July, 1943

Rita Thompson tried to ignore the twinges of pain in her belly as she stood in front of the stove, stirring spaghetti sauce for dinner. From the open kitchen window she could see Bob tinkering under the hood of their new Chrysler Windsor and singing “You Made Me Love You”. She wasn’t jealous; she knew who really had his heart. Besides, keeping busy with the car meant less time spent fussing and worrying over her and the baby. She patted her swollen belly and smiled.

The twinges of pain returned, this time a little bit sharper.

     Maybe I’ve just been on my feet too long. Doctor Ferguson did say I should take it easy after that little scare we had a few weeks ago.

It was days like this that Rita really wished her Mom, or even some of her older sisters, lived nearby. She and Bob’s families were still in Kansas, where they had both been born and raised. The two of them had moved out West shortly after they were married last year. It was the two of them against the world out here. Well, three of them now.

She looked out the window again. Bob was looking at the tires. She had never been sure why he found cars so fascinating. But he didn’t know his way around a kitchen, so they were even. They were so different yet such a perfect match for each other. His dark hair and blue eyes still made her heart skip a beat.

Rita shut the stove off and picked up a knife to slice a fresh loaf of bread on the counter. Suddenly, a stabbing pain gripped her stomach. She lost her hold on the knife and cut her hand. She screamed and collapsed to the floor.

“Bob!”

     I feel like I’m going to pass out.

The front door opened and Bob ran inside. He looked at her and grabbed the phone off the wall.

“Doctor Ferguson. Bob Thompson. Please come out here right away. It’s Rita. She’s on the floor and there is blood. Please hurry!”

“No, the blood is from my hand. I cut my hand.” Rita said.

Bob hung up and rushed to her side.

“Doctor Ferguson is on his way, honey. Everything is going to be okay. Let’s get you into the bed.” He placed his arms behind her, picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

“This is a little different than when you first carried me over the threshold of this house isn’t it?” Rita said. She loved thinking back to when they were first married, but right now she mostly wanted to distract herself from both the physical pain and the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

     Please God, don’t let me lose my baby.

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