Fourteen

The day’s meetings had finally ended. Art couldn’t decide if this trip constituted a fool’s errand. He sat all day with nothing to contribute as folks debated how they could evolve their companies to meet the demands of a war economy. As far as he could tell, there was no indication the United States would actually enter the war. Let China and Japan duke it out in the Far East while Germany and Italy fought the rest of Europe.

“Come on, guys. Time to head out.” Stan waggled his eyebrows. “Enjoy the sights of Chicago.”

Art stifled a sigh. Each night the same thing: Stan badgering Charlie and him to go anywhere but the hotel. “Your idea of the sights differs from mine.”

“You are such dead weight.”

Charlie laughed and bumped Stan. “I don’t think that’s what you mean. You know you’re welcome to join us.”

“Not my idea of a good time.” Stan stalked off.

Art watched him go. Yet again he thanked God for Charlie’s presence. “What kind of shape do you think he’ll be in tomorrow?”

“The good Lord’s the only one who knows.” He clapped Art on the shoulder. “Let’s grab a bite.”

They walked several blocks until they found a tiny Chinese restaurant. The aroma of ginger, garlic, and other things Art couldn’t name collided in a way that made his stomach rumble.

“So your thoughts?”

Art looked up from his egg drop soup and blinked. “On what?”

“How we’re supposed to keep the company afloat.”

“You think E.K. really cares what we think?”

Charlie shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that if we want to continue to have jobs, we must think creatively.”

“I think we’re wasting our time. We’re not in a war.”

“I pray you’re right. However, our allies have to get their munitions and other supplies from somewhere. It might as well be us.”

“Have you forgotten we make pianos? Do you expect them to start dropping grand pianos as bombs?”

Charlie’s rich chuckle filled the air. “That’s a creative idea. Might be too expensive and unwieldy. . .”

“You’re nuts.”

“Just going with your idea.” Charlie paused as the waitress brought steaming bowls of rice topped with different sauces and meats to the table. “But it’s time to get serious. Come up with a proactive plan. So when the day—”

“If the day. . .” Art jumped in.

Charlie nodded. “Okay. If the day comes, we’re ready to help the company that pays our bills compete.”

When he put it that way, Art had to agree. “What about plane parts?”

“Maybe.” Charlie’s wrinkled brow indicated his skepticism. “That’s the kind of thinking I’m after. What kind of parts do you mean?”

They spent the balance of the meal trying to come up with ways to use the processes and materials they already had. Hopefully, they’d be ready.

❧

Four days later, Art opened the front door and tossed his suitcase on the floor. “Josie. I’m back.”

Those words had never sounded so good to his ears. The week away from home had been long. While he hoped it benefited E. K. Fine Pianos, he belonged right here with his girls.

Josie squealed and ran out of the kitchen. In two steps, Art picked her up and spun her around the living room.

“I have missed you so much, gorgeous.” He set her down and gazed into her eyes. “I didn’t think you could become more beautiful, but you did.”

Josie leaned her cheek against his cheek. “I’ve missed you, too.”

He held her a moment, savoring the feeling. The seven days had felt like seventy. But the moment he walked through the door, he’d known. He was home. His kissed her with an intensity that had her leaning into him. Slowly, he pulled back until his gaze locked with hers. A soft smile played across her face. He ran his thumb along her cheek, and then turned. “Where’s my other girl?”

Josie frowned. “She’s downstairs with Doris. We needed a bit of space from each other.”

“Things going that well?”

“She’s struggling with school.”

“In the first week? Is it academics?”

“Nooo.” Josie chuckled. “The child has already been bumped up a grade, and it may happen again. No, she’s a British child thrust into an American school.”

Art scratched his head. Josie meant for him to pick up on something, but he wasn’t getting it. Nope. Wasn’t coming to him. He shrugged. “You’ll have to help me.”

“She won’t say the pledge.”

“The Pledge of Allegiance?”

“That’s the one. She says she’s not an American, so she won’t pledge to a flag that isn’t hers.” Josie looked over his shoulder at the door. “I don’t know that I blame her, but. . .”

“It does put us in a spot.”

“I’m not worried about us. I’d hoped she’d make friends at school, but this isn’t helping her cause. At all.”

Ah, so that was the issue. “Has she mentioned wanting friends?”

“No, and that’s the problem. She puts up this front that she doesn’t need any. But you should see her watch the other kids.”

Art tugged Josie away from the door. “Keep your voice down. What if she hears?”

“I honestly don’t think she’d care.” Josie straightened his tie, played with his collar. “Cassandra’s a turtle pulling into her shell. She’s done so well with us, but this is somehow different.”

“She’s probably homesick. Misses her school and friends there.”

“I know. But she could be here a long time. She’s not working to make the best of that.”

“Could that be her age? She’s only eight.”

Josie’s sigh lingered as if pushed up from her toes. “These first weeks are critical. If she wants to make friends, she needs to pick her battles carefully. Refusing to say the pledge isn’t the best foot to start on.”

The door squeaked on its hinges as it swung open. Art turned, a broad smile on his face when he saw Cassandra. He stepped toward her and hunched to her level. “How’s my girl?”

Cassandra’s face crumpled then hardened. “I’m not your girl.”

She raced past him to her room and slammed the door.

“Welcome to my world.” Josie grimaced. “We have to find a way to reach her, Art. I can’t stand the thought that the rest of her time here is going to be miserable.”

Art agreed. The only problem was he had no idea what to suggest or do. Maybe he should go back to Chicago.

❧

Josie struggled to fight the fog of sleep. The quilt kept her pressed to the bed, even as her brain argued that somebody needed her. A soft mewling pulled at her. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Cassandra? She shook off the blanket, and Art snuffled in his sleep. Faint moonlight lit her steps as she padded to the door.

Through the crack, she heard the soft cries. Poor child.

Heart heavy, Josie eased into Cassandra’s room. The girl tossed on the bed, caught in the throes of another nightmare. “Please, Mummy. Please.”

Josie perched on the edge of the bed. Father, surround this child with Your arms. Bring peace to every fiber of her being. Only You can calm her and give her the assurance that she will never be alone and that she is safe. She leaned down and pulled Cassandra into her arms. The child stirred, then slowly opened her eyes. The tension in her body eased when she recognized Josie.

“I’m not in London?”

“No, you’re safe here in Cincinnati.”

“What about my mum?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. But I’ll stay with you for a while. Go back to sleep.”

Josie prayed until a soft dawn eased across the early morning sky and Cassandra slipped back to sleep. As she stroked Cassandra’s golden curls, tears fell down Josie’s cheeks—tears for the child before her and the torment she felt. But also for the child she didn’t have. The one that she hadn’t even known if it was a boy or girl. While God knew and held that child, Josie wished she’d had a chance—even once—to see her baby.

Instead, she’d pray for Cassandra, the child entrusted to her. That she could do.

By the time Art got up and was ready for the day, Josie had slipped into a simple, flour-bag dress and prepared coffee and eggs. He gobbled the food while skimming the newspaper. As she sipped some coffee heavily flavored with cream and sugar, she watched him. Her nose wrinkled as he drank his coffee black. Ugh.

Headlines highlighted the continued intensity of the air raids over Britain. Bombers had dropped their payloads over London. Josie would have to remind Art to take the paper to work so Cassandra couldn’t see the headline. Such news could only turn her dreams to more nightmares.

“Any plans for today?” Art’s words made the paper vibrate.

“Hmm? Get Cassandra to school. Pray she makes some friends and begins to settle in to the routine. Spend a few hours at the library. Then join Doris for a new Bible study.”

“Sounds like a full day.”

“I suppose.” Now that she thought about it, life was busier, fuller since Cassandra had arrived. Whatever the reason, it pleased her. “I doubt I’ll work at the library much longer.”

Art looked up from the paper. “Why not?”

“Miss Adelaide has been back for a week now.”

“You’ll miss the work.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement that showed how well Art understood her.

Josie shrugged, trying to hide how much it did matter. “If it comes to that, yes. I guess I’ll have time to volunteer somewhere else. I’ve gotten used to having somewhere to go.”

“Maybe you’ll get pregnant again, and we’ll have a baby to keep you occupied.” He said the words so casually, while they ripped at the scab on her heart. A stab of fear punctured her at the thought of another pregnancy ending like the first.

She didn’t feel recovered from this miscarriage. But clearly, Art had placed it completely behind him. How could he do that? Her nose started to tingle, and she bit on her tongue to distract herself. She wouldn’t waste the tears on someone who didn’t understand the depths of her pain. Besides, God was piecing her heart back together. Cassandra seemed to fill part of that process.

Art glanced at his watch. “We’ve got a couple minutes for our Bible reading.”

Josie eased onto the chair next to him. She needed this time to connect and find peace before the day erupted around her. As Art read Psalm 91, Josie listened to the words, letting them flow over her.

Art finished, then pushed back from the table. “See you tonight.” He paused, connecting with her gaze. “I know God has something for you.”

As he rushed out the door, Josie fought the surge of frustration. His words sounded trite, an afterthought meant to placate her. That wasn’t what she needed. She didn’t know what she needed. A manual for how to reach a shell-shocked and bitter child? Instructions on how to create a community in a new city that still felt foreign after ten months?

What she did know? Time to get Cassandra up and walk her to school. And hope the teacher didn’t have any other surprise news like the pledge fiasco.