and Charlotte moved in for one last hug. “I’ll walk you to the car,” Charlotte said. Darcy was crying in earnest now.
“Here, give me that child.” Maggie coaxed Darcy out of Charlotte’s arms. “It’s getting cold out there, and he’s not dressed for it.”
As she turned to leave the kitchen, Mrs. O’Toole swept in, her arms flapping like a giant goose preparing for takeoff.
“Oh, Rev’rend! How I hate to see you leave! It’s been a joy, lad, an absolute blessing to have you in my house.” The woman’s eyes glistened. It was almost more than Maggie could take. What is with these weepy women? Let the poor man do what he needs to do!
“It’s been a joy for me as well, Mrs. O’Toole. I will dearly miss your wonderful meals.”
As she carried Darcy up the stairs, Maggie could hear Reuben still reassuring Mrs. O’Toole with his gentle voice, and Mrs. O’Toole whimpering on with her loud one. Without looking back, she headed straight to Charlotte and Darcy’s room, where a rocking chair stood in one corner. She sat and began rocking him and he settled almost instantly.
She heard the kitchen door open and close, then the slamming of the car door. The engine roared to life and she heard the wheels crunch on the gravel as the car pulled away and continued down the back lane. She wished she’d had the courage to offer a prayer for Reuben the way he had prayed for her.
For whatever my prayers are worth, Lord, bless that man. Watch over him. Make him a blessing to the folks in Roseburg. Bring him the woman he needs.
The kitchen door opened and closed again, and then the chatter of Charlotte and Mrs. O’Toole broke the silence in the house. Maggie rose and laid Darcy gently in his bed, kissing his forehead.
That’s when she realized her own cheeks were wet with tears. She brushed them away impatiently. It was time for her to catch the bus for the Fort Garry to start her afternoon shift.
CHAPTER 41
Reuben placed his last pair of socks into the dresser drawer and closed it. Then he tucked his empty suitcase onto the top shelf of his bedroom closet. The boarding room the elders had arranged for him was small but adequate. The retired couple who owned the house had been members of the church since immigrating to Canada as newlyweds.
“Let me explain you, Reverend,” Mr. Schmidt had told him that evening at supper, his German accent thicker than his wife’s. “Our church owns parsonage right next to church. But it is big enough for family of ten. You are just one man, so better church rent it out for top money and you pay for us room and board, yah?”
This did seem reasonable to Reuben, although he would have appreciated being included in the decision.
Hilde Schmidt chimed in. “You will feel yourself so much happier here by us. I do cooking, washing, cleaning, yah? You just be the minister.”
“And church makes little bit profit,” her husband added. “Everybody wins!”
Reuben smiled. “Indeed. I do appreciate your fine cooking already, Mrs. Schmidt.”
The woman beamed. “Please. You call us Heinz and Hilde. And it will not be long, you will see. You will meet a young lady to marry, and then you can move into the parsonage and fill it with children up!”
“Do not rush the man, Hilde,” Heinz scolded. “Sorry, Reverend. You go the stairs up and settle in. If you need anything, holler.”
It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes to “settle in,” and the November sun was rapidly taking its bow for the evening. Reuben grabbed a jacket and hat and descended the stairs two at a time. A brisk walk around his new community would do him good.
Knowing he’d be walking south toward the church come morning, he chose to go north. Roseburg was a bit of an anomaly, a town two miles long and sixty feet wide, it seemed. It consisted of one long main gravel road. He walked past two general stores, a post office, school, Catholic church, filling station, and a community hall. A barbershop doubled as a billiards room. The only thing that appeared to still be open was a combination café, hotel, and beer parlor.
At the town center, three side streets led off the main drag to the east, forming a grand total of four square blocks, each lined with two-story houses on big lots. Most had large gardens, now surrendered to the frost, and outhouses in the backyard. Reuben’s loop around these residential blocks raised a chorus of dogs, all tied to posts in their respective spaces. No fences existed anywhere he looked. The barking brought to the windows the faces of a few dog owners, curious to see what the ruckus was about. One front door opened, and out stepped a beanpole of a man. He was dressed in trousers and a white undershirt, both suspenders hanging down below his waist, where they remained as he pulled a warm jacket on over it all.
“Evenin’,” he called out.
“Good evening.”
“Nice night for a walk.”
Reuben approached the man. “Yes, it is.” He reached out a hand. “I’m Reuben Fennel, the new pastor at Roseburg Community Church.”
“How’d you do? Name’s Rogers. Bill Rogers.” The man rubbed one hand across his well-whiskered jaw while shaking Reuben’s with the other.
“Do you by any chance run Rogers General Store?” Reuben asked.
“That’s me all right. Store was my dad’s before me. You stayin’ at the Schmidts’, then?”
“That’s right.”
“I heard. Good people. Regulars at my store. Always pay up, every month. You’ll do fine there. Don’t pay attention to what you hear.”
Reuben chose to ignore the last sentence, although he couldn’t help wondering what it meant. “Good to know. Well, I’ll be on my way, Mr. Rogers. Maybe we’ll see you in church.”
“Don’t usually go myself, ’cept at Christmas. Don’t see the need. But the missus takes the kids regular. They need to learn what’s in the good book. You’ll see them.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Reuben noticed no fewer than four faces in the window then, sandwiched between the edges of the curtains: a woman, two boys, and a girl. They instantly disappeared when Reuben looked directly at them, the curtain swaying closed once again. He smiled and carried on around the bend.
The third street to cross the main drag was a mile-marker road and continued on in both directions, beyond town and toward farms—including the Bakers’ farm, where he had stayed on his initial visit.
By the time he returned to the Schmidts’ house, darkness had fallen in earnest. The back-porch light had been left on for him, and as he came around the corner, he saw something he had not noticed on his way out. A swastika the size of a frying pan had been painted on the side of the Schmidts’ home in red paint.
“Welcome back, Reverend!” Reuben was greeted with two wide smiles as he walked in. “Have a cup of tea with us. Did you enjoy your walking?”
“Yes, thank you. Roseburg is lovely, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes. We have lived here since thirty years, and it is home now. Our youngest son, Otto, was born here. He is in the army, fighting with other Canadians.” Heinz offered Reuben the newspaper that lay in the center of the table. “This paper is a week old, but you are welcome to it.”
Reuben recognized the same issue he’d seen several days before in Winnipeg. “No, thank you.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “May I ask you a question, though?”
“Certainly.”
“Are you aware the side of your house has been defaced?”
“Defaced?” Heinz raised his brows and looked up at his wife, who poured Reuben’s tea.
“He means the paint.” Hilde returned the pot to the stove and sat across from her husband. “Yah, we know. It started the same time as the war. We paint over it, they come back. We paint again, they come back again.”
&
nbsp; “Finally, we just leave it,” Heinz said. “It is easier this way. We have no use for the Nazis or for Herr Hitler, but we have been lumped in with them because we are German.”
“Do you have any idea who has been doing this?” Reuben asked.
“Oh, sure. But we do not want to make trouble. We say nothing. It is better that way. When the war is over, it will be forgotten. Yah?”
“I hope you’re right, Mr. Schmidt.”
“Heinz.”
“Heinz. Have there been other forms of mistreatment?”
Heinz looked at Hilde again. “He means have people been unkind to us,” she said. She turned back to Reuben. “Most treat us just like they did before the war. Half the people came here from other countries—Norway, England, Italy, Iceland. Even Syria.”
“The Haddads,” Heinz explained. “Good people, all of them. Just looking for better way of life. We are welcome at church and grocery store. Our kids always fit in at school.”
Hilde set her teacup down. “But now. Well, there is just one problem—”
“Hilde.” Heinz’s voice was firm. “We do not wish to paint ugly picture for the reverend. We do not want to be—what the word is? Gospel?”
“Gossips.”
“Yah, gossips.”
Hilde crossed her arms. “I was not going to gossip. I was just going to tell to him the truth, so he would know.”
“He will know soon enough, if he needs to know.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Reuben swallowed the last of his tea. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be turning in now. It’s been a very long day.”
Before crawling under the covers, Reuben sat on the edge of his bed and opened his Bible. His eyes skimmed over a psalm, his mind barely taking in the words as he considered the vandalism on what was now his home and what its presence there meant.
Apparently little Roseburg was not as idyllic as it seemed.
CHAPTER 42
Charlotte looked around the nursery where Darcy would be spending his day. Four women wearing pale pink uniforms identical to hers buzzed about, settling babies up to two years old. One wall was lined with stacking cribs that reminded Charlotte of monkey cages she’d once seen at the zoo. The walls were stark white, the only splash of color being where the rules and regulations hung on bright yellow paper. It was not the environment she would have chosen for her son, but everything was clean, and the worker to whom she handed Darcy smiled reassuringly, as if she could sense the lump in Charlotte’s throat.
