A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection

by Dianna Crawford

  Her voice died out as she unfolded the pages and began to read. Tears misted her eyes as she saw her mother’s handwriting. Paul slid his arm around her shoulder and drew her into his sheltering strength. His other hand pressed a crisp, white handkerchief into her lap.

  Rosemary hungrily read each letter, then reread them. “They sound okay. Are they really safe?” She looked up at Paul.

  “Axel looks strong and well fed. He wants more of your dolls to sell.”

  “I’ll make as many as he wants. Can I send letters back with you when you deliver them?”

  “Absolutely. Rosemary, even if he didn’t want another doll, I’d still like to spend time with you.” He tenderly cupped her cheek. “You’re becoming very special to me.”

  Chapter 4

  Rosemary looked into Paul’s face. “I care for you, too.” Here she’d thought this was the last time he would come to her home, and now he wanted to pursue more than a business association—he wanted to pursue her! The very thought made her breathless.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I’m out of practice with courting. I’ve been a widower for a long time.”

  “I’ve been a widow for almost as long. Even then—” She laughed. “My first courtship was just two visits and several letters. I’m afraid I’m not just out of practice—I never had much to begin with!”

  “We’ll just do things our way. How does that sound?”

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “Then it’s not bad form for me to ask about how you married someone you barely knew? You led me to believe it was a happy marriage.”

  Rosemary rested her head on his shoulder. “I was a schoolgirl and thought I knew Lief well. Our families did business together, and we seemed well suited. Now that I look back, I can’t imagine what I was thinking. After he made two visits and we exchanged letters for nine months, I came to the States and we married. God looks out for fools and children—and in that instance, I think I was both. Yet it was a good marriage.”

  “I was in my last year of college. I was so poor, all we did was ice-skate or take walks.” He chuckled. “It’s a marvel Elsie looked at me twice.”

  “Not at all. Simple pleasures are the best. That time together let her see how smart and fun you are.”

  “If you keep complimenting me like that,” he said, his voice deepening, “I’ll be tempted to kiss you.”

  Rosemary gasped—as much from her reaction as from his comment. She wanted him to kiss her!

  “I know,” he sighed. “It’s far too soon. You’ll have to forgive me for forgetting to bring flowers.”

  “You brought me something much better.”

  “The letters?”

  They crinkled in her hand. “I forgot about them. I was just glad you came home. I worried about your safety while you were gone.”

  “Mom!”

  Rosemary jumped and looked up. Valerie stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. At that moment, Rosemary realized just how close she’d managed to cuddle into Paul’s side.

  “Mom—” Valerie stared at the wet handkerchief. “You’ve been crying?”

  Rosemary let out a watery laugh. “I’m happy, honey.”

  Valerie crossed the floor and shot a wary look at Paul.

  Paul didn’t seem bothered in the least. To Rosemary’s surprise, he curled his arm a bit more. “Valerie, I’d like to speak with you for a moment, too.”

  Valerie perched on the edge of the overstuffed armchair. “What is it?”

  “Being away made me realize how much I enjoy your mother’s company. We’re adults and can make our own decisions, and I’ve prayed about it. I feel the Lord has brought us together, but I’d also like to ask your blessing as we court.”

  “It’s about time.” Valerie grinned at them.

  Rosemary felt as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. Even though Valerie was nursing a broken heart, she was generous enough to wish them well. “Thank you, honey.”

  Paul let out a relieved sigh. “Good.”

  “So why were you crying?”

  “Oh! I forgot!” Rosemary held out the pages. “You’ll never guess who Paul knows—Axel! He brought letters!”

  “Wow!” Valerie hopped up and grabbed them. She promptly plopped back down sideways in the chair, with her legs dangling over the arm.

  Rosemary winced at the sight.

  Paul dipped his head and whispered, “Don’t. I’m glad she’s that comfortable with me around.”

  A few minutes later, Valerie looked up. “It sounds like they’re okay and Annelise is finally over that guy. Thanks for bringing the letters, Mr. Kincaid.”

  “You’re welcome. So now that I’m courting your mom, do you think you could stop calling me Mr. Kincaid like I’m some old grandpa?”

  “Just how old are you?”

  “Valerie!” Rosemary couldn’t believe her daughter’s nerve.

  Paul chuckled. “I’m forty.” He squeezed Rosemary. “It was a reasonable question.”

  “Since you don’t mind questions …”

  Unsure what her daughter would ask next, Rosemary cringed.

  “Yes?” Paul sounded downright blasé.

  “What did you do to the mashed potatoes? Mom and I are dying to know.”

  “It’s an old family secret.” He pressed a kiss against Rosemary’s temple. “Someday, I might have to share it.”

  Paul shuffled across the linoleum floor along with the beat of “Chattanooga Choo Choo,” which played on the Zenith. Washing his hands at Rosemary’s kitchen sink, he said, “You’re low on oil, and the tires look a bit worn.”

  Rosemary set down her shears and frowned. “I just bought those tires last year.”

  “It’s not bad at all. They could last awhile yet.” He opened the Byg canister and helped himself to an oatmeal cookie. That momentary delay allowed him to weigh his words carefully. “I think it would be wise to buy a set now.”

  “Surely you don’t think there’ll be a shortage of rubber?” Rosemary picked up her shears again and started cutting more doll parts from the muslin spread across the kitchen table.

  “I’d feel better knowing you and Valerie had them in reserve. The rest of the world is suffering from shortages of several things. I don’t advocate stockpiling, but since we know you’ll need the tires, it’s smart to anticipate. I’ll pick them up tomorrow.”

  “If it makes you feel better.”

  “It does.”

  “Father McCoughlin was speaking on the radio. He said Roosevelt is wrong and we have no business getting drawn into Europe’s war. Even Charles Lindbergh is part of the America First movement. With so many opposed, how do you think America could come to the point of being so involved with what’s going on over there that we’d find it difficult to get basic supplies here?”

  “With Roosevelt passing the Lend-Lease Act, we’re using resources differently, sweetheart. We’re bound to see some changes.”

  “Not like Europe, though. The news said Holland is rationing milk! Can you believe it? Those poor children.”

  Paul didn’t want to tell her it would get much worse. From what he’d seen on his last trip, the Nazi war machine was systematically stripping the countries of their resources. Instead, he reached over and picked up a thin strip of material that ended with a mitt shape. The arm. “You’re doing something for the children, Rosemary.”

  “It feels like precious little. Paul, I want to show you something.” She left the kitchen and returned with a magazine. “What do you think?”

  The words Jewish Crisis jumped out at him as he accepted the magazine. The profile of a mother and little boy on the cover made his heart twist.

  “It’s from 1938.” Rosemary’s voice shook. “And it talks about the persecution of the Jews in Germany. It says we need to worry that it’ll cross the Atlantic.”

  “I’ve read similar things. The stories of what’s happening over there are true, sweetheart. It’s not just Germany. Poland, Bulgaria,
France, Holland, Romania—nearly every country the Reich invades develops a policy of mistreating the Jews.”

  “So it’s not just a bunch of lies to try to rope us into the war?”

  He said very quietly, “It’s the truth.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She swiped the material into a heap on the table. “What good is this?”

  Paul reached across and tilted her face to his. If only he could tell her the truth about how her dolls would save little children—but he couldn’t. It wasn’t safe. “Sweetheart, children over there don’t have toys. Having something to cuddle matters a lot to those little girls.”

  The door opened, and Valerie swirled in with the spring wind. “I’m back! Mrs. Ainsley said—whoops!” She halted abruptly and shot her mother a guilty look.

  Paul regretted only telling a thin slice of the truth, and he was relieved the conversation had been interrupted. He broke contact with Rosemary and folded his arms across his chest. “What did Mrs. Ainsley say?”

  Valerie blushed. “It was nothing.”

  Rosemary laughed. “It’s okay, honey.” She turned to Paul. “We gave Mrs. Ainsley a kitten to keep her company, so Valerie takes fish to her a couple times a week.”

  “Fish for Mrs. Ainsley, or fish for the cat?” Paul was sure of the answer, but he wanted Rosemary to know he was on to her.

  “You have no room to grin, Paul Kincaid!” Valerie’s chin tilted at a challenging level. “Mom and I both know who bought her that nice coat she’s been wearing.”

  Paul pretended not to hear her. “Mrs. Ainsley’s not very spry. I don’t suppose you’d know who planted all those bulbs that are sprouting in her garden.”

  Rosemary laughed, and Valerie’s cheeks went pinker. She couldn’t meet his eyes and suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, I smell something wonderful!”

  “Paul’s cooking Swedish beef stew.” Rosemary played along with the change in subject and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t remember the name. It sounded like Cyclops.”

  Paul chortled. “Kalops.”

  “Whew. I was afraid you were going to feed me eyeball soup.” Valerie finessed the radio dial. Bebop filled the air. “Much better.”

  “Dizzy Gillespie.” Paul nodded. “Great jazz player.”

  “I like Thelonious Monk better.” Just then, the music stopped and an update came across the air about the Canadians pulling American planes across the border that had been provided through the Lend-Lease arrangement. Valerie’s smile faded. She turned off the radio, then pointed at the magazine on the table. “No matter where I go, I can’t get away from that war.”

  “Honey …”

  Valerie held up a hand. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m tired of everyone giving me sympathy. Words won’t bring back Frank. We’re all sending Bundles for Britain and acting as if all they’re getting from us is soap, medicine, and blankets. The truth is, lots of American boys like Frank are going over there and joining their army, and Britain doesn’t even bundle them back to us for a decent burial! All those mothers from America First went and knelt in prayer by the Capitol building. Instead of old women, maybe it should have been girls like me. Then maybe everyone would see what wars really cost—bridegrooms, young husbands, and babies’ fathers!” She ran from the room.

  A door slammed shut, but it couldn’t completely muffle her sobs. Rosemary buried her face in her hands. “We’re only making it worse, you know.”

  Paul pulled her from her chair and enveloped her in his arms. “You and I understand grief. She’s right—no matter where she turns, she’s surrounded by reminders. We’ll just love her through the sorrow.”

  Rosemary wound her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his lapel. “She really does like you.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty crazy about her. You … well, you, I’m wild about.” He threaded his hands through her silky hair. “I never thought I’d fall in love again, but I have. I’ll just pray God will bless her as generously as He’s blessed me.”

  Chapter 5

  Rosemary let out a small, disappointed sigh as she looked in the butcher’s case. “Better just make it the roast closest to the back.”

  Mr. Twisselman bobbed his bald head in understanding as he pulled out a tiny one and thumped it onto his scale. “Two pounds even. If Mr. Kincaid were in town, you would have gotten one twice this size.”

  Rosemary let out a small laugh. Her courtship had become cause for comment around town. The butcher’s observation was right, and she enjoyed the fact that Paul shared supper with her and Valerie more often than not when he was in town. Because she tended to shun the limelight, the attention others cast on her on such occasions left her feeling a bit self-conscious. Having Paul in her life more than made up for such fleeting moments.

  Mr. Twisselman’s mustache twitched as he wrapped the roast in white, waxed butcher paper. “Mr. Kincaid seems like a nice man. He can pick out a good cut of meat, too. Not often you find a man who can do that.”

  Understanding that was high praise, Rosemary nodded. “He makes a great stew. The bacon looks nice and lean. I’d like a half pound, please.”

  “As much Spam as is being sent in Bundles for Britain,” he said as he took a handful of rashers and flipped them onto the scale, “you’d think there wouldn’t be an ounce of pork left in these United States!”

  “I saw those striped quilts Nelly and Wanda made for the bundles. They reminded me of Joseph’s coat of many colors.” Rosemary watched as he added two more rashers.

  My life is like one of those colorful quilts. I thought all I had left were worn scraps, but God brought color and texture back by bringing Paul into my life. There’s so much more warmth and purpose.

  “Yeah, Bundles for Britain keeps my girls busy,” Mr. Twisselman said, oblivious to Rosemary’s musings. “Today Wanda’s making a baby blanket, though. Marcy Heath had her baby.”

  “I hadn’t heard the news!”

  “A boy.” He puffed up as if the baby were his own. “Tipped the scale at eight pounds.”

  “Eight!”

  “Yep. Hospital-born, no less!”

  “Well then, I won’t buy a chicken to roast for them until next Wednesday. The hospital will keep her for a week, you know.” She decided she’d go home, gather flowers from her garden, and pay the new mother and baby a visit this afternoon, though. Paul had helped her cultivate the soil for her flower and vegetable gardens. They’d gotten dirty as could be that day. On the days he was so far away, she still found comfort in walking barefoot where he’d worked.

  “Anything else today? Ground beef’s on sale.”

  “Oh.” She snapped out of that fleeting memory. “What kind of fish do you have?”

  “Mrs. Ainsley was just in.” He winked. “She bought some snapper for the cat already.”

  Rosemary sighed. “Then I don’t need anything else today.”

  “Paul Kincaid better get back soon.” The butcher wedged himself behind the register. “Seems to me a certain lady gets mighty lonesome when he’s gone.”

  “The cure for loneliness is hard work. This woman needs to occupy herself instead of mooning around. Nothing’s more useless than a lady who sits and pines for a man.” She glanced out the window, then sighed again. “But I’m antsy. Since Paul left, the Germans sank the Robin Moore.”

  “Roosevelt declared a state of emergency. Ships are being careful, and the navy’s on alert. Don’t worry. Paul will make it home in one piece.”

  “That’s my prayer,” she said softly.

  “That’s $1.59.” Mr. Twisselman accepted her money and grinned. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Rosemary. A little pining’s not bad.”

  She nodded and left. Truth be told, she kept her hands busy … but Paul kept her heart and mind tied up in knots.

  Paul spied the Nazi officer and continued to walk through the door of Christiansen Enterprises. As Paul Lindhagen, he had every reason to come here. Balking at the sight of a German would ruin his cover. Instead, he cleare
d his throat. “Mr. Christiansen, if this is an inopportune time, I can return.”

  “No, not at all.” Axel motioned urbanely toward the Nazi. “May I introduce Captain von Rundstedt. Captain, this is Herr Lindhagen, an art dealer.”

  “Herr Lindhagen.” The captain nodded his head curtly and studied Paul closely. “What business does an art dealer have with an import-export enterprise?”

  Paul made a vague gesture. “You know how it is. Times change. We all adapt as necessary. Of course, the fact that a pretty widow makes dolls I can import is good motive.”

  “Dolls?”

  Axel chuckled. “Yes. I’ll have to show them to you. The fact is, the lady in question is my aunt.”

  “Ahh, I see.”

  “Speaking of her, your aunt sent you a gift.” By openly setting out the bulky package, it made everything look perfectly innocent. Had Paul waffled or tried to hide the package, the officer would have become suspicious.

  “A gift? How thoughtful of her.” Axel smoothly set the package aside.

  “Do not let our presence hold you back.” The Nazi motioned toward the bundle. “By all means, open it.”

  “Thank you.” Axel promptly tore through the brown paper. “A camera and film—oh, my!” He shuffled through a half dozen photographs with notable glee. “Pictures of Aunt Rosemary and my cousin Valerie.”

  “Sehr schon,” the captain said.

  Axel chuckled. “The gift is very beautiful, or my aunt and cousin?”

  “The ladies are both very beautiful. The Aryan ancestry is much evident in the coloring and features. Why do they not live here, with you?”

  “Rosemary met her husband in Sweden.”

  Paul patted himself on the chest. “And if things continue to go well between us, her next husband is Swedish, too.”

  Axel straightened his shoulders and extended his hand. “Congratulations. Rosemary is a wonderful woman. I approve.”

  “Thank you.” Paul shook Axel’s hand.

  “So the camera is Swedish, ja?” The captain picked up the camera and read the label. “Hessco Model B. The camera is known to me. I personally prefer my Swiss-made Jaeger. It is clever because it can take both glass plates and rolls of film.”