It wasn’t something they’d discussed or planned but a spur-of-the-moment impulse that turned out to be what George had been searching for. That Saturday after he’d closed the hardware store and was on his way home, he passed the empty lot where the Elks Club was selling Christmas trees. Bert Barker was working the lot that night, and as George passed by, Bert called out, “Got your tree yet?”
George hesitated for a moment, thinking he’d overheard a question meant for someone else, then realized he was alone on the street.
“You talking to me?” he asked.
Bert was a fellow merchant, a big man with a laugh twice his size.
“’Course I am,” he said and gave one of those huge belly laughs. “If you don’t have a tree yet, I’ve got one for you.”
“We don’t have a tree, but—”
Before he could explain that after losing Emily, their family had made Christmas trees a thing of the past, Bert hooked a beefy arm around his shoulders and pulled him into the lot.
“This year’s proceeds are going to the Crippled Children’s Foundation, and we Main Street merchants aren’t ones to turn our backs on a cause like that.” He gave George’s shoulder a squeeze. “Right?”
“I guess not.”
“That’s what I thought.” Bert pulled a midsize tree from the bunch. “You want a five-footer or a six-footer?”
“Well, I’m not really sure . . .”
“Understandable,” Bert said, then whipped out a tree that stood a foot taller than himself. “Here’s one you can’t walk away from.” He turned the tree, showing first one side and then the other. “Look at this beauty. Not a bare spot to be seen! Measures a full seven and a half feet, but seeing as how we’re both Main Street merchants, I’m only gonna charge you for a seven-footer.”
George gave a half-hearted nod. “It’s a beauty, all right, but I don’t have my car with me, and much as I’d like to—”
Quick as a wink, Bert said, “It’s yours! And delivery’s free. I’m closing up in about fifteen minutes, so I’ll swing by the house and drop it off.”
George handed him the fifteen dollars and started for home. As he trudged up Hillmoor Street, he was lost in thoughts of how to explain the tree and didn’t notice Bert’s truck whiz by. When he turned up the walkway, Bert was standing on the front porch with the tree in his hands.
That evening, Bert, with his jovial laugh and bigger-than-life personality, stayed to help set up the tree. At first Rachel offered a weak protest, saying they weren’t really ready and this was something that could wait until tomorrow, but Bert moved right past the thought and carted in a stand from the back of his truck. They slid the armchair aside, then stood the tree square in the center of the front window.
“Got any decorations?” he asked. “Lights maybe?”
“Upstairs, in the guest room under the bed,” Mama Dixon said with a look of apprehension, “but it’s been years, so they may not be . . .”
George was on his way up the stairs before his mama got to the part about the lights not working.
That evening the spirit of Christmas came to the Dixon house. It wasn’t invited or even welcomed, but at some point it slipped through the brittle cracks of resistance and settled in. No one could say precisely when it happened or even how, but when George reached up to place a star atop the tree, Rachel noticed Mama Dixon was missing and her cane was left hanging on the arm of her chair. Fearing the worst, Rachel called out for her, and an answer came from the kitchen.
“Come on back; I’m setting out some hot chocolate and cookies.”
As they gathered around the kitchen table with mugs of hot chocolate, Rachel noticed a sound she hadn’t heard for a very long time; it was the lighthearted lilt of George’s laughter. At first it seemed weak and far away, but when she turned to him and smiled, it grew stronger and settled softly on the inside of her ear.
Watching the plate of cookies being passed from hand to hand, she thought back on how she hadn’t wanted a tree. She’d believed it would be a too-powerful reminder of the Christmas they’d once planned for Emmy, and George had agreed. Yet here he was, smiling and happy as he’d been the year they were married. Earlier she’d almost told Bert that Christmas trees had no place in the home of a family grieving the loss of a child, but she’d hesitated for a moment, and in that moment something changed.
She’d seen the look of longing on George’s face. It wasn’t simply a tree he wanted; he was trying to find a remnant of the life they’d once shared. He was reaching for things that once brought them happiness, hoping they could find it again.
Was it possible she could do the same?
BECOMING A FAMILY
Two days later, with the smell of pine still wafting through the house and the colored lights aglow, Rachel and George discovered that it was possible to set aside the past and enjoy the simple pleasure of being together. It began on a chilly winter evening when Mama Dixon had retired to her room early and they’d settled in front of the fireplace. She sat with her back resting against his chest, his arms encircling hers and the sweet smell of smoldering hickory wood tickling their noses. At first they talked only of the coming spring, the flower garden she hoped to plant and the new lawn mower he would need.
When the conversation stilled, she dropped her head back against his shoulder and leaned into the rise and fall of his chest with the tickle of his breath against her ear.
“I hadn’t thought we’d have a tree this year,” she said.
“Neither did I,” George replied softly, then he lowered his face to hers and, with a featherlight brush of his lips, kissed the back of her neck. “Does the tree being here make you unhappy?” he asked.
“Not unhappy, but it brings back thoughts of all the things we’d planned for Emily.” She paused a moment, then added, “I can’t help but wonder if our moving ahead means we’re leaving her behind.”
“Never.” George tenderly traced his fingers along her arm, then lifted his hand and pressed it to her cheek, turning her face to his. “Emily is not part of our lives now, but she’ll always be a part of our hearts, yours and mine both. Given time, the memory of what happened is bound to grow less harsh, but the thought of who Emily was and what she meant to us will never be gone.”
Rachel took the words and stored them in her heart. When memories of Emily came, as they inevitably did, she would be able to call upon this thought and remember it as a lifelong promise to their daughter.
Later, in the privacy of their bedroom, they moved beyond thoughts of Emily and George turned to her with his lips curled into a smile. His eyes were soft and warm, reassuring almost, as he bent and pressed his mouth to hers. That night they allowed their passion to flow as freely as it had in the early years. His touch was tender and she held nothing back as they came together. Afterward, they slept with their bodies so close that their arms and legs became entangled, and in the morning she woke to find herself pinned beneath his arm, her head nestled against his chest.
That spring, when the scarlet fuzz was just beginning to show on the red maples, Rachel missed her period. At first she attributed it to the long hours she’d spent digging in the garden, planting creeping phlox along the walkway and a bed of wax begonias in the backyard. But after three weeks had passed, she told George.
It was a balmy evening when nothing more than a light sweater was needed, and Mama Dixon had slipped off to her bedroom, leaving Rachel and George alone on the front porch. As they pushed back and forth in the glider, Rachel leaned her head on his shoulder.
“It’s too early to know for certain,” she said, “but I think I’m pregnant.”
The glider came to an abrupt stop, and George turned to face her. “Really?”
She gave way to a grin and nodded. “It’s only three weeks, so I can’t be sure, but—”
Before she could say anything more, he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. It was what they had both begun to hope for. A new life. An opportuni
ty to move beyond the heartache and become a family again.
“You should see Dr. Levine tomorrow,” he said.
She laughed. “It’s too soon. I’ll wait another month or so until I’m certain.”
“In the meantime, no more gardening. You’ve got to take it easy. If there’s something to be done, just tell me, and I’ll take care of it.”
Although Rachel argued that a certain amount of activity was good for a pregnant woman, she agreed to let George finish up the garden they’d planned.
As spring turned into summer, a newfound joy crept into every corner of the house. Each morning George left for work whistling a happy tune, and Mama Dixon set aside her granny squares to begin crocheting tiny sweaters and caps. After she’d finished a white sweater with matching cap and booties, she went shopping and returned home with three bags of yarn. She’d bought yellow and mint green, the colors equally appropriate for either a boy or girl, and also skeins of pink and blue.
“A January baby will need plenty of warm sweaters,” she reasoned, “and it’s best to be prepared.”
Although glowing with the prospect of again holding a baby in her arms, Rachel was plagued by morning sickness, not just in the morning but throughout the day. Her breasts became heavier than they’d ever been, and her ankles swelled to twice their normal size.
“My stomach is larger than a watermelon.” She groaned. “And I’m gaining so much weight.”
Mama Dixon pooh-poohed the thought, claiming a well-rounded stomach was assurance of a nice big healthy baby.
Dr. Levine saw it a bit differently. “Have you tried cutting back on salt?” he asked. “Maybe get a bit more exercise?”
“I’ve not had a grain of salt for weeks,” Rachel replied. “And no cake, no pie, no cookies.”
By then she was five months into the pregnancy, her skin stretched taut and her legs as stiff and heavy as tree trunks. With only the tiniest bit of exertion, she became so fatigued that she napped on the sofa, too weary to climb the stairs to the bedroom.
Leaning back on the examination table, she said, “I’m concerned because it wasn’t this way with Emmy.”
Dr. Levine scribbled something on her chart, then held his stethoscope to her stomach and listened. With his brow wrinkled and a look of intensity clinging to his face, he slid the stethoscope from one side of her stomach to the other, each time pausing to listen, then moving on.
With every second that ticked by Rachel grew increasingly nervous. The examination had never taken this long before, but when she asked what was wrong, Dr. Levine held up his hand, signaling her to wait, then moved the stethoscope a tiny bit higher.
“Just tell me the baby is okay,” she pleaded. “Say something.”
After almost ten minutes, he pulled the instrument from his ears and told Rachel she could sit up.
“I think you’re going to like this,” he said and smiled. “You’re having twins. There are two distinct heartbeats.”
For a moment Rachel stared at him in disbelief, unblinking and unable to breathe, then she gasped a mouthful of air and said, “Twins?”
He nodded, pulled a prescription pad from his pocket, and began writing.
“That’s the reason for the weight gain and fatigue.” He handed her the prescription. “This will reduce the swelling in your ankles, but I want you to start taking vitamins, get plenty of rest, and make sure you eat enough protein. Eggs, cheese, lean meats, and milk. Plenty of milk.”
When Rachel left the doctor’s office, she sat in the car for ten minutes before turning the key.
“Twins,” she repeated over and over again, letting the thought of two babies bounce around in her head.
Although the news was ready to explode out of her mouth, she waited until she and George were alone on the front porch to say something. They were on opposite ends of the wicker sofa, her legs stretched out, her feet in his lap. He was telling how he planned to strip the yellowed wallpaper from the small room next to theirs and give the room a fresh coat of paint.
“Once that’s done, we can start shopping for a new crib,” he said.
She wiggled her toes playfully. “I think we’re going to need two.”
“Well, if the room needs two coats, then so be it. Have you got a color in mind?”
“Not the paint; I meant the crib.”
He glanced across with a puzzled expression. “What about the crib?”
“One won’t be enough. We’re going to need two.”
She smiled and waited as the realization of what she meant came to him. He looked at her stomach as if he were seeing it for the first time.
“There’s two?” he said and laughed aloud.
She nodded. “Twins.”
That evening they lingered on the porch, talking about the things they’d need and how to arrange two cribs in the small room. George suggested they might want to put both babies in the larger room at the end of the hall, but Rachel shook her head.
“I want to keep them close by,” she said, “where I can hear every sound.”
As welcome as thoughts of two babies were, the sight of two empty cribs sitting in the room next to theirs unnerved Rachel. Before the leaves on the oak turned color, the radiant glow she’d had during the early months began to fade. In late October, on a rainy evening when the sky was going from dusk to dark, George found her standing at the kitchen window.
He came up behind her and peered out the window. Outside there was a steady stream of raindrops falling from the eaves and shadows of the oaks covering the few remaining flowers in the garden, but nothing more. He touched his hand to her shoulder and leaned in, his cheek close to hers.
“Is there something out there?” he asked.
She gave a worrisome shrug, her shoulders hunched and her hands cradling her stomach as she would a baby.
“We probably won’t know until it’s too late.” She turned to him, a tear rolling down her cheek. “What if it happens again? With two babies to protect—”
He gathered her into his arms, and with a gentle touch of his fingertip brushed the tear from her cheek.
“Nothing will happen,” he promised. “I’ll make certain of it.”
A few weeks later, a crew of workmen came and installed a wrought iron fence that encircled the entire yard. Each spindle had a pointy spear at the top, and the gate at the front entrance opened and closed with a loud clang. The foreman suggested they could soften the sound by oiling the hinges, but George claimed it wasn’t necessary. Once the workmen were gone, George called Mama Dixon and Rachel out to see the gate.
“Now there’s no chance of an intruder,” he said confidently.
His mama agreed, but Rachel eyed the gate with an expression of doubt stretched across her face.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” she said solemnly, then turned and went back inside the house.
Although George at first believed no intruder would be foolish enough to risk breaking into a house surrounded by an iron fence and lit by a streetlight, the thought of such a possibility settled in his head and refused to budge. That night and for several more following it, he tossed and turned, wondering if there was even a remote possibility that such a thing could happen. After two weeks of sleeplessness, he visited the ASPCA and came home with a German shepherd puppy who was nine months old and supposedly housebroken.
“This is Bruno,” he said as the dog stood there wagging his tail. “He’s a good watchdog and loves children.”
Mama Dixon laughed. “And just how do you know all that?”
“The woman at the ASPCA told me he belonged to a family with two little girls. She said they wouldn’t have given him up, but the dad was transferred to New York, and they’d be living in an apartment that didn’t allow dogs.”
Rachel bent over and offered her hand. “Here, Bruno.”
The dog hesitated a moment, then ambled over. He sniffed her hand, then moved on to sniff her swollen belly. After a few moments, he came to rest wi
th his snout nuzzled up against her stomach. She reached over, rubbed Bruno’s ears, then looked up at George.
“Can he sense that I’m carrying babies?”
Even though George had no idea whether or not such a thing was true, he nodded.
“Obviously Bruno is getting ready to guard our twins.”
Rachel eyed the dog with a look of skepticism. “We’ll see.”
Mama Dixon folded her arms across her chest, a look of disapproval wrinkling her brow. “With two babies on the way and a house to keep clean, having a dog is likely to be more work than we can—”
“We’ve got fourteen days to decide whether or not we want to keep Bruno,” George cut in. “Let’s give him a chance, and after that, if you want to return him I’m okay with it.”
The dog looked up at Rachel and whined. She laughed.
“That’s fine,” she said and again rubbed his ears.
As it turned out, Bruno was not quite housebroken, and for the first two weeks Rachel went around mopping up puddles. On the fourteenth day, George said that since the dog wasn’t as housebroken as he’d been told, they might want to consider returning him.
“Absolutely not,” Rachel said. By then she could already envision Bruno lying beside the cribs and keeping a watchful eye throughout the night.
STARTING OVER
Hesterville, 1975
The twins were born the first week of January, the boy at five pounds, four ounces and the girl an even five pounds. They both came into the world healthy, their blue eyes wide open and a bit of light-colored peach fuzz covering their heads. The afternoon Rachel brought the babies home, Bruno was waiting at the door.
“He’s been sitting there for the past five days,” Mama Dixon said. “He missed you.”
The dog followed Rachel over to the sofa and sat at her feet. For a few minutes he remained still, content to have his mistress back again. Then he turned his big head to the side, nosed the babies, and began sniffing them, the girl first and then the boy.
Emily, Gone Page 20
