Did the Twins Miss Each Other?

Remember to get your copy soon. The deadline for the contest is in December. www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com Margaret lifted anxious eyes to the sky. Lord, what am I supposed to do, she cried inwardly. The sky looked innocent enough, a few cottony clouds floating by; they weren’t the cause of her turmoil. She wrung her hands in anguish then realized they were still stuck into her slightly shabby gardening gloves. With a sigh, Margaret dropped to her knees in the handkerchief-sized garden behind the tall Victorian style apartment and dug out a thistle. Her mind wasn’t on what she was doing. Soon the children would be home from school and she must be composed before then. But how could she be? She had been having a peaceful morning with her just-turned-six year old but all changed. Alice had been chattering away about what they would do when David and Sally came home from school ‘for good’ and the holidays began in a few days. Margaret knew most of it was fanciful thinking but she liked listening to the lively little girl’s chatter, who wasn’t really her daughter but fostered. The happy mood continued over the noon hour. Alice didn’t protest being told to rest for a little while since they had walked earlier to the shops in downtown Halifax. It was after her nap the trouble started. “Mommy,” she called, “I had a dream.” A dream? Just a dream? Not one that was funny or interesting or scary? Margaret went into the storage area, turned bedroom and yanked the shade to make it rise. The sunlight streamed across the rumpled bunk, single at the top and twinned at the bottom. Alice’s eyes drifted shut then she opened them again. “I dreamed I had a twin,” She stifled a yawn then sat up. Margaret’s heart clenched as she sat down beside the precious girl, reaching for her hand. “Care to tell me about it?”Alice leaned her head against her shoulder. “She was small, just like me, and had red hair just like me, but it wasn’t in curls like mine. She had two long braids. They f’opped over her shoulders an’ she got no bangs.” “You mean she didn’t get hurt?” Alice had run into a doorknob the day before. Alice shook her head and touched her forehead. “No bangs like me,” she explained. Margaret felt the colour drain from her face. “Anything else?” “I was looking in a store window and she looked back at me.” Margaret wished she could say it was just her reflection. “She looked like me. She looked sad, we both did.” “ Why do you think you were sad?” Alice shrugged. “ I guess ‘cuz we didn’t know we were so close. Even our dresses were the same. They were like my first day of school dress.” She bit her lip. “I think you called it a plaid. The green one.” Margaret swallowed but made herself respond. “’That’s interesting. Did you like dream?” Alice shrugged her shoulders. “Kinda. But kinda not.” “Why not?” Alice gazed into her mother’s eyes. “When I waked up I felt like crying. ” She flung her arms around her mother. “Mummy, I wish I had a twin!” Margaret stroked her daughters’ hair. “I think a lot of little girls dream of having a twin. I wanted a sister, badly, when I was a little tyke.” “But dream Mummy,” she looked up at her Mother again, “Like in sleep-time dream?” “That is strange, “ Margaret murmured, “Very strange.” As she twisted one of Alice’s shiny locks around her finger, a faraway look came into in her eyes, her cheeks were pale. Alice lay her head back on the pillow murmuring “I’m still sleepy, Mommy,” so Margaret tucked a light throw over her and said she would be in the garden. That was fifteen minutes ago and Margaret still wasn’t in control of her emotions. Deep down she knew why. With every passing month, no, week even, she felt condemned for not encouraging Marita to break the wall of silence between herself and Randall. Many times she had taken out paper and pen to write 'you must tell your husband Emily is a twin, you must get your daughter back,' but it was too hard, she couldn’t bear to let Alice go, and she knew the rest of the family would be devastated also. Davy had been tossing the ball up in the air on the way home from school and catching it with his gloved hand until he caught sight of Margaret with a watering can. She was sprinkling their elderly landlady’s petunia-lined walk. “Hi,

Mom.” “Hi Davy, how’s my boy?” “Fine.” I guess.” Mom’s been crying. I wonder what happened. “Can I have a peanut butter sandwich?” “Of course, son. I meant to make some peanut butter cookies since I know you love them so much but it didn’t get done.” “That's okay,” Davy mumbled so low Margaret didn't hear him. He kicked at a pebble on the cement sidewalk then glanced once more at his mother before turning the corner of the house and pounding up the stairs. “Davy, you scared me!” Alice’s giggle floated through the open kitchen window as Margaret put the trowel and watering can away. She was about to join her children in their hot, stuffy apartment but old Mrs Bentley poked her head out the back door and invited her in for a cup of tea, she couldn’t say no.

Better Than a Fairy Tale? Well, Not Yet

Okay, I promised to tell more of my life-story so here goes.

So here I was just a young teenager with my heart torn and bleeding. I didn’t know it at the time, but that impassive indifference between me and the pastor of the church we had always attended had started a rift.

Things didn’t get better, right away, they worsened. Soon I was facing the worse day of my life, and that is not a trite statement! I still think it probably was, and it became a pivotal point in my journey. Dad asked, no, rather expected me to go along with him on one of his numerous electrical trips to far flung communities. I had gone along before with a certain amount of trepidation because of what he had attempted to do to me in the past. (Ya, and had done when I was younger.)

So here I was in some little farmhouse in the middle of Who-Knows-Where and I walked into the pale, non-descript kitchen, and stopped. They are talking about me. I froze. Dad was talking about giving me away, abandoning me like an unwanted kitten or puppy. Oh, sure, it was called fostering, but I didn’t think of it that way. I just knew he wanted to tear me away from the only family I knew and loved.

I don’t remember how I arrived there, but suddenly found myself in the woods across the graveled road with tall, very tall fir trees surrounding me. To say I bawled my eyes out isn’t trite, either. Don’t know how long I stayed there, but common sense told me I had to go back eventually, so I did. No one had missed me.

I wandered around, looking into the spare bedroom, etc. and wondered if this would be my new home.

Time was moving along so I looked in on ‘them’ in the kitchen. They were still talking, but I got the drift of it, the farm wife didn’t think it would be a good idea to take me in. I didn’t linger to hear more.

The news was too little, and too late. The damage was done. I went to the car and sooner or later Dad joined me. We drove off leaving my innocent childhood behind. 

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Take A Peek into My Upcoming Book (but don't cry too hard.)

It  was a good thing that the rocking motion of the train kept Emily sleeping. For many miles her mother leaned forward, shaking with sobs. Then Marita tried to get a grip on herself.
People will be wondering what's wrong, or think I'm mighty queer if I can't stop being so emotional. She managed to hold it in for about five seconds, then a sleepy movement of Emily's little fingers got her thinking about Alice and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

When Emily woke up she was acting restless and fussy. Marita stared at her; she had never acted so upset in quite that way before.  Why does she twist her head from side to side like that and keep whimpering? Does she have an ear ache? Oh surely not!  I have no idea how to soothe an earache, on a train at that.

Emily's whimpers turned into loud, lusty wails and just as she picked her up, it hit Marita like a rock. Emily is missing her identical twin.

Worry lines puckered Marita's forehead. I thought it was only me that would suffer, but look what I have done to my little girl!

 In her agitation it was impossible to calm the crying three month old. What can I do? Oh, what can I do? People are beginning to stare at me, I'm sure of it!

She felt the back of her neck and ears scorch from the real or imaginary disapproval of those around her. What would Margaret have done? She was always so calm, so tranquil with the crying babies while I would get frantic.

Oh, she often sang.

For a moment Marita could see Margaret in the old, scuffed up rocking chair singing sweetly to which ever baby was upset.  The chair was stuffed into the corner of their bedroom because there was simply no other place for it, but the melodies would float through the small space even on the darkest of nights.

Suddenly Marita realised how blessed she had been to have Margaret help her care for the newborns, especially since she was so young and inexperienced.

The songs started coming back to her, and as she crooned, her own spirit calmed.

"Jesus Saviour pilot me over life's tempestuous sing. Boisterous waves around me roll, hiding rock and treacherous shoal, "(Edward Hopper.)

She rocked harder as the wails grew louder, but Emily's crying wasn't affecting her quite the same anymore.  She was thinking of the words.

"As a mother stills her child, Thou canst hush the ocean wild." Ocean wild: that's exactly what my heart's been like for so long now.
.
That's the secret of Margaret's serenity. She lets Jesus hush the storms, the grief and heartache in her own spirit.

Hot tears sprung to Marita's eyes. Margaret suffered much but she always was there for me.

She let her tears fall on Emily's downy hair.

"Lord, I want what she has," she whispered.

A small child hopped off the chair at his mother's side and stood in the aisle watching her.

Marita smiled at him.

"Baby," he said.

"Yes, she's just a baby. She's sleeping now."

He nodded. "Baby cry. Baby go nigh-night."

"Yes, Baby has gone 'night-night."

He observed them silently.

"What's your name, little boy?"

He didn't answer.

"The baby's name is Emily.  Mine is Mar- Mrs. Smith.  Can you say Emily?"

"Mmm'ee. Baby small."

"Yes, Emily is very small, yet, "

He put his hand on the top of his head, it barely reached. " Me big boy. "

He watched Emily making little sucking noises. "Baby hun-gee."

"Baby's fine for a little while. Are you hungry?"

The small champ nodded.

 Oh dear what have I gotten into?

Marita gently laid the baby beside her and reached into her purse.  Margaret had slipped a small paper sack of crackers into her hand while they were at the train station.

She took one out and showed it to his Mum. "Is it okay if I give him one?"

"Bobby, you aren't hungry, are you?"

"Hun'gee!"

"Oh well, just one then. It will tide you over 'til we reach Toronto, You should have a nap while we wait."

"What do you say?"

"Tang-too!" He made a bee-line for his mommy's lap and snuggled there while munching on his cracker, completely oblivious to the crumbs his mother was patiently brushing off his shirt and her skirt.

By then Marita was singing another song.

"What a Friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear..." She looked at Bobby so sleepy in his mother's arms and wondered if she had ever felt safe and secure snuggled up close to her mother.

 Oh, Lord, give me that feeling of security that comes from being close to you. I want to trust you with my whole life; she gave a little shudder, thinking of Randall in gaol, even the unknown future.  She looked down at Emily again, especially the future.

When Emily woke up, and after she had gotten her little tummy filled, Marita arranged her new woolen coat on the floor with the satin side up. Emily seemed to enjoy being able to kick and stretch in the less confining space.

Emily looked so sweet in the cloud soft sweater set Margaret had diligently knitted for her. Margaret had taught Marita how to make one also, and she felt a bit guilty for taking the better one. It was obvious that Margaret's was so much fluffier.

Marita stooped down to remove the light yellow bonnet from the tiny girl  and was pleased to see that Emily's coppery red hair was definitely beginning to curl.

Emily smiled at her and cooed.

Maybe she will get over the loss of her sister soon. Please God.

Peek into the Preview and the Sequel!

Have you been worrying what new book to get that bookworm in your family? Fret no more! This gripping novel will be a satisfying read for many different ages and a variety of tastes.  Here's a great book to enjoy during those leisurely winter evenings. 

With bombs landing all around, air raid sirens screaming, and blackout curtains compulsory, London is definitely a place to escape from, but for a pregnant teenage war bride fleeing is a frightening option. Sailing on a ship with submarines lurking nearby makes her uneasy, but so do more personal fears. Does Randall still love her? Would he be furious to find out she is expecting twins? Should she give one up for adoption since he doesn't know she is carrying two? Later she even discovers that he is in jail! Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do, her heart cries! Follow Marita as she learns to turn to God for answers and her path; sometimes dramatically unfolds before her--and hope for the best! More info at http://www.marilynfriesen.com .

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