Chapter 26 #2
Rose felt certain he meant he couldn’t take care of her now, not indefinitely. Yes, now he was distraught, a man who had just lost his wife. But later, a few weeks from now, when some of the pain subsided, he would raise this girl. He would honor Esther by caring for the life they created together.
“Yes, I will take care of her,” Rose said. “Until you can.”
“I don’t think I ever can.”
“You feel that way now.”
“But I don’t know how to care for a baby. I don’t even know if I can live without Esther.”
“It’s the baby that will help you live without her,” Rose explained to him, knowing she was also trying to explain this to herself. “She’s going to keep you going. She’s going to give your life purpose.”
He shrugged, and then shook his head and sobbed into his hands.
There was no reason to argue with him in this state. He would come to realize the truth in time. What mattered was the baby. She would need to be fed and bathed and loved. And Henry would need to be nursed back into a man who could take on this challenge. He was broken, but Rose could fix him.
“Did you give her a name?” Rose asked.
Henry looked up from his hands, his eyes red and swollen. “What?”
“The baby? Did you give her a name?”
He shook his head.
“What were Esther’s wishes?”
He swallowed back tears to speak. “I don’t know.”
Rose looked down again at the bright, beaming face, the only beacon in this very dark, stormy night.
Light. Lucia. Esther’s mother.
“We’ll call her Lucy,” Rose announced.
For Rose, caring for an infant was like riding a bicycle. Once you learn how to do it, you never truly forget. You may feel a bit rusty, and the rules about what to feed a baby and how to put a baby to sleep change with the times, but it all comes back so quickly. Rose was in her element.
Henry had come to see his daughter, but only for a few hours at a time.
After months of caring for Lucy full-time, things became second nature to Rose.
How quickly her left arm grew stronger as she held Lucy, stirring the pot at the stove with her right.
How lightly she slept, awaking to attend Lucy’s every whimper in the night.
How many times had she smelled the top of Lucy’s head, a scent that seemed to hold the very essence of the child?
Rose tried to enjoy every moment because she hoped one day Henry would feel strong enough to take her back, to be her father.
But he was still so fixated on losing Esther.
Rose suspected he even blamed Lucy for her mother’s death.
Time heals wounds, she repeated, trying to believe the adage herself.
The truth was, despite time’s passing, she missed Esther every day.
Hank’s disappearance had already left a hole in her heart, and losing Esther had only deepened it.
Rose actually felt it—a tender, dull aching—in her sternum.
She often placed her hand there to stifle the pain.
One day, Henry would raise Lucy. But meanwhile, Rose processed the loss by giving Lucy as much love and attention as she could.
It’s the only way I can truly honor Esther.
During the day, when Lucy was awake and in need of attention, it was easier, as Rose’s task-focused mind never wandered toward Esther.
But evening was another story. Once Lucy fell fast asleep in her bassinet, Rose would retire to the parlor to read or knit.
And in the silence of night, alone with her thoughts, the tears would inevitably come.
She’d fall apart in a sudden, heavy sob.
She cried for Esther, for Hank, for Charles.
The tender spot in her heart never felt so raw.
As time passed, Rose debated about how to tell the other farmerettes about Esther.
She imagined them showing up for the first day of WLA work, and their shock at learning of her passing.
It would be better for them to know before the summer, to give them time to process.
So that winter, she sent them all letters.
It was a wise choice. Because when the girls arrived, while saddened about Esther, they’d had months to mourn, which meant they were able to give Lucy the love and attention she deserved.
Rose met the girls on the front porch with the baby in her arms, but she didn’t hold her for long.
The moment one woman held Lucy, another eagerly awaited her turn.
She was passed around like a plate of hors d’oeuvres, from one set of arms to another, from one smiling face to the next.
The baby talk ensued: “You’re so beautiful, yes you are” and “Who’s so precious?
” and “Oh, she has Esther’s eyes.” Lucy’s cheeks and forehead, freckled with kiss marks, displayed the affection of a roomful of women.
Lucy may not have her mother. But she has all of us.
Once everyone came inside, the discussion soon turned to how Rose would manage running the farm and cooking meals, while also caring for an infant.
Rose swatted the problem away. “I did it when I had my own.”
“Yes, but it’s still a lot of work,” Clara said.
“One of us should stay back to help you each day,” Peggy added.
Before Rose could say anything, Peggy had retrieved a pencil and paper and begun creating a schedule.
“A full day is too long,” Peggy proposed. “We should do half days. That way, we still get some farm work done each day. And the rotations will be more frequent. Once a week.”
Within minutes, a schedule was made and each young woman had signed up for a shift. Rose watched how quickly and easily the women agreed to the task, and filled in where they were needed. The organization of life—of caring for others, of meeting their needs—was effortless.
Rose had fared well caring for Lucy alone the past months, but having the girls’ help for the summer would be a blessing. And as she watched the girls still fuss about, she knew Lucy would never be starved for attention.
She will be surrounded by love.