A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection

by Dianna Crawford

  Paul nodded. “In my travels, I’ll be passing through Switzerland. If you have need of plates or film, I’d be happy to keep an eye out for some.”

  “So you are a resourceful fellow.”

  Paul shrugged. “It is a small matter. Axel, your aunt expects pictures of you and your family in return. Don’t forget. She’ll be upset if I go home without them.”

  “We’ll take pictures tomorrow morning. I can just send the film back with you then. You must come to supper and tell Grams the good news. Captain, would you care to join us?”

  For a moment, it looked as if the captain planned to agree. Then he shook his head. “I have other obligations.”

  “Perhaps some other time.”

  “Yes, another time. Herr Christiansen, Herr Lindhagen. Heil Hitler.” He marched toward the office door.

  Axel pulled out a ledger book. “Let me find that account here…. How many dolls did you bring this time?”

  “Fifty. I plan to take a few with me as gifts for my clients, though.”

  The captain turned around. “I should like to see these dolls.”

  Chapter 6

  Paul pried the lid off the crate as Captain von Rundstedt leafed through the paperwork. The captain set the sheaf of pages off to the side with a decisive shove. “The stamps on the forms are in order.”

  “Naturally.” Paul pulled out several dolls. “Here we are.”

  The captain pulled two from his arms and tossed them back into the crate. “Dark hair does not appeal to me.”

  “How many would you like?” Axel’s voice took on the schmoozing tone of a businessman.

  “One. I have a niece.”

  Paul didn’t so much as blink an eye. The whole rescue operation would be destroyed if this went poorly. He’d planned for such an eventuality, though. A few dolls of each shipment didn’t have gold or a gem inside them. He purposefully chose blond, blue-eyed dolls and exchanged their clothing so they wore red, white, and black—the colors of the Third Reich. Those dolls would serve as bribes for any German who got too nosy.

  “The flowered dress—it is something a girl would like.” The captain started to stuff the bribe doll back into the crate.

  “I agree.” Paul moved to throw the last two in his arm into the crate as well. “This pale blue—that color doesn’t catch the eye, even if her face is sweet. There is something cheerful about this one, though.”

  Axel chuckled. “She reminds me of Annelise playing Little Red Riding Hood. All she needs is a cape.”

  “That story is in a book I bought for my niece.” The captain took the doll. He nodded decisively. “Ja. She is the one.”

  “Take her as a gift.” Axel smiled.

  The captain left, and Axel tugged out a few dolls. “How many do you need to take?”

  “Make it a half dozen. Give me another red dress. The Red Riding Hood angle was great.”

  “I have no idea what made me say that.”

  “God gave you the words. The minute I saw that Nazi, I prayed for protection. How did we do on the first shipment?”

  Axel grinned. “The underground distributed all of the dolls. We were able to forge documents for twelve children. Four are with families here in Denmark—ostensibly they are orphans who came to live with distant relatives. The other eight were taken to safety in Sweden. The second shipment: I don’t have all of the information yet. So far, I know two dozen children have gone to safety carrying a rag doll from that group.”

  “God be praised,” Paul said softly as he closed the lid on the crate. “May there be hundreds more.”

  “Turn down the radio, honey.” Rosemary dashed for the phone as Bing Crosby crooned “Only Forever.” Breathlessly, she said, “Hello?” into the receiver.

  “Hi, sweetheart!”

  “Paul! Are you home?”

  “Yes. I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon. The line’s always busy.”

  Rosemary sighed. Most of the families on their party line were considerate, but Myrtle Louis seemed to live on the phone. “It’s a problem. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I—”

  The line clicked, and Paul stopped speaking. “Hello? Paul?”

  “I’m still here. I think we have company.”

  “I need to use the phone.” Myrtle’s voice radiated with petulance.

  “We just got connected.” Rosemary tried to squelch her irritation. “I’m sure you heard the call come through—long and two short rings, which is my signal. You couldn’t have mistaken it for your single short ring.”

  “Well, it’s only Paul.” Myrtle tsked. “He’s at your house all the time anyway.”

  Paul cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I’m sure Mrs. Fulton’s more than considerate of you when you’re on the line.”

  “Well, I never!” Myrtle slammed down her receiver.

  “Never?” Paul snorted. “I have a hard time believing she’s never on the phone.”

  Rosemary sang along with Bing Crosby on the radio as her response, “Only Forever.”

  A deep, rich chortle came over the line. “I must be crazy to travel. The only thing that makes it worthwhile is coming back to you. Go put on a pretty dress. I’m taking you out to supper tonight.”

  “We can just eat here, Paul. I’m sure you’re tired.”

  “Nope. I’ll be there in an hour.” He made a smooching sound and hung up.

  “I know that smile,” Valerie teased. “It’s the Paul’s-home-and-I’m-thrilled look.”

  “He’s taking us out to supper.”

  “Not me. You. Mom, it’s a date, not a family meeting! Besides, I have plans.” She rubbed her hands together. “So what are you wearing?”

  “What about my Easter dress?”

  Just shy of an hour later, Rosemary heard Paul’s Duesenberg come to a halt outside her house. Whistling Jimmy Dorsey’s “Green Eyes,” Paul came up the walk.

  Rosemary hurriedly latched her pearls and patted them in place. She hoped he’d like her dress. Made of pale green silk, it nipped in at her waist and swirled just an inch and a half below her knees. She’d gotten it for Easter, but he’d been away on business that week. This was only the second time she’d worn it.

  As he knocked at the door, Rosemary’s heart beat twice as fast. She wanted to run down the stairs and fling herself into his arms like a starstruck teenager. It’s his fault. He makes me feel like a young girl again. As Valerie greeted him, Rosemary dabbed on a little Evening in Paris perfume. The silk of her dress and stockings whispered as she descended the stairs.

  Paul waited at the foot of the stairs. Aware their reunion wasn’t private, he pulled Rosemary close and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you.” She straightened his tie. “You look very handsome.”

  “Mom, I’m going to Angela’s.”

  Rosemary frowned at her daughter. “Not until you change, young lady.”

  “We’re not going anywhere, Mom. This isn’t the olden days. There’s nothing wrong with wearing slacks.”

  Paul cleared his throat. “I’m not meaning to horn in here, but even if you don’t go anywhere, plenty of people might show up.”

  “Angela wouldn’t do that.” Valerie shook her head.

  “She wouldn’t, but her parents might.” Paul slipped his arm around Rosemary, and she nestled into his side. “I happened to overhear Mr. Zilde this afternoon. He was grousing about his wife throwing a surprise birthday party for Angela tonight.”

  “Swell!” She ran up the stairs yelling, “It’s a good thing I already bought her that record she wanted!”

  Paul’s breath stirred Rosemary’s hair as he confessed, “I had a bracelet in my car, just in case.”

  “Did you really?” She smiled up at him.

  “Yes, but I’m just as glad. I’d rather give it to Valerie.”

  His warmth and generosity never ceased to surprise her. She gave him a hug. “I’m sure she’ll treasure it.”

>   “Speaking of treasures …” He reached over and took a bag from the corner of one of the steps and handed it to her.

  Rosemary squeezed the bag. “What is it?”

  He started whistling “Green Eyes” again and waggled his brows at the bag.

  Laughing, Rosemary opened it and peered inside. “Buttons?”

  He reached in and pulled out a fistful. As he let them spill back into the bag, he gloated, “Green eyes. And blue. And brown. I was watching you embroider doll faces the last night I was here. It occurred to me that if you show me how, I could sew on buttons for eyes. Wouldn’t that be faster?”

  “But these aren’t just ordinary buttons.” She held one of the bright notions. “These are darling!”

  He grinned. “I hoped you’d like ’em. I found them in Switzerland. Look. Black centers, just like a pupil. Black thread won’t even show.”

  “But these are glass. They must’ve been expensive, Paul.”

  “You’re not fretting over the cost of a bag of buttons, are you?”

  Valerie pattered back down the stairs. “Boy, am I glad I read that mix-and-match article in the magazine!”

  “You look snazzy,” Paul said. “I wish I could match my ties and suits that easily.”

  “Why should you? Dad couldn’t. The pastor doesn’t.” Valerie gave him a silly smile. “I don’t think there’s a man alive who isn’t color blind.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He grabbed several of the buttons and jabbed the blunt end of his forefinger at them one at a time. “Look. This one is blue. This one is green. Blue. Brown. Red.”

  Rosemary and Valerie burst into laughter. He’d purposefully misnamed every last color. “Red?”

  “Bloodshot.” He flipped it over his shoulder. “Can’t use it. Poor kid will think her doll is drunk!”

  “Oh, you! Mom, he’s impossible!” Valerie opened the door and scampered out. “Good-bye!”

  Shutting the door, Rosemary nodded. “What am I to do with you? Each time you come, you bring gifts. You can come to visit with empty hands, Paul. Just having you here fills up my heart.”

  “Just being with you fills up my heart, too.” He tugged her into the living room, grabbed the bag from her hands, and poured the buttons into her lap. “But there’s one more gift in here….”

  He knelt by her side, pretended to search through the buttons, and muttered to himself, “Where is it?”

  She dipped her head closer to his and stirred through the bright buttons that filled her silk skirt. “What?”

  “I remember now.” He pulled something from a pocket and held it out to her—a ring. It shone as brightly as the love in his eyes. “Rosemary, I love you. I was going to ask you at the restaurant tonight, but I’m acting like a kid who can’t wait. Marry me, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, Paul!” Rosemary looked at him through tear-misted eyes. The man she’d grown to love had taken her by complete surprise. In quiet moments alone, she’d dared to dream their courtship might blossom into marriage, but after years of widowhood, they’d seemed just that—dreams. Only he was here, making her dreams come true. “I’d be honored to become your wife.”

  Chapter 7

  We’ll check with the church calendar,” Paul said two days later as his fingers laced with Rosemary’s. He’d invited some friends over for a barbecue so he could introduce his future wife to some of his associates. “I’m hoping for August.”

  “Congratulations.” Bill flipped hamburgers on the grill and winked at Rosemary. “As for you, I suppose someone ought to warn you that Paul snores something fierce. Last summer when he left the bedroom window open at night—”

  Rosemary gave Paul a questioning look.

  “Bill, you’re not supposed to lie and scare the bride-to-be.” Paul squeezed her hand. “I should have warned you about Bill. He’s known for his lousy sense of humor, but he’s been a fair friend.”

  “Yeah, well, you could have introduced me to Rosemary instead of keeping her for yourself.”

  “Not a chance. She’s mine.”

  Rosemary smiled up at Paul, and he could see love and joy sparkling in her eyes.

  Paul released Rosemary’s hand and slipped a plate to her. He set two hamburger buns side by side on the plate and motioned Bill to serve up a pair of sizzling patties. “I heard you might be interested in renting my house. Rosemary’s place will be better suited to us.”

  “Why?”

  “My place is too small.” He cast her a smile.

  “You’re not going to have kids, are you?” Bill blurted out the question, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  The color in Rosemary’s cheeks tickled Paul. He shrugged. “No telling what God has in store for the future.”

  Later, as Rosemary carried the condiments into Paul’s house after the last of the guests had left, she asked, “Do you want children, Paul?”

  “We have Valerie.” He took the mustard from her and stuffed it into the icebox. “It seems like a mighty late start for us, but I’m willing to tackle whatever God sends our way. What do you think?”

  “We’d hoped to have other children, but Valerie was our only one. I don’t know that I could carry another child.” Tears filled her eyes. “I should have said something. I’m sorry. With Valerie this old, it never occurred to me—”

  “Shhh.” Paul wrapped his arms around her. “If anything, I’d be worried sick about you the whole nine months. Thirty-nine isn’t ancient, but I know it’s more dangerous for a woman to carry a child at your age.”

  She snuggled closer.

  “How would you feel about adopting? I think it would be a great option.”

  “Could we?” Her face shone with hope.

  “Sweetheart, God’s given us an incredible love for one another. If He has little ones out there He wants us to rear, He’ll fill our hearts with love for them, too.”

  “So maybe someday I’ll be sewing a doll for our little girl?”

  He laughed. “Who are you kidding? You’ll have a whole family of dolls for her, and they’ll be the best-dressed rag dolls the world ever saw!”

  As she laughed, he held her tight. He trusted her implicitly, and Wild Bill had come to the cookout just to check her out. He’d let Paul know that Rosemary had his resounding endorsement. Paul would have married her regardless, but with Bill Donovan’s approval, he could occasionally “socialize” and continue to conduct business on the sly.

  Rosemary probably would never know that most of his trips carried a clandestine purpose. It was the only way he could protect her—both from danger and worry.

  Brakes squealed outside. “Hey, Mom!”

  Rosemary wheeled around. “What does Valerie think she’s doing, driving like that?”

  “Mom!” Valerie sprinted through the wide-open door. “Mrs. Ainsley fell.”

  “Thank you, Valerie,” Mrs. Ainsley said. “You’re such a good girl.”

  Rosemary smiled as Valerie carried the breakfast tray out of the downstairs guest bedroom. Thankfully, the old woman hadn’t broken any bones, but she’d been badly rattled and bruised by her fall. Rosemary insisted on having her stay with them for a week or so until she recovered.

  As Valerie left for work a short while later, she raised her voice and called from the front door, “Mom, don’t forget to make those dolls for Paul.”

  “Dolls?” Mrs. Ainsley perked up.

  Rosemary knew Paul didn’t want the doll business to be general knowledge. She understood why, too. Many of the folks in the community and especially in their church had been hard-hit by the Great Depression. They’d welcome the opportunity to make dolls and earn money, but Paul’s reputation rested on the quality of the dolls. She didn’t want to lie, though.

  “Paul takes rag dolls to Sweden.”

  “Well, that makes sense.” Mrs. Ainsley fussed with the edge of her sheet. “If they don’t have blankets and soap, those little girls over there won’t have toys, either. What can I do to help?”
r />   “Would you like to embroider a face or two?”

  “I’d love to! Back when my girls were little, I always used the scraps from their dresses to make tiny clothes for their dollies. It brings back such fond memories.”

  That first morning, Mrs. Ainsley sat propped against the walnut headboard in the blue-and-white bedroom and embroidered three faces. She threaded red floss through her needle, then glanced at Rosemary, who was tying tiny bows on the ends of flaxen yarn braids. “You go ahead and cut more. It won’t hurt for us to make a couple extra for your nice young man to take on his next trip.”

  “He is nice, isn’t he?” Rosemary smiled.

  Mrs. Ainsley let out a cackle and waggled her finger. “I knew it! You didn’t argue about him being yours.”

  “He’s asked me to marry him.”

  “Well, glory! Now, isn’t God good to give you love again? I remember when you lost your husband. Now, here you are, alight with that special glow only love gives. And I thought I saw a new ring on your finger.”

  “God is good.” Rosemary handed Mrs. Ainsley a glass of water. “Dr. Harwell wanted you to rest. Why don’t you take a nap?”

  “Only if you promise to let me do more dolls when I wake up.”

  Rosemary laughed.

  “Oh! And if you give me my crochet hook and some yarn, I can make a few blankets and dresses!”

  “You’re a prize.” She gave the old woman a kiss and left her to take a nap. During the next week, Rosemary sewed in the mornings as Valerie kept Mrs. Ainsley company before going to the bank. She also sewed up a storm in the hours Mrs. Ainsley napped. Even then, it wasn’t possible to make as many dolls as usual.

  Each evening, Paul would come over and escort Mrs. Ainsley to the table for supper, then to the living room where they’d all chat, listen to the radio, and play Monopoly or Sorry! Valerie sat at the piano and played, or Rosemary would accompany her so Valerie could practice the solo she’d promised to do the next week at church. Amid the chatter, crocheting, and cooking, the new balance of having a man there felt so good, so right. Hearing Paul’s deep, resonant voice, watching his gentleness with Mrs. Ainsley, and relishing the warmth and strength in his good-night hugs made Rosemary glad they’d set a date for their wedding.