Chapter 58
Chapter Fifty-Eight
R ose cuddled against Finn on the bench outside the cottage, a quilt tucked around both of them. The sun still lit the sky above them, but soon it would drop below the treeline. The sleeves of her sweater covered her hands, her fingers curled around their hems below the quilt.
It felt strange moving back to the cottage. It no longer felt like her place. She’d moved most of her belongings to Briar House. Some had survived; some hadn’t. A stacked row of boxes sat in front of her bookshelves in the family space.
The back and forth with insurance had been maddening these past weeks.
She’d applied for grants through regional historic preservation societies.
The last of the estimates had come in from the construction companies she’d reached out to.
She was closer to deciding who would do the rebuild.
She’d consult with her siblings at their next family dinner.
Since the fire, Finn had bounced between his apartment and Evers Hollow. Rose sometimes accompanied him.
A gust of wind threw a flurry of leaves upward. They clattered as they whirled and settled to the ground.
Finn shifted beside her and said, “I found something I want to share.”
He reached inside his coat pocket to pull out a leather bound book. It looked well-loved, its pages swelling thicker than the spine allowed. A piece of a leather belt secured it, keeping it together. A wide green ribbon stuck out of the top as if it were a bookmark.
He said, “With the downtime, I’ve been going through more of my mom’s things.”
Her brow wrinkled, but she removed her hands from beneath the quilt to touch the worn cover. “What is it?”
“Mom’s journal,” he said. “Before we moved here, she was a labor and delivery nurse in Winston-Salem.”
He undid the belt. It sprang open, revealing pictures and scraps of paper tucked inside its pages.
“Why are you showing it to me?”
He kissed her once, gently. “Patience, Evie. It’s my turn to tell a story.”
She couldn’t help but kiss him back. “Are there dragons?”
“No.”
“I’m listening.”
“Mom loved babies. She believed every life brought into the world was special. This journal contains the stories of those she helped deliver, first names only. The pictures in here, all taken with parental permission and a signed promise that she’d never use them for ill purposes.
Some parents declined, but some sent her a birth announcement with a thank you card.
They’re all in here, some taped, others loose.
She described the night I was born as unique. ”
Rose raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t all babies’ births unique?”
He pressed a finger to her lips, then tapped the book. “She told me about mine repeatedly. Like many children who’d rather be on adventures with their best friend, I ignored the story.”
His hand slid over the cover of the book. “Good thing she wrote it down, so I'd have the story forever.”
Rose reached out and touched the cover. It was a beautiful thought. How many infants had his mom helped deliver?
Finn continued. “You can read it yourself. I arrived a few weeks early, surprised both of my parents. When her water broke, she was on shift.”
“That must have been frightening.”
“Before she went into labor, a woman came in alone. Her water broke while she was driving, sent her into labor…she had a baby girl.”
He intertwined their fingers, looked into her eyes. “Turned out the birth mother had set up an adoption.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you saying?—”
“Let me finish.” He swallowed. “After you got engaged, I—I avoided town, avoided news of you. I didn’t want to hear about your husband, two and a half kids, your dog. I assumed you had the perfect life.”
Her life hadn’t been close to perfect. Not even the dog.
He said, “Then I found that stack of pictures in my mom’s things. She wanted you to have the pictures. She’d put your name on them. I…”
His eyes mirrored what she felt. “Finn.”
“The conversation I had here—Ms. Magnolia mentioned a favor my mom did for her. That she wished to repay a debt.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I. It took a bit to put the pieces together.” He opened the journal to a page with the green ribbon. Then pointed to a section of cursive writing. “Start here.”
First, she noticed the date. January 18th. The day after she was born. The same date after Finn was born. Feminine handwriting filled each line, each word a form of artwork.
When she hesitated, he put his hands around hers and tilted the pages toward the porch light. He read aloud.
My heart broke for the mother and her babe. So much smaller than my Finn, but her cry made up for it. The mother told me the babe would be better off with the couple she’d chosen. I looked the other way as the woman seemed to imbue her love for the child in a single kiss on the forehead.
Chills moved through her. Was it even possible? “Surely you can’t think…”
“Turn the page.”
She did.
The first line.
She named her Rose.
“Criminy.” She reached toward the page as tears trailed down her cheeks. Her fingers traced the four words.
Finn said, “I came across this journal the same day I found the pictures of us. I didn’t read it then. Took me till recent to pick it up.”
Emotion clogged her voice.
Finn continued. “The day I brought the pictures here, Ms. Magnolia mentioned the favor my mom did for her, how she hadn’t gotten the chance to return it. She didn’t tell me what it was. Pa refused to answer my questions about it.”
At that, Rose tilted her head.
Finn said, “This never occurred to me. Not when you told me the truth about your birth mother. Not when I learned we shared a birthday. Your birth certificate, though, it looked familiar. I pulled mine up on my computer and learned we were both delivered at the same hospital. Then I remembered the day I met you, what happened when we came to the Memorial Day BBQ.”
“What do you mean?” She recollected seeing him, how he ignored her, until she took matters into her own hands.
“The look on Ms. Magnolia’s face. She went white as a sheet when we approached her.
Pa reached out a hand to steady her. He thought she was going to faint.
When I asked what was wrong, my folks told me to go play.
I ran off, but when I looked back, Ms. Magnolia had disappeared.
I could tell Mom was upset. Pa was holding her. Then I read Mom’s journal.”
Her gaze returned to the bound book. Below her name, affixed by yellowed Scotch tape, sat a photo of two babies, one with dark hair, one with red. Whoever held each of them was hidden, but they stood close enough that both babies’ fingers appeared to be entwined together.
“Is this—” She couldn’t finish. She sniffled and pressed the soft hem of her sleeve to her eyes. “This is—things don’t happen like this.”
He slipped his free hand around hers. “This is us. This has to be what Ms. Magnolia meant. Mom kept her secret. Never told a soul as far as I can figure out. She wrote more about the woman’s care, and yours.
This was an unusual photo to take, but perhaps my mom and yours forged a bond of sorts that night. We’ll never know.”
She leaned back into him, her head on his shoulder. “Your mom was a special person. So was Magnolia. I wonder if they ever talked about it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“The thing is, after I found the pictures, I came back to Evers Hollow because of them. I came back here for you.” He laced their fingers together, turned to face her. “You know I love you. That I have for a long time. I can’t say I was mature about it.”
She teased, “Definitely not.” But neither was she. Maybe they needed those years apart to figure out who they were without each other.
She raised a hand, brushed her fingers over the slight stubble along his jaw. Sparks trailed up her arm, through her shoulder, then wound their way around her heart. She needed to make sure he knew how she felt.
With a deep breath, she said, “I’ve always known there was something about you, something that drew me in. I believed you when you told me the first time, but know, deep in my heart, I love you right back. I can’t imagine my life without you.”