If You Choose Me (A Sugar Maple Novel)

by Ciara Knight

  “Wayne Bishop.”

  “Mr. Bishop, what brings you to Tennessee? You don’t look like a southern boy.”

  “Please, call me Wayne. No, I’m from Detroit. I work as a journalist, and I was sent here on assignment.” The truck bounced, sending him into the air, but after all the practice he’d had in the DUKWs, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

  “In our town? With all the news going on around the world? There’s talk about a United Organization for the world, not to mention racial riots, the trials for those war crimes overseas, and this is where you want to report? How’d you hear about something way out here?”

  “Well, I need to stay in the States, and people want some feel-good news after four years of nothing but war. That’s what my editor says anyway. Besides, I’ve spent years reporting about the men who have lost their lives and come home with missing body parts. It might be refreshing to report about things that will provide hope.” That’s what he kept telling himself anyway, ever since his editor told him it was this or leave the paper.

  Glen shrugged. “I guess I can understand that. How’d you hear about a story way out here, though?”

  “My editor heard about this story through a sister’s, cousin’s, brother’s, best friend, or something like that.”

  “Oh, well, I guess I’m still upset I missed the action. I tried to fight, even lied about my age, but never made it over before the fightin’ ended.”

  “Consider yourself a lucky man and live for those who can’t live now.” Wayne’s voice dipped in respect. “I didn’t personally fight myself. I was a reporter, but I still found myself holding a gun and having to watch all the killing. One soldier said it best as he faded away in my arms: ‘I died so you could live free. Go live the best life you can.’”

  “Never thought about it like that. Always felt like I let my country down because I couldn’t fight.” Glen had an innocence about him that Wayne wanted to savor. It was a rarity in these times.

  Glen sat up straight and his eyes went wide. “Hey, what family you reporting about?”

  Wayne thought about his options at the moment but didn’t think another reporter would scoop his story, and Glen could help direct him to where they lived. Hopefully a little extra cash sent his way would make him keep his mouth shut, since he knew it would be better to meet the family and gain some knowledge before they knew he was here to report on them. People tended to guard the truth and refuse an interview, even with positive stories, when they didn’t know and trust the reporter. “Besslers. You know them?”

  “Of course! They’re something. Victor Bessler owns the old toy shop he inherited from his father, and Mrs. Bessler, well, she’s something else.” Glen looked mesmerized as he spoke, as if he had a crush on the woman. “She started a furniture-making business, and it’s really taking off with all the people trying to rebuild and wanting new things.”

  “She sounds industrious. Good for her.” Wayne wondered how her husband felt about his wife working and being so successful. Times had definitely changed. If Helen found a way to provide for her and her children, he wasn’t sure if he’d be proud and relieved or resentful. It was his job to provide for his brother’s family now that Tom wasn’t around, but he’d struggled to do so since his return from war.

  “You just missed her, by the way. She came to the station to pick up a woman who’s going to be a full-time nanny.” Glen smiled. “She was pretty, too.”

  Was Mrs. Bessler the one who collected Shirley and Beth Stephens from the train station, or was he looking for a connection that wasn’t there? “Sounds like you want to find yourself a girlfriend.”

  “No.” Glen shook his head, his overgrown hair flopping over his eyes. “Too many women, not enough men. I’m thinking about enjoying life like your soldier told you to do.”

  Wayne laughed. “I’m not sure that’s what he meant, but you’re young, so figure out your way in life before you have the responsibility of a wife and child. Of course, what do I know, since I plan on remaining a bachelor for life.”

  “There’s the town ahead. I’ll take you to the house to see if Mrs. Slaughter has a room. If she does, then you can walk to the Besslers’ from there. You can walk anywhere you want around here. Weather has been decent since the big snowstorm in December, but we usually get another one around now or in February. Guess you’re used to the winter stuff though, since you’re from Detroit.”

  “I think I’ll manage, but thanks for the information.” Wayne pulled out some cash and handed Glen some. “And if I need some more information?”

  Glen lit up. “I’m your man. I know all the goings-on around here. ’Cause of my job, I even know who’s comin’ and whose goin’.”

  The truck rolled to a stop in the center of a charming little town. It was something you’d see on a postcard. A general store, the Maple Diner, courthouse with a clock tower, fabric store, and Bessler’s Toy Shop.

  “Are there many other nearby towns to the bus station?” Wayne asked.

  “A couple. Creekside and Riverbend, but Sugar Maple is the closest. Come on, I’ll show you to Mrs. Slaughter’s place.” Glen snagged Wayne’s suitcase as if he were still doing his porter duties. “That’s the general store. There was a rift between Mr. Mason and Victor, but this last Christmas, Victor’s son Davey saved Mr. Mason’s daughter Melba from freezing to death so all is forgiven now.”

  “Sounds like Davey’s a special kind of kid.” Wayne had tried to dig up some information on the children, but there was little known about them. “Can you tell me anything else about the children and the Besslers?”

  Glen pointed down a side street. “Sure, um, well, oh, I know. This mean lady from Memphis came and tried to take the younger children. I’m not supposed to talk about it because the Besslers are still working on adopting the kids, but this lady tries to charge people to get children. The sheriff says he thinks it’s a money-making scam and has notified authorities in Memphis, but he says they’re all paid by this woman, Mrs. Tann.”

  “That’s terrible.” That sounded more like a scoop, but would his boss approve the drama or did he only want the happily ever after part of the story?

  “Yeah, he says he told the people in Nashville and then up the chain, but don’t know what’s going on with that.”

  Wayne spotted the row of houses only steps away, so he tried to nudge Glen in another direction. “Are the kids happy and safe at the Besslers?”

  “Yeah. Town says she can’t have children of her own. Well, she can have them in her belly, but then they get lost.”

  “She’s had miscarriages.”

  “Yeah, that’s the term.” Glen lifted Wayne’s suitcase toward a well-kept house on the right. “That’s where the Besslers live.”

  Wayne wanted to catch a glimpse of someone since a truck was parked outside, but he only saw movement and light beyond the drawn curtains.

  “Up here’s where you’ll stay.” Glen held the suitcase up to the left.

  “Great. You were right about walking everywhere.” Wayne glanced over his shoulder back at the Bessler place, but still no sightings of kids or parents. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t tell anyone I’m here to write an article yet. I need to get approval from the Besslers before I start, and I’d like to propose the idea to them personally.”

  “I can keep a secret.” He saluted. “This here is Mrs. Slaughter’s place. I’ll introduce you.” Glen guided Wayne up the front walk of the stone and wood two-story home that looked like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to be Tudor or farmhouse. Either way, it looked friendly and warm. And after such a long journey where he felt responsible for a woman and her baby, he was ready to rest.

  Glen opened the door as if he lived there. “Mrs. Slaughter, I have a person here who wants to board if you’ve got room.”

  A lovely woman who was probably only ten years older than he was, maybe thirty-five, wiped her hands on her apron and entered
the foyer. “Yes, sir. I do. Welcome, Mr…?”

  “Wayne Bishop.” He removed his hat and held it to his chest. “This is good news. I’ve been traveling for a few days, and I was looking forward to some rest.”

  “Glen, take his bag to my best room, upstairs and at the end of the hall on the left.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Glen darted up to the second floor, and Mrs. Slaughter ushered Wayne into the kitchen.

  “Please, have a seat. You must be starving.” The woman pulled a tray of biscuits from the oven and filled the air with a delicious buttery aroma. Apparently his stomach could smell, because it growled embarrassingly loudly.

  “I hope you like stew and bread. It’s what I make when I’m not sure if I’ll have any boarders or not. Tomorrow morning, though, you’ll wake up to fresh eggs, bacon, fruit, and coffee. If that’s to your liking.”

  “It’s perfect, thank you.” Wayne didn’t wait a heartbeat to try the stew when it was placed in front of him. The hearty, savory aroma was nothing compared to the flavor of fresh spices and tomato. “You’re an excellent cook, ma’am.” The word ma’am was a foreign term to his northern roots, but he’d been told it was expected out of respect to people.

  “I’m so glad you like it. Seven okay for breakfast in the morning? I’m afraid I need to run up to the Besslers by 7:30. I told Rosie I would help get the kids off to school since she’s on an out-of-town delivery. Vic tries, but he’s not a good cook.”

  “So Mr. Bessler will be home then?”

  “Yes, of course. They’re good parents.” Mrs. Slaughter looked at him suspiciously, so he thought fast. He wasn’t ready for anyone to know why he was here yet, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. “If it would be okay, could I walk down with you? To introduce myself, of course. I wouldn’t want them to see a strange person walking around in such a small town.”

  She relaxed and smiled. “I’m sure they’d love to meet you. Finish your stew, and you can get cleaned up and to bed early. I don’t want any of my guests getting sick on my watch.”

  He cherished each bite but soon found his bowl and bread plate empty. He devoured every crumb as if he’d not eaten for days. He hadn’t, except for the two lunch stops and a few breaks along the route. Mrs. Stephens had even less. Perhaps Mrs. Slaughter would know about her.

  Once he finished and Glen left after promising once more to keep Wayne’s secret about the article he’d be writing, Wayne cleared his plate.

  Mrs. Slaughter snagged it from him before he could reach the sink. “I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here.”

  Wayne wasn’t used to such hospitality. He’d always done for everyone else in his life. He thought again about the poor woman on the bus and worried for her. He wouldn’t like Helen traveling all that way alone. “Do you by any chance know a Mrs. Stephens?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Oh, wait.” Mrs. Slaughter tapped her lips. “She might be the new nanny Vic and Rosie hired. I’ve been helping out with the kids when I can, as has the rest of the town, but there’re five of them and Rosie is awful busy with her new business. The nanny should arrive any day now I think. I’ll be glad. Not that I mind helping, but I could use some extra time to work around here.”

  The information led him to believe that Mrs. Stephens was indeed picked up by Mrs. Bessler from the station, but why would Mrs. Stephens travel all this way alone? Perhaps her husband would be following later.

  “Sad thing, what happened to Mrs. Stephens’ husband. But I guess none of us have escaped the horrors of that blasted war. I know I didn’t. After twenty years of marriage, I found myself alone again.”

  “Twenty years? You don’t look old enough.”

  “You’re too kind.” Mrs. Slaughter sighed. “I hope to help her any way I can since we both suffered the same fate. I’ve considered selling this place and moving near my daughter, but she’s married with her own life.”

  Wayne thought about the poor, innocent, sweet woman on the bus with her young child. She could’ve been his sister-in-law. He only wished he could do something to help all these women who had lost their husbands. Life would be difficult for them. But what could a man who never stayed in one place more than a week do? A man who didn’t believe in choosing to have a family. Not when they were always torn apart.

  There was a dull ache in his chest that he rubbed out. He was here to get a story, not help every woman who reminded him of his brother’s wife. He already had one woman and her children to take care of. He didn’t need more.

  Chapter Three

  The Bessler home was simple but happy. Shirley eyed the couch by the warm fire, remembering her childhood snuggled with her sister near the oversized hearth full of tall flames with servants nearby providing hot chocolate. Her sister had married well and enjoyed a life of luxury, yet Shirley didn’t envy her. Not with the price being freedom.

  “I know it isn’t much,” Rosie said in a shy tone. “But it’s loving.”

  Shirley kissed Beth’s forehead and held her tight in her arms. “Your home is perfect. Thank you for welcoming us to it.”

  Children flooded in from the back door with puffy hats and tiny boots. “Mama, you’re home. You’re home!” Four little ones raced over and formed a hug circle around Rosie.

  “Hi! I want you to meet Mrs. Stephens. She’s going to be with you when I can’t.”

  “Told ya we don’t need no babysitter. Been on streets so we can take care of ourselves.” A little man with a big attitude ripped off his hat and sulked by the fire.

  “You must be Davey.” Shirley shifted Beth into one arm and held out her hand, which Davey shook begrudgingly. “I heard that you’re the one who knows everything about everything. I’m hoping you’ll help me with the others. It’s obvious you don’t need me.”

  “Darn right.” He turned, but not quick enough to hide his smile.

  Shirley’s sister always told her how she could read what people wanted and tell them what they wanted to hear. A gift for a socialite wanting to climb the ranks.

  Apparently Rosie approved of Shirley’s interaction, because she nodded at her before Rosie turned the kids around by their heads one by one. “This is Betty, Reggie, Eva, and Gina. And you already met Davey.”

  Gina put a hand next to her mouth and said in a whisper, “He’s stubborn.”

  “Then we’ll get along well. I tend to be set in my ways a bit at times. All that means is that we’re organized and reliable, right, Davey?”

  “Right.” Davey lifted his chin and offered a funny, old man–looking grin. That boy was beyond his years. “Let me get your bag for ya.” He took her suitcase and headed to a hallway, mumbling, “Could’ve had my own room if you let me care for the babies, though. Never had my own room before.”

  Shirley felt a little ashamed for taking his room, but if he only knew how badly she needed it, he wouldn’t complain. As much as she guessed he needed it last year. “Thank you,” she called after Davey.

  The eldest-looking girl, Betty, approached with arms outstretched. “Can I play with her? She’s two, right?”

  “Yes.” Shirley didn’t have a choice but to pass Beth down to the floor because she was off and running. The kids followed behind, laughing.

  “Please, have a seat and relax. I’ll get dinner on the table.” Rosie, who apparently was made of more energy than etiquette, raced into the kitchen, leaving Shirley behind. She wasn’t sure where her place was. There obviously weren’t servant quarters, but the main area was for the family. At a loss of how to behave, she removed her coat, hung it on the rack, and headed to the kitchen.

  “Let me help you with that.”

  “No worries. It’s a casserole that the amazing Mrs. Slaughter made for us earlier. She didn’t know you’d be arriving today, but it’s for the best since I’d like you to get a good night’s sleep before you have to start working. I’m sure traveling all that way with a two-year-old wasn’t easy.”

  Shirley couldn’t argue with that. “Maybe
I should check on Beth.”

  “No need. Davey’s with them. He’s more parent than I am at times.” Rosie opened the oven and pulled out something that smelled amazing.

  “Can I set the table for you?”

  “That’d be a great help, thank you. Silverware is over in that drawer.” Rosie pointed.

  Shirley removed the salad forks, regular forks, dessert spoons, and knives and then went to work setting the seven places at the table. She measured the distance from the plate and made sure everything was in the proper spot before she returned to the kitchen. “Would you like me to set out water glasses or wine glasses for you and Mr. Bessler?”

  “We’ll probably have milk like the kids. Cups are over by the refrigerator. Plates are in the cabinet next to that.” Rosie placed two trivets on the counter.

  Shirley set out the cups and plates and then returned to the kitchen. “I’ll tell the children wash up and bring them to the table.”

  Rosie leaned out of the kitchen into the living room and yelled, “Time for dinner. Wash up and get to the table.”

  An eruption of complaints was followed by the sound of little feet running down the hallway and to the table, telling Shirley they listened and obeyed well.

  “Who we havin’ for dinner tonight? The queen?” Davey called from the dining area.

  Rosie grabbed the trivets and headed for the table. “Oh my, that is an elegant set-up, isn’t it? I’m not sure which fork to use.”

  Shirley blinked at the table. She’d made a mistake. No, she knew how to eat from a proper table. It might have been her first time setting one, but not her first time at a dinner. “I apologize if I’ve done something wrong.”

  “Wrong? No. It’s perfect. I don’t think the kids are ready for that, though. We’re working on getting them to used one fork after being on the streets so long. You’re marvelous. I hope you can get them to eat like proper ladies and gentlemen. I’ve failed with that skill miserably over the last few months.” Rosie tapped Betty, who held Beth in her arms, on the nose.