by Terrie Todd
“I hope you’re right. Can I ask you a question?”
“You can.”
“If, um . . .” Maggie paused. “If Reuben Fennel were to ask me to marry him . . . well, what would you think?”
A smile broke out across Mrs. O’Toole’s face. “I’d be thinkin’ it’s about time the man came to his senses!”
“And if I were to agree to it?”
“Then I’d be sayin’ you’ve finally come to yours as well! Are you tellin’ me he did? And you did?”
Maggie just smiled, and Mrs. O’Toole rose to her feet and danced an Irish jig right there in the middle of her kitchen. “Glory be! I knew the man loved you from the day I first saw the two of you together. We’re goin’ to have a wedding! Praise Jesus!”
Maggie walked the corridor toward Charlotte’s hospital room with a lighter step than she’d known herself to take since childhood. She had no idea how things would play out for Charlotte and Darcy, but Reuben Fennel loved her and wanted her to be his wife. I don’t deserve the man, God. But if you’re giving him to me, I’ll do all I can to be worthy of him, I promise.
When she rounded the corner into the room, another wonderful surprise greeted her. Charlotte was sitting upright in a wheelchair. A nurse was fitting clean sheets on the bed.
“Charlotte!” Maggie stopped short. “You’re up!”
Slowly, a smile spread across the young woman’s face. The words that followed were slower still, but clear. “You’re Maggie. Am I right?”
“Yes. Yes! I’m Maggie. You remember!”
The nurse walked over to Charlotte and placed a protective hand on her shoulder. “Careful, Mrs. Marshall. Charlotte’s still extremely fragile. She’s been speaking clearly since last night and talked us into getting her up. But her memory still hasn’t gone back to before the . . . um, incident.”
“But you remember me, Charlotte, right?” Maggie prompted the girl. “You knew right away who I was.”
“You were here before,” Charlotte said. “You told me your name.”
“Oh. I see. Well . . . that’s good. That’s a great start, Charlotte!”
“That’s exactly right,” the nurse said. “Things can only get better from here. Charlotte, would you like Mrs. Marshall to take you for a walk? It’s a beautiful day out there.”
Charlotte nodded, and Maggie pushed the wheelchair down the hall and out a side door that led to a small cobblestoned atrium. Too early in the year for flowers in Manitoba, the small plots between walkways lay filled with black dirt, ready for planting. A cluster of three evergreen trees provided a patch of color against the pale sky. Charlotte took a deep breath and sighed in appreciation. Maggie took a seat on a bench facing her.
“I know that you are Maggie,” Charlotte began. “And I know Reuben is the man who was here with you. But I don’t know who you are, really. I know you’re not my parents. Why aren’t they here? And who is Darcy? I have so many questions.”
The speech had taken Charlotte a full two minutes.
Maggie sighed. She knew nothing about these kinds of injuries. Surely dumping the whole load on Charlotte at once, explaining the past year or more of her life in one fell swoop, would prove too overwhelming.
“It will all come to you when you’re ready, Charlotte. Be patient. For now, just know that Reuben and I are your friends. We love you very much.”
“Is he your husband?”
Maggie smiled. “Not yet. Soon, though.”
“And Darcy? Does he love me, too?”
“Very much.”
Charlotte tilted her head to one side. “Why hasn’t he been to visit me?”
“Soon, Charlotte. We’ll ask your doctor when it might be all right. You’re in good hands here. You just need to focus on getting stronger. It will all come to you, in time.” Maggie tried to sound as confident as she could, as much for her own sake as for Charlotte’s.
The puzzlement was still obvious on Charlotte’s face. “I don’t understand why my parents aren’t here. Are they alive?”
Maggie cleared her throat. She thought of the sealed envelope she and Reuben had found in Charlotte’s room, addressed to her parents. “Yes. They’re alive. They’re home in Ontario and you’re here in Winnipeg, with us now. I have something at home that may help you remember—a letter you wrote to them but hadn’t posted yet. Shortly before your accident, I think.”
“Accident? I know it was a gunshot wound, and I know it was no accident. I just don’t recall who did it or why.”
Maggie feared Charlotte was going to start demanding more answers than she was ready to handle.
“Charlotte, for right now, it doesn’t matter. Today is a day to celebrate! You’re up and you’re speaking and you’re outdoors! That’s an awful lot for one day. Let’s be glad and let your memories unfold how they will. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a bit chilly. Let’s head inside.”
Charlotte’s face had paled. “I am getting tired.”
Maggie returned the girl to her room, where a nurse helped her tuck Charlotte into bed. She was asleep before Maggie could pick up her purse.
On the trolley to Mrs. O’Toole’s house, Maggie rested her head against the window. A restless night triggered by yesterday’s proposal, followed by today’s work shift and a visit with Charlotte, had made for a really long day. Now it was time to go home and relieve Mrs. O’Toole by watching Darcy for the evening. How long could they keep this up? She hoped that maybe she could put the baby down early and get to bed herself before it got too late.
It had been hard to focus on anything but Reuben since last night, though he’d caught a train to Roseburg and she wouldn’t see him for five more days. They’d agreed to put their wedding plans off until Charlotte was stabilized, but they wanted it to happen before next fall.
“I’m confident she’ll recover,” Reuben had said. “But if it’s not meant for her to have a full recovery and she needs our care, we’ll be in a far better position to do that as a married couple. Don’t you agree?”
It made sense to Maggie.
“Meanwhile, I’d like to tell my congregation about the engagement as soon as possible. I want to introduce you to them, Maggie. When can you come?”
Maggie had made no promises until after she talked the matter over with Mrs. O’Toole. In the end, they’d agreed that both women would catch the train for Roseburg—with Darcy—weekend after next. They’d leave Saturday morning and return Sunday evening, so as not to abandon Charlotte any longer than necessary.
What an unusual romance! But then, these were unusual times. She studied the headlines of the newspaper being read by a man in the seat in front of her. Two thousand bombers and fighters from Britain and another thousand from Italy had launched an attack on German plane plants in Germany, Bucharest, and Ploiesti. Surely the war would end soon. How much longer could it go on?
Maggie closed her eyes to shut out the headlines and tried to close her mind to the war. Instead, she remembered Reuben’s sweet kisses and how wonderful it had been to feel his arms around her. How safe and right. Regardless of what was going on in the world, regardless of what unfolded with Charlotte, regardless of how bad a preacher’s wife she’d make . . . Maggie knew in whose arms she wanted to be. Forever, if she could.
CHAPTER 53
Maggie and Mrs. O’Toole stepped down from the train onto the wooden platform, Mrs. O’Toole holding Darcy, and Maggie carrying two bags. Bright sunshine made the day feel filled with hope and possibilities. When she saw Reuben’s tall figure approaching, she couldn’t help but break into a smile. He gave her a quick kiss and took her bags.
“How’s my little man?” Reuben put his face close to Darcy’s. The baby laughed and placed a pudgy hand flat across Reuben’s face. “Good trip?”
“’Tis an adventure we’re havin’.” Mrs. O’Toole was all smiles. “I haven’t been out of the city since before the Depression. It’s grand to see some green countryside!”
“Hope you’
re both up for a bit of a walk. My boardinghouse is up this way.” Reuben pointed the way with his chin, and the ladies followed.
“Absolutely. Been sitting too long.” Maggie took Darcy from Mrs. O’Toole and looked around at what would soon be her hometown. It appeared far from prosperous, its buildings run-down and in need of paint. Yet pansies or marigolds bloomed in nearly every front yard they passed. Reuben pointed out various business establishments and homes of his parishioners. He greeted children who peered curiously from their front steps as they walked past, and even said hello to a puppy named Rusty in front of one home, setting down the suitcases in order to give the pup a quick rub behind the ears.
“Darcy, come meet the doggie.” Reuben took the little boy from Maggie’s arms and held him close enough to pet the puppy, whose tail wagged so hard Maggie thought it might slap Darcy in the face. The baby squealed with delight.
Reuben picked up their bags again. “How’s Charlotte?” he asked as they resumed walking.
“Better each day,” Maggie told him. “I explained to her what we were doing this weekend, and that I wouldn’t see her for a few days.”
“And what did she have to say about that?”
Maggie did her best impression. “She said, ‘Oh, how romantic!’ It was the old Charlotte back. A little glimpse of her, at least. She’s happy for us, Reuben.”
Reuben’s smile lit up his whole face. “I’m happy for us, too.”
They stopped in front of a tall house that Maggie took to be the Schmidts’. Reuben led them to the front door, but it swung open before he could grab the doorknob. There in the doorway stood a plump woman in her fifties, her lips smiling, though a hint of loss clouded her eyes.
“Mrs. Schmidt,” Reuben said, “I’d like you to meet Mrs. Mary O’Toole. The two of you have a lot in common—you both know how to take very good care of me!”
The two women shook hands, smiling. “And this,” Reuben continued, placing an arm around her, “is my beautiful Maggie.”
Maggie could feel her face heat up. “How do you do?”
“It is lovely to meet you both,” Mrs. Schmidt said. “Welcome! And this must be Darcy!” The baby hid his face in Maggie’s shoulder.
Mrs. Schmidt ushered them into her home, and Reuben carried their bags upstairs to the bedroom Maggie and Mrs. O’Toole would share. In one corner of the room, a crib had been set up for Darcy. A bouquet of lilacs, nestled in a vase on the bedside table, filled the room with a sweet fragrance as a gentle breeze fluttered white lace curtains at the open window.
“Make yourselves at home, yah?” Mrs. Schmidt said. “I have lemonade ready when you come down. And a little surprise for you, Maggie.”
“For me?” Maggie saw Mrs. O’Toole and Reuben exchange a grin and knew they were in on it, too, whatever it was.
When they walked into Mrs. Schmidt’s parlor a few minutes later, the first thing Maggie noticed was an old gray work dress draped over a sewing machine in the corner. She spotted the dress immediately because she had one just like it at home.
“Surprise!” Mrs. Schmidt pulled a clothes hanger down from the window curtain rod. On it hung a lavender-and-white dress, just as stylish as some of the dresses Maggie had seen in the window of Eaton’s store in downtown Winnipeg.
“This is for you, Maggie.” Reuben took the dress from his landlady and held it out to her. “Mrs. Schmidt thought you might like something new to wear to church tomorrow.”
Maggie could feel her jaw hanging loose but felt powerless to close it. She hadn’t had a brand-new dress since . . . well, years. She turned to Mrs. O’Toole.
“You knew about this?”
The older woman was grinning from ear to ear. “The reverend asked me for your dress size, love. I figured the best way was to let him bring Mrs. Schmidt this old thing.” She picked up the gray dress.
“So that is mine! I wondered where that went.” Maggie had been looking for the garment the previous weekend when she helped Mrs. O’Toole wash windows. “I thought I was losing my mind!”
She held the new dress against her body and gazed down on it. “It’s beautiful! I don’t know what to say.”
“The color suits you beautifully, Maggie.” Mrs. O’Toole smiled, then turned to Mrs. Schmidt. “You’re a grand seamstress, dear.”
Maggie performed a little twirl with the dress, feeling fourteen again. “Thank you so much!” When she looked up at her audience, she wasn’t sure who was beaming more—Mrs. Schmidt or Reuben Fennel.
Maggie sat on the hard pew, the Schmidts to her left and Mrs. O’Toole to her right. Darcy had warmed to Hilde Schmidt and now sat on her lap, nearly dozing.
“I should hold the baby through church,” the woman had declared that morning at breakfast. “If I need to carry him out, I know just where to go. Besides, I already the reverend’s sermon heard. He likes to practice in his room.”
Reuben had grinned sheepishly while the others had a chuckle at his expense.
“Not that it is not worth again hearing,” she added.
The first person to greet Maggie at the church when they arrived had been Cornelia Simpson, now Baker. She’d embraced Maggie with a warm hug. “I confess I’m a little nervous about your living here,” Cornelia had whispered. “I’ve never told anyone—”
Maggie looked the younger woman in the eye. “It’s not my story to tell,” she said. “Ever.”
“Thank you.” Cornelia smiled with relief.
Now Maggie tried to concentrate on the church service, though her thoughts bounced from one to another.
I love this new dress.
When is Reuben planning to introduce me? Will I need to shake everyone’s hands? Her palms got sweaty just thinking about it.
Please don’t get fussy, Darcy.
Is it a sin to love this dress so much?
Lord, help Reuben as he preaches.
I wish Charlotte could be here.
What if people think I always dress this nicely? They might think I’m too fashionable for this role, for this small town. What if they think I’m a snob?
Oh Lord, I don’t know if I belong here. I wonder where we’ll live?
Maybe I should have just worn my old dress.
Lord, help me get my mind off myself and listen to the sermon.
Reuben was talking about the omnipresence of God. “The Lord is here in this room, of course. It’s not hard to believe it when we stand and sing his praises together. We can feel him.”
Reuben was in his element, and Maggie felt proud as she sensed the congregation’s rapt attention to his words.
“But he is just as present when you leave this place. He is with you in your home, in your garden, in your school, in your business, in your fields, and in your barn. When you’re on the train or on your tractor. And he is most certainly with your sons on the battlefield.”
Maggie heard a rousing amen from somewhere behind her.
“Think how joyful you’d feel right now if you stood in your kitchen and your soldier son walked in, home at last. I want you mothers to remember that to God, this planet is no larger than your own kitchen. He can see your boy, he is watching over him, and he will not allow anything to happen to him that he cannot use for good.”
Maggie stole a sideways glance at Mrs. Schmidt and noticed tears on her cheeks. Compassion rose in her heart for the bereaved woman, and she reached for her hand and held it tightly while Reuben continued.
“‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,’ the Scriptures say in Psalm 23. ‘For thou art with me.’
“And in Psalm 139, the psalmist says to God, ‘Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.’”
It’s true, Maggie reflected. It seemed
she had made her bed in a sort of hell years before, and God had sought and found her there. She looked at Darcy, now asleep in Mrs. Schmidt’s arms. He was the closest thing she’d ever had to a son. She tried to imagine him grown and off fighting a war and how difficult it would be to trust God with the outcome. She glanced around the room. Several young women filled the seats, along with their parents, grandparents, and younger siblings. Reuben shouldn’t have left them out. If she’d had a chance to see Reuben’s sermon ahead of time, she’d have suggested he remind the girls that God was with them too. How many of them were overburdened with worry for big brothers or sweethearts far away? Did they feel responsible to fill the gaps left behind? Did they feel less important, with their parents so focused on the sons? Someone needed to tell them they mattered as well.
I’ll have a little talk with Reuben later, she thought. Then the words came to her:
You do it.
Where had that thought come from?
You can tell the girls yourself. Soon.
But Maggie had no time to dwell on the suggestion because the congregation was standing to sing a closing hymn. As the organist cranked out the introduction on an old pump organ, Maggie managed to find the right page in the hymnbook for “If Jesus Goes with Me.” Together they sang:
It may be in the valley, where countless dangers hide;
It may be in the sunshine that I, in peace, abide;
But this one thing I know—if it be dark or fair,
If Jesus is with me, I’ll go anywhere!
As the song continued, Maggie thought over the changes about to take place in her own life. She would soon be part of this congregation, this community. Not just a part, but a leader. Never in her wildest imagination would she have considered such a thing. But if you go with me, Jesus, I’ll go.
When the hymn ended, Reuben asked everyone to sit down again.
“Before I pronounce the benediction, I have an announcement to make,” he said. “Most of you know that I have recently become engaged to be married. Today I want to introduce you to my bride-to-be, Maggie Marshall. Maggie, would you join me, please?”