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Chapter 6

Seven-year-old Gretchen Owen held tightly to the cream-colored teddy bear. She had many others but by far this was her favorite. Its fur was slightly tattered, the tiny black nose barely visible, and held barely a thread for its mouth.

Her small hand clung to it and huddled inside her patchwork quilt in a very dark, private area of her room. She flinched again at the loud screaming voices coming from downstairs.

It seemed to have become a daily occurrence in her young life that she'd heard her mother screaming at her father, her mum's vicious words slurred from the booze and barely understandable. Gretchen cringed as she heard various objects slamming against walls, sometimes glass breaking. The bellowing response of her father's curses set her heart pounding.

As frequently as it occurred she never got used to it.

Her mother hadn't always been this way. At eighteen years of age, Brigitte had moved to Scotland from her birthplace in Berlin to escape her domineering parents. She had set out to put as much distance between Germany and herself, even considering sailing to the United States when she met a young strapping fellow at the train station. Colin Owen had been tall, with striking hazel eyes and a charming smile. His dark hair and tall frame had been in direct contrast to Brigitte's almost white, blond hair, dark green eyes, and petite figure.

Colin had swept Brigitte off her feet and proposed marriage almost immediately. The young train conductor settled them into a modest flat in Glasgow. The young German soon found work as a seamstress and the two were on their way towards a bright future.

When Gretchen was born, Colin and Brigitte felt as if they'd been truly blessed. For the first three years of her life they had been the happiest of families. Quickly after, Brigitte became pregnant again.

Tiny ripples appeared on Brigitte's huge, swollen belly and as four-year-old Gretchen's tiny hand felt the being inside moving around in her mother's womb, she was enamored.

It appeared to Gretchen that her little sister, Kirsty was her very own baby.

Hours she spent playing with her, helping to change and feed her. She sang and cooed, never tiring of the little one. She would help her mum bathe her, and brush her fine, light brown hair. Gretchen encouraged and delighted in her baby sister's first steps. She loved her little Kirsty as a mother loved her own child.

The first of many tragedies in her life occurred one afternoon. Gretchen had come home from school and bounded in to discover her beautiful two-and-a-half-year-old baby sister laying dead on the puddled bathroom floor. The overpowering fume stung Gretchen's nose, and a blood-curdling scream escaped her lips as she found Kirsty's small, lifeless body; an empty bottle of ammonia beside her.

And that was when things went from bad to worse.

As the screaming voices became louder, seven-year-old Gretchen shivered and clutched Kirsty's teddy bear and hugged it tightly as though it alone would bring her beloved sister back and restore the happiness that had once existed there.

Present

Gretchen's eyes narrowed at the receiver. Anger filled her veins and she wanted to scream. Clutching Kirsty's teddy bear with one hand she calmly spoke again. "Margaret, it's very important. I really need to talk to him."

"I'm sorry Miss Owen, he can't be disturbed right now."

It was always the same answer. It had been over a week and no amount of searching or calling had landed her any response from him.

Deep down inside she knew that something was very wrong. Since their cruise Gretchen found Patrick was not his normal self. He seemed distant. Although he was physically there with her on that luxurious cruise and he held her in his arms, his mind was elsewhere. It didn't matter how beautiful the stars looked at night or how calm and peaceful the waves were, Patrick wasn't there with her. When she spoke of moving in together, and the possibility of wanting to have a baby, he only smiled, but said nothing. As much as she prodded he wouldn't open up and she didn't know why.

With an angry growl she slammed the receiver down and screamed curses at the top of her lungs.

Then, sadly she was reminded of her own father.

It wasn't easy for Colin to raise a daughter alone. He worked long hours and was barely there for her as she grew. Without a mother, Gretchen quickly became independent. Selfishness, rudeness, and many other undesirable qualities were born of that independence. Years of neglect contributed to her seeking out the wrong kind of attention.

But along with it came a will as strong as iron. Gretchen determinedly finished secondary school, went on to college, and after years of hard work became the top market researcher for her firm.

In one of her business classes she met Patrick. She couldn't help but be attracted to the tall, handsome man. Patrick was different. Unlike the others he wasn't falling all over her. He had just lost his young pregnant wife. At the age of twenty he was a widower and her heart went out to him.

Gretchen understood very well about loss.

That had been the very foundation of their relationship. They took comfort in that familiarity…until now. Somewhere along the line she found herself in love with him.

Patrick had always told her that he was incapable of loving again, and it seemed no matter how hard he pushed her away, she pushed even harder to come back. Such was their on again off again relationship.

With a sigh she placed the fuzzy teddy bear back on her bed and plopped down beside it, her sharp green eyes wandered over to the framed picture on her nightstand.

Inside the silver frame was one of the few happy memories she had left of her mother. As she gazed upon the image of herself and her mum at the park, she couldn't help becoming lost in the memory…

"Mum, tell me what it's like to be in love."

Brigitte Owen's kind green eyes looked down into her daughter's. Her light blond ponytail flipped back and forth with the motion of the swing.

"Oh Gretchen," she sighed, "It's the most wonderful feeling in the world."

The four-year-old knit her little brows in confusion. "How? Tell me?"

With one hand Brigitte held onto the chain as she swung side by side with her daughter. Her other hand lay comfortably on her belly. Smiling, she looked down at the child's innocent face. "Well," she began, letting her sandaled feet drag in the sand beneath her, "you feel like your heart is about to burst, and butterflies tickle your belly."

Gretchen looked dreamily up at her mum. "Is that how you feel about daddy?"

Brigitte nodded and stared off in the distance. "And it feels like you'd rather not live than be without him."

A giggle escaped Brigitte's lips as she noticed the faraway look in her daughter's young eyes.

"I want to be in love, Mum."

"Someday you will, love."

Gretchen sighed, a long dreamy sigh.

Contentedly the two swung and Brigitte caressed her swollen, pregnant belly, and added, "And you'll never want to let him go."

Nell exhaled a long puff of smoke, her eyes trained on the television set. She could barely hear the newscaster over the disagreement between her daughter and grandson taking place in the kitchen.

When it came to Frankie, Nell knew that as much as she wanted to mother him, Lizzie was his mother (and she'd never failed to remind her of that fact), and that whether she agreed with it or not Lizzie was going to raise Frankie the way she saw fit.

Ever since Lizzie began work at the bakery one week ago, Nell had noticed a sort of calmness embrace her. Her daughter appeared happy. Already settled into her new routine, Lizzie left for work before the sun and came home just after Frankie returned from school. The timing was perfect. Lizzie didn't seem to be on edge like she'd been just the week before.

It seemed to Nell that Lizzie had put any bad feelings toward Marie's brother safely tucked away. Until now…

"No, Frankie. I'm not going to tell you. Will ya please leave it?"

Nell looked up curiously and extinguished her cigarette. The next thing she heard was the sound of Lizzie's long, frustrated sigh.

"I said no," she insisted, her voice unnecessarily raised.

Nell couldn't help wonder what was going on. Lizzie had already informed her that she and Frankie had a very long discussion the other day and that she'd painfully confessed the whole truth to him. The letters, the stranger, Davey, and everything else were no longer a secret.

As she made her way up toward the kitchen she wondered with dread what her daughter was trying to keep from the boy this time.

Sneakily she peered into the kitchen, carefully so as not to be seen, and observed her grandson sitting at the table with pencil in hand, gesturing towards the piece of paper he'd been writing on.

With a frown Frankie sat, his eyebrows knit in frustration. One hand on the frying pan handle and the other holding a spatula, Lizzie, who was frying chicken, held the same expression looking down at her son.

Nell could see that Lizzie's eyes were fighting back tears as she shook her head and looked away from Frankie.

Frankie determinedly tugged on her sleeve and formed the word 'why' with his lips. The young boy appeared as if he could have, he would have shouted the very word out loud and clear from the mountaintops. Why???

Defensively she stood, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and her face showed no hint of backing down. Impatiently she set the spatula down and signed, "I'm not going to tell you his name. It's not important, Frankie. I've already told you everything you need to know."

Frankie's shoulders angrily slumped and he laid his head on his hands on the table.

Nell's heart went out to him. For the millionth time, she silently cursed Davey. He was dead now, of course, and her feelings toward him were disrespectful but still…how could she not be angry? If only he'd been the man that he should've been; the father that he should've been, then her grandson wouldn't be looking for a father figure. If only…

With a sad shake of her head, Nell continued to watch silently as Lizzie quickly wiped tears from her frustrated eyes. Her daughter had that look on her face. It was the look of helplessness. It was a look that she'd once again let her son down. Nell's own face had held that same expression many times in her life. It was the worst feeling in the world, she thought. No, her beautiful, strong daughter shouldn't have to feel this way.

She searched her mind for a solution but then watched as her daughter heaved another sigh and took a seat in the chair beside him. Lizzie nudged Frankie to get his attention, but he stubbornly shook his head. Next, she laid a motherly hand on his back to allay him.

Frankie looked up then, his lips were forming a small pout.

Lizzie made eye contact with him and continued to soothe him, speaking in a lower tone, "I told you he was Marie's brother," she paused, looking up, and tried to find the right words. She met his eyes again then continued, "He was just a stranger to us, Frankie. He was a nice man and he did a huge favor by pretending to be your daddy…"

Frankie's sad gaze turned downward, but Lizzie tapped him again to bring his eyes back up to hers.

"It's over, Frankie. He has his own life. He's a busy man. That's why you don't need to know his name," she told him earnestly then with renewed resolve she stood straight up and looked at him sternly. "And you don't need to be writing him any letters."

It was painful for Nell to watch. At first every fiber of her being had objected to that man, had objected to the whole idea of hiring someone to act as Frankie's father. But as she saw how happy it made Frankie, she began to have second thoughts. Of course, her mind was still full of doubts about it and him but Nell couldn't help but feel that this man had breathed some life back into her daughter.

Clearly she could see that her grandson could not stop thinking about him. And as much as Lizzie wouldn't admit it, the stranger, Patrick had gotten under her skin. Nell knew her daughter. She wasn't likely to give any man a chance ever again. Sure she could go on and deny it, but she'd end up sad and alone…just like her mum.

No, Nell thought, this is definitely not the life she wanted for her daughter.

The sound of Lizzie's stern voice snapped her attention back. "You are not to give this letter to Marie or her brother," she stated, her eyes serious as death.

Frankie looked down at the letter and didn't move.

Lizzie kneeled down beside her son, pulling his chin towards the direction of her face.

"Do you understand, Frankie?"

He looked as though he was holding back tears. Nell took a breath, mentally forcing herself to stay out of it. After a long moment the disheartened boy nodded.

Lizzie said nothing else but only stood back up, ruffled the boy's hair, and picked up her spatula, poking at some of the chicken pieces that weren't burnt.

Frankie was by no means a defiant boy but now he was visibly angry. He stood up sharply, the force of it knocking the chair away from him, and exaggeratedly picked up the letter he'd written.

The snap of the paper caught Lizzie's attention and as she turned around she caught her son dropping the letter into the wastebasket. His eyes looked sadly down and he headed off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Lizzie winced at the disturbing sound, and shoved the frying pan away from her nearly causing it to fall from the stove. She stood there silently; her hand gripping the spatula tightly and her eyes were glazing over with tears.

And to Nell's dismay, that look appeared on Lizzie's face once again.