“Now if you’ll excuse me, I should probably go. I still have errands to run.” Amelia could see that Sally and the other beauticians had things under control now, and feeling like her head cold was getting the best of her, Amelia went over to Sally. “Thanks for letting me step in like that,” she quietly told her.
“Thank you!” Sally beamed at her. “I think Mrs. Livingston actually likes you—and believe me that’s no small thing.”
Amelia returned the smock to the back room, then came back to see Mrs. Livingston carefully pinning on her hat. “Do you happen to know where the Bradleys live?” Amelia asked quietly as she slipped on her coat.
“Oh, sure, everyone knows the Bradley mansion.” She gave quick directions. “On Oak Street. That’s just two blocks east of Main Street.”
“Don’t go before I pay you.” Sally looked up from where she was just starting to apply hair dye to a young woman’s roots.
“You’ve got your hands full,” Amelia told her. “How about if I stop back by here when it’s not so busy?”
“That’d be great! Thanks!”
Amelia had severely mixed feelings as she exited the beauty parlor—and it wasn’t just the shock of leaving the warm, bright salon to be hit with a gust of ice-cold wind either. As she buttoned her coat up to her chin and hurried down Main Street, she attempted to sort things out. On one hand, she was encouraged about the possibility of finding employment so quickly. But on the other hand, hearing about James’s mother . . . well, it was unsettling to say the least. Helene Bradley sounded like a witch!
Even so, Amelia was determined to find the Bradley home. She had no plans to speak to anyone. She only wanted to see it for herself. The place where James had grown up . . . and where Jimmy’s grandparents still lived. She was simply curious.
However, as she got closer to the neighborhood Mrs. Livingston had described to her, she could sense the affluence. The houses were bigger and grander and set farther apart, with long, tree-lined driveways and ornamental statues and ironwork. And, like Mrs. Livingston had said, the Bradley house was easily recognized. A three-story plantation-style white house with a large front porch and big round columns—it looked out of place in Montana. More like something from Gone with the Wind.
It wasn’t just the overall grandness of the estate that impressed her, but the fact that everything about this place looked like perfection. It was a very well-maintained property. It was clear to see that the Bradleys were a family of influence in this town. But based on what Mrs. Livingston had said, Amelia didn’t think Mrs. Bradley’s influence was exactly positive.
Amelia hated to imagine Mrs. Bradley’s reaction to the news that James had gotten involved with someone like Amelia. Besides the fact that her family was nothing to brag about, Amelia knew that someone like Helene Bradley would disapprove of having a grandbaby born out of wedlock. She would probably be so ashamed of Amelia that she’d disown Jimmy too.
Amelia walked quickly down the sidewalk that bordered the front of the property. She tried not to stare, tried to act like someone on a casual stroll. Although why anyone would want to stroll in this freezing-cold wind was a mystery to her. She paused by the hedge that grew alongside the wide front yard, taking refuge from the wind and a moment to carefully study the big white house. She wondered which window might have been James’s when he was growing up there. Or perhaps his room had overlooked the backyard. She also wondered why he hadn’t told her that his parents were so well off. Perhaps it was because she’d confessed to him about her sad mess of a family. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to come across as boastful and proud. Or maybe it was because he knew that his mother was a potential problem.
She was about to leave when a creamy yellow car came down the street and turned into the driveway. Seeing the face of a pretty young woman behind the wheel, Amelia couldn’t help but stare. Fortunately the woman appeared preoccupied with driving and didn’t seem to notice she was being watched. The car pulled right in front of the house, and the woman, who wore dark green trousers and a plaid jacket, got out from the driver’s side. A little girl wearing a fur-trimmed red coat leaped out from the other side. In the same instant the front door opened, a golden retriever dog came bounding out. The beautiful dog gave off some happy yelps as he ran back and forth, joyously greeting them. Then a tall, older woman with brown hair pinned in a sophisticated bun came out. She had on a plain charcoal-gray dress and was followed by a tall, white-haired man in a dark suit. They had to be James’s parents—she just knew it! Dr. and Mrs. Bradley. So dignified looking . . . so respectable.
As the older couple went out to meet the young woman and girl—they had to be Grace and her daughter—it looked like the happy reunion of a perfectly normal family. Nothing like what Mrs. Livingston had described. Dr. Bradley swooped up the little girl in his arms, then hugged the young woman. Although Mrs. Bradley was more reserved, perhaps a bit on the cool side, she acted eager to welcome them.
As the four of them, followed by the energetic dog, went into the house, Amelia felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Like a child with her nose pressed to the toy-store window, she felt she was seeing something she could never have. She would never belong to these fancy people. They would never accept her. Besides the fact that they came from two completely different worlds, they would probably perceive Amelia as the wanton woman who’d borne an “illegitimate” child. Someone who wanted to tarnish their deceased son’s sterling reputation. And, really, who could blame them? It sounded horrible.
There was a chance they might not even believe her about her relationship with their son. What if they saw her as a gold digger, just out to get what she could from the bereaved family? Even if they did by some chance believe her, they would probably assume that she had been the bad influence in the relationship . . . that she was the one responsible for bringing James down to her level. Wasn’t that how her own mother had treated her, back when her stepfather had taken advantage? Was Amelia prepared to face accusations like that?
Stifling the urge to cough, Amelia turned away and hurried back toward Main Street. She realized this damp air was probably not helping her cold. And she had a responsibility to take care of herself . . . in order to take care of her son.
As she walked, she replayed what Mrs. Livingston had said about the young woman who’d been kicked out of the Red Cross for missing her curfew. How much worse was Amelia’s situation? How could she possibly expect the prim and proper Helene Bradley to welcome her and Jimmy with open arms? Amelia suspected that even if she presented the marriage license application that she and James had filled out on that Monday—in the hopes of standing before a judge the next day—Helene Bradley would still condemn her. But James had insisted on her keeping the application. He’d called it their guaranty that they would finish what they’d begun on his next leave of absence. Just the same, she didn’t think it would make any difference for someone like Helene Bradley.
Of course there was James’s father. She remembered how he’d swooped the little girl into his arms, the way he’d warmly embraced his daughter. Plus Mrs. Livingston had called him the salt of the earth. Maybe Amelia would have a chance with him. Although she knew better than to come between a married couple—it backfired to set one partner against the other. In the long run, they would both resent it . . . and then they would resent her, and probably her child as well.
On Main Street she found a store where she could do some very frugal shopping. Just the bare necessities, more formula for Jimmy and some nonperishable foods to get her through the next few days, plus a small, much-needed box of laundry soap. Her only “splurge” was a bucket that cost a quarter and would serve as a diaper pail. Tomorrow she would need to wash diapers as well as attempt to figure out her life . . . and her next steps. But as she carried her purchases home in her shiny new bucket, she couldn’t help but feel she’d come to Montana on a fool’s mission. Such a cold place to feel this lost and alone. What had she been thinking?
5
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THANKSGIVING DAY
As Amelia laundered Jimmy’s diapers—putting the pail she’d purchased the day before in the bathtub—she remembered that today was Thanksgiving. She didn’t plan to do any celebrating. But as she wrung the water out of the clean diapers, she decided to mentally list the things she was thankful for: (1) Jimmy, and that he was peacefully sleeping after a restless night. (2) Laundry soap and the bucket, as well as the radiator she was using to dry Jimmy’s clean diapers. (3) Enough formula to last Jimmy about four more days. (4) A can of Spam, an apple, and a hard roll that would serve as her “Thanksgiving feast.”
As she hung the last diaper near the radiator, Amelia realized she was tired of the thankful game. The truth was she didn’t feel thankful for much of anything. What kind of life was this? Stuck in a stuffy hotel room, washing diapers, eating a meager meal by herself? Not to mention her cough was getting worse and she was worried that Jimmy had caught her bug as well. She’d awakened several times to the sound of him making little coughing and wheezing sounds himself. What would she do if he got sick?
As she tidied up the bathroom, she considered asking Claudine for help. She’d already called her collect to inform her that she had safely arrived as well as to thank her for her generous gift. But she hadn’t mentioned getting robbed on the train or how hopeless she felt about getting any help from James’s parents. Claudine had sounded so bubbly and happy, telling Amelia about how Hank Snyder had called her “out of the blue” to invite himself to her apartment for Thanksgiving. And Amelia knew how Claudine had been pining for this guy to come back into her life. It was probably much easier to do when Claudine wasn’t saddled with a roommate and baby.
No, Amelia decided as she proceeded to do some of her own laundry in the bathroom sink. She had to figure her way out of this on her own. She was a grown woman who’d gotten herself into this situation. It was up to her to manage it on her own.
By the time she was hanging her damp laundry on the bed frame, she was making a plan of sorts. First thing tomorrow morning, she would go back to Beulah’s. To save money for babysitting, she’d take Jimmy along with her. But first she’d dress him up in the little blue suit she’d made him from a piece of fabric she’d saved from cutting down one of her long skirts. The shorter hemlines that had come with the war, a result of the government’s effort to conserve cloth, had left a number of nice remnants that Amelia had stashed away—and these pieces had been just right for sewing baby clothes. Not for the first time, she was grateful for Grandma teaching her to sew. There, she thought, something else to add to her Thanksgiving thankful list.
Amelia would put on her best blue suit, which perfectly matched Jimmy’s. Claudine had been so impressed that she’d insisted on taking a photo of Amelia and Jimmy in their “clever” matching outfits. Hopefully Claudine would get her film developed and send the photograph someday.
So, dressed in their blue suits, Amelia and Jimmy would go to Beulah’s and attempt to make a good impression. Hopefully Sally would be there and she would remember her promise to pay Amelia for doing Mrs. Livingston’s hair. If she was lucky, there would be a tip, although Amelia wasn’t counting on it. Maybe the owner, Beulah, would be there and Amelia could ask her about employment. Perhaps she’d be impressed that Amelia had handled a difficult customer.
By the time Amelia was sitting down to her meager midday meal, she was feeling somewhat encouraged. Tomorrow was a new day and she would make the most of it. She would grab onto her future with both hands—and somehow she would make it work!
But as the day wore on, Amelia’s optimism wore down. Not only was her cough getting worse, she suspected that Jimmy was running a fever now too. They were both sick. As hard as she tried to comfort him, feeding him whenever he cried, she knew that it wasn’t enough. Plus her energy was rapidly fading. But the more she longed to simply collapse onto the bed and sleep, the more Jimmy needed her. Not only that, but because there were other guests in the hotel, she knew she needed to do whatever it took to keep him pacified and quiet.
By midnight, Amelia was completely exhausted. To make matters worse, as she prepared another bottle of formula she realized how much she had used throughout the day. Even though Jimmy didn’t finish a full bottle, she would make him a fresh one whenever his fussing grew intense—partly to quiet him and partly because she felt he needed more fluids. But now she knew she didn’t have enough formula to last much more than a day.
In the wee hours of the morning, while rocking her fussing infant, Amelia mentally calculated what little money she had left, along with the cost of her lodging plus minimal expenses. She realized even if Sally paid her for Mrs. Livingston, Amelia wouldn’t have enough to get by more than a couple of days.
Her dire straits would force her to complete her original plan—she had to go to James’s parents for help. This meant swallowing what little pride she had left, confessing her uncomfortable truth, and begging for their mercy. It wasn’t something she could do for herself, but she knew she could do it for Jimmy. Because it was his only hope.
6
On the day after Thanksgiving, Helene Bradley woke up sobbing. As she climbed out of bed, she noticed that her pillow was soaked with tears. Had she been crying in her sleep again? Well, at least George was already up. Probably out walking the dog since he had no appointments until Monday. Hopefully Janie had gone with them. It was sweet seeing how much their granddaughter loved their golden retriever. Last night Janie had insisted that Goldie sleep in her room.
As Helene blew her nose and splashed cold water on her face, she was relieved that George wasn’t here to witness her misery. It was distressing for him to see her like this. It was disturbing to her too. Especially since Helene Bradley was known for being “cool as a cucumber”—and worse. She wasn’t particularly fond of those labels, but she’d grown used to them over the years.
Still, it had been nearly ten months, and George had expected her to move forward by now. So much so that he’d even suggested tranquilizer pills. But she’d firmly declined. Promising to do better. As a result, she’d been striving to keep up appearances, and she’d gotten quite adept at her pretenses. But sometimes, like this morning when she’d woken from the dream where she couldn’t make her way to her only son, she missed him so much that the ache deep inside of her felt unbearable. Oh, she knew she wasn’t the only mother to lose a son to this horrible war. But how did other parents go on? How did one survive losing a child? How could she live in a world that didn’t have James in it?
As she carefully dressed in her recent “uniform”—gray woolen skirt and a cashmere sweater set, she reminded herself that she still had Grace and Janie—and that they were here at the house. That was something to be grateful for. Really, it was hard to feel blue when Janie was about. But it was also hard to maintain her happy act in moments like this. Hopefully she would be better by breakfast time.
By the time Helene went downstairs, she could hear the sounds of cheerful voices below. It sounded as if everyone was up. Pasting a smile on her face, she went into the front room to see George and Janie playing checkers. Goldie was stretched out by the fireplace where an inviting fire was crackling. And Grace was curled up in an easy chair with a magazine. The perfect picture of familial contentment. No one would guess by looking at them that they had lost a loved one last spring.
The four of them had breakfast together, and the day continued in a hazy, lazy sort of way—playing board games with Janie, reading books, just being together in a warm and comfortable home. It wasn’t until early afternoon that Helene was reminded of the missing family member.
“Are we going to put up the manger set today?” Janie asked hopefully.
“Oh . . . I don’t know.” Helene tossed an uneasy glance at her husband. It had always been their family tradition to set up the life-sized nativity scene on the day after Thanksgiving, but she’d hoped that no one would mention it today. The idea of seeing those painted plywood pieces . . . the holy
family and shepherds and such . . . well, she just wasn’t sure she could keep her emotions in check.
“Of course, we are,” George said cheerfully to Janie. “Today is the day.”
“See, I told you,” Grace assured her daughter. “We always put the nativity set up on the day after Thanksgiving. It’s tradition.”
“And Uncle James made all the pieces?” Janie asked. “Mary and Joseph and the donkey and the cow and everything? He made all of them when he was just a little boy?”
“Well, he wasn’t a little boy,” Grace explained. “I think James was eleven or twelve when he first started it. And it took him a few years to complete all the figures. As I recall he made the three wise men in high school.”
“And when he was younger, I had to help him cut out the pieces of wood,” George explained. “But Uncle James took over later on. And he did all the painting himself.”
“Was Uncle James an artist?”
“He could’ve been,” Helene said sadly. “Such talent. But he wanted to fly airplanes instead.”
“He wanted to serve his country,” George said somberly. “Uncle James was a real war hero.”
“Like Daddy?” Janie asked with wide eyes.
“Yes.” Grace sounded uneasy. “A lot like Daddy.”
“Will Daddy die too?” Janie’s voice sounded small and worried.
Everyone got very quiet and Helene and George exchanged concerned glances.
“No, of course not,” Grace assured her. “Daddy will come home to us.”
“Excuse me.” Helene slowly stood, trying to hold back the emotions washing over her. “I need to go over tonight’s dinner menu with Lydia.”
“And then will you help us put up the manger set, Grandma?” Janie looked hopefully at her.
“Of course, she will,” George reassured Janie, winking at Helene. “After all, Grandma will want the last word to make sure it’s set up properly—everything in its place.”
The Christmas Blessing Page 4
