21

How Mary had survived nearly a week on her own, she could only attribute to leaning on the Lord’s strength. By Thursday evening, as she trekked home from the hospital, she was too exhausted to care if she hadn’t shopped for groceries all week.Supper would be another cold roast beef sandwich. As her mother’s good health returned, Mary had quickly grown spoiled by coming home to hot meals on the table and lightness in her mother’s heart.

Now, the idea of coming home at all left Mary feeling utterly bereft.

Bypassing the empty parlor, she headed straight upstairs to change from her starched nurse’s uniform into a cool cotton housedress. As she peeled off her white stockings to wiggle toes too long cramped inside stiff leather shoes, the ringing telephone startled her. Probably Mrs. Lawson. The neighbor had invited Mary over for supper twice this week already—truly a lifesaver, but Mary had grown weary of even pretending she was coping with her mother’s departure.

Barefoot, she plodded downstairs and snatched the earpiece from the hook. “Hello?”

“Mary, darlin’!” Her mother sounded tinny and faraway.

“Mum!” A bubble of happiness swelled Mary’s chest. “How are you? How’s Washington? Is the weather nice? Are you happy there?”

Her mother’s laughter rippled through the telephone line. “What are we playing, ‘Twenty Questions’? Oh, dearest, it’s good to hear your sweet voice! If Alexander Graham Bell were standing here right now, I’d give him a great big kiss.”

“Not in front of your husband, I hope!” Mary sank onto the stool next to the telephone table and pictured her mother’s smiling face. “Tell me truly, Mum, are you well and happy?”

“Indeed I am. D.C. is an exciting city—what I’ve seen of it, anyway; we’ve been so busy settling in—and Donald treats me like a princess.” Mum sighed. “My only complaint is missing my girl.”

“No more than I miss my mum.” Mary tightened her grip on the earpiece. “Has Dr.—I mean, Donald—has he had a chance to look into my transfer?”

“It’s the very important reason I called.” Mum’s pitch ramped up a notch. “What with so many wounded soldiers still recovering here, the need for well-trained nurses is ongoing. The chief nurse told Donald she’d gladly put you on the roster as soon as you can get here. She’s already mailed the paperwork to Mrs. Daley.”

Mary sucked in a breath, her head reeling. So much to think about, so much to do! First thing tomorrow, she must ask Mrs. Daley to name a charge nurse replacement immediately. Though the chief nurse had signed off on Mary’s transfer request, without confirmation of a new position, there had been no urgency.

Now, as her mother rambled on about the train trip to D.C., the furnished brownstone apartment they’d rented, and the adventure of shopping for linens, dishes, and other household goods, Mary could hardly marshal her thoughts. All she could think was within the month she could be living and working in Washington, D.C., an idea that both thrilled and terri-fied her.

When her mother finally ended the call, Mary wandered to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Sipping slowly, she stared out the window over the sink. Her gaze fell upon the backyard glider, and thoughts of Gilbert brought a catch in her throat. On Monday she’d learned Gilbert had turned Ernest Deeds in to the police, for two officers had come to the hospital to question her. She had nothing concrete to offer, only her suppositions, but they assured her they’d already collected enough evidence to haul him in. Deeds wouldn’t be bothering her again.

She was relieved, certainly, but held out no hope the orderly’s arrest could change things between her and Gilbert. The plain truth was she’d destroyed whatever chances they had with her continual distrust and doubt. The best thing for both of them would be to try to heal and move on.

Releasing a resigned sigh, Mary strode to the icebox and brought out the plate of leftover pot roast. A quick sandwich, a long soak in the tub, then early to bed. She slept fitfully, dreaming of a locomotive engine that became a galloping horse with smoke and fire pouring from its nostrils. The horse reared, its hooves flashing like molten steel. A little girl screamed, a man fell—Da!

Alarm bells clanged, startling Mary awake. She sat bolt upright, only to find her bedside clock jangling mercilessly. Drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, she slapped her palm on the button to silence the ringing. Five a.m. had come far too early.

Within the hour, she was on her way to the hospital and thanking the Lord she had the weekend to look forward to—partly to catch up on much needed rest, but also to begin preparations for moving to D.C. Besides the packing, she must decide what to do about the house. Mum owned it free and clear. Would she want it sold? Rented out? And what of all their furniture and housewares? Residing in the nurses’ quarters at Walter Reed, Mary would have no need of such things.

Her head was spinning by the time she clocked in and reported to her office on the ward. She’d just begun to glance over the night charge nurse’s report when Mrs. Daley appeared in the doorway.

“Well, it’s official,” the frowning woman stated. “The principal chief nurse at Walter Reed telephoned first thing this morning. Apparently, the need there is great. She asks for me to expedite your transfer and have you on a train to Washington no later than next Tuesday.”

Knees shaking, Mary stood. “So quickly? But what about—”

“As for your replacement, I’ve decided to promote Miss Underwood.” Mrs. Daley quirked her lips. “She certainly has a long way to go to fill your shoes, but there is presently no one else more suitable. I’ll expect you both to work through the weekend so you can familiarize her with your duties.”

Mary dipped her chin, grateful for the backhanded compliment, yet struggling to hide her agitation. If she wasn’t to have her weekend off, where in heaven’s name would she find the time to do everything necessary before leaving on Tuesday?

With a curt nod, Mrs. Daley marched off the ward, and Mary collapsed into her chair, head in her hands. She could almost hear her mother’s firm reminder: “No matter how busy you are, there’s always time to pray.”

If ever prayer was needed, it was now. Finding one of the floor nurses, Mary instructed her to keep an eye on things for the next fifteen minutes or so. Then she hurried across the hospital campus and slipped down the aisle of the empty chapel. Kneeling at the altar rail, she crossed herself and folded her hands.

“Dearest Jesus, I hardly know where to begin! Nothing’s turned out the way I’d hoped. Mum is married and starting a new life, I’m about to make the biggest change yet in my nursing career, and worst of all, the man I love—the man I thought I’d—” Her words broke off on a sob.

A gentle hand rested upon her shoulder, and she glanced up to see Chaplain Vickary standing at her side. He smiled a sad smile. “Would you like to talk?”

She nodded and allowed the chaplain to help her to her feet. He led her to the front pew, where they sat side by side. Haltingly, she explained about the transfer to Walter Reed. “It’s the right thing for me, I’m certain. But it’s all happening so fast, and I’m suddenly terrified!”

“I know you miss your mother, but . . .” Chaplain Vickary pressed his lips together, momentarily glancing away. “How can you leave before you’ve fully resolved things between you and Gilbert? He still loves you, Mary.”

“Sometimes . . . sometimes love isn’t enough.” With a shaky sniff, Mary shoved to her feet. “Thank you for listening, Chaplain. But there’s nothing you can say—nothing anyone can say—to make me change my mind about leaving Hot Springs.”

By Monday afternoon, Mary had given Lois all the guidance she could for taking over the charge nurse position—and had a gigantic headache to show for it.

Seated at Mary’s desk, Lois looked up with a grimace. “I don’t know, Mary. I just don’t know if I can handle this.”

“You can, and you will.” Mary rose and patted Lois on the shoulder. “Mrs. Daley has confidence in you, or she’d never have given you the promotion. You’ll rise to the occasion and show her ten times over what a fine nurse you are.”

“Oh, Mary, I’m sure gonna miss you!” Lois shoved up from her chair and wrapped Mary in a bear hug. “Promise you’ll write, okay?”

“Of course.” Though she suspected she never would. The less contact she had with her old life in Hot Springs, the easier the transition would be. She retrieved her purse from the bottom desk drawer. “Now, I really must be on my way. I still have last-minute packing to do.”

Slipping out of the hospital unnoticed proved a challenge, but Mary hadn’t the heart for lengthy goodbyes. Earlier, she’d filed a final report for Mrs. Daley and settled things with the personnel office. Escaping with only a few perfunctory farewells, she made her way to a back stairwell, then skirted the administration building along a seldom-used path. A long trek up Reserve and soon she arrived at home.

Except this wouldn’t be her home much longer. Four days of frenzied preparations, and now . . . the finality of it all clawed at Mary’s chest until she couldn’t breathe. Dear God, am I doing the right thing?

But she had to go—no turning back now. The sooner she put Hot Springs behind her, the sooner she’d purge Gilbert Ballard from her heart.

She’d barely had time to change out of her uniform before Mrs. Lawson came over with a pot of savory beef stew. After they’d eaten, the white-haired neighbor stood in the center of the parlor and glanced around at the sheet-covered furniture. “Oh, Mary, it’s so sad-looking. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather sleep at my house tonight?”

“I’ll be fine.” Mary wedged a smile into her tone. “Anyway, busy as these last few days have been, I won’t be long for bed.”

“All right, then, I’ll be ready at seven in the morning to take you to the depot.”

Mary clutched Mrs. Lawson’s hand. “Thanks for supper, and for . . . everything.” She held back tears as her neighbor drew her close before scurrying out the front door.

Left alone in the silent house, Mary took a deep breath and shoved her emotions down deep, the only way she’d get through her last night in the house where she’d grown up. With forced detachment she finished her packing, then took a long, relaxing soak in the tub before crawling into bed. She fell asleep quickly and slept soundly—no doubt a combination of fatigue and sheer force of will.

But the next day, trapped on the train and with nowhere to run from her skittering thoughts, she wished she’d stayed up all night cleaning house or doing laundry or sorting through Mum’s cupboards. As the journey carried her farther and farther from home—from the man she still loved with all her being—she longed for the blessed escape of dreamless sleep.

He’d been married less than two weeks, but already Donald had trouble remembering what it was like returning to an empty apartment after a long rotation at the hospital. To walk through that door and see Nell’s beaming face, to wrap himself in her welcoming embrace while inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume—could there be a more perfect ending to the day?

“Ah, luv, you look exhausted.” Nell guided him to an overstuffed chair and ottoman, one of their first furniture purchases for the townhouse—and one he’d be eternally grateful his thoughtful wife had chosen. “I’ve a fresh pitcher of lemonade in the kitchen. And cookies, too.”

“You spoil me, Nell.” With a blissful sigh, Donald worked his backside deeper into the upholstery. He tugged one foot and then the other across his knees to loosen his shoelaces. Then, kicking off his shoes, he splayed his legs across the ottoman, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

Moments later, he sensed Nell’s presence and looked up as she set a plate of cookies on the side table. She handed him a frosty glass of lemonade. “Supper won’t be for another hour. I was late getting the lamb roast in the oven.”

“Out shopping again, were you?” Donald shot her a teasing grin and drew her onto the arm of the chair. “What did you bring home today to brighten our humble abode?”

“Nothin’ for us this time. I bought a new frock for Mary. I thought it might cheer her up.” With a quiet sigh, Nell pressed closer and kissed the top of Donald’s head. “Did you keep an eye on her at the hospital as I asked?”

“I tried, but being her first day, they kept her pretty busy with orientation.” He squared his jaw and swirled the lemonade in his glass. “I hope she’s up to this. Walter Reed is quite a change from Hot Springs.”

For that matter, Donald hoped he was strong enough to cope with the return to treating wounded soldiers. Hot Springs had been a welcome respite from the carnage he’d witnessed in France. Now, once again, the majority of his patients remained hospitalized for amputations, burns, festering gunshot wounds, and all manner of battlefield atrocities.

Thank God for his beautiful wife, his peaceful haven at the close of a trying day.

Nell handed him a cookie. “Mary’s smart and spunky as they come. She’ll settle in fine, you wait and see.”

As Donald savored a bite of the warm, chewy oatmeal cookie, he wondered if Nell was as certain as she pretended to be. From his vantage point, Mary had seemed harried and exhausted when they’d met her at the train station yesterday. This morning, when he’d escorted her to the hospital and introduced her to the chief nurse, she’d donned an air of confidence. Even so, she couldn’t disguise the dark circles beneath her eyes, nor the slight hesitation in her step.

The front door clicked open, and Nell scurried to the entryway. “Mary, come in, child, and take a rest before supper.” Arm around her daughter’s shoulder, she prodded her toward the sofa. “You’d no trouble finding the right trolley connections?”

“No trouble.” The corners of Mary’s mouth turned up ever so briefly. She stared at the sofa as if she couldn’t decide whether to sit down or fall down.

Donald sat up straighter, concern tightening his chest. “I’d have waited to see you home, but I didn’t know how long they’d keep you on your first day.”

“It’s fine. I ended the day with a tour of the nurses’ quarters.” Mary unpinned her cap. Clutching it at her waist, she ran trembling fingertips along the crest. “Everyone was very nice. They’ll have a room for me by the weekend.”

“That’s lovely, dear.” Nell gave her daughter another nudge toward the sofa. “Would you like a glass of lemonade? How about an oatmeal cookie?”

Mary gave her head a small shake. “If it’s all the same, I’ll just lie down for a bit.”

Nell pressed her hand to her mouth as she watched her daughter trudge to the guest room. Then, facing Donald, she released a gentle sigh. “Did we do the right thing bringing her here?”

“It was her choice, darling.” Setting aside his glass, Donald pushed up from the chair. He drew his wife into his arms and stroked her silky red hair. “Mary’s resilient, just as you said. Give her a few days to get her bearings and catch up on her rest, and I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

He only wished he believed his own words.

Chapel worship had already begun when Gilbert slipped into the back pew the following Sunday morning. He’d come to crave Samuel’s preaching—even more, his friendship—like the drugs he vowed never to fall victim to again.

Afterward, as Samuel greeted the departing patients and staff, Gilbert held back until only he and Samuel remained.

Samuel turned toward him with a knowing smile. “Saw you sneaking in during the opening hymn. Next time, why don’t you actually sing with us instead of pretending to find the right page?”

“Too obvious, eh?” Gilbert chuckled. “You haven’t heard me sing, or you wouldn’t even suggest such a thing.”

“You’re right, I haven’t. Not in all the time I’ve known you.” Samuel motioned Gilbert through the chapel doors. “Which is sad, isn’t it? Don’t you know singing is good for the soul?”

“I doubt my off-key caterwauling qualifies. As for my soul?” Gilbert’s voice thickened. “It’ll take a lot more than a church hymn to cure what ails me.”

Sam gave Gilbert’s shoulder an understanding pat. “Got any plans for Sunday dinner?”

Gilbert shrugged. “I have a standing invitation at Mother’s, which I prefer to ignore.”

“Then come home with me. Annemarie will have something delicious on the stove, I’m sure.”

Gilbert’s heart gave a slow, deep thud. He drew to one side of the corridor. “Thanks, but . . . I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

Halting a few steps away, Sam glanced over his shoulder, brows meeting in a disbelieving scowl. “It’s a perfectly fine idea. And I won’t take no for an answer.” His mouth softened, turning up at the corners. “Neither will Annemarie.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Backtracking, Sam grabbed Gilbert’s arm and steered him toward the exit. “You’re driving, naturally. It’s too hot to walk, the trolleys can be crowded, and I still refuse to buy an automobile.”

Gilbert couldn’t help but laugh. “What I like about you, Sam, is you never change.”

It was the truth. Even with all they’d been through, all that had once stood between them, Gilbert always knew he could count on Samuel’s unwavering friendship and loyalty. Although he wasn’t so certain about Sam’s sanity just now. Did the man honestly believe the three of them—Gilbert, Sam, and Annemarie—could sit down together for Sunday dinner as if the last several months had never happened?

By the time Gilbert parked his roadster in the driveway of Sam and Annemarie’s house, perspiration soaked his undershirt, and only partly because of the noontime August heat. He shut off the engine and then scraped damp palms along his pants legs. “I haven’t seen Annemarie since before . . .”

Sam caught his wrist. “It’s all right, Gil. Trust me.”

Together they walked to the front door, Gilbert’s stomach churning more violently with every step. Reaching the porch, he held back. “You should go in first, make sure she’s okay with my being here. No sense blindsiding her with a surprise dinner guest.”

Lips pursed, Samuel pulled open the screen door and stepped inside. “Annie? I’m home, and I brought company.”

“Oh, good,” came Annemarie’s cheery reply, “because I fried up much more chicken than the two of us could eat in a week! Who is it, sweetheart?”

“An old friend.” Sam glanced through the screen at Gilbert. “Come and see for yourself.”

Seconds later, Annemarie appeared from the back of the house, a crisp gingham apron tied at her waist. Gilbert held his breath as she met Samuel in the foyer and they shared a kiss. Then, peering over Sam’s shoulder, she gave a quick gasp, and her huge brown eyes widened even more. A happy smile lighting her face, she brushed past Sam and pushed open the screen door.

“Gilbert . . . Gilbert!” His name upon her lips brought an ache to his chest. She cradled his cheeks in her palms, her gaze filling with both welcome and forgiveness. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve missed you terribly.”

Gilbert couldn’t trust his own voice to reply. He closed his eyes briefly, too overcome to do more than stand there and savor this blessed moment of reconciliation. Then gently, ever so gently, he probed his emotions, searching, testing, examining each fleeting response. With sweet relief, he found only the deepest friendship in his heart for Annemarie. No jealousy, no resentment, no desire to reclaim what once was his . . . what once he’d so callously tossed aside.

“Well, come in, come in!” Looping her arm through his, Annemarie virtually dragged him into the house. “Sam, pour some iced tea, and both of you get down to your shirtsleeves. Dinner will be on the table in five minutes.”

Stunned, Gilbert allowed Sam to help him out of his suit coat. While Sam went to the bedroom to change out of his uniform, Gilbert wandered into the cozy parlor, where the breeze from an electric fan played with the gauze curtains. Spying Sam and Annemarie’s wedding portrait over the fireplace, Gilbert moved in for a closer look.

His breath hitched. He’d never seen Annemarie looking more beautiful . . . or more in love.

And now he was jealous. Very jealous indeed. And not because he begrudged Annemarie and Samuel their happiness, but because he desperately wanted to taste such happiness for himself.

With Mary.

He turned away, pain arcing through his chest. Would he ever see her again? Would he ever have the chance to prove he could be the man she needed him to be?

Later, seated at the Vickarys’ dining room table, Gilbert strove to be a polite guest, but though both Samuel and Annemarie did everything possible to make him feel welcome and accepted, he couldn’t relax. When at the end of the meal Annemarie rose to gather their dinner plates, she paused at Gilbert’s place and cast him a worried frown.

“Was it my cooking?” she asked, inspecting a half-eaten chicken breast lying amid the lima beans he’d done little more than push around with his fork. “Mama’s been giving me lessons. I thought I’d improved.”

“No, not at all. I mean, you have. I mean—” Groaning, Gilbert crumpled his napkin beside his iced tea glass. “It was delicious. I guess I wasn’t very hungry.”

Annemarie’s hand drifted across his shoulder in a comforting gesture before she carried a stack of plates to the kitchen.

Pushing back his chair, Samuel laid his napkin aside and crossed his legs. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Gil. I can see how badly you’re missing Mary, and I’m sorry if inviting you over today has only made it worse.”

“Actually, in a strange way I think it’s helping. Spending time with you and Annemarie has been . . . healing. Yes, I want what you have, but even if happiness with Mary is never to be mine, I know somehow I’ve got to pull myself together and find a way to go on without her.”

“You’ve heard nothing from her? Nothing at all since she left for D.C.?”

Gilbert slowly shook his head. “And I don’t expect to.” Clenching his fist, he quietly pounded the table. “What’s wrong with me, Sam? Why do I keep ruining things with the women I love?”

Sam didn’t answer right away while he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Don’t put all the blame on yourself, Gil. I have the sense Mary’s leaving had less to do with your failings than with her own.”

“That’s crazy.” Shifting, Gilbert shot Sam a dubious glare. “I caused this. I’ve abused her trust too many times to count.”

“But she knows you’ve changed. She knows how hard you’ve worked to put the past behind you. No,” Sam continued, leveling his gaze upon Gilbert, “something else is holding her back. The problem, I believe, is Mary is afraid to trust her own heart.”