nineteen MOLLY

Please, Mum!” I said, leading her to her favourite spot in the living room. “Honestly, you’ve been fussing around the kitchen like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“But do you think he’ll like the casserole? You know, the one with the noodles. Oh, it’s so difficult to make anything special with all the rationing.”

I placed her knitting in her lap. “Ian will eat anything, Mum. He’ll love it.”

“You’re the best cook I know,” Dad assured her.

I turned to Dad. He had shaved and dressed in his nicest suit, and seemed to be standing a little taller. “You’re looking handsome,” I said.

“I thought the occasion required me to clean up a bit,” he replied, giving me his lopsided smile. “You don’t often bring men home for supper.”

After so many years, Dad was finally doing better. It had started when Liam came home, ruined in so many ways. Mum had been tired all the time, caring for them both, then one day Dad had gotten out of his chair, put on his hat, and walked around the block. Every day, he went a little bit farther, relying on his cane less and less. And recently Liam had joined him, wrapping his poor face in a scarf before leaving the house. They’d given me hope.

Outside, the fat, eager flakes of snow were piling up on the street. Of all the nights for me to invite Ian over, now we were being buried in the first snowfall of the year. Ian had said he was going to drive over regardless of the weather. I knew he wanted to make a good impression, but I was nervous about the slippery roads. Still, I had learned a long time before that there was no changing Ian’s mind when it was made up.

“Do you think Liam will join us?” I asked.

“He thought it would be best if he didn’t,” Mum said. “It’s a special night for you, Molly. He didn’t want to take away from your big moment.”

My heart sank. “He could never. I’ll go talk with him.”

“No, dear. Let him come around when he’s ready.” She brightened. “Your father and I are very excited about tonight. We want you to enjoy yourself.”

I could practically hear wedding bells in her voice. Beside her, Dad shifted. “Molly,” he said, his voice soft. “I know we haven’t always done the right thing, but we love you. You’re our only daughter, and we just want you to be happy.”

Christmas 1941 had put the pain of my parents’ betrayal behind me. I still grieved what might have been between Max and me if I’d received his letter, but that was years ago. As I’d told Hannah, I’d moved on.

“I know, Dad. You’ve always wanted that. And I am.”

I turned to the window, my heart pattering with nerves. A couple of weeks ago, after Ian had made his intentions clear, I had lain in bed a long time, thinking about the decision before me. For so long, I had felt sad and alone. Then Ian had come into my life, a bright sun spreading energy and excitement. Once more, I had someone to talk to about the news, politics, and my ambitions. He had taken me under his wing and never once looked down his nose at me. After Max, I’d never expected to open my heart to anyone ever again, but Ian had found a way in. He was funny, smart, and unquestionably handsome, and he doted on me. What more could I want? I was twenty-seven years old. It was time. Hannah was right. If I wasn’t careful, I would waste my life waiting.

At last, Ian arrived, his black coat sparkling with melting snow. When I opened the door, he filled the whole entrance, and his broad smile brought a new level of warmth to the room. I took his hat and coat while he stomped snow off his boots, and when he leaned down to give me a kiss on the cheek, Mum and Dad stood back, glowing like children seeing Santa Claus.

“So glad you’re here,” I murmured.

“Me too,” he said.

“Did you really drive?” I asked, hanging his coat on the hook.

“I did.” He grimaced. “The way it’s coming down, I’ll admit that might have been a poor choice.”

I watched with appreciation as he greeted Mum, complimenting her on the kitchen’s wonderful aroma and the general “beauty” of our tired old house. Then he turned to Dad, who had straightened to his full height. I smiled inside, recognizing the sergeant in him, still so proud.

Ian wasn’t daunted. “Sergeant Ryan,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s an honour to finally meet you.”

After a few minutes, Mum went to our brand-new white refrigerator to get her favourite cabbage and pineapple gelatin salad, then she ushered us all to the table, saying dinner was ready. Ian, Dad, and I took our seats, then Mum dished out the casserole. Ian was a perfect gentleman, saying, This is delicious and Thank you so much for having me, until those niceties were out of the way. Then Mum poured a little wine, and the conversation wandered into more uncharted territory.

“Why don’t you tell us about yourself, Ian,” Dad said.

Ian patted his mouth with his napkin then set it down, always happy to talk. “What is there to tell? You’ll be glad to know, Mr. Ryan, that I’m of good Protestant Irish stock. My grandparents came over from Dublin in 1868, and they settled in Bowmanville, where I was born. Molly and I actually went there to research a story the other day.”

I sat back, watching him in his element.

“Molly’s told me about her seanmháthair and a few of her wonderful stories,” he continued. “I recognized some of them from my own grandmother, God rest her soul.”

“What about your brothers and sisters?” Mum asked.

“I’m an only child, I’m afraid.”

She gave him a sympathetic look.

“That’s all right,” he said, flashing that contagious grin. “I make friends easily.”

“He’s a charmer, all right,” I agreed, touching his toes with mine under the table.

Dad lifted a censorious eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“I believe it,” Mum said, obviously warmed up to Ian already.

“And your job,” Dad said. “You seem content there, are you? Writing for a living? Why is it you never enlisted, I’m wondering.”

Ian’s smile faded. “I would have if the doctor had allowed it,” he said, sounding disappointed. I felt for him. He’d told me before that he was ashamed about being turned away by the military doctor. “I have a heart murmur. It’s never once given me cause to worry, and I tried to tell the doctor that it wouldn’t impede my abilities to fight, but he was adamant. So I’m doing my bit as well as I can, I suppose, by writing about the war. I started at the Star fresh out of school, and I was promoted to assistant editor recently, right around the time Molly became a senior reporter.”

For the first time, I wondered if he’d had anything to do with my promotion.

“And you enjoy writing?” Mum asked. “Molly always loved to write.”

Ian looked fondly at me across the table. “She’s a natural, my girl. From the first day our editor asked me to show her around, she impressed me.”

“You were a good teacher,” I told him.

“We’ve taught each other, I think,” he replied gently, and his voice felt like a caress.

Mum leaned in. “How do you like the casserole?”

“Mrs. Ryan, I believe this is the best noodle casserole I’ve ever had.”

By the end of supper, Ian was the golden boy in my parents’ eyes, and he gave me a big wink after Dad turned to the living room and invited him to join him.

“Brandy?”

“That sounds just right,” Ian said, squeezing my hand on his way out.

“He’s perfect, Molly,” Mum said softly, after he’d left.

“I knew you’d like him,” I said, picking up the drying towel.

She looked up from the sudsy dishwater. “And you seem happy.”

I held her gaze. “I am.”

We cleaned the dishes in quiet, then Mum wiped her face.

“What’s wrong, Mum?”

“I’m just being silly,” she said. “Thinking about things. Like how fast you all grew up. Oh, the noise in this house. You remember. Now it’s so quiet.”

That was the hardest part for me about being home. For so many years I’d come home to the chaos of my family, my brothers all going in different directions, my parents trying to herd us to the table. Now all of it was gone. Richie would never walk through that door again, though Barbara brought his little daughters over when she could. Liam was still afraid to step outside most of the time, despite the thick, grey scarf he insisted on wearing year round. Mark and Jimmy were still gone, fighting somewhere far away.

“Jimmy and Mark will be home soon, Mum.”

“Of course they will. But still.” She flashed a weak smile. “You remember all those ball games we went to? Cheering on your brothers until we lost our voices? Life’s thrown us a few curveballs these past few years, hasn’t it?”

I set the dry plate aside. “Game’s not over. We can still win.”

“I know. And you and Ian are giving us a chance to have joy in our lives again.” She put her hand on my arm. “Maybe someday you’ll have a daughter, and she’ll come see her grandmother, and I’ll tell her stories so she can write them all down.”

My heart ached, remembering Seanmháthair. “Do you think she would have liked Ian, Mum?”

“She would have loved him.”

“How do you know?” Then I asked the real question. “How will I know?”

Her face softened with memory. “Your grandmother was a wise, wise woman. She told me something once, a long time ago. It was the day I was to marry your father, and I was filled with doubt as every young bride is. I asked her just what you asked me, and she told me, the thing about love is that you can never know until you know.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tell me, Molly, when you look into Ian’s eyes, what do you see? Do you see a friend? A lover? Someone who will always stand behind you?”

From the corner of my eye I spotted Ian poking his head into the kitchen. “Excuse me, ladies, but do you need help in here? Or if you’re done, can you come sit with us? I think I’m boring your dad.”

Mum smiled. “Oh, I doubt that, but yes. We’re done in here.” Ian turned back to the living room, and her eyes sparkled at me. “Come on, Molly. Let’s go enjoy ourselves.”

Dad poured each of us a glass of brandy, filling his and Ian’s back up as he did so, then he raised his in a toast.

“I’m glad to know you, Ian. Thank you for making Molly happy.”

Ian grinned, then wrapped one arm around my waist. “It has been my pleasure.”

“Got an extra glass? It sounds like a celebration down here.”

I spun around at the sound of Liam’s voice. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, small and quiet, his scars shining with the candlelight in the room. In the next instant, Mum had placed a brandy glass in his hand.

“I’m so glad you came down,” I told him. “I wanted you to meet—”

Ian held out his left hand, and I caught my breath, loving him so much in that moment. He’d remembered that Liam’s right hand was useless and had offered him respect without hesitation. I saw a flicker of appreciation cross Liam’s face as he took Ian’s hand in his.

“Ian Collins,” Ian said. “It’s a privilege to meet you.”

“And you,” Liam replied, then he turned slightly, so only I could see, and he gave me a wink.

After an hour or so of warm, spirited conversation about politics and the war, always keeping Liam’s sensitivities in mind, Ian thanked my parents profusely for the dinner, and I went to collect his coat and hat.

At the door, he paused, his eyes on mine. “Would you care to walk with me?”

“You’ll need galoshes,” Mum said out of habit. She and Dad were watching me like hawks.

I slipped them on, and Ian helped me into my coat.

The temperature outside was pleasant, but I shivered in spite of myself as we stepped down the walk toward the street, the snow sinking gently beneath our boots.

“I thought that went well,” Ian said, taking my arm.

“It went very well. They loved you.”

He stopped, studied my face, his own full of affection. “And what about you?”

“I love you too,” I told him, and I meant it.

“You know what I’m gonna ask,” he said.

“You aren’t very good at secrets,” I replied, then I lifted my chin a little. “But I won’t give you an answer until you ask me properly.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, then he knelt before me, right there on the snowy sidewalk, the streetlight shining down on him.

I laughed. “Not in the snow, you silly man!”

“Why not?” He grinned. Then he held out a gold ring, looking up at me through sky blue eyes while snowflakes caught on his lashes. “Molly Ryan, you’re the most incredible girl I’ve ever met. You’re smart and beautiful, and despite all your brains, you still put up with me. My favourite sound in the world is your laugh, and I promise to do everything I can to keep hearing it. So tell me, Molly, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

I hesitated for only a heartbeat, and I didn’t think he noticed. It was time. I held out my hand so he could slip the ring onto my finger. “Yes, Ian. I will marry you.”

With a look of pure joy on his face, he rose, gathered me up in his arms, then kissed me with a bold, confident strength I’d never felt before. His passion swept through me, and my heart raced, keeping up to his.

“Woohoo!” he yelled into the night, our arms still around each other. “She said yes!”

He squeezed me tight against him, and as I looked over his shoulder at my house, I caught the shadows of my parents watching me. I raised my hand to wave, and as I did, the gold of my new ring shone in the pale light of the snow, and I blinked at the unfamiliar sight of it.

“I’m gonna make you happy,” he whispered into my ear. “I promise.”

The thing about love, Mum’s voice reminded me, is that you can never know until you know.

“I know,” I said, telling both him and myself. “I know.”