Becoming the Talbot Sisters

by Rachel Linden

  Waverly was rocking the baby and humming softly, gazing down at him with an adoring expression.

  “Did I tell you we’re thinking of naming him Arthur?” she asked. “After Grandpa Arthur? Arthur Talbot Ross. It has a nice vintage ring to it, don’t you think? We’ve decided to give him my last name as well as Andrew’s. I wanted to do it as a way to honor Mother and Daddy, and Andrew agreed.”

  Charlie made a face. “Sounds like an old man to me,” she said. She tried to say it lightly, but it came out more sharply than she intended. Waverly looked wounded.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie sighed. She set down her coffee cup. “It must be the hormones talking. I’m just grouchy.”

  The baby began to cry, a high, thin hiccup of distress, and Charlie jumped to her feet, instinctively reaching for him before she even thought. “Give him to me,” she said urgently. It was not a request.

  Waverly slowly handed him over with a look of confusion. Charlie clasped the baby to her, skin to skin, and shushed him gently. He immediately calmed, making tiny snuffling sounds. Charlie looked up. Waverly was watching her carefully, a look of understanding dawning on her face.

  “What would you name him?” Waverly asked softly. “If you could.”

  Charlie bent her face over the baby, refusing to look up, refusing to acknowledge what they both knew to be true. “Alexander,” she said at last. “I would name him Alexander. It means defender of mankind. And George, for St. George, our patron saint of courage. And Robert, in honor of Dad. Alexander George Robert Talbot.”

  The next morning Waverly arrived at the clinic bright and early. Charlie and the baby were being discharged, and she had come to collect them. Despite jet lag, Waverly looked fresh and rested, wearing a shell-pink blouse with a huge bow at the neck and a pair of sand-colored trousers. In contrast Charlie was disheveled and unwashed, still wearing her lounge pants and a tank top. The baby was sleeping in the bassinet. Charlie sat in an armchair nearby, watching him, jealous of every minute she had with him.

  “We can’t leave the hospital until you give them a name for his birth certificate,” Charlie said. She avoided looking directly at Waverly.

  “I’ll go see them then and get it sorted out,” Waverly said. “We’ll have you back home soon.”

  Charlie said nothing. She had not slept well. She’d sat up through the night holding the baby and trying not to think about what was coming. The thought of her arms being empty, of his little body jetting a continent away, was agonizing. And yet what could she do? It was what she had signed up for. She had agreed to carry him, to grow and house him and then birth him for her sister. This was not her baby. Except somehow she could not convince herself of that.

  “I talked to Andrew last night,” Waverly said. “I thought we’d agreed on Arthur, but now he seems partial to Liam. So I don’t know which we’ll choose. I’ll have to call him back before I sign anything. It’s later there now, but it can’t be helped. I sent him photos of the baby. He thinks he’s just perfect. So does Nadia.”

  “Good,” Charlie said flatly.

  Waverly sighed. “Do you want to talk about this?” she asked.

  Charlie set her jaw. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said.

  Waverly said nothing. Charlie could feel her sister’s eyes on her. She hated every moment of this day. She felt like screaming or crying or both. She clenched her jaw and leaned away from her son, trying to practice letting him go. Except she couldn’t seem to move an inch away from him. It was absurd, this bond she was feeling. She had no partner, no job, a precarious future. She was a terrible prospect as a mother. What could she possibly offer him?

  She had thought this would be a straightforward process. She had never wanted a baby, had not had a maternal streak in her. But that was before. Before she’d carried him and talked to him and nurtured him for those long months. Before she’d looked into his little wrinkled face and felt their bond as mother and child. He was her little pal, and she could not think of her life now without him. Except she had to. She couldn’t take the baby away from Waverly. She had no choice.

  “I’m going to call Andrew and then go sort out the birth certificate.” Waverly sighed. “I’ll be back.” At the door she turned. “One question,” she said.

  Charlie waited.

  “Would you keep him if you could?”

  Charlie made a sound, almost a whimper. She did not answer.

  Waverly nodded. “I thought so.” She left the room.

  She was gone for almost an hour. When she returned Charlie did not look up. The baby was awake, and Charlie was sitting in bed holding him, cradling his little body against her stomach and gazing at his face as though trying to memorize every square inch of him. His eyes were shut, but he was moving his limbs, his actions jerky and uncoordinated.

  “All the paperwork’s in order,” Waverly announced. “We can leave when you’re ready.”

  “What’d you end up naming him?” Charlie asked reluctantly.

  “See for yourself.” Waverly set a document in front of her.

  Charlie skimmed the lines in Hungarian until she got to the name. Her eyes widened. “Alexander George Robert Talbot.” She looked up at Waverly, puzzled. “What about Arthur and Liam?” she asked. “Weren’t those your top picks?”

  “It wasn’t our decision to make,” Waverly said gently. “Andrew and I are in agreement.”

  “What do you mean?” Charlie asked in confusion.

  Waverly shook her head. She took the document from her sister and pulled a chair close to the bed. “Charlie, let’s be honest with each other.” She met her sister’s eyes. “This is your baby. We thought it was mine, but we were wrong. He belongs with you. My child is waiting for me at home. Nadia is the child I am supposed to have. And Alexander is your son. It’s as simple as that.”

  Charlie opened her mouth to argue but found that she had no words. Her eyes welled with tears. Waverly took her hand and Charlie squeezed it, overwhelmed by this gift, by the responsibility and rightness of it. She put her cheek against the soft fuzz of the baby’s head and breathed in his sweet, milky scent, her heart swelling with a love she had not anticipated, a love fiercer and stronger than anything she’d felt before.

  “Hello, Alex,” she whispered. And just like that she was home.

  EPILOGUE

  December, five months later

  All Saints Episcopal Church

  Baltimore, Maryland

  Every new life, every child is a blessing to the world,” Father Alderson intoned. “As such, these young ones we are baptizing today bring joy and life with their presence on earth.”

  In the chapel of their childhood church, Charlie and Waverly stood together to dedicate their children. In Charlie’s arms Alex began to squirm and screwed up his face, prepared to let loose with a mighty wail. He didn’t like the bow tie she’d put on him. It was a present from Kinga who, after winning her trial, was building a new life in Stockholm. She had made the tie herself.

  Charlie jostled Alex, hoping to stave off a full meltdown. Across the baptismal font Waverly and Andrew stood with Nadia perched on Andrew’s hip. She was wearing a green crushed-velvet dress with a stiff petticoat and black patent leather shoes, her hair in perfect plaits.

  The chapel was smaller than Charlie remembered. It was still beautiful, decorated for Christmas with gleaming oak and real evergreen boughs, and it smelled the same—the scent of fragrant evergreen spice and sap and the beeswax candles burning in their holders beneath the stained glass windows. The chapel had looked cavernous and so very solemn when she was little. All Saints was the church their parents had been married in, the church she and Waverly had been baptized in as babies, the church they had attended every Christmas and Easter as a family until their parents’ death. Now it seemed fitting that they have their own children baptized there too. Charlie had asked Waverly and Andrew to be godparents for Alex, and they in turn had asked Charlie to do the same for Nadia.

  Th
e chapel was empty except for the priest and the six of them—Waverly and Andrew with Nadia, Charlie with Alex. And standing beside Charlie was Johan. He reached out and took Alex from her, making a face so that the baby laughed suddenly, a peal of joy that rang from the rafters. The priest faltered in his prepared speech, and Charlie threw a grateful look at Johan, who winked in acknowledgment.

  It had been a whirlwind courtship, but they had so much history, so much they shared, that it had not seemed rushed to either of them. In April they were planning a simple wedding at Waverly and Andrew’s house. It would be catered by Simply Perfect and followed a few weeks later by a reception in South Africa for Johan’s family and friends. And in June they would relocate to Boston, where Johan had accepted a job heading up a health program for urban youth. At the same time Charlie would begin a part-time position as a coordinator at a trauma and recovery center for sexually exploited women and girls. Initially, when they had been offered both job opportunities in Boston, they discussed the future at length. In the evenings as Alex slept, they sat together sketching a possible future that felt exciting and new.

  “I’ve never lived in America. I’m up for the challenge. I think I could learn to like American football,” Johan said thoughtfully.

  “Boston’s a great city,” Charlie agreed, “and I like the idea of being so close to Waverly, Andrew, and Nadia. If I take this coordinator position, I could work part-time doing something I’m passionate about and still be home with Alex part of the week. It feels like the best of both worlds.”

  After a few days of deliberation, they accepted the jobs.

  “We baptize this child, Alexander George Robert Talbot, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” The Reverend Alderson sprinkled a few drops of water on Alex’s head, and the baby looked surprised, then began to wail.

  Then it was Nadia’s turn. “We baptize this child, Nadia Margaret Mae Talbot Ross, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen,” the priest intoned.

  Nadia stuck her thumb in her mouth and flinched as he sprinkled her and water ran into her eyes. Andrew wiped it gently away with the cuff of his dress shirt.

  Charlie had chosen the name Robert to honor their father. Waverly had given Nadia the middle name of Margaret in tribute to their mother, and Mae in honor of Aunt Mae. Their parents were so close in this moment. Charlie could feel their presence in the empty pews. They were not there in body to celebrate their daughters’ joy—two new grandchildren and a future son-in-law—but they were there in spirit. Margaret in her good pearls and Dior Grege lipstick, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. And Robert, his laughter booming from the rafters at the antics of his grandchildren. Aunt Mae was present too, watching them all with a satisfied smile, wearing her best polyester housedress, the one with the mint-green pussy willows on it.

  Their parents and Aunt Mae were proud of both of them, Charlie sensed, standing there in the church. Proud of who they were and who they were becoming, proud of the choices they had made, proud of the life they were building.

  Waverly met Charlie’s eyes across the baptismal font. Hers were glittering with unshed tears, but they were happy tears. Charlie understood. She and Waverly had come full circle. They had finally gained what they had been looking for all these years. Family. Love. A sense of place. In the process they had uncovered a truer version of themselves.

  This is the life we were meant to lead, Charlie thought, looking around her with a sense of gratitude and satisfaction. Her eyes lighted on Alex snuggled into Johan’s arms, on Nadia resting peacefully against Andrew’s chest. She turned and saw Waverly, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass window over her head, lighting her hair like gold. Charlie felt a swell of gratitude for her sister, for the twists and turns of their lives so far, for the unexpected joys of their children and their men, and for the journey that had brought them back together. They were the Talbot sisters once more.

  It is enough, Charlie thought, savoring the moment and all it promised for the future. It is more than enough.

  Discussion Questions

  1.Waverly and Charlie both experience significant loss as adolescents and also as adults. How do these losses affect their life choices and relationships? Are the effects positive or negative?

  2.Courage is a central theme of the story. How do Waverly and Charlie exhibit courage? What other characters show courage?

  3.Which characters do you see choosing to love sacrificially in the story? How do they show sacrificial love?

  4.Is Charlie’s offer of surrogacy sacrificial or selfish? Why?

  5.Aunt Mae’s motto is “Whatever the Good Lord puts in your hand you give back to others.” How do characters live out this motto in the story?

  6.The idea of motherhood is a central theme in the story. What different ways is motherhood portrayed? What do you think about these portrayals?

  7.The legend of St. George and the dragon is a recurring element of the story. How does this legend influence Charlie’s choices?

  8.By the end of the story, Charlie and Waverly are reunited as sisters. What choices do they make to help mend their relationship? Do you think they could have done more? Why or why not?

  9.Is there a time in your life where hurt, loss, or secrets hindered a close relationship? Was it ever restored? Why or why not?

  10.How does Charlie’s choice to rescue Kinga and Simona impact the rest of the story? Do you think she made the right choice to first rescue the women and then to testify in the trial? Why or why not?

  11.One of the themes of the story involves human trafficking and injustice. Have you seen or experienced injustice in your life? What do you think needs to be done to challenge injustice in our world?

  12.What is an issue of justice in the world that you are passionate about? What have you done or can you do to bring about change in this area? Is it something you need to have courage to do?

  A Note from the Author

  Dear reading friends,

  While Kinga and Simona exist only in this story, the reality is that tens of thousands of central European women are victims of sex trafficking each year. During my time living and working in central Europe, I encountered many of these women in my daily life—in the popular tourists districts in European cities, in my local Budapest metro station with their pimps loitering nearby.

  In Moldova I sat and ate cookies and drank homemade cherry juice with women who had escaped sex trafficking. As we shared about our lives, I looked across the table and realized that these were just women, regular women who had been trapped in horrible circumstances, exploited and abused for profit and pleasure. Several were mothers of young children, like me. We had a lot in common.

  Many complex factors allow trafficking to flourish, from broken families and early abuse to global economic supply and demand worth billions of dollars, but at the center of sex trafficking are simply humans, mostly women. Mothers, daughters, sisters, friends. As the director of the rehabilitation house in Moldova told me, “We’re not about causes. We’re about people.”

  Faced with the enormous and horrendous reality of human trafficking and sexual exploitation, it is easy to become discouraged. How can we possibly end it? I firmly believe there is hope. The fight for justice is not an impossible fight. And it is our privilege and responsibility to do our part.

  Therefore, I am thrilled to be a supporter of an amazing organization, Hope Dies Last, a justice ministry that reaches out creatively to trafficked, marginalized, and exploited people across Europe. Based in Budapest, HDL partners with other anti-trafficking organizations in Europe, creating resources and addressing the root causes of human trafficking and sexual exploitation. I know the HDL staff personally and am consistently impressed by their integrity, creativity, and compassion.

  As part of my commitment to justice for exploited women, I support Hope Dies Last and the fight against human trafficking in Europe. You can learn more about their work at www.hopediesla
st.org.

  Let’s do our part to see justice become reality. This is a fight we can win!

  —Rachel

  Acknowledgments

  Writing this book has been a labor of love. Budapest and central Europe are an often overlooked but truly amazing city and region in Europe. I so enjoyed including in the story many aspects of the wonderful experiences I’ve had living there for the past five years. It’s also been a solemn privilege to write about several issues dear to my heart—motherhood and miscarriage, and human trafficking and modern day slavery.

  So many people both in central Europe and in the US have contributed their time, wisdom, and experience to make this story shine. I want to thank each of them. A great BIG thank-you to . . .

  My wonderful former editor, Karli Jackson, who helped give this story wings and my also wonderful and capable new editor, Kimberly Carlton, who guided it safely home! Also marketing whiz Kristen Golden and publicity queen Allison Carter as well as Amanda Bostic and the rest of the excellent Thomas Nelson team. All of them consistently exhibit such professionalism, dedication, and kindness in this publication process. I am so grateful!

  My super agent, Chip MacGregor, whose practicality, wry humor, unflappability, and wisdom are truly invaluable. Chip, I’m so glad you’re in my corner.

  My wonderfully honest and wise test readers—Sarah Smith, Adelle Tinon, Sarah Wolfe, Amy Strobach, and Carmelita Egan. Their constructive criticism and keen insights made this story stronger.

  My central European friends and colleagues who provided specific expertise in various areas. Any remaining errors are my own! Of special note, Misha Mihaylova who helped with all things Bulgarian, Belinda Chaplin for her aid with Serbian, and Florin and Florina Mereu who gave valuable linguistic insight on the correct way to demand silence in Romanian.