Chapter 31
I stared at Maggie with wide-open eyes. "I'm not…" I stammered… at least I didn't think I was pregnant. I hadn't given the ramifications of what Gideon and I were doing any thought yet. Stupid, I know. Irresponsible.
I wished Gideon were here right now, and at the same time, I was grateful he wasn't. I felt my face heat even more. "I don't think I am…"
Maggie shook her head. "No matter now. You two will be married in no time." Then her face took on a thoughtful expression, and she sat down across from me. She took both of my hands in hers. "Sweetheart, when did your mama die?"
I swallowed. "Four years ago. I was fourteen."
"Hmm, hmm," she nodded as if she was telling herself she was right about something. "Fourteen? I am so, so sorry, sweet child."
"Thank you." I felt tears well in my eyes. No matter how many years had passed, the loss of my mother still hurt.
"Now, did she ever have a talk with you?"
Talk?
We had talked about a lot of things, Mama and I.
How to stay alive, how to find food for Klaus.
What to do about his cough. But somehow, I didn't think this was where Maggie's question was going. And then it hit me, and I think my face turned even redder, something that, before that second, I would have sworn wasn’t even possible.
"Uhm…"
"Look now here. Men want certain things…" Maggie began, and sweat broke out all over my body. Oh dear God. "Some women like it, some women don't." He searched my eyes. "Do you know what I mean?"
I nodded, my voice was barely a whisper, "I think so. Yes, ma'am."
"My son hasn't done anything you don't like, has he?" There was a glint in her eyes that told me if Gideon had, he would be in a world of hurt.
I bit my lower lip, praying the ground would open and swallow me whole. Even bombs would have been preferable right now. "No, no. Gideon is… the best man I've ever met."
"Good, I'm glad to hear so," Maggie nodded, but there was still some steel in her eyes that almost made me fear for Gideon.
"Now I'm assuming that whatever you two did in the barn wasn't the first time.
" She didn't pause, and I was thankful I didn't have to answer.
"I'm also assuming you two haven't used any kind of protection.
" I felt like I was folding into myself.
This time, Maggie's eyes were probing me, waiting for an answer.
"Protection…" I squeaked.
She nodded vigorously, "I know it's not openly discussed the way it should be for young folks like you.
But you need to know that pregnancies don't have to be a surprise," she winked.
She actually winked. Oh please, someone kill me now?
At the same time, I felt a wave of love for Maggie, too.
She didn't know me. At all. And she had taken me into her home with open arms. Her only condition had been separate rooms for Gideon and me, and we had… I had…
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, tears flowing down my face.
"Oh dear, no," Maggie's chair scraped back. "Don't cry, sweetheart. Don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I just…" She folded me into her arms, and I held on to her in utter shame and embarrassment. "Hush now, sweet baby. Hush."
It took a minute or two, but I got myself back under control. She handed me a handkerchief, and I blew my nose loudly and very unladylike.
She took my hands again, shaking her head.
"That wasn't at all what I was implying.
I'm sorry." Maggie lowered her voice without making a fuss of it, the way women did when they were passing along things that mattered.
"I just want to make sure you understand how it all works," she said softly.
"Bodies, babies, all of it. No surprises you're not ready for. "
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I nodded, staring into my coffee like it might rescue me. "We've only… it's only been a few days," I admitted. "I didn't plan—any of it."
Maggie snorted, not unkindly. "No one ever does.
" She reached over and squeezed my hand.
"Listen to me, sweetheart. My son doesn't do anything halfway.
If there's a baby, there'll be a ring. If there's a ring, there'll be a wedding.
And if there's a wedding—" her eyes twinkled, "—there'll be half the county showing up whether you want them to or not. "
I let out a shaky laugh and held up my hand with the ring. Maggie took it and scrutinized it. "Hmm, he did good." She nodded in approval, finally releasing some of the tension inside me, even teasing a slow smile from me.
"He did." I looked at the ring lovingly.
"Do you know what a shotgun wedding is?" she asked, letting go of my hand.
I blinked. "I… assume it involves a gun?"
She barked a laugh, delighted. "It does, metaphorically.
Means the groom's so eager to do right by the bride that folks joke someone's holding a shotgun to make sure he shows up.
" She waved a hand. "Not necessary in your case.
Gideon'd walk himself down the aisle if he had to.
" Something in my chest loosened at that.
The fear didn't vanish, but it softened, edged with hope instead of panic.
"Well," Maggie said briskly, standing. "Then we'll plan properly. No worrying. That's my job now."
She bustled about, pulling tins from a cupboard. "You need breakfast. You're skin and bones."
She plopped down a plate of biscuits smothered in some white, creamy sauce. I blinked. "What is… that?"
Maggie froze, then looked from the plate to my face, horror dawning. "Oh Lord," she muttered. "You don't have gravy, do you?"
I shook my head slowly. "Not like this."
She laughed, already reaching for a fork. "Well then. Sit. Eat. We'll start with biscuits and gravy—and after that, we'll conquer the rest of your new life one step at a time."
Maggie caught my expression and blinked. "Not your thing?"
I shook my head apologetically. "In Germany, we… um… don't eat that. Not even before the war."
She laughed, a big, warm laugh that filled the whole kitchen. "Fair enough. What do you eat?"
I eyed the biscuit; it seemed edible enough. "Just a biscuit and some jam, please."
"Sounds good, actually. Let me get that for you."
She whisked the plate away, set it aside for someone else, I assumed, and brought out a new one with fresh, warm biscuits and a jar of thick red jam.
"Better?" she asked with a smile.
The first bite had me closing my eyes. "Oh," I whispered. "This tastes… like a holiday."
Maggie beamed. "Homemade. Strawberry. My mother's recipe."
Warmth spread through me, not just from the food, but from the feeling of being seen, understood. We sat a moment in comfortable silence before she leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in hand.
"So," she said. "Tell me everything. How did you meet my son?"
"He… rescued me."
"Of course he did," she muttered fondly. "Soft heart. Takes after me."
I smiled shyly and told her about the alley. The Russians. Gideon appearing, like a myth made real. Maggie's eyes grew soft, then fierce, then soft again.
"Well," she said, "sounds like he found his purpose the moment he found you."
My throat tightened. She took another sip of coffee, then asked quietly, "And the children? Trümmerkinder? Tell me what that means."
I hesitated. "It means… rubble children. Kids who live on the streets. No parents. No homes. Sometimes they sleep in ruins. Sometimes in cellars. Many are orphans."
Maggie's entire face crumpled.
"Oh, dear Lord," she whispered. "How many?"
"So many," I sighed, seeing their faces once again and feeling the yummy biscuit expand in my mouth at the thought of them going hungry. "And no one knows what to do with them. Everyone is trying to survive. They get forgotten."
Her eyes filled, then sharpened. "Axel and Hilde…?"
"They're both orphans. But not siblings."
She reached across the table and gripped my hands. "Oh, sweetheart."
"I know, I wish… I wish I could somehow… help them."
For a moment, she just held me, as though she could somehow absorb every heartbreak I'd ever endured. Then she straightened, eyes blazing with a fire I recognized from Gideon.
"How serious are you," she asked, "about wanting to help those children?"
My breath caught. "Very. Very serious."
"Do you still know people in Berlin? People you trust?"
"Yes," I whispered immediately.
"Good." She stood, marched to the counter, grabbed a notebook and pencil, and slapped them on the table.
"Then let's get started."
I blinked. "Started… what?"
"Fundraising, sweetheart."
"Fund… what?"
"Fundraising!" She motioned emphatically. "Raising money. Organizing donations. Getting supplies. Building houses. Making your dream real."
I stared at her, stunned. "But how—"
"You don't worry about the how," she said, tapping her pencil against my knuckles. "Worry about the why. The how is my job."
I felt my eyes sting. "Maggie… I…"
She waved away my tears. "Hush. You came all the way from a war-torn country with two orphans and your baby brother. There's a reason the Lord put you in our path."
I swallowed. "You think… we can help them? Truly?"
"Oh, honey," she said, sitting beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders, "we're Griffins.
We can do anything. And Montana's got space.
There's room for more children here. Plenty of women in town would take some in.
Patti Baker, especially. “She'll pretend she doesn't want to, but she will.
Her husband'll grumble, but he'll make bunk beds faster than you can blink. "
A small, stunned laugh escaped me. We talked.
And then we planned. Oh God, did we plan.
She explained to me about fundraising. Big dinner parties that sounded daunting, but the money it would bring in…
I thought about the Trümmerkinder, even Bastian, who had never seen something like Montana.
Elke could help organize it. We could bring them here. Maybe not all of them, but many.