by Ciara Knight
He worried this was too much for her, and he needed to put a stop to it. There was one way to make her see it wasn’t an option so she’d return to resting. “We can’t afford to adopt the children.”
She blinked at him, as if he spoke French. “We’re already caring for them. How much does it cost to take them in?”
“Seven hundred dollars,” he said in a militant tone devoid of emotion. He couldn’t afford to let himself believe it was possible. The right thing to do was to protect Rosie from more stress and exposure to other illnesses. He would keep her safe at all costs.
She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous.”
Sounds of laughter out back told him there were children playing, and the way her gaze traveled to the door and the smile that made a brief appearance meant Rosie had too. “Fine. We will have to skimp on Christmas, and I’ll have to continue working hard after the holidays, but we can manage. We can sell some things, too.”
Wind beat the branch of a tree against their front window and he worried the kids were getting too cold outside. But there was nothing he could do to change that. At least in an orphanage they would have warmth. “A child.”
“What?”
He dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clank. “They want seven hundred per child.”
She gasped. “We can’t make that kind of money. Why’s it so expensive?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged and then lifted the spoon once more to her lips.
“Can we negotiate? Perhaps we can pay half and then the rest as we go. If I can make this last delivery, we can combine that with our savings. I’ve got a stash of money already saved from when you were gone. I’d been saving for a washing machine and a new truck. We’ll have enough saved to make the first payment of seven hundred.”
“Nice of you to tell me about your stash.” He shook his head, not out of anger but out of the realization they still had a distance between them that remained despite all their progress. He held the spoon to her lips, and she grabbed the bowl from him, downed a dozen bites, and then handed it back. “Now we can finish our conversation without interruption. Tell me now, Victor Bessler. Where are the children, and how are we going to protect them?”
He set the bowl on the dresser and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been by your bedside, and I haven’t been able to see them. Ms. Cramer from the orphanage let me know where to reach her when I found the children.”
“As you can see, I’m better. I can take care of myself now. Go. Figure out how to keep Davey and the rest of those kids from being separated. Stop wasting time here with me.”
He sat on the side of the bed, brushed the hair from her brow. “I almost lost you again, Rosie. I can’t.” His voice faded under the pressure of the thought.
Her hands cupped his face. “But you didn’t. And you won’t. I’m here, and I’m strong. Can’t you see that? I was sick, and now I’m getting better. I won’t have a little illness keep you from helping those children.”
“Little? Rosie, you were on death’s door, knocking hard.” He gripped her hands and kissed her knuckles.
“You’re exaggerating. You’re letting your fear keep you from doing what’s right.”
“No. I won’t leave you.”
She tugged her hands away. “Well, let me be more plain. I need rest now that I’ve eaten and taken my medicine, so please leave. It’s difficult to sleep with you hovering over me.”
He stood, knowing she was sending him away more for the sake of the children than for herself. “If you promise to stay in bed and not move until I return, I’ll go check on the children.”
“I promise.”
In the sternest voice he could manage, he looked down at her and said, “I mean it.”
She tugged the covers to her chin and closed her eyes. “See, already sleeping.” After a moment, she opened one eye. “You’re still standing there.”
“Fine, I’m leaving, but I won’t be gone long. I’m going to check on the kids, go to the store, get that woman’s number from my desk, and I’ll be back to make some dinner.” He marched out the door and collapsed against the hallway wall, tears streaming down his face. The relief of her waking robbed him of the last of his strength. He’d kept his emotions in check when he’d lost his best bud in a bombing. He’d kept his emotions in check when he’d seen the life of children taken from this world because of men. He’d kept his emotions in check when he’d seen the scar on Rosie’s wrists, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He let the tears flow. “Thank you, God. Thank you for sparing my Rosie.”
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, Rosie finally managed to convince Vic that she needed to get out of bed. He agreed to let her sit in the living room for a while. She longed to go to the store to see the children now that they had returned or to have them come to the house. Settled in the chair, she broached the subject again about adoption with Vic. He’d been different since she’d come out of her illness. Distant and more guarded than ever. It was as if all the progress they’d made in their relationship since he’d arrived had never happened. “Has the woman called you back from the orphanage? Do you know if she’ll accept us paying in installments?”
“No, not yet. Perhaps we’ve been lost in the shuffle and she won’t come back around until after Christmas.”
“Perhaps.” She bit her nails with worry and eyed the back door. “You didn’t tell her we had them, though, did you?”
“No, I told her ‘if’ we found them.”
She nodded. “Good. Tomorrow I should be able to finish the work and get that off to Clinton.”
“Rest, Rosie. You’re really not good at sitting still, are you?”
“No, and you should be at the store. We need money more than ever now.” She turned on the radio and attempted to relax by the fire but longed to return to work. She didn’t even know what day it was.
The radio announcer answered her question as if on cue. “Today, Wednesday, December 19th, a storm is brewing”
“December 19th?” She shrieked and pushed from the chair, only to wobble at the sudden movement. Before she could recover, Vic was at her side, holding her by the elbow.
“What’s wrong? I’ll call Dr. Anderson.”
He eased her into the chair again, and she didn’t have the strength to protest. “I’m fine.” She breathed trough the darkness in her vision from lack of food while she’d slept. “I’ll feel better after I eat.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The distinctive sound of Davey’s rapping blanketed Rosie in joy. “Come in!”
Davey eased the front door open and removed his hat. “Good to see you up.”
“It’s good to be out of bed. How are things with you? Have you kept up on your reading and writing? What about the other children?”
“Don’t get too excited, dear. It isn’t good for you,” Vic insisted, but she ignored his plea.
“Don’t worry. I’m feeling much better. But I only have one more day to get the furniture done. If I don’t, we’ll lose all that money.” She looked to Davey for backup. “Tell him he’s being overprotective and I’ll be fine to work by morning.”
“No. And that’s final.” Vic turned to Davey. “Make sure she doesn’t get out of this chair for any reason. Got it?”
“Got it.” He saluted and waited for Vic to leave the room. “Want me to bust you out of here?”
“No, Vic would probably call the police on us.” They laughed. Oh, how she’d missed his character and charm. “Please, tell me how Betty, Gina, Eva, and Reggie are doing. Tell me everything.”
“All’s good. Been doing our studies. Gina wants to surprise you by reading you a bedtime story next time she’s here at night.”
Rosie clapped her hands together in excitement. “Tonight, you should all come home.”
“No. Not safe.”
“But no one’s seen the orphanage lady in almost a week,” Rosie pleaded.
“Not safe for you.” Davey took
a step away. That’s when she noticed he’d been staying out of arm’s length from her. “We got ya sick. Don’t want to get you worse.”
“Davey, no.” She leaned forward to reach for him, but he backed farther away. “I could’ve caught this illness when we were in Clinton or when I was in town. It isn’t your fault or the other children’s.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but don’t want to take the chance.”
Vic came in with a food tray and set it on the side table next to her. “Time to let her eat and get some rest again. I’ll come by the shop before dark to check on you all.”
Davey’s gaze bounced around the room but stuttered over the wood flame he’d given her she had put around her neck with a ribbon.
She wrapped her fingers around it and held it to her heart. “You know, this kept me going. It was my light.”
He beamed with joy and slapped his hat on his head. “Got to go take lunch to the rest.”
“It’s on the table already wrapped up and ready.” Vic pointed to the dining room.
Once Davey shut the door behind him, Rosie set her mind to pleading her case to Vic. “If we want to have those children, we need to make a plan. We need to work this out. I need to get that furniture finished, and I need to get the money.”
“Shhh, my love.” He picked up the sandwich as if he were going to hand feed her. She got up, this time careful to allow herself time to adjust. “Don’t you dare coddle me any longer.”
Vic tossed the sandwich onto the plate, and his face scrunched in an anger she’d never witnessed. “No, you need to listen to me. I almost lost you again.”
“Again?” She shook her head until she realized what he was referring to. “Darling, the doctor said my infection was something that happened sometimes when there is an incomplete miscarriage. I healed then, and I am better now.”
“I can’t watch you suffer again,” he choked out.
She spoke before she could stop herself. “You weren’t here when it happened.”
“I had no choice. I was sent to war.”
“I don’t say these words to accuse or upset you. I say them because you act as if you held me in your arms and watched me slip away. You didn’t then, and you won’t have to now.” Her voice wobbled, as did her knees, but she refused to rest until he finally understood.
“You were at death’s door. I saw it. The way I saw my men drift into oblivion. I held them as they bled or choked or succumbed to the elements or just stopped believing in life.” His eyes turned bloodshot, and she knew he was trying to keep himself from showing emotion. He was always the rock in the world, strong, dependable, and brave. Some of the qualities that attracted her to him when they’d met. Yet, the same qualities frustrated her daily.
“I’m not one of your men.”
“No, you’re my wife and it’s my job to protect you,” he shouted, and tears filled his eyes. She could see the grief of loss that he’d kept hidden away so well bubbling to the surface.
And that’s when she saw the true meaning of his pain she hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t about her weakness; it was about his. “Vic, it wasn’t your fault that those men died. As you said, it was war. You know that, right?”
He collapsed into the chair by the fire, and she saw his shoulders and back move with his sobs. The iron-willed man melted in front of her. She knelt by his side and rubbed his back. “My dear, sweet husband. You don’t have to protect me; you only have to love me. This isn’t war. This is marriage. I love you, and you can lean on me. I promise not to break. Stop trying to be everything to everyone and start doing one thing.”
His sobs calmed and he scrubbed his face with his palms, his gaze averted to the ceiling. “What?”
With both her hands cupping his damp cheeks, she made him face her, to trust her, to not hide his pain any longer. “Love me.”
“I do.” His chest heaved as if he fought to maintain control. “More than anything. I sat by your side and prayed for God to bring you back to me. I promised never to touch you again, to never be selfish.”
“That’s not why I’m okay, Vic. God wants a man and wife to love one another. It’s not about that. You see that, right?” Her mind faded to her own issues. “Someday, I hope you will give me one of our own, but for now God brought these children into our lives, and we need to help them.”
“But what of my guilt? What gives me the right to have a future when so many were robbed of theirs?” His words were bitter but honest, and she loved him for opening up to her.
“If you were the one to perish, would you want others to stop living, to feel guilty when they enjoyed life?”
“No. Of course not.” He blinked at her as if seeing the truth of her words. They sat staring at each other until he pulled her into his arms and rocked her. “Don’t give up on me, Rosie. Please, don’t ever give up.”
“I won’t,” she whispered. “I’m here for you. Start leaning on me instead of keeping everything to yourself.”
“I’ll try.”
“Please, go get our children and bring them home. I’ll sleep better knowing they’re under our roof.”
“I will, Rosie. And I promise, I’ll figure out a way to get that money or figure out a way to keep them.”
“No…we will. Together.”
Chapter Nineteen
The sleet had stopped by morning, but the night had to have been brutal outside, and Vic worried for Davey and the others in his shop. Despite his pleas, Davey had refused to bring the children home. Rosie was none too happy with him, but they’d fallen into bed together for the first time in days, and he’d savored holding her in his arms once more. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, stirring her awake, but he wasn’t ready to make love to her again.
“I’m sorry, Vic.” Rosie rested her head on his chest.
“For what?”
She drew circles on his belly, awakening him in a way he didn’t want. “For you being stuck with a wife who can’t give you a baby.”
Her words were sobering. “No, don’t think like that. I’m blessed to have you as my wife. I don’t need a baby. I don’t need anyone but you, Rosie.” He said the words, but he knew deep down that Rosie didn’t believe them. It slashed his heart with the knowledge that she blamed herself. Nothing he said could change that, either. “Rest, my love, knowing you make me happy always.”
Rosie bolted upright. “There’s no more time. I need to call Mr. Richards and beg to bring the order later today. Perhaps he’ll take half the order.”
“My love, please. You’re barely able to stand.”
“No. You listen to me, Victor Bessler. I ate, I slept, and my fever has broken. I need to make the money we need. I might not be able to give you a baby, but I can still give you children. You need to get to the store if you’re going to care for the children. Have you heard from that evil woman from the orphanage yet?”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her to him. “Don’t worry. All is well.”
Her faux smile appeared in the mirror above the dresser. She looked at him with that stop-treating-me-like-I’m-damaged look. “I’m well. We’ve been over this; you must stop treating me this way. Now go to work while I get to mine.”
“Will you do one favor for me first?” he asked, hoping Davey had done as he’d vowed.
She huffed. “Fine, if it’ll get you moving.”
“Come.” He opened the door.
With one graceful movement, she donned her robe and headed down the hallway by his side. A glimpse of wonderment shown in her eyes, and he knew she was better. The muscles in his neck, which had been tighter than a child’s grip on a new toy, finally relaxed. They reached the back door, and her brows knitted.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
The cold handle reminded him of how bitter the outside world could be, so he put up one finger. “Wait here. Don’t open the door yet.” He raced to the living room and grabbed his hat and coat. “Here, wear this long enough to peer outside. It’s
awful chilly.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine, if it will hurry this along.”
Once she was bundled, he opened the door and stepped aside. A gasp from her lips to his ears told him Davey had done it. To confirm, he opened the door wider and saw all the furniture complete, with a handmade bow around a chair that had tied to it a hand-scribbled note: Mery Chrismus.
“Did you? How?” she mumbled, but her gaze bounced around until it settled on the note, and she cupped her mouth with her dainty hand.
“Davey. You’d already assembled the furniture and taught him how to sand and paint, so he’s been out here every day and night when he wasn’t sitting by your bed or watching out for the other children. That’s why he wouldn’t agree to spend the night here. You’d know what he was doing.” That was his excuse, anyway, when Vic had pressed him to come home. Something had told him there was more than that going on inside Davey’s head.
Tears streamed down her face. Before he could stop her, she stepped outside in her slippers and lifted the note flapping about in the wind. “He wrote this? The boy who refused to learn to write?”
It was shaky and spelled wrong, but it was progress for a boy who’d never had any schooling. “It’s all you. Rosie, do you see what you’ve done for these children?”
She untied the note and held it to her chest against the flame. “Yes. I want to see him. Please.”
His heart swelled with pride for the little boy who’d endured cold and wind to do all of this. If he could choose a son, it would be one like Davey. Sure, he was ornery and talked back, he was abrasive and didn’t care much for learning, but the boy had a heart like no other. And he didn’t want credit for his deeds. “There’s something else.”
He ushered her inside before she caught a chill and then closed the door, battling his own shivering. “He did this and told me he only wanted one thing in payment. That if we could afford to adopt any of the children, that we would. He wants us to adopt the youngest ones, and he’ll go to the orphanage. He said the oldest would survive.”