The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(63)
“Of course!” Abigail giggled. “He said I make his head spin.”
“Yes, but did he say he loves you?”
“Maybe not that exact word. He said he’s crazy about me.”
Gloria, a skeptic to start with, frowned and left it at that. After all, it had only been a few months. Abigail was surely smart enough to insist on a commitment when the time was right.
Abigail never knew a summer to fly by as that one did. One morning she noticed Wilbur Atkins wearing a wooly sweater instead of his straw hat, which prompted her to check the date on the calendar. Much to her surprise, both Labor Day and Halloween had slipped by without notice. She didn’t want such a thing to happen with Thanksgiving, so then and there Abigail decided to fix a roast turkey for John; she planned on sausage stuffing, candied sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and a raspberry trifle – he could bring a bottle of wine. Two nights later, she told him of her idea; but he heaved the saddest sort of sigh and said he’d be up in New York that week. When her face fell into a look of disappointment, he suggested that they have their own Thanksgiving celebration a week early – which is exactly what happened. On November seventeenth, a Tuesday, Abigail hired a substitute librarian and stayed at home to cook.
Although she’d not had much luck with the trifle and had at the last minute rushed out and bought an apple pie, the dinner, John claimed, was wonderful. Afterward, he gave her a cameo locket to commemorate their first holiday together, even though it wasn’t really the actual holiday. After he fastened the chain around her neck, John kissed Abigail clear down to her bosom all the while whispering how he was absolutely crazy about her. With his mouth suckling the hollow of her throat, Abigail swooned into his arms and when she finally came to her senses, she was lying on the bed.
“You fainted,” he explained.
“Oh,” Abigail sighed, locked into the pleasure of his face hovering above her.
On Thanksgiving Day, Abigail anticipated a call from him – John did things like that; telephone at odd times, send flowers when she least expected it, poke his head in the door on Tuesday when he wasn’t due back ‘till Thursday – so she got up early and sat beside the telephone. She waited for seven hours, but the telephone never rang. At three o’clock she began to think there was something wrong with her line, but just as she started downstairs to inquire about a repairman, the phone rang.
“Hi,” Gloria said and Abigail’s heart slid down past her knees. “Can you come over?” Gloria asked. “We’ve got something special to tell you.”
“Well, actually, I’m expecting John to call.” Abigail answered, trying to hide the greatness of her disappointment. “Tell me on the phone.”
“That would spoil everything. Come on over. Please?”
Abigail, still hoping John would call, said she’d be there a bit later. She hung up, waited another five hours then went to Gloria’s apartment.
The moment Fred opened the door; he called out “She’s here!”
Judging by the glow on his face, Abigail thought he might be a bit tipsy.
“You want champagne?” he asked, “Mince pie, maybe? We still got turkey –”
Abigail hadn’t eaten all day and she was just about to say that some of the turkey sounded pretty good, but Gloria cut in. “Don’t anybody don’t want that left-over stuff,” she laughed, “but we could all use a Coke-cola.”
Abigail saw something new in her friend’s face – something impossible to put a name to, a softness around the eyes, a half-smile curling the corner of the mouth, an at-peace-with-the-world look of gentleness. Long before the words were said, she knew Gloria was expecting a baby.
“In June,” Gloria said, “and we want you to be the Godmother.”
Abigail was so pleased; she told Fred she’d have the champagne, after all.
With Christmas now seeming just around the corner, Abigail began shopping – she bought her forthcoming godchild three yellow baby buntings and a rocking horse and she took to telephoning Gloria most every day to check on how she was feeling. “Do you have any cravings?” she’d ask, “Want some ice cream? Pickles, maybe?”
Gloria would usually laugh and say that Fred was taking very good care of her. “Oh,” Abigail would answer, with a tinge of jealousy because she wanted to be more than a Godmother, she wanted a part in the pregnancy.
The more Abigail thought about Gloria’s baby, the more she longed to become John’s wife and grow fat with her own child. She went to Blumgarten’s, the finest men’s shop in all of Richmond and bought John a pair of leather slippers lined with fleece, the kind of slipper any man would look forward to at the end of a hard day. She also bought him a fine briarwood pipe, even though she’d never known him to smoke. She wrapped both gifts in Santa Claus paper and fixed a sprig of holly atop the packages. On Christmas Day she planned to feed him a hearty dinner, and then insist that he sit in the easy chair to relax with his pipe and slippers. That, she thought, would be the right time to drop a subtle hint about marriage.
On Christmas Eve John called, at a time when she’d already slipped a roast of beef into the oven and was expecting him to be knocking on the door. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m tied up with some emergency inspections in Philadelphia and won’t be able to get there for another week.”