A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection

by Dianna Crawford

  “No.” Paul slapped Axel on the shoulder and walked off. He couldn’t share the details of this mission with anyone. This time, he had nothing more than Paul Lindhagen’s passport, an attaché case, and three dolls.

  Rosemary closed the door to the magnificent wardrobe, hiding her silk wedding dress from view. She caught her reflection in the mirrored front and forced a smile. She couldn’t let Valerie see her concern.

  Over the past few months, Valerie had finally begun enjoying life again. She’d gotten through the freshness of grief and was starting to mention Frank every now and then in casual conversation. “I need some of her resilience and spunk,” Rosemary whispered to her reflection.

  Paul had never been gone this long. It was supposed to be a short trip. He ought to have been back by now … only it had been four and a half weeks, and she hadn’t heard a word.

  The dangers of his profession loomed in her mind. It was just six days before their wedding, but she couldn’t be sure he’d be home in time … if he came home at all.

  She shuddered at that thought.

  As the days passed, she prayed for him. She asked the Lord to protect him and to bless the dolls so children would find safety. Her prayers became increasingly urgent.

  Mrs. Ainsley came to spend the day. They made applesauce together. As she added cinnamon to the sauce, Rosemary said, “This will give the applesauce a little zing.”

  “Like Paul Kincaid puts zing in your heart?”

  Rosemary laughed. “Yes. He does that.”

  “Paul is wonderful.” Mrs. Ainsley licked applesauce from her finger and gave Rosemary an impish grin. “I want to marry him if you don’t.”

  “He’s mine. You’re out of luck.”

  Mrs. Ainsley pretended to huff. “Well then, I’m going to go home.” She rose.

  “Be sure to take some applesauce.” Rosemary tucked a trio of pint-sized jars in a bag.

  After Mrs. Ainsley left, Rosemary slumped into a chair and let out a sigh. No matter how busy she stayed, she couldn’t distract herself. Worry gnawed at her. Where’s Paul? Is he okay?

  Soon Valerie arrived home from work. “Mom, you need to get out. You can’t brood like this.”

  “Haven’t you ever learned Danes are good at brooding?”

  “Yuck. I never liked Hamlet. Let’s forget about that and go outside.” Valerie pulled her into the backyard and chattered as they gardened. The late August sunlight cast a golden glow around them, but Rosemary couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. When they finished gardening, Valerie took the basket of vegetables into the house. Rosemary stayed behind. She knelt in the soil and wept as she prayed.

  Two of them were out. Safe. Both little boys had the big haunted eyes of children who had seen far too much in their short years. Nonetheless, Paul knew they’d soon be nurtured by their grandparents back in New York. He’d passed them off to a contact who met them at the appointed time. Paul waded back to shore. Squinting at the horizon, he knew he had to hurry to find cover before the next patrol came by.

  It was said anything could be bought for a price. Tonight, he almost believed that. The wealthy grandparents of those boys had gladly donated a sizable fortune—one that would fund the escapes of countless more children. The trip had been what Bill termed a “calculated risk.” To Paul’s way of thinking, the only calculation involved was that any child was priceless.

  He rolled down his pant legs, donned his shoes and coat, and struck out walking. In the distance, he spied an overturned fishing dory. It would conceal him well enough. He ducked beneath it just in time. The patrol came and went.

  Another several miles on foot, and he reached a thinly wooded area. The body of a man lay twisted in an unnatural position on the ground beside a thicket. A small sound made Paul take a second look. He knelt down and could scarcely believe his eyes. From beneath the undergrowth, a little child stared back at him.

  He pulled her free and hastily checked the man’s body for some identification. There was none. Young as she was, this little girl had become one of the orphans Captain von Rundstedt said were untraceable. Paul scooped her into his arms, and she clung to him. They’d barely gone ten yards when footsteps and a stream of harsh German orders sounded not far away. Paul shoved the girl between the gnarled roots of a tree and curled around her. Lord, please make seeing eyes blind tonight.

  Chapter 11

  Five weeks. He’d been gone now far, far too long. Rosemary spent her days gardening and sewing. Friends from church dropped by with offers to help with the wedding. Rosemary pasted on a smile and acted as if Paul’s prolonged absence was understandable. But batch after batch of cookies grew stale.

  Inside, she was crying to the Lord with every breath. Once already she’d lost a husband. Was God taking Paul from her, too? She couldn’t help fearing the worst.

  Five days to go until the wedding. Rosemary sat down at the sewing machine and buried her face in her hands.

  Lord, You know what’s happening. I’m so confused, so scared. Love is such a rare gift. You gave Your Son as a gift of love. He said a man had no greater love than to lay down his life for another. Paul is risking his life … but, Father, please don’t take him from me. I love him so much. I long to be his wife. You put us together—please don’t tear us apart. Bring my beloved back safely to me.

  “Rosemary.”

  She wiped the tears from her face. She wanted Paul so much that she could hear his voice.

  “Sweetheart.”

  She spun around. “Paul!”

  He looked thinner and tired, but his eyes sparkled with love for her. In his arms, he held a little dark-haired, doe-eyed girl. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come home to you. I brought you a wedding gift. Her name is Rebekkah.”

  “And she’s a living doll,” Rosemary said as she ran to them with her arms open to pull them close to her heart.

  one month later

  “Up, Daddy. More.” Rebekkah tapped her own little cheek to show him where he’d missed a spot.

  “There can’t be more flour on my face. I’m wearing most of it on my shirt!”

  “I wearing flowers, too!”

  Rosemary burst out laughing. “Yes, honey, your pretty new apron has flowers on it.”

  “She’s smart as a whip.” Valerie dried the mixing bowl. “Learning English fast as can be.”

  “Yes, she is.” Rosemary hugged their little daughter and kissed the white fleck on Paul’s cheek.

  “Hey, stop that before the cookies burn!”

  “I can’t believe we only filled two cookie sheets.” Paul made a face as Valerie pulled the treats out of the oven.

  “Neither can I!” Rosemary wiped Rebekkah’s hands. “As much cookie dough as you and Bekkah swiped, I didn’t think we’d manage even one sheet.”

  “Be nice, or I won’t share my family’s secret recipe for mashed potatoes.”

  “You’ll share it.” Valerie laughed. “We are your family.”

  Bekkah’s dark curls bounced as she nodded.

  Rosemary and Paul exchanged a glance. They did that all the time now—carried on conversations with just a look. It never ceased to thrill her how deep their love had grown in such a short time.

  “Rebekkah’s eager for these cookies,” Valerie said. “Look at her—she got the milk.”

  “That’s buttermilk, sweetie.” Rosemary knelt down. “We need the other milk.”

  Bekkah shook her head and handed the bottle to Paul. “Daddy. ’Tatoes.”

  He chortled. “This little scamp doesn’t miss a thing.”

  “You use buttermilk?” Valerie gaped at him.

  “Among other things. We need baking soda, cayenne pepper, white pepper …”

  “Who would have guessed?” They all sat down at the table after he gathered the ingredients. Paul picked up the masher.

  “Wait!” Rebekkah pressed her little hands together. “Pray. Pray first.”

  “Yes. Bekkah, would you like to say
the prayer?”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank You, Jesus. God bless all the boys and girls. Amen.”

  Rosemary looked across the table at her husband. Love radiated between them as they said in unison, “Amen.”

  CATHY MARIE HAKE

  Cathy Marie is a Southern California native who loves her work as a nurse and Lamaze teacher. She and her husband have a daughter, a son, and two dogs, so life is never dull or quiet. Cathy Marie considers herself a sentimental pack rat, collecting antiques and Hummel figurines. She otherwise keeps busy with reading, writing, and bargain hunting. Cathy Marie’s first book was published by Barbour Publishing in 2000 and earned her a spot as one of the readers’ favorite new authors. Since then, she’s written several other novels, novellas, and gift books. You can visit her online at www.CathyMarieHake.com.

  Filled with Joy

  by Kelly Eileen Hake

  Chapter 1

  December 1941

  Roy Benson stared at the all-too-familiar turquoise wall. Some dingbat had decided the color was soothing, but that person certainly never stayed in traction for a month with nothing else to look at. It felt like living in a package of Black Jack gum, but the antiseptic smell provided a constant reminder that this was a hospital.

  Martha, the grandmotherly nurse, bustled in to pick up his lunch tray. “Hello, Mr. Benson. Did you have a good day?”

  He grinned. Every day she asked the same question, and his answer always stayed the same. “Yes, Miz Martha.”

  “Oh, please.” Martha shot him a wink. “Ashley told me you’ve been restless all morning. Looking forward to tomorrow, I suppose?”

  “True.” Roy leaned forward as she fluffed his pillows. “A cast and crutches mean I can move around again.”

  “We’re happy for you.” She picked up the tray, stacked it on top of several others, and headed for the door. “I know you’re itching to get out of here.”

  More than you know. Lying in bed for weeks on end was slowly driving Roy up the wall. He was accustomed to hard work and missed the sense of purpose he found in serving his country. The moment he’d turned eighteen he’d enlisted in the U.S. Navy, just as his father had done twenty-two years before.

  His education at a Swiss boarding school stood him in good stead. Since Roy boasted fluency in English, Swiss, German, and French, in addition to having a knack for mathematics, he’d been recruited to serve the naval cryptography division OP-20-G. Now, eight years later, he’d immersed himself in decoding the Japanese naval code JN-25, as Japanese-U.S. relations became increasingly strained.

  Entrusted with top-secret documents to deliver to the capitol from Station Hypo in Hawaii, he’d planned to return to duty immediately. Unfortunately, the spoiled son of a senator had climbed behind the wheel of his daddy’s Benz as drunk as a skunk and lost control of the vehicle. As he plowed through the street, somehow the youth drove up on the sidewalk and rammed into Roy. After weeks of traction for his broken leg, tomorrow would bring crutches. Crutches meant recovery, and recovery meant getting back to work.

  With those comforting thoughts, he reached over and turned on the bedside radio Martha had brought him. WOR broadcast live, up-to-the-minute commentary on football games every Sunday. This afternoon, the New York Giants played the Brooklyn Dodgers.

  “You fellas ready for the game?”

  “Yeah!”

  Static from the radio mixed with the men’s cheers; then the channel tuned in. “Wagner, can you hear it?”

  Wagner waved from the far corner of the ward. “Yes, sir.”

  Roy settled in and got caught up in listening to the play-by-play calls, hearing the crowd roar, and wishing he could be out enjoying the day.

  “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this important bulletin from the United Press.” The sudden news bulletin jerked him back to the present. “FLASH, Washington—the White House announces Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Stay tuned to WOR for further developments, which will be broadcast as received.”

  Roy’s outraged bellow blended with those of his ward mates before a deathly silence fell over the room. Pearl Harbor. It’s not Station Hypo, but it’s so close. Is my division okay? If only I wasn’t stuck here in this bed. I could have been there helping break the Japanese code. This might not have happened.

  The bulletin repeated. The announcer also gave nonspecific information that the battle still progressed. Roy’s hands clenched around the cold metal bed rail. Lord, why am I in this bed when my country is under attack?

  “Ow!”

  Valerie Fulton shot a commiserating grin at her stepfather as he set down the needle and popped a poked finger into his mouth. Paul had a difficult time sewing glass buttons onto the much-needed rag dolls—a fact that made her like him even more. She glanced down at her own much-pricked hands and sighed. “You’d think after making so many of these, we’d be pros by now. Whoever said practice makes perfect never took up sewing.”

  Her comment earned her a smile from Paul and a cheery laugh from her mother.

  “Maybe for some of us it’s just hopeless,” Paul agreed.

  “No.” Rosemary expertly tied a minuscule knot. “This project is all about hope. Every poked finger is another child rescued.”

  Paul and Valerie shared a purposeful glance and concentrated on the work at hand with renewed vigor. These weren’t just dolls; they were the means through which the Lord looked after His own.

  The dolls, and their lifesaving purpose, were what had brought Rosemary and Paul together this past year. Paul had come up with the idea after seeing Rosemary carry a basket of the dolls to the church nursery. At first, they’d simply made the dolls as requested, but eventually, Paul asked for Rosemary’s hand in marriage and revealed the true mission of the dolls.

  As the Nazis overran Europe, Jews were being chased from their homes or incarcerated. In an effort to help, Valerie and her mother stitched the dolls, and Paul made sure valuables were buried deep in the stuffing. When the dolls arrived in Denmark, the money funded the production of crucial documents. There, Valerie’s cousins Axel and Annelise smuggled the dolls with the documents to Jewish refugees. Then the children were funneled to Sweden, where they would be safe from the Nazis.

  On his last trip to Europe before the wedding, Paul had brought home a surprise—a Jewish toddler named Rebekkah. They’d adopted her, and she filled their hearts and home with a special joy. Rosemary called the little girl her living doll, and she’d just tucked her in bed.

  To Valerie, Rebekkah was the sister she’d always wanted and the opportunity to help raise a child in the Lord’s grace. Every time she sewed another doll, she pictured another precious Rebekkah waiting to be saved.

  As the days passed and political relations became more tense, the entire operation gained a frightening urgency. American imports to Denmark were already few and far between; the Nazi regime could stop accepting shipments of the dolls at any time. Every doll made was another child saved.

  Valerie finished plaiting a doll’s red yarn hair and held it up for a brief moment before placing it with several others in a crate by her chair. She threaded her needle with rose-colored floss and grabbed more material to embroider another face.

  Moments later, as she pressed her handkerchief to the red stain spreading across her thumb, Valerie saw her mother watching out of the corner of her eye. “Well, practice makes patient, at least!”

  After a shared chuckle, Paul became solemn. “Speaking of patient, what would you two say to bringing an injured soldier into our home for the holidays?”

  “You know your friends are welcome anytime, Paul, but through New Year’s?” At his nod, Valerie’s mom asked, “What about the dolls?”

  Valerie bit her tongue. This wasn’t just her decision to make. She and her mom weren’t alone anymore. Paul brought up the topic, but Valerie knew he and her mom would respect her opinion. Through Paul, God had blessed their home with continued harmony, but they were now a trio instead of a
duet when decisions needed to be made.

  “We’ll have to guard our speech more closely, but we can still make the dolls and tell him we’re sending them to Denmark to help Valerie’s cousins.”

  “That’s true … but what if he does happen to find out?” Valerie asked. Some things just weren’t worth the risk.

  “If it comes to that—and I’m not saying it will—he’s a naval officer. I’ve known his father for over two decades, and whenever I was sent to Switzerland or the outlying area, I stopped by his boarding school to check on him. Right now he’s laid up with a broken leg. Some drunken fool got behind the wheel and hit him. He’s a bright young man and loyal as they come. We can trust Roy Benson.”

  Valerie could tell Paul had spoken his piece. She couldn’t ask for a better reference. Clearly Mr. Benson must be an exceptional man. As her mother quirked a brow in silent question, Valerie bobbed her head.

  “We’ll do it.” Rosemary patted Paul’s arm. “I can’t stand to think of anyone being alone in the hospital over Christmas.”

  “Besides …” Valerie grinned. “If all else fails, we can teach him to sew!”

  Roy listened to the morning news. The announcer listed ships and carriers that had sunk to the depths of Pearl Harbor since yesterday’s sneak attack. No matter what the government revealed, the information missing told Roy far more. The lack of statistics alone hinted at a devastation he could imagine all too vividly. He’d had a one-day stop in Pearl Harbor; he knew full well the size of the contingent there. The United States had moved the bulk of its naval force to Hawaii just last year as a show of power.

  Though none would call the attack honorable or courageous, it had been brutally effective. Still no word on the number of casualties, but that’s to be expected. The American naval fleet had been all but destroyed, and hundreds of families would bear the scars of what President Roosevelt named “the day which shall live on in infamy.” These deaths would not be the last—America and Britain had jointly declared war on Japan.