Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“ D o you think he’s asleep?”
The words came to Wilson from what felt like very far away.
“I don’t know. His eyes are closed. He’s making those loud noises that Dad used to make.”
“Snoring. He’s snoring.”
That was Gifford. He recognized his voice, so the other voices must’ve been maybe Banks and Lavinia?
But that was weird, because what were they doing in his house? Oh. They were going to move there. But wait, it was the day after Christmas. Wasn’t Christmas just yesterday? That meant today was the day after Christmas, and he…
Wilson opened his eyes, looking up at three sets of eyes staring back down at him.
“He’s awake!” Lavinia said, jumping up and down. “Would you play with us?” she asked, pausing to step closer and lean back over top of him.
“I don’t think he knows where he is,” Gifford said, squinting, and that’s when Wilson fully awoke.
He was on the couch, where he lay down after he had checked the doors and windows and made sure everything was turned off last night, wishing that he could have had Charity beside him for a little while, sitting on the couch, looking at the tree they put up and decorated, seeing the gifts that were scattered around, and enjoying a peaceful Christmas night together. Their first night as a married couple.
But the pastor had said he needed to give her a year, and if he sat snuggled up next to her on the couch every night, it wasn’t going to be a year.
One day down, 364 more days to go. It felt like forever.
But he couldn’t fault the pastor for his reasoning.
And he wanted to build a relationship that lasted for a lifetime.
Not only did Charity not deserve to have another man who didn’t stay, but she deserved to have the very best relationship a couple could have, and he was determined to give it to her.
And if that meant that he would be sleeping on the couch for the next year and not snuggling there in the evening with his wife, then so be it.
“Are you awake?” Banks said, and Wilson focused his eyes on the little boy.
“I am. I guess I’m just not used to having a welcoming committee whenever I come back to consciousness in the morning.”
“What?” Lavinia said, scrunching up her nose and looking so much like her mother that it gave Wilson’s heart a pang.
“I need you guys to move back so I can sit up,” Wilson said, instead of repeating what he’d already said, when she wasn’t going to understand anyway.
He supposed this was his new reality. Children staring at him from the time he woke up in the morning until the time he went to bed at night, and always wanting to do something with him.
Which, honestly, he didn’t mind at all. It reminded him of his childhood.
He’d always wanted to spend more time with his dad and hadn’t had a chance, and now it was his turn to be the dad.
He was looking forward to it. Except, he did want to have some time alone with his wife.
Although, maybe that was not a wise thing either.
Not if he was going to spend the next year courting her.
They probably should be chaperoned by the children, and that would ensure that his behavior stayed within bounds.
Built-in chaperones. Nice.
“You guys want some breakfast?” he asked as he sat up and considered standing. He was a little bit sore, not being used to sleeping on the couch, and it sagged a good bit in the middle, but it was just until they got moved into his house.
“Yay! Let’s have pancakes!” Lavinia said sweetly, slipping her hand into his as he stood to his feet.
“All right. Pancakes it is. As long as I can find the ingredients,” he amended as he slipped out from behind the coffee table. “You guys are going to have to let me use the restroom first, and then we’ll see if we’ve got the ingredients for pancakes, okay?”
“All right! I’ll tell Mom you’re up,” Banks said, running to the bottom of the stairs before Wilson could stop him.
“Hold up. If your mom isn’t up, why don’t we let her sleep in a little bit today. She’s probably extra tired because Christmas is extra busy for moms.”
“Okay. But we’ll give her pancakes, won’t we?”
“We’ll make special pancakes just for her, if she’s down before we’re done.” Wilson had a feeling that all the noise downstairs would definitely be waking her up, but maybe she really was tired and wouldn’t be up for a while.
He hardly imagined that a mom would have the luxury of sleeping in much, and he wished he could give that to her. But he wasn’t sure he could go up and get Serafina and Evans up by himself.
Although Gifford could probably help him. But he promised pancakes, so he probably ought to do that.
The kids were waiting for him when he made his way to the kitchen.
“Pancakes are everybody’s favorite,” Lavinia said as he opened up the cupboard doors, looking for flour.
He was a little bit aghast at how bare the cupboards were. How was she feeding five children three times a day with cupboards that were mostly full of air?
They’d had a big Christmas meal the day before, but the Secret Saint had made sure that they were stocked up on all things necessary to provide that meal. He had been behind all that.
Would Charity be upset about that if she found out?
He hardly thought she would, but there was also no reason for her to find out, either.
“Can I help? Mom always lets me help!” Banks said as he finally found the flour, sugar, and salt and set them down on the table.
“I was hoping you would,” he said, smiling at Banks. Gifford stood back, watching.
“I thought you were going to help too,” Wilson said, nodding at Gifford.
“Mom lets me pour the batter on the hot griddle sometimes.”
“All right. That’ll be your job. Can you get the griddle out?” He looked around, unable to even see where the griddle might be.
“Mom keeps it over here, because there’s not much room in the kitchen. She says our kitchen is the size of a postage stamp.” Gifford spoke as he walked over to the couch and pulled the griddle out from underneath it.
He’d never seen anyone store their griddle under the couch before, but…he supposed when a person had five children, they had to get creative when they lived in a small house.
He shook his head, smiling.
“Don’t you need a recipe?” Banks asked as he started to measure flour in a bowl.
“I have it in my head,” he said, grinning at their wide eyes.
“Mom always uses a recipe.”
“That’s probably because she has so much information about all of her children in her head that she doesn’t have room for recipes,” Wilson postulated. “Or maybe, she just hasn’t made pancakes as much as I have.”
“They’re only for special occasions, because Mom says it takes too long to get five kids ready in the morning, and so she makes things that don’t take as much time.”
“I see. Well, all I have to do this morning is make pancakes, so I guess it’s a special occasion.”
“Is it a special occasion when the dad is in the kitchen?” Charity said, and the sound of her voice made him turn and get warm all over.
She had Evans on one hip, and Serafina held her hand as they stood there.
But he didn’t notice the children as much as he noticed the rosy cheeks of his wife, the smiling eyes, and the way her hair waved around her face.
Maybe there was a little bit of sadness on her face, and he wondered at that.
Was there something wrong? Was she regretting the fact that they had gotten married yesterday?
He hated that he hadn’t been with her last night, didn’t know what she was thinking, couldn’t talk to her as the doubts rolled in and help her keep them away.
He had a few doubts of his own, although mostly they were related to whether or not he could be a good husband and a good father, stepping into someone else’s role and taking on five children at once.
It felt like a huge undertaking and one he wasn’t sure he was ready for.
He wouldn’t have minded having her snuggled up against him, telling him that everything was going to be okay.
That they would trust in the Lord and do the best they could.
Wasn’t that what being married was? Having someone beside you to stand shoulder to shoulder with you while you faced the world.
To remind you of what the Bible said when you forgot, just as you reminded them.
“I think it’s a special occasion when Mom is in the kitchen with Dad,” he said and was rewarded with a smile that reached her eyes and drove the sadness away.
“The kids just said that it had to be a special occasion when we made pancakes. So, I think we have to make something up, since it isn’t anyone’s birthday, and yesterday was Christmas. ”
“Well, since yesterday was Christmas, we can celebrate our wedding today,” she said, lifting her brow and looking around at the children who clapped and cheered, like she’d suggested they all eat cake for breakfast and watch cartoons all day.
Wilson laughed. Sometimes children were just the easiest thing ever, and then sometimes it didn’t matter what a person did, he couldn’t make them happy.
He heard that about women too, but Charity didn’t seem to be like normal women. She seemed to be happy no matter what or at least able to talk herself out of being upset.
Maybe someday he’d be able to tell her how much he appreciated that about her.
“Mr. Wilson said that I could run the griddle,” Gifford announced to his mom as soon as the other kids were quiet enough for him to talk.
“Oh, he did?” she said, tilting her head and lifting her brows.
Gifford nodded, big nods where his chin bumped his chest with every downward turn of his head.
“Is that okay with you?” Wilson asked, although it was probably too late.
“If you think you can handle it.”
“Oh, I know we can.” He figured he’d be right there, able to supervise in case anything went wrong.
“All right then.”
“And we don’t need a recipe. He said the recipe is in his head.”
“Impressive. So he’s made pancakes a lot.”