Chapter Thirty-Two
“I think it is better to know the worst, rather than trying to imagine it.”
~Ellen Emerson White
JOHNSTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1
Annamae stepped off the train, greeted by the acrid smell she’d come to know as Johnstown. From her vantage point, the town looked as if it had grown twice in size since she’d left two months ago. New construction was still progressing, and gaping holes where buildings used to stand remained, but it was a beautiful sight to behold. With a little hope, lots of determination, and kindness from others, this town would thrive again to usher in the twentieth century. She just hoped she’d be there when it did.
Gripping her bags more securely, she moved down the platform, prepared for the long walk ahead. The hills were afire with red and gold leaves. The valley was chilly, and she was grateful for the sun warming her shoulders. Streetcars were running. The opera house sign boasted a performance of Macbeth at year’s end. Annamae recognized faces here and there, but there were plenty of faces she’d never seen as well. More businesses had moved in, and the woolen mill appeared to be back in operation.
A whistle blasted and echoed through the hills, the Cambria Iron Works’ reminder that it was the noon hour.
The acreage below that once flowed with white tents was open ground now that the hospital had opened. Only the Red Cross warehouse remained, as well as the flag waving above the building. On the stop in Sang Hollow, she’d heard the Red Cross had dismantled and the workers had gone home. Annamae hoped her benefactress was still in town.
According to the papers, the people of Johnstown had presented Clara Barton with a diamond locket to show their appreciation for all her Red Cross had done to help them. Once she returned to Washington, President and Mrs. Harrison planned a grand feast at the Willard in her honor.
Twenty minutes later, Annamae arrived at headquarters, out of breath and arm muscles burning. Hetty was packing papers and record books into boxes, while a man Annamae didn’t know carried out the furniture. Annamae set her bags on a nearby chair. Relief flowed into her appendages. “Is Miss Barton still here?”
Hetty turned in surprise. “Annamae! Goodness, you’re back. Yes, she’s in the warehouse, taking stock of what remains so she can gift it to the supplies committee.” She looked at Annamae’s luggage, and her elated expression fell. “I’m sorry, but our work here is finished. Only a few of us remain, and we’ll be going home in the next day or two.”
“I understand. I’m here for a different purpose but wanted to see Miss Barton before she leaves.” Annamae lifted her burdens again. “It’s good to see you, Hetty. Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
Hetty went back to work, and Annamae went in search of Clara.
She found her at the rear of the warehouse, counting blankets stacked on top of a crate. One eyebrow raised when she spotted Annamae. She finished counting and notated the number before speaking. “You’re the last person I expected to see as we prepare to leave.”
Annamae shifted the weight of her bags. “I’ve been hired as a nurse at the Cambria hospital.”
“You’re leaving Washington?”
“Did you not find what you were seeking then?” Clara’s eyebrows pulled together.
Unable to hold on any longer, Annamae plunked her bags on the lid of a nearby crate. “In one way, I did.”
“And?” Clara put down the pencil and waited. She wasn’t going to let Annamae off easily.
“I realized that the actions of man will frustrate me the rest of my life if I allow them to. I won’t stop praying and doing my part to see a positive difference made, but I also won’t let the outcome rule my life anymore. It’s time to see what I can do for others instead of fixating on what I can do for myself.”
Satisfaction lifted the corners of Clara’s mouth. “Are you ready to rejoin the Red Cross? I can write a letter of recommendation to the Pittsburgh or Philadelphia chapters.”
“While I’ve adored working with you and appreciate every opportunity that afforded, I believe the Lord is calling me into a different kind of servanthood.”
A pastor’s wife, if Monty would have her.
Clara picked up her pencil and clipboard. “Well, you know my address and how much I enjoy catching up on my correspondence when time allows. I’ll look forward to hearing about this new venture.”
With a two-finger salute, Annamae reclaimed her luggage and continued her walk of humility up the hill to Monty’s house.
Proprietors swept their porches. Children played outside their homes, some barefoot with sprigs of grass tickling their toes. She’d read in the newspapers that several families who’d left after the flood had returned to Johnstown now that school was in session and the town was stable again. The city burst with life.
She’d never get to the top of Monty’s porch steps carrying her bags, so she left them sitting on the third step and finished the journey to his front door. Would he be happy to see her? Angry at her for leaving? Had he moved forward with his future and started courting someone else?
He hadn’t come to the train station to ask her to stay, nor had he written. Maybe this wasn’t a wise idea after all. Another case of her emotions overshadowing her good sense.
Mustering her courage, she rapped her knuckles against the door. A few seconds later, footsteps thumped closer. Her stomach knotted.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him until he stood on the other side of the open doorway.
He blinked. “Annamae.”
The entire ride from Washington to Johnstown, she’d thought about what she wanted to say when the moment came. Now she couldn’t remember one thought.
He glanced at her bags waiting on his steps and frowned. “Would you like to come in?”
She took a step forward, and he moved out of her way. He pointed to her luggage.
“They’re fine,” she croaked. “I can’t stay long.”
He closed the door behind them. “Are you only passing through?”
Job napped in the curve of the settee. The room smelled like meaty stew. Steam rose from a bowl at the table. A muffin—peach?—rested on a napkin beside the stew. She’d interrupted his lunch.
How she longed to see two bowls there. Every night. Forever.
“I …” She shoved away the image of what a future with him might look like. “I’ve been hired as a nurse at the new Cambria hospital.”
His brows rose. “What about Washington?”
“It doesn’t feel like home anymore.” As soon as she’d come to that conclusion, she’d made plans to vacate her apartment and given the hospital administration sufficient notice of her leaving.
“Does Johnstown feel like home?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.
My, he looked glorious. Bruises healed, his confident stance and the slightly arrogant curve of his lips stirred her blood.
“You feel like home, Monty,” she whispered.
The end of her nose burned, and she sniffed. “An unexpected person in the most unexpected of ways showed me I owe you a great apology for my behavior. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me, as I’ve been working very hard to forgive.”
She swiped the blasted tear she’d tried to keep from escaping. “I’m stubborn and fiery and imperfect, and forgiving the wrong done to my father will be a choice I’ll have to make every single day for the rest of my life, but a future with you is something I want more than revenge. If you still want me.”
He said nothing in return, simply stared at her. She squirmed beneath his scrutiny. When she decided she couldn’t bear another awkward moment, he opened the front door and left.
If a heart could physically split apart, hers had.
She squeezed her eyes closed, letting the tears come. He was too kind a man to voice what he really thought of her, so he’d left instead. She’d been foolish to come back.
Footsteps sounded again, and when she opened her eyes, he filled the open doorway, luggage in both hands. Kicking the door closed behind him, he moved to the settee and dropped the bags, scaring Job.
“Even though I’m a preacher, I’m not allowed to perform our own ceremony, so we’ll have to find another. Reverend Beale is gone. Had a disagreement with his congregation for using the church as a morgue without the elders’ permission. But I’m sure Reverend Palmer or Father Cline will agree as long as they’re available.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from melting into a simpering mess.
“That is, if you’re willing to accept a once-spoiled, pretentious, and imperfect man.”
She laughed, dropping her hand and nodding.
Through her haze of happy tears, he moved toward her with purpose and placed his palms against her cheeks. He lowered his mouth to hers and showed her just what a future with him would be like.
Her salty tears mingled with the savory taste of man and peaches. His lips were soft and commanding. Powerful yet controlled in that special way that made him Monty. A quiet moan vibrated in her throat.
He drew her closer, deepening the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, losing all sense of space and time. When her brain went fuzzy and every inch of her body was languid, he pulled away.
“Let’s go find that preacher.”