Chapter 26
A light snow began early Christmas Eve morning, setting a lovely backdrop for the holiday. Rose felt thankful that it was not enough to accumulate, or inhibit travel by car—just enough to dust the trees.
She woke early to prepare for the arrival of her guests later that afternoon.
A few weeks ago, she received a letter from Esther, who was now almost seven months pregnant.
She and Henry had married and were living in an apartment near campus.
Because of the baby, Esther decided to leave school, and her days felt quiet and lonely while Henry attended classes.
I miss you, Rose. Terribly, she wrote. Henry and I would like to spend Christmas with you at Rosehill, if you’ll have us.
It was wonderful news, considering that Albert would not be home again this holiday.
His letter arrived only days before Esther’s.
Due to the war, long-distance travel proved difficult, and money was tight.
Acting roles were hard to come by in Hollywood, so he’d taken a job at a factory in the meantime.
He’d met a woman, an actress named Doris, and they were in love.
In fact, they’d gotten married. Doris was pregnant, due in spring.
If it was a boy, they planned to name him Albert Jr.
Rose desperately wanted to see her son, and meet her new daughter-in-law and see her round belly, but still, she really just cared that her son was happy.
And California—with its ocean and beaches and mountains and deserts—seemed to help fill a bottomless thirst in Albert’s heart the Midwest could never quite quench.
Maybe being a husband and a father would do that for him too.
Maybe, if Albert cared for others as much as himself, it would extinguish the emptiness that had always seemed to plague him.
With Esther and Henry’s visit, there was quite a lot of work to do, and Rose now relished the fullness of her schedule.
There would be no time to miss Hank or Albert or her late husband.
She was most excited about Christmas dinner.
She was roasting a duck. There were no turkeys to come by—the few available were reserved for the soldiers to enjoy overseas—but she had procured a duck from Carol’s husband, who hunted game.
She would serve the duck with an orange sauce, accompanied by a celery-and-sage dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots, peas, and cranberry sauce.
For dessert, they would enjoy an assortment of candies, seafoam—a light honeycomb type of candy made from brown sugar and corn syrup—and cereal squares made with butter and marshmallow.
The day passed quickly but with intent. By the time Esther and Henry arrived, Rose felt a small sense of peace. While times were tough, food rationed, a country at war, she took comfort in preparing a simple but full meal, in company and conversation.
The moment Rose saw Esther’s round, cheery face and swollen belly, she felt a stinging in the corners of her eyes. Tears fell freely as she hugged the young girl.
“Oh, Rose, now you’ve gone and made me cry,” Esther said.
Henry quickly produced a handkerchief and handed it to his wife.
“This is my Henry. Henry, this is Rose.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” the man said, hugging her as well. He wore spectacles, and his brown hair was combed over neatly. “I’ve heard so much about you, and about Esther’s time here at your farm.”
“How wonderful,” Rose said, taking their coats.
“But I know so little about you, Henry. Please leave your bags here in the foyer, and let’s warm up with some tea and cookies in the parlor.
” Rose escorted them into the front room.
“It’s toasty in here with the wood stove.
And your room is directly above it, so you’ll stay warm as you sleep. ”
“You have a beautiful home,” Henry said, smoothing his hair over nervously.
Rose smiled. She could already tell he was a good man worthy of Esther’s love.
She poured tea as they selected cookies from the platter. She’d made two kinds—molasses and orange drop.
“I want to know more about you, Henry,” Rose prompted.
Esther and Henry looked at each other and smiled. A nervous laughter escaped Esther’s lips. “Henry is studying to be a doctor,” she said.
“A veterinarian,” he corrected, adjusting his glasses on his nose.
Esther placed her hand on his. “He was 4-F on account of his eyesight.”
“I’m practically blind without my glasses,” Henry added. “I’m colorblind too.”
“It’s a good thing he can’t see, or else he’d be off fighting the war, and I never would have met him.” Esther laughed. “Although it’s probably also good he can’t see so well, or he wouldn’t have fallen for me in the first place.”
“Dear, you mustn’t say things like that.” Henry patted Esther’s knee. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Esther beamed. “That’s the baby,” she said, rubbing her stomach. “I just know she’s a girl, and her beauty is radiating through me.”
“Oh, Esther. I’m so very happy for you,” Rose said.
Esther looked down at her shoes. “My father is not so thrilled,” she went on. “He said I worked hard to become an educated woman, and I’ve thrown it all away.”
Rose sighed. Disappointment comes easy to parents. Because our children are reflections of ourselves. “And what about your parents, Henry?” she asked.
“They’re deceased, ma’am.” Henry put his arm around Esther. “I’m an only child, so Esther and the baby are my only family.” His lips grew tight, his eyes narrowed. “I want you to know, Rose, that I was planning to marry Esther all along,” he explained. “The baby just pushed us to do it sooner.”
Rose appreciated Henry’s effort to earn her favor. She nodded in understanding. “Your father is still sour with you, Esther?” she asked. “Is that why you’re spending Christmas here and not at home?”
Esther nodded hesitantly. “He’ll come around.”
“Of course, he will,” Rose assured. “He won’t be able to deny a beautiful baby. Once the baby comes, none of it will matter, the when and the how.”
Esther turned to Henry. “Do you see why I adore her so? She loves so unconditionally.”
Henry nodded and kissed Esther’s hand.
“It’s too bad you weren’t able to be with your family this holiday,” Rose said.
Esther smiled. “Oh, but I am. You’re my family, Rose. You’ve been like a mother to me. Your children are very lucky to have you.”
The women shared a knowing look about Hank.
It was the kindest compliment—that Esther felt she’d treated her with the love and care of a mother.
And yet, it stung. Because sometimes she wasn’t so sure her children—specifically Albert—felt all that lucky to have her.
If he did, wouldn’t he have tried to come home for Christmas, write more, call more?
Throughout her mothering years, she felt like she had so much love to give, so much knowledge and wisdom to teach her boys, and sometimes, her children, even Hank, had been unwilling students of her guidance, of her life experiences.
“Well, this is a true celebration,” Rose said. “Not only is it Christmas, but this beautiful child will be here very soon.”
Esther frowned. “I’m going to miss working at the dairy this spring,” she noted.
“Yes, you’ll be sorely missed. But you will come visit,” Rose assured her. “And the girls will fall in love with your baby girl.”
“Do you really think so?” Esther asked.
Rose smiled. “I just know it.”
Only ten days later, a heavy, thudding knock—like shutters in a storm—woke Rose from a sound sleep. She threw on her robe and slippers and, armed with a lantern, descended the stairs into the foyer, where the knocking had grown into a bang.
She opened the door to see Henry standing there, his face white, his eyes sunken, the fear of a wounded animal in his eyes. He held a tightly wrapped blanket in his arms; something wriggled under the cotton.
“Rose,” he said—it was all he could say.
Rose tried to swallow the lump in her throat, which had bubbled up from her stomach the moment she saw Henry. “What happened?” she asked, instinctually taking the blanket from his twitching arms.
Henry stumbled farther into the foyer and collapsed onto the bottom step of the long staircase, where he put his head in his hands. In the glow of lantern light, Rose could see the tearstains on his cheeks.
“She’s gone,” he said.
No. No, no, no, no.
“The baby came early,” Henry stammered. “Six weeks. There was so much blood. It wouldn’t stop. The doctor couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t make it stop.”
Rose noticed a ring of blood on Henry’s shirtsleeves, as if he’d dipped his hands in it. The truth was hard to take in, but she let it: Esther died in childbirth.
My dear, sweet Esther is gone.
And just as devastation ravaged Rose’s body—first, the freefall drop of her stomach, followed by a dull, heavy tugging on her heart—it was almost immediately counteracted by restraint.
Esther—the young girl she’d grown so close to, who’d brought joy to her world when she needed it—was gone.
But Rose did not have time to process her pain.
Maybe she couldn’t, not now. She would put that aside for another day.
Emotional triage. Today, she would help those who needed her the most.
“How is the baby?” Rose quickly asked, even though she held the child, warm and wriggly, in her own arms.
“She’s okay,” Henry said.
She. Rose peeked under the blanket to see an angelic face—full cherubic cheeks, alert eyes, a dusting of sandy-blond hair.
She brought the child closer to her bosom and held her tightly, rocking her back and forth, up and down.
While the baby wasn’t crying, and seemed perfectly content, Rose rocked her anyway, as if to say the pain is coming.
“I can’t take care of her,” Henry said bluntly. “I need you to take her.”