Maggie's War

by Terrie Todd

  Charlotte wanted to rise to Mrs. Marshall’s defense, but she didn’t have a chance.

  “What if there is a third option?” Mrs. Marshall moved Darcy to her shoulder and rubbed his back gently.

  “Like what?” A vague glimmer of hope rose in Charlotte’s heart.

  Mrs. Marshall spoke slowly. “What if both Darcy and Charlotte can stay in foster care, together, until she reaches the age of majority?”

  “What are you getting at?” Charlotte’s mother asked.

  “I’m saying, if someone like me was willing to keep them both, then Charlotte wouldn’t be on her own.”

  Charlotte’s father glared at the woman. “You’re delusional if you think we’d pay you, Mrs. Marshall.”

  “Yes. I can see how that would be delusional, and that is not what I’m suggesting.”

  “Are you saying you’d be willing?” Charlotte was practically holding her breath.

  Maggie turned toward Charlotte. “Only if you’re absolutely certain. Once your choice is made, there would be no going back. You’d be signing on for a lifetime of responsibility to raise this little boy.”

  Charlotte’s mother spoke up. “I don’t see how you’re in any position to make that sort of offer, Mrs. Marshall. You don’t even have a home.” Charlotte detected jealousy, insult, and judgment all rolled into her mother’s tone.

  “Or a husband, or a steady means of support.” Charlotte’s father walked to the door, opened it, and waited for Mrs. Marshall to walk through. “Your idea is ludicrous, and your time here is done.”

  Mrs. Marshall returned the baby to Charlotte’s arms and left without another word.

  Now Charlotte lay sleepless, knowing she had to give her parents her decision tomorrow. She wasn’t sure which hurt more, Reginald’s betrayal or her parents’ lack of love for her and Darcy. Would they truly shut her out of their lives if she chose to keep him? Surely her father was bluffing.

  But then, she recalled the women who sat at the country club with her mother, and the pastor who had encouraged Charlotte’s retreat to Winnipeg. She knew that her mother could never bear the gossip she’d have to endure when the truth came out and that her father was quite serious.

  Maggie Marshall’s words kept coming to mind. “If someone like me was willing to keep them both . . .”

  To think that such a short time ago, Charlotte couldn’t wait to run away from Grumpystiltskin. Never in all her dramatic fantasies had she imagined herself longing to run back.

  CHAPTER 35

  Maggie walked the three blocks from the bus stop to Mrs. O’Toole’s boardinghouse with a heavy heart. Had she made a mistake in offering to take Charlotte and Darcy in? Mr. Penfield was right: She really had nothing to offer the pair. It was obvious he had been trying to make the choice as clear-cut as possible so that Charlotte would choose to go home with him and her mother. Now Maggie had muddied the waters by suggesting a third option that she wasn’t even sure she could provide. Perhaps she’d done more harm than good. She had just wanted Charlotte to know she needn’t be alone.

  With a sigh, she carried herself up the steps and through the front door. Mrs. O’Toole was on the telephone.

  “She’s just walking in the door now, Rev’rend. Hang on.” Mrs. O’Toole held the receiver out to Maggie. “It’s for you, love. Rev’rend Fennel.”

  Maggie dropped her purse by the telephone table and held the receiver to her ear. “Hello, Reuben.”

  “Maggie, it looks like I’m the one who needs help now. Can you come down to the police station?”

  “To the—”

  “Sh-shhh! I don’t want Mrs. O’Toole to know where I am. She’s still standing there, I’ll bet.”

  “Why are you there?” Maggie turned her back to Mrs. O’Toole as casually as she could, but nearly tripped over Sheila, who let out a meow. Mrs. O’Toole picked up the calico and carried her into the kitchen, where the woman no doubt stood listening from behind the door.

  “It’s a long story, and I’ll explain it all when you get here, but they’re going to want to ask you some questions too. It involves your restaurant property and Earl Marshall. I need you to vouch for me before they’ll let me go.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there as quick as I can, but this better be good. The buses have stopped running for the night.”

  “Bring my car, Maggie. When we’re done here, I’m going to need a ride to the hospital. I’ve got a cut on my head that could probably use a stitch, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a cracked rib.”

  “What on earth? Reuben!”

  “Just come.”

  Maggie walked up the front steps of the police station for the second time in only a few weeks. She found it ironic that before the fire, she’d never come here even once, despite contemplating that action often during the time when Douglas was beating her. Why had it seemed like such a shameful thing to admit what was happening to her? “You made your bed, now lie in it” had been the popular train of thought in her home as she grew up, and the implications of that phrase ran deep.

  She pushed open the door, wondering what on earth Reuben had to do with Earl.

  As soon as she explained the reason for her visit, she was swiftly led to a room where Reuben and two policemen waited. One introduced himself as Inspector Radcliff. The other, Constable Morris, told her that he had been called to the scene by Maggie’s former neighbor, who saw someone sneaking around Maggie’s shed. He explained that Earl Marshall was being detained in a separate room.

  “Do you know this gentleman, Mrs. Marshall?” Inspector Radcliff asked.

  “Yes, I do. This is Reverend Reuben Fennel, my friend and pastor.” Whatever trouble Reuben was in, it couldn’t hurt his case to call him her pastor.

  “Mrs. Marshall, can you explain why this box was buried under your garden shed?” He showed her a heavy box made of metal, its green paint chipping and rust forming at the corners.

  “I’ve never seen that box in my life,” she said. “May I ask what’s in it?”

  “Nothing, at the moment. The contents are in our evidence room—nearly fourteen pounds of amphetamines.”

  “Amphetamines?” Maggie had only the vaguest notion what amphetamines were. “What on earth—?”

  “Do you have any idea how they got there, Mrs. Marshall?”

  Maggie’s thoughts turned immediately to her late husband. In the days before Douglas had enlisted, he was always “wheeling and dealing,” as her father put it. It was nothing for him to trade valuables, from jewelry to vehicles, always looking for a profit and frequently locking things in the garden shed. Between his gambling and his drinking, however, Douglas had never succeeded in his quest to grow rich. But Maggie had often wondered how many of his deals might be illegal and how long it would be before his misdeeds caught up with him. She’d stopped worrying about that when he went off to war.

  “Mrs. Marshall?” the inspector repeated.

  “I’m thinking,” Maggie said. “One of my late husband’s poker buddies is a custodian at the St. Boniface Hospital. I heard him brag more than once about the money to be made on the streets from some of the drugs he could get his hands on. I asked Doug about it once. He assured me that Buster was ‘just blowing smoke. He’d never have the guts to do anything like that,’ he said.”

  By midnight, the police had taken down Maggie’s full report about Earl inheriting Douglas’s half of the property. It was obvious that Earl had known about the drugs buried there. That was reason enough for the police to arrest him. They were satisfied that Reuben had happened by innocently and, after warning him not to intervene in such a way again, they released him and told Maggie she could go, too, after she gave them Buster’s full name: Howard LeBlanc.

  Now Maggie sat in the hospital waiting room while Reuben got his ribs wrapped and his forehead stitched. A light rain had begun on their way over, and she now heard thunder rumbling in the distance. The approaching storm echoed what was going on inside her—everything rumbling and roiling.
Trouble seemed to follow her like a dark shadow, and now she’d dragged Reuben into it. Kind, innocent Reuben, who only wanted to help.

  I am making everyone’s lives worse instead of better, Maggie mused. And I’m exhausted. God, if you listen to folks like me, please help me. Show me how to help Reuben. And Charlotte. Even if that means removing myself from their lives so they can get on with their own.

  She pulled from her purse her treasured note card from Cornelia Simpson and read it again. At least I know I helped someone in my life, she thought. One person. I made a difference to one person. It was something to hang on to.

  Reuben came out of the examining room holding one hand against his ribs, a white bandage on his forehead. “I’m so sorry about this, Maggie.” His face registered pain, and his posture was slightly slumped.

  “You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s sorry. You never would have gotten into this mess if it weren’t for me. You’d still have your job if it weren’t for me.”

  “You can stop that right now. I made my own decisions to get involved, Maggie. Give me some credit.” He nodded toward the card in her hand. “What have you got there?”

  Maggie looked down at the card and sighed. She saw no reason not to share it with Reuben. “This is the young lady whose church is looking for a pastor.” She held the card toward him. “You should apply.” This time, she said it with complete conviction.

  Reuben read Cornelia’s words and handed the card back. “I already did.”

  CHAPTER 36

  On Sunday morning, Reuben and Maggie lingered over breakfast at Mrs. O’Toole’s dining room table while the landlady hovered over them like a mother cat with a dog lurking nearby. Two days had passed since his confrontation with Earl, but Reuben had not seen enough of Maggie for him to initiate a follow-up conversation.

  “What’s on your agenda for today?” Maggie asked as she stroked Sheila, curled on her lap.

  “With no sermon to deliver, I’m footloose and fancy-free.” Reuben raised his steaming coffee to his lips.

  Mrs. O’Toole scowled at Reuben’s flippancy. “I’ll not be returnin’ to that church,” she announced. “After what they did to you. It’s a cryin’ shame.”

  Reuben sighed. “Mrs. O’Toole, whatever you may have heard about what they did, you did not hear it from me, and the last thing I need is to be the cause of a church split. You’ve been a faithful member since I was a boy, and it’s important that you continue to attend. Please?”

  She considered his request with a frown. “Well. Since you put it that way. If you think that’s what’s best, I’ll do it.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I best be changin’ into my Sunday dress.” She set the coffeepot on the table and headed upstairs.

  Reuben turned to Maggie. “Are they giving you the day off?”

  “Yes. I won’t be going to church, though.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you do.”

  Maggie took a deep breath and let it out again. “Reuben, I’m afraid I’ve done a really impulsive thing.”

  “Should I find that shocking? From you? The girl who took off halfway across the country with me, chasing a runaway?”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “First of all, I am hardly a ‘girl,’ and secondly—”

  “—it wasn’t halfway across the country.” They said the words together and laughed—as much as Reuben could laugh with the pain in his ribs.

  As he listened to Maggie relay the conversation that had taken place in the Penfields’ hotel suite, Reuben wasn’t shocked to hear of the firm stance they’d taken with their daughter. He’d met their kind before and knew the deep-rooted power of pride. He was surprised, though, at the offer Maggie had made to shelter Charlotte and the baby.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said. “I should have stayed out of it. But I know that girl, Reuben. She’s completely attached to that little nipper, and I know she’ll never choose to give him up now. I can’t stand the thought of the two of them on the streets.”

  “It seems Charlotte’s not the only one attached to that little nipper,” Reuben observed.

  Maggie turned her gaze toward a sunbeam that cascaded through the window, making Mrs. O’Toole’s hardwood floor gleam. “I won’t deny it. But that doesn’t give me the right to butt into family business.”

  “You don’t need to feel bad about it, Maggie. I’ve seen a real change in you, for the better. That little boy wormed his way into your heart very quickly. Before you held him in your arms, you couldn’t wait for the Penfields to show up so you could wash your hands of the lot of them.”

  “Guess I can’t deny that either.”

  “You’re a better person for it, Maggie. Your offer was made out of kindness and compassion, and those things are never wrong.”

  “Thank you.” Maggie stayed focused on the cat in her lap. “Sounds like you can take the pastor out of the pulpit, but you can’t take the pulpit out of the pastor.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to preach.”

  “You’re not preaching. You’re shepherding. And I appreciate it.”

  For the next half hour, they discussed the events of the horrible night when Reuben had confronted Earl, and they speculated about how the drugs could have come to be buried in Maggie’s shed.

  “Douglas and Earl were in cahoots, I’m sure of it,” Maggie said. “The box was probably put there by Doug himself. I’ll bet you anything he told Earl about it before he shipped out, and I’ll bet you anything that’s why he changed his will. Of course, I have no way to prove anything. But I’ll be seeing my lawyer just as soon as I can. I hope the police can press enough charges against Earl to keep him in custody a long time. And when he gets out, maybe he’ll stop and think before he causes me any more trouble.”

  “Do you think he’d come after me?” Reuben raised one hand toward his still painful rib.

  “Hard to say. Earl’s a basic coward, and not really all that bright. Did he think no one would notice something going on when he broke into the shed and just started digging?” Maggie shook her head. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to beware of the man.”

  “Maybe if they can get a conviction, your insurance money can be freed up, and you can think about rebuilding. If you want to.”

  “I hope so.” She nodded.

  “Do you think you will?”

  Maggie sighed. “I’m not sure anymore. One of the things that made that restaurant so special is that it was my father’s. Even if I rebuild, even if I call it Bert’s—it wouldn’t really be Bert’s.” Sheila jumped down to the floor and wandered in the direction of the kitchen and her dinner dish. “And these few days of working for someone else have been pretty enjoyable, actually. I’m going to get a paycheck, and my first thought won’t be about making sure the restaurant’s expenses are covered. I’ve never known what that was like.”

  “There’s a lot to consider.” Reuben nodded.

  “Yes, there is. Especially in these uncertain times. And especially given that reckless offer I made Charlotte.”

  “You haven’t heard from her since the other night?” Reuben sat up straighter to relieve the ache in his ribs.

  “No. I hope that means she’s on her way home with the baby and her parents, that they came to their senses and she’ll have the best of both worlds. What kind of people could just walk away from their own like that?” Maggie shuddered.

  Mrs. O’Toole had just started down the stairs and was pulling white gloves over her work-worn hands when the doorbell rang. Maggie and Reuben both moved toward the archway between the dining room and front entrance, but Mrs. O’Toole beat them to the door and pulled it open.

  On the doorstep stood Charlotte Penfield, Darcy in her left arm and a large suitcase in her right hand.

  CHAPTER 37

  Did you mean it, Mrs. Marshall?” Charlotte spoke before anyone else had the chance. She watched as Reverend Fennel stepped forward and opened the door wide to bid her enter, and then as he sent a confus
ed-looking Mrs. O’Toole down the sidewalk in the direction of the church. An angry bruise swelled around a stitch in the minister’s face.

  “What happened to your forehead?” Charlotte asked.

  “Long story. Let me take that bag, Charlotte.” He set it down on the hallway floor. Charlotte stepped into the parlor and took a seat on Mrs. O’Toole’s sofa. Her arms ached from carrying her load from the bus stop.

  Mrs. Marshall walked straight to her and took Darcy in her arms. “Let me take this little one.” She took a seat on a chair, and both women looked up at the reverend.

  “Would you like me to stay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Charlotte said.

  “But you’re not obligated,” Mrs. Marshall quickly added. “Getting involved with us has cost you dearly already.”

  “It’s too late. I’m already involved.” He took the other chair, and the three sat looking at one another for a moment. No one seemed eager to start.

  “I came to see if you meant what you said, Mrs. Marshall,” Charlotte finally began. “Can Darcy and I stay with you?”

  Mrs. Marshall cleared her throat. “I fear I may have made a rash promise, Charlotte. Your parents are right; I have little to offer you.”

  “It’s my parents who have little to offer me.” Charlotte blinked hard to keep her emotions under control. “They barely looked at Darcy even once. They refused to hold him. But you have given him only love and care since you first laid eyes on him. That’s worth everything.”

  Those tears Charlotte felt sure she had seen welling in Mrs. Marshall’s eyes at the hotel reappeared now, but the woman quickly turned her attention to Darcy and did not let them fall.

  “I’ve already told my parents I won’t part with Darcy under any circumstances, and they’re on their way back to Ontario. They gave me enough cash for the train fare home if I change my mind. I won’t.”