The Highest of Hopes

by Susan Anne Mason

  Emma shrugged. “Don’t worry. I don’t know much shorthand yet, so that likely won’t happen.” She frowned and focused back on her typewriter.

  She’d almost finished the letter when the professor’s door opened abruptly. She jumped and her fingers hit a few keys at the same time.

  “Miss Moore? Can I see you in my office?”

  Emma bit back an unladylike word and ripped the paper out of the machine. “Yes, sir.”

  Seconds later she entered the office, notebook and pencil in hand.

  “Close the door, please,” Randall said without looking up.

  Emma did as he asked and took a seat in front of the desk.

  “How is Corinne feeling this morning?” she asked brightly in an attempt to lessen the tension that blanketed the room.

  “I wouldn’t know since she wasn’t awake before I left the house.” He raised his head and gave Emma a hard stare. “Now I want you to tell me the real story of what transpired last night.”

  Emma swallowed. What could she say that wouldn’t get either Will or Corinne in trouble? “I didn’t actually see what happened. At the time, Jonathan was doing his best to keep me from falling on my behind.” She gave a nervous laugh, but her father only stared.

  “From what I can gather,” she went on, “Will was skating with Corinne when something caused her to stumble. She went down before he could catch her, and I know he feels terrible about that.” There, a plausible explanation that made Will look competent and Corinne an innocent victim.

  “What else?”

  “Jonathan and I heard the commotion and went to see what had happened. He and Will helped Corinne off the rink. After examining her ankle, Jonathan determined that she should be seen by a doctor.” She shrugged. “That’s when we took her to Toronto General.”

  “I see.” Randall tapped his pen on the blotter in an agitated fashion, then leaned forward. “Is there something going on between Will and my daughter that I should know about?”

  Emma fought to keep her expression neutral. “What gave you that impression?”

  “The fact that Will couldn’t look me in the eye last night. And the nervous way my daughter was acting. She couldn’t get upstairs fast enough. That leads me to believe there was more to this little accident than everyone is saying.”

  Emma hesitated. She had the chance to share something with her father, to perhaps gain his gratitude for her candor, but by doing so, she would lose any chance of forming a bond with her sister. She let out a breath. “I don’t know anything for certain, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s possible that Corinne has a crush on Will. Perhaps that made her clumsy around him?”

  Emma waited for his reaction, praying that she hadn’t got Will or Corinne in trouble.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Has Will ever mentioned his feelings for Corinne to you?”

  “Oh goodness no. We only ever talk about work. Nothing personal.” She paused. “Although we did talk about Marianne’s condition after we took her to see the doctor.”

  Randall nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “Will’s always been very solicitous with Marianne. Treats her like a little sister.”

  Emma hesitated while Randall brooded. She’d always had a soft spot for romance, especially forbidden ones. Perhaps she could do something to further Will and Corinne’s relationship.

  “Will seems like a fine chap. And you’re obviously fond of him. Would it be so terrible if he did have feelings for Corinne?”

  Randall’s gaze swung to her, then his eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Will is too old for her. And Corinne is much too young to be thinking of marriage. She has her whole future ahead of her.”

  “I beg to disagree,” Emma said softly. “She’s exactly the right age for such dreams.” She paused. “I was engaged when I was Corinne’s age.”

  Randall’s gaze remained even, though one brow rose. “Did your grandfather consent to this?”

  “Yes, because he thought highly of Danny. Danny wanted us to marry before he left for the war, but I didn’t want to rush into it, so we settled for an engagement.” She smiled sadly, thinking of the ring hidden in her suitcase. “He never made it back.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been extremely painful.”

  Emma swallowed. Not as much as it should have been. “It was, though the years apart had made me realize I didn’t love Danny enough to marry him. I’d planned to break our engagement once he returned home. Thankfully he never knew that.”

  “You seem quite mature for your age,” Randall said. “Corinne is a different creature. Impulsive, rebellious, and, dare I say, a tad self-centered.” Randall pushed his chair back and rose. “Vera wants her to find a suitable young man to marry. But I feel Corinne needs to learn there’s more to life than being married. I want her to go to college, find a career she’s passionate about.” He paced back and forth behind his desk.

  Emma leaned back in her chair. Who knew her father was so progressive in his attitude toward women? “I champion your belief that a woman can have a career. But is that what Corinne wants? Forcing her to go to college would be almost as bad as forcing her to marry.”

  Randall stopped and stared.

  “What I’m trying to say is, doesn’t Corinne deserve the chance to make her own decisions about her life?”

  “What if she’s simply not mature enough to make such an important decision and throws away her chance to have a fulfilling career?”

  “I don’t think that will happen. In any event, who’s to say she can’t go to college and date a boy at the same time? One doesn’t have to preclude the other. Besides, the more you forbid it, the more enticing it will become.”

  Randall studied Emma for a minute. “You make a valid point. Perhaps I have been looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps making some concessions with Corinne might make her more receptive to my ideas.”

  She smiled. “Spoken like a true politician.”

  Randall threw back his head and laughed out loud.

  Emma blinked, certain this was the first time she’d ever seen her father laugh. His eyes brightened and the strain about his mouth eased. He looked unburdened, lighter.

  “You, young lady, are very wise for your years. Perhaps I’ve underestimated your talents.” He resumed his seat behind the desk. “Instead of wasting your time on that infernal typewriter, I think I should utilize your skills elsewhere.”

  Emma smiled, basking in his unexpected praise. “Wherever I can be the most help. Perhaps on your campaign team?”

  “Really? You surprise me. I didn’t think you’d be interested in local politics.”

  “To be honest, I probably wouldn’t be, except that you’re involved.”

  He tilted his head to one side, studying her. “Let me give the matter some thought. In the meantime, I’d like to invite you to Corinne’s graduation party.”

  A warm glow spread through Emma. “I’d love to attend—as long as Corinne doesn’t mind.”

  “Good. Then I’ll arrange it.” The furrows in his brow eased. “In the future, feel free to provide any insight you think appropriate in dealing with Corinne. Lord knows I can use the advice.”

  “I’ll do my best. Oh, and I did promise Marianne I’d go with her to her next therapy session, if that’s all right.”

  “I have no objection, though I will have to discuss it with Vera.”

  Emma’s hope dimmed. Likely Vera wouldn’t allow her anywhere near Marianne.

  Randall leaned across the desk. “Don’t worry too much about Vera. Give her some time and she’ll come around.”

  Emma smiled as she rose from her chair.

  Hopefully by Corinne’s graduation, Vera would realize that Emma meant her family no harm. That all she wanted was to be included.

  And if Vera gave her blessing, maybe Randall would at last acknowledge Emma as his daughter.

  CHAPTER 15

  “How do you like this setup?” Seated in the university lecture hall, Reggie elbowed Jonathan in
the side. “Is it as fancy as Oxford?”

  Jonathan took in the impressive theatre-like seating that rose all the way to the back of the room so that everyone had a clear view of the speaker below. “Nothing can compare to Oxford,” he replied dryly, “but this comes pretty close.”

  Reggie’s laughter echoed in the large room. Jonathan ducked farther back in his seat. Like a true repressed Brit, Jonathan couldn’t quite get used to Reggie’s easygoing, boisterous personality.

  Then the lecturer began to speak, effectively ending their conversation. An hour later, the man assigned readings, as well as an assignment for the next class, and then promptly strode out, leaving nothing but chalk dust in his wake.

  “He sure doesn’t hang around for any chitchat afterward,” Jonathan remarked.

  Reggie chuckled. “No, sir. If you need help, you have to make an appointment and go to his office.” He picked up his books, tucked them in a bag that he slung over his shoulder, then grabbed the crutches from the seat beside him.

  Jonathan suppressed the urge to help him up, knowing his friend would take offense at the implication that he was an invalid. Sure enough, Reggie rose with little effort and situated the crutches under his arms. A piece of paper floated to the ground.

  Jonathan reached to pick it up and frowned. “I’d almost forgotten about this.”

  Reggie looked down at the paper in Jonathan’s hands. “The debate with the mayor. Don’t tell me you’re getting involved in local politics?”

  “Believe me, I’d rather not. Unfortunately, I promised Emma.” He pointed at the small photo. “That’s her father.”

  “Randall Moore?” Reggie let out a whistle.

  “Yes.” Jonathan studied his friend. “Do you know him?”

  “Just from the last election. I did go to hear one of his speeches.” He shook his head. “Can’t say I was impressed.”

  Tingles raced up Jonathan’s spine. “What makes you say that?”

  Reggie shrugged as he started down the aisle. “Seemed cold to me. And somewhat fake, as though he was putting on an act. I think that’s why he lost.”

  Interesting. “You know us British. Cool and aloof.”

  “That may work in England, but if you want to win people over in this country, you have to be friendlier. You know, shake a lot of hands, kiss a lot of babies, and smile.”

  “True enough.” Jonathan followed him into the hall, amazed at how fast his friend could travel. Once Reggie navigated the steps outside, he paused on the walkway below, the breeze fluttering his pant leg.

  “You’re quite an expert maneuvering around on those things,” Jonathan said. “I can barely keep up with you.”

  Undaunted by the stares of the people passing by, Reggie laughed as they continued walking. “I should be by now with all the practice I get. Though I can’t say I’ll miss the crutches once I get my new leg.”

  Jonathan stopped dead on the path. “A new leg? That’s wonderful. Will it be a wooden one?”

  “It’ll be a bit more sophisticated than what you’re picturing, but yes. Wood and metal. I go for my first fitting tomorrow.” Reggie gave him an apprehensive glance. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into coming to the appointment with me? That way my mom won’t feel obligated to go.”

  “At the military hospital?” The mere words conjured up awful memories of rows and rows of metal cots, filled with men suffering from all kinds of horrific wounds. The putrid smells, the groans and screams of the soldiers as the doctors made their rounds. It wasn’t a place Jonathan ever wanted to visit again.

  “Yeah,” Reggie said. “I’ve been going there once a week for therapy. They try to toughen up the stump area so it will accept the new leg more easily.” The tense expression on his friend’s face told Jonathan it had taken a lot to ask for his help with the fitting.

  There was no way he could refuse. Jonathan drew in a deep breath of fresh air and forced a smile. “I’m sure I can work my schedule around the appointment time.”

  “Great.” Relief washed over Reggie’s features. “Having a fellow soldier along will be much manlier. Especially since there’s this cute nurse I’m trying to impress.”

  Despite his trepidation, Jonathan could only laugh. “Trust you to use the situation to your advantage.”

  The next day, Jonathan and Reggie took a streetcar to the military hospital on Christie Street. The doctor’s office was located in the basement, which Jonathan thought rather odd, an opinion further reinforced as they walked to the farthest corner in the back.

  “Does this chap not warrant a better office than this?” Jonathan squinted in the dim light of the hallway. “Seems rather dingy for someone as well regarded as you described.”

  “The doc is a bit quirky, but he knows his stuff. He was injured in the war too and now makes it his mission to help guys like me get back on their feet.” Reggie grinned. “Literally and figuratively.”

  When they came to the end of the hall, Reggie knocked on the last door and waited until it opened and a man came forward.

  “Private Wentworth. Good to see you. Come in.”

  “Hey, doc. I brought a friend of mine visiting from England. Jonathan Rowe, this is Dr. Clayborne.”

  The doctor was a good-looking fellow, although far too grim for Jonathan’s liking. If he was trying to help veterans, a smile could go a long way. He shook Jonathan’s hand.

  “Jonathan served in the war too,” Reggie said. “We met in the army infirmary in France.”

  Dr. Clayborne looked Jonathan up and down. “Are you here for treatment as well?”

  “No, sir. I’m just here for moral support.”

  The doctor’s face relaxed. “That’s nice of you. First-time fittings can be a grueling affair.” He gestured to the chairs. “Please have a seat. Dr. Fullman will be along any minute with the prosthetic.”

  When Reggie was situated on the exam table, Dr. Clayborne took his crutches and set them against the wall. He began to roll up Reggie’s pant leg. “Not squeamish, are you, Mr. Rowe?”

  Jonathan swallowed as visions of severed limbs and burned corpses flashed behind his eyes. “I don’t believe so.”

  Still, beads of sweat popped out on his forehead, belying his statement. He took out a handkerchief to dab his brow and upper lip. This was ridiculous. There was not a hint of fire here. No threat of danger. So why was his body turning traitor on him?

  He took a seat, but that only afforded him a more eye-level view of Reggie’s wound. The entire red, scarred end of his leg sat exposed before him. The doctor took a cloth and some type of solution and bathed the area.

  Jonathan looked away, tried to focus on the chart on the wall as the smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils. Closing his eyes didn’t help. All he could envision was the sea of bodies heaped one upon the other, missing arms, missing legs, riddled with bullet holes.

  He jumped up from the chair. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  Then he fled from the room, almost crashing into a gray-haired man carrying a wooden leg.

  He jogged down the hall to the staircase and up to the main floor, then out to the street. Leaning against the brick wall, Jonathan gulped the fresh air into his lungs. His heart hammered hard against his ribs. Sweat streaked down his neck and back, the hot sun not helping matters.

  He bent over his knees, willing his equilibrium to return. Other than in his recurring nightmares, this type of reaction hadn’t happened since the night he and Emma had dined at the professor’s house.

  “It’s getting worse. You need to talk to someone.” Emma’s admonition rang in his head.

  Jonathan knew she was right. He’d thought if he ignored what was happening, it would go away. But now the attacks seemed to sneak in at the most uenxpected moments.

  Times when people were depending on his help.

  Jonathan straightened. He had to pull himself together. Go back inside and be there for his friend. He mopped his face with his handkerchief and dragged in a few more deep b
reaths. Then he forced himself to walk back into the building.

  When he returned to the room, Reggie had the leg attached and was gingerly attempting to take a few steps. Jonathan watched from the doorway, wincing inwardly every time his friend did.

  “You’re doing very well,” the doctor said. “It might be helpful to use a cane for the first week or two until you get used to the new sense of balance.”

  “I guess practice makes perfect, eh, doc?” Though pale, Reggie grinned.

  “Yes, in small measures. You don’t want to irritate the stump too much. Give it time to get used to the device. Slow and steady will do. I’ll give you a schedule for the first week as to how long to wear it each day.”

  Reggie glanced up and noticed Jonathan. “There you are. I thought you bailed on me.”

  “Sorry. Needed a bit of fresh air. Still have a hard time with hospital smells.” How lame did that sound when his friend had far more reason to fear such institutions?

  “Why don’t you take the leg off now? I’ll pack it up for you to take home. I wouldn’t attempt wearing it on the streetcar until you’ve become quite comfortable with it.” The doctor assisted Reggie onto the exam table.

  Then he crossed the room to where Jonathan still hovered in the doorway, not quite committing to going back inside.

  “Mr. Rowe, I hope you don’t think me too forward,” he said in a low voice so that Reggie couldn’t hear, “but are you seeing anyone about your anxiety?”

  Jonathan stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  Compassion radiated from the man’s eyes. “War neurosis, or shell shock as it’s sometimes called, is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a very real condition—just as real as your friend’s missing leg. Without treatment, it can become debilitating.”

  “I do not have shell shock,” Jonathan bit out. Waves of heat shot through his chest. Did the man not realize the negative connotation associated with that term? Not to mention the stigma and the horrific treatments, like electric shock therapy. There was no way he was being subjected to that type of torture. “Thank you for your concern, doctor, but I’m fine.” He expelled a breath. “The fact that I don’t like hospitals doesn’t make me ready for a straitjacket.”