Hearts in Hiding

by Patty Smith Hall

  Another swift judgment on her part. Edie wasn’t sure how to rectify the situation, but she had to try. “You’re right. Why don’t we pray about it now?”

  He held out his hand to her. “That’s a great idea.”

  His fingers felt warm and callous against the tender skin of her palm. Masculine. Protective. “Go ahead.”

  He gave her a reassuring squeeze that sent a shaft of warmth up her arm, then bowed his head. Edie followed his lead, shutting her eyes. Please, Lord, please give me some kind of answer this time. I want to help Merrilee and Claire.

  “Dear Father, Edie and I are coming to You today with a problem.” Beau laid out his concerns about the letters and asked God to forgive James for stealing them. His hand tightened around hers as he spoke. “The truth is, we’re not sure what to do about this situation. So if You could show us what the right thing to do by Merrilee, Claire and John is, we’d appreciate it. Lead us, guide us and forgive us, Lord. Amen.”

  She sniffed back the tears crowding her throat and nose. “That was a lovely prayer, Beau.”

  “I don’t know about that. Only hope I didn’t make a mess of it.”

  Why he told her that, she wasn’t sure. But there was something endearing about his confession, an openness she hadn’t expected from him. A tenderness she’d never felt toward any other person welled up inside her, frightening in a way, yet she couldn’t stop it—nor did she want to.

  She scolded her heart. Was this what it felt like to fall in love? But she couldn’t. Love couldn’t survive without trust. Until she told Beau the truth about how she came to the Bell, about how her parents had betrayed their country, nothing could come of these feelings taking root inside her. And she could never tell him, not if she hoped to remain hidden from her family, from the Nazi sympathizers her father had enlisted to ship her to Germany.

  “You ready to give me your opinion on the rest of the place?”

  Edie nodded, her pulse thundering against her eardrums when Beau pressed his hand to the small of her back, his fingers warm through the cotton material of her coveralls. She had to hold on to her heart. She didn’t have any other choice.

  Chapter Ten

  Edie turned the page of the newspaper, scanning the various advertisements and articles. She toed off one high heel, then another, stretching out her feet, trying to get the blood flow back in her toes. They had been swamped in the emergency room all afternoon, but Dr. Lovinggood had forced her into taking a break. Didn’t want another fainting episode on his hands.

  Oh, here were the scores. Edie folded the paper, creasing it until she could hold it in one hand. She then grabbed her apple from the table, and leaning back in her chair, began to read.

  “What’s so interesting?”

  Her heart did a little hiccup. She looked up over the top of the newspaper to see Beau, horribly handsome in his dark blue tie and white physician’s coat. His long, purposeful strides covered the distance across the break room until only the table separated them.

  Work on James Daniels’s house was going slow. With all the garbage that needed to be cleaned out, they’d barely made a dent. But sitting on the floor, shifting through the piles of mail left unanswered for years, talking to Beau had become her favorite time of the day. Maybe because he could make her laugh with his stories of traveling the country with the Civil Conservation Corp. And they ended each day with a prayer, waiting for an answer about the letters James had stolen from Merrilee.

  Beau’s hand tipped the top of her paper. “Well, it’s not the front page, and the society page only comes out once a week.”

  “It’s the sports page.” Edie grimaced against her automatic answer. All her life, Momma had warned her that boys didn’t like a girl who took too much interest in baseball or building things. That fact had never bothered her much, not even in college.

  So what would Beau Daniels think about her love of baseball?

  Leaning forward, he glanced down at the paper between her fingers, then back up again, his lips twitching up at the corners in that familiar smile that did funny things to her midsection. “I didn’t know you liked sports.”

  Heat climbed up the back of her neck. “I grew up listening to the Tigers play.”

  “A baseball fan, huh?” Beau pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. “Who’s your favorite?”

  “Charlie Gehringer. I mean, I know he lost his position to Billy Hitchcock but I’m hoping…” His bemused expression stopped her. “What?”

  “It’s not often you meet a woman who really knows her stuff about baseball.” He nodded toward the paper on the table. “But there’s no baseball because of the war.”

  “I’m following the local high school team. They’ve got a great leftie who got them to the playoffs.”

  “The Jones kid.” Beau leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, the cotton jacket pulling tight over solid muscle. “I heard about him.”

  “You follow the Indians?”

  “My old high school. So how did they do yesterday?”

  For the next several minutes, they talked baseball: the Indians’ win over rival Marietta High, Beau’s first practice with the police department. It still surprised her how easy he was to talk to, not just about sports, but about everything.

  Everything except who she really was.

  “Mack told me about the Jones kid, said it was the first time the Georgia Crackers scout had been to the school since we played.”

  Edie blinked. “You were a minor league prospect?”

  His ruddy cheeks turned a deep red. Could he possibly be embarrassed? “Played first base with a three-ten batting average.”

  “No wonder Mack wanted you on their ball team.” Sitting back in her chair, she pressed the unbroken skin of the apple to her upturned lips. “You’re a ringer.”

  “Eat your apple.” The sly smile he gave her made her heart quiver. “You need to keep your strength up.”

  Giving in to the smile, she took a small bite. Why had she worried Beau would rake her over the coals about baseball, about fainting spells? Maybe because her parents always had. “Have you been busy upstairs?”

  “Swamped. We admitted a couple of patients this afternoon for observation.” He stretched his long legs out beneath the table, and she wondered if his wound ached. “One’s got a light case of polio, but the other took a turn about an hour ago. We’re transferring her to Crawford Long as soon as the ambulance can get here.”

  He didn’t have to tell her what that meant. An iron lung. “That’s seven cases in the last couple of weeks. You’d think Dr. Lovinggood would be in touch with the school board to cancel classes until the danger passed.”

  Beau shrugged. “Claire’s already had a few polio days since I got back home. And most of the cases have been light so far.”

  “What about that patient you transferred downtown?”

  “It’s just one case, Edie.” But the deepening lines around his eyes and mouth told her that he was more concerned than his words let on.

  “I just worry about the kids, you know.”

  His warm hand settled over hers. “I worry about Claire, too, but she’ll be okay. I’m keeping my eye on her.”

  Edie nodded, her fingers tingling beneath his touch. She wasn’t sure when she’d begun to trust him—perhaps when she’d heard him pray for guidance over Merrilee’s letters, so humbly, with such earnest. A girl could learn a great deal about a man listening to him converse with his Heavenly Father.

  And what she’d learned of Beau Daniels broke her heart.

  The door swung open, and one of the newer nurses from the surgical floor poked her head around the corner. “There you are, Beau. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  The hint of familiarity in the woman’s voice grated on Edie. The woman had something of a reputation with the staff, making eyes at the doctors, sometimes with the injured soldiers. Beau had to have enough sense to see the girl for what she was. A flirt.

&nbs
p; Edie shifted slightly toward him. “We’ve been taking a break.”

  His warm hand tightened over Edie’s, and her world shifted. Why did his touch bring so much comfort to her mixed-up life? Was it because out of everyone she’d met in Marietta, Beau seemed to be the one who might understand the mess her parents had made of things, recognize the guilt she felt?

  He turned to the nurse. “What is it, Natalie?”

  The woman’s smile slipped a fraction. Maybe Beau hadn’t been assuring her as much as using her to get this particular bloodhound off the scent. “Dr. Lovinggood needs you downstairs STAT.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  Natalie gave Beau a bright smile, but when she glanced at Edie, her expression turned frosty. With one last glance, she shut the door behind her.

  Beau let go of her hand, a slight chill replacing the heat that had centered in her chest around her heart. Pushing back from the table, he stood, so tall she had to tilt her head back. She cleared her throat. “What do you think Lovinggood needs with you?”

  “Probably wants me to help him with some procedure or something. He’s been doing that a lot here lately.”

  “Only because he knows you ought to be thinking about medical school.”

  Edie wished the words back even as she said them. Beau gripped the back of his chair with both hands, the skin across his knuckles pulled tight across the bone. “I’ve got a lot going on with Dad, not to mention Merrilee and Claire. It may be years before I save up the money to go.”

  “Your aunt seems to be doing pretty good on her own.”

  “Well, I’m going to see that she does better.”

  Edie hurriedly stood. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? But she couldn’t. “It’s like you’re obsessed with making a good life for Merrilee, whether she wants you to or not.”

  “She deserves it.”

  “You're not to blame for what your father did to Merrilee.” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “God gave you a gift for helping sick people. Are you saying He was wrong when He did that?”

  But she might as well have been talking to an empty room for all the notice Beau gave her. The door opened, and then he was gone.

  * * *

  The sharp clang of metal crashing against the tile floor met Beau as he stood in the entrance of the emergency room. Past the nurses’ desk at the second bed to the left, Nurse Arnold plunged a needle into a brownish glass bottle and pulled back on the syringe. Dr. Lovinggood grabbed a surgical towel from a pile on the bed and packed it into a gaping wound in the man’s side. Dark pools of blood puddled on the floor around the bed while the sheets were streaked in bright red.

  “What happened?”

  Edie. It figured she would follow him, would have continued their discussion if not for the scene playing out in front of them, but her words echoed in his head. God isn’t wasteful. So why would the Lord give him this incredible talent for helping the sick if Beau would never be able to use it?

  “I could use a little help over here.”

  “Yes, sir.” He hurried over to the bed, aware of Edie trailing close behind him. Grabbing another towel, Beau folded it and pressed it into the wound.

  Lovinggood straightened beside him. “We need to get him into surgery, but I want to get a couple of units of blood in him first.”

  “You don’t have time to type and cross match. Do we have any dried plasma?”

  “A couple of bottles in the pharmacy,” the doctor replied. “But I don’t have much experience with it.”

  Beau reached for another towel, but Edie was there, holding it ready for him, as if she knew what he planned to do next. He bunched the cloth up and folded it into the oozing wound. “On the battlefield, we found that plasma gave us a better chance of getting the wounded back to the field hospital alive.”

  Lovinggood eyed him before nodding to Nurse Arnold. “Could you call down to the pharmacy and have someone bring us up a bottle of plasma and a liter of saline?”

  Apprehension flickered through him. The patient would be on his way to the morgue by the time the pharmacy filled Lovinggood’s order.

  “I’ll go pick it up. It’ll be faster that way.”

  He glanced at Edie over his shoulder. Had the woman read his mind? “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Beau sat back on his heels, satisfaction thrumming through his veins. It had always been like this for him, this sense of purpose, of holding off death by rendering aid to the hurting. He had saved a life!

  Maybe Edie was right. Maybe God had given him a gift, whether he deserved it or not. He could almost imagine what it would be like, spending his days solving the puzzle of a difficult diagnosis, comforting when all medical options had been expended. To come home content every night in your work.

  But who would he share that contentment with?

  Beau held the towels in place while Nurse Arnold adjusted the oxygen mask on the patient’s face. Where had that thought come from? Probably from watching Maggie and Wesley together, two parts completing each other, reading each other’s thoughts sometimes.

  Just like Edie had read his.

  “So how did this gentleman get stabbed in the first place?” Nurse Arnold’s voice broke through Beau’s musings.

  “All we know is that a fight broke out at a gas station down on Roswell Road because someone wasn’t crazy about his name.” Lovinggood didn’t look up from the chart in his hand. “And I’m betting it wasn’t his first time in a fight.”

  Beau grabbed another towel. The bleeding had slowed, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “Why would you say that?”

  The doctor lifted his gaze from the documents. “His name is Joseph Schmitt.”

  German American, just like Edie.

  Beau held the towel tight to the wound, stemming the flow of blood. He’d been so worried about protecting Merrilee and Claire, but he hadn’t given any thought to who would protect Edie Michaels.

  Chapter Eleven

  The old church looked so much smaller than Beau remembered. Stained-glass windows reliving the scenes of Jesus’s ministry lined both sides of the sanctuary, the bright reds and blues casting a vivid kaleidoscope across the wooden pews. It was early still, but a few people had beat him to the church. Most he didn’t recognize, but those he did came by to shake his hand and welcome him home.

  Pastor Hubert Williams walked up the aisle, his suit coat flung over his arm, his white shirtsleeves rolled up as if he’d been preaching for a full hour already. He was grayer, a bit shorter and still just as friendly as Beau remembered, stopping to talk to each person.

  “Preacher?” Beau called out.

  The man turned and studied him for a moment before recognition dawned in the gray eyes staring over the top of wire-framed glasses. “Beau?”

  Beau led with his hand. “Yes, sir.”

  The preacher clasped his hand and pulled Beau into a bear hug. “I heard you were back, son. I bet Merrilee is beside herself.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I’m enjoying being home.” Beau shifted back, glancing toward the door as another couple walked into the sanctuary. “Can I talk to you for just a minute?”

  Williams glanced down at his wristwatch, nodding. “We’ve got a little time before the service starts. Would you like to go back to my office?”

  “No, this will only take a second.” Beau sat down. Now that he had the pastor’s attention, he wasn’t exactly sure how to start this conversation; he only knew that it had to be done.

  The pastor took the seat beside him. “What can I do for you, Beau?”

  “That’s the thing—you’ve already done it.” The pastor’s puzzled look prompted Beau to continue. “I need to thank you. All those years ago, when I sat in the back row trying to ignore the preaching, it somehow managed to get through to me anyway.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that, son.” Williams clapped him on the shoulder. “Merrilee’s been praying for you for y
ears.”

  And his aunt’s prayers had been the only thing that helped him survive during his year in Moosberg. One day, when he was ready to share the details, he’d thank Merrilee.

  The two men talked for a few more minutes before Preacher Williams stood up to go. “I want to thank you, Beau. This morning, I had some trouble dragging myself out of bed. But hearing how God’s been working in your life, it’s put a fire in my belly today.”

  “I’m looking forward to listening to you, Preacher. It’s been too long.”

  As the pastor walked away, Beau stretched his arms out along the back of the pew. It had been a long time since he’d been here, not regularly since his mother ran out on their family when he was ten. Well, that would change now that he was back home. He needed accountability and encouragement in growing his new faith.

  He sensed Edie’s presence before he saw her, a kind of awareness he heard the other guys in his platoon talk about but had never actually experienced himself. Shifting in his seat, he watched her, noting how people reacted to her with a level of respect and affection usually reserved for natives. Her blue dress accentuated her feminine form, the skirt flaring slightly below her knees. Her wide-brimmed hat slanted, hiding her face, leaving only a pair of bloodred lips in view.

  And in her gloved hands, she held a Bible. From his vantage point, Beau could see the cracked leather cover looked as if it had been opened and read many times over the years.

  “Cousin Beau!” Claire walked along the edge of the pew and sat down, curling up into his side.

  Something wasn’t right. Claire usually bounced through life, faster than this lethargic pace. And was it just him, or did the little girl look a bit peaked around the eyes? “You’re awfully quiet this morning.”

  “Momma says we’re supposed to be quiet in church.” She stared up at him with wide-eyed innocence. “If we’re not, we won’t be able to hear God talking to us.”