by Terrie Todd
I have had to conduct the most difficult memorial service of my career to date. The Schmidts, the couple with whom I board, have become quite dear to me. Their son, Otto, was killed in action and they have been completely distraught. Hilde has taken to her bed and Heinz is beside himself with worry for her. I am doing what I can on a practical level—shoveling snow, splitting wood, and so on. But my training for the pastorate did not fully prepare me for this level of despair and I feel useless to relieve her grief. I pray and read Scripture at her bedside daily, but she neither acknowledges my presence nor asks me to leave. Thankfully, the community has rallied around with provisions of meals, but I don’t know how much longer they can keep it up and I am not so handy in the kitchen. On a positive note, when we returned home from the church following the service, the swastika on the back of their house had been painted over.
“Mrs. Marshall?” Theodore Jones stood in the doorway to his office. “Come on in.”
Maggie tucked Reuben’s letter into her purse as she took a seat in the inner office. She checked her watch. “Let’s get right to the point, Mr. Jones. I need to be at work in an hour. What new information do you have?”
The attorney shuffled some papers on his desk and kept his eyes cast down. “It’s not what we’d hoped for. Earl Marshall is out on bail.”
“What?” Maggie was certain she’d heard wrong.
“Apparently they didn’t have enough evidence to detain him until his day in court. Which, by the way, has been set for . . . March 15.”
“March 15? But that’s over a month away! What happens until then? Is anyone keeping an eye on him? Who knows what he could do between now and then?”
“Oh, I don’t think we need to worry. He’ll be on his best behavior if he knows what’s good for him. It will all be over for him if he does anything to draw attention to himself, and he knows it. But Maggie, I do think it’s going to be important for you to tell the courts about his association with your late husband and about what you know of your husband’s activities.”
“So you said.”
“I know it’s not something you’re keen on. You don’t want to drag your husband’s name through the mud, and that’s understandable. But—”
“That’s not the issue.” Maggie couldn’t have cared less about the reputation Douglas left behind.
Mr. Jones looked at her a moment. “If it’s a fear of public speaking, I can assure you almost everyone has that fear. But it’s not what you might be imagining from the picture shows, where the courtroom is crowded with people. The trial would actually be quite small.”
That wasn’t the issue, either, but Maggie was not yet ready to voice her real concerns to this man. Let him believe she merely had stage fright. Surely she could find a way to outline Douglas’s criminal involvement with Earl without dragging in his treatment of her. None of that had anything to do with Earl’s charges anyway. That testimony would never stand up in court, so why even mention it?
For the next half hour, Maggie talked while Theodore Jones took notes. She described the late-night card games, the drinking and gambling her husband and brother-in-law had done together.
“They were inseparable,” she said. “Where you saw one, you saw the other. Earl was best man at our wedding, and Douglas was best man at his.”
“I didn’t know Earl was married.”
“Only briefly. He married a young lady named Edna Campbell in ’31, and she left him in ’32.” Maggie wished she’d been as courageous as Edna.
“That’s worth noting,” the lawyer said. “Did Earl and Douglas ever fight with each other?”
“They argued.” Maggie recalled the time she’d seen them come to blows. Ironically, it had happened after the one occasion when Earl was foolish enough to follow his brother’s example and threaten Maggie.
Earl had entered the restaurant kitchen, drunk, and begun poking around in the icebox. Maggie was in the midst of the supper rush and ordered him out.
“I don’t have time for your nonsense, Earl, and you’re in the way. Get out of here.”
Earl turned and looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “Don’t you dare order me around, Maggot.”
He raised a hand to slap her just as Douglas came around the corner. Douglas grabbed his brother before he could lay a finger on Maggie, swung him around, and punched him twice. Earl sagged against the icebox, then slid to the floor.
“Just because you can’t keep a woman of your own doesn’t give you the right to knock mine around. Go sober up.” Douglas kicked his brother toward the door and waited in the doorway until he’d recovered enough to stand and leave. The irony of Douglas coming to her rescue made Maggie want to throw up, but she knew better than to say anything in the moment. At least she’d been spared that time.
But she was not yet prepared to share this episode with her lawyer.
Instead, she listed every prized item she remembered Douglas bringing home—whether it had been won in a poker game or some backstreet deal, she had no idea—to store in their shed until he and his brother could find a way to profit from it. She explained how it appeared to her: that Douglas and Earl rarely made money on anything and lost far more than they gained, including a valuable heirloom necklace of her mother’s.
She didn’t tell him about the beating she’d endured, fighting for that necklace.
CHAPTER 47
Charlotte’s first paycheck was just enough to cover her room and board, and she paid Mrs. O’Toole with a glad heart. Her second was for more because it represented an entire month’s work. She and Maggie visited the thrift store and chose some clothes for Darcy. There were mornings when Charlotte felt certain Darcy had outgrown his nightgown while he slept. With her third month’s pay, she sent the Canadian Pacific Railway a money order for three dollars to cover the toweling she had stolen from the station in Fort William. They hadn’t replied. With that off her conscience, she purchased a used dress for herself. Her mother would be appalled to know she had stepped foot inside a secondhand store, let alone that she’d become a regular customer.
Charlotte studied her reflection in the mirror. After weeks of wearing Mrs. O’Toole’s old clothes and gradually cinching them in as her body returned to its pre-pregnancy size, she felt downright beautiful in this new-to-her royal blue dress with white buttons down the front, from collar to waist. Her preference would have been the cherry red one that zipped up the back, but the buttons allowed for easier nursing, and Darcy’s needs came first. Still, this was so much more attractive than what she’d been wearing, and she was proud that she’d earned the money to buy it. She would wear it when she went to church with Maggie.
Since her confrontation with Vivian, word of Charlotte’s unwed-mother status had spread throughout the care center. Just as quickly, her co-workers had sorted themselves into two obvious camps: those who snubbed her and those who demonstrated compassion. The snubbers made Charlotte wish she had simply lied and said her husband was killed in action. War widows were all too common, and she saw the respect and sympathy they received. It would have made life much easier.
But there were two or three whose treatment of her made Charlotte feel, if not respectable, at least human. One younger worker named Elsie favored Darcy like her own private pet and seemed to go out of her way to speak with Charlotte whenever the opportunity arose. Meanwhile, Vivian went out of her way to avoid both Charlotte and Darcy.
Charlotte was learning to ignore the looks of contempt aimed in her direction whenever she walked in the door carrying Darcy. Silently she recited the words of a letter she’d received from Reuben Fennel:
“. . . enduring this now will make you a stronger person in the long run, Charlotte, and a stronger person means a more resilient mother for Darcy—which is what he is going to need. God will help you. Hold your head high. Not in an arrogant way, of course, but in knowing you and your son are beloved children of God.”
Those words provided a soothing balm the day she overheard two of the mot
hers discussing her circumstances as they helped their children into coats and snow boots at the end of the day.
“What kind of name is ‘Darcy,’ anyway?”
“That kid is four months old already. How much you want to bet she’ll be popping out another one before the year is out?”
“That’s usually the way it goes with her type.”
. . . beloved children of God.
The words calmed her mind while she emptied a potty after helping one of her toddlers use it. “Charlotte should clean all the potties,” Rachel had joked, “since she obviously loves to get herself dirty.”
. . . beloved children of God.
“Where is your boyfriend taking you tonight, Charlotte?” Laurel asked loudly one Saturday as the workers filed out of the building. “Or is he staying home with his wife for a change?”
Elsie came to stand alongside her. “Don’t pay any attention,” she said. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to the bus.”
That evening, Charlotte and Darcy sat home alone as another snowfall came steadily down. The other boarders were gone for the weekend, as usual. Maggie was filling in for a line chef at the Fort Garry, and Mrs. O’Toole was away visiting her sister. The Irish woman had been teaching Charlotte how to tear old clothing into long strips, braid them together, and then stitch the braids into rugs that could be sold for extra income. While Charlotte worked, her baby lay on a blanket on the floor, kicking his arms and feet until he would gradually roll over onto his tummy, and then he’d begin the whole process over again until he rolled onto his back. Charlotte kept up a running commentary, and Darcy jabbered in response.
“This is not how I ever thought I’d be spending a Saturday evening, Darcy.” She sighed. “Not that I don’t love you beyond words—I think you’re tops. It’s just that, here I am, only eighteen years old, and already looking back to the days when I felt like the belle of the ball. You should see some of the pretty spring frocks in my closet at home.” She could hardly form the word home. What did it even mean anymore? If home was where people loved you and cared for you, then the house where her parents lived was definitely not home.
“One of every color, at least. My favorite was the peach one with the white collar—I wore it only twice. First time was to my friend Miranda’s sixteenth birthday party and the second was to a dance with your—with Reginald.”
The thought of Reginald filled Charlotte’s heart with sadness. “My parents were right about one thing, Darcy. I should have steered clear of that boy. He did not have my best interests at heart. Why didn’t I see it?”
Darcy agreed with a single “goo” that melted her heart.
“But I wouldn’t change anything, because then you wouldn’t be here.” Charlotte picked up a new strip of fabric and began weaving it into the braid on her lap. “Still, I confess, I do get lonely. My days of going out and having fun with other young people are over. There’s a new picture show in town I’d love to see, but who would I go with, and what would I do with you? And it would feel like a terrible waste of my hard-earned money.
“But that’s all right, my baby. Spring is coming. You and I will go for long walks in the park and discover playgrounds and baby squirrels and birds’ nests—”
She was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. She laid aside her work and opened the door to a man she didn’t know. Suddenly she wished someone else were home with her. The man seemed polite enough, though, as he remained outside on the doorstep with snow landing on his broad shoulders.
“Good evening, young lady,” he said. “I’m here to see Mrs. Maggie Marshall. I’m a relative of hers.”
“I’m sorry, but Maggie’s working this evening. I’d be happy to give her a message when she returns.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Is she still working at the Fort Garry?”
The man had a nice smile. “Yes. By the time you get there, though, she’ll probably be done for the day. She should be here in a half hour, maybe less.”
“I’ve come quite a distance and it’s important that I speak with her. I’ll tell you what.” The man picked up the snow shovel leaning against the wall. “How about I shovel your steps and sidewalk while I wait?”
“Now that’s just silly.” Charlotte wanted to close the door before the cold draft reached Darcy. “No point in shoveling snow while it’s still coming down. Why don’t you come inside and wait where it’s warm?”
Charlotte opened the door wider, and the man stepped in. “Why, thank you, that’s very kind. Oh, what a handsome baby! Are you babysitting?”
Anybody with enough sense to notice her son’s fine looks was bound to be a good person, Charlotte decided. With pride, she announced, “This is my son, Darcy.”
“Well, he’s a strapping fellow. Congratulations, Mrs.—”
“Penfield. Charlotte Penfield. And you are—?”
The man put out his right hand to shake Charlotte’s. “Earl Marshall.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Marshall. Here, let me take your coat so you can have a seat. Maggie shouldn’t be long. Can I offer you some tea?”
“Yes, thank you. It’s a chilly night.”
Charlotte moved to the kitchen, where she put the kettle on and pulled the tea down from the cupboard. When she returned to the sitting room, she found Mr. Marshall crouched in front of Darcy, talking to him. The baby responded with smiles and excited kicking of his feet. Charlotte watched, smiling. She wasn’t sure how Earl was related to Maggie, but hoped his presence meant good news for her. Such a nice man.
She returned to the kitchen when the kettle began whistling, and as she poured it into the teapot, she heard someone at the front door. Mrs. O’Toole must be home already. Charlotte replaced the lid on the teapot and hurried to the front door. To her surprise, Maggie was hanging up her coat and studying the one Earl Marshall had hung on a hook beside it.
“Maggie! You’ve got a guest.” Before Charlotte could say more, she heard the man’s deep voice.
“Hello, Maggot.”
Charlotte turned to see Earl Marshall in the sitting-room doorway, leaning casually against one side, his arms folded. Had she heard him right? The friendly and polite timbre of his tone had changed to something cold. Charlotte turned to see that Maggie’s face had paled.
“What are you doing here?” Maggie’s voice held a tremble Charlotte had not heard before.
“I came to see you. My dear sister-in-law. I wanted to extend my condolences on the loss of your restaurant. Excuse me, our restaurant.”
Maggie pulled the man’s coat and hat from their hooks and held them out toward him. “This is not the time nor the place, Earl. You should leave now.”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. We have unfinished business. As you well know. I’ll leave once you and I have reached an understanding about a certain upcoming trial and exactly what you’re going to say.”
Charlotte suddenly regretted allowing the man inside. “I’m sorry, Maggie, I didn’t—”
“Charlotte, take Darcy and go next door to wait for Mrs. O’Toole,” Maggie instructed.
Charlotte tried to obey, but the man stood between her and her baby, who had begun to cry.
“Nobody’s going anywhere. Who is Mrs. O’Toole?”
Charlotte tried to push past the man to pick Darcy up, but he grabbed her by the shoulders. “I said, who is Mrs. O’Toole?”
“She’s our l-landlady. Let me past!”
“Let the girl go, Earl,” Maggie said. “This has nothing to do with her.” Maggie stepped toward Earl, and Charlotte felt him tighten his grip with his left hand while he reached inside his coat with his right. He pulled a pistol out and waved it in Maggie’s direction.
“Don’t you move,” he said.
Charlotte screamed.
“And you, shut up.” He pointed the gun at Charlotte. “Both of you, sit down on that sofa.”
Charlotte felt paralyzed, but when the man yelled “Now!” she sat. Maggie followed suit, but Earl was still
between them and Darcy. The baby was wailing.
“Sit there until I tell you otherwise.”
Maggie put an arm around Charlotte. “Earl, be reasonable. Let her calm the baby down, he’ll only get louder until you can’t hear yourself think—”
Earl stepped forward and slapped Maggie hard across the face. “Don’t you try to order me around, you worthless little maggot.”
Charlotte saw her opportunity and made a dash toward Darcy.
“Charlotte, don’t . . . !” Maggie yelled.
The man was too fast. Charlotte felt a hard kick to her hip that sent her sprawling into the wall. A lamp came down on top of her, and by the time she was able to look around, Earl had scooped up Darcy with one hand. With the other, he held a gun to the baby’s head.
“You will listen to me, both of you, or you can say good-bye to this kid.”
CHAPTER 48
Reuben stared out the train window, wondering if he was truly losing his mind. Months had passed since his last message from the Lord, the one that convinced him he should propose marriage to Maggie Marshall. But since then, he and Maggie had gone their separate ways and their letters were growing more infrequent. At least two eligible young women from his congregation had made their interest and availability known without any hint of shyness. If he had any sense, he’d choose one of them for courtship and marriage and settle down to his calling in Roseburg. Although Hilde Schmidt was showing significant improvement, Reuben feared she would never be the same woman she’d been before the death of her son. With Heinz once again managing the outside chores, Reuben felt more of a burden than a help now. If he married, he could move out.