If You Keep Me

Ciara Knight

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Recipe

Readers Guide

IF YOU LOVE ME

Also by Ciara Knight

About the Author

Chapter One

Rosie Bessler slid her old white slip over her head and eyed the new dress she’d made, which was hanging on the bathroom door. One she hoped would get Victor’s attention. It had been a week since he’d returned from Germany, and a peck to the forehead or a squeeze of a hand was the only attention she’d managed to provoke. Yes, they were strangers, not the same as they were when they married as Victor had pointed out, but they’d once shared a great love. Years ago, before the war. Had too much time passed for them to find their love again?

She pushed bad thoughts from her mind before they could take hold about how ex-soldiers had trouble adjusting to home life and it was her duty to make it as easy as possible, and her nerves jolted her insides with excitement. She donned her dress, buttoned the front, adjusted the wide shoulders, and cinched the belt around her waist, careful to snug the sleeves to cover her wrists. A simple cotton dress in navy, but it was flattering. There’d been a time when it would’ve taken less than a new dress to get Victor’s attention.

She retrieved her wet nylon device to draw on her faux stockings she’d made out of an old screwdriver and a bicycle clip and then sat in the rickety wooden chair in the corner. Despite shaking hands, she managed to draw the eyebrow pencil up the back of her leg and then to the other leg.

After a deep breath and a scan in the oval mirror over her dresser, she let her gaze drift down to their wedding picture. Five years hadn’t changed them too much, except for Vic’s limp and sadness that flickered in his eyes most days. But she hadn’t developed any deep wrinkles on her face, sagging skin, or any of that. She didn’t look like a child anymore as she had on their wedding day, though. Despite Victor’s lack of interest, many men still looked her way on the streets, even in the small town of Sugar Maple.

With the bed made and Victor gone to the shop already to work, she checked that the dishes were done, surfaces wiped clean, and their humble house tidied. How things had changed. Only weeks earlier, the house was left in semi-clean state because she’d been the one working on carving toys, opening the shop, and even staying to closing time, not to mention starting her own business making furniture. Now her duty was to be a supportive wife. She only hoped she remembered how to fill that role.

It was almost a shame she had to put on her old coat and cover the dress, but she’d remove it in a grand Ingrid Bergman fashion. She slid on her good, brown and tan lace-up oxfords, her hat, and then set off on her jaunt to the shop.

On her walk, she scanned the once vibrant area that had fallen into disrepair. At the end of the street, where the town square began, there was new life, though. Two men worked on removing boards from the old diner. Perhaps it would be open soon. Now that the war was over, certainly life could finally begin again. That was what December was all about—hope, celebration, and the spirit of Christmas.

The hint of bitterness in the air invigorated Rosie’s steps, and she picked up her speed, passing the general store. A tiny decorated Christmas tree, the first sign of the season, sat in the front window. Perhaps they should decorate the shop and their home. It had been years since she’d bothered, but there was a lot to be thankful for this season.

She matched her pace with the beat of the hammering and smiled at Mrs. Hutchins, who still wore her war helmet. The woman was always sure the Nazis would take over Sugar Maple. A slouched woman of advanced years, she spoke mightily, and Rosie bet on her if the Germans ever did arrive. Which, thank goodness, they never had.

Mrs. Slaughter, the woman who’d lost her husband on the beach at Normandy, stood outside the old soda shop with Miss Alberts. Mrs. Slaughter only lived across the street from their humble home, and they had occasion to see one another, but they hadn’t sat down for tea together since the war broke out. How Rosie missed simpler times.

At the door to the shop, she spied Victor through the window. He sat hunched over a toy he worked on, but she couldn’t make out what it was. She took a second to see the man, her husband. The one who she’d doubted at one point would ever return from the war, especially when years had passed with no communication. He’d never give details but would only say that he was beyond the reach of mail and humanity. The tone of his voice whenever he even spoke about the war sent a shiver through her that threatened panic.

Handsome, strong, sweet, tender, and dark was the man who’d returned. They’d make their marriage work though. They needed to. They were all they had left in the world, with Vic’s father dying in the Great War and his mother of heart failure while he was away, not to mention both her parents passing. A drizzle of grief heated her skin, but she pushed the bad memories away to make room for new, happy ones.

She blinked and watched him work for a few more moments, savoring the sight. If only he wanted her with the passion they’d once shared. He needed to believe that they truly belonged together once again. If he couldn’t see that on his own, she’d make him.

With a deep breath of courage, she swung the door open with the bell announcing her arrival, but he didn’t look up. That was okay. It gave her a chance to remove her coat and hat, straighten her belt, and saunter like a lady into the center of the room. “Good morning, my love.”

She waited one, two, three heartbeats. He placed his chisel down and turned to face her. When he stood to his full height, it was several inches taller than her, even with her small heels. The man still stole her breath when he stood close to her. He was the man she had waited years for, her husband who had arrived home to her, the person she’d been granted the gift to grow old with.

He approached, causing her hands to tremble, but she forced herself not to fidget. It felt like their wedding day, full of wonder and excitement.

He slid his hand over her elbow, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. She reached for him, but he took her hands and clutched them, kissing each before retreating.

No. No. No. “Enough.” Her words were not ladylike, the kind that should spill from the mouth of a devoted wife. It was carnal, mad, frustrated.

He stopped short of his work stool and pressed his palms to the hardwood table, head down like a scolded dog. “Don’t,” he said, strangled, desperate.

She forced a softness to her words, remembering her place in the world and the hope of a future for him. “Please, we need to talk.”

“No,” he said with authority but didn’t look at her.

She stepped closer. “Returning to this town after what you’ve been through must be difficult. I’m not the naïve little girl you married; I understand things now. You can talk to me; we can work through things together. Trust me that I can handle your burdens.”

“I’m here. Isn’t that enough?” He dared a glance her way, his eyes bloodshot, his forehead crinkled. The man hadn’t slept since he’d returned. Not that she’d know for sure since he insisted on remaining in the guest room.

Guilt plagued her. How could she want more than him by her side, alive? “Having you here is everything. I prayed for your return every hour of every day.”

A small smile fought at the corner of his lips, but not hard enough because it fell to a frown once more. “Then we’re good.” He chuckled, a nervous laugh. “Speaking of good… What’s this, and why are we selling it?” He brushed past her without a look, not even a glance at her new dress.

She fisted her hands and fought not to stomp her heel. An air of agitation took hold, but she knew it wasn’t fair. She was being selfish and pathetic. He was right. The world was right. She had to readjust to this new normal. The Sugar Maple clock tower chimed eight, so she walked over to the front door—which allowed her a few seconds to calm herself—to flip the sign to open and stood next to the front display. “It’s called a slinky. It’s all the rage this year. I’ve already sold a few.”

“This thing?” Victor picked it up as if lifting a dead mouse by its tail. It slunk down to his knees and didn’t retract the way it should.

“Here, like this.” She placed each end in one hand and then did the up and down movement to make it go.

“I still don’t see the appeal.” He scratched his dark brow.

She giggled; the little thing always made her smile. “Here, watch this.” She placed it on top of a box and then moved a wooden block underneath it. “It moves like a worm.” With her fingers, she nudged one end over so it walked down until it reached the table. “See?”

He shrugged. “I guess. Why do they call it a slinky?”

“Because that’s what it does. It slinks.” Realizing Victor would never move beyond his family heritage of wooden blocks and hand-carved toys, she put the thing in the front window, where a young boy pressed his nose to the glass, eyeing the metal lump with wide-eyed wonder. “See, look?”

He followed where she pointed to the young boy outside, who popped up and ran. “Well, he was excited about it. All the kids are. It’s going to be our biggest seller this Christmas. That’s if anyone can afford to buy any toys.”

“We better hope they do, if we want to keep the business open.” Without another glance her way, he returned to his work and ignored her once again.

Was now the time to tell him that her furniture business made more in a week than the toy shop in a month? She clutched the article in her pocket she’d cut from the paper about a woman’s role with her husband returning and mumbled, “It’s your duty to return to assisting and caring for your husband as he returns from the war.”

“What’s that?” Victor asked but didn’t pause his attention on the tiny star he carved to look like a sheriff badge.

“Furniture.” She let go of the paper. “The furniture I’ve been making in the back room has provided extra income while the shop has been slow.”

He smiled, stood, and took her in his arms, if only briefly. “My Rosie. You have done well. No man could be prouder of his wife.”

Rosie saw the man she’d fallen in love with. The one who saw only her gifts but never her faults, and she warmed even more to the man who stood before her. A man she knew was and always would be her only love in this life.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to work so hard.” He stepped away from her, returning the distance between them. “You can rest now. I’m home. No need for you to work so hard anymore.”

But she wanted to work. She preferred creating things over cleaning them, but now wasn’t the time to get into all of that. Especially when she wanted to return things to the way they once were. If not working meant she could have her husband by her side and in her bed, she’d give it up.

Vic returned to his work but asked, “What are you in such deep thought about?”

“Nothing.” She smoothed out the front of her dress and grabbed her store apron. “No. I mean, there is something.” Before she covered her efforts, she was going to make sure he saw them, so she marched over to him, her wide heels clunking against the floor, sliding in the half-inch-thick sawdust. “I worked day and night to make this new dress so that I would look nice for you. I took extra care with my makeup and hair. Tell me, am I invisible?”

“What?” He set the star on the table and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time since he’d returned home. His expression turned from distant to wanting. The hungry look he had on their wedding night that made her tremble at the thought of his desire. And as fast as it had appeared, it was gone and so was he, back to work.

“Am I ugly?” she asked, raising her voice above the octave a lady should speak.

“No.” He closed his eyes and his hands gripped the chisel so tight she could see the white appear around his knuckles. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed more than spoke.

“I can’t be,” she whispered and then turned away from him and all hope he’d ever notice her again.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He hobbled to her side, abandoning his cane but grabbing the wall instead of her for support. “You must know that. Rosie Bessler, you’re my everything. The reason I open my eyes in the morning, the reason I come to work, the reason I made it through that blasted war, the reason I live.” His breaths were short and tight, his gaze wild. He squeezed her arms as if willing her to hear his words.

“How could I know that when you keep your distance?” she whispered, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

“We need time. That’s all.” He kissed her, sweet and brief, at the corner of her mouth.

“How much time?”

He withdrew and balanced himself with one hand on the top of the workbench. “Time to heal, to get to know each other again.”

She rounded on him, blocking him from hobbling off the way he did every other time she broached the subject of intimacy. “Heal?”

“Yes,” he grumbled and then returned to his stool.

A car drove by with a backfire, and the hammering continued outside, competing with her pulse drumming in her neck. Was there more to his distance than just needing time to get to know each other again? The way he struggled to be near her made her think there had to be another reason. “I knew you were injured, but you’ve not spoken about it, and I haven’t pressed you for answers. Your leg. You walk with a limp, but…but is there more damage? Are you afraid or unable to—”

“No.” He bolted up and shot for the back door, but she wouldn’t let him escape. Not this time. “Tell me. Why won’t you touch me? Kiss me? Make love to me? Are you struggling with the memories from war? If so, talk to me. I’m not that fragile. I promise I can handle the weight of your grief. All you have to do is share it.”

“I can’t.” He swallowed so loud it sounded like a sandbag piled on the sidewalk preparing for an invasion.

“Yes, you can. I’m your wife.” She clung to him. “Tell me. I can handle it. I can handle anything if it helps lift the burden from you.” She kissed his cheek, his nose, his chin, and lingered by his lips.

The simple touch of his thumb over her wrist sent tingles through her awakened body. “Rosie,” he said in a gravelly tone. “You can’t. And I can’t touch you.”

“Why?”

He flipped her hand over and lifted her sleeve. “Because of this.”

The scar. Her self-inflicted scar shone like a red beacon of loss in the night. “How did you know? When?”

“I knew before I ever arrived home that something was wrong. You can’t hide from me, Rosie. I see you. I’ve always seen you. New dress or not, makeup and hair done or not. You are and forever will be the love of my life, and that’s why I can’t touch you. That’s why no matter how much I want to exercise my husbandly rights, I’ll never make love to you again.”

Chapter Two

The sight of the raised pink skin racing up Rosie’s arm gutted him. Out of all the people in the world he’d lost, he couldn’t lose her. He held her at a distance, not trusting himself to control his passion. “I won’t put you through the loss of a baby again.” He slipped away from her. His stomach churned like he still rode that blasted steamer ship across the Atlantic to war.

“Please,” she pleaded for a past life he couldn’t give her. “It was more than that. Forgive me, but I’d not only lost a baby but a husband too in only weeks. I was alone. I was young. I was lost.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.” He dared to brush the dark hair from her beautiful, forlorn green eyes. “Especially because I wasn’t here to support you. Losing three babies in a year was too much.”

“I’ll be stronger this time.”

He pressed two fingers to her lips, unable to hear another word. “You know, many men were injured in war, sent away and returned with scars like this one.” With a firm grip so she wouldn’t hide the pain from him anymore, he lifted her wrist to his lips and kissed the blemish of lost hopes and dreams. “Only to be sent back to the front line and killed. You see, you’re stitched up and alive. I’m not sending you back to battle another loss.” He slipped away, leaving her with mouth open and tears streaming down her face, but he couldn’t comfort her. Not when he wanted to take her in his arms and show her how much he missed her. How much—God forgive him—he still longed for a child of his own.

Without another word, he bolted out of the store to take a walk. The chill slapped him in the face with the realization winter was coming. At least this winter he’d be home near a fire, comfortable and warm. No more soggy trenches that smelled of waste, gunpowder, and death.

The uneven sidewalk proved difficult for his bad leg, but he’d improved. Each day he grew stronger. Although he could still see each of his ribs, his stomach was no longer sunken in, and his biceps were filling out. By the end of the street, his thigh cramped, but he wouldn’t stop. Women in pants he remembered as Mrs. Slaughter and Miss Alberts worked on the old soda fountain storefront, and an elder gentleman, Mr. Mesa, sat in a chair outside yelling orders up to some workers fixing the courthouse clock tower.

Vic turned down the alleyway behind the shops and found kids rummaging through garbage the way he’d seen many do in the war-torn European streets he’d left behind. The last thing he needed to do was try to save another child. That never ended well.

“Scram!” He waved his hands, and the kids scattered, all but the one young boy he’d seen outside the toy shop daily since Vic had returned to town.

The boy straightened his torn jacket and lifted his chin. “Why? We not doing nothing.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I don’t want you kids hanging out back here. It isn’t safe.”

“Why it isn’t safe?” His tiny nose scrunched. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned his hips forward and then swayed back like a little man.

Vic rubbed his forehead and adjusted his hat back into place. “Because there’re boards and sharp stuff back here from the repairs being done.”

“Where we gonna get our scraps from, then?” The boy pointed at the back door to the shop. “Your missus gives us food when she can. If she ain’t gonna do that no more, we gonna starve.”

Rosie had been feeding these children. Why? He couldn’t allow these kids to cause her undue stress, not when she was calm and home without medicine for her anxious disposition she’d suffered since the second baby was lost to them.

“How old are you, boy?” Vic wanted to chase the boy off before he could do harm to his Rosie, but he didn’t like the thought of leaving another child out in the cold. So many had lived like that for too long.

“I’m all grown up and take care of myself. I’m ten.” He fisted his hands by his side like he’d duke it out to prove it.

The boy was malnourished and small. He wanted to say it was a lie, that he couldn’t be more than eight, but decided not to challenge him. “Settle down. I’m not judging you. I want to help.” Vic eyed the back door, struggling between allowing Rosie to continue feeding these children or sending them away. Perhaps this could give her something to concentrate on beyond her desire to try for another baby. She’d wanted a child so badly once it had nearly cost her her life. Perhaps this kid being around could be a distraction for a while. One that didn’t carry the weight of your own flesh and blood if lost. “What’s your name?”

“Davey.”

“Got a last name?”

“Yep.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t know.”

Vic assessed the boy’s honesty. He was scruffy and ready for a fight but had a softness to his eyes that peered from under his cap. Not a surprise, since Vic guessed the boy had had to fight for everything in his life since he was able to crawl. “Where do you live?”

“Under a roof,” Davey said with fear in his voice.

That’s when Vic realized the poor boy was probably on his own and too scared to admit it, with all the rumors of children thrown into worse conditions than the streets due to overcrowding of orphanages since the war took so many parents.

“Hungry?”

Davey’s bottom lip overcame his top in an I-don’t-want-to-admit-I’m-starving grimace. “Can always eat.”

“Tell you what. Meet me at the front of the shop at noon, and we’ll head to my house for lunch. Mrs. Bessler should have it on the table, and we’re happy to share.”

“What do you want in return? I don’t take no handouts.”

He scanned the scrawny little man who obviously knew more of the world than merited his age. “What can you do?”

“Everything. I’m strong, smart and, as my granny says, sassy enough to stay alive.”

“Sounds like a good grandmother.” Vic noticed a flash of pain that made him question if Davey’s grandmother even still lived. “Tell me, what did you used to do for food with Mrs. Bessler?”

“Clean stuff. Help in the store.”

“Tell you what… You sweep up my work area and you get some lunch.”

Davey didn’t wait for any more instructions. He hiked up his oversized pants and went to work. The boy worked harder than most men, and when he finished there wasn’t a bit of sawdust or wood shavings beneath Vic’s feet.

The clock in the square struck twelve times, telling Vic that Mr. Mesa’s instructions must’ve expedited the repair.

Davey set the broom in the corner. “I’ll wait here if you bring me the food.”

Vic retrieved his hat and coat and opened the front door. “No, you’ll come with me. My wife loves kids—”

“I ain’t no kid. I’m a man.” Davey pushed his shoulders back until Vic thought his shoulder blades must’ve overlapped.

“Yes, of course. Still, she’d love to have you eat with us.”

Davey shifted between his feet. “Don’t think so, sir. Mrs. B don’t let no kids around her no more after what happened.”

Vic eyed the street outside and then looked to Davey, who didn’t budge. “What happened?”

Certainly the boy didn’t know about her miscarriages and her attempt at ending her own life. Unless small-town gossip reached the ears of the young and misfortunate. His gut wrenched at even the thought of how alone and abandoned she must’ve felt during that time.

“You don’t know? Her own husband?” Davey removed his cap and scratched his head. A little black bug moved between his fingers. They’d battled lice as often as the enemy. The eggs laid in seams of clothing, only to hatch and infest the trenches. “She done lose a street kid. The girl died while your misses cared for her. Wasn’t her fault none, but she don’t let no kids ’round her since. Disappeared for a week after, and when she returned, she locked her door and shut the curtains. No one saw her for weeks. When I came ’round to offer help at the store, she shooed me out and told me never to return. She didn’t need no street rats coming ’round no more. But she still put food in the alley for us.”

Vic’s insides clenched tight. So much loss, and his beloved had been alone. Too alone. He’d be here for her now, and he wouldn’t let anything else happen to her. He had and always would love Rosie. There had to be a way for them to be happy without risking her in childbirth again. No matter how much he wanted a baby, he wanted Rosie more.

Chapter Three

Rosie sanded the rough edges along the corners of a chair, the one that was due to be delivered in two days. The cool air brought the smell of burned trash into the field behind their home that led to the mountains. Smoke drifted into the side of a ridge and broke apart. She worked with all the attention and strength she could muster since she’d been delayed with the attempt to be a good wife. Not to mention the time she’d wasted making a new dress that didn’t help get her husband’s attention. She’d done everything the article had said to help him reintegrate into home and married life, but it took two and he wasn’t interested. It was time for her to focus on survival again, and that meant with no business at the store, their only real income had been her branching out into furniture. A more lucrative endeavor with all the post-war rebuilding. Not that it paid all the bills, but it allowed enough for food and most essentials. A fact Vic said he appreciated. Yet, in the next sentence, he urged her to return to an easier life.

Footsteps sounded inside, and then the back door opened. “What are you doing out here? It’s cold and you don’t have your coat on.”

“I can’t work constricted by the fabric; besides, I don’t want to damage my good coat or get it dirty.” She continued sanding. “Your lunch is on the table.”

“Aren’t you going to join me?” Vic asked in a hesitant tone.

“I’m not hungry.” She knew she should spend time with him and appreciate every minute, but the way he’d looked at her as damaged goods still stung. How could he love her if she couldn’t give him a child?

Footsteps drew closer, but he didn’t touch her or kiss her, despite her body craving him. “Your project can wait; you need to take care of yourself. Come eat something.”

She snapped easier than a dry, brittle trim piece. “Project?” she shrieked more than spoke. “This project, as you say, has kept me alive while you were gone. You went to war, and I don’t belittle what you faced.” She tossed down the sandpaper and rolled up her sleeves, feeling the heat of her bitterness rise from within her. “Everyone says I need to return to being a good wife. I need to focus on cooking, and cleaning, and doting on my husband while he reintegrates into his former life. As a wife I should take on the responsibility of helping you through the anger, anguish, anxiety that you brought home from the horrors you endured. Have I not done this?”

Vic took a step back, as if he feared her more than a soldier with a gun. “Yes, you’ve been perfect, my love.” He spoke softly in a way that always had her falling into his arms, but not this time.

“Then allow me to return to my project. If I ever don’t provide you with what you need or want, please let me know. Since I’m not needed at the shop anymore and I have no trouble finishing my wifely duties while you’re there as the reintegration article says I should, then allow me to fill my time with something meaningful.”

He shook his head as if shaking off his fog of confusion. “This information you read… Did it state what a man should do to help his wife?”

“No,” she said in a tone so cold she hardly recognized the voice as her own.

For several heartbeats, they stood in silence, looking at each other as if for the first time. He was thinner than before, and part of her wanted to give in and join him for lunch to make sure he ate enough, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel the rejection of his distance since she knew he’d scoot away at the dining table.

He removed his hat and held it in front of himself the way he did when he was thinking carefully about his next words. “When I was sent away, I received a manual about certain things, but when I arrived, I realized that whoever wrote the rules of engagement and how to survive had indeed never experienced what we faced. I would endeavor to guess that whatever information you’ve received was written without actual knowledge of post-war marriage. Times have changed, and I had not realized how much until this moment.”

Rosie fought the shaking in her limbs, but it won, and she knew that Vic noticed because he moved closer, sending her into retreat with her back against the brick of the house.

He paused his approach and sighed. “Can we start again?”

She blinked up at him, trying to see what he meant. The fear in his eyes spoke of his thoughts moving to the memories of her anxious fits. Is that the only way he’d ever see her? Lost, broken, confused?

“We both were told things before I came home that stuck in our minds as the truth, but I’m quickly seeing there is no truth, only compromise and understanding.” He took her shaking hand and wouldn’t release it. A man who’d never even raised his voice or ordered her to do anything held tight and wouldn’t let her go. “Listen to me, my love. I can’t and won’t lose you again. Please, give me another chance.”

She fought to take her hand away before she devoured the feeling after a four-year starvation for physical contact. “I’m not the same girl you married. I’m not a porcelain trinket that will crush in your hands.”

“Rosie.” He brushed away hair that had fallen onto her face and cupped her cheek. “I know you’re strong. Anyone who has faced the loss you have would feel the same. You’re strong and independent, and I love you for that.” His thumb grazed the scar on her wrist, and she yanked her hand away.

“You don’t understand.”

“But I do. I’m sorry that I didn’t ask, but I want to know now. I want to know everything about what you went through while I was gone, beyond the letters that you wrote. The ones that you penned with the expressed purpose of keeping me focused on my job soldiering and on staying alive. I am home now, and you need to stop protecting me.” He brushed her arm and hooked one finger around hers. “My sweet, dearest love. I know about the child.”

His unbearably sympathetic look threaded pity under her skin, leaving a stinging itch she couldn’t scratch. “I told you that I’m stronger now. Another loss of a baby will not turn me from life.”

“Not that child. The one from the street. The little girl.”

His words choked her. Her body shook at the memories of the sweet, angelic Esther, who slipped from her arms in the dead of night. Before she knew what was happening, Vic had her in his arms, holding her as her body trembled, despite her will to be strong. It was her job, her duty to be the not-so-perfect wife he’d left behind. The innocent love from when they’d first met that he longed to return to with no drama or issues, before the babies, before the war, before Esther. But she’d failed. The same way she’d failed to protect Esther, who she’d sworn to care for almost four years ago. The same way she’d failed to give her husband a healthy baby. The same way she’d failed at being a good wife.

She was tired of failing. With her palm to his chest, she pushed free of her once rock of a husband and returned to work. “I’ll make soup and fresh bread for dinner. That should warm your bones after a long day.”

“Rosie.” He touched her lower back the way he did when he led her around at a dance in their past lives. She was done being led around.

“Don’t. You don’t want to make love to me, that’s fine. I’ll be a good wife in every other way.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said, but when she resumed her sanding, he backed away the same way he backed away every time she tried to show him affection. “Rosie, please. Don’t give up on us.” His forehead rested on her shoulder, and he slipped his arm around her waist.

“I won’t. I am and always will be your dutiful wife.” Her words provided more distance between them than the oceans during war time.

Chapter Four

Vic placed the food on the desk and settled Davey in to eat before he returned to working on a toy no one would probably buy this year. His wife was amazing with how she figured out how to keep everything going while he’d been away. Sure, she’d helped check customers out on occasion prior to him being deployed, but that was all the business knowledge she’d possessed before he’d abandoned her. He’d been a fool to question her decisions and to change things when he’d returned. He’d obviously made her mad, the way she tore out of the store earlier. She’d even changed into pants and covered her beautiful hair with a scarf. The dress she’d been wearing would’ve turned any man’s head. He’d wanted to close shop and take her home immediately, but that wasn’t what she needed.

He had no idea what she needed. That was the problem. He wanted to make her happy, to take care of her, but he wasn’t doing a great job so far. Love, safety, and understanding would carry them through the years. Intimacy was but one part, a forbidden part if he didn’t want to lose Rosie.

“Mrs. B bust your chops?” Davey grumbled through half-chewed food.

Vic glanced over at him, noticing the kid had taken an eighth of the food and separated it out and then left the rest. “No. I’m working.”

“You haves to hold something in your hand to work.” He finished eating, shoved the remaining food in the bag, and then shot out the rear door. “Be back.”

Welcoming the excuse not to discuss his marital issues with a child, Vic settled into work for about twenty minutes before the front door opened and in stepped the owner of the grocery store adjacent to his shop, Mr. Mason. “Did I see that child in here today? I know you’ve been away, so you might not know, but those street kids are nothing but trouble. They stole from my store and tried to influence my daughter.”

“Davey?” Vic stood, holding himself steady with the edge of the workbench. “He’s been nothing but helpful.”

“Mark my words, he’s trouble. You best be careful… He’ll steal from you, break your toys, and set fire to this place the way they tried to set fire to mine.”

“They set a fire inside your store?” Vic felt a pinch of apprehension at such information. He’d liked Davey and thought he was a good child who required a little guidance but wasn’t dangerous.

“Behind my store. They put a bunch of trash in a can and set it on fire.”

“So, they didn’t set fire to your store. They made a fire behind it?”

“Well, yes, but…” Mr. Mason huffed, his face turning Santa-Claus-suit red. “I’ve done my civic duty by warning you. If anything happens to that wife of yours, that’s on you.” He pushed the front door open hard enough that it hit the wall and bounced closed.

Vic returned to work, but the man’s words were like vinegar on his soul: sour and acidic. Not that Vic had known Davey for long, but he believed the boy was scrappy but kindhearted. Or was Vic seeing what he wanted? Did this have more to do with all the children he couldn’t save who haunted his dreams and thoughts, or was it really about a child here at home who only needed a touch of understanding and care?

Davey returned empty-handed, except for the rag he took from the bucket in the back.

“What’re you doing?” Vic asked.

Davey did his look-like-a-man stretch and said, “I’m cleaning. Earning my keep.”

Vic set his chisel down and looked to the clean floor. The boy worked hard. Certainly that meant something. Perhaps he should just ask Davey his side of the story. “I need to ask you something.”

“What?” His brows narrowed with suspicion.

“Did you have anything to do with the fire at the grocery store?”

Davey ran a finger under his nose with a sniffle-snort sound. “Yeah, I started it.”

Vic sighed, unsure what to say to such an honest answer. “Tell me what happened. Why did you do it?”

“He said I set his place on fire, didn’t he?” Davey grabbed hold of his waistband and tugged his pants up higher with a crinkled nose. “He lies. No one believes us street kids, but we ain’t done nothin’ wrong. We made a fire in a trash can so we didn’t freeze last winter. He called The Buttons on us, so we scrammed.”

Relief flooded Vic. Perhaps he was being naïve because he liked Davey and Mr. Mason’s prickly nature added a sense of overreaction.

Davey wiped the front desk down, and Vic knew he needed to stop this before it got out of hand. “You’re a good worker, but I’m afraid I can’t hire you. Lunch was all I have to offer. In case you didn’t notice, there isn’t any business for toys right now.”

Davey didn’t pause or look up from his self-proclaimed job. “I work for food.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

Davey scanned the room as if looking for answers. “I won’t eat much, and I needs to learn a trade. You teach me, and I work.”

“I’m not going to take advantage of a young man who could be in school right now.” Vic studied the tiny man and wanted to give him the food off his own plate.

Davey swatted the air. “School’s for sissies. I need to earn my way.”

“Still can’t pay you, so that wouldn’t be earning your way.”

Davey shot to the front of the store and picked up the strange contraption that slinked or clunked or something like that. “Then I’ll work for one of these.”

Vic chuckled. The boy was full of determination and hope of a better life. An innocence Vic wished he himself still possessed, but war had ended his blind belief of a better tomorrow. “You like that thing?”

“You kidding? Mister, it’s the biggest invention since the atomic bomb.” Davey pushed it up and down between his hands, lighting up like a Christmas star.

Vic wanted to scold him for the insensitive comparison, but instead he walked over and looked down at the ragged, fleabag, lice-infested kid and thought he couldn’t possibly leave him to his own accord. He’d heed Mr. Mason’s warning, but he wouldn’t hold it against Davey. Rumors and accusations were not fact. Vic would form his own opinion about Davey while providing him with a chance in life. “Tell you what. You agree to learn to read and write, I’ll teach you how to carve toys. You’ll get food each day, and come Christmas, if you earn it by studying and working hard, you can have one of those things.”

“A slinky?” Davey smiled so wide Vic noticed the kid needed a toothbrush immediately.

“Yes.” Vic watched the kid’s mouth fall ajar as if he’d been given the keys to happiness.

“Tell you what,” Davey said, repeating Vic’s words. “You do that, I’ll even throw in some advice.” Davey set the slinky down on the display, climbed up onto a chair, and put his hand to Vic’s shoulder. “You need to woo that wife of yours, or she’s never gonna be happy. You got to give her a baby, too.”

Vic stepped away. “How’d you know about that?”

“Walls are thin and doors even thinner.” Davey pointed to the back of the shop. “That trash heap been good to us. We eat, take wood for fire, and listen to Mrs. B sing most days. But she ain’t sang since you returned. You need to make her sing again.”

He nodded his agreement but still narrowed his gaze at Davey. “If I’m going to let you work for me and learn, no more eavesdropping on me and Mrs. B. You got that?”

“I gots it.” Davey climbed down and headed to the desk, pulled out paper and pen, and set it down on the workbench. “Write a note to Mrs. B. Dames like poetry and stuff. You tell her how much you love her and show her. My granny always said words get you in the door, but actions build a warm fire on a cold night.”

“You had a wise granny.”

Davey stiffened. “I have. She still here. I’m no orphan.”

Vic knew the boy lied, but unless he wanted to turn him over to be shipped away to only God knew where, he needed to not ask too many questions. Vic had heard stories of overcrowded orphanages, abusive foster care, children placed without anyone knowing where they’d ended up. The systems in place were broken, and children paid the price. The war had left far too many children without parents or guardians. So he sat back and thought about what might make Rosie smile and sing again.

“What did you do when you were courting her?” Davey asked with a glint in his eyes. “Dames wanna feel special.”

Vic shrugged. “We’d go to the diner or a dance.”

“Well, that won’t work. Diner not open yet.” Davey bowed his head in defeat.

Vic thought back over the last few years and how he dreamed of a simpler life with his wife at home. The little man was right about one thing. Girls did like to feel special. Rosie deserved to feel special. That’s what was broken between them. In his attempt to control his passion, he’d kept his distance and made her feel like she wasn’t cherished. He needed to do something nice to show her how he felt about her. How he was the luckiest man on earth to have her as his wife, and how their home was the only place he wanted to be on Earth. “Wait. That’s it. If there isn’t anyplace I can take her right now, I’ll invent one.” He eyed the door and thought about his options. “I need your help, though. You in?”

“I’m in.” Davey shot his hand out, and Vic shook the tiny, dirty man-calloused fingers lost in his palm.

The sun began to dip below the old storefronts across the town square, so he knew he didn’t have much time. “Anywhere I can get flowers? A bottle of wine or anything else like that?”

“I’m on it. Flowers coming.” Davey hopped off the stool and raced out the front door. Vic didn’t care what Mr. Mason said. That kid was something special. All he wanted to do was make his own way in life and to feel important.

He’d go set Mr. Mason straight under the guise of looking for wine at his store. Wait, not wine. Instead, he’d recreate their first date at the soda fountain. He stood at the front door and looked out the window to see no customers in sight. With a heavy heart but a hope he hadn’t felt in a while, he closed up shop and raced to the general store before it closed.

“Hi, Mr. Bessler. What can I do for you?” Mr. Mason asked in a forced pleasant tone. His little girl hid behind him with golden Shirley Temple-style curls dusting her pink cheeks.

“I’m hoping that you might have some root beer and ice cream I can take with me,” Vic said, eyeing the shelves that had been restocked recently.

At the realization that he’d make a sale, the man’s toned changed to schmoozing. “You’re in luck. I’ve got Ma’s Root Beer and some Old Mill ice cream.” Mr. Mason pointed to the soda bottle on the shelf, and his little one skittered over, snagged it, and ran back behind Mr. Mason. The bottle appeared on the counter with a tiny hand that retreated quickly.

“I see you have a helper.”

“Yes, my little girl Melba is with me today. No school and all.”

“I’ve managed to inherit a helper of my own. I wanted you to know that I heard your warning, but I think there was a misunderstanding. The children were only attempting to stay warm and had no malicious intent with their fire. As a matter of fact, the sweet boy is out searching for some flowers for me. I’m not sure where he’ll find them, but knowing Davey, he’ll manage.”

The golden curls popped out along with two bright blue eyes. “Davey?” Melba asked with eyebrows raised and a bright smile.

“Yes, he’s going to apprentice with me next door while he learns some reading and writing.”

“You are too kind, sir.” Mr. Mason’s faux smile shook as if it were about to curl into a snarl. “I think you are making a mistake, though. Those street kids need some discipline and guidance now that their families are gone. I’ve attempted to help them by calling the authorities, but by the time they arrive, the kids are gone. I worry they’ll grow up to be miscreants.” He patted his little one’s head and scooted her behind him once more, as if to protect her from the bad boy Davey. “If you insist on allowing them around your shop, I would appreciate you keeping them contained on your premises and away from Melba. No daughter of mine will be associating with such riffraff.”

Vic’s temper sparked, but he managed to keep it at a simmer. “We all must do what we believe is best.”

“That’ll be twenty-five cents, sir,” Mr. Mason said in a calm manner that reminded Vic he was no longer around soldiers and it was time for him to work on his gruffness, so he forced a friendly smile despite the parting of money he shouldn’t be throwing away. No, this was an investment in his marriage, a luxury but also a necessity.

“Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant evening.” Vic tipped his hat to Mr. Mason and headed to the house, his belly churning with first-date jitters.

At the entrance to their home, he took a deep breath. This was the first time he’d looked forward to anything in almost four years, excluding his ideal of returning home. Thank the dear Lord the war had ended, although the ghosts of his lost brothers and his full mobility would forever haunt him. He couldn’t surrender to the madness. Not when there was a life with his beautiful Rosie.

“Got ’em.” Davey’s breath heaved between words. “They pretty enough to win Mrs. B back to you, I’m sure of it.”

Davey bent over, one hand on his knee and the other outstretched with wildflowers. Beautiful yellow, lavender, and white blooms with slightly wilted stalks were scrunched together in his grip.

“How did you find these? It’s winter.”

“Best you not ask,” Davey said with a mischievous, cherry-cheeked grin. If the boy washed up, he’d be an adorable little man with his dimples and bright eyes. Something told him little Melba already saw past his dirt, grime, and lice.

“Understood.” He should reprimand Davey, but he was doing what he could to survive. No different than men at war. “Thank you, sir. I have one more job for you.”

“What’s that, Mr. B?”

Vic removed the invitation he’d written on the piece of paper and handed it to Davey. “Wait a minute after I enter the house, and then go to the back where Rosie is working and give her this.”

“I’m on it.” Davey took the note and bolted ten steps and then froze as if remembering the rest of the instructions.

Quietly, Vic opened the front door and peered inside. As he’d suspected, Rosie was nowhere to be seen. The only evidence was the slight aroma of her fresh-smelling lotion. He closed the door and went to the kitchen. His pulse hammered and his heart pounded with anticipation. This would work. This would fix things between them, and they would talk, laugh, and hold hands like they did before they were married. A new beginning.

And he couldn’t wait to start the rest of his life with Rosie.

Chapter Five

Mr. Mesa’s goat bleated at the edge of the field shared between their homes. They had the best view in town with the last of the sun rays drifting below the white-capped mountains in the distance. It wouldn’t be long before the snow reached the little town of Sugar Maple.

Last winter, the streets were devoid of life. Only on occasion did Rosie catch a glimpse of Mrs. Slaughter across the street when she walked into town for supplies. The poor widow. Rosie should’ve done more to help after she’d lost her husband, but she’d succumbed to her own grief and wanted to hide from the world herself. How had Mrs. Slaughter been so strong?

Rosie stretched the kinks from her back and tossed the paintbrush down. The table glistened in the dim light with the varnish she’d finished. Pride filled her from a job well done. Toys were more Vic’s thing, a family heritage, but she liked building solid pieces that families could utilize for years to come.

“Excuse me.” A tiny boy’s voice sounded from the corner of the house. Rosie looked up to find little Davey. It had been a long time since he’d hung around her home. Not since Esther had died.

A lump lodged in her throat, making it difficult to speak.

“I know you don’t want me ’round here, but I have message for you. I’m just delivering it is all.” He jutted out his threadbare coat–covered arm with a white paper extending from beneath the oversize cuff.

She wiped her hands clean on a towel to give her a moment to think about how to deal with the child. Guilt plagued her at the thought of how so many had taken to the streets with nowhere to go, but she couldn’t save them. How could she help all of those lost and forgotten when she couldn’t help one little girl? “Thank you.” She took it from his shaking hand.

She eyed the crinkled paper. “What’s this?”

“Don’t know. Can’t read it,” Davey said with his gaze downcast.

Mrs. Rosie Bessler, would you please do me the honor of allowing me to escort you this evening to the soda shop? Please put on that fine new dress and meet me in the parlor.

Love,

Victor Bessler

“Did Mr. Bessler give this to you?” She looked up to find Davey had disappeared from sight.

Confused but intrigued, she spied a light inside the house. A distant howl reminded her it was time to call it a night anyway, and she needed to heat up the stew she’d made. She cleaned her work area and faced the back door, unsure what would be waiting on the other side. With one more glance at the note, she decided to follow its instructions and headed straight to the bedroom. The thought of Victor taking her out made her giddy, feeling like their first date when they’d gone to the soda shop to meet all their friends. Her parents were none too happy. They were older than most and stuck to traditions, so she’d been shocked when they’d acquiesced. Maybe they knew they weren’t going to be around much longer and thought it time for her to move on to start her own family. She’d barely been married a few weeks when her father passed and her mother a month later from a broken heart. She thanked God every day for not leaving her alone in the world. Not until the war anyway.

Not wanting to allow the gloomy thoughts to take hold, she fixed her hair, makeup, and put on the dress. Her pulse sped at the thought that he wanted her to wear it for him. She even used the last dab of her perfume she’d rationed since before the war. With nervous bubbles like she’d drunk a Coca-Cola too quickly, she smoothed out any wrinkles in her skirt and put on a smile before she entered the parlor, but he wasn’t there. “Vic?”

“Come in here, please,” he called from the direction of the kitchen. She made her way into the kitchen, where the smell of stew overpowered her senses, but when she turned the corner, she spotted a candle lit in the center of the table with two floats resting on either side. “I’m afraid the soda shop won’t be open for another week or so. I hope this will do for now.”

He pulled out a chair and directed her to sit. What an effort he’d made. She slid into the chair and waited for him to join her as he gazed at her from a gentlemanly distance. She didn’t take offense to his distance this time, since it was obvious he was acting like he had on their first date—nervous, shy, yet confident and attentive. “Thank you. This is lovely.”

“It’s a root beer float. Is it still your favorite?” he asked with a hesitant smile.

“It is. Although, it’s been so long since I’ve indulged.” She eyed the yummy creation and fought for something to say, realizing she was just as clumsy around him as when they’d first met. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” He lifted his spoon and held it out the way he had many years ago; it had become a tradition she’d forgotten about. She lifted her spoon, and they clinked before he dug into the foamy surface. “And how was your day?”

“Good.” She stopped herself from speaking about her own work, thinking it wasn’t wifely of her to do. “What an indulgence, and before dinner. I’m afraid I only made stew.” She lowered her spoon, chastising herself for not making a better meal because she was too busy working.

He laughed. Not a sound of reprimand but of joy. “The minute I smelled your fresh stew, it took me back to when we first married. To a simpler time. I stood in the center of the kitchen with my eyes closed, ice cream melting, savoring the aroma.”

A glimpse of happiness filled her. “Really?”

“Yes, it’s one of my favorite dishes. Did you know that I used to tell my men about that stew? I’d dream about it and you serving it at the table.”

“I must confess that I didn’t know that you liked it so much and I made it so I could continue working instead of stopping to cook.” She pressed her lips together. “I promise to make something better tomorrow.”

“Better? I was hoping we’d have enough to eat it again.” He took a heaping spoonful of ice cream, sending tan foam dripping down the sides of the glass.

She grabbed the napkin from her lap and mopped up the residue before it hit the tablecloth. When she realized he watched her every move, she decided to follow his lead and not worry about the amount of scrubbing it would take to remove the stain, or about dinner, or about work, or money, or war, or children. She leaned back, retrieved her spoon, and dug in. The sweet, cool liquid melted in her mouth and slid down her throat in a euphoric blend of sugar and memories. Earthy, unctuous, and a little acidic with hints of vanilla and sassafras coated in creamy goodness. With her eyes closed, she savored each individual flavor and the way they concocted such a treat when mixed together. How long had it been since she’d tasted ice cream or soda? A luxury she never indulged in over the last few years.

He leaned over and dabbed the corner of her lips, his gaze transfixed on her mouth, as if thinking about kissing her for the first time, but then he retreated back to his seat.

“Thank you.” She looked at him, analyzing the small cut at the corner of his right eye that added character and the way he sat with his bad leg outstretched instead of under the table. Yet his eyes, mouth, chin, cheeks, hair…all were familiar to her. “Familiar strangers,” she mumbled.

“What’s that?” he asked.

She dove into her float for another bite of bliss, savoring it before she spoke again. “I said familiar strangers. It sounds silly, but I know you…but then I don’t. It’s as if we know each other yet we have only just met.”

He straightened in his seat and attempted to scoot his leg under the table, but only made it a few inches. “Then I hope you enjoy this new beginning. More of the area should open soon, and then I can take you to a moving picture or to a real soda fountain.”

“I think I’d like that.” She eyed the glass once more, but her thoughts infected her mood. “Vic, about earlier…”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “No, darling. This is a new beginning. We’ll take the time to know each other as we are, not how we were.”

“But what about my work and my lack of attention on my wifely duties? I’m conflicted between what I’ve grown to be and what I should be as your wife.”

He only shook his head. “You be who you are, and I’ll be as I am, and we will figure out how to blend our lives once more. Neither of us should listen to articles or advice about how we should be. For now, we will just be. Can you do that for me?” he asked but didn’t wait for an answer before he left the table and she heard “Moonlight Serenade” by Glenn Miller ring through the house from the photophone. It was their song, the one they’d first danced to when they were only kids.

He returned, took her into his arms but at a respectable distance, and swayed in the heart of their home. “As a matter of fact, you should return to your workshop at the back of the toy shop. I know that’s where you’ve been working while I’m away. There’s no sense in you remaining out in the cold.”

“I’d like that,” she whispered before she moved a little closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Not the way she would’ve done when they were barely seventeen but the way a wife might with her unfamiliar husband.

Chapter Six

High school. The dancing, the laughter, the tears, the romance. That’s what Vic craved. The innocence of their youth. Tonight was a near replication of yesteryear…until it ended.

“It’s been a lovely evening,” Rosie said, reaching for their bedroom door.

He clumsily intercepted and pushed it open and then kissed her on the cheek. Her expectant eyes almost made him throw his plan away and forget the long game of a solid foundation to a new life. “It’s been a lovely evening; can I call on you again tomorrow?”

At his words, Rosie’s expression changed from wounded to hopeful. She offered a shy smile. “I think I’d like that.” She entered the room but paused before she shut the door. “I appreciate you trying, Vic.”

With those words, the door shut with an uneasiness still between them. He didn’t want to discuss, plan, or fight. Not tonight. So he dragged his reluctant feet the few steps to the guest-room-turned-hideout. The smell of baby powder lingered in the air, as if his wife had already had a baby here while he was gone, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

The faint paint swatches in the corner of sage and blush reminded him that this was once going to be the nursery. The day he’d bought the paint, he’d returned to find Rosie on the floor of the bathroom crying. His heart thudded against his chest. From all the gore and needless sacrifice he’d seen as a solider, nothing was as nightmarish as that day. He tugged his tie from his neck so he could breathe with more ease and then removed his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe. When he shifted the hangers, he spotted a small box tucked neatly in the corner. The aroma of baby powder intensified.

He eyed the door, not wanting to upset Rosie, but he was sure she’d not enter unannounced. With care to be silent, he slid the box out and set it on the bed. The old, worn cardboard tucked tightly together to form a lid made him pause. The third baby had only been a mention in one letter until the next letter that said the baby wasn’t going to be. After that, he’d been sent beyond mail service and was only able to receive two more letters the entire three years. Both hadn’t sounded like his Rosie. More like the terms of endearment had been copied from a book.

He’d thought Rosie had only been pregnant a few weeks before her loss, but perhaps he’d been mistaken.

He tugged the cardboard open, and inside he found a bottle of baby powder, ointment, and three little dresses. Not small enough to fit a baby but maybe for a toddler or young child. A sting of warning seared his skin, and he shut the box. The child Rosie had lost, the little girl she’d cared for, had reached her heart, and when she passed, the little one had taken a piece of it with her. Rosie wasn’t sentimental like most women, so the fact that she’d kept these dresses meant something.

He’d been wrong. The last thing she needed was the distraction of children around. Davey could work at the shop for food when Rosie wasn’t around, but that was it. Nothing more.

A creak in the floor warned Vic that Rosie had moved, so he shut the box and returned it to the place it had been preserved. He sat on the lumpy bed eyeing the door for several minutes, longing to run in there and take Rosie into his arms and hold her all night, whispering that everything was going to be okay, but she’d want more. She deserved more, but they needed time, so he changed and attempted to sleep. Besides, she had enough to carry without dealing with his night terrors.

The night stood like a dark monster not letting him pass, leaving him suffering, longing for light and love. A feeling when he woke overtook him. It was more unbearable than the nights he’d spent in the mud and rain dreaming about returning to his beloved wife, because she was only a few steps from him. Yet, she was further than she’d ever been.

Tomorrow he’d write her another note, like he had when they were courting, and invite her on a real date for Saturday night. They would make this work. They had to. If they could find a way to be like a dating couple, he didn’t have to fear the chance of Rosie losing another baby or, worse, dying in childbirth. The thought alone pierced his center with the intensity of an MG 42. Despite his exhaustion from tossing and turning all night, he rose from bed the minute the clock showed five, dressed, and snuck out to head to the store. He needed to figure out how to pay for a date if he wanted to court Rosie properly.

The darkness shadowed any warmth, and he shivered while he gimped. He dreaded the bitter winter hitting their little town. Would he be able to navigate the ground with one good leg? He’d never focused too much on the loss since the doctors told him he was lucky and could still walk with the use of a cane. But sometimes it frustrated him. The feeling of being less of a man. Perhaps that’s why he wanted to pay for their date instead of tapping into Rosie’s earnings from her furniture. He didn’t have a problem with her being his equal or working with him, but he still wanted to woo her like he did before everything changed.

The brutal winter air filled with snow only a few miles away danced on the outskirts of their town, toying with them. Inside the store was no better. If anything, the bitterness of the damp air found his innards and settled deep in his bones. He couldn’t light a fire, though. Not with the sawdust and all. So he settled at his workbench, cupped his hands, and blew on them to warm his fingers.

Clank. Crack.

A noise in the back alley jolted him to action. He snagged the wooden bat he’d made the day before and went to see what had happened. He shoved the door open and lifted the bat over his head. Outside, he found four children snuggling for warmth and clinging to one another. One of them had knocked a can over, and it had rolled down the hill.

The sight stole his attention, plaguing him with memories of the little blown-out town in France they’d entered to find most children huddled together underneath a bombed building. He and his comrades had barely extracted the children before they’d received orders to move to the next town. It has haunted him always, the thought of those children he watched as he marched away, wishing he could’ve comforted them, provided them with food and shelter. He couldn’t, though. It was his duty to follow orders and protect the children of the next town.

But he was a civilian now.

He closed up shop and raced back to the house, where he found their spare blankets in the closet.

“What are you doing?” Rosie stepped from her room, rubbing her eyes.

“Nothing, my darling. My apologies for waking you. The store is cold, so I came for some blankets to keep warm. Please, go back to bed.”

“I’ll make you some coffee before you go.”

He tucked the blankets under one arm and touched Rosie’s cheek with his other. “No need, my darling. Get some rest.”

She clung to his arm for a second longer before her fingers slid away. “I’ll see you at the shop in a bit, and I’ll make a nice dinner tonight.”

“Don’t go to any trouble. That delicious stew reheated would be perfect.” He kissed her cheek and scooted down the hall backwards. “I count the minutes until I see you again.”

Before she could say another word, he fled from the house, not wanting to upset her with mention of the children. This was it. A few blankets and he was out. There was no room in their lives for children. They only brought grief and sadness and anxiety to Rosie.

To his relief, when he returned to the store, the kids were still huddled in the dark corner asleep, so they didn’t need to know where the blankets had come from. Carefully, he tucked the wool cloth around their little shaking bodies. He longed to do more.

The sun’s rays shot through the sky and the light intensified, revealing Davey alone behind a trash pile with a knife in his hand, as if guarding the rest of his friends. Vic’s heart burst at the sight. He was out of blankets, so he removed his coat and draped it over Davey without a care of lice or anything else the poor child endured.

One of the little ones stirred, so he retreated back to his store in hopes the children could rest a little easier with the additional warmth. For over two hours, he whittled, sanded, and chiseled at a small animal he knew no one would buy, but what else could he do? Despite Rosie’s addition of her furniture, the failing business still weighed on him heavily. If his father were alive today, would he be disappointed in him?

The front door jingled, and in strutted Davey with the blankets piled so high only his cap showed. He unceremoniously dumped them on the chair and huffed. “I know you did this, but we don’t need help. I protect and take care of the others.”

The boy serving as a man in life stood with such determination, Vic thought of his commanding officer before the fighting began. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

“We don’t need no charity. I take care of us.” Davey crossed his arms over his chest, and that’s when Vic saw the pride that would cost him many things in life if he didn’t learn to accept help.

He took in a deep, sawdust-filled breath and looked to the floor. “Well, I guess you better get to work, then. I pay you with a few hot beverages and a meal today.”

“A few?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

Vic remembered how many kids he’d seen outside. “Five, should be about right. A few meals, too.”

“Four and one large meal.” Davey jutted his hand out and waited. The boy wouldn’t take a drink for himself. Instead, he’d give it to the others. And Vic had no doubt he’d probably give the majority of the food to the others, too. But he didn’t have a choice. It was obvious the boy didn’t trust anyone. “And you forget you saw us there.”

Vic nodded. “Understood. Now, get to work. I need some coffee.”

“Coffee?” Davey perked up.

“Do you want some?”

He eyed the floor. “No. I’m good.”

Davey’s wilted frame couldn’t stave off the cold, and his hands trembled with each vigorous sweep of the broom.

“Right, I thought you might be too young.”

Davey stopped sweeping, and his lower jaw jutted out with a scrunched nose. “I ain’t too young.”

“If you weren’t too young to drink coffee, then you’re not too young to know it’s rude to refuse a man when he offers.” Vic held his breath, hoping he’d done a good job of hiding charity behind faux proper etiquette.

“Well, I don’t need it, but I don’t want to be rude. Yes, Mr. B. I’d like a cup, if you please.” Davey sounded like a street kid trying to pull off a British accent.

Vic made the coffee and offered Davey a seat. He shook his head.

“Men drink coffee sitting across from each other where they look eye-to-eye at each other.”

“Sure are lots of man rules.” Davey shrugged and placed the broom in the corner and then settled into a seat across from Vic.

They sat sipping their warm, bitter beverage. Rosie made much better coffee, but that wasn’t an option right now. Perhaps when she came to the shop in an hour or so, he could sneak a cup out to Davey. “You know, another thing men do is talk about stuff.”

Davey slurped and then set the cup on the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “What kinds of stuff?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Like what’s going. You know, like, the weather is turning cold or I wish I had a new coat.”

“Weather isn’t bad. And I ain’t need no coat. I’m tough.” Davey saw right through him. The boy was too smart to be manipulated.

Vic sipped his coffee and waited, carefully considering his words. “You know… I can’t pay you, and I feel awful bad about that. Would you at least stay in the back room as part of your payment? We could push the furniture to the side at night, and you could clean up any dust and dirt before you slept in there.”

“No.” Davey’s brows knitted so tight he looked like an old geezer. “I’m with my gang. I take care of them.”

Vic held up his hands. “I know, and you do a great job.” If there was one thing he’d learned over the last few years, it was that when you cornered a frightened person, they’d lash out and wouldn’t listen to reason.

The front door swung open, and in stepped Rosie in a dress that looked like one she wore before the war but updated. “Good morning. I thought you could use some breakfast.” Her bright smile downturned, and she dropped the bag which thudded against the floor. “What’s he doing in here?”

Her voice sounded cold, but her eyes looked forlorn. Davey gulped the last of his coffee, hopped down off the stool, removed his hat, and did some sort of bow. “Sorry, ma’am.” He dashed behind Rosie and shot out the door.

Rosie looked at Vic with such pain and anger. “That boy never comes in the store.” Before he could argue, she about-faced on her heels and retreated.

Chapter Seven

Rosie changed into her work clothes and returned to the workshop in the back office, sanding and painting with a vengeance. Why was Davey in the store with Vic? She’d asked—no, begged—him to come inside the store and house countless times, but he’d always refused. Vic had him sitting drinking coffee in a matter of days. Maybe God didn’t bless her with a baby because she’d make a horrible mother. Davey hadn’t come near her since Esther’s death, and even before then, he only came long enough to bathe, de-lice, and eat a meal.

Perhaps it was good that Davey had Vic in his life. She’d give them space to bond. Perhaps Saturday they could bond while she borrowed the truck to drop off the next order in Clinton. Hopefully Vic wouldn’t have a problem with it. She had no idea how to ask since there were no rules to follow. She felt both relieved and lost at the idea that everything she’d read and planned for his return was worthless in practice.

Her dry hands cracked from man’s work, but she didn’t stop to put lotion on them. Instead she scrubbed harder, pushing the thoughts of Davey and Esther from her mind.

For hours she worked until her hands cramped, back tightened, and fingers bled. The afternoon turned gray, and she shivered from the chill in the air, even if it was warmer than outside. Something she didn’t feel until her skin was pink and puffy. Part of her wanted to bury herself underneath the work so she didn’t have to face the world, but considering her outburst at the shop when she’d seen Davey, the least she could do was warm the stew and make some fresh bread for Vic. She didn’t want him to think she was still fragile.

She cleaned up the room and joined Vic at the shop. “I’m headed home to get cleaned up, warm the soup, do some laundry, and vacuum. I’ll see you at home.”

“I’ll vacuum and help with laundry since you’ve been working all day, too.”

Rosie blinked at him. “You’re going to do household chores?”

“Sure, why not? It seems fair if you’ve been working away. I mean, you didn’t even take a break in the last six hours. You must be exhausted.”

His offer warmed her insides more than the manual labor of furniture construction had. “That’s kind of you. If I’m not done when you get home, that would be lovely. Thanks.”

With a chaste kiss to his cheek, she made her way home to the warmth. After a hot shower, removing the sawdust from her body, she donned her dress from earlier for dinner and headed from her room, when she stopped at the guest room where Vic had been sleeping.

With a deep breath, she stepped into the drab space that needed some attention and noticed the armoire door ajar. A sting shot through her, sending her to her knees in front of the resting place of Esther’s things. Her heart pinched. The pain was intense, but after two deep breaths, it faded.

She retrieved the box from its resting place and set it on her lap. Stuttered breaths threatened to bring tears and another meltdown, but she didn’t toss it back into the dark space. Instead, she opened the box and studied the tiny dresses and baby powder.

She brushed her trembling fingers over the costumes she’d made Esther for when she stayed with her. That’s what Esther had called them. Her princess costumes, but she always left them when she returned home to that man who called himself her papa.

The slight aroma of gingerbread, Esther’s favorite treat, remained on the material. Rosie lifted the soft fabric to her nose and inhaled deeply, savoring the memory of baking cookies with her the night before she’d disappeared. Esther’s little eyes had been wide with delight, and she’d kept spinning around in the kitchen to show how her dress flowed like a princess at a ball. Full of life and hope and dreams yet with a darkness behind her eyes. She’d smiled and danced until night came, and before she fell asleep in Rosie’s arms, she’d mumbled how nice it was to pretend. As if the child knew she’d never really live a good life.

“Rosie…”

Vic’s voice shattered her visit to the past, but as if stuck between the two times, she sat frozen. He knelt by her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

Tears streamed down her face, but she managed not to fade away completely into her grief, as if his touch kept her sane. She needed to trust him if she hoped they’d ever mend the distance between them. “This was Esther’s. She was a little girl I cared for while you were away. Davey’s twin sister. For a short time, she provided so much joy in a dark world.”

He ran his hand down her hair, neck, shoulders, and back, sending a wave of calmness through her body.

“These were the princess dresses I made for her that she loved. The material still smells of her favorite treat as if she wore them this morning.”

“And the baby powder?”

She bowed her head. “Yes. That, too. I always had to bathe her and put this on her due to the rashes being so bad she couldn’t sit. She would have accidents, and her father would make her sit in them as punishment.” Her words sounded strangled, as if the memories coiled around her neck and squeezed.

“I’m so sorry you went through so much while I was away.” He hesitated, closed his eyes. She knew he was struggling with opening his own heart to her. She squeezed his hand for encouragement.

He squeezed her in return. “I would do anything to turn back the clock and be here with you, but I can’t. I still feel so much guilt. It keeps me awake at night. Guilt for the men I lost, guilt for the lives I took, guilt for leaving the lost and forgotten behind, but most of all the guilt that you were hurt and I wasn’t here to protect you.”

She dropped the dress into the box and shoved it to the side. “No. Don’t carry that guilt. It is mine to bear. I know you’re my husband and protector, but I’m responsible for my own actions, and I vow to you that no matter what happens, I’ll never try to take my life again. I’m older, wiser, stronger.” She swiped the tears away and forced the stone façade to block the memories once again.

“Don’t do that.” Vic took both her hands and held them as if she were his life raft in a great Atlantic storm.

“What?”

He shifted to face her, knees-to-knees. “Pull away. Hide your pain from me. I may not have been here then, but I’m here now.”

“Are you?” she asked but didn’t want to know the truth of it. “Do you really want to be here with me? Or is it too late for us? Will we be strangers forever?”

“No.” His gaze darted to her eyes, hair, chin, cheeks, lips. “We will be strangers no more.” He took her in his arms and kissed her with enough passion for a thousand lost moments, a million renewed promises, a zillion years of wanting and desire until he left her breathless and wanting.

And then he was gone.

He pulled away from her with wide eyes and open mouth, panting and holding his chest. She saw the struggle within him, and despite the overwhelming desire to be with her husband as one once more, he wasn’t ready. But in that moment, she was sure of one thing. He did want her.

Rosie closed the box to the past, put it away, and then stood, smoothed out her skirt, and offered Vic a hand. “Come on. I’ll get that stew you like so much heated up. I can make some fresh biscuits, too.”

“Rosie, I…”

“Take my hand, Vic. We will continue on the journey we started last night.”

He rose to his full, commanding height. His face looked less gaunt, and she knew in a matter of weeks he’d be back to his strong, pre-war stature. “I-I…” His chin fell to his chest. “Thank you.”

She took him by the hand and led him to the dining table. “Sit and relax. I’ll have dinner out shortly.”

“Wait.” As if he’d snapped out of his guilt trance, he shot up from the chair. “Today. With Davey.”

She could feel the corners of her mouth pull into a frown and her teeth clench tight. “That’s a topic for another time.”

“But are you upset with me for having him in the store? Is it because he reminds you of Esther?” Vic blinked at her expectantly.

“No. I’m glad he’s in your store with you.” She marched to the kitchen before he could see the sadness she knew she couldn’t hide at the realization that she was no good for Davey. Perhaps every time he looked at her, he saw the death of his sister. She pushed away the awful memories and began heating the stew and making biscuits so she could have some time alone. They always had one rule… If you weren’t helping in the kitchen, then you weren’t welcome.

True to his word, the vacuum cleaner cut on while she kneaded dough with her aching hands, cutting it into biscuits, and baking them. While working, she remembered she needed to convince Vic to allow her to deliver the furniture on Saturday. He’d been so kind and open to their new roles, but this was all still new. Would he react the same way to her driving to another town alone? He’d always been so protective.

She plated the food, removed her apron, and delivered the biscuits with warm stew to the table.

“Looks delicious. Thanks.” After a silent prayer, Vic dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Rosie settled into her seat, but nerves kept her from eating. “I know this won’t be convenient for you, but I was wondering if I could borrow the truck on Saturday. I’ll make breakfast before I go, I’ll leave a sandwich for lunch, and I’ll be back to make a nice dinner.”

He slurped another spoonful before he spoke. “What for?” he asked in a tentative tone.

“I need to deliver the table and chairs.” She swirled the stew around with her spoon and then looked up at his blank expression. “It’s only about an hour and a half drive to Clinton, so I won’t be gone that long. The town is booming with new construction, so Mr. Richards, the owner of the furniture store there, sells mine in exchange for a percentage of the profits.”

“Clinton?” Vic lit up like a Christmas tree with a thousand lights.

Rosie eyed him, trying to assess what his delight meant for her plans. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” He dropped his spoon and sat forward with his elbows uncharacteristically on the table. “I wanted to invite you to see a brand-new picture on Saturday that is playing at the Ritz theater.” He straightened his tie and sat tall. “Rosie, would you like to go to the theater with me on Saturday? We can make a day of it, just the two of us.”

The way he fidgeted reminded her of the first time he’d asked her out. Was he really that nervous after being married so long? It warmed her heart to see how much he cared.

“And we can take the furniture with us?” she asked.

“Yes, of course. We can deliver it before the show.” He gripped his bad knee but didn’t say anything about pain. Did it hurt? If so, would it get better with time?

She straightened the napkin on her lap. “I’d be honored to go with you.”

He lifted his spoon once more and dug in. Hopefully, after Saturday night, there would be no valley-sized obstacle between them. She’d find a way to break through that fear and guilt and be his wife once more, even if he didn’t want to take the chance of having a child. “I also need a few supplies, so could I borrow the truck tomorrow, too? Just for an hour or so.”

Anxiety mixed with excitement at the thought of her plan. She’d seen the advertisement about contraception and how men returning from war could purchase them in the States. But she hesitated. Would they even sell a woman contraception at a pharmacy? This was new territory, but even if she could manage to have a conversation with Vic without blushing or stumbling over her words, it would give him a chance to say no. It was up to her to fix their marriage and make it whole since she was the one who had broken it. Perhaps someday they could discuss trying again to have a baby, but for now, she wanted her husband.

“Sure. I don’t need it.”

And with those five words, Rosie relished in the possibility of tomorrow for the first time in four years.

Chapter Eight

For three days, Vic enjoyed life. He’d found a rhythm that suited him. Up at three in the morning, sneak out of the house, cover the children behind his shop, and Davey coming in at the first rays of light. He’d brought an old space heater to the shop so they’d all be warm during the day. Davey would return blankets and begin cleaning each morning. Rosie would slip in through the back, and he could hear her work, but she’d never come into the store to visit. Perhaps it was too painful for her to see Davey, but when he’d halfheartedly offered to send Davey away, she’d refused to allow it. Still, it was nice to have Rosie in the building, even if he couldn’t see her.

“Time for coffee and learning.” Vic set the mug on the table and put out the four new blocks he’d made that had the letters M, N, O, and P.

Davey huffed but plopped down on the stool next to Vic and shuffled them around a few times. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G…” he sang in the softest of tones, but when he reached the current letters, he put them in the right order with a beaming smile.

“That’s right.” Vic patted him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s try a word. Here.” He took the A from the first day and placed it between the M and N. “What does this say.”

“Don’t read, remember?” Davey shoved away from the table with a loud scratch of metal stool and feet to wood.

“Mmmmm.” Vic made a sound like he was eating ice cream.

Davey quirked a brow at him.

“The sound M makes. Mmmmm.”

Davey looked to the blocks and squinted as if to decipher the code. “Mmmmmm. Aaaaahhh.”

“Yes. Now, try it with the N.”

“Mmmmm. Aaaaah. Nnnn. Man! The word’s man.” Davey’s eyes went wider than they had the day he held that slinky.

“Wow, you’re a fast learner.”

Davey returned to his seat and shifted all the letters around, trying to find new words as if they were a map to the hidden treasure of reading. Once he’d practiced all his letters, he looked over at the scrap wood pile and apparently decided it was time to practice his other skill. “Tomorrow, we finish alphabet. Time to read.”

Vic abandoned his current project and returned to carving letters into blocks and even had Davey work sanding some.

When he finished sanding the other blocks, Davey picked up a scrap piece and worked to carve it into something, but he didn’t take to the trade quickly. He didn’t possess the patience. He reminded Vic a lot of Rosie at times, always working hard but not enjoying the tiny details of things.

He chiseled away at something, but Vic didn’t want to ask what he was creating.

With a loud harrumph, Davey tossed the wood and chisel onto the workbench.

“What’s wrong?” Vic asked in a calm tone.

“I wanted to make a Christmas tree for Betty. She said she misses that most.” Davey crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his bottom lip out that quivered, but he wouldn’t cry. He considered himself too much of a man to do that.

Vic retrieved the small pointed object and held it up to the light. “You know, sometimes we make things that we’re not expecting. This is a beautiful flame, like a candlelight.”

Davey dropped his hands by his sides and leaned forward. “Fire?”

“Yes.” Vic held it up to him. “Sometimes our hearts win over our minds and we make things we want even more. Perhaps you made this because you want to be warm. Why don’t you take the blankets tonight so the rest of your friends won’t be cold?”

“Nah, that’s not it.” He took the carving from Vic and turned it to see every side. “It’s from my heart though.” Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, but Vic had no idea why. Obviously the fire meant something to him.

“Still, how about those blankets?”

“No. No charity. We agreed.”

“Yes, sir.” Vic held up his hands, not wanting to lose the ground he’d made with Davey with the morning man cup of coffee and learning to read with the letter blocks. But it was growing colder outside, and he needed to be smarter if they weren’t going to freeze, and tomorrow night would be dropping down to below thirty degrees.

Davey swept up his mess and arranged the letters from A to P in order and said them aloud as Vic worked on more blocks. After serving two precious customers, Vic returned to his seat and realized he’d have to close shop tomorrow. Perfect. “I have a favor to ask, but it’s a big one.”

“What’s that?” Davey peered from below his cap that he obviously kept on for warmth.

“Never mind. It’s too much to ask. It’s a big job.” Vic painted the V red and handed it to Davey so he could put it on the drying rack.

“You don’t think I can handle it?” Davey straightened his too short jacket that rose an inch above his wrists, yet swallowed his tiny frame.

“Oh, I know you can, but as I said, it’s a tough job. It’s super important, but I know you wouldn’t want to do it because you’d have to be inside all night.”

“Why’s that?” He narrowed his eyes with suspicion, but Vic was in this far. He had to try.

“You see, since there are so many people without money this year, they’re having to take things for their families. Now, I want to help them, but this is my business and I’m struggling, too.”

Davey looked indignant with his chin high and proud. “Taking’s not right. We don’t take. Well, nothing but food.”

“Right, but my problem is that I need to be home at night, so I can’t watch the store for people coming in here and taking things. I need someone to stay here at night to watch the place. As I said, though, it isn’t right to ask you another favor when I can’t pay you.”

Davey looked at the drying painted blocks as if trying to read the right answer. “No, it’s not right to work for no money.” He bit his thumbnail for several seconds. “I’ll do it, though. For you. Only if Betty, Reggie, Eva, and Gina stay inside with me. I’ll do this favor in exchange for using the blankets. You’ll pay me with that, and I’ll work for you.”

“You’re a shrewd businessman there, Davey.” Vic offered his hand. “It’s a deal.”

“I don’t know what shooed means, but it’s a deal.”

Relieved with one major dilemma settled, Vic finished the entire alphabet and managed enough business to buy the movie tickets and food for tomorrow.

An hour after he heard Rosie sneak out the back, Vic removed his key from his pocket and handed it to Davey. “I won’t be in town tomorrow, so just lock up whenever you leave, or you can watch the store all day if you want. Just make sure none of the younger ones touch anything sharp. And don’t ever leave the space heater running when you leave or at night when you sleep. It’s old, and I don’t want to risk it. I’m going to get a new one as soon as I can.”

Davey held out one small hand, palm out. “Got it. No need for the key, though. Your back-door lock doesn’t latch all the way. I can get in that way.”

Vic would think the young man had been squatting here for a while, except each time he arrived at three or four in the morning, they were outside. “I’m going to head home early. I want to make sure the truck is running well before we head out in the morning to make deliveries. I don’t want anything to mess up my special day with Mrs. Bessler.”

“Go. I’ll handle the shop.” Davey waved him out of the store with a broad smile. Had he really just offered unsupervised space to children? Would his place still be standing when he returned? One glance at Davey, and he knew the kid wouldn’t harm anything or anyone. Unless you messed with his gang. Then those tiny fists would come out ready to fight.

Mr. Mason was sweeping his front entry to his store. “You still letting those street kids in your shop, I see.”

Vic forced a smile, despite his agitation at the term street kids. “As I told you, Davey is helping me in the shop.”

“You spend too much time focused on those kids, and your wife might be looking for other way to spend her time.”

The thin line of proper etiquette snapped and the soldier in him came out. He bolted forward within fighting distance. “You don’t ever speak about my Rosie that way. You have no cause.”

Mr. Mason narrowed his gaze with what appeared to be a reason for his insult, but then he backed into his store. “My apologies.”

Vic rounded the building and took a lap around town before heading home once his anger had waned. He yearned for tomorrow; they’d spend the day together. There was nothing more exciting to him than the thought of taking a long drive together, holding hands, and seeing a picture.

He whistled on his way home and didn’t even mind the dropping temperature now that he didn’t have to worry about the children freezing. He’d keep this little arrangement a secret for now, though. Not that he would lie if Rosie asked, but there was no reason to volunteer information that might upset her before their big day.

He found Rosie putting dinner on the table. “It smells amazing.”

“Thank you. Sit, please.”

Like the last two evenings, they enjoyed sipping hot tea fireside. But like the other times, once their cups were empty and it was time for bed, Rosie began fidgeting and she eyed the hallway. He knew she was trying to obey his wishes. Her nerves appeared with her straight posture and trembling hands, causing the dishes to clink together as she returned them to the kitchen before she headed to her room. She paused and waited for him to open her door and bid her good night.

Vic found his room frigid. He looked under the bed and in the armoire, but there were no extra blankets. He knew there had to be more in Rosie’s room, so he went to her door and knocked lightly. The door wasn’t latched, so he pushed it open. “Hi, Rosie.”

Rosie threw something in a drawer and slammed it shut, shooting up straight. “What’re you doing in here?”

Vic eyed the drawer. Warning signals sounded in his head. Mr. Mason’s words had taken hold, despite the insanity of them. “It’s cold in my room. I came for another blanket.”

“There are some in your room. I’ll get them.” She marched to the door, but he didn’t move out of her way.

He didn’t want to tell her he’d given those away to Davey, Reggie, Eva, Gina, and Betty since he wasn’t positive how she’d react. “Rosie, what’s in the drawer, and why don’t you want me to see it?” Vic asked in a commanding tone, making sure she knew he expected an answer.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Rosie.” He shot her a sideways glower. He didn’t like the fact she was keeping something from him. Of course, he was reminded of his own omission about the children, but that was for protection, not deception.

She turned with her head down, gaze cast to the floor, and went to the drawer, opened it, and pulled out a two-inch-wide green and white tin box with black lettering. He took it from her and read: Shadows. As thin as a shadow as strong as an ox. “Rubbers?”

Chapter Nine

The night was frigid, especially when Rosie had thrown her own blanket at Vic and shooed him out of the room. The way he looked at her with such pain convicted her. She should’ve been happy with the tender care he offered instead of pushing him into her bed. But when he held the little tin housing the rubbers with disgust, she couldn’t face him and his rejection any longer.

Now she couldn’t escape the dreaded conversion she knew was coming, not when Vic tucked her into the truck and closed the door with nowhere to go for two hours. He’d been so upset last night that she wasn’t even sure they’d be leaving this morning together.

He slid into the driver’s seat, shut the door, but didn’t crank the engine. “Rosie, I didn’t mean to get upset, but my wife went to a store or pharmacy and purchased rubbers.” He gripped the steering wheel. The muscles in his hands flexed, as did his jaw. “I need the truth, Rosie. Have you found comfort with another man?”

“No!” she shouted before she remembered he sat a foot from her. “I would never betray you like that.”

“Then why did you buy rubbers?”

The word sent anxiety through her. The act had been difficult enough, but being said aloud made her tremble. “I didn’t get it here in town.”

“Then how did Mr. Mason know?”

She wrung her hands, longing to escape the embarrassment and avoid his disapproval. “Because I asked while I was shopping if he carried them. I didn’t buy them there, though. He didn’t sell them.” Her voice faded, and she wasn’t sure he could even hear her anymore.

“And that makes it better? I can only imagine the pharmacist’s expression when you asked him for this. And now the entire town knows. Mr. Mason I’m sure will be happy to tell all how my wife is buying these.” He pulled the tin from his pocket and held it out to her.

She cringed away from that blasted green and white box, trying to find the right words to explain beyond the humiliation of it all. “It was tucked into a display, so I grabbed it and raced to the counter and put the money on top of it.”

His head dropped, causing his hair to fall forward, making him look…broken. “So, you really didn’t buy them to be with another man?”

She shook her head and angled toward him. “No, Vic, never.”

Silence.

There was a long gush of breath from his lips.

Laughter.

She narrowed her gaze. “What’s so funny?”

He didn’t stop laughing. Instead, he laughed louder and dropped his head to the steering wheel, face turning maroon.

Enough. She grabbed the door handle, but he put his arms around her and pulled her into his side.

“Let me go. I won’t be laughed at any longer.”

“My dear, sweet Rosie.” He nuzzled his nose into her hair and took a sniff. “I didn’t mean to laugh, but the fact that you’re blushing now, I couldn’t help but imagine your skin turning the color of the fire engine toy I painted last week.”

She pushed against him but couldn’t help but snicker herself at the memory. “Don’t pity me. The poor man turned the color of a pumpkin. That’s what he looked like anyway, with his red hair and the blush that covered his entire face, ears, and neck. I’d worried I’d be turned away since only men buy those, but I think he was so embarrassed he rang it up, put it in a bag, and tossed it at me as if he’d get a disease if he touched me.”

Vic’s laughter erupted again. “You keep me guessing every day, don’t you? What will that wife of mine do next? Whatever gave you the idea to do this anyway?”

She struggled to free herself, but when his hand slid to the back of her neck, cupping it softly, she didn’t fight so hard to flee. “You did.”

The firm, loving hold slipped away. “Me? How did I ever?”

With shaking fingers, she opened her purse and removed the pamphlet she’d been given at a woman’s meeting before Vic had returned home. “You said you didn’t want to be with me. But if you don’t want to be with me, that means you’re not home with me. You’re still with the women from the war. I failed to get you back.” Tears rolled down her face, and she opened the pamphlet and pointed to the wording.

Your man must be forgiven any transgressions beyond the marriage during war. As women, you cannot comprehend the atrocities he has faced, but you can aide him with his reintegration. Dress as you once did, behave as you did, and most of all, allow your husband to exercise his husbandly rights. If not, you will fail to help him reacclimate and your marriage will be fraught with complications. We have delivered your man home safely; it is your wifely duty to make him stay.

Rosie’s breath caught, waiting for him to tell her that he indeed did love another overseas and that this life wasn’t enough for him.

The green and white tin fell to the floor. Vic scooted over and swooped her onto his lap, holding her head to his shoulder. “My dearest, there is no other. You are and will only ever be the love of my life. We spoke about this already. These so-called reintegration pamphlets were written by someone who never saw battle, is probably unmarried, and has no idea what life will be like now that the war has ended. Ignorant fool.”

With his words, tears fell swiftly, and she couldn’t control them. She’d never heard Vic so cross, but she couldn’t let it go. The words echoed in her head that it was her wifely duty. “B-But you don’t want to… I mean, you haven’t. But with those you can.” She pointed to the tin on the floorboard.

“I can’t. Not from lack of love or desire. Those are not a guarantee that you won’t get pregnant. I’ve heard they can fail. I told you, I’ve lost too many people. I can’t lose another. I can’t lose you, Rosie. I won’t take that chance with you. When I saw that scar on your wrist, I couldn’t touch you in fear that I’d break you. But darling, I want nothing more than to carry you into our home and show you how much I love you.”

She lifted her head and faced him, a breath from his lips. “Then do so.”

He swallowed, and his gaze darted around her face like a pinball in a game. “I can’t. Please don’t ask this of me. Not now.”

“I told you I’m stronger. Nothing will cause me to ever attempt to take my life again. Not even a baby.”

His fingers traced her chin. “I wish I could believe that.”

“You can.” She kissed him, blatantly without invitation and for her own enjoyment. When they came up for breath, she realized they had kissed for so long the windows fogged on the truck and a bead of sweat appeared at his brow.

“I will take you inside right now if you can tell me one thing.”

“What’s that? I’ll tell you anything,” Rosie promised and knew she would. Her body, mind, soul craved him, and she would do anything to have him. There would be nothing between them now.

“Tell me about Esther and why you can’t even look at Davey.”

His words were like a lightning strike through her heart. She pressed her hand to her chest to subdue the pain. Short, uncomfortable breaths were strangled from her lungs.

Vic lifted her from his lap and returned her to her seat before sliding back into position. “I’ll be here when you’re ready, Rosie.” With those words, the truck cranked, and she was left trembling not just from the pain but the desire that still lingered inside her.

Chapter Ten

The silence in the truck made the trip to Clinton feel even longer than normal. Vic yearned to connect with Rosie again, but each time they made a step forward, he felt like he fell down a jagged cliff of doubt. Rosie stared out the side window at the mountains. She hadn’t moved or spoken since they’d pulled from their driveway an hour and forty-two minutes ago.

He could bear the silence no longer. Small talk. That was a way to begin. Discussion of weather, scenery. Yes, it was picturesque around here. “What are you looking at?”

Rosie remained turned to the window. “You know it’s beautiful out here, but I still prefer Sugar Maple and the view from the back of our house. I’ve always known it was home, from the first moment we walked inside before we even furnished it. That was such an easy time for us. Perhaps God gave us our bliss before the storm.” Rosie’s voice drifted away.

The sign to Clinton appeared, and Vic refused to enter the town until they spoke. If he was going to salvage their special day, he had to do something, so he turned the wheel. Unfortunately, he turned it too hard, and they shot into the grass until the truck rumbled to a stop with a hard jerk.

“What on earth?” Rosie spun around to see out the back window. “The furniture…”

“I apologize for my abrupt stop, but listen. I want to settle things here and now before we begin our date. Perhaps I put too much pressure on today being perfect, but I know that no matter what happens, I wouldn’t want to spend this day with anyone else but you.” Vic spoke so fast, he wasn’t sure Rosie could understand his ramblings. “I never touched another woman, and I was relieved to hear you were not with another man.” His pulse hammered at his neck with the mere idea another man would put his hands on his Rosie.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wouldn’t give her the chance.

“I know we’re not teenagers anymore, and I was a fool to think I could replicate our free, easy youth. We’re older and things are more complicated, but for all that is Holy, I want one nice date with you. Like we had the other night at home. I want to walk proudly with you on my arm, sit by your side while we watch the show, and share a milkshake or soda with two straws. Can we do that without any more talk of wifely and husbandly expectations, and reintegration pamphlets, and rubbers?”

Rosie blinked several times at him. “I wasn’t sure you were done. Yes, I’d like that. We have the rest of our lives to figure out how to deal with our problems. Let’s just live for today.”

Vic kissed her cheek and then set them back on course.

Rosie cleared her throat, the way she did when she was struggling to find words. “You know, I heard this show is amazing. They’re speaking about awards. Could you imagine being a star?”

“I don’t know. It seems to me I wouldn’t like seeing myself so big up on that screen. Not to mention, I got sick before our high school performance.”

Rosie giggled, a sound that lifted his spirits to the clouds. How he’d missed her laugh. “Why on earth did you sign up for it? From the moment you walked on stage that first time, you turned green.”

He lifted a brow. “Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I did it to be close to you. I wanted to ask you out and I knew I needed to get to know you before I did, so I joined the play.”

“You could’ve talked to me in the hallway at school.”

“That would’ve been too obvious. Besides, how could I get close to you when all the boys followed you from class to class?”

“Don’t be silly.” She waved him off, but a part of him always knew she was too good for him. Sure, he’d been popular enough and didn’t have any trouble asking a girl out, but when he first met Rosie, his nerves were in a knot and he knew she would be the one he’d marry.

They found their way onto the main road through Clinton, where a crowd had already gathered at the theater. “Oh, no. I never expected so many people. I hope we can get tickets.”

“Why don’t you get in line while I settle up with the furniture?” Rosie offered.

“Alone?” he asked, a little shocked and unsure about the offer. Yet, he didn’t want to miss the show. And with his leg, he was no help. But he wouldn’t speak of his limitations today. The rest of today he’d ignore the troubles they’d faced and focus on the positive. He pulled into the back of the store and put the truck in park. “This is the place, right?”

“Right.” She reached for the door, but he stopped her before she could get out. “No. This is a date, remember?”

It took him a minute to get out of the truck and around to her door, but she was gracious enough to wait for him to limp to her side. He set his cane against the truck and helped her down, enjoying the feeling of her close to him once more. “You sure you want to do this by yourself?”

“Don’t be silly. This isn’t my first time.” She stood on her toes and kissed the side of his lips. “Now go before you cause me to think twice about accepting another date from you, Mr. Bessler.”

He loved when she teased him. Her eyes lit up brighter than the summer sun. “Okay, but don’t be long.”

The air had chilled with a blistering breeze. He worried that Rosie would catch cold, but he worried more about not getting into the movie since he knew they’d get to spend time side-by-side in the dark together with no pressure of conversation or intimacy.

As he waited, he contemplated the issues they were facing. Were rubbers the answer to all their problems? No. He wouldn’t risk another baby. Not right now.

He stood in line for over twenty minutes before Rosie arrived. “Are we good?”

“I think so. There should be enough seats.” As if the theater had waited for Rosie’s arrival, the line moved, and to his relief, they made it inside the modern Ritz theater. “Wow, this is some place.”

In the entryway stood a sign for ladies to remove their hats, prompting Rosie into action. He did the same, and they walked arm-in-arm through the decadent modern décor. Crimson and golden carpet provided a path to the theater, where an usher guided them to available seats in the heart of the orchestra. They were dressed in uniforms that reminded him of generals in foreign armies, and he felt an urge to salute the man before he remembered he was no longer a soldier himself.

Settled into their seats, an air of excitement surrounded them, and he felt childlike. Vic tucked Rosie into his side, and the newsreel appeared. He tensed at the images of post-war and the reconstruction of Europe and home, but Rosie must have sensed his anxiety, because she took his hand in hers and held tight, leaning into him. And from there he melted into the moment, forgetting past horrors and believing in new beginnings. This, now, was what he’d been waiting for with his wife. A lovely night full of promises, and he planned on enjoying it to the last moment. Even when the reel broke and the crowd uproar sang in unison, forcing the ushers into action, he only looked at Rosie and whispered, “You should’ve been a star. You’re more beautiful than Jane Wyman.”

“And you’re more handsome than Ray Milland.”

“Well, maybe, but he’s at least in one piece.” He pointed to his cane leaning against his seat. Silently, he chastised himself for slipping into his own mourning of his mobility.

She touched his chin with one finger and made him face her. “You do know I don’t care at all about your leg. You making it home is all that mattered. And for your information, you are twice the man Ray Milland is, even if he is so big on screen.” She smiled, and in that moment, he didn’t care who saw. He kissed her and kissed her again and again until the reel was fixed, intermission came and went, and the movie ended. When they managed to break free for air, they wandered out of the theater and back to the truck. It had been a magical, memorable night he thought he could live off for decades.

All the way home, he thought about their evening and decided he didn’t want to sleep in the guest room. When they pulled into the driveway, the moon was high in the sky, and he dreamed of waking in Rosie’s arms.

“Vic, I know what you said, and I respect that.” She picked up the tin box from under the seat where it had remained out of sight and handed it to him. “Perhaps you could keep this for another occasion, but for tonight…tonight will you hold me until morning?”

He leapt from the car. His heart raced at the idea of being with her all night, if only to hold her to know she was there, but could he manage to keep his promise not to endanger her life with another pregnancy? He’d have to, because the alternative was a restless, lonely night alone. The fear of night terrors wasn’t enough to keep him from her side. He’d stay awake all night if it meant feeling her touch, listening to her breathing, holding her, cherishing her.

He opened her door and helped her down. When they reached the front of their home, he tossed his cane inside and lifted her into his arms, carrying her across the threshold. The pain meant nothing compared to the reward. “It would be my pleasure to sleep by your side tonight, my love. And tomorrow. Well, tomorrow will be another day. We will do this one day, one step, one laugh, one smile at a time.”

Chapter Eleven

The moon bathed the room in a silvery glow. Rosie woke several times to just make sure Vic was still holding her. Her body craved more, but she accepted this as a step toward their future. One day at a time, one night at a time, they mended the lost conversations, lost years, lost babies. The sweet kisses he offered throughout the night both sated and inflamed her passion for him. She would be bolder in the future and not shy away from conversations about protection. She would convince him it was safe to join as husband and wife without fear of another baby. Eventually, though, she hoped and prayed he’d want to try again. More than anything, she wanted to give him a child. To be the wife he deserved. The thought of holding her baby in her arms someday gave her the strength to continue fighting for her marriage and for the one man she knew she’d love forever.

Sometime in the early morning hours, a strangled cry woke her from a blissful sleep.

“No. Don’t want to kill you.” Vic cried out in a sound Rosie could only describe as animalistic.

“Darling. Wake up. It’s okay. You’re here, home, with me.” She sat up to hold him in her lap and stroke his damp hair. “You’re safe in our home. The war’s over.”

He bolted awake, his head turned wildly in all directions until he let out a long gust of air and held his head in his hands. As if he remembered where he was, he snapped to attention, jumping from the bed and landing in an awkward position down on one knee, far from her arms. “Did I hurt you?” His gaze traveled wildly over her face, neck, arms, body.

“No, you’d never hurt me.” She waved him to her. “You had a bad dream. That’s all.” She scooted to the edge of the bed to be closer to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, eyes wide.

Rosie didn’t want to cause him any more undue stress, so she offered her hand. “Then come.” She guided him up onto the bed to rest his head on her lap while she stroked his hair once more. “Rest. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” She kissed his forehead and shhhhed softly in his ear until his body relaxed. His eyes popped open and he jolted several times until his body released all tension and he slept once more. Rosie leaned back and held him, realizing she wasn’t the only one with fear in her heart. Was this the reason he’d slept in the other room since he’d arrived home? Did he finally trust her enough to share his wounds with her, the kind that he could only face in the night?

She sat up and watched the sun rise until it was time to make coffee, and then she reluctantly slipped from his arms. Before she could finish in the kitchen, the shower cut on, and she knew he’d be racing for the store and Davey. She’d known he’d been sneaking out to check on him each morning.

She poured two cups, made some toast and eggs, and then placed everything on the table to wait for him and to discuss his dream. For the first morning in weeks, she was gifted with the sight of Victor before the sun rose in the sky. “Good morning, my love. I made breakfast.”

He stood at the crossroads of the front door and desperation. “I-I’ll be right back. I’ve forgotten something at the office, but I’ll return soon.”

She stood and blocked his exit. “It’s Sunday. Certainly you don’t need to rush off. The store’s closed. We need to get ready for church.”

The ticking of the clock on the mantel and the way he eyed it told her he was calculating his options. She could stand in his way and quarrel, or she could let him go but with a compromise. “Promise me you’ll return for church and that we can talk more then.”

A quick kiss to her cheek was her only answer before he fled from the house. She settled into her seat and stared across the table at the emptiness of the room. She could remain here and fret over him caring more about Davey and his shop than her, or she could join him, showing him she was healed and ready to move on with their lives together. With forced courage, she decided to dress and make her way to face Davey and her past. She only hoped Davey didn’t send her away, but she had to face the possibility of rejection if she were to move forward.

A dusting of snow floated in the sky, reminding her of the cold night she’d spent waiting for Davey and Esther to show for her to clean them up and get them fed. Like most nights, she figured Esther would spend the night and Davey would go on his way, never willing to stay with her. Well, today was no different. She’d offer Davey a spot at their dinner table tonight. The frost on the window made it difficult to see into the store, so after a deep breath, she marched inside to face Vic and Davey but found much more. A gaggle of children stretching, folding blankets, and rubbing their eyes.

“This is why you’ve been running off every morning?”

Vic took her elbow and led her toward the front door. “Please, I’ll be home soon. We’ll talk then.”

No, she wouldn’t be so easily turned away. “If this is part of your life, then it’s mine, too.” She slid her purse off her arm and set it on the front table. “So, you’ve all been sleeping in the store?”

A little girl with red hair swished back and forth with the blanket wrapped around her neck. “Last night was the first night. It was warm. I’d like to stay again.” She was so young, possibly the age Esther was when she’d died. Rosie’s heart ached to hold the child.

Davey tossed his blanket aside and marched to her. “I ain’t doing nothing wrong. And we’s helping watch the store to keep it safe.”

Rosie could feel Vic’s analyzing gaze on her. Despite the voice in her head wanting to scream at the injustice, despite how many times she’d blamed herself for Esther’s death—and she’d always feel responsible—logically she knew it wasn’t her fault. It was time for Davey to see that. Although, it stung that Davey slept here, considering he’d never agreed to stay the night with her. Now wasn’t the time for hurt feelings. It was time to help these lost and forgotten children. She couldn’t turn them away, not if she wanted to prove to Vic how much stronger she’d become, so she forced a friendly smile. “Well, then. I guess my offer for Davey to join us for dinner has to be changed.”

Davey licked his lips and then glanced over his shoulder before straightening his coat and lifting his chin. “Guess so.”

“Guess you’ll all have to come.”

The redhaired girl clapped and jumped up and down, her hair bouncing like a rag doll.

Davey cleared his throat. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” Rosie looked to Vic and then to the children. “Well, nothing. I mean, you’ll have to come to Sunday dinner in your best.”

Another young man scratching his head vigorously paused for a second. “But this is our best and only clothes.”

“I can clean them for you before we eat. Come by an hour before dinner, and we’ll get you suitably dressed.”

“No way. Not gonna bathe me and put that stinky stuff in my hair. Not again.”

That’s when Rosie knew how to snag Davey into coming. “I’m making fried chicken.”

Davey jolted as if the announcement of his favorite food changed him into a willing participant.

“And apple cobbler,” she added for extra ammo.

The little ones surrounded Davey. “Please. I’ll take a bath; I’ll even comb my hair for apple cobbler,” the other young girl said. The tiny child with a coat that draped over her body couldn’t have been more than four or five.

“Shush up,” Davey ordered, and they all fell in line. “Fine, but no gobbledygook in my hair.”

“Deal.” She spun, grabbed her bag, and faced an open-mouthed, large-eyed husband. “See you in twenty for church?”

He only nodded, as if a tomcat had scratched his tongue. The wind picked up, but she tightened her jacket and headed home to get ready for church.

They went to church and returned with barely a word between them. She only hoped for once his silence was a good thing, seeing how much she’d changed and grown.

When she went to change out of her Sunday best, she took the little tin can and placed it on the bed. Vic entered the room, his gaze dancing all over the room and trying not to settle on the rubbers. “Darling,” she said in the softest, most sultry tone she could manage.

He bolted to the bathroom and shut the door, ending any further conversation.

His rejection stung. Tears threatened, but she wouldn’t let her emotions rule. It would only give fuel to Vic’s fear that she wasn’t ready for a baby.

The front door opened and shut, and she assumed he’d left to check on the children. After picking up the wood she needed to fill the next order for Mr. Richards, she started dinner. She’d been so focused on her marriage that she’d neglected work, so she’d have to work twice as hard tomorrow if she was to get the order done by next weekend. The money was good, and if she kept up the pace, they wouldn’t lose Vic’s family store. They’d finally be able to pay rent and all the other bills in the same month. Vic had mentioned a slight increase in customers with the holiday season, but how long would that last? She knew he wanted his family business to survive, and she wanted that for him too. It was all he had left of his parents.

The kitchen was a place she could think without interruption since Vic never entered when she was cooking. The image of that little girl stuck in Rosie’s heart like a thorn, one she couldn’t remove. Would Davey keep her away and living in the streets instead of letting her remain in Vic and Rosie’s care? Did she want to care for another child who reminded her so much of such a great loss?

Before the sun dipped below the trees, a light knock sounded at the front door. She opened it to find Davey, who removed his hat and stepped inside.

“Mrs. B—I mean Mrs. Bessler, I don’t want to ruin the chance for a good meal for the others, but I don’t want to upset you neither. I’ll make some excuse when we get here, and you can accept it with no questions.”

Rosie looked at the little man who she’d once held in her arms as he cried. “Nonsense. You’re not getting out of a bath that easily. Now get to the bathroom and toss your clothes out to me so I can get them mended and cleaned for dinner. You’ll wear one of Mr. Bessler’s long shirts while you wait for your clothes to dry.”

“You sure?” Davey asked.

She scooted him toward the bathroom. “Better get to it, or I’m going to scrub you myself.”

“I’m a man now. You can’t do that.”

“Then you best get to work.”

Davey quickened his pace and shut the bathroom door. After a few minutes, the door cracked, and he tossed his clothes out and then slammed it shut.

She washed them in the hottest water possible and hung them up to dry, hoping she’d killed any lice. Once Davey finished his bath, she came in and cut, shampooed, and combed the lice from his poor, itchy head. Thank goodness it wasn’t summer, or she’d be dealing with fleas, too. For a few moments, it felt like old times, bringing him and his sister inside when Davey would declare his father having a bad moment, cleaning them up, only to have him decide to return. Her eyes stung with tears at the memories, so she was thankful when a front door knock came again. After two hours, she’d managed to de-lice, clean, cut hair, and had all five of the children sitting at the table. A sight that made her feel full of unexpected joy.

The one she’d learned was Gina spoke. “But Mrs. B, we can’t eat like this. We need better clothes. This ain’t proper.”

“Well, they’re not dry yet, dear girl, so we’ll have to pretend. Hopefully they’ll dry next to the fire by the time the evening ends.”

Vic sat across from her with the firelight glowing from behind. The man looked nervous yet happy. He took Davey’s hand, and they each took one another until the circle wrapped around the table. Little eyes all blinked up, waiting for Vic, who took his cue and prayed. Little heads bowed while Vic spoke, and at the end, they all declared, “Amen.” And the children dug in with no manners whatsoever. Rosie sighed and deemed it a lost cause to teach children manners in one evening, when she’d barely taught Esther and Davey in months. She was pleased to at least see Davey use a fork.

“I forgots how good you cook,” Davey said with potatoes falling from his mouth.

Vic watched them all tentatively and then looked to Rosie and mouthed Thank you.

The thought that she’d done something to please him strengthened her resolve to show him that they were ready to be man and wife, but for now, she only nodded. The children were in need, and she was on a mission to prove she could handle having them in her life again.

When not a morsal of food remained, Davey scooted his chair out. “Let’s go. Don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

Rosie pointed to the fireplace. “But your clothes haven’t dried. Besides, you can’t leave without helping clean up. Clear the table and go sit by the fire.”

Vic took hold of her, hugging her tight. “I’ll take care of the dishes. You go work on the clothes. And Rosie… You are more amazing than I even remembered.”

With those words in her mind, she settled herself by the fire, and only a few minutes later little snores echoed through the house.

All but Davey slept. He stood and snagged his shirt from where it hung. “I best be going. I’ll wake them after I dress.”

“No, let them sleep,” Rosie said.

“I can’t. I’m in charge of the store. I need to keep people from stealing from Mr. B.”

Vic poked his head out from the kitchen. “No need tonight, Davey. I’m working on something, so I’ll be there all night. You rest for now.”

Davey settled back down with a yawn. “Only for a minute. Then we go.” His head fought to remain upright, but it kept bobbing back until his little eyes finally gave up. But only a minute later, he shot straight, grabbed his damp clothes, and raced to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” Rosie asked.

“Not here,” Davey said.

His words were like daggers to her soul. Did he hate her for not saving his sister’s life? Before she had a chance to ask, he bolted from their home, and Vic followed, leaving her behind once more. Somehow, he’d bonded with Davey in a way she never had, and as much as that hurt, she was glad for it. She watched the others sleep and knew she’d spend most of the night mending and sewing to provide better clothes for the children.

Vic returned an hour later but didn’t say a word about Davey. He kissed her on the head. “They look so peaceful. Can we let them stay? Only for tonight? Their clothes haven’t dried and probably won’t by morning.”

She nodded but didn’t love the idea. Because in the morning, she knew the truth: Davey would return, only to disappear once more, and this time he’d take the rest of them with him. He never wanted to stay with Rosie, not even when she begged him.

And in the morning, she saw she’d been right. Davey and the others, their clothes, and all sign of them were gone, except for the folded blankets on the floor.

Chapter Twelve

Sleep remained unattainable for a week for Vic. He feared he might wake and find himself crying on the floor, and he couldn’t break down like that in front of Rosie again. Or worse, he worried he might be so lost in a dream he’d wake to find Rosie harmed.

But each night he began to relax a little more as Rosie stroked his hair and held him tight. On day seven, he slept like he hadn’t in years. For the next week, a routine formed. Each evening he found the rubbers resting on the night side table, he’d slide them into the drawer and take Rosie into his arms. Each night his will deteriorated, and he knew something would have to change. He’d move into the other room again before he’d chance Rosie dying from a bad pregnancy again.

Each morning, he’d rethink moving from the room when he woke with his beloved wife in his arms. “You are the most beautiful creature ever to walk this world,” Vic whispered before leaving her with a kiss to her head.

She watched as he dressed. The way she looked at him intensified his yearning for her. “I love you, Victor Bessler. Not in the way I did when we first married, yet something grows deeper between us. I can’t explain it.”

He returned to her side. “I, too, feel the same way, my love.” He cupped her hands and kissed each knuckle. “I want you so much, Rosie. I’m torn between my desire and the chance we take with your life.”

“I’m stronger now. You can trust me to handle anything. Haven’t I’ve shown you how strong I am?”

He cupped her cheek and rested his head to hers. “Oh, Rosie. I never doubted your strength. It was a reason I used to keep the distance between us. I do understand how dark times were for you, and you are not the only person to grieve so deeply you couldn’t see light ahead. I don’t blame you for what happened.” He pressed his lips to the scar on her wrist.

“Then what keeps you from making love to me?” Rosie asked in a tone of such need, he questioned his resolve.

“I know how you had complications after your miscarriage. Mrs. Slaughter sent me a letter after her husband perished overseas. She told me that she found strength in you, Rosie, after you’d had the miscarriage complications and you almost died of infection.” His voice shook, his chest burned.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rosie asked.

He blinked at her. “Because I’d hoped you’d tell me yourself when you were ready.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you, but you were already so nervous about the risk of pregnancy that I didn’t want to complicate things further.” She pointed to the drawer that housed the rubbers. “But we have a solution for now. You don’t have to worry about another baby. Not until we’re ready.”

“Not until? Are you saying you still want to try for another child of our own?” Conflicting emotions collided inside him of hope and despair.

“Yes. Not now, but someday.”

Vic slipped from her arms, needing to escape the turmoil inside him. “I need to check on the children.”

Before she could argue further, he slipped from the room. He paused in the hallway to gather himself and find a calmness he didn’t feel. After a moment, he made his way to the shop, where he was happy to discover Davey hadn’t ushered the others outside into the cold. They stood and folded their blankets and headed for the door, but Vic couldn’t allow it. Not anymore. “Today, I need extra help. I expect more customers, so that means I can’t keep up with the cleaning and sanding and staining some of the toys. Do you think we can work out an agreement for some extra help through the holidays? Davey, I’d like you promoted to my full-time assistant. Reggie, could you do the staining, Eva some of the painting, and Gina and Betty do the cleaning?”

The two little ones looked to Davey with large eyes Vic didn’t think any man could refuse, and to his relief Davey offered one nod of approval. They all jumped in and worked harder and better than any grown man or woman.

Vic found himself yearning for them to be in the shop with him during the day, but he still couldn’t get Davey to agree to staying at his and Rosie’s house.

During lunch break, Rosie stopped working in the back room and brought lunch to them. To his relief, she entered with a smile and a kiss to his cheek. After they ate, she held school, teaching the others the alphabet and basic words. Reggie caught on so quick, Vic snuck him some old children’s books he had from when he was a boy.

Davey stopped in the middle of a lesson and jumped off his stool. “Mr. B, look.”

Betty gasped and pointed to his leg. “You ain’t got your cane.”

The kids all jumped up and cheered. Gina threw her arms around his thigh and squeezed. “You gettin’ better.”

Rosie joined the commotion. “I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d get better if you kept working at it. You are an amazing man, Vic.”

“No, it’s you.” The compassion and love in her eyes nearly made him crumble with joy in her arms. He wanted to give her the world, and that’s when he realized he didn’t have to give her a baby to make her happy. She only needed children to care for. A plan formulated in his head. “It must be you kids making me better, too.” Although his leg ached from the cold, he had found the muscles getting stronger and he could walk relying on the cane a little less, but that was the first time he’d walked on his own. It felt like his first steps in life.

After the commotion settled, Rosie returned to work. When she didn’t come out by late afternoon, he knew she’d lost track of time attempting to fill the furniture order, so he went to the diner that had recently opened and brought back dinner.

Betty raced to the workroom door and banged her little fists against it. “Come see, come see. We got diner food.”

The door opened, and Rosie came out, her mouth open. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be late.”

“Don’t worry.” Vic ushered her to a stool. “We’re a team, right?”

She nodded and appeared to settle into his words with more ease and less concentration on the supposed rules of marriage.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold.” Vic ushered them all to wash up and come to the table for his favorite part of the day.

They settled around the workbench together like a family and enjoyed the delicious food. With full bellies and fluttering eyelids, the children crawled into their makeshift beds. Rosie sat at the stool and read a bedtime story, while Vic lit the old oil heater he’d managed to transport to the shop. She didn’t even make it halfway through the story before they all fell asleep. Even Rosie yawned. He worried that Rosie did too much, between her furniture making, cleaning, laundry, sewing, and cooking, but she appeared to be calmer than ever.

Vic watched the younger ones sleep for a moment. With them staying inside all day at the shop, they had managed to stay relatively clean, and the new dresses and pants Rosie had made fit them nicely. Life was peaceful. Even Davey and Rosie had warmed to each other the last few days. But despite their connection, Davey still remained distant. While the others slept, he studied the crack in the wall with such intensity, Vic worried Davey was growing restless. Rosie had warned him Davey never stayed long. Vic decided they’d have a man-to-man coffee in the morning and discuss his future.

The snow fell in sheets, so he turned off the space heater, hoping the room would stay warm enough until morning when he returned, and then ushered Rosie out the door before it became too much to make it home. She paused outside and pressed her palm to the glass. “It still doesn’t feel right having the kids here while we’re at home, but there isn’t much of a choice.”

Anyone could see Rosie had warmed to the children, so he continued to foster their makeshift family since Rosie was smiling again. “Maybe we invite them again.” Vic cuddled Rosie into his side so she would be covered by the store awning.

“No. Trust me. You push Davey too much, and he’ll run. At least they are warm and safe inside the shop.”

Vic took her by the hand, and they hurried home, leaving a piece of his heart behind. Each day they’d grown closer as they watched over the misfits and forgotten children of their town. By the time they reached home, they were damp and chilled to the bone. He quickly helped Rosie out of her coat and hung it on the rack along with his own. “I’ll start a fire while you change.”

He stripped down to his union suit and sat by the fire with a blanket, waiting for them both to snuggle under. The door to the bedroom opened, and he looked up to find Rosie standing at the edge of the hallway in nothing but a satin see-through slip that glistened in the night. He swallowed hard and allowed his gaze to follow the lace down the plunging neckline. Stunning. She was like the brightest star in the dark winter sky. Some strange sound echoed from his throat. It took a moment for him to find his speech. “Beautiful” was the only word he could manage before he stood and took her in his arms, kissing her without a thought or a care. They stood in their home, in each other’s arms, the heat between them warming him to his core. When he managed to find a sense to his thoughts, he took in a deep breath and rested his head to hers. Guilt, fear, pain, sadness all faded behind his need for his wife. “I want you, my love.”

She laced her fingers between his. “Then have me.”

With those words, he swooped her into his arms and carried her to their room. He kissed and held her on the bed until he managed to pull away long enough to retrieve the small green and white tin box. He stood looking down at her, worried for what this meant. Could he take a chance for his own pleasure?

“Don’t think. Just be with me. The pain of not being with you is worse than any fear of a baby.” Rosie’s eyes shined with unshed tears. “Be my husband.”

With her words, he could resist no longer. As the snow drifted down outside, they relished in the warmth and comfort of each other in a way that only a husband and wife could find together.

He savored her touch, tender and exploring at first and then feverish and wanting. He savored the sounds of her pleasure. He savored the taste of passion. He succumbed to his carnal desire and tumbled over the mountain of pleasure. Most of all, he savored every moment through the night with his beloved Rosie. They were finally one in body and soul.

* * *

For days, Rosie walked around in a euphoria she couldn’t explain, singing and caring for those she loved. But when Vic returned home on day three with another tin of rubbers, she wasn’t elated. Deep inside she wanted a child. A child to call her own.

One morning, she woke up feeling agitated, as if awakening from a dream to discover life hadn’t stopped while she slept. “Christmas is only ten days away, and there’s so much to do.” Rosie rubbed her temple, trying to soothe her aching headache she’d woken with.

Vic pressed his hand to Rosie’s head. “You feel slightly warm. Perhaps you should get some rest.”

“Don’t start treating me like I’m fragile again. I need to finish these new coats for the children, the furniture for my next delivery, not to mention all the food and preparations for the Christmas feast.”

“My darling, you don’t need to do so much.” Vic took her hand. “I don’t want you to overdo it. Allow me to help.”

Rosie wanted to bop him in the nose. “Seriously? Don’t coddle me. I’m strong. Have I not proven myself to you yet?”

He squeezed her hand, but his tight jaw told her how much he worried. “Of course. I see how strong you are.”

She knew he struggled to mean his words, but it was progress that he said it. “You better get back to the shop before Davey tries to open it to customers without you again. Mr. Mason is already complaining about us having those street kids around so much. We don’t want any trouble.”

Vic pressed his lips together and studied her for a moment. “Fine, but I’ll be home early, and I’ll help with the kids’ weekly bath and with dinner.”

Rosie sighed. “If I must agree to get you on your way, then yes, you can help me with the kids this evening. Do you think we can convince Davey to spend the night?”

“Not tonight, but I’m working on it for Christmas Eve.” Vic kissed her the way he had each morning since the night they’d first made love after his return.

In that moment, she knew this would be the best Christmas ever. If she could show Vic a Christmas Eve with those children in his home and how well she did with their makeshift family, perhaps he’d see she was ready for her own baby. One that could grow inside of her, letting her feel the kicks and fulfilling her dream of giving Victor a child of his own. A baby to fill that empty space she’d felt in her womb for so long.

She spent the day working on the furniture, but she found herself slow and required more rests than normal. She’d used the excuse of teaching the children more words and basic math skills. At one point, though, she’d fallen asleep mid-swipe with the sandpaper. At this rate, she’d never get finished.

At eleven, she abandoned her work to go home and fix sandwiches and returned to the shop. They enjoyed a lunch together, and then she returned to work until a knock sounded at the workroom door.

“Afternoon, Mrs. B. I came to see if I could help since Mr. B’s with a customer. Shop’s been so busy today. I’ve been learning to carve, but I’m afraid I still don’t do well with details on small things.”

Rosie used the excuse for his visit to rest once more. This was the most Davey had said to her since his reemergence into her life. “Don’t feel bad. That’s why I prefer to work on furniture. The details are not as intricate, and I like building something that’s structural.”

Davey removed his hat. “If Mr. B doesn’t need me—which, with all the others working, I don’t think he does—I’d likes to learn furniture making.”

She forced herself not to be too excited at his suggestion. “Sure, Davey. I’d love the help but I’m afraid it might be boring work.”

Davey wrung his hat between his hands. “Not if I’m with you.”

His words shot a strange yearning through her. He’d always remained at a safe distance. They had even reached an understanding so that Davey wouldn’t run away. She’d promised she wouldn’t mother him too much about forcing him to live with them or bathe him every night, and he’d keep the little ones safe in the shop. He’d barely spoken to her except in lessons, and he’d never said anything that sounded endearing to her before. What had changed? She knew better than to trust Davey would stick around. Yet, if only for a moment, she allowed herself to believe it.

Rosie sat him down by her side and handed him a piece of sandpaper. “Go with the grain of the wood, like this.” She showed him the proper way, and before she knew it, he’d learned to sand and paint like a professional, so she went to assembling the table and other chairs.

“I like this work. Don’t have to sit all day on a stool. I’m using my arms and legs and brain. Besides, I’m not much for learning to read. I’d rather be here than doing my words in the store.”

She chuckled. “I’m thinking you might have a lesson waiting for you after dinner tonight while the others are getting their baths.”

Davey scrunched his nose tight with that I-ate-something-bitter look. “Learning’s for sissies.”

“Learning’s important to everyone.” She watched him, making sure she didn’t overstep and send him running again.

“I guess. Fine. I’ll do my lesson, but can I help here when Mr. B doesn’t need me?”

Rosie thought for a moment about all the work she needed to finish and decided it would be beneficial for them both. She understood it was only a business arrangement for Davey, not an actual desire to be with her. “I’ll talk to Mr. B, and I’ll let you know for sure.” She tousled his hair, and they returned to work.

For three hours, they sanded, assembled, and stained wood side by side. She hummed and hammered, and Davey joined in with a happiness she’d never seen from him. As if the nightmares of the past had faded and he flourished in his new life. Did she dare believe Davey might want to have a real family someday?

The sun began to lower to the tree line. “Time to clean up and start dinner.”

Davey washed brushes, swept, stacked wood, and didn’t stop until her workshop was as clean as her kitchen. “You’re an amazing worker, aren’t you?”

“Mr. B says I’m a good helper. Even when I break his little pieces. I think I’m better with big stuff. Always have been.”

Rosie wondered if Davey was selling her on the idea of him working with her, and any doubt she had was lifted when he didn’t leave her side while they fixed dinner, he volunteered to bathe, and he set the table. The boy was a perfect little angel. She began to truly believe he wanted to be around her for now.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Rosie wiped her hands and hurried to the door to greet the first child for their weekly freshening up, but when she opened the door, she found Mr. Mason with his one brow forming an arch between his eyes.

“Ma’am, since your husband will not listen to reason, I’ll speak to you plainly. Those little street kids are chasing my customers away, thieving, and creating all sorts of mischief. I’ve notified the authorities, and they should be moved by the end of the week.”

Before she could respond, the man about-faced and tromped down the front walk back toward town. A hot madness boiled within her at the thought of that prejudiced man sending the children away.

“Will they take us?” Davey asked from behind her, staying her movement to forget she was a lady and go after the man with a wooden spoon and some choice words. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and closed the door before she turned to face Davey and his trembling lip, standing in his new clothes she’d made him. He’d even washed his hair and combed it without being reminded.

“No, my sweet boy. I won’t let that happen. This I vow.” An echo from the past sounded in her ears, and she remembered that she’d made that same promise to Esther a week before she’d died.

Chapter Thirteen

Vic spent most of the night worried for the children, and no matter how much Rosie appeared to not fret, he knew she did. Mr. Mason wasn’t a man of empty threats; Vic had no doubt that he’d called to have the children shipped off to some orphanage.

The morning sun didn’t even appear before he awoke to Rosie pacing. It was like it was when she was pregnant the second time. Always worrying, always waiting to lose the baby. Now she feared losing the street kids of Sugar Maple. What had he done, bringing little ones into her life again? He’d been so selfish. He’d watched her over the last few weeks, seeing how she attempted to show him how well she was around the children, and he knew why. But her façade had crumbled since Davey had started working with her. She’d succumbed to her love for Davey and the other little ones’ charms. It wasn’t an act anymore; Rosie had opened her heart to them.

“Darling, come to bed. Don’t worry so much.”

She collapsed by his side. “We need to hide them. If only for a while. No more staying at the store, and no more allowing Davey to speak with Melba. That’s why Mr. Mason called the state. If we tell him the children have run off, he’ll have no reason to have the social worker visit Sugar Maple. Once things blow over, we can let them be free again.”

“Davey will never agree. As he’s told us before, he’s not meant to be caged. He’s been on his own since he was barely able to walk. How will you get him to stay hidden here?”

“I’ll tell him how much I need his help with the furniture. That will buy us the rest of the week and past the time the social worker should arrive. If she comes, we’ll tell her they disappeared and we don’t know where they went.”

“Rosie, my love. I worry for you. You’ve never been a deceptive person. Perhaps we should speak to the agency about an arrangement. We could legally foster the children, and then they won’t take them from us.”

His beautiful wife abandoned his side to return to her pacing. “Will they allow us to foster children when we allow them to live in the store? They’ll never truly belong to us. Not unless…” She swooped back to his side, her nightgown flowing around her. “Unless we adopt them.”

“Rosie, are you sure? That’s a lot to take on. I mean, five children? I know we’re doing well with the furniture business, but can we afford five more mouths to feed, bodies to clothe?”

“We’ve already been doing that.”

She had a point. Still, despite his desire to adopt the children, were they really up to taking care of them long-term?

“Davey will never risk returning to an orphanage. He says they’re far worse than any night outside. Disease, filth, starvation… There are too many children since the war for them to care for. If they try to take him, he’ll run, and who knows what will happen to him and the others.” Her dainty hands were like a bench vise, squeezing him to her will. “Please, we need to protect them.”

“I care about the children, too. However, I’ll speak to the social worker when she comes—”

“But—”

“But…” He placed a finger to her lips. “You’ll keep the children here for now so as to not antagonize Mr. Mason. The girls can help around the house, and the boys can help with the furniture. We can set up a temporary shop out back. I can move that old space heater outside to help with the cold and put up tarps to shield the wind. I won’t lie, but I’ll promise Mr. Mason that the children will no longer be around to corrupt his precious Melba.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” Rosie kissed his cheek, his lips, his neck.

“Rosie, you need to prepare yourself, though. If the social worker takes the children, there is little we can do. But this time, I’ll be by your side no matter what. You won’t have to go through any loss alone.”

She nodded. “We won’t lose them, though. I can feel it.”

* * *

He worried that Rosie could be disappointed again. She wanted children so badly, and this might be their only opportunity, so that morning, he marched into the general store to face Mr. Mason, the man who’d upset his wife.

Despite the few people mulling around in the store, Vic couldn’t wait. He needed to make things right. But he took a moment to soothe his temper, not wanting to back Mr. Mason into a corner. When he had come into the store a week or so ago and asked for him to carry rubbers, Mr. Mason had accused him of cheating on Rosie. That’s when Vic winked and said, “I guess we’re cheating with each other.” The man had turned all shades of purple.

“Mr. Mason.” Vic forced a calmness to his tone. “I’d like to speak to you in regard to the matter of the children.”

“Nothing to discuss. I called the Tennessee Children’s Home Society to have them placed in real houses.” Mr. Mason continued stocking a shelf until he went to help a customer.

Vic waited for another moment until the man finished and tried once more. “I believe there’s something to discuss, sir. You upset my wife.”

“Did I? Perhaps she realized her husband’s licentious tendencies.”

Milk from breakfast curdled in his stomach. “Sir, I assure you that is not the case.”

“Well, maybe if you gave her children of your own, you wouldn’t be inclined to keep such delinquents around here.”

The precarious hold on his temper slipped, and he rounded on Mr. Mason. The man backed behind the large wooden counter, forcing room between them. “Enough. I came in here to speak to you peacefully, but you are determined to be an ignorant fool. I will ask, sir, that you do not go to my home and verbally assault my wife.”

His pale skin turned green, and he shook his head with eyes the size of Necco Wafers. A moment passed with his gaze darting to his patrons in the shop before he straightened his apron and stood tall. “I assure you I would never speak to a lady in such a manner.” He smiled at Mrs. Heltand, the owner of the old diner, at the edge of the counter with a pinched expression.

“So you did not knock on my door and then threaten my wife that you have called the authorities on us because you feel that it’s a problem that we’re helping the lost and forgotten children of Sugar Maple?”

A gasp from Mrs. Heltand and a handkerchief to her mouth told Vic he’d made an impression on her, if not Mr. Mason.

“Mr. Mason, we are a town that care for our own.” Mrs. Heltand apparently decided she was done shopping, about-faced, and marched from the store.

“Wait. You misunderstand. The children are criminals, stealing and causing mischief.” Mr. Mason abandoned the safety behind the counter and chased after his fleeing customer, but Vic blocked his path, causing him to step back once more.

The little girl who had been the source of the man’s true concern popped her head out. “Papa, Davey isn’t a criminal. He’s nice.”

As if Mr. Mason recalled the true reason he wanted the children away, he snapped into a stone-cold face and pointed at Vic. “Those children are a menace. If they step foot near my store again, then, I’ll call the police.”

Vic silently chastised himself, realizing the man would protect his own daughter at any cost. Rosie was right. He’d send the children away if he had the chance.

“There’s no reason. The children are gone.”

Chapter Fourteen

Winter hit with a vengeance, but they were sheltered on the back porch where Davey, Eva, and Rosie huddled together around a coffee table sanding. The phone inside the house shrilled, calling Rosie inside.

Davey’s gaze shot to the door, and even though his oversized new coat covered his body, she could see his frame stiffen.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. I’ll be right back.” She went inside and answered, “Hello?”

“Rosie, make sure the kids remain at the house. You were right. Mr. Mason wouldn’t listen to reason. I’ll come home at lunch to discuss this with the children. Can you handle keeping them there until then?”

Rosie wanted to tell her husband he should’ve believed her when she warned him not to push Mr. Mason, but now wasn’t the time. “Certainly. I’ll see you in a few hours.” She hung up and took a moment to steady her nerves so the children wouldn’t suspect anything.

“Mrs. B, what’s wrong?” Little Eva tugged on her pants with sad eyes and a pink face from being outside helping Davey as he instructed her what to do.

“Nothing, darling. That was Mr. B. He asked if you guys would stay here to help me today. He’s a fuddy duddy and thinks I work too much. Do you think you can stay here with me today?”

“Sure!” She took off in that awkward run where she sent her body before her feet could keep up. “We’re staying here today.”

The two other girls sat in the living room darning socks the way Rosie had showed them at Davey’s insistence. If she was correct, the two girls didn’t want to be outside anymore, so they were happy with their new jobs. They were tired of living on the streets but would never betray Davey.

Betty held up her sock. “How am I doing?”

Rosie looked at the crooked work and smiled at the raven-haired girl with dark eyes. “Perfect.”

“I don’t know how Davey rips his clothes and his toes go through his socks so much,” Gina protested with a little extra drama. She reminded Rosie of Jane Wyman she’d seen in The Lost Weekend a couple of weeks ago. So much had changed since the night of their big date, but she’d found that she’d warmed to the new life easily, despite the still-empty feeling inside her.

“He’s lucky to have you both.” Rosie patted Gina on her white hair and enjoyed the shine in her big blue eyes.

Reggie worked on fixing the old, broken radio he’d found in the shed out back. Rosie could picture him as an engineer who worked on one of those new fancy dams or something. “Did you get it working yet?”

“Not yet. But I’m close.” He picked up a wrench and tightened something, so she left him to his efforts to return to Davey outside. Even with his help, she hoped they’d finish in time. They’d need the money if they were to keep the children fed and cared for until they were old enough to care for themselves.

Davey shot up and narrowed his gaze when she went outside. “Bad news?”

“No, actually. I’m happy about this.” She closed the door behind her and let out a breath that showed white in the cold. “I’m only worried you won’t like it.”

Davey flipped the chair onto its feet and wiped his hands. “What won’t I like?”

Rosie knew Vic would want to be here to discuss this with Davey, but the boy would never rest until he knew the truth. She took the two chairs on which the stain had already dried and put them in front of each other. “Please, sit.”

Davey hopped up into the chair and removed his hat. “What’s wrong?”

Rosie took both his hands. “I know you don’t like to be contained in a traditional home and that you prefer your freedom, but can I ask you for a favor for a few days?”

“Mr. Mason reported us, didn’t he?” Davey swished his lips. “Sorry Melba has a papa so harsh. He won’t even let her outside to play.”

Rosie squeezed his fingers to keep his attention on what was important. “I understand, but I can’t help her. The only thing I can do is keep you, Reggie, Betty, Eva, and Gina safe. And the only way I can do that is if you agree to stay here with Vic and me through Friday. That’s when the social worker will arrive and decide whether or not to take all of you away.”

Davey shot from the chair. “Gotta go. Not going to that place again, and neither’s my family.”

Rosie scooped him into her arms, but his feet continued to air walk. “Calm down. I won’t let that happen, and you don’t have to run. I promise I won’t make you stay; the minute the social worker leaves, you can return to the store and streets. This is temporary, I promise.”

Davey stopped running and turned his head to look up at her. “Three days. Then we go if things are still bad.”

She hoped during those three days he’d learn to love being safe and warm inside her home. “Thank you, Davey.” She loosened her grip and set him on his feet but didn’t let go in fear he’d still take off.

“But if she tries to take me, I run.” Davey pushed from her embrace, picked up his hat that had fallen to the floor, and returned to work.

And work he did for three days. Three days of her not sleeping or eating, waiting for some person to come to their house and take the children away. By Friday morning, she was exhausted, and her head pounded. The fever had festered and grown over the last few days, but she wouldn’t tell anyone. Not now. There was no time for her to rest.

“Go back to bed, Rosie,” Vic begged “You’re pale.”

But there was no way Rosie would abandon her protective post. Instead, she made coffee and fixed breakfast for the kids. The caffeine perked her up enough to shoo Vic to the store. “Promise to call me the minute that woman leaves town.”

“I promise. Don’t worry. There are so many children who need homes. I’ll work out the details with her today.”

Rosie kissed his cheek and sent him on his way, and then she joined Davey, who was already working. The boy worked harder than anyone she’d ever met. “Why don’t you take a break and get warm for a while. Drink some coffee by the fire.”

“No. Don’t need to.”

That’s when she realized the poor child was as frightened about this woman’s arrival as she was. She’d tried to shield them from the reality, but Davey was too smart for that. “Listen, everything will be fine. Vic and I won’t let you be taken from Sugar Maple.” Rosie knew she shouldn’t say what she was thinking, but she couldn’t help herself. If the orphanages were really that bad, then the arrangement of him hiding at the store or in their home when the weather was bad and her providing clothes and food and an education had to be better. “Davey, I want you to promise me something. If they try to take you, run and hide at the fort you kids made in the woods. It’ll be safe there until I can come and get you. Once she’s gone, we can return to how things were. Deal?”

“Deal.” He gave a curt nod and went to work once more.

After a few hours of sanding and painting, her throat was raw, her hands trembled, and she thought she’d collapse from exhaustion. She stood, but her knees wobbled under her.

“You don’t look good.” Davey was at her side, guiding her toward a chair, but her head spun and everything went dark. Her knees hit the ground hard. All her energy drained. “I’m going to get help.”

“No. Don’t go.” Rosie tried to shout, but only a whisper managed to come out. She wanted to tell him she’d be fine and that he needed to stay hidden, but it was too late. Davey had already vanished.

Chapter Fifteen

The toy shop was quiet in the early hours. Too quiet. Vic missed Davey and the little ones underfoot throughout the day. He couldn’t wait to have them back helping him in the shop. Although, Davey had taken more of an interest in Rosie’s work than his own. That was okay though. They’d be in the back room working nearby while the little ones helped him. The customers a taken a liking to Gina and her big personality in such a little frame.

For now, he needed to show he was a guardian who could provide and care for children. Having them work all day in his store probably wouldn’t give the best starting impression. That being said, he was still nervous about the strain of children on Rosie. He’d hoped to ease her into life with little ones. Perhaps he’d have them all in school soon. That would help lift the burden from Rosie. Davey and the others had been too far behind, and Vic didn’t want them to start until they could do the basics. Vic had taught them the alphabet and some words, but Rosie had done a great job teaching them reading, writing, and arithmetic. Of course, it would take some convincing to ever get Davey into a classroom.

A car pulled up out front, sending a blast of prickles all over his skin. He took a deep breath, looked in the small mirror behind the register, and adjusted his coat and tie. With shaking hands, he lifted the thermos and poured two steaming cups of coffee and then placed them on the table he’d cleaned. Despite his and Rosie’s work logically spewing sawdust everywhere, he wanted the place immaculate.

From the brief phone call he’d had from the orphanage, the woman, Ms. Tann, who ran the Tennessee Children’s Society was powerful and well connected. She decided the fate of all the children and their prospective parents.

Ms. Tann’s heels clicked against the sidewalk, and she slid on the icy front walk despite the salt he’d spread. She was dressed nicer than he’d expected in a fancy, fur-collared coat and hat. He shook off his musings and scrambled to the door, where he ushered her inside away from the cold. “Please, come in Ms. Tann.”

The woman dusted the snow from her coat and grunted. “Ms. Cramer. I’m here on behalf of the Tennessee Children’s Home Society. Ms. Tann resides in Memphis. We do not usually travel this far, but Mr. Mason called us directly and stated there were five babies in need of homes.”

Ms. Cramer smelled of expensive perfume, and her hair was well kempt. “I’m afraid there has been some miscommunication. They’re children, not babies.”

Her lips turned down and her eyes narrowed on the two cups of coffee. That’s when he realized what she reminded him of: a commanding officer—cold-faced, rigid posture, with an air of superiority. Not at all what he expected from a childcare professional.

“Mr. Bessler, this is not a social call.” She adjusted her handbag and lifted her chin. “We do not travel this far to pick up neglected children on a daily basis. Babies are easier to place. The older children are a different matter. What are their ages?”

Vic dabbed at the perspiration gathering at his hairline. “Please sit.” He pointed to the stools awaiting them, but her upturned lip told him she was not interested. Based on her scrunched nose, someone would think she was concerned about contracting diphtheria from it.

Lines appeared around the woman’s pursed lips. “I’ll repeat my question. How many children and what are their ages, sir?” She pulled a small notebook from her purse and scribbled something.

“I, um, don’t know, actually. I would say between six and ten.”

She shook her head and tsked. “Hmm, the six might be placeable. Ten is much too old. What do they look like? Are they blond and blue-eyed?”

Her questions were disconcerting, but he didn’t want to make the situation worse, so he answered. “Some are.” Vic mustered his courage to approach a subject he wasn’t positive was the right answer for them all, but it was the only answer. Was it too soon for Rosie? Despite his fears, it wouldn’t hurt to have all the facts. “May I ask, what would it take for a solid, upstanding husband and wife to adopt the children?”

“All five?” she asked in a shriek.

Vic felt his bad knee go weak, but he didn’t want to lean on anything to let her know his deficiencies that could cause her to doubt his ability to guardian the children. “Yes, ma’am.”

The air smelled of sawdust, coffee, and judgement as Ms. Cramer walked around the store and ran her white-gloved finger along the counter, making him feel like he was back in the barracks for inspection. “Sir, I’m afraid you would not be able to afford five children.”

“We make a modest living since I returned from the war, but business is picking up. We also have another lucrative revenue stream selling furniture in Clinton. My wife is a delightful cook, and she is a genius seamstress. Each of the kids have been fed and clothed and cared for since we discovered them behind our shop.”

“So, no relatives?” she asked, but the way her tone dipped made him uneasy.

“No relatives that I’m aware of at this time.” He felt his anger rise, but he punched it down so as not to show his temper. “As I was saying, we will have the means to care for our children.”

“Our children?” Her brow lifted disapprovingly.

“All I mean to say is that the children are safe and happy with us and we have the means to care for them.”

“And what happens when you have more children of your own?”

Her question hung in the air like a million mosquitos buzzing in his ear, irritating, itchy, impending. “We cannot have our own children.”

She offered her first glimpse as a human with compassion. “I’m sorry.” It only lasted a brief moment before she recovered and said, “Then it’s settled. Where are the little ones? I’ll take them with me now.”

“You haven’t told me how to adopt them ourselves,” he said, his tone dipping to agitation.

She squared her shoulders to him. “As I said, you can’t afford five children, sir.”

“And as I said, ma’am, we are able to provide for them.”

“And the 700 dollars per child that you need to pay for the adoption?”

His throat closed, skin stung, breath trapped below the weight of a Sherman tank. “Wh-What?”

“That’s right, Mr. Bessler. There are fees involved in adoption. Can you pay $3,500 now to keep the children in your home?”

He scanned the room, as if to find a leprechaun with a magical pot of gold. “No. I cannot.”

“Then show me to the children.” She headed for the door, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t send them away. Davey would never allow it; he’d insist they all stay together until they were ripped apart at the orphanage and he ended up back on the streets.

“They’re gone.” He stood there with a blank face, the way he did when he was interrogated about missing supplies that he’d taken for the starving people of a tiny French village. He never thought anything would be more frightening than facing the enemy or a court martial, but this was terrifying.

“Sir, do not lie to me.” Ms. Cramer marched to a position of power two steps from him and scrunched her brows together. “Tell me where the youngest children are.”

He decided to channel his inner Ray Milland and put on a performance to get this lady gone. With his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, he mumbled, “I didn’t want you to know in fear you wouldn’t let us keep the children, but when Mr. Mason reported them and they discovered you were going to come here to take them away, they scattered. We’ve been unable to find them.”

A frustrated whistled blew from Ms. Cramer. “Thank you for wasting my time.” She turned and marched toward her car.

If Davey had waited only a few seconds more before he burst through the back door, they would’ve been home free. Yes, Vic had lied, and he wasn’t proud of it, but he’d justified it the way he’d justified stealing supplies. It was for the greater good.

The door slammed against the wall so hard it bounced. “Help!” Davey bent over, resting his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

“Ran off, huh?” Ms. Cramer approached as if ready to slap the cuffs on Davey and take him away.

Why’d he come here, knowing he risked his freedom, his future?

“Ms. Rosie, she sick. Collapsed,” Davey managed between huffs and puffs.

Vic froze, unable to process Davey’s words. The fear coiled in his belly and knotted him into a tight ball. For a moment, he’d forgotten Ms. Cramer stood only feet away, ready to apprehend Davey.

She crossed her arms in front of her and bent over Davey with the posture of a priest declaring sin. “Show me where the other children are, young man.”

The room spun, Vic’s belly protested, and he nearly lost his breakfast, but in that moment, he knew two things: He needed to get to Rosie, and he needed the children safe. He grabbed his coat, buttoned it as if he were going to church, and snapped his fingers to distract the woman. He positioned himself as to block her advance, but instead of speaking to her, he yelled, “Run, Davey.”

Before the woman could make her way around him, Davey had bolted out the back, and Vic knew he’d get the others and hide. “The police can find me at home with my wife, but you’ll never find those children now. There is no way they’ll reappear, and there is nothing I’ll be able to do to find them.”

Chapter Sixteen

The pain in her head hammered without mercy. Her throat was raw and sore. The cold ground caused a chill that brought daggers plunging deep into her marrow. She mustered all the energy she could to crawl with one hand at a time, one knee at a time. The door handle required more than she thought she could give, but with a ragged breath, she managed to reach above her head and turn the knob. Quiet, so as not to disturb or scare the younger ones, she scooted inside, and with one last burst of fading energy, she managed to shut the door and collapse to the hardwood floor.

Fear corroded her insides. Not about her own health but how Vic would interpret this as being about the stress from the children. Now wasn’t the time to give in to the depths of despair, so she managed to keep the nervousness at a distance while she focused on her situation. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. One breath at a time, she pushed the awful thoughts from her mind and faded in and out of sleep. She didn’t want the other children to find her in this state, so she hid in the corner until she knew Vic would come home.

The door flew open, and Davey hopped over her and ran for the parlor. “Get to the fort. Bad lady’s comin.”

Rosie forced her eyes open, panic taking hold, and she used the burst of energy and pushed to her feet, wobbled to the parlor, and collapsed into the chair.

Davey held Reggie by the shoulders and pressed his head to his like some sort of medieval send off to battle. “You can do this. I’ll join you soon. If I can’t, Mr. or Mrs. B will help.”

“No, Davey. You come,” Gina cried out, crocodile tears rolling down her high, full cheeks.

Rosie swallowed through the rawness and forced her voice to work. “No, you all stay. We’ll fight for you. Vic won’t let them take you. I know he won’t.”

“He told me to run.” Davey ushered them to their coats.

“Why?” she mumbled to herself, but she couldn’t find a reason unless the state was going to take them and they were on their way here. Beyond what she thought her body could do, as if on borrowed strength from some force beyond herself, she made her way to the kitchen and packed food, retrieved the presents she’d made for them, and put them in the bag. By the time she managed to make her way to the door, she dropped to her knees. In an attempt to hide from them how bad she was fading, she pulled the gifts out and handed them to the children. “I thought to give this to you Christmas morning, but you need them now.”

She tugged the knitted mittens onto each little hand as they headed to the door, but when she turned to Davey with his red and white snowflake mittens, he shook his head. “Not going. Staying with you.”

The cold air blasted through the house when he opened the door and the kids took off hand in hand into the snow. The bitterness penetrated her skin and bones and settled in her soul. Not from the cold but from the idea of the children out in the cold, alone.

Davey helped her to the chair by the fire and covered her in blankets, his eyes wide with fear. “Mr. B was right. We’re too much for you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Davey pulled out a little package he’d obviously wrapped himself and opened it for her. Inside was a little wooden carved piece. “Made this for you.” He twirled it in his hands as if studying the small object. “It’s a flame. My grandma told me it’s used to find your way home. It was meant as a Christmas present, but I want to give it to you now.” He spoke as if trying to say each word clearly, as if she wouldn’t understand otherwise. “When Papa would have a rage, I’d run off and leave Esther behind.” His voice cracked on the name they hadn’t spoken about since that awful night years ago. “He took his anger out on me. Never hit my sister ’cause he always thought she was his beloved wife.” Davey’s hands shook, and tears filled his eyes. “When he’d settle, my sister would make a fire outside to guide me home. She was brave. I wasn’t. That’s why she dead.” A tear rolled down his face, over his lips, and dropped to the floor. “I want you to have it ’cause you make it safe to come home.”

Tears gushed from her eyes so thick she had to blink through them to see the little man who’d won her heart. And in that moment, she wanted to tell him how much it meant to her. How it wasn’t his fault but his father’s, but the words lodged in her inflamed throat. The fever won. Her mouth was so dry she fought to speak, to tell him how special and brave he was, but at the sound of people outside, all she could manage to say was: “Go. Run.”

Before he had a chance, the front door swung open and in stepped Vic with Dr. Anderson in tow. He tossed his hat to the floor and raced to her side. “Dear Rosie, I knew you were overdoing it. You have to be well, my darling. I can’t lose you now.”

His wild gaze bounced around her face and body as he knelt before her, but Dr. Anderson put a hand to his shoulder. “Get her to bed, and I will examine her there.” He looked down at Davey. “So, the rumors are true. You took in all the street children.”

Vic lifted her into his arms. “They’re not street kids. They are special children. This is Davey.”

Dr. Anderson nodded and grunted, “This is probably the root of her illness. Street children probably brought disease into your home.”

Rosie feared the worst, that the doctor’s words would send Davey away, if not of his own volition but because Vic wouldn’t allow them in their home any longer. “No.”

“Shh, my love. Rest.” He gently placed her on the bed. “Please tell me she isn’t pregnant and losing a baby again.”

“Allow me to examine her, and I’ll tell you with more certainty what is wrong.” Dr. Anderson ushered Vic out the door, and he went to work. After a thorough exam, he called Vic back into the room.

Her poor husband looked as if he stood at the edge of darkness, waiting to tumble into it. She wanted to tell him not to worry, that she was strong now and could fight anything. “Vic, I…”

“Shh, Mrs. Bessler, you mustn’t try to speak.”

Vic settled by her side, kissing her hand. “She’s so hot. Is it a baby?”

“No.”

Vic’s body crumbled with a dramatic exhale. “Thank God.”

“It’s the fever. As I suspected, she has some sort of virus and an infection in her throat. Most likely one of the children brought it into your home. She needs rest, fluids, and give her these antibiotics.” The doctor closed his bag and looked to Vic. “She’s lucky we have these drugs now, or she could be in serious trouble.”

Vic nodded. “Magic bullets. That’s what they called them during the war.”

“I’ve heard the term. The fever is the main concern now. Once that breaks, she should be well. If she gets worse or is not better in a few days, send for me. Even after the fever breaks, she should remain in bed and rest to allow her body to recover.”

Rosie’s eyes were heavier than she’d ever felt, as if someone were pushing them shut.

Vic escorted Dr. Anderson to the bedroom door a few feet away. “I’ll make sure of it. Thank you, Doctor.”

Her eyes closed, but she fought against the darkness.

They whispered but loud enough for Rosie to hear. “She is not out of trouble yet. Keep an eye on her throughout the night.”

The bed dipped, and she knew Vic was at her side. “You stay with me. You hear me?”

She managed to open her eyes, if only briefly, to show Vic her strength. “I will. Please, go check on the children.”

“Shh, go to sleep, my love. You’re my concern now.” He kissed her forehead, and at the sight of Davey in the doorway, she slid into the deepest sleep of her life, dreaming of Christmas morning, waking to presents under the tree but with no children to open them.

Chapter Seventeen

Davey’s little snores were a welcome distraction from the silent night. Vic clasped Rosie’s hand and held it to his cheek. It was irrational and he knew it, but he felt as if he let her go physically, she’d slip away in the night. Her skin smelled salty from her sweating through the fever but with an undertone of her favorite Jergen’s lotion she used each night before bed.

She stirred, and something fell from her hand. Vic squinted in the low light and discovered it was the flame Davey had carved. The young boy sitting vigil on the other side of Rosie jolted awake, placed the flame gently back on her belly, and then put his head down once more to sleep.

In the silence of the night, he spoke to his love. “Rosie, don’t leave me, my darling. I’d give you anything to stay with me.” Conviction plagued him, and he had to tell her how sorry he was, even if she couldn’t hear him. “I’m full of shame for causing you so much stress. What have I done? I’m a selfish man who took what he wanted with no regard of your well-being. What if you were to get pregnant? What then? Just being home with you is gift enough. More than most men I knew in the war.”

The sound of mortar echoed in his head, reminding him of the gift God had given him by returning him home. How could he have been so ungrateful? They had each other. They didn’t need any more. They didn’t need children. He choked but swallowed through the tears threatening to take his words away, clasped his hands together, and closed his eyes. “Dear Lord. I promise to never make love to my wife again if you will allow her to stay with me. I have been selfish and taking instead of being thankful for all the gifts I have in my life.” He allowed tears to fall since no one was witness to his emotions. They tumbled down his cheek and fell in dots that rolled down Rosie’s fingers. “I promise to cherish my wife and want no more for the rest of my days.”

A rooster crowed in the distance, startling Davey awake.

Vic swiped his tears away with his sleeve and looked away so Davey couldn’t see his grief.

Davey bolted from his seat and eyed the window. “Need to check on others. Be back.” He kissed Rosie on the forehead. “I’ll be back. Don’t go nowhere.”

Vic choked at the realization of his words. In his grief, he’d forgotten about the children hiding in the fort tucked behind their home in the woods. “Take more food and any other blankets. The thought of them out there all night is terrible. Tonight, if I can leave Rosie’s side, I’ll go check in town to make sure the woman’s gone. If so, we’ll sneak all of you back into the store.” He wanted them at home, but not while Rosie was ill. Not when they could’ve brought something into their home that had made her so sick.

Davey looked at his worn secondhand shoes they’d been able to get him. “Don’t worry about us. We’re street kids. We’ll survive.”

“No, Davey, you and the others are not street kids. You are young people who have amazing strength, intelligence, and hearts. And you are the reason they have grown up so well.”

Davey’s bottom lip trembled, but before Vic could say another word, he ran off the way he’d been conditioned to run away his entire life.

Sounds of him rummaging through the kitchen reminded Vic of how lively the house had been in the last few weeks, but bringing those kids into Rosie’s life had been his biggest mistake since returning from Europe. If she had caught something from them and died, he’d never forgive himself.

The front door slammed shut, so Vic stretched the kinks from his back and neck and then went outside to get some snow. The footprints leading from their home to the woods were like a path to the lost and forgotten of Sugar Maple. Vic wanted to go out there and bring the children home, but instead, he returned to Rosie. Once the snow melted, he soaked rags in the cold water and pressed them to Rosie’s beet-colored skin. It was almost purple more than red, and he didn’t like it. For most of the day he sat by her side, holding her hand and praying until his own eyes grew heavy and he dozed off into fitful sleep.

A loud thump outside jolted him awake. In his groggy state, he imagined it was Rosie, but when he blinked through the fog, he found her still in bed looking like Snow White who’d eaten a bad apple.

For another fifteen hours, he only moved for snow to dip more rags into keep her cool, to use the bathroom, and once to change his clothes. Davey hadn’t returned, and Vic worried for him and the others, but he couldn’t leave Rosie’s side.

It had been too long since she had awoken. It was time to call Dr. Anderson again. Vic pressed a hand to Rosie’s forehead, and her beautiful lashes fluttered.

“My darling, can you hear me?” He willed her lids to open, and to his joy they did, revealing Rosie’s bloodshot but beautiful eyes.

After a strange noise that sounded like her throat clearing, she managed to whisper, “Where are the children?”

Her lips were so chapped and her words barely audible. He grabbed the cool water pitcher he’d put on the dresser in case she awoke. “Here, drink this.”

Two loud gulps and eyes shut tight told him that her throat had to be drier than the morning after the night he’d spent at the English pub with his fellow soldiers before they were transferred to France. A night that was followed by an awful morning where they had to board a rocking ship and he swore never to drink again.

“My darling, I’m so happy you’re awake.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Don’t worry about that now.” He held the glass to her lips once more.

After two more sips, she pushed the glass away. “The children. Tell me.”

He took her hand. “They’re fine, my love. Don’t worry about them. Davey’s with them.”

“But—”

“Shh. Save your strength.” Vic squeezed her hand and then stood. “I’ll get you some soup. You need to eat.” He bolted from the room and heated some soup, but by the time he returned, she slept once more.

For two more days, he nursed his lovely Rosie, but on day three she awoke with more determination than before and he knew he couldn’t keep her contained much longer, despite what was good for her. “I refuse to eat until you tell me about the children. What happened with the orphanage? Where are they? Why aren’t they here?”

“Calm down.” He held a spoon to her lips, but she batted it away, causing bits of chicken and yellow liquid to splatter on the blanket. She crossed her arms over her chest like a child and jutted out her lip like a girl version of Davey.

Two could play Davey. “Fine. I’ll tell you something each time you take a bite.”

She swished her lips and dropped her hands to the side but still didn’t release the small flame Davey had made her. “Fine. What happened with the orphanage?”

He held up a spoon of soup to her lips, and she opened and then swallowed. This time it appeared to go down easier. “She said that she wanted the younger ones but we could keep the older ones.”

“Davey will never go for that. And neither will I. They need to stay together. All they’ve ever had was each other. You take that from them, and they’ll never have a good life. We’ve made so much progress. Davey was even talking about spending a week with us from Christmas to New Year’s. That was his special gift to the younger ones.”

The way her words came rushed concerned Vic. He wanted her to remain in bed resting, not chasing after children.

“What did you tell that woman?”

He held another spoonful to her lips.

She huffed but accepted the proffered soup before she said, “So?”

“So, she said we couldn’t keep them.”

Rosie scanned the room as if looking for answers. “Then we’ll fight.”

“Rosie.”

“Don’t Rosie me. Those children need a home, and we have one. You and I both know Davey won’t survive an orphanage. He won’t even stay here. We can offer the others a place to sleep, and he can come and go as he pleases with the rule that we are the ones who care for the rest, not him.”

“We can’t. I won’t let you take on so much, my love.”

“So much? It isn’t a job. It’s a pleasure. You won’t consider trying again for our own baby, so this may be what God wants. This may be what we were meant to do as parents.”

“Even if we want to fight, we won’t win.”

“Why? Why can’t we?” Rosie’s voice cracked.

He worried this was too much for her, and he needed to put a stop to it. There was one way to make her see it wasn’t an option so she’d return to resting. “We can’t afford to adopt the children.”

She blinked at him, as if he spoke French. “We’re already caring for them. How much does it cost to take them in?”

“Seven hundred dollars,” he said in a militant tone devoid of emotion. He couldn’t afford to let himself believe it was possible. The right thing to do was to protect Rosie from more stress and exposure to other illnesses. He would keep her safe at all costs.

She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

Sounds of laughter out back told him there were children playing, and the way her gaze traveled to the door and the smile that made a brief appearance meant Rosie had too. “Fine. We will have to skimp on Christmas, and I’ll have to continue working hard after the holidays, but we can manage. We can sell some things, too.”

Wind beat the branch of a tree against their front window and he worried the kids were getting too cold outside. But there was nothing he could do to change that. At least in an orphanage they would have warmth. “A child.”

“What?”

He dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clank. “They want seven hundred per child.”

She gasped. “We can’t make that kind of money. Why’s it so expensive?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and then lifted the spoon once more to her lips.

“Can we negotiate? Perhaps we can pay half and then the rest as we go. If I can make this last delivery, we can combine that with our savings. I’ve got a stash of money already saved from when you were gone. I’d been saving for a washing machine and a new truck. We’ll have enough saved to make the first payment of seven hundred.”

“Nice of you to tell me about your stash.” He shook his head, not out of anger but out of the realization they still had a distance between them that remained despite all their progress. He held the spoon to her lips, and she grabbed the bowl from him, downed a dozen bites, and then handed it back. “Now we can finish our conversation without interruption. Tell me now, Victor Bessler. Where are the children, and how are we going to protect them?”

He set the bowl on the dresser and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been by your bedside, and I haven’t been able to see them. Ms. Cramer from the orphanage let me know where to reach her when I found the children.”

“As you can see, I’m better. I can take care of myself now. Go. Figure out how to keep Davey and the rest of those kids from being separated. Stop wasting time here with me.”

He sat on the side of the bed, brushed the hair from her brow. “I almost lost you again, Rosie. I can’t.” His voice faded under the pressure of the thought.

Her hands cupped his face. “But you didn’t. And you won’t. I’m here, and I’m strong. Can’t you see that? I was sick, and now I’m getting better. I won’t have a little illness keep you from helping those children.”

“Little? Rosie, you were on death’s door, knocking hard.” He gripped her hands and kissed her knuckles.

“You’re exaggerating. You’re letting your fear keep you from doing what’s right.”

“No. I won’t leave you.”

She tugged her hands away. “Well, let me be more plain. I need rest now that I’ve eaten and taken my medicine, so please leave. It’s difficult to sleep with you hovering over me.”

He stood, knowing she was sending him away more for the sake of the children than for herself. “If you promise to stay in bed and not move until I return, I’ll go check on the children.”

“I promise.”

In the sternest voice he could manage, he looked down at her and said, “I mean it.”

She tugged the covers to her chin and closed her eyes. “See, already sleeping.” After a moment, she opened one eye. “You’re still standing there.”

“Fine, I’m leaving, but I won’t be gone long. I’m going to check on the kids, go to the store, get that woman’s number from my desk, and I’ll be back to make some dinner.” He marched out the door and collapsed against the hallway wall, tears streaming down his face. The relief of her waking robbed him of the last of his strength. He’d kept his emotions in check when he’d lost his best bud in a bombing. He’d kept his emotions in check when he’d seen the life of children taken from this world because of men. He’d kept his emotions in check when he’d seen the scar on Rosie’s wrists, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He let the tears flow. “Thank you, God. Thank you for sparing my Rosie.”

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning, Rosie finally managed to convince Vic that she needed to get out of bed. He agreed to let her sit in the living room for a while. She longed to go to the store to see the children now that they had returned or to have them come to the house. Settled in the chair, she broached the subject again about adoption with Vic. He’d been different since she’d come out of her illness. Distant and more guarded than ever. It was as if all the progress they’d made in their relationship since he’d arrived had never happened. “Has the woman called you back from the orphanage? Do you know if she’ll accept us paying in installments?”

“No, not yet. Perhaps we’ve been lost in the shuffle and she won’t come back around until after Christmas.”

“Perhaps.” She bit her nails with worry and eyed the back door. “You didn’t tell her we had them, though, did you?”

“No, I told her ‘if’ we found them.”

She nodded. “Good. Tomorrow I should be able to finish the work and get that off to Clinton.”

“Rest, Rosie. You’re really not good at sitting still, are you?”

“No, and you should be at the store. We need money more than ever now.” She turned on the radio and attempted to relax by the fire but longed to return to work. She didn’t even know what day it was.

The radio announcer answered her question as if on cue. “Today, Wednesday, December 19th, a storm is brewing”

“December 19th?” She shrieked and pushed from the chair, only to wobble at the sudden movement. Before she could recover, Vic was at her side, holding her by the elbow.

“What’s wrong? I’ll call Dr. Anderson.”

He eased her into the chair again, and she didn’t have the strength to protest. “I’m fine.” She breathed trough the darkness in her vision from lack of food while she’d slept. “I’ll feel better after I eat.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The distinctive sound of Davey’s rapping blanketed Rosie in joy. “Come in!”

Davey eased the front door open and removed his hat. “Good to see you up.”

“It’s good to be out of bed. How are things with you? Have you kept up on your reading and writing? What about the other children?”

“Don’t get too excited, dear. It isn’t good for you,” Vic insisted, but she ignored his plea.

“Don’t worry. I’m feeling much better. But I only have one more day to get the furniture done. If I don’t, we’ll lose all that money.” She looked to Davey for backup. “Tell him he’s being overprotective and I’ll be fine to work by morning.”

“No. And that’s final.” Vic turned to Davey. “Make sure she doesn’t get out of this chair for any reason. Got it?”

“Got it.” He saluted and waited for Vic to leave the room. “Want me to bust you out of here?”

“No, Vic would probably call the police on us.” They laughed. Oh, how she’d missed his character and charm. “Please, tell me how Betty, Gina, Eva, and Reggie are doing. Tell me everything.”

“All’s good. Been doing our studies. Gina wants to surprise you by reading you a bedtime story next time she’s here at night.”

Rosie clapped her hands together in excitement. “Tonight, you should all come home.”

“No. Not safe.”

“But no one’s seen the orphanage lady in almost a week,” Rosie pleaded.

“Not safe for you.” Davey took a step away. That’s when she noticed he’d been staying out of arm’s length from her. “We got ya sick. Don’t want to get you worse.”

“Davey, no.” She leaned forward to reach for him, but he backed farther away. “I could’ve caught this illness when we were in Clinton or when I was in town. It isn’t your fault or the other children’s.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but don’t want to take the chance.”

Vic came in with a food tray and set it on the side table next to her. “Time to let her eat and get some rest again. I’ll come by the shop before dark to check on you all.”

Davey’s gaze bounced around the room but stuttered over the wood flame he’d given her she had put around her neck with a ribbon.

She wrapped her fingers around it and held it to her heart. “You know, this kept me going. It was my light.”

He beamed with joy and slapped his hat on his head. “Got to go take lunch to the rest.”

“It’s on the table already wrapped up and ready.” Vic pointed to the dining room.

Once Davey shut the door behind him, Rosie set her mind to pleading her case to Vic. “If we want to have those children, we need to make a plan. We need to work this out. I need to get that furniture finished, and I need to get the money.”

“Shhh, my love.” He picked up the sandwich as if he were going to hand feed her. She got up, this time careful to allow herself time to adjust. “Don’t you dare coddle me any longer.”

Vic tossed the sandwich onto the plate, and his face scrunched in an anger she’d never witnessed. “No, you need to listen to me. I almost lost you again.”

“Again?” She shook her head until she realized what he was referring to. “Darling, the doctor said my infection was something that happened sometimes when there is an incomplete miscarriage. I healed then, and I am better now.”

“I can’t watch you suffer again,” he choked out.

She spoke before she could stop herself. “You weren’t here when it happened.”

“I had no choice. I was sent to war.”

“I don’t say these words to accuse or upset you. I say them because you act as if you held me in your arms and watched me slip away. You didn’t then, and you won’t have to now.” Her voice wobbled, as did her knees, but she refused to rest until he finally understood.

“You were at death’s door. I saw it. The way I saw my men drift into oblivion. I held them as they bled or choked or succumbed to the elements or just stopped believing in life.” His eyes turned bloodshot, and she knew he was trying to keep himself from showing emotion. He was always the rock in the world, strong, dependable, and brave. Some of the qualities that attracted her to him when they’d met. Yet, the same qualities frustrated her daily.

“I’m not one of your men.”

“No, you’re my wife and it’s my job to protect you,” he shouted, and tears filled his eyes. She could see the grief of loss that he’d kept hidden away so well bubbling to the surface.

And that’s when she saw the true meaning of his pain she hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t about her weakness; it was about his. “Vic, it wasn’t your fault that those men died. As you said, it was war. You know that, right?”

He collapsed into the chair by the fire, and she saw his shoulders and back move with his sobs. The iron-willed man melted in front of her. She knelt by his side and rubbed his back. “My dear, sweet husband. You don’t have to protect me; you only have to love me. This isn’t war. This is marriage. I love you, and you can lean on me. I promise not to break. Stop trying to be everything to everyone and start doing one thing.”

His sobs calmed and he scrubbed his face with his palms, his gaze averted to the ceiling. “What?”

With both her hands cupping his damp cheeks, she made him face her, to trust her, to not hide his pain any longer. “Love me.”

“I do.” His chest heaved as if he fought to maintain control. “More than anything. I sat by your side and prayed for God to bring you back to me. I promised never to touch you again, to never be selfish.”

“That’s not why I’m okay, Vic. God wants a man and wife to love one another. It’s not about that. You see that, right?” Her mind faded to her own issues. “Someday, I hope you will give me one of our own, but for now God brought these children into our lives, and we need to help them.”

“But what of my guilt? What gives me the right to have a future when so many were robbed of theirs?” His words were bitter but honest, and she loved him for opening up to her.

“If you were the one to perish, would you want others to stop living, to feel guilty when they enjoyed life?”

“No. Of course not.” He blinked at her as if seeing the truth of her words. They sat staring at each other until he pulled her into his arms and rocked her. “Don’t give up on me, Rosie. Please, don’t ever give up.”

“I won’t,” she whispered. “I’m here for you. Start leaning on me instead of keeping everything to yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

“Please, go get our children and bring them home. I’ll sleep better knowing they’re under our roof.”

“I will, Rosie. And I promise, I’ll figure out a way to get that money or figure out a way to keep them.”

“No…we will. Together.”

Chapter Nineteen

The sleet had stopped by morning, but the night had to have been brutal outside, and Vic worried for Davey and the others in his shop. Despite his pleas, Davey had refused to bring the children home. Rosie was none too happy with him, but they’d fallen into bed together for the first time in days, and he’d savored holding her in his arms once more. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, stirring her awake, but he wasn’t ready to make love to her again.

“I’m sorry, Vic.” Rosie rested her head on his chest.

“For what?”

She drew circles on his belly, awakening him in a way he didn’t want. “For you being stuck with a wife who can’t give you a baby.”

Her words were sobering. “No, don’t think like that. I’m blessed to have you as my wife. I don’t need a baby. I don’t need anyone but you, Rosie.” He said the words, but he knew deep down that Rosie didn’t believe them. It slashed his heart with the knowledge that she blamed herself. Nothing he said could change that, either. “Rest, my love, knowing you make me happy always.”

Rosie bolted upright. “There’s no more time. I need to call Mr. Richards and beg to bring the order later today. Perhaps he’ll take half the order.”

“My love, please. You’re barely able to stand.”

“No. You listen to me, Victor Bessler. I ate, I slept, and my fever has broken. I need to make the money we need. I might not be able to give you a baby, but I can still give you children. You need to get to the store if you’re going to care for the children. Have you heard from that evil woman from the orphanage yet?”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her to him. “Don’t worry. All is well.”

Her faux smile appeared in the mirror above the dresser. She looked at him with that stop-treating-me-like-I’m-damaged look. “I’m well. We’ve been over this; you must stop treating me this way. Now go to work while I get to mine.”

“Will you do one favor for me first?” he asked, hoping Davey had done as he’d vowed.

She huffed. “Fine, if it’ll get you moving.”

“Come.” He opened the door.

With one graceful movement, she donned her robe and headed down the hallway by his side. A glimpse of wonderment shown in her eyes, and he knew she was better. The muscles in his neck, which had been tighter than a child’s grip on a new toy, finally relaxed. They reached the back door, and her brows knitted.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

The cold handle reminded him of how bitter the outside world could be, so he put up one finger. “Wait here. Don’t open the door yet.” He raced to the living room and grabbed his hat and coat. “Here, wear this long enough to peer outside. It’s awful chilly.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine, if it will hurry this along.”

Once she was bundled, he opened the door and stepped aside. A gasp from her lips to his ears told him Davey had done it. To confirm, he opened the door wider and saw all the furniture complete, with a handmade bow around a chair that had tied to it a hand-scribbled note: Mery Chrismus.

“Did you? How?” she mumbled, but her gaze bounced around until it settled on the note, and she cupped her mouth with her dainty hand.

“Davey. You’d already assembled the furniture and taught him how to sand and paint, so he’s been out here every day and night when he wasn’t sitting by your bed or watching out for the other children. That’s why he wouldn’t agree to spend the night here. You’d know what he was doing.” That was his excuse, anyway, when Vic had pressed him to come home. Something had told him there was more than that going on inside Davey’s head.

Tears streamed down her face. Before he could stop her, she stepped outside in her slippers and lifted the note flapping about in the wind. “He wrote this? The boy who refused to learn to write?”

It was shaky and spelled wrong, but it was progress for a boy who’d never had any schooling. “It’s all you. Rosie, do you see what you’ve done for these children?”

She untied the note and held it to her chest against the flame. “Yes. I want to see him. Please.”

His heart swelled with pride for the little boy who’d endured cold and wind to do all of this. If he could choose a son, it would be one like Davey. Sure, he was ornery and talked back, he was abrasive and didn’t care much for learning, but the boy had a heart like no other. And he didn’t want credit for his deeds. “There’s something else.”

He ushered her inside before she caught a chill and then closed the door, battling his own shivering. “He did this and told me he only wanted one thing in payment. That if we could afford to adopt any of the children, that we would. He wants us to adopt the youngest ones, and he’ll go to the orphanage. He said the oldest would survive.”

She fell into his arms and held him tight, as if to hold on to the love and hope he knew she felt for a young boy.

“Please, I want to go see him.” She didn’t wait for an answer before heading for their room.

“No, but I’ll send him here. Perhaps you can get him to take a nap by the fire.”

She nodded and hurried to change. “And a warm breakfast.”

He smiled and went to the guest room, where his clothes still remained since he hadn’t had a chance to return them yet. Before he could finish tying his tie, a pounding at the front door startled him into movement. Certainly it wasn’t Ms. Cramer come to take the children. He wouldn’t have it. He’d fight with everything they had. If not for himself, then for Rosie, to fulfill her need to give him children.

Dressed and hair done, Rosie raced from their room on his heels, fear in her eyes but fists at her side.

“Stay calm,” he assured her. “Everything will be fine.”

Pound. Pound. Pound.

He opened the door to see Miss. Alberts, owner of the soda shop. “Hurry, sir. Your store… It’s on fire.”

“The children!” Rosie screeched and took off out the door, but he grabbed her before she made it down the first step and held her to him.

He knew there’d be no way of keeping her inside safe while the children were in danger, but he could at least try to delay her. “Stop. Get your coat, hat, and gloves before you come. I won’t have you sick again.”

With his own coat and hat in hand, he ran all the way to the shop, slipping and sliding along the sidewalk. Gray smoke plumed from inside. His lungs stopped, the world stopped, but his feet did not.

Mr. Mason stood at the front of the drug store, shouting, “I told you those kids were nothing but trouble. I told you they set that fire. Now you’ll cost us both our shops!”

Melba stood near the store front whimpering, and her tiny voice asked, “Is Davey inside?”

Her father snatched her by the collar and shoved her along the street, away from danger of fire and a homeless boy.

Vic pulled on the door, but it was locked. His keys were still at home. He eyed the area and didn’t see anything to break the window, so he wrapped his hand in his handkerchief and punched the glass. It shattered, allowing him to reach through and unlock the door.

“Davey! Eva! Betty! Gina! Reggie!”

Rosie arrived and began to race inside, but he caught her at the threshold. “No, stay here. I’ll pass the children to you. It’s too smoky to see. I can’t find you, too.”

He didn’t wait for a response. “Davey! Answer me!”

The smoke rushed at him from the corner. He knew instantly what it was. Dear God, the old space heater.

“Gina! Anyone! Say something!”

The only answer was the crackling sound from the heater.

Chapter Twenty

Smoke stung Rosie’s eyes. She blinked through the watering and searched the grayness, waiting for a child to come running into her arms.

“I told you those kids were bad news.” Mr. Mason stood at a safe distance, not offering any help but close enough to offer his opinion. “That fire best not reach my store!”

She turned on him. “I’m sorry you care more about a building than the safety of a child.”

Mr. Mesa lifted his cane. “Best move out of the way if you won’t help.”

Miss Alberts and Mrs. Hetland ushered Mr. Mason back. Mrs. Slaughter joined Rosie but didn’t say a word.

She held her breath and prayed and prayed and prayed.

A cough. It was small. So small she wasn’t sure she heard it correctly. “Victor,” she called out in hopes he’d answer, but smoke continued to pour through the door without a word.

Bang. Thump. Scraaaape.

A dark object appeared, smoke billowing from it. She grabbed hold, but the heat burned through her mittens. She removed her coat and used it to tug and yank as someone pushed until it reached the doorway. The space heater sputtered and croaked its final breaths before she managed to wrestle it outside. “Get the children. I’ve got this.”

All of her focus remained on Davey, the others, and her husband inside. Mr. Mason continued to snap orders about getting the contraption away from his store but from a distance.

Vic’s coughs echoed from inside, but the smoke began to dissipate now that the contraption was outside. She waved her hands, swishing the grayness to make out Vic carrying the two younger ones. She grabbed them, ran to the street, and fell to the ground, still a little too weak to continue any farther. Their little eyes were watering.

“Davey? Where’s Davey? He put water blankets over us, but then he was gone,” little Gina cried.

Two more little bodies were passed to Mrs. Slaughter, and she settled them by Rosie.

“Davey!” they all cried out.

Rosie had no doubt that boy would give his life for these children. She looked to the winter sky. “Please God.”

The children in her arms coughed and wheezed and sobbed.

Vic burst through the smoke and brought Davey to her but didn’t stop. “Bring them to the doctor,” he said between coughs.

“What about that contraption?” Mason hollered after, but the friends and neighbors of Sugar Maple ignored him. Mrs. Slaughter, Miss Alberts, and a younger man Rosie hadn’t seen around town carried a child and followed Vic to the doctor’s home at the edge of the square. Rosie managed to stand and lift tiny Eva.

Her legs wobbled, but she didn’t waiver. Anxiety rolled through her, but she held tight to the little one, focusing on what she could handle, not on the idea of losing another child.

They reached Dr. Anderson’s home, and he ushered them inside. “Put them on the couch, that one the kitchen table. All of you out while I work.”

Eva squeezed Rosie’s hand. “No, don’t leave, Mama.”

Rosie collapsed by her side. The word Rosie thought she’d never hear stole her breath. She rocked Eva in her arms. “I’m not going anywhere, sweet girl.”

Vic remained at Davey’s side. “Neither will I.”

“Fine, the rest of you out.” Dr. Anderson worked on Davey while the other children huddled around Rosie on the couch. They clung to each other with damp hair and clothes but appeared to be fine. Davey had done it. He’d protected the children with wet blankets and his bravery.

For the time it took the clock to click two hundred and thirty-two times, there was no noise from Davey. On the two hundredth and thirty-third, time he coughed like a hundred-and-twenty-year-old coal miner. But it was the most beautiful sound Rosie had ever heard.

“Davey… That’s it, boy.” Vic’s voice sounded hoarse, but she thought it was more from emotion than from smoke. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve never put that old space heater in that store.”

“My fault. You trusted me, but I turned it on in the night. Eva was cold,” Davey managed between staggered breaths. “Thought I was grown up enough to handle it.”

“No, you did nothing wrong, only tried to help. I should’ve never let you stay there.”

“Better than outside.”

“Not outside. Home. You should all be at home. No more sleeping outside, or in the store, or anywhere but at home. Our home.” Vic’s words sent tendrils of love through Rosie like she’d never felt before for her husband. She’d always loved him, desired him, but something had changed. It was more than physical or emotional attraction. It was respect and a deeper, different kind of love a person could only get by surviving the bad times. She saw that now. And she knew she never wanted to give up on having her family.

Once the doctor pronounced Davey okay, she lifted Eva into her arms and went to Davey’s side. “Mr. B’s right. We want you to live with us.”

“How will you pay? Heard woman wants thousands of dollars.” Davey wiped his red, running eyes and nose.

“Don’t worry about the money. Because you didn’t just save all of them.” She pointed to the pile of children on the couch peering over the back. “You saved the day. Davey, all that work you did to get the furniture done, and you kept up on your studies. No parent has ever been so proud of their son.”

Davey’s eyes ran more, and he swiped the boy tears away and sat up man tall. “I don’t need no parents. Had them and didn’t like them.” He pointed one finger out from his coat. “Those do, though.”

Eva whimpered. “Don’t leave us, Davey. Mama’s nice. Not like your papa was.”

Davey hopped down and straightened his dark-stained collar. “I’ll get you all settled, and then it’s time for me to go and make my way in life.”

Vic looked to Rosie for guidance, but she had none except to hope to change Davey’s mind. “Davey, will you at least stay through Christmas? As your gift to us?”

He lifted his chin. “Yes. I can do that for a gift.”

Vic nodded his acknowledgement of Rosie’s efforts, and they gathered their gaggle of children and headed home. A home she knew would only ever be complete with Davey. And hopefully, someday, a baby.

* * *

The next forty-eight hours Vic spent rearranging the house to fit all the kids, cleaning the store up from the smoky heater, and making calls to other local orphanages in hopes of finding some answers. Rosie kept Davey in her sight when he wasn’t helping Vic, and they made beds for the children together. They would need to add on to their home someday, but for now, the kids only wanted to sleep piled together. In time, they would trust and feel safe, but they’d have to take it one day at a time.

As Christmas Eve approached, Rosie worried and prayed more and more for Davey to trust them to be good parents. She knew she should be overjoyed to have these children in her life, and she was. She was happier than she could ever remember being, but when she spotted the green and white tin on the nightstand that night, she resented ever bringing it into their marriage. In the mirror, she looked at her belly, rubbing it as if a magic lamp. She longed to feel that first flutter, a kick, the rollover, and to finally give birth to her own baby. Someday, she hoped Vic would understand that she could do it. That she could survive another pregnancy. And she knew next time she’d have a healthy child.

On Christmas Eve day, she and Davey finished the last order of the year. The order that would finally provide enough to purchase two of the children. She only hoped it would be enough to satisfy the most insane request for adopting a child, but she wouldn’t make waves since she had to beg them for more time.

The day they delivered the last order, the entire trip back from Clinton, Davey appeared to be contemplating his future. “Do you think they’ll hire me in a factory?”

“No, I don’t think so. You’ll need a couple of more years.” That’s when the idea popped into her head. “You know, with all these orders, I’ll need to hire someone when you leave. Even if I’m able to come up with the rest of the money for the other children. I still need to make over two thousand dollars.”

He snapped up with a smile and then covered it. “Well, if it means that Reggie, Gina, Betty, and Eva can stay and be adopted, then I’ll have to help. I’ll work for room and food.”

“It sounds like a deal.” They pulled up to the house, and the others were having a snowball fight. Davey looked as if he wanted to join them and be a kid. “Why don’t you play?”

“No time for play.”

Rosie tapped his cap. “There’s always time for play. Come on.” She bolted to the snow and rolled up a ball, grateful all her energy had returned. Before she could throw one to Davey, he lobbed one straight to her chest.

“You got quite the arm there, son,” Vic called out. “Ever think of playing ball?”

Davey rolled another snowball and threw it at Vic, who returned fire. The snow began to fall once more, and the radio had announced a blizzard would hit, so she ushered the children inside to decorate the tree they’d cut down together the day before.

Popcorn and berry strings were on the table, waiting to be strung. “Wow, you all did this?”

“Dad helped,” little Eva said. The term caused Vic to light up brighter than any Christmas lights.

“Well, we best get started. But first, we need to hang up our stockings for Santa.”

Betty blinked at her. “Stockings? I don’t have no stocking.”

Rosie went to the kitchen and retrieved the hidden box and opened it in front of the children.

“It has my name!” Gina squealed, took it from the box, and danced around the room as if the stocking was a fairy prince.

Eva pulled out the tiny one that Rosie had forgotten to hide. “Is this tiny one for me?”

Rosie snatched it, but not quick enough that Vic hadn’t seen it with a disapproving frown. She tucked it under her cushion of the chair and found the one that said Eva. The little girl threw her arms around Rosie’s neck and kissed her cheek.

All the children giggled and hung their stockings. Even Davey joined in with a sideways remark, “So the others don’t feel silly.”

Vic patted him on the head, and they all decorated the tree, drank hot chocolate, and settled in for a beautiful, exciting evening. Rosie wished she could freeze the moment in time before the magical evening turned to darkness.

Chapter Twenty-One

Vic cuddled Reggie and Betty into his sides and listened to Gina attempt to read The Little Drummer Boy. At Rosie’s suggestion, the children passed the book around, each attempting to read a page. When it reached Davey, he stood as if to recite Shakespeare to the Queen and read with inflection and tone. The boy was a quick study and enjoyed the attention he received.

After a great applause and a bow, they all settled onto the couch and listened to the radio until the sound of screeching tires shattered their evening.

Vic stood and settled Betty on the couch next to Reggie. “Wait here.” He went to the window and looked out to discover two police cars and Mr. Mason marching up the front walk.

He turned to face the others to tell them to run. But where would they go? Davey saw his expression and grabbed his coat.

Rosie quickly scooped the pile of kids closer to her. “No, don’t run, Davey.”

Davey blinked at her, and Vic took him by the shoulder. “Mrs. B is right, there’s no place left to run. When I was in the war, we would advance and retreat until we had nowhere else to hide, and then we would make our stand. Today, that’s what we’re going to do.”

He took Davey by the hand and sat him on the coffee table by his side facing the others.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

The knocks were urging Vic to speak quickly, but he forced himself to remain calm. “I want each of you to listen to me. No matter what happens next, you will all be calm. We vow that we will fight each and every day until we have you all home. If they’re able to take you from us today, we will get you tomorrow. Never, ever stop believing that we will fight to have you here with us. You all understand?”

“I never had no one fight for me before,” Eva said.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“Davey, we need you to stay, too. I know if they send you to an orphanage, you will hate it, but you have to stay where we can find you. Do you trust us?”

He didn’t answer.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“Open up or the police will break down the door,” Mr. Mason yelled.

Vic went to the entryway, took one more glance at Rosie, and found Davey sitting by her side where he belonged. He unlocked the door, and it swung open on him with Mr. Mason pushing through to the children. Vic grabbed his shirt and yanked him back. No way that man was going to threaten his kids.

“No,” Rosie scolded. “The children.”

Vic took in a long breath to soothe his anger and let the man go. Mr. Mason rounded on him, an expression more of panic than anger. “My daughter. My Melba. She’s gone.”

“What?” Davey asked, jumping to his feet. “Where’d she go?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here. But I know you did this. I told that social worker you were nothing but a thief and a mongrel. Where did you take my Melba?”

Rosie scooched the children together on the couch and rose with a calmness Vic had never seen from her. “Mr. Mason, I can assure you Davey had nothing to do with your daughter disappearing. He’s been with me all day.”

“You’d say anything to protect that heathen. He’s just like the man who took my wife away. That smooth tongue that convinces a girl to do wrong. I know the type. You’re dangerous, boy.” He pointed at Davey, but before Vic had a chance to lose his temper, Rosie grabbed Mr. Mason’s finger and pushed it away.

“I’ll tell you this once, Mr. Mason. We are happy to aid in the search for your daughter, but you will stop being rude to my boy. Today, now, and forever, you will treat these children with respect.”

Officer Walker stepped inside Vic’s home. “Mr. Bessler, we apologize for the interruption.” He removed his hat and nodded to them. “Happy Christmas.

“Mr. Bessler, you’re doing a fine thing here with these children. We don’t mean to interrupt your time, but we did want to ask if anyone had seen Melba Mason today.”

Everyone shook their head.

“Thank you for your time. I apologize again for the intrusion.”

“Wait. That’s it? Arrest that boy. Make him talk,” Mr. Mason spit, and his face scrunched together in red lines. “I know he knows something.”

Davey stood with his blank face, the one he used when he was hiding something, but Vic knew it wasn’t a good idea to question the kid in front of Mr. Mason. Instead, he said aloud, “As you can see, no one knows anything.”

“I know they do. Last I saw her, she ran off toward the woods.”

Davey’s expression cracked, and his gaze darted to his coat and hat. Before Vic could ask, Davey grabbed his stuff and raced out the back door.

“I told you he knew. Go after him.”

Rosie was already at the back door, hollering for him to return.

Officer Walker backed out of the door. “I’ll get my flashlight and gear; I’ll help you look.”

Vic took his and Rosie’s coats, hats, and mittens from the rack. “You kids remain right here.”

Four little faces looked up with fear in their eyes, their perfect Christmas unraveling like a bad bow.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

He handed Rosie her hat, coat, and gloves and set off to look, but the snow fell in blankets.

“We’ll need to wait until the snow slows down to look for them,” Officer Walker ordered.

“Come inside, and we can work out a plan,” Vic offered but had to physically usher Rosie in from the cold.

Rosie paced the floor, grasping the wooden flame Davey had given her. “Why didn’t he tell us where he was going? We told him we would protect him.”

Eva tugged on her coat. “Davey said he had to protect Melba from her papa. He locks her up.”

“What?” Rosie slammed her palms down on the table where Mr. Mason sat. “You lock her up?”

“Only when she threatens to run away. What am I supposed to do? She’s too much like her mother.”

Officer Walker looked at the man and shook his head. “No wonder she ran off to hide from you.”

Rosie stopped and faced Officer Walker. “Wait, what did you say?”

“That it was no wonder…”

“No, after that. You said to hide from him.” Rosie’s eyes went wide and she grabbed hold of Vic’s jacket. “Come on. I know where they went.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The winter storm raged, blasting snow sideways. Ice formed on the edges of the roof line, but Rosie ignored the cold and trudged forward.

“Wait. I’ll go. You stay,” Vic hollered after her, carrying a lantern to guide his way, but she wouldn’t stop. Not until she found Davey and proved to him once and for all that she could be a good mother to him.

“No, I have to do this. Davey’s got her in the tree house. That’s where the kids hide out when things are scary. It’s where Davey used to live when his papa would have an episode. I know where it is. Don’t try to stop me. You need to give up on protecting me from everything. If something is going to happen, it will, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Just like you couldn’t stop your men in war from dying.”

He snugged her hat down over her ears and took her by the hand. “I’m going with you. I might not be able to protect you, but I can be by your side.”

She took his hand, and they made it to the tree line, but the snow had covered the ground enough that she couldn’t find the path. “Davey!”

There was no answer, so they shuffled past the smaller trees and found a large boulder she remembered from the last time she’d found him out here after Esther had died. He’d sent her away then and probably would again, but this time she wouldn’t leave. She’d stay out in the tree house with him all night if that was what it would take for him to trust her. “Over there.” She pointed, and Vic helped her over a fallen log.

She spotted the large oak ahead. “There. It’s the hideout.”

They rushed ahead, breathless when they’d reached the trunk, but she ignored the fatigue and climbed. Vic gave her a boost, and she managed to climb high enough to pop open the hatch to crawl inside, where she found Davey and Melba shivering in the corner. “I’m here.” Rosie crawled over and grabbed him into her arms. “I was so worried about you.”

“Shouldn’t have run off, but I had to protect Melba.” Davey took Melba by the hand. “Can’t let her papa hurt her like mine did me.”

She didn’t look good. Her eyes were closed, and her skin looked pale.

Vic crawled through the opening, set the lantern on the ground, and crunched in half to fit into the space. He settled by Melba, rubbing her arms and legs. “She’s too cold. We need to get her back.”

“No, her papa will hurt her.”

“Do you trust me, Davey?” Rosie asked.

He blinked at her but then gave a single short nod.

“Then you need to know that I will fight for Melba the same way I fight for you and Reggie, Eva, Betty, and Gina. But right now, if we don’t get her warm, she won’t live to worry about her father.”

He pursed his lips but then pushed to stand. “She can’t walk no more, though. I found her in the snow and dragged her here. I couldn’t leave her. I thought we were going to die.” Davey sniffled. “But I knew you’d find me. I promise never to leave you again, Mama. Never.” Davey’s voice trembled, so she held him tight for a moment while Vic took Melba down to the ground.

“Come on, we can talk at home and warm up.” She kissed his head and helped him down the tree. His arms were stiff, and his legs shook. They made it to the large rock, but Davey collapsed at her side. Vic doubled back, and she said, “Get Davey. He’s exhausted. I’ve got Melba.”

Vic handed Melba to her, bent and lifted Davey onto his shoulder, and put his arm around her and Melba. Then he nudged her forward.

With each step, her numb legs shook, but they managed to make it to the clearing, where the policeman took Melba and led them to an awaiting Mr. Mason on their back porch.

“My daughter. Is she okay?” He pulled the little one from Officer Walker’s arms.

“I don’t know, but we need to warm her quickly.” Vic urged him forward.

Mr. Mason rushed inside to an awaiting Dr. Anderson, who said, “I can see my life will be anything but boring with you and your children.”

Mr. Mesa and Mrs. Slaughter had also shown up to help, the way they’d tried to help her when Esther had died. This time, she’d accept their offer.

Under the lights, Rosie noticed Melba’s skin was tinged blue and her puffy face looked vacant of life. Davey collapsed as soon as Vic set him down by the fire.

“We need to warm them, quickly. Strip off anything wet and wrap them in blankets.”

Mr. Mason looked to Rosie as if he didn’t know how to undress his own daughter.

Rosie ripped her mittens off and blew on her hands to try to get them working again. “I need you to tend the fire, Mr. Mason. I’ll help with her clothes.” She took off Melba’s coat, hat, and gloves, blowing warm breath onto the girl’s stiff fingers.

Vic did the same to Davey, who moaned at the motion. Vic made quick work of getting Davey’s outer layers off and wrapped him tight in blankets and quilts, holding him on the floor by the fire.

“Can someone make some warm drinks, too?” the doctor called out.

“I will.” Mrs. Slaughter disappeared into the kitchen.

“I’ll help,” Officer Walker offered.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mr. Mesa asked.

“Yes. Please go to our room and get the blanket from our bed,” Vic instructed.

The house was full of movement, but an unsettling quiet still loomed. Dr. Anderson rubbed Melba’s chest, opened her eyes and shined a light, listened to her heart, and checked her pulse. “Help me rub her limbs to get blood flow through them.”

Rosie rubbed and massaged, but Melba still didn’t stir.

“Come on, Melba. You can’t leave me now,” Davey whispered without a second glance at Mr. Mason, who humbly sat nearby with slumped shoulders and open mouth, shivering and tears filling his eyes.

“Talk to her, Mr. Mason,” Dr. Anderson suggested.

“What do I say?”

“Anything she’d want to hear.”

Mr. Mason took her little hand in his. “Dear girl, I’m so sorry. Things will be different if you just open your eyes. I love you, Melba.” He cried but continued. “I treated you how I did because I feared you’d be wild like your mother and end up running away. You’re not your mother. I know that now.” His head dropped to her hand but then shot up. “She moved her finger. I felt it.”

Dr. Anderson checked her eyes again, and she cringed from the light.

“Papa?”

“Yes. I’m here.” His face animated with pure joy like Rosie had never seen before. But when Melba was quiet, he hurried to speak. “I promise things will be different now. Just wake up, sweetheart. And I promise you can play with any child you wish.” He eyed Davey as if to reconsider, but when Melba’s eyes opened and her tiny hand cupped his cheek, Rosie knew he’d been changed by the possible loss of his daughter. Not from running away but because he’d pushed her away.

“I think they’ll both make a full recovery, but keep them warm and get them to drink the hot tea. Mr. Mason, I don’t want her taken outside for the rest of this evening.”

Mr. Mason’s mouth fell open, and he looked to Vic, who looked to Rosie.

“You’re welcome to stay tonight and share our Christmas; it will be modest but full of love. All of you are.”

“And family,” Davey added with one of his darling, dimpled smiles the ladies would fall at his feet over someday.

Rosie only hoped they’d still be a family once the social worker returned. She knew they would only have enough for two of the children, but when Davey’s angelic voice filled the room with “Away in the Manger,” she had to believe all would be well.

And it was. The next morning, Melba returned home with her father, and Mrs. Slaughter offered to take the kids to her house for a Christmas breakfast, telling Rosie how much she’d enjoy the company.

When everyone left, Rosie went to their room to rest, but she never had the chance. Vic pulled her into his arms and kissed her with such passion, she thought she’d melt. Breathless and wanting, she clung to him. “What was that for?”

“It was for your patience with me. For loving me despite my fear. When you raced out after Davey, I worried I’d lose you both, but then we brought Melba and Davey home, and I realized something. Life was meant to be lived, and we’ve been granted a second chance. I love you, Rosie. I know I haven’t been a perfect husband since I’ve returned, but I want to make it right. I don’t want to be ruled by my fear any longer. I want to be with you in all things.”

She brushed his hair from his forehead. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we’ll talk to the doctor, and if he says you can get pregnant again, then I’d be happy to try. I know now that no matter what, we can face it together.” He kissed her again the way she’d longed for since the day he’d arrived home. A kiss of love, hope, passion, and faith. A kiss between a husband and wife.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Their toy store bustled with activity. The familiar sting of anxiety zapped Rosie’s insides like a bad wall socket, but she didn’t give it ground to remain. Instead, she tucked Gina’s hair underneath the hat Mrs. Slaughter had knitted for her. The woman had taken an interest in the children since Christmas Eve. To both Vic and Rosie’s astonishment, the entire town had been generous and helpful to the once lost and forgotten children of Sugar Maple.

Tomorrow would be a new year with new beginnings, and they all couldn’t wait for the next step in their lives. If their plan worked.

Davey threw open the door with Melba at his side. “Come on, you’ll be late.” They’d grown close, playing together every day since Christmas. Mr. Mason remained close by with a vigilant eye but didn’t lock her inside away from the other children anymore.

“Mama, we’s gots to go.” Reggie ran for the door and waved for her to join them.

“Wait, you forgot your candle,” she called out after Reggie. He was the forgetful one in the family.

His new shoes Dr. Anderson had sent as a belated Christmas present shined. He ran back in and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

The word warmed her heart more than any flame, but the fear still remained. She’d managed to control it and believed things would work out if they trusted they would, but the letter in Vic’s pocket where he stood in the center of the town square with Eva on his shoulder was a constant reminder that the orphanage could arrive at any moment to take the children.

“Can you believe the town is so full of life?” Mr. Mason asked with a little more enthusiasm than she’d ever heard from him. When he glanced over at the widow Mrs. Slaughter, Rosie saw why.

“Yes, it feels like anything is possible.” She handed him her extra candle, and he accepted it with a smile and then walked over to the front of the soda fountain to join Mrs. Slaughter.

Rosie crossed the street to the town square with Betty and Gina in tow. They all stood together waiting, sipping hot chocolate and speaking with people they hadn’t seen in years or new folks that had moved to their small part of the world. They all waited for the sun to disappear and the night to great them.

“The roads are clear,” Vic mumbled to Rosie and then kissed her on the lips in front of everyone.

Davey palmed his forehead. “Ewww! You have to do that now?”

“Yes, and every minute of every day.” He kissed her again, this time sending the newfound welcomed warmth through her body.

A strange car rolled into town, and the entire square silenced. They knew who it was, and they all prayed that their plan would work. Davey abandoned Melba and took Rosie’s hand. The rest of the children joined him as they expected, but what they didn’t expect was the whistle that came from Mr. Mason.

In a matter of seconds, everyone in the square drew close and formed a protective shield. Ms. Cramer and her bitter expression stepped from the car. She slammed the door and put her purse on her arm before she stopped and looked at the audience in front of her.

It didn’t take her long before she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and marched into the heart of the crowd. “I need to collect the children now. No need to make a scene.”

“Then leave.” Mr. Mason crossed his arms and stepped forward.

She directed her attention to Officer Walker. “Sir, I’m with the Tennessee Children’s Home Society, and I’m here to collect the two younger children to place them with a good family.”

“As you can see, they have a good family.”

Vic released Rosie’s hand and nudged his way through the crowd. “We love all of our children, and as you can see, we can provide for them. Maybe we can’t afford to without the help of our community, but as you can see, they are the children’s extended family who also care.”

Ms. Cramer adjusted the purse higher on her arm and pursed her lips. “Then you have the money to adopt all the children besides the small amount you sent?”

“We have two hundred more dollars we were able to make in the last week.” Vic pulled the money from his pocket and handed it to her.

Rosie held her breath. Sweat formed on the back of her neck, despite the cold temperatures.

“I am a reasonable woman. I’ll accept this for the other, older child. You can send installments as you manage. The younger ones, as I explained before, are more desirable for adoption. I’ll have them placed in a home within the week.”

Melba pushed between Vic and Rosie and set a basket in front of Ms. Cramer. “Us kids collected money we want to give to adoption.”

Mr. Mason stepped forward and took her little girl in his arms. “You were saving for a new doll.”

“I don’t care. I want all of Davey’s family to stay.”

Mr. Mason tweaked her nose and then reached into his pocket and placed a twenty-dollar bill in the basket at Ms. Cramer’s feet.

Rosie gasped. Vic clasped the man’s shoulder and said in a strangled tone, “Thank you. I’m indebted to you.”

“No sir, it’s me who is indebted to you. I have my Melba because of your Davey.”

Mrs. Slaughter stepped up and dropped money in the basket, followed by Dr. Anderson, Miss Alberts, and Ms. Hetland. It took several minutes for the line of residents to contribute to the adoption fund.

Ms. Cramer snorted. “This still won’t be enough.”

Officer Walker strutted to the basket and set a five-dollar bill inside. “I’d advise you take the blood money and leave before I arrest you. From what I understand, your Ms. Tann is under investigation for kidnapping and selling children. Mr. and Mrs. Bessler will be going through another adoption agency. It’s already arranged. I saw to it personally.”

“You can’t do that. We have connections.”

“In Memphis, yes. Not here. You can try to fight for them.” Officer Walker took a step in her direction. “I’d advise you not to, though. Your private adoption agency already has a lucrative baby business. I’m sure Ms. Tann would not appreciate you bringing bad publicity to the organization.”

Rosie squeezed Vic’s bicep, as if to hold on to Officer Walker’s words in hopes they were real but didn’t want to dare ask in front of the woman. Her heart beat like the Little Drummer Boy played for the baby in the manger.

The woman’s eyes went wide and then narrowed before she took a step back. Rosie couldn’t follow all the expressions that went through the woman’s face—shock, awareness, anger, fear. That one Rosie knew well. Ms. Cramer snatched the basket and backed away. “Fine. If you wish to use another agency, I won’t stop you. Good day.” She absconded, her thick heels beat and slid, and her body reminded Rosie of a slinky bouncing down stairs.

When the car door shut, the crowd erupted with hugs and cheers. Rosie slid into Vic’s arms and hugged him with the kids all around them.

Officer Walker patted Davey on the head. “Glad that worked.”

“What? It isn’t true?” Rosie asked, her breath caught somewhere between happiness and shock.

“It’s true, but from what I understand, the Tennessee Children’s Home Society has social workers, judges, and police all on their payroll. I gambled on the fact they want to keep their operation going without drawing too much attention. I’d suggest you contact this adoption agency here.” He handed them a piece of paper with a phone number. “Start the process, and don’t worry. They won’t charge you outrageous fees to take in the children. I’ve taken the liberty of speaking with them, and they expect your call next week.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Rosie was so excited she forgot herself and threw her arms around Officer Walker.

He blushed, tipped his hat, and stepped aside for Mr. Mason.

The grocery store owner said, “Congratulations to you both. By the way, the item you were looking for… I have some in now.”

“What item?” Rosie asked.

Mr. Mason covered his daughter’s ears and whispered, “Rubbers.”

Rosie laughed so hard she could barely stand up, the way the man blushed so and shuffled between his feet.

Vic tucked Rosie into his side and locked gazes with her. “No thanks. We won’t be needing those any longer.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I spoke to Dr. Anderson, and he assures me that he believes Rosie will be able to have a baby, and he will personally make sure she is cared for during her pregnancy. It’s time for me to stop worrying. Besides, if my Rosie can handle five children, she can handle anything.”

Rosie’s held tight to Vic, to her children, and to the love that survived a war, the aftermath, a fire, snowstorms, prejudice, and fear. She said a silent prayer of thanks and lit her candle.

“Today, we share our grief and remember our lost while looking toward the future,” Vic announced and lit his candle from hers. As the flame was passed from one person to the next for the first New Year’s Candlelight Memorial for those lost to Sugar Maple, Rosie sang, “I’ll Be Seeing You.”

The End

Yay! Rosie and Vic made a family with the lost and forgotten children of Sugar Maple and each other. I love this kind of romance. If you do too, please leave a review now!

If you enjoyed this story of Davey and his friends click here to read about him as a town elder in Sugar Maple in IF YOU LOVE ME.

Do you enjoy second chance romances? If so, you’d love the Sweetwater County series. Click here to check out Winter in Sweetwater County.

Join Ciara Knight’s newsletter to get VIP deals on her books, notices of new releases, and exclusive content.

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Read on for a sneak peek of IF YOU LOV ME, featuring Davey as a town elder.

Recipe

Apple crisp is a family a favorite. I think it represents holidays and time with my loved ones. The ingredients for this recipe have been tested over the years, and it is filled with love and hope. I hope you enjoy. This is the apple crisp that Rosie Bessler made for Davey, Betty, Eva, Reggie, and Gina.

6 Granny Smith apples (You can use other apples if you prefer less tartness.)

2 Tablespoons white sugar

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 cup brown sugar

¾ cups old-fashioned oats

¾ cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon cinnamon

½ cup cold butter (place butter in freezer 15-20 minutes before)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss apples in white sugar and ½ teaspoon cinnamon in a medium bowl to coat; pour into a 9-inch square baking dish.

Mix brown sugar, oats, flour, and 1 teaspoon cinnamon in a separate bowl. Grate the butter and then cut into oats mixture with pastry cutter or 2 forks until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs; spread over the apples to the edges of the baking dish. Pat the topping gently until even.

Bake in preheated oven until golden brown and sides are bubbling, about 40 minutes.

Readers Guide

1. Besides women having to give up their jobs when men returned home from World War II, how do you think they were affected?

2. Do you think that Vic and Rosie could have handled things differently when Vic returned from war? If so, how?

3. Prior to reading this book, did you know about Ms. Tann and her being charged with kidnapping over 5,000 babies for profit?

4. How would you have felt reading pamphlets about how to treat your husband when he returned home from war?

5. Do you think that if Rosie and Vic hadn’t suffered through their losses that they would’ve wanted to take in five street children?

6. When do you think Rosie opened her heart to loving Davey? Do you think she was really mad at Davey, or at herself, or was it her grief that kept him away?

7. Did you think Vic was crazy for allowing five street children to live in his home?

8. Do you believe most marriages have to go through a sort of metamorphism in order to grow and flourish?

9. Do you think Vic was justified in losing his temper with Mr. Mason?

10. Who was your favorite child in this story? Why?

IF YOU LOVE ME

Carissa Donahue stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mayor Horton’s office, hoping to see Jacqueline Ramor cross the town square before she entered Sugar Maple Town Hall. Carissa needed more than a moment, though, to face the stylish-boyfriend-stealing-Judas Jackie. After all, even a decade hadn’t soothed the wounds of a friend’s betrayal.

Despite no sign of Judas below, Carissa remained at her perfect vantage point to see the town goings-on. That was probably why Mayor Horton always knew town business and why the mayor’s office had this prime spot. Carissa spotted one of her four childhood besties, Felicia, remove the last poinsettia from the foot of the Sugar Maple, Tennessee sign. Sensible Felicia, the negotiator of the group, placed the last of the over one hundred flowers that had decorated the town for the holidays on a cart. The cart squeaked, the sound echoing up to the third story window where Carissa stood, and the negotiator headed toward the courthouse for their meeting, undoubtedly to, well…negotiate a partnership of sorts.

Frost crusted the edges of glass near the faded white window molding. Carissa didn’t like the cold, sleet-covered, brown grass winter. Everyone saw January as the beginning. She saw it as an end.

The memories of dinner ten years ago threatened to darken her mood, but she pushed the anger and resentment away. January was a difficult enough month to face. The month she wished they could skip. The first month of the year meant the end of her busiest season, the end of holiday cheer, and the end of her relationship with the man she was supposed to grow old with.

Carissa glanced around the open square one last time for Judas Jackie, but there was no sign of her. It wouldn’t be long, though. The once Fabulous Five who ruled the halls of Sugar Maple High School would crowd begrudgingly into Ms. Horton’s county office to discuss the scheme to secure the town’s future.

The sound of laughter and greetings echoed up the stairs from the entryway, warning that the commotion of past friendship turned frenemy was approaching. Carissa rubbed her belly, attempting to free the knots twisting her insides.

There would be snide remarks with a smile and underhanded nudges to provoke arguments, but no one would fully engage in war. Not in front of their childhood mentor, and former teacher, Mayor Horton. Of course, she’d always be Ms. Horton to the five of them and a second mother to Carissa. Especially after taking her in when her parents left her behind.

The woman was a force of power but with a pleasing disposition and a model look to her. She was the only woman who had vibrant sliver hair that made her look young and lively instead of aged.

“Don’t look so glum and lost over there, sweet Carissa. We need your expertise. This is going to be an amazing opportunity, not only to revive the economy of the town, but to make your bakery explode with business year-round.” Ms. Horton’s soothing voice drew Carissa from her moment of self-pity. A place she only allowed herself to dwell in once a year, but even now she didn’t like visiting the empty space of loss and regrets.

“I’m not. I just think you’re overestimating me and this meeting. You and I both know how this will go.” Carissa didn’t need to explain. They both knew the proverbial lines that would be drawn in the office with Judas Jackie and Southern Belle Mary-Beth on one side, and Carissa and Sassy Stella on the other, with the negotiator Felicia firmly planted in the center.

Stella marched into the room with her tied-back, crow-colored hair sticking out in puffs around her ears. She joined Carissa on the far side as if an X marked her spot by Carissa’s side. She crossed her blue overall-clad arms as an armor against what was yet to come. She was Carissa’s Judas Jackie shield.

“Maybe she thinks this is a waste of time. Time we could be spending working and earning money to survive instead of fantasizing about some rich producer deciding to bless us with his all-mighty presence,” Stella said in her sassy tone with a thickened Latina accent she reserved for special combative opportunities.

“I have to agree with Stella. Not in the same words, mind you.” Carissa tucked her hair behind her ear and drew in a bitter breath. “It’s just that we all know that you concocted this plan not just to save the town but to bring us girls together. You succeeded in doing that. Jackie opened the dress store, so she’ll be staying, and Mary-Beth opened the coffee shop. Not to mention that Felicia’s plant nursery is doing well. See, you got all five of us back home.”

“Geographically you’re close, but fences haven’t been mended.” Ms. Horton tsked. “And all because of a stupid boy.”

Her words sent a winter blast through Carissa. Ms. Horton never understood that her life had been shattered that day. Not from the boy but the betrayal of the friend who took him. That was a sin beyond what any love interest could do to her.

“I disagree.” Stella sat uncharacteristically straight with a Cheshire cat smile.

“Really?” Ms. Horton’s eyes-wide, mouth-open expression had to match Carissa’s own.

Stella shrugged. “Sure. The fence is as strong now as it was the day we met. Barbed wire strewn between white picket fences and roughhewn poles.”

She had a point. The first day of kindergarten Jackie had tried to braid Stella’s hair and ended up with finger paint down her white dress.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Ms. Horton rounded her desk in her typical pencil skirt, button-up, and solid two-inch heels. “You aren’t so rough around the edges anymore.”

“I was thinking that was Jackie, but whatever.” Stella shrugged and studied the oil grease under her nails. Good thing Jackie wasn’t in the room to point out her flaws.

Ms. Horton patted Stella’s arm and then returned to her desk, sliding her glasses on and looking down at her laptop. “You’ll have to put your differences aside and work together when the Executive Production Supervisor arrives.”

“An executive what?” Stella asked in her best Knox-style tone, despite the fact she was born and raised in Sugar Maple.

Carissa wanted to laugh, but she stifled it at the sound of approaching heavy boot steps that had to be Felicia in her work galoshes. Sure enough, she appeared with Southern Belle Marry-Beth at her side, leaving only Judas to make her fashionably late entrance.

An uneasiness settled in the pit of Carissa’s stomach.

Stella cleared her throat as fast as Carissa cleared her grin. “It’s five minutes past. I have work to get back to, you know.”

Sensible Felicia sat in the cream-colored neutral zone chair she’d claimed since day one of planning this crazy scheme to save little Sugar Maple from bankruptcy. Perhaps growing up in a mixed-race household and learning to navigate the prejudice of an ill-educated network of small-town teens was what molded her into such an amazing peacekeeper. Her features were beyond exotic, but she had never learned to embrace her unique beauty.

“We’re only five minutes late. I had to close up shop, and I couldn’t throw my customer out. Believe it or not, you’re not the only one who has to work to earn a living around here,” Mary-Beth said in the sweetest southern tone while she toyed with her earring, which they all knew meant she was nervous. That was the problem with childhood friends turned enemies… There was way too much ammo you could shoot at each other in an argument.

“Wasn’t talking about you two,” Stella said in a less hostile tone than expected.

“Jacqueline will be here soon.” Ms. Horton pressed on with a hint of irritation in her voice. “As I was saying, we need to get organized before the show executive arrives.”

Carissa’s desire to escape this redundant and hopeless friend-forced meeting kicked up her irritation. “You mean more prepared than November 1st when we spent two days decorating the square with extra carved pumpkins to create the right scene for the production, or do you mean December 19th, when you had us painting pine trees with fake white snow and assembling nutcrackers in the sleet at two in the morning?”

Jacqueline sauntered into the room with a perfected aristocratic snicker. “Wow, look at Ms. Sweet, who never says an ill-word to anyone, channeling her inner Stella.”

Felicia shot up from the chair and stood between them. “Great, we’re all here now. Let’s get started.”

Ms. Horton cleared her throat. “I know we’ve had some setbacks, but this time will be different. In November they had a corporate restructuring, and in December they had to pull it because of taking on a special with Hallmark Movies.”

Jackie set her designer handbag down on Ms. Horton’s desk and posed with her hip out to one side and her nose in the air. “If you say January is a new year for new things, you’re going to send Carissa into a baking frenzy.”

Carissa rubbed a smudge of flour from her knuckle. She didn’t want Jackie to see she’d already visited Crazy Town baking today, because then she’d know the truth. Her boyfriend runaway move still hurt.

Mary-Beth fidgeted with one of her eight bracelets. The girl loved her jewelry. Somehow she could wear dozens of pieces and still look perfectly put together. “January isn’t so bad. It brings snow and hot chocolate.”

Carissa couldn’t hold it in any longer. “This is the month when everyone’s Christmas-spirt-covered lies turn to icing winter truths.”

The smile on Jackie’s face drove her insides to pre-heat, but when Stella cracked her knuckles, Carissa knew she had to remain calm if for no other reason than to help Ms. Horton. She owed her that much after all she’d done when Carissa was younger, taking her in when her family transferred out of town so that she could remain with her four best friends in high school.

“You’re up first, Carissa.” Ms. Horton put her arm around Carissa and snugged her close.

“Me?” Her stomach rolled and fizzed and tightened.

“Why would she be up first?” Jackie’s snotty, slight-British-wannabe accent made the fizzing turn to a boil. “I mean, we all know that I should be the first spotlight segment on the new Knox Brevard project. I’m the only one with big city experience and corporate clients, and we all know I can keep a man interested.”

Stella sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “A man-stealing, failed wannabe New York fashionista—”

“Ladies, please. We’re getting off topic. The exec requested to meet with the bakers first.” Ms. Horton abandoned Carissa’s side so that she could keep the peace. The woman was either brave or crazy. When she had her mind set on something, though, she was like a dog with a prime rib bone wrapped in bacon and dipped in peanut butter.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Carissa didn’t want to admit it aloud, but Jacqueline was the obvious choice for first up on the show. After all, that was the big start. The introduction episode that dove into an in-depth hour-long special about a specific business, the owner, and how it was the heart of the town. The one that launched mini-segments with only highlights of the other town stores in twenty-minutes or less. “You’d think they’d want to start with something more exciting and trending than a bakery.”

“Wait, you said bakers. As in plural,” Felicia said.

“Why yes… Remember, this is a competition. Renee Wilson and her girls are all competing, remember?” Ms. Horton strutted to the window as if to add tension to her words. “I’m sure that I can arrange for Tabitha to meet with Drew Lancaster first. Maybe you won’t even have to be bothered if she wins him over.”

Ms. Horton threw down the preschool anti-pretentious pact. The only thing that would reunite the Fabulous Five against a common enemy. Based on the sour expressions on the other faces in the room, Carissa wasn’t the only one who had caught on.

“Pulling out that card, are we?” Jackie asked, more of a rhetorical statement than an actual question.

“We need to convince him to start with someone else besides me.” Carissa shot Stella a pleading stare.

“Drew Lancaster insisted that we start with a bakery.” Ms. Horton picked up a pen, the gold one that all of the girls had chipped in for before they graduated high school. It was a promise to her that they would always remember what she’d taught them.

“Drew Lancaster? His name even sounds like a pompous jerk.” Stella grunted for extra emphasis. “If we can’t meet for five minutes, then how can we work together for five months?”

“Listen, I realize these corporate types need to be treated as if they’re everything in the world, so don’t worry about it. I’ll just send him to Tabitha,” Ms. Horton said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Like a toddler still on a pacifier,” Stella muttered under her breath.

She protested too much, which meant she needed this more than she would admit. They all knew her business was struggling the most in recent years. And even after all this time, as much as Carissa held so much resentment toward Jackie, she still couldn’t let the rest of her childhood friends lose to their arch enemies. No way would she allow them to win this program. Maybe if she spoke to this exec, she could convince him to start with one of the other girls first…another of the Fabulous Five. “Fine, I’ll meet with the glorified party planner.” Carissa realized that Jackie had a point. She did sound more like Stella than herself today. Good, maybe it was time for Carissa to give up her sweet-doormat title. It was time to take a walk and cool off before she met with this Drew character, so she turned on her heels and smacked into something hard and large. She rubbed her nose free of sting and blinked up at a perfect stranger. Perfect height, perfect hair, perfect lips.

“You okay there?” His deep voice closed in around her.

Space. That’s what she needed. She moved away and took a breath. A breath of Ode de Mysterious with an undertone of trouble. After a moment, she managed to turn her January gloom into a friendly welcome. “Yes, I am now. Thank you. Sorry. Who are you?”

He quirked an attitude-changing grin at her. “I’m the pompous, glorified party planner, toddler, stuck-on-a-pacifier Drew Lancaster.”

Click here to continue reading.

Also by Ciara Knight

For a complete list of my books, please visit my website at www.ciaraknight.com. A great way to keep up to date on all releases, sales and prizes subscribe to my Newsletter. I’m extremely sociable, so feel free to chat with me on Facebook, Twitter, or Goodreads.

For your convenience please see my complete title list below, in reading order:

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

Winter in Sweetwater County

Spring in Sweetwater County

Summer in Sweetwater County

Fall in Sweetwater County

Christmas in Sweetwater County

Valentines in Sweet-water County

Fourth of July in Sweetwater County

Thanksgiving in Sweetwater County

Grace in Sweetwater County

Faith in Sweetwater County

Love in Sweetwater County

Sugar Maple Series

If You Keep Me

(Coming soon)

(A prequel Christmas Novel)

If You Love Me

If You Adore Me

If You Cherish Me

If You Hold Me

(Coming October 2020)

If You Kiss Me

(Coming December 2020)

Riverbend

In All My Wishes

In All My Years

In All My Dreams

In All My Life

A Christmas Spark

A Miracle Mountain Christmas

HISTORICAL WESTERNS:

McKinnie Mail Order Brides Series

Love on the Prairie

(USA Today Bestselling Novel)

Love in the Rockies

Love on the Plains

Love on the Ranch

His Holiday Promise

(A Love on the Ranch Novella)

Love on the Sound

Love on the Border

Love at the Coast

A Prospectors Novel

Fools Rush

Bride of America

Adelaide: Bride of Maryland

YOUNG ADULT:

Battle for Souls Series

Rise From Darkness

Fall From Grace

Ascension of Evil

The Neumarian Chronicles

Weighted

Escapement

Pendulum

Balance

About the Author

Ciara Knight is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author, who writes clean and wholesome romance novels set in either modern day small towns or wild historic old west. Born with a huge imagination that usually got her into trouble, Ciara is happy she’s found a way to use her powers for good. She loves spending time with her characters and hopes you do, too.