The last few days had been the longest of Alvin Pendley’s life. He didn’t care if Eleanor wanted a dozen babies and he couldn’t provide her with a one of them. It was selfish, but he wanted his wife back. He couldn’t allow people to talk about her the way they would if they divorced. He had to save her from that. But more than anything, he needed Eleanor. When he’d been away during the war, the ache to hold her, to sit beside her, to gaze into her eyes had been acute, but at least he’d known he would see her again. Believing that their marriage had ended was far worse. There had to be something he could do to make up for not being able to give her the family she’d dreamed of. He would promise her any option he could. Love meant sacrificing, but it also meant fighting for something and hoping for everything.
When he got off work that night, he took a long bath and shaved, splashing on some cologne. He stared into the mirror, practicing his speech a few times. Perhaps they could adopt children. Eleanor might be happy with that sort of family. He would explain everything. How the doctor said the bomb fragments had injured him and caused an infection that damaged the area too much. As if the injury hadn’t been humiliating enough by itself, the pity in the doctor’s expression when he told Alvin how unlikely it was that he would have children had crushed him.
After hearing the whole sad story, would Eleanor accept adoption? He sure hoped so.
The drive to the Holbrooks’ took only a few minutes, of course, even on the slick, snow-packed roads. He marched up to the door and rang the bell resolutely, hoping Eleanor would answer.
Bless her heart, she did. “Alvin,” she said, surprised and—dare he hope—pleased as well.
“Ellie, I can’t stand it another day. I’ve come to bring you home.” He stomped his feet, waiting for her to ask him inside.
Her face brightened and then fell. “Well, I can’t see how I should come home when we’re at this standstill over starting our family.” Her bottom lip trembled, and that broke his heart all over again.
His hopes began to fall a bit at the sadness in her expression. “May I come in so we can discuss it?” he asked.
“Oh!” She jumped back and opened the door wider. “I’m so sorry, Alvin. I didn’t mean to make you stand out there in the cold.” She ushered him inside and led him into the warm living room, where both Mr. and Mrs. Holbrook sat. Mrs. Holbrook smiled to herself and then bent back over the quilt she’d been working on. Mr. Holbrook raised his newspaper, and Alvin thought he might have chuckled.
“Hello, son,” he said a moment later, lowering the paper and revealing a barely sober expression. Alvin straightened when his father-in-law greeted him. At least they hadn’t written him off after the poor way he’d treated their daughter.
“Hello, sir,” he said, swallowing.
“Mother, Father, Alvin and I have something to discuss in private,” Eleanor said.
Mrs. Holbrook set down her quilt. “Of course, dear. We’ll go to the kitchen and get some cobbler ready. I’m sure you’d both like a piece when you’re done.” She stood up. “Come, Norman.” Mr. Holbrook got up and followed, keeping his newspaper tucked beneath his arm and winking at Alvin as he walked out behind his wife.
Alvin took a breath. Mr. Holbrook’s attitude buoyed him up. “Thank you,” he said, though both of them had already disappeared down the hallway. “Let’s sit down.” He took Eleanor’s hand, comforted by the warmth there and the relief that coursed through him to hold her this way. It reminded him of holding her for the first time when he got back from the war. He’d stood there at the train station, his arms wrapped around her, with no desire to move for anything. He could’ve stood there all night like that with her. So many nights during the war, he’d stared up at the top of a tent or a barracks or into the sky and wondered if it would be his last—wondered if he’d hold his wife again. That same desperation had plagued him the last two nights, and it nearly broke him.
Eleanor left her hand in his when they sat on the loveseat, and he drew courage from that to admit to her why they couldn’t start a family. “I know why you left, dear,” he said in a quiet voice.
She started then said in a trembling voice, “I thought I was obvious enough, though Vera doubted me.”
His eyebrows furrowed. Vera doubted her? What could that mean? He would have to ask later. This conversation was difficult enough. “I’m sorry that I can’t change this for us. I would do anything.”
She yanked her hand back, and with it went most of Alvin’s hope. “How can you say you would do anything?” she cried. “I realize things must have been hard on you in the war and all, but I don’t understand, Alvin.”
There she went with her lip trembling again and her eyes filling with tears. He reached for her hand again, gripping it firmly so she couldn’t pull away. If she didn’t understand how this couldn’t be fixed, now was the time to be specific. “Please listen to me, El,” he begged. “This is difficult to say.”
She stopped struggling and this time she regarded him with confusion written into her expression. “What do you mean? You’ve been saying the same thing for weeks.”
“Let me explain why,” he said. “You see . . .” He cleared his throat. Difficult, not to mention embarrassing, to discuss this sort of thing with a woman, even his wife. “There was—I had an injury. And . . .” He took his hand away this time, leaning over his knees and covering his face. “And it’s impossible for me—for us—to have kids now, El. I mean that there was too much damage, and the army doc said I couldn’t. I’m sorry. So sorry. I know how badly you want to have a family, and I’d do anything to give you a hundred kids.” The words came rushing out of him now—it was a relief to get them out, to have her know and to hope for comfort from her. “I tried to tell myself I could let you go so you could have what you want, but the truth is, I can’t live without you. We could adopt—and that would be okay, wouldn’t it, El?” he pleaded. “I would do anything to keep you with me.”
Shock had been written on her face, but after a moment she blinked and started laughing.
Laughing!
Full-bellied, holding her stomach and falling back into the sofa. Alvin jumped to his feet, anger building in the pit of his stomach. He had opened his heart about one of the worst experiences of the war for him and she was laughing? He smashed his hat back onto his head.
“I see that I was wrong in my opinion of the situation,” he snapped.
“Oh, Alvin . . . ,” she said between gasps of laughter, reaching for him again. She struggled to her feet, tears now rolling down her cheeks, which confused Alvin further. “Wait, Alvin, please. I’m sorry, but I can’t stop laughing—or crying!” Her shoulders shook more, and he didn’t know what to do: stalk out on her or take her in his arms to comfort her.
“Alvin . . .” She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. “I don’t know why that doctor told you that you couldn’t have children, but he was wrong. So very wrong.”
He stared at her. “How can you know that . . .” But his words trailed off as she laid his hand over her stomach and stared at him. He felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. “Eleanor . . . ?”
“I thought you meant you didn’t want kids,” she whispered, gripping his hand on her stomach fiercely. Her laughter had drained away now. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want this one.”
His own emotion surprised him. After months of believing he’d robbed Eleanor of her—their!—dreams. “I’ve never wanted anything so badly . . . I don’t know how, sweetheart!” He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet as he hugged her and they laughed together. Alvin kissed her hard, all his joy spilling out of him. He couldn’t keep from smiling. Him! A father!
“It’s a miracle,” he shouted. He threw his head back, laughing. Brought by the noise, no doubt, Mr. and Mrs. Holbrook came rushing into the room. “I’m going to be a father.” Still holding Eleanor’s hand, he ran to meet them, pumping Mr. Holbrook’s hand.
“Yes, Alvin, we heard.” Mrs. Holbrook laughed and threw her arms around both Eleanor and Alvin.
“Congratulations, son.” Mr. Holbrook gripped his hand back.
Alvin turned to Eleanor, taken aback by the way her face glowed. He held her to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“Tell you? I thought I made it so obvious when I told you I wanted our children, and I held my stomach—how could you not see? And dear, why didn’t you tell me? You played down your injury so much, as though you’d hardly been hurt. And, honestly, you made it sound as though not having children was your choice, not a matter of believing it impossible.” Her voice had turned stern, and she placed one hand on her hip.
Alvin grinned, unbothered by her scolding, and smothered her with another kiss. Like the day at the train station, he could stand here and hold his wife forever, even with her parents looking on. It was the moment of a lifetime. A true miracle. He had thought the day she married him that she had made him a happy man. It was nothing to the joy of her making him a father—of making him a father against the odds.
“Shall we go home now, El?” He leaned back enough to gaze into her eyes.
“Yes. Let’s do that. As soon as we’ve had some cobbler.”
Alvin grinned—so wide he wasn’t sure it would ever go away. “That’s a great idea, my dear.”