Maggie's War

by Terrie Todd

  “Lord, I admit my heart doesn’t like the prospect of putting a hundred miles between Maggie and me. But I want to walk through every door you open and not try to force open any you are holding shut,” he had prayed. “You’ve given me the name of a town that needs a pastor. So far, that’s an open door. If Roseburg is not where you want me, please close that door.”

  Why God should answer his prayer when Reuben was ignoring his directive regarding Maggie, Reuben couldn’t say. But he knew of nowhere else to turn. Besides, it wasn’t like he had completely dismissed the directive. God hadn’t indicated when he should propose marriage to Maggie, only that he should. It was too soon; anyone with any sense knew that. Wasn’t it?

  Besides, she was sure to refuse, and then he wouldn’t even have her friendship. Far better to put some distance between them first, let things settle down, and then see what happened. But even as he formed that thought, it seemed like flimsy reasoning. You’re a coward, Reuben Fennel, he thought.

  On an impulse, and with nowhere else he needed to be, Reuben took a much longer route home so he could walk past Maggie’s former restaurant and home. From the sidewalk, he stood surveying the sad sight. It was even gloomier by the light of a lone streetlamp. He secretly hoped Maggie would sell the property and move on with her life, but it was not for him to say.

  Suddenly a movement in the backyard caught his attention, and he noticed the door to the garden shed hanging open. He could have sworn he’d replaced the padlock after removing Maggie’s tools. Had he left it unlatched, or had some troublemakers been poking around?

  When he approached the shed, he could see the hasp had been pried off, leaving the padlock still closed and dangling from the useless shackle. Someone must have been awfully disappointed to put out all that effort to get inside, only to find the shed empty. Perhaps it would have been less damaging to leave the shed unlocked so would-be thieves would move on after seeing there was nothing to take. Reuben chided himself for not thinking of this before.

  He wasn’t sure why he bothered looking inside, but when he did, he got the surprise of his life. Someone had removed most of the floorboards and was now digging a hole in the dirt below! Whoever it was hadn’t detected Reuben’s approach, and Reuben quietly backed off and moved around the corner of the shed. He waited, listening to the grunts of the man as he worked. He’d been waist-deep in the hole, a large pile of dirt growing in one corner of the shed.

  Reuben couldn’t imagine what was going on. Who was it? Should he confront the man or call the police?

  Before he could decide, he heard the ping of metal on metal, followed by the man’s low voice muttering, “There you are.” A few more grunts and pings, and Reuben gathered that whatever the man was digging for must have come free. “Thank you, Duggie, ol’ boy.”

  Without thinking, Reuben swung himself around to the front of the shed and blocked the doorway with his body. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “What the—” The man dropped the box and picked up his shovel with both hands.

  Reuben quickly realized he was at a disadvantage with the light behind him, highlighting his silhouette in the doorway. But if he moved to the side, the man might get away. Given the absence of further options, he lunged forward just as the shovel swung at what would have been Reuben’s head, catching the man across the middle and propelling both of them into the hole. He felt something snap in his side as he continued to struggle, trying to hang on to the invader as the man’s fist made contact with Reuben’s face. He hadn’t been in any sort of scuffle since he was thirteen, and that had been nothing more than a fairly anemic playground brawl, engaged in during the light of day. Reuben figured it would be to his advantage to make as much noise as possible, and he started hollering even as he tried to keep a firm grip on the man.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here? What’s in the box? This property belongs to Maggie Marshall, you’ve got no business here.”

  The man continued to grunt and fight, but did not respond to Reuben’s questions. He managed to clamber out of the hole, kicking Reuben in the face as he did so. With one last-ditch effort, Reuben reached out and grasped the man’s ankle and hung on as tight as he could while bracing his own feet on the wall of the hole. The dirt began to give way, sucking him farther in. The man’s foot kept kicking, but Reuben refused to let go.

  Suddenly, the shed was filled with light.

  “Police! Stop what you’re doing!” A bright flashlight lit up their surroundings. Reuben relaxed his grip, and the man lunged for the box. Once he had it securely tucked up against his body, he made a dive for the door and tried to get past the police officer blocking it. Dust flew everywhere, giving the air a foggy glow in the light. Reuben tried to breathe but could only cough weakly as a pain in his ribs drove him to his knees at the bottom of the hole. He wiped a hand across his eyes to clear his vision, and when he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood. Reuben could just make out the silhouette of a second police officer and was relieved to see his assailant had not gotten away.

  Once the man was in handcuffs, the first officer turned toward Reuben. “Get outta there,” he said. “You’re both coming with me for questioning.”

  Obeying orders as best he could, Reuben clumsily began to climb out of the hole. That’s when he recognized the face of his attacker. He’d met the man only once before.

  But he was certain the handcuffed man was none other than Earl Marshall.

  CHAPTER 34

  Charlotte lay awake on the soft hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. As long as she lived, she would not forget the conversation she’d had with her parents that evening.

  After leaving Mrs. Shelton’s office, her father had called his attorney, who referred him to a reputable colleague in Winnipeg. The lawyer agreed to see Mr. Penfield that afternoon, and he’d been gone for three hours. Meanwhile, Charlotte and her mother settled into their hotel suite.

  When her father returned, he announced that he was taking them all to dinner in the hotel restaurant and did not wish to hear another word about their situation until they’d had a chance to eat a fine meal. He then called the front desk and ordered the professional nanny service offered by the hotel.

  “Oh, really, Edward, that’s not necessary,” her mother had tried to intervene. “We can take the baby with us. All he does is sleep.”

  “Laura, you have no idea how far my influence reaches, do you? We can’t risk being seen with an infant we have no wish to explain. Besides, I’m sure Charlotte could use the break. Couldn’t you, darling?”

  Charlotte looked up from the corner of the room, where she was changing Darcy’s diaper. Her father had not called her darling since she was a little girl.

  “Not really,” she said. “I love taking care of him.”

  “Nonsense.” Her father straightened his tie and began putting on his suit jacket. “You think that now, when he’s a newborn. Newborns are easy. But every mother needs a break.”

  Charlotte’s mother let out a most unladylike snort.

  Within minutes, a uniformed childminder had knocked on their door. Charlotte left instructions to have her paged in the restaurant if Darcy required feeding, and secretly hoped that he would, although she had just finished nursing him. She followed her parents to a table, where Edward Penfield ordered for all of them.

  Charlotte ate the grilled salmon and baked potato without really tasting it. Her parents tried to make pleasant conversation, but all she could think about was her baby and what the future held in store for him. She ached to return to their room to make sure he was all right. When her father ordered three pieces of cherry pie for them, she thought she might bolt. Her mother noticed her fidgeting and placed a hand on Charlotte’s arm.

  “He’s in good hands, sweetheart.”

  “Of course he is. Relax, darling.” Her father smiled at her.

  Why was he being so nice? Something had changed since they left the adoption agency. Her father was acting as if he
had everything under control once again. What was going on?

  When their desserts arrived, Charlotte recognized the unmistakable M-shaped vent hole carved into each slice. She had all but forgotten they were in the very hotel where Mrs. Marshall worked. Would she ever see the woman again? Suddenly an idea struck her.

  “Excuse me, I need to use the powder room.” She rose from her seat and headed in the direction of the washrooms before her mother could offer to accompany her. As soon as she rounded the corner, she checked over her shoulder to make sure her parents weren’t watching and changed course, heading for the kitchen instead. She pushed the swinging door open and looked around the room for Mrs. Marshall.

  “Charlotte! What are you doing here?”

  Charlotte swung around. Mrs. Marshall was just donning her gloves, and one arm was looped through the handle of her purse.

  “Looking for you,” Charlotte said. “Are you off duty?”

  “Just. Are you staying here?”

  “Yes. I never had a chance to say good-bye this afternoon and wanted to see you. Just in case . . . well, you know. Just in case I don’t see you again.”

  “Where’s Darcy?” Mrs. Marshall’s brows creased.

  “In our suite with a sitter. Do you want to say good-bye to him?”

  Charlotte was surprised when Mrs. Marshall’s eyes began to well with tears. She hadn’t thought it was possible. The woman nodded without a word. Charlotte grabbed her by the arm and led her down the hallway to the elevators and up to the Penfields’ suite. Inside, they found the nanny sitting on the sofa, reading, while Darcy slept soundly.

  Charlotte dismissed the sitter while Mrs. Marshall scooped the sleeping baby up and sat on the sofa, crooning to him in a tiny voice. As she watched, she felt mesmerized by the transformation. Maggie’s work uniform, cinched in at the waist, was stylish compared to her usual attire, and with the sweet expression on her face, the woman looked pretty. And much younger. She looked up at Charlotte.

  “Do you know yet what’s going to happen?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “No. But my father saw a lawyer this afternoon and is acting very differently. I’m afraid, Mrs. Marshall. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not ready to say good-bye to you, and I’ll never be ready to say good-bye to Darcy. But I’m so glad I saw you. I really wanted the chance to say thank-you. For everything.”

  Mrs. Marshall sighed. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Charlotte.”

  “When I ran away, I was certain you’d be glad to be rid of me. I never dreamed you’d come after me.” Charlotte bit her lip to keep from crying. “I’m glad you did.”

  Mrs. Marshall studied Charlotte’s face a moment, nodded, and then returned her gaze to Darcy. Softly, she said, “I’m glad I did, too.”

  They were interrupted by Charlotte’s parents walking in the door.

  “There you are!” her mother said, taking in the whole room. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming back here? Where’s the nanny? Why is Mrs. Marshall here?”

  Mrs. Marshall placed Darcy in Charlotte’s arms. “I’ll be leaving. I just wanted an opportunity to say good-bye.” She glanced at Charlotte. “If this is good-bye.”

  “Actually, I’m glad you’re here,” Charlotte’s father said. “We need to have a serious conversation with our daughter, and some of what we learned today might be beneficial to you if you continue your—um, hospitality program.”

  Charlotte hoped Mrs. Marshall didn’t pick up on her father’s sarcastic choice of words. “Can you stay?”

  Mrs. Marshall looked at Charlotte, then at her father. “Yes, I can stay.”

  Once again, her father took charge. “Have a seat, both of you.”

  Mrs. Marshall returned to the sofa, and Charlotte sat next to her. Her parents took the chairs beside a small round table, and they all watched while her father pulled a small portfolio out of his interior jacket pocket and laid it open on the table.

  “Charlotte, your mother and I have come to a decision. Technically . . . legally, we cannot force you to give the baby up for adoption.”

  “You can’t?” Charlotte could hardly believe it. Why wasn’t she told this in the beginning?

  “The decision is ultimately yours.”

  “Then my decision is easy—”

  He raised one palm toward her. “Let me finish. As I said, we cannot force you. We can, however, hope that you will respect our wishes as your parents, as the people who have provided for you these seventeen-plus years. Keeping in mind that we are older and wiser than you, you can see why we believe it’s in your own best interest—and the best interests of the child—for you to surrender him to a family who can care for him properly. Think of it as your sacrificial duty to your son and to your parents. Surely you can see it that way?”

  Charlotte looked down at her little son, but couldn’t answer.

  Mrs. Marshall spoke up. “That’s a lot of pressure, Mr. Penfield.”

  “I’m not finished, Mrs. Marshall.” Charlotte’s father rose from his chair and paced across to the window, where he stood looking out across the city. “You have two choices, Charlotte. You can place the baby back with the adoption agency and return home with us to resume your life as normal. You can finish school and go on to do whatever you would like. We will support you all the way and celebrate your successes just as we would have done had this never happened.”

  “What’s the second choice?” Charlotte’s voice was barely a whisper, but Darcy sensed her distress and began to squirm.

  Charlotte’s father glanced at his wife, then turned toward his daughter and straightened to his full height. “If you refuse to give the child up, you’re on your own. It’s as simple as that.” Then, in a slightly more gentle tone, he continued. “I’m confident you’ll make the right choice. You’re a smart girl.”

  “I can’t make this decision without talking to Reginald.” Charlotte tried to sound firm as she stood and began swaying to calm the baby. “He has the right to know he has a child. Darcy has the right to a father. I want to at least find out where we stand before I make this decision.”

  Charlotte’s parents exchanged a look. “Do you want to tell her, or shall I?” her father asked, his voice cold.

  Charlotte’s stomach began to churn. “Tell me what?”

  “You tell her,” her mother said, staring at the floor. “If you think we must.”

  “What? What am I missing?” At the urgency in Charlotte’s voice, Darcy began to squirm.

  Her father moved from the window over to where Charlotte stood rocking the baby and looked her in the eye. “We wanted to spare you further hurt, Charlotte. I wish you had trusted me to recognize the character of that boy.”

  Charlotte looked at her mother, then back at her father. “What are you not telling me?”

  “Reginald does know that he has a child.”

  Charlotte waited for more, but it was not forthcoming. “How does he know? How do you know he knows?”

  “He just doesn’t know about this child.” Her father kept his eyes on Charlotte’s, but pointed one finger toward Darcy.

  Charlotte didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

  Her father continued with a sigh. “I mean, Reginald has another child. A daughter, born about three months after you left for Winnipeg. Her mother is Vera Dugald.”

  Charlotte stared at her father. She’d never heard of anything so ridiculous in her life. Her parents had stooped to a new low, fabricating this monstrous story and agreeing to lie just to convince her not to contact Reginald.

  “You’re lying.”

  “I wish we were, Charlotte. Show her, Laura.”

  Charlotte’s mother reached into her handbag and pulled out a newspaper clipping. She unfolded it and held it out to Charlotte. It was a wedding announcement for Reginald Wilson and Vera Dugald, complete with photo. It was dated two weeks after Charlotte had arrived at Mrs. Marshall’s.

  Charlotte slumped onto the sofa, and Mrs. Marshall to
ok Darcy from her arms before holding one hand out to take the clipping so she could read it too.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlotte,” her mother said softly. “We truly wanted to spare you.”

  The four of them sat quietly while the news sank in. Charlotte felt no need to suppress tears, for they didn’t come. She felt only numb. In her mind, she was doing the math. It didn’t take a genius to calculate that Reginald had been seeing Vera and her at the same time.

  It was Mrs. Marshall who spoke next.

  “So . . . it sounds like you regret not telling Charlotte this in the beginning, am I right? You wish you had?”

  “Well, yes,” her mother said. “Now we do. Perhaps trying to spare her the pain wasn’t in her best interest, in hindsight.”

  “Then with all due respect,” Mrs. Marshall continued, “how can you be certain that the choices you are giving her now are truly in her best interest?”

  Charlotte appreciated Mrs. Marshall’s boldness but knew it would have little effect on her father, who lifted his chin in Mrs. Marshall’s direction. “Do you have any children, Mrs. Marshall?”

  “You know I don’t,” Mrs. Marshall said. “But if you’re implying—”

  “Then you are in no position to have an opinion, much less express one. I invited you to stay merely so that you could hear the entire story and understand the legal limitations we face. We hoped you might help Charlotte understand the necessity of what we’re asking her to do. Should you continue in your so-called service to young women—and I hope you don’t—this information could be useful to you . . . perhaps keep you from misleading other young girls. From letting them believe some fanciful notions about parenting.”