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Her gaze met his again. “Says the man who’s never been married.”
He grinned. “In my line of work, I see a lot of good marriages and a lot of bad marriages. Marriage takes work, and I’ve never had the time to put into it. You can’t go off to work and assume the relationship will roll along without maintenance.”
“We went our own way so much of the time. He wasn’t interested in my flea market business, and even when he’d come with me on the weekend, he spent most of his time in the hotel watching TV or wandering the town where we stayed. And I couldn’t be part of his work. He wasn’t allowed to talk about cases or anything like that. So I was shut out of what transpired in his everyday world.”
More reinforcement of how difficult it was for a police officer to make marriage work. Maybe it hadn’t been Eric’s fault. Lucas didn’t believe it was Carly’s fault either. Maybe it was no one’s fault but the circumstances.
***
After the house was quiet and everyone was sleeping, Carly studied the short sentences on the copy Lucas had gotten from the Adams family.
A Russian girl came to the orphanage today. Sofia Balandin had been working as a kitchen worker at one of the many plantations. She spoke English very well and said she’d been in the Savannah area for five years, ever since she emigrated with her parents from Russia. She had twin girls with her and said she’d delivered them in a smokehouse. Another employee told her about our orphanage, and she had to give them up or lose her position. She cried and it broke my heart to see her pain. She left the picture and some trinkets for the babies. I must find adoptive parents.
The bare-bones account fired Carly’s imagination. While no one judged her when she was pregnant with Noah, she understood the challenges of being a single mom. It had to have been overwhelming to a young immigrant girl with little money and few resources in 1955.
The events unfurled in her mind like scenes from a movie. Carly suspected Sofia had to have known the egg and the surprise inside were valuable, though back in the fifties, the value wouldn’t have been anywhere near what it was today. The way she’d disguised the egg with red paint indicated that she had tried to protect it.
Gram would love to read a story about her birth, even if it was mostly fiction. Before Carly could reconsider, she opened her laptop and called up her Scrivener app. She’d sketched out a couple of scenes before, but not like this. The words poured out in a torrent that caught her up and swept her away with it.
Sofia Balandin hid behind some flour sacks and prayed the distant laughter from the new episode ofI Love Lucyhadmasked her movement to the pantry. Her back had been a misery most of the day. The room was airless and so hot she struggled to breathe. Outside in the dark, Andrew, the plantation owner’s son, moved through the downstairs whispering her name.
Sofia had been foolish enough to answer his call once nearly eight months ago, and she’d paid for it dearly. She should have told Mrs.Larson about the attack, but she’d been certain she would take the blame, not Andrew.
Her hand drifted to her swelling belly. Thedityawould be born soon, and what was she to do? She’d seen Mrs.Larson eyeing her dress earlier in the day and had wondered if she would guess her condition. If she did, Sofia would be thrown out. She couldn’t go home, not with Mama gone. Papa would kill her. His Russian pride would never be able to handle having an unwed, pregnant daughter. He had his own struggles with the need to hide from the KGB.
When the echo of Andrew’s whispers faded, she eased out from behind the flour sacks and tiptoed in her bare feet to the door. What was she to do? She entered the kitchen and glanced around. The sleek new Formica counters gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the windows.
“Sofia.” The whisper was soft but clearly Angelica, not Andrew.
The pain in Sofia’s back intensified, and she moved toward the sound of her friend’s voice. She found Angelica, her hair in pin curls, by the back door. “Did you see him leave?”
“Yes, he’s gone. I saw him go to his bedroom and shut it. Did he catch you?”
“No.” A groan emerged from Sofia’s throat, and she doubled over with the pain.
“Sofia, what’s wrong?”
“My back,” Sofia whispered.
“Oh, Sofia, it might be the baby. My mother always said her back pain was the worst.” Angelica supported her and practically carried her out the door, taking care not to let the screen slam. “The smokehouse will muffle your cries. You mustn’t let Mrs.Larson know you’re pregnant.”
A circle of pain encased Sofia’s middle and settled in her back. It was getting worse. Was this really theditya? And what was she to do once she delivered? Maybe she should have spoken with Andrew and let him know she was carrying his child. She’d been fearful to do that in case he told his mother and she ended up standing outside the Savannah mansion with nowhere to go. Her employers would do everything in their power to make sure the story of Andrew’s behavior didn’t get out into the city’s society.
Angelica got her inside the smokehouse and shut the door behind them. She bustled around finding old flour sacks to cushion the hard stone floor for Sofia. Thedityawas coming.
Hours later, Sofia held not one but two babes, both girls. They were so beautiful, though tiny. A month early. She didn’t know whether to pray they would survive or beg for God to take this problem from her hands. Tears blurred her vision, and she wanted only to sleep and wake up to find this had been a dream—a nightmare so overwhelming couldn’t be true, could it?
Angelica leaned against the stone wall and stared downat Sofia. Her friend was five years older and stout enough around the middle that Andrew paid her no mind. She’d been so kind to Sofia, but even she couldn’t solve this problem.
Sofia closed her burning eyes. “I don’t know what I will do.”
“There’s an orphanage in Savannah not far from here. I’m going to borrow a truck and take you there. We might be missed, but the punishment won’t be nearly as severe as if they find you with the babes.”
Sofia opened her eyes. “You are a good friend, Angelica. I have no choice. Could you fetch my knapsack? I wish to leave the girls small mementos.”
“I will be right back with your knapsack and the pickup.”
She hadn’t been able to bring herself to sell the egg and the surprise, knowing she would get only a few meals from their disposal. But her girls might uncover their Russian heritage through the items. Maybe someday they would be reunited.
