by T. L. Haddix
I love you, John David Campbell. I hope you grow up in a beautiful world, that you know you’re loved from the very first instant you drew breath until the last—and I pray to a God I don’t even know I believe in that that will be a hundred years down the long, happy road. It doesn’t matter to me what you become, what kind of job you have, whether you’re rich or just able to provide for yourself, so long as you’re happy.
I hope you see the value in people first, instead of possessions. I hope you understand the joy brought by love and don’t see many of the heartaches. I hope someday you find a woman who makes your world right just by walking into the room, the way your mother does for me. I can hardly wait to watch you grow, though I’m already dreading the time that will pass all too quickly.
Welcome to the world, my first son, my first child, my second, precious love.
Your father,
Henry Owen Campbell
April 19, 1963
Sarah had the farmhouse all to herself, and she relished the peace and quiet. Owen had taken John to the post office for a bit so she could catch her breath, and she’d snatched the opportunity to explore the vacant house next door to the studio they called home.
From the first time she’d walked in the door years ago, when she and Owen were going together, she’d felt that the structure held the potential to be a warm and welcoming home in every sense of the word. Most of the furniture was gone, given to Owen’s aunt and uncle after a house fire. The house needed updating, as the plumbing and wiring weren’t up to current safety standards. The kitchen was tiny, not big enough to house what was turning out to be a growing family. The four bedrooms upstairs were smallish and somewhat cramped. But the bones of the house were good.
The only thing holding Sarah back from suggesting the family move out of the tiny studio and into the roomier farmhouse was Owen’s still-painful emotional response to the place. He’d spent his childhood in this house, and it hadn’t been a good one.
Given that she was almost five months pregnant, she knew Owen was aware of the need for more room. And she’d seen him over here in the larger farmhouse, and seen evidence of his presence in it, more than once in recent months. She was trying to give him time to come to terms with their need for a larger home on his own. But today… well, today she’d received news that put a rush on her making that suggestion.
With a heavy groan born more of normal pregnancy fatigue than anything, she sat down at the old kitchen table and stared out the window, across the garden that separated the main house from the studio.
“Oh, husband… I hope you’re more ready for this than I think you are. We’re running out of options and fast.” Giving herself a shake, she picked up the pen and started to write on the paper she’d brought with her. After all, so much of their life had been recorded in letters to or from one or the other, it seemed only proper that this milestone be written down as well.
My Deer-est Owen,
I don’t quite know how to tell you this… there’s really no easy way to put it. That second son you’ve been looking forward to having in a few months? Might be bringing a friend along.
Dr. Boggs was in the library today to pick up books. He came in, took one look at me, and he started laughing. “Sarah Campbell,” he said, “you’re carrying twins.”
Mind you, I wasn’t thrilled by the laughter, and I was quite stunned by his proclamation. I told him he was being ridiculous. I didn’t appreciate the humor either, and he knew that. But the man was adamant.
“It’s not ridiculous unless you gave me incorrect dates of certain things when you came in for your pregnancy test, young lady. Just how certain are you about those dates?” he asked in a low voice.
Thankfully, we were separated from everyone else, so no one could overhear our conversation. I know my face had to be as red as a beet. “I’m quite certain, sir, thank you very much. What in the world makes you say I’m having twins?”
There’s a look that comes across a man’s face when a woman asks him a question he’s not prepared to answer. Dr. Boggs has always been unflappable, at least in my experience, but today? Today he wore that expression. I gave in and answered for him, somewhat embarrassed even though I know I had no reason to be.
“It’s because I’m already as big as a house, isn’t it? And it isn’t fat—it’s all baby.”
He had the grace to blush, but he agreed. He also said that he’d have pegged me for being at least two more months along than where I am and asked if I had time to come by the office for an examination.
As I was quite concerned by this point, I made the time. Once he was finished, he was even more certain that I’m carrying twins. He says everything is looking fine so far and the baby—or babies— and I seem to be as healthy as can be, but he doesn’t want to take chances. He wants me to go to half days at work as soon as possible, and he expects to put me on house arrest—his words—before another month or six weeks is out. And he says if I’m not expecting twins, he’ll eat his stethoscope.
Given that the man delivers half the babies in this county and three other counties as well… I suspect he’s not wrong.
Owen, I cried. I won’t lie. I wasn’t expecting this. Why is it our children always seem to surprise us so? Mama would probably say they’re getting us ready for dealing with them as they grow up.
Twins… where in the world are we going to put them?
Also, you do realize this makes your odds of getting through parenthood without daughters even slimmer, don’t you? You poor man. It’d be your luck if these were both girls. I’ll try to pretend that your reaction to that notion doesn’t make me laugh. I’m not that good at pretending however, and surely you’ll allow me a bit of humor in what has just become a daunting situation.
As discombobulated as I am at the moment, I’m also certain we’ll muddle through this and all will be well. After all, Johnny is turning out to be such a good baby, and we haven’t broken him yet. There’s still time for that I suppose, but I have hope that we’ll do okay.
Regardless of how many of your children I’m toting around, one thing remains steadfast, and that’s my love for you and for our family, whatever it looks like. I couldn’t ask for a better father for my children, a better husband for myself. I couldn’t have dreamed you to be any more perfect than you are, even as you’re infuriatingly stubborn from time to time, you “deer” man. I wouldn’t change an instant of this life we’ve built… except maybe to have more bathrooms. Somehow, I think that’s going to come in handy in the very near future.
With all my love and my heart,
Sarah
Sitting back with a sigh, she placed her hands on either side of the admittedly not-small baby bump. When two distinct kicks, timed a split second apart, landed on each of her palms, Sarah laughed. “I should have known. Even for a Campbell baby, you’re too active. I should have known there was more than one of you.” And she couldn’t discount the fact that she’d felt so much “more pregnant” this time around, something she’d been trying to explain for weeks.
Eyes closed, she listened to the sounds of the old farmhouse, trying to imagine what it would be like with children running here and there, dashing in and out, making all kinds of noise. It’d be pure mayhem, a cacophony of happiness and chaos, much like her own childhood had been. Like Owen’s childhood should have been.
“Maybe we can rebuild this house, make it our own, and all those bad memories can be purged,” she said softly as the sound of a car door came from outside.
A glance at the studio told her Owen was back, and as she watched him come around to the passenger side of his truck to retrieve John, she smiled. He really was a good father, having settled into the role as naturally as though he’d been made for that purpose. He enjoyed their son, and when she’d started exhibiting the signs and symptoms of early pregnancy a few months back, he’d been thrilled. There was still
a sense of underlying concern, a thread that Sarah saw rise up in him now and again, but she really felt that some of his pain and hurt from long ago was starting to fade.
“I hope I’m right,” she muttered as he and John headed across the garden toward the farmhouse. “We can make this place good again. We need to make it good again, for you as much as for our family. All we have to do is try.”
And if there was one thing Sarah was learning she was good at, it was turning “try” into “do,” especially when it came to helping Owen Campbell heal old wounds.
Owen didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t nervous as he followed John’s mad dash across the garden. He’d done a lot of thinking and re-thinking, considering and weighing options, in the last few weeks. Very soon, his little studio would be overrun with babies, at least if his suspicions turned out to be true, and he knew he was in a race against time to set things in order before that happened.
To that end, he’d come up with a plan, one he felt comfortable suggesting to Sarah, and he was finally ready to present it to her.
“I just hope I’ve read things correctly,” he told John, who’d stopped to admire a butterfly that had landed on a flower. He scooped up the toddler, lifting him high above his head to elicit a happy squeal. “Let’s go find your mama.”
“Mama!” John pointed toward the kitchen door, where Sarah had appeared.
Owen slowed to stare, taking in the sight of her pregnant figure, and his heart stuttered with love as she smiled at them. He’d figured out how to broach the subject of their housing; he was still trying to find the words to explain to his sweet wife that he was concerned because she was bigger than he remembered her being at this point in her pregnancy when she’d carried John.
The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings or have her think he believed her to be fat. If he didn’t tread carefully around that can of worms, he might find himself sleeping in the barn.
“How was your trip?” She accepted John’s hug and then Owen’s kiss after he set the boy on his feet.
“Productive, I think. Did you rest?” Owen touched her belly, rubbing gently.
She caught his hand and squeezed it, then went inside. “I did, enough for now anyways. I wrote you a letter. I don’t know whether to give it to you now or later though.”
He smiled. “How about we talk first? I have something to show you.”
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “A present?” She bit her lip and rubbed her hands together. “What is it?”
“Have a seat, and I’ll show you.” He pulled a rolled-up sheaf of papers from his back pocket and tapped it on his palm. “Is he okay to play with those?”
John had settled on the floor in front of the kitchen sink, where he’d opened the doors and pulled out some old bowls. He was babbling away to them, holding a conversation only he could understand.
“Oh, yes. That’s his spot,” Sarah said with a chuckle. “I’ve baby-proofed all the cabinets in here. It’s his favorite place to play when I come over to clean or what have you. What do you have there?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Owen took the seat opposite her at the small table and handed her the house plans he’d sketched up. “Hopefully, something you’ll like.” He hardly dared to breathe as she looked them over.
Sarah paused on the top page, studying it, smoothing the paper with a whisper of a touch that wouldn’t smudge the sketch. “That… this is the farmhouse. With an addition?” She glanced up, and he nodded. “Oh.”
“Do you like it?” Hands clasped together tightly in front of him on the table, it was all Owen could do not to take the papers and shuffle through them, pointing out all the ideas he’d had.
A half smile grew on her face, turning into a soft laugh as she moved on to the second page. She shook her head after a second and slid a folded piece of paper across to him. “I love you. I think you’d best read this now. My Owen.” Her gaze was warm and full of love as he picked up the letter.
As soon as he read the first two paragraphs, he burst into laughter. Stunned, somewhat rueful, but still delighted laughter. For a full minute, he couldn’t do anything except laugh, though there were a few tears mixed in and snorts as well, enough to dampen his eyes and heat his face with embarrassment.
“You took that news better than I expected,” she told him drolly with a grin and a wink.
He came around and dropped to his knees before putting his arms around Sarah and resting his cheek on her belly. He was still amused, even as his softer emotions rose.
“I was trying to figure out how in the world to tell you my suspicions,” he finally said. “You know twins do run in the Wells family.”
She threaded her fingers through his hair, stroking it back off his face. “I do recall that, yes. You aren’t upset?”
Owen kissed her hand, then sat back on his haunches as John came over to see what was going on. Wrapping his arms around his son, Owen sank to the floor and pulled the boy with him, tickling him before holding him close. “No. But are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Sarah leveled a look at him. “Didn’t you read the whole letter?”
He gave a sheepish shrug. “I didn’t. Read the rest to me, please?”
She made a face at him then complied. When she reached the part about his odds for getting girls being increased, Owen grimaced.
“You hadn’t thought about that, had you?” she said, wrinkling her nose before sticking her tongue out at him.
Owen gave a mock scowl. “Careful who you point that thing at. I might have to come up with suggestions for what you can do with it.”
Eyes wide, Sarah shushed him. “Little ears!”
He glanced at John, who was nearly asleep. “He’s out. Besides, he’s decades away from understanding what I said.”
She shook her finger at him, then finished reading the letter aloud. “I do adore you. I hope you know that. Tell me what you’re thinking here?” She tapped the sketches, looking through the pages. She got to the last one and stopped. “Oh, this is nice.”
“The kitchen?” Owen nodded when she held it up. “I thought you’d like that. This room is too small, and if we’re already adding on a wing, it wouldn’t be that hard to move the back wall out. We could double the size of the kitchen, and we’d only lose that little bit of space in the garden where things don’t grow so well anyhow.”
He’d kept the overall layout of the house generally the same with a few modifications here and there, such as moving doors and adding windows. The biggest changes were the plans he’d drawn to add a large master bedroom suite downstairs at the back of the house and to the side, with a sitting room that would connect the kitchen to the bedroom, and a large room upstairs, over the bedroom, that the kids could use as a playroom.
“You’ve made the living room bigger,” she said.
“Yes, and the two bedrooms overtop of them too. My room and Harlan’s. They’re too small for active boys. The other rooms are decent-sized already. The bathroom up there needs updating. All the plumbing does, I expect, and we’d need to switch to a circuit box instead of the fuses, so the house would have to be rewired.
“It’s a lot of work, but I stopped by the hardware store today and talked to Conrad. He knows a good man who does construction, and he’s looking for a job right now. I worked with him a little when we built the studio, but since Uncle Eli’s crew was here to help, I didn’t need him much. If you’re amenable to this, I thought we might call the guy and have him come up, give us a price. Conrad already looked the plans over and gave me a rough estimate.” He told her the number.
Sarah winced. “That’s with the family discount?”
“It is.”
Owen’s father and Conrad, brothers, had jointly owned the hardware store until Hank Campbell’s death several years earlier. Owen, not interested in the family business, had sold his interest to Conrad soon
after.
She sighed. “That’s a lot of money, and that isn’t counting how much this builder would charge.”
Owen shifted John to a more comfortable position. “No, but we can more than afford it. I’m not concerned so much about the money as I am about getting you and our children into a safe, comfortable home as soon as we can. Do you like what I’ve come up with? It’s your house too. I want your input.”
When she shook her head, he was certain he’d messed up, but she cleared her throat and touched the first sketch, the one showing the front of the house with the addition. “There are a few tiny things I would change, but Owen… this feels like a home.” She grabbed a napkin off the table and blotted her eyes. “Would you be happy here?”
The question was a serious one, and it deserved a serious answer. Gazing at John, who’d curled against his chest with absolute trust, Owen thought about all the pain and turmoil that had taken place in this house over the years. He’d had a rough way to go with his father and brother once he’d become a teenager, and those battles had left deep emotional scars.
“We’d be changing so much about this house, in big ways and small, and we’d be moving in here with our babies, with our furniture and belongings and memories to make… I’d like to take this house back. For them, for us. And for myself too, I guess,” he admitted softly.
With a tiny grunt, Sarah joined him on the floor, leaning against his side to lay her hand over his where it curled around their son. “Then I think we’d best get started. Let’s make this place our home.”
Owen put his arm around her and drew her close to rest his head on hers. “I love you.” Looking at her, he knew without a doubt that he was loved for himself, that he was wanted—warts and all—and the house and its negative memories weren’t worth a tinker’s damn against the strength of that tremendous emotion.
Nothing that had happened in this house in the past would take away from the future, and at least for today, for this moment in time, for the first time since he’d turned thirteen years old and his world had fallen apart, he truly felt at peace.