Chapter 33
Meanwhile, Lucy helped her pass the time.
Lucy turned two in January, and the next month, they made valentines together.
Rose delighted in wiping Lucy’s hands of red paint, laughing along with her sweet giggle as the cloth tickled her skin.
In March, they helped a neighbor tap trees for maple syrup, and in April they hunted for Easter eggs under the oaks.
How gently Lucy placed her eggs in the basket, Rose thought, as if putting a baby doll to sleep.
Rose fondly observed Lucy picking lilacs when they bloomed in May, and gobbling up the strawberries that ripened in June.
Rose fed her sandwiches, juicy with the tomatoes that swelled in August, and together, they played in the first leaves that fell at the end of September.
The October chill brought vibrant-red leaves, keepsakes of the season, that they pressed into books, and November gifted oversize squash for Lucy’s small hands to pick.
Now it was December, and Rose could hardly believe Lucy was almost three.
While Lucy took her afternoon nap this Christmas Eve, Rose prepared for the arrival of Peggy and her husband, Robert Gibson.
The end of the war brought an end to most rations, and Rose eagerly prepared the food they would enjoy this evening.
Peggy and Robert, who lived in Minneapolis, would spend Christmas Eve at the farmhouse, a stopover on their drive to Peggy’s parents’ home in Milwaukee.
For the first time in a long while, they would eat beef.
She’d considered a roast, but decided instead to make Swedish meatballs with gravy over egg noodles, with a side of braised red cabbage and glazed carrots.
They’d enjoy a salad, cheese, and sausages beforehand.
It would all feel indulgent after so many years of sacrifice.
When Rose opened the door to greet Peggy and Robert, a dusting of snow speckled their shoulders and hats.
She couldn’t help but recall this same day three years ago, when Esther and Henry arrived in a similar fashion, full of hope and expectation of being with child.
So much had happened in the past three years—the loss of Esther, the gift of Lucy—and for a moment, a wave of nostalgia threatened to steal the joy from this special day.
But Rose tried to remember how important it was to live in the moment, as we never know what the future holds, good or bad.
“Where is my Lucy?” Peggy asked, looking behind Rose. “Where is my big girl?”
Rose took Peggy’s coat. “Napping upstairs. She’ll be awake in a few minutes.”
Peggy’s shoulders sagged. “I bet she’s grown. I hope she remembers me.”
“Of course, she will.” Rose turned to Peggy’s husband. “You must be Robert.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached for her hand, but Rose hugged him instead.
“Peggy mentioned you were warm and friendly,” he noted, pulling back from her embrace. “She’s very fond of you.”
“As I am of her,” Rose said.
Just then, as if on cue, they heard a gentle singsong from upstairs, a high-pitched collection of babbles and notes, like birds chirping in the early morning. It was the most beautiful sound to Rose’s ears, a child happily waking from slumber.
“May I get her from her nap?” Peggy asked.
“Let’s go together,” Rose said, thinking Lucy might be frightened if someone other than Rose came in. Most days, it was just the two of them.
Rose followed Peggy into the room to find Lucy sitting up in her bed, playing with her baby doll. Her blond hair laid flat on her head, and her eyes appeared swollen with sleep, but she seemed in good spirits.
Lucy looked at Peggy and raised her arms out to her, as if she’d seen her every day.
“Hello, my darling,” Peggy said, scooping her up. Lucy immediately hooked her arms around Peggy’s neck, like a chimpanzee might cling to a zookeeper. She snuggled her head onto Peggy’s shoulder.
“Well, if that doesn’t prove it,” Rose declared. “She remembers you.”
Peggy closed her eyes and soaked in the moment, the comfort of holding a child whose arms and legs were still anesthetized by slumber. Rose watched Peggy as she smelled the top of Lucy’s head, as Rose had so many times.
“Oh, I’ve missed you,” Peggy said, swaying back and forth, a dancing hug. Then her face suddenly fell, and her eyes filled with tears.
“What is it?” Rose clutched Peggy’s arm. She assumed it was how much Lucy looked like Esther. Sometimes, the likeness was too much for Rose too. She often felt a wave of sadness at the realization that Lucy would never know her mother.
“I won’t have children,” Peggy said instead.
“Of course, you will. You said you and Robert have been trying. It will happen.”
“The doctor said I am unable to get pregnant or birth a child.”
“Oh, Peggy, I’m so sorry. Are they sure?”
She nodded. “They did many tests.”
Rose thought about Albert and Hank, from pregnancy to birth to childhood. She would never regret the time and attention she invested in them. Motherhood is a job of cultivation. You don’t necessarily reap what you sow. The world is often the receiver of that gift.
“I’m so sorry,” Rose repeated.
Peggy wiped a tear away with her free hand; the other hand and arm secured Lucy to her hip. “There are options, Robert said. Adoption. We have so much love to give. It will all work out.” She snuggled up to Lucy again. “And I have you, little Lucy.”
Rose watched Peggy and Lucy touch noses and foreheads and stare into each other’s eyes, just as she and Lucy did in the quiet moments, after sitting in the chair and reading, after her bath.
It was remarkable, how comfortable Lucy seemed to be with Peggy, even though she hadn’t seen her since the summer.
They had a connection, an unexplainable bond.
Rose followed the two of them down the stairs to greet Robert, who was still seated in the foyer.
She paused halfway and watched the scene unfold before her.
Robert stood and rushed to them, and Lucy smiled and giggled and played patty-cake with him, still on Peggy’s hip.
A happy family, Rose thought, as she took in the sight.
It was beautiful. Precious. It could have been an advertisement.
As Rose continued down the steps, watching the three of them connect in such a genuine way, a wave of simultaneous comfort and loss overcame her.
Lucy had no mother, and a father who rarely came to visit as of late.
Meanwhile, Peggy and Robert desperately wanted a child but could not have one.
They each possessed what the other needed.
And though it would pain her to let Lucy go, she knew Peggy and Robert could give her so much more.
They were younger, more energetic, with even more room in their hearts, having no children of their own.
She would miss Lucy greatly—terribly, really, it was almost hard to fathom—and yet she had always held back a part of herself from the young girl, hoping her father would someday take her home.
She’d hoped all along their arrangement was temporary.
By the time she reached the bottom of the steps, it was clear what she needed to do. She would talk to Henry, ask if they could work out a plan. Perhaps by next Christmas, he would agree to give Lucy the greatest gift of all.
A family.
Rose woke on Christmas morning feeling a great sense of purpose to work with her hands.
With Henry arriving this morning, there were so many food preparations for Christmas brunch.
Cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, sausage, ham steaks, biscuits with jam, and fresh fruit.
A strong cup of coffee was her first order of business, and while she sipped her fully leaded brew, she thought about what she would say to Henry, how to convince him to let Peggy and Robert adopt Lucy.
She was almost three now, and her memory was just beginning to form.
This was the right time for Lucy to begin a new life with Peggy and Robert, before she could remember being too attached to anyone else.
Rose wondered how Henry would react to the idea.
Would he be angry? Offended? Perhaps he would be relieved?
He’d come to see Lucy less and less in the past months.
And when he did, Rose noted how preoccupied he seemed; he held her on his lap but his mind and heart were somewhere else entirely.
Maybe he knew he wouldn’t be able to give Lucy the home life she deserved and would put aside his attachment in exchange for her long-term happiness.
As Rose finished her coffee, she said a prayer of gratitude for Lucy, then set herself to work before she could think too much about how full Lucy’s life would be with two young parents—and how empty hers might feel once she was gone.
Soon, Peggy, Robert, and Lucy woke and filled the house with chatter and laughter and life.
Everyone was dressed in their holiday best; Lucy wore her green velvet dress.
They played Christmas music and “Let It Snow” echoed through the house while the earthy, spiced smell of cinnamon rolls and the smoky scent of sausages searing in the cast iron pan perfumed the air.
It was Christmas morning, Hank was still missing, and yet somehow, her house was filled with love—not with her own children or grandchildren, but with angels who had come into her life.
A knock on the door signified the official start of Christmas morning—Henry.
“Lucy, your daddy’s here,” Rose announced, nearing the farmhouse door.
She opened it to see a woman with an aquiline nose, harshly arched eyebrows, and a sour purse of the lips. She was holding a basket of fruit and shelled nuts wrapped in red ribbon.
“Rose, I presume?” the woman said, before shoving the basket into Rose’s hands. “Henry’s still in the car getting the presents. I’m Angelica.” Her gloved hand shot out like a jack-in-the-box.
Rose narrowed her eyes, but shifted the basket into the crook of her elbow so she could return the handshake. “Angelica?”
“Henry’s fiancée,” she spat, as if the fact was as commonly known as the alphabet.
“Fiancée?” Rose repeated, and watched Henry scurry up with an armload of presents.
“Merry Christmas, Rose,” Henry cheered. “I see you’ve met Angelica.”
Rose nodded but no words came. “I didn’t know you were engaged, Henry,” she finally said. Now she understood why he had not come to see his daughter, where his mind had been when he had.
“It all happened so quickly,” Henry explained. “You see, Angelica is the daughter of my boss, Fred Penderglass. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Penderglass Auto?”
Rose nodded. In other words, she was rich. How she wished Henry had been able to continue his studies in veterinary medicine.
“Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?” the fiancée commanded.
Rose stepped back and opened the door fully to allow the woman inside, her large stature made grander by the oversize fur collar of her coat.
The woman seemed immediately out of place in the farmhouse.
Where she was sharp and edgy, it was curved and comfortable.
Rose wanted to sweep the woman up and out the door like debris, but it wasn’t in her to be mean.
“Angelica is from New York,” Henry announced.
“Are you?” Rose asked. She had so many questions. How did you meet? When are you getting married? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Instead, she just watched Angelica throw off her coat and glide into the parlor singing, “Lucyyy? Oh Lucyyy?”
Rose quickly tossed Angelica’s coat on the rack and set the fruit basket on a side table so she could follow the woman.
It felt like a raccoon had suddenly busted through her front door, and she was chasing it to curb the destruction of its path.
Lucy sat on Peggy’s lap, content and smiling, but Angelica lifted the girl from Peggy’s arms with the force of a hungry shopper.
“Hello, Lucyyy,” she sang. “Hello, you beautiful girl.”
Lucy’s face compressed, her nose and eyes pinched, her lips pursed. She looked like she’d sucked on a lemon. And then she exploded into tears, kicking her arms and legs to wriggle out of the woman’s grip.
“Henry, do something,” Angelica commanded.
Henry scooped the girl from Angelica’s arms, and Lucy’s flailing movements ceased, but her tears remained as she rested her head on her father’s shoulder.
“My word. What a tantrum,” Angelica said.
“You startled her,” Peggy argued, a disapproving look clear on her face.
But this didn’t stop Angelica. “Lucy,” she shouted. “We brought you presents. Don’t you want to open your presents?”
“We were planning to eat breakfast first,” Rose said, thinking of her own handmade present for Lucy. She’d hidden it in the attic for her to find, in the same place Hank used to hide his toys.
Angelica waved the idea away. “But children can’t wait to open presents. Let’s have Lucy open hers right now.”
Lucy hid in the folds of her father’s neck.
“Well, she’s hungry,” Rose tried again. “And she has opened some gifts already this morning. Like that rocking horse.”
“Oh dear, it’s rather large,” Angelica noted, looking down her nose like it was just a pile of wood. “That was awfully kind of you, but I don’t think we have room for it in the car, along with all of Lucy’s other belongings.”
“Lucy’s belongings?” Rose inquired, her eyes darting to Henry for an explanation.
He remained quiet, and Angelica filled the silence.
“Oh, didn’t Henry tell you? We’re taking Lucy to New York with us tomorrow,” she announced. She reached over and pinched Lucy’s cheek. “That’s right. I’m going to be your new mommy.”
Rose couldn’t look at Henry or Lucy or Peggy or Robert, who all remained quiet in the storm of Angelica’s wake. As she felt her cheeks grow hot, her breath heavy, she abruptly left the room and retreated out the front door. The sudden cold air helped her breathe again.
She had already prepared to say goodbye to Lucy. But she had not prepared to hand her off to Henry and that wretched Angelica, a woman she felt certain would never love Lucy like a real mother. Rose also knew if she let Henry and Angelica take Lucy today, she would likely never see her again.
Within a matter of minutes, everything was gone.
The dream—of Peggy and Robert raising Lucy, of loving her and protecting her—was over before it even began.