Maggie's War

by Terrie Todd

  “Charlotte?”

  She heard her name. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t attach it to a face. She tried to open her eyes, but the weight of her eyelids was too much.

  “Charlotte, it’s Maggie. Can you hear me?”

  Maggie? Did she know anyone named Maggie? Charlotte tried to remember. When her eyes still refused to open, she tried to speak. A low moan escaped her lips, then everything went black again.

  Charlotte had not returned to her beautiful meadow, yet once again she felt herself being sucked through that dark tunnel. Forward, this time. Where was she going? The pain was returning. Make it stop! Though her eyelids still refused to open, she was aware of light on the other side of them. Her eyes hurt. Everything hurt.

  She slowly became aware of sounds again. Voices she didn’t recognize somewhere down around her feet. She strained hard to understand the words.

  “Her vital signs are stable, Doctor.”

  “And it’s been how long? Ten days now?

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charlotte managed to open her eyes into a blurry squint. She saw a white ceiling and a bright light above her head. She looked toward her feet and saw two shadowy figures in white. Angels? She hoped not. If she were in the presence of angels, surely she wouldn’t feel this overwhelming pain.

  “She’s waking up, Doctor.”

  The white figures moved closer to her head, one on either side. Charlotte was aware of someone touching her hand.

  “Miss Penfield? I’m Dr. Glendale. You’re in the hospital.”

  The man was saying more, but his words grew garbled and slowly became no more than a buzz. Charlotte found herself back in the meadow. But instead of warm sunshine, this time she was covered in a blanket of snow. Everything was white as far as she could see, yet she wasn’t cold. Just very, very tired. She closed her eyes and let herself sleep.

  “Charlotte? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

  This time, Charlotte didn’t experience the sensation of being sucked through a tube. She could hear a voice, quite close by. With great effort, she concentrated on her hands. She couldn’t tell which one was being held. Maybe both?

  “It’s me, Charlotte. Maggie. Can you squeeze my hand?”

  Charlotte wished this Maggie person would tell her which hand to squeeze. She didn’t know if she had the energy to move them both, but she focused hard and squeezed both her hands as tightly as she could.

  “I think I felt something,” the voice said. “She’s responding!”

  Someone else must be in the room. Who?

  “Charlotte, I felt that. Good work! Now I know you can hear me. Can you open your eyes?”

  Charlotte tried hard to lift her eyelids. It seemed to her they were open, but she couldn’t see anything.

  “Reuben’s here with me, Charlotte.”

  “Hello, Charlotte.” A man’s voice. Deep and gentle. Charlotte tried to remember who Maggie and Reuben were.

  “We’d sure love for you to wake up, Charlotte.” The man again. His voice sounded so kind and made her want desperately to respond.

  Once again, Charlotte could see blurry whiteness and knew her eyes had to be open this time. She blinked until the blurriness resolved into two distinct figures, one on either side of her. She kept focusing. The man on her left. Plaid shirt. This must be Reuben, the one with the kind voice. She moved her eyes to the right. A woman. Blue dress. What had she called herself? It started with M. Her voice was not as kind. It made the speaker sound weary, maybe even a little gruff. The face came into focus. It was surrounded by a wild tangle of red curls.

  “Hi, Charlotte. Atta girl, you can wake up now.” The woman smiled at her. Maybe this M person wasn’t harsh after all. “You’ve been in the hospital a long time. Six weeks. But you’re getting well. We’re all waiting for you to get better so you can come home.”

  Who was “all”? Charlotte turned her head toward the man again. He spoke.

  “Do you know us, Charlotte? I’m Reuben. And this is Maggie.” Oh, yes: “Maggie.” Now I remember. I was right, it started with an M. But who is she? These two weren’t nurses or doctors. Apparently Charlotte lived with them. But she was certain they weren’t her parents. She remembered her parents. Mother and Father. Where were they?

  “Darcy’s going to be so happy to see you, Charlotte,” Maggie said.

  Darcy. Instantly, Charlotte felt a surge of warmth at the name. Think. Who is Darcy? She squeezed both hands again, with all her might.

  “I felt that this time.” The man’s voice. Reuben.

  “Me too. She’s trying to tell us she wants to see Darcy.”

  Charlotte felt exhausted from trying to think so hard, but she wanted desperately to know who Darcy was. Why wasn’t he there? Maybe if she could see his face. Whoever he was, she knew he was important and extremely precious to her. She tried to force her eyes to focus on the woman, but they snapped shut and refused to budge. As she drifted away again, the last words she heard were from the man.

  “Lord, please bring complete healing to Charlotte’s body and mind. Show us what to do for her. Darcy needs her, Lord. We all do.”

  And she was lost again in the blissful warmth of sleep.

  CHAPTER 51

  I don’t understand.” Maggie sat across from Dr. Glendale’s desk. “If the bullet went into her rib-cage area and came out the back, why is Charlotte’s brain damaged?”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “Tests indicate that there’s swelling on her brain, which we believe happened after she fell. There is evidence of a very tiny fracture on the left side of her skull. This tells us she must have hit the floor hard.

  “Secondly, her body is pouring all its energies into survival and into healing its damaged parts—the laparotomy showed us that most of the damage from the gunshot was to her liver, always a serious wound. That’s the reason she’s been in a coma. It’s the body’s way of shutting down so it can heal and survive.”

  “It’s an amazing thing, the way our bodies were created,” Reuben said from his seat next to Maggie.

  “It is indeed.” The man nodded. “I’ve been at this for thirty years, and I learn more with every case. For Charlotte, this could have been much worse—so easily fatal. But somehow, the way she fell actually put pressure on her wounds and helped stem the bleeding at a critical time. We were able to make the repairs we made only because she was hemodynamically stable—”

  “Wait. What does that mean?” Maggie leaned in toward the doctor.

  “Hemodynamics is simply a way to explain the physical laws that govern the flow of blood. Our blood vessels are extremely complex, with many ways for blood to enter and exit them, a necessity under constantly changing conditions. As serious as this incident was, Charlotte needed everything to go as well as it possibly could in terms of her hemodynamic response. And it did.”

  “Would you call it a miracle, Doctor?” Reuben asked.

  “Miracle isn’t a word I throw around, but I would say she is a very fortunate young lady. As for her memory and muscle responses, I’m certain all of that will return gradually—possibly even quickly—once her body gives her brain the go-ahead, for lack of a better term. These things are largely out of our control, but we can monitor her for infection, keep her hydrated, and drain away the excess fluids. All of that helps.”

  Maggie looked into the doctor’s weary face. “Any idea how long it’ll be?”

  Dr. Glendale paused. “I’ve seen patients take months, even years, to return to full cognizance. Other times it happens seemingly overnight. The timing is impossible to predict, but of one thing I’m certain: There will be significant improvement.”

  “But there may be some things she never remembers?” Reuben asked.

  “That will depend largely on how determined she is to get well.” The doctor rested his elbows on his desk and tapped his fingertips together. “You’ve told me she has a baby son at home. Once she improves enough to remember him—and I’m fairly confident
she will—he could prove highly motivational for her.”

  Reuben and Maggie returned to Mrs. O’Toole’s feeling encouraged. In the six weeks since Earl Marshall had invaded their home, life had changed considerably. Naturally, Maggie had contacted Charlotte’s parents to inform them of what had happened. Just achieving this much had taken a great deal of work, since all her files and address book had been lost in the fire. Only by digging through Charlotte’s personal belongings in her room at Mrs. O’Toole’s did they finally find an address for the Penfields. It was on a sealed envelope addressed in Charlotte’s own hand, and it was Reuben who found it.

  “I’m glad you’re here with me,” Maggie had confessed. “If I were alone, I’d never have the self-control to leave it sealed. I’m a nosy one.”

  “You’re an honest one to admit that, Maggie.” Reuben smiled. “And I love that about you. I’m curious too. But until there’s a good reason to do otherwise, let’s respect Charlotte’s privacy as much as possible.”

  Two days later, a return telegram arrived for Maggie from Charlotte’s father:

  1944 FEB 23 AM 9:20

  MRS. MARSHALL. WE DO NOT HAVE A DAUGHTER NAMED CHARLOTTE. EDWARD PENFIELD.

  Reuben had watched the indignation rise in Maggie, turning her face red. Just as quickly, the anger subsided and her eyes welled with tears. She turned to Reuben.

  “Even now, he won’t budge. How can anyone be so heartless?”

  “Pride is a powerful thing.”

  “I guess it’s up to me now.” Reuben could see the fear behind her teary eyes.

  “It’s up to us, Maggie,” he said, pulling her into a warm hug. “I’m not going to abandon you with this.”

  Reuben had returned to his congregation in Roseburg, where Mrs. Schmidt had sprung to life at the opportunity to care for her wounded reverend. With his shoulder healing and his hearing slowly returning to normal, he made midweek train trips to Winnipeg to visit Charlotte and help Maggie in any way he could. She and Mrs. O’Toole were doing a remarkable job of caring for Darcy under the circumstances. The little guy was now eating solid foods—mashed fruits and porridge—and was showing signs of trying to crawl. He would soon be a much bigger handful than Mrs. O’Toole had energy for, however, even just during the brief hours Maggie was at work.

  Reuben had helped Maggie work through the legalities of her situation. Earl Marshall had been convicted of attempted murder, along with a long list of other charges, including drug trafficking and arson. His lawyer was still working toward reducing his sentence, based on his insanity defense, but even if he succeeded, Earl would remain institutionalized and was no longer a threat to Maggie or anyone else. For that, Reuben felt grateful and deeply relieved. He had not completely succeeded in protecting her, but Maggie had survived and was a more confident woman because of it. Though it had pained him to hear the firsthand accounts of the abuse she had suffered, Reuben had watched with growing pride while she took the stand at Earl’s trial and told her story with quiet dignity.

  Maggie had even found a buyer for her commercial property—another amazing answer to prayer. Between the war still raging in the world, and the battle being waged in Maggie’s heart over how to handle her father’s legacy, the sale seemed to Reuben nothing short of a miracle. She had downplayed her decision, though.

  “It’s just a piece of dirt, really,” she’d said the day she told him. “What my father gave me lives on, right here.” She placed a fist over her heart.

  “Do you have plans for what you will do with the money?” he asked.

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “No.” Reuben grinned. “If it’s funny, why would I cheat myself of a good laugh?”

  “Then forget it.” Maggie picked up their teacups and moved to the sink without a word.

  “You’re a stubborn one, Maggie Marshall. All right. I won’t laugh.”

  Maggie turned around and stood with her back to the sink, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Running a restaurant is what I know how to do, and I love it. But the girls I’ve taken in over the years—well, I never let myself get close to any of them, not before Charlotte. I know I came across as cold and heartless to protect myself from the pain when they left. But I cared about each one. I really did.”

  “I know you did, Maggie.” Reuben thought his heart might burst with whatever it was he was feeling.

  “I wish I could go back and be a better friend to them. Would it have killed me to try?”

  “You did more than a lot of people would.” Reuben walked over to Maggie and took one of her hands in his. “But if you’re being eaten up by regret, you can change that. Tell God about it. He already knows you were operating out of a heart filled with pain . . . the loss of your childhood friend, the loss of your baby, your husband’s abusive treatment.”

  “None of that excuses me, Reuben. I’ve been so callous.”

  “And yet, God is crazy about you, Maggie. He loves you. And he loves nothing better than to forgive his children and give them a fresh start.”

  Maggie nodded. “That’s what I want. A fresh start. That’s what I want to do with the money. If I could do anything in the world, I think I’d like a chance to influence young girls before they get in trouble. Maybe somehow help prevent some of the sad stories I’ve seen.”

  “I can easily see you doing just that, Maggie. And the need is great. One day soon, I hope, this war will be over. But twenty years from now, we’ll see young men and women who grew up without their fathers because they died in battle or because they returned home too damaged and scarred to be what their children need them to be. Young women will turn to young men to fill that hole in their hearts, and young men—today’s little ones, like Darcy—may not have what it takes to rise up and be men.”

  “You’re painting a pretty bleak picture.”

  “I simply mean that there will always be plenty of opportunities to help youth, Maggie. And God loves your willing heart. He will open doors and show you the path you’re to follow if you trust him with it.”

  Maggie was looking at her feet. Reuben saw a tear form on her cheek and brushed it away with his finger.

  “Marry me, Maggie.” Even Reuben was startled by the words that came out of his mouth. Had he really just said that?

  She looked up at him, surprise written all over her face.

  “Marry you?” She kept her eyes on his, but turned her face to the side. “That’s kind of out of the blue, isn’t it?”

  Reuben bit his top lip. “It kind of slipped out. I’ve been wanting to ask you forever, but not like this. You deserve a little more romance.”

  Maggie laughed. “Romance? Me?”

  “But it’s out now. I might as well charge ahead. Will you?”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Of course I am. You can’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind.”

  Maggie grinned. “You’re right, I can’t. It has. But . . . it’s just . . . me? A pastor’s wife? Have you seen me with people?”

  “This isn’t about being ‘a pastor’s wife.’ I want you to be my wife. Could you see your way clear to do that? Just once, could you look at me and see Reuben, and not ‘the reverend’? The man behind the pastor is even more smitten with you now than when he was a boy. Besides, the church could use a little shaking up.”

  Maggie laughed out loud at this. “And you think I’m the one to do it? Shake up the church?”

  Reuben enfolded both of Maggie’s hands in his. “All I know is, you’re the most hardworking, honest, and caring woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Caring? Me? I have a funny way of showing it.”

  “I miss you like crazy when we’re apart, and if I don’t kiss you pretty soon, I might explode.”

  Maggie smiled and leaned closer, and Reuben took this as permission. With one hand, he caressed her mass of red hair, and with the other he lifted her chin. Their lips gently met, and then he closed his eyes and kissed her again before enveloping her in a warm
embrace. “I love you, Maggie. Please say yes.”

  Maggie’s arms had slipped around his neck, and now she stretched as far away from him as she could without letting go. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  Maggie smiled and nodded.

  “Hallelujah!” Laughing, Reuben tightened his grip around Maggie’s waist and swung her around the kitchen. “I was just sure you’d refuse!”

  “Well, it may not be my smartest move,” Maggie teased, “but you’ve stood by me through thick and thin already—how stupid would I be to say no?”

  CHAPTER 52

  Maggie stirred the oatmeal bubbling on Mrs. O’Toole’s stove. She’d hardly slept and had spent the previous night trying to sort through everything going on in her head. Had Reuben really proposed? Had she really said yes? What on earth had she been thinking? She couldn’t simply quit her job and run off to Roseburg to be a pastor’s wife! Could Reuben even support them both on his wartime salary in a small town? What about Charlotte? She couldn’t just abandon Charlotte and Darcy.

  “Ow!” A splash of hot cereal landed on her finger. She dropped the wooden spoon and let her finger fly to her mouth.

  “Now you don’t need to be cookin’ all day at the Fort Garry and here too.” Mrs. O’Toole bustled into the room and tied an apron around her ample middle. “Let me do that. Sit down and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”

  Maggie wearily obeyed. How was she going to get through her work shift?

  Mrs. O’Toole studied her face while she filled Maggie’s cup, then her own. “You look like me Grandpap O’Brien’s ol’ sheepdog after a night of chasin’ badgers.”

  “Didn’t get much sleep, that’s all. I’ll be fine.” Maggie took a long drink.

  “If you’re worryin’ about the wee one, he’s going to be just fine. And if you’re worryin’ about Charlotte . . . well, I’m prayin’ for a full recovery, just like that doctor said. She’ll be right as rain soon.”