Letters from Owen Page 14

  “Maybe you should be concerned with your daughter’s behavior. Seems to me you’re in a glass house throwing rocks, Mr. Campbell,” she retorted.

  “I’ll never punish my daughter for standing up for herself or for others,” Owen said quietly, his voice cold and precise. “She needs to learn to control her temper, yes. But both of these fights she’s been in were because she felt she had no choice. I don’t think my daughter is the problem here.”

  Mr. Montgomery’s face had become a thundercloud. “Neither do I. Janice, you and I will discuss this at length as soon as we get these kids settled. Emma won’t be getting in trouble for this, Mr. Campbell. I’m sure you’ll take care of disciplining her at home.”

  Owen inclined his head, quietly furious with how things had turned out. “I’ve heard good things about you, Miss Hammonds. It’s one of the reasons we wanted you to teach our children this year. But if Burke Lockhart isn’t moved out of your classroom by the end of the week, my children will be.” He looked at Mr. Montgomery. “You’ll see to that.”

  The other man gave a terse nod. “I will.”

  “Where’s the girl Burke pushed? She’s a neighbor of ours down the hill, I believe.”

  Mr. Montgomery’s face tightened. “She’s in with the nurse getting patched up. And yes, she lives nearby your family. I was getting ready to call her grandmother to tell her what happened.”

  Owen checked his watch. It was approaching two o’clock. “Given how late it is, I’ll take the kids home with me. If you want, and if it’s all right by Mrs. Franks, I can take Suzanna with me as well. It wouldn’t be any trouble. Oh, and John’s still with Emma outside. I’ll probably need to smooth things over with his teacher about him having missed class.”

  The principal waved. “She’s aware. Janice, why don’t you go check on Suzanna, then find Emma and bring her in here? I do still need to have a word with her.”

  Without speaking, Owen opened the door for her.

  “Close it back, please,” Mr. Montgomery said with a sigh once she’d gone. “She really is a good teacher, one of the best we have. She just has her head all wrapped up in hearts and roses right now. Burke’s parents are divorced—recently, I might add—and his father has taken a shine to Janice. I’m afraid you’re probably right about the favoritism. I apologize. I should have seen this before now.”

  “That’s probably why Burke’s acting out,” Owen said, feeling a pang of sympathy for the boy. “Is there another class you can move him to?”

  He nodded. “Mr. Chatham would be a good fit, I think. He’s tough, but he’s kind. Has four rough-and-tumble boys of his own, so he works well with them.” He assessed Owen. “How much do you know about Suzanna Franks’s situation?”

  Owen shrugged, not wanting to gossip. “I know it isn’t ideal, that her parents are splitting up.”

  “They are. Divorce is becoming more and more common these days, and I surely hate that for my students. Suzanna’s a quiet little thing, a really sweet girl. It might do her some good to be befriended by someone as… outspoken, I guess is what I’m trying to say, as Emma.”

  For the first time since he’d walked in the room, Owen felt the hint of a smile forming. “She’s an absolute hellion, but she has a good heart. Sarah and I will keep an eye on how that friendship idea plays out. Emma could use a quiet influence, and it sounds like Suzanna could use a friend. Her grandmother’s getting up there in years, so it’d be nice if the girls were friends for a couple of reasons.”

  When Emma came in, Mr. Montgomery sat in the chair beside her. “I have a plan that I’d like your help with,” he told her.

  Emma looked at him, then at Owen. When he winked, she blew out a breath. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

  “It sounds to me like Burke doesn’t fit in so well in your class, so for everyone’s benefit, I’ll be moving him to another teacher’s class tomorrow. That should help things, don’t you think?”

  She nodded vigorously. “He’s a troublemaker.”

  The declaration was delivered with such solemnity it struck Owen’s funny bone. He had to almost turn away to keep from laughing.

  Mr. Montgomery cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, what I need your help with is this—once Burke is away from your class, I need you to not react quite so vigorously. In other words, don’t come up swinging, young lady. Look for other ways to solve differences first, all right?”

  She scowled and looked at Owen. “Daddy?”

  “He’s right, and you know that we’ve talked about this at home. Fighting should be the last resort, not the first.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Okay. I’ll try.”

  “That’s all we can ask,” Mr. Montgomery said. “I need to call Suzanna’s grandmother, and then I’ll cut you all loose.”

  Once Owen had his three kids and Suzanna—who went by Zanny—in the car, he marveled at how quiet Zanny was. He could tell she didn’t know what to make of Emma and her brothers, but her reaction was more awestruck fascination than discomfort. After a stop at the local dairy bar, where he treated the kids and picked up a peanut butter milkshake for Sarah, they headed home.

  By the time Owen pulled off the road and started up his driveway, Emma and Zanny were giggling in the backseat. Owen smiled. He was glad to see their bond building. It would be interesting to see where that friendship went in the coming years. So far, Emma hadn’t really taken to the other kids at school, though she got along well with most of them. He’d not been blowing smoke when he’d told the principal she could use a friend.

  “Here we are, gang. Drop your stuff off, say hi to your mom, then we’ll escort Zanny home.”

  As they got out of the car, Sarah stood from her chair on the porch. He hoped she’d be able to drink the milkshake—he’d gotten a large just in case, as the sweet treat was nearly the only thing she could stomach these days.

  Once the kids were heading toward the path that led to the bottom of the mountain where Zanny’s grandmother lived, he spoke to Sarah quietly. “Emma’s a strong girl, smart as a whip. She was protecting Zanny. We can’t punish her for that.”

  “No, but we can’t ignore it either.” She accepted the shake and his kiss. “I might make her favorite meal as a reward.”

  “She’s just like her mother. I still think about what you did to Tony DeWitt that day in the library and laugh. I’ll herd these cats down the hill and back, and then we can talk more in depth.”

  Sarah smiled. “I’d forgotten about that. Rachel and I will keep things under control here. Say hi to Mrs. Franks for me, please. Let her know that Zanny’s welcome whenever.”

  “Will do.” He stole another kiss, then hurried to join the kids.

  He knew a lot of men who’d have taken Emma out behind the metaphorical shed for what she’d done, and that knowledge broke his heart. Thinking about how angry he’d been earlier sent a pang of regret through him, but he also knew that he hadn’t taken that anger out on her, and he had to forgive himself for having feelings and being human. How he’d handled her had turned out well enough, and he’d not made her feel bad for doing what was right.

  You aren’t your father, he thought as he walked behind the kids, watching his three offspring pointing out this or that to Zanny. He sent a thanks out to the universe, or anyone who might be listening, for giving him the serenity, courage, and wisdom to not channel Hank Campbell today, for being his own man, and for having the good fortune to end up with the family he had. Owen was a blessed man, and today he again realized exactly how blessed he was.

  Amelia

  January 19, 1971

  The house was quiet except for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall. The furnace had just kicked off, and the hush that followed was always soothing to Owen’s ears. It was past midnight, and he’d tried, without luck, to get to sleep. That was all right—he wasn’t the only one awake. Four-
day-old Amelia Rose Campbell was nestled in his arms, quietly taking in the world as she sucked on a pacifier.

  With the slightest cap of downy-fine blond hair Owen had ever seen, she was heartbreakingly beautiful. All his children had been stunning a few days after their births—at least he thought so—but there was something special about Amelia. Maybe it was because she’d come into the world so unexpectedly and under such harrowing conditions.

  “But I don’t want to think about that,” he said in a voice that wouldn’t wake Sarah, who was sound asleep in the bed across from where he sat in a comfortable chair, holding the baby.

  The thing was, he knew he would be thinking about Amelia’s birth for a long time to come. He was still shaking inside, he’d been so terrified. He was also quietly furious with Sarah, though he knew he was being a bit ridiculous about that. He couldn’t help it—he could have lost her. That reality had been driven home with what felt like a stake through the heart.

  A week ago, he’d been in the kitchen, getting breakfast together for the kids, when he’d first heard the forecast that predicted the region would be blanketed in up to three feet of snow. A chill that had nothing to do with the January cold had run down his spine, settling in low and burning him with its icy fingers. Sarah was only a few weeks out from her due date with baby Campbell number five, and the idea of her being stuck without access to a hospital if something happened… it was almost more than Owen could bear.

  He hid his unease as the kids came in, their exuberant chatter making him smile even through his nerves. As they ate, distracted by this or that task that still needed doing to prepare for the day ahead, he felt as though he was caught in the middle of ten conversations. He realized a stranger walking into the kitchen would have declared utter chaos, but Owen was enchanted.

  Emma was teasing Ben about a girl he liked at the same time as asking Owen whether it would be all right for Zanny to come up for a while that evening. John was keeping Rachel occupied long enough to get her to finish her breakfast, discussing a basketball game with Ben, and asking Owen about the probability of life on other planets. Ben, who wasn’t much of a morning person, was mainly trying to ignore his siblings and eat.

  When Sarah stopped in the door, taking it all in with a smile, Owen rubbed his chest. She was so damned proud of the family they’d created, so happy to be their mother and his wife, it struck him like a blow sometimes to realize she was his. The thought of her being in trouble during the snowstorm rose again, and it was more than he could handle. Standing, he crossed to where she stood and wrapped her in a hug.

  “Morning,” he said, then gave her a soft kiss as the kids chattered behind him. He studied her face, his concern growing. She looked tired even though she’d rested well enough the night before. “A snowstorm is coming.”

  “Mm, I figured given the way the air feels today. When’s it supposed to hit?” she asked, squeezing his arms, then moving around him to head for the fridge.

  “A couple of days, maybe three. Sarah, the accumulation could be up to three feet. I think you should go to town, stay with George and Rosemarie. You don’t need to be here, stuck.”

  As she poured a glass of juice, she sent him what was surely meant to be a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. We have a month to go.”

  He scowled at her, irritated by her lack of concern. “Sarah Jane…”

  “Henry Owen…” she countered. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I know when I’m getting ready to deliver. I’m fine.”

  Despite his concerns and regardless of how much he’d begged her over the next two days to change her mind, the stubborn woman refused to budge. All the while, his own fear and worry grew.

  He wouldn’t change a thing about Sarah, not one hair on her head or one cell of her body. But when she’d come out of the bathroom first thing Friday morning—well after the snow had started—her face pale and worried as she told him her water had just broken, it took everything in him not to yell at her.

  Slowly getting to his feet, he stared at her. “What?”

  The word sounded like a shout in the quiet of the room. The electricity was off, and more than three feet of snow had fallen outside, effectively cutting them off from even the heartiest of rescuers.

  If he lived to be a hundred and fifty years old, Owen never, ever wanted to feel the same terror he’d felt upon hearing those words or in the frantic hours that followed.

  Thanks to the way the mountain fell, the accumulation on the side where Jack and Gilly lived hadn’t been nearly as heavy, and when he’d roused them on the walkie-talkies, they’d been able to come up the path from the foot of the mountain. Jack had taken the kids—Owen and Sarah’s four as well as his own two—to the studio. In the meantime, Owen and Gilly had raced around, both terrified and trying not to let Sarah see that, and got the master bedroom ready for the delivery. Calling anyone was out of the question as the phone lines were also down.

  “I’ve read a couple of books on childbirth,” Gilly said, nodding at Sarah, “and you know I went through a natural delivery with Michelle. I remember everything the nurses and doctor did. We’ll figure this out.”

  And they did. By some absolute miracle, they got through the next hour—the fastest delivery Sarah had ever had.

  That harrowing experience left a mark on Owen, a deep mark. As he sat in the chair in the warm room, watching four-day-old Amelia learn how her arms and hands and feet and legs worked, he made a vow to himself for what had to be the hundredth time since she’d come into the world—this child was the last Campbell baby they’d have, and he’d see to that if it meant he never touched Sarah again.

  Tomorrow morning, Jack and Gilly were coming back up to stay with the kids again. The snow had melted enough that the main roads were passable, and though the trip would be a bit treacherous, he and Sarah were going to take Amelia to the clinic up on the river at Leatherwood just a few miles away. Both Amelia and Sarah needed to be checked over, though they seemed perfectly healthy.

  In the meantime, he’d pulled out his paper and pen, preparing to write Amelia her birth letter. Thus far, he’d started six times, but he couldn’t find the proper words.

  “Maybe seven will be our lucky number, what do you think?” he asked his daughter, marveling at how strong her grip was as she wrapped tiny fingers around his pinkie. “You’re so perfect, you know.”

  She really was. If he’d not been there for the experience, he’d never have known Sarah had given birth at home. She was doing as well now as if she’d been at the hospital. The trip tomorrow was more for his own peace of mind than anything. His maverick wife would have been just as happy to stay home.

  “At least she’s indulging me in that,” he told Amelia. “One of these days, the woman’s going to have to listen to me.”

  He just wasn’t holding his breath that day would come anytime soon. Setting aside his pen and paper for now, he decided to enjoy the quiet with the baby. He wasn’t feeling the words tonight, and the letter could wait another day.

  By eleven o’clock the next morning, Owen was sure he and Sarah and their miracle baby were the talk of the town—or at least this end of Perry County. Everyone at the clinic had oohed and ahhed over Amelia, and they’d marveled at Sarah’s ease with the home birth. Even though such things had been the norm not that long ago—and still were in certain areas—the idea was shocking to a lot of people.

  “Everything looks fine, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell,” the doctor said as she finished examining Sarah. “I’d recommend you make your two-week checkup with Dr. Boggs, but there’s no need for concern from what I’m seeing. Both you and the baby look to be in excellent health.” She asked Sarah, “What about your plans for birth control? Is that an area you need my help with?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Thank you, but no. Dr. Boggs and I have already discussed a tubal. Owen and I think five is a good number to stop at.”

 
; Owen knew his face had to be as red as the leftover Christmas poinsettia in the corner. He focused his attention on Amelia. “We meant to stop at four, but this little angel had other plans, didn’t you?”

  The doctor laughed. “Children often do. Congratulations to you both. I’ll let you get dressed, and then the nurse will be in to do some routine bloodwork on you and the baby,” she said, shaking Sarah’s hand.

  After she left, Owen helped Sarah down from the examining table. “A tubal, huh?”

  “Yes. Don’t you think that’s prudent? I meant to tell you, but I swear I’ve not been able to keep a thought in my head for months.”

  He touched her shoulder with the backs of his fingers. “Thank you. I can’t go through this again. I mean that. This was too close of a call. I could have lost you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, by the way,” she said quietly as she got her pants on, wincing a bit. “For the record, having her come early scared the bejesus out of me as well.”

  Owen was stunned. “Really? Because you didn’t show it.”

  Her smile was rueful. “One of us had to stay calm, and I had an idea of what to expect, though most of the other deliveries are something of a blur. I’m glad this one wasn’t, though I’d rather not have had things happen the way they did.”

  “I can’t say the same right now. Give me a few years to recover from the terror, and I might feel differently.” They exchanged a soft look. “Thank you.”

  She tilted her head as the nurse came in. “For what?”

  “Everything.”

  Later that night, the kids were in bed, and he and Sarah were in the living room with Amelia. Sarah was rocking her to sleep, having just finished feeding her. The house was once again quiet, though they had the radio on low for some noise, and for the first time in days, Owen felt as though he could breathe again. Picking up his pen, he started to write.