Maggie's War

by Terrie Todd

  Maggie thought she’d faint, but somehow one foot kept moving in front of the other until she stood at Reuben’s side.

  “You’ll have an opportunity to welcome Maggie on your way out this morning as she joins me by the door. Our wedding date is set for July 12th and will take place right here. You are all welcome to attend, of course.”

  While Reuben prayed God’s blessing over the people, Maggie took the opportunity to look around the room. Here were parents, husbands, and wives who needed strength and comfort. Youth who needed guidance and encouragement. Precious people who would be looking to her to set an example, to show the way.

  Oh Lord, she prayed. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

  As Reuben ended his prayer and escorted her up the aisle to the front doors, where they would stand together greeting congregation members, the pump organ reprised the chorus of the last hymn. Maggie drew in a deep breath and smiled at the faces turned toward her.

  If Jesus goes with me, I’ll go. Anywhere.

  CHAPTER 54

  Charlotte pulled the navy-and-white polka-dot dress over her head and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror while she buttoned the front. Today was the day! Maggie and Reuben had promised to bring Darcy for a visit. With the doctor’s permission, they’d had a frank talk and caught her up on the details of the past year.

  How ironic that her parents had wanted her to forget her son’s existence, and now she had. If they had come for her in recent weeks, she’d have gladly returned home with them—no questions asked. No questions, that is, until the day came when her memories began to return. Then she likely would have thought her imagination had run completely amok, perhaps even assumed she was going crazy.

  As it was, she still had a hard time believing any of it. Apart from their hospital visits, she had no recollection of Maggie, Reuben, or Mrs. O’Toole; neither had she any remembrance of Darcy. Her memories of Reginald were vague. She recalled his inviting her to the movies and to a dance, but not the events themselves. She did remember being at a party with him at his cousin Nancy’s house. These vague recollections, combined with the changes to her body and the fact that her parents had not shown themselves, all gave Maggie’s story credibility.

  But what if it wasn’t true? What if her parents were really dead and everyone was keeping it from her, for fear of a setback? Reuben had told her to ask God to reveal the memories she needed, as she needed them. So she had. And now, in a few short minutes, she would meet her son.

  A nurse walked Charlotte down to the waiting room where they had agreed to meet. The first person she saw was Reuben, seated in one of the chairs facing the door. His eyes were trained in the direction of the window, where Maggie stood, looking out. In her arms she held a baby boy, who also gazed out at the May sunshine. Charlotte stopped and watched.

  “See the kitty?” Maggie was saying. “Nice kitty. Kitty says ‘meow.’”

  The baby placed a chubby hand on the glass and pressed his forehead against the window. Darcy.

  Charlotte thought she might pass out. The nurse helped her ease into a seat as a flood of recognition poured over her like a warm shower. “Darcy,” she said.

  Maggie and the baby turned toward her. Reuben came over and knelt in front of her.

  “Charlotte!” Maggie said. Slowly she began to walk toward Charlotte, who kept her eyes fixed on the baby. “This is Darcy.”

  “I know. Oh! I know!” Charlotte was laughing and crying all at once. “I remember! Oh, my baby!”

  She held her arms out to take him, tears streaming down her face. Darcy looked uncertain. He turned his face toward Maggie, who smiled and nodded. “It’s okay, sweetheart. This is your mommy.”

  Darcy allowed Charlotte to hold him, but kept his eyes on Maggie. She moved in close to reassure the little boy.

  “Is it all coming back?” Reuben asked.

  “Not everything,” Charlotte said. “I-I . . . can’t think how he got here . . . I don’t remember birthing him, or . . . or . . . I don’t know! I just know he’s mine and I love him. I love him so much!”

  “Relax, Charlotte,” the nurse said. “Just hold your baby and don’t try to force the memories.”

  For the next hour, Charlotte renewed her acquaintance with her little son. She, Maggie, and Reuben took him outdoors and let him play on a blanket on the ground, but he kept crawling off the edge. When he reached Maggie’s deck chair, he pulled himself to a standing position, never letting go of the chair.

  “He’s so big!” Charlotte was amazed. Little by little, a more complete image was coming to her, like a window blind being lifted an inch at a time. She could recall individual rooms in Mrs. O’Toole’s house, but not the woman’s face. She could envision the children’s care center where she had worked, but not the names of her co-workers. She remembered addressing the letter to her parents Maggie had mentioned, but couldn’t recall its content.

  “Did you bring the letter?” she finally asked.

  Maggie and Reuben exchanged a look. “I did. It’s in my purse.”

  “I think I’d like to read it.”

  “You’ve had a lot for one day. Are you sure you’re ready?” Reuben asked.

  “No. But none of us knows what it says, do we? If I can see what it was I wanted to say to my parents, perhaps things will start to make more sense.”

  Maggie pulled the envelope from her purse and handed it to Charlotte. She recognized her own handwriting on the front and her home address in the Lawrence Park neighborhood in Toronto. Should she open it now, with Maggie and Reuben present, or save it for when she could be alone?

  As though reading her mind, Reuben asked, “If you’d rather have some privacy, we can leave.”

  “Reuben!” Maggie scolded. “Don’t make me leave! I’ve been dying to know what’s in that letter since we found it over two months ago!”

  Charlotte laughed. “It’s all right. I want you here. Both of you.”

  Darcy had worked his way around their little circle and now began to fuss, his hands on Reuben’s knee. Reuben picked him up and cuddled him close as he began to walk back and forth. Charlotte watched in wonder as the little boy rested his head on Reuben’s shoulder. As far as she could remember she had never seen a man do this with a baby, especially one that was not his own. Her eyes welled with tears again.

  Sliding her fingers under the flap of the envelope, she tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of stationery. The page was filled with her own delicate handwriting, written in blue ink. She stared at it a moment without actually reading the words.

  “I remember writing this,” she said with wonder. “I remember asking Mrs. O’Toole for the paper and using the fountain pen at her little desk in the corner of her kitchen.”

  “Do you remember what you wrote?” Maggie asked.

  Charlotte sighed. She looked away from the page and thought for a moment. “No-o. But let’s find out.” After another glance at Darcy, whose thumb was in his mouth and whose eyes were dropping closed, she turned to the letter and began to read aloud.

  Dear Mother and Father,

  I thought I should let you know what’s become of me since you left Winnipeg last fall and let you know I am all right. Mrs. Marshall and Mrs. O’Toole graciously allowed me to return to the boardinghouse and are helping me care for my son. I found work at Wrigley Children’s Center, created for mothers who are working toward the war effort. The job allows me to take Darcy to work with me each day. It’s tiring, but I love it. Remember how you used to tease me about my overactive imagination? It comes in handy when telling stories to the preschool children. Most of all, it pays for our room and board and a little extra. It was literally an answer to prayer. I suppose it will close its doors when the war ends and the women can return home, but I am learning to trust God for my provision.

  Charlotte stopped reading and looked up at Maggie and Reuben, who were listening intently. Though she remembered her workplace, she hadn’t been able to recall its nam
e or why it existed. Now the gaps were being filled in and the memories becoming clearer.

  My co-workers have not all been kind to me and I’ve learned firsthand the pain of ridicule and prejudice, often directed at my innocent son. I can see where you were right about that, and what it is you wanted so desperately to protect me from. But I also want you to know I have grown through these challenges. When I first came to Winnipeg, I was still a little girl—completely absorbed in my own romantic notions and daydreaming about the life I thought I wanted. A life no one truly gets to live.

  I can see how childish and selfish I was. I am truly sorry for disappointing you as I did and I want to ask your forgiveness.

  But I also want you to know I forgive you. And I forgive Reginald. I will not be attempting to contact him, lest I jeopardize his new marriage and family, but I need to write the words down and share them with someone. Reginald’s betrayal is not the most painful thing in this story. You may not think I have anything to forgive you for, that I deserve whatever has happened. And perhaps you are right. But your rejection of me and your grandson has hurt me more deeply than I can describe.

  I am choosing to forgive you because of something I’m learning from Maggie Marshall—who is learning it from Rev. Fennel. When we don’t forgive, we are only feeding ourselves a slow poison. I don’t want to do that. I want to be the best person I can be, the best mother for Darcy, and I can’t do that if I am poisonous myself.

  I don’t know whether we can ever be part of each others’ lives again. That will be up to you. If I don’t hear back, I will not contact you again. Regardless of what you choose, know that all is forgiven. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me too. As for me, I am free. With God’s help, I am free to follow his leading and raise my son with as much love and guidance as I can. And I am strong. With his help, I can withstand the judgmental looks and comments directed my way.

  I never knew it was possible to love someone so much as I love my son. Now I know, and I would not trade him for anything in the world.

  Sincerely,

  Charlotte

  Charlotte slowly folded the letter, then looked up. She was surprised to see tears streaming down Maggie’s face. The woman quickly pulled a hanky from her purse and wiped her eyes. Reuben, one arm folded around the sleeping baby, reached into his pocket and pulled out his own handkerchief. When he blew his nose, the baby startled in his sleep, which made Charlotte chuckle.

  “Good for you, Charlotte.” Reuben’s voice was just above a whisper. Maggie simply nodded.

  “I suppose I should add an update. Let them know I’m going to be okay. I know they might only ignore it, but at least I’d know I did all I could.”

  “That’s very mature of you, young lady,” Reuben said. “Your parents will come around, you’ll see. Maybe not today, but one day. And in the meantime, we’re here if you need us. Aren’t we, Maggie?”

  Maggie nodded again. Charlotte had never seen the woman overcome with emotion before and sensed her embarrassment.

  “Here you are!” Dr. Glendale let the door fall shut behind him and joined Charlotte’s circle in the atrium. “I’ve got great news for you, Miss Penfield. You’re ready to go home.”

  Charlotte smiled up at him even as she was biting her bottom lip. Was she really ready?

  “When?” Maggie asked.

  The doctor looked at Maggie and Reuben, then Charlotte. “How does today sound?”

  CHAPTER 55

  Reuben stood at the front of his own church, but not behind the pulpit this time. That spot was being temporarily filled by Reverend Morgan Lee, an old friend from Bible school who had happily agreed to perform the marriage ceremony.

  The church was filled to capacity and beyond, with a few men standing along the walls on both sides and in the back. Heinz Schmidt stood nearby as best man. “You are like son to us now,” the man had declared when Reuben asked him. “I will be honored to stand off with you.”

  As Mrs. Borthistle began the wedding march on the old pump organ, a hush came over the congregation, and all turned toward the back of the room. Charlotte walked down the aisle first, looking lovelier than Reuben had ever seen her in a taffeta dress the color of peaches and carrying a bouquet of homegrown white daisies in her hands. She smiled graciously, enjoying her moment in the spotlight. Her long blond hair had been pulled into some kind of updo and arranged with tiny white flowers. Reuben couldn’t help thinking what a lovely bride she would make.

  But then his breath was stolen away by the real bride.

  Maggie had warned him ahead of time. “Don’t expect nothing fancy,” she’d said a few weeks before the wedding. “Mrs. O’Toole has agreed to make me a new suit that will double as my Sunday best as a good pastor’s wife for years to come. There’s a war on, you know.”

  So Reuben was shocked when tears began to form in his eyes at his first sight of Maggie. Her new suit was the color of fresh sage grass. Adorned with fine white piping and formfitted to Maggie’s slim figure, it flattered her completely. The copper shimmer had returned to her mass of red curls, which were now gathered on top of her head and held in place with jeweled combs that caught the light of the July sun streaming in through the stained glass windows. A few loose tendrils curled softly around her face. She carried a white Bible in her gloved hands, and on her feet were new tan-colored shoes that Reuben suspected were the closest thing to frivolous Maggie would ever allow herself.

  But it was her face that held his gaze. Never one for makeup, Maggie must have submitted to Charlotte’s enhancing touch to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. Reuben had performed several weddings and had thought he understood the term radiant bride, but this was beyond his experience. Surely everyone in the room could feel the glow emanating from his Maggie.

  He reflected back on the day he first walked into her home and saw a world-weary and soul-dead woman who greeted him stoically just days after becoming a widow. He’d suspected then that her callousness had to be a cover, and he had been right. In the months since that day, Maggie had been through enough versions of hell to make her an even more bitter person. Instead, she’d allowed God to heal her heart. The result was this beautiful woman who now stood smiling before him, a slight tremor in her hands the only evidence of her nerves.

  God, thank you for not letting me say no to this.

  CHAPTER 56

  April 1946. Roseburg, Manitoba

  Maggie hung the last of the garments on the clothesline and stretched, taking in the bright blue sky. The warm spring sunshine felt wonderful on her face. Nearly a year had passed since VE Day. Victory in Europe. Maggie remembered joining the Schmidts around their radio to hear the official announcement. Three months later, Japan surrendered.

  Meanwhile, Reuben and Maggie had moved into the parsonage while Charlotte and Darcy had stayed on at the Schmidts’. Now three years old, the little boy visited “Aunty Maggie and Uncle Reuben” often. And during this time, Maggie had come to feel a true part of the community.

  She and Charlotte both worked part time at the Roseburg Café, the town’s only restaurant. Business had picked up significantly since the war ended. The soldiers had started trickling home, married men first, in the fall of 1945. Most made it home by Christmas, with two more groups arriving in February and March. Today the citizens of Roseburg would celebrate together with a parade, a grand welcome home, and a ceremony to honor the fallen.

  As the single boys returned, more than a few of them began to take notice of Charlotte. One of them, Ross Jackson, had not been put off in the least by the presence of Darcy. He had become a dear friend to all of them, and Maggie hoped it wouldn’t be long before the friendship blossomed into romance and marriage. From what she’d seen so far, Ross would make a wonderful husband and father.

  Like Reuben.

  Running a hand over the small bulge growing under her apron, she wondered how much longer she would stay on at the café. The work had provided an excellent opportunity to get to know people
in the community, especially those who didn’t attend church. But her real work took place at the club for girls she and Charlotte had started. They met Tuesdays after school at the church for various activities, from learning new skills like gardening and crocheting, to raising funds for the playground—all efforts initiated by the girls themselves and carried out with youthful enthusiasm under Charlotte’s energetic leadership.

  It had taken Reuben’s intervention to convince a couple of parents that a single mother like Charlotte could be a role model for their daughters, but Maggie still remembered with pride how Charlotte had humbly and bravely maintained her dignity until she earned their trust. Each club session ended with a short Bible lesson led by Maggie. Preparing for the lessons taught her far more than she was teaching the girls, and she was stunned by the good questions they raised—causing her to return to her Bible and to Reuben for further guidance. She was also amazed by how frequently the girls asked to speak privately with her and then poured out their hearts. As if she weren’t the most coldhearted woman they’d ever met. As if she had any empathy or wisdom to offer. As if she were safe.

  When and how had she and Charlotte, the most unlikely candidates, become these people? God surely did have a sense of humor!

  Turning toward the house, she spotted Reuben coming around the corner, returning home for lunch after a morning of visitation with various veterans. He smiled warmly at her. Maggie knew he had heard horrific stories from these young men in the past several months. Several of them met together weekly under the guise of studying basic mechanics. But Maggie knew that although Reuben was finally learning a few useful things about maintaining a vehicle, the real purpose of the group was emotional and spiritual support.

  The men leaned on one another because of their shared experience, and they leaned on Reuben simply because of who he was. He provided a compassionate heart, a safe place to cry, and strong arms to hold them while they did. Sometimes he turned around and cried, too, in Maggie’s arms at the end of a long day, but his tears were always for these boys who’d seen far too much suffering and bloodshed. Still, he said he couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else or doing a more important job. And their little church was filled to capacity every week.