“A couple of weeks after the crash, he didn’t come home. Mother pretended nothing was wrong, but Allan and I sensed she was sick with worry. She never speaks of it.I thought she was afraid he’d…”
“You don’t have to finish that sentence.”
Her smile of gratitude lasted a fraction of a second before she was plunged back to those dark days. Despite Mother’s efforts to shield her children from the horrific news, they both somehow knew that other men, men of commerce like her father, had taken their own lives rather than face the consequences of financial ruin.
“My birthday was the next day.” She hadn’t intended to tell him that, but the words had arisen from her heart as if they were the words she was meant to say and that he was meant to hear. “The party had already been planned, but none of my friends came. Only the police following up on the missing person’s report.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Mother served them birthday cake while trying to answer their questions. As if it were all a huge mistake and Father would come walking in the door any minute. But he never did.”
Phillip seemed about to rise then apparently changed his mind and stayed seated. Somehow his inaction chilled her skin despite the heat of the cabin.
“Didn’t he ever write?” Phillip asked. “Surely he sent a message to your mother.”
“I used to ask. Every day, the moment I came through the door from school, I asked. The answer was always the same. When he didn’t come home for Christmas, I stopped asking.”
“I wish there was something I could do to help.”
Polite, clichéd words, but Eloise grabbed them like a drowning swimmer clutching a lifeline. She dug the article from her handbag and laid it on the table. The cut edges were as ragged as her emotions.
Phillip scanned the article. “Is this your father?”
“‘Prominent Seattle businessman, Leonard David Mitchell, to attend National Investments Gala,’” Eloise quoted from memory, “where he will receive the James Madison Award. Mr. Mitchell will be accompanied by his wife and children. The event takes place at the Hotel DeSoto in St. Louis, Missouri.”
“This is—”
“Unbelievable? A mistake?” Eloise bit the inside of her lip then grabbed the article and shoved it back into her purse. “He changed his last name, but it’s him.”
She thought she’d forgiven her father for running away. She’d even been thankful he’d chosen that option of escape instead of a more permanent one. But how could she forgive him for starting a new family when his first one had so desperately needed him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Phillip let out a breath of air. Did this mean Eloise’s father was a bigamist? Or had her mother kept their divorce a secret? Either way, the man was a first-class scumbag. Did he have any idea of the harm his cowardice had caused? Did he even care?
Phillip longed to take Eloise in his arms, to smooth away the tension around her eyes, and kiss away the tears that she was valiantly holding back. He’d almost stood to go to her side once already but curbed the impulse before he acted on it. A man could offer his sister a shoulder to cry on, but he didn’t kiss her. A professional agent didn’t kiss a colleague either.
The moment had passed for him to clarify what he’d intended to say before Eloise interrupted him. Not this is unbelievable, but this is why you were so upset in Seattle. She’d been blindsided by the discovery of her father’s betrayal. The best way Phillip could help her was to simply listen. With four sisters, he’d had a lot of practice, but none of them had ever experienced a situation as devastating as this.
Eloise blinked then looked straight at him. “Do you believe in coincidences?”
“Richard says a coincidence is never a coincidence.”
She seemed to consider that for a moment while still holding his gaze. “Then you agree it’s not a coincidence that I was in Seattle the day my father’s photo appeared in the newspaper. That I found it.”
He tilted his head in a vain attempt to foresee where she was headed. “What else could it be but a coincidence?”
“Maybe…” Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure. “Maybe God meant for me to find it.”
The hopeful expression in her eyes stopped him from expressing his reflexive skepticism. Besides, maybe she was right. He’d first read Oswald Chambers’s classic devotional, My Utmost for His Highest, when he was sixteen and perhaps four or five more times since then. A notable theme throughout the book was that God engineered circumstances to reveal His will. Had he done so here? If not, the only alternative explanation—that the entire incident was due to happenstance—seemed to take more faith than what Eloise was suggesting.
“Maybe He did,” he replied. Eloise’s expression didn’t change, as if she were expecting something more from him. But what? Phillip floundered with what to say. “Now you know your father is alive. That must be comforting.”
Her shoulders drooped.
Or not.
“Aren’t you glad—” Nope, wrong word. From the disappointed look in her eyes, it was the worst word he could have used. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Aren’t you relieved to know the truth? Even if it’s not…” The disappointment in her eyes deepened. He wanted to throw up his hands in frustration but managed to maintain his composure. He rarely had trouble consoling his sisters when they were upset. Why was Eloise making this so hard? Didn’t she realize he was only trying to help?
The urge to take her in his arms overwhelmed him, and he shrank into the corner of the sofa. Her expectant gaze followed him, silently pleading for…what? He didn’t know.
“I won’t pretend to understand,” he said, “how difficult this must be for you.” It was the only consolation he dared to give her. The only truth he could offer while keeping as much distance between them as he could manage in the cramped confines of the cabin.
“The train stops in St. Louis.” A simple, surprisingly matter-of-fact statement. No pleading. No whining.
He stared at her, then the proverbial light bulb finally turned on over his head. “You want to see him.”
“Correction. I want him to see me.”
A thousand thoughts clashed in Phillip’s mind as he tried sorting through possibilities, scenarios, and ramifications even as he questioned how he could consider going along with such a crazy idea. What did she expect? To confront her father at the gala? Humiliate him in front of the other participants?
Truth be told, he couldn’t blame her if that was her plan. He wouldn’t mind doing that himself. But he believed that any satisfaction Eloise received from publicly confronting her father would be fleeting.
Eloise broke into his thoughts. “I need to do this.”
“Do what, exactly?”
“I’m not sure.” Her cheeks flushed. “I understand we have a mission.”
“An important mission.”
“I can’t go to Springfield with you.” Her voice caught. “I’m sorry. This is my only chance to get any answers.”
His heart dropped to his stomach, not a reaction he expected to have. On the surface, he was miffed—more than miffed—that she would abandon their investigation. But deeper than that, he didn’t want her to abandon him—a ridiculous notion he couldn’t indulge in or should even acknowledge. Richard had chosen him to accompany Eloise because he trusted that Phillip wouldn’t become romantically involved with her. And he wouldn’t. No matter how much his heart tugged him in that direction. He needed to take control of this situation, to convince her to continue their trip.
“Maybe you should talk to your mother,” he suggested. “We can call her from the next station.”
“No.” Her tone was adamant. “She’s not been herself since Allan died. I can’t let her know about this until I have more details. It would kill her.”
“Unless,” Phillip said quietly, “she already knows.”
From the shocked expression on Eloise’s face, that idea had never occurred to her. “She would have told
me.”
“Maybe she wanted to protect you.”
Her chin trembled as she looked away. Phillip wavered on what he should do. Nancy liked to be alone when she was upset, but Janie didn’t. What did Eloise like?
“Forgive me for asking, but if Allan were here, what would he do to console you?”
To his surprise, Eloise emitted a small laugh. “He’d tell me to be brave.”
“Then that’s what I’m telling you.” He swallowed a sigh and hoped his uncle wouldn’t disown him. “The next stop is in Topeka. I’ll give Richard a call and let him know we’ll be a day late getting to Springfield.”
“You don’t have to go with me.”
“We’re partners. We stick together.”
A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to do this alone.”
And I didn’t want you to.
Now all he had to do was figure out what to tell Richard. The mission was supposed to come first. Always. But if Eloise was right, if God meant for her to confront her father, then Phillip trusted Him to work out the details.
Eloise lay on her side in the lower berth as the train sped across the Kansas plains toward Topeka. Phillip slept in the upper berth, the soft sounds of his breathing a comforting contrast to the mechanical whir of the train. She wished she could fall asleep so easily.
Despite her weariness, sleep eluded her. How foolish she’d been to show Phillip the article. Instead of telling him about her plan, she should have made an excuse to get off the train in St. Louis or left him a brief note and disappeared into the crowd. She suspected he would have searched for her though. An inexplicable shift had occurred over the past few days as the meager threads that had pulled them together when they first met drew tighter and multiplied.
She’d impulsively given him an injured piece of her heart, and he’d tended it with care. At first, she’d appreciated his offer to postpone their mission. But now? Her restless mind wouldn’t quiet down and leave her in peace.
Earlier, after he’d said they were partners, he volunteered to go to the club car so that she could have the cabin to herself. Once he was gone, she splashed cool water from the tiny sink on her stinging eyes. Alone with her thoughts, she pulled out the article and stared at her father’s photograph.
He hadn’t changed much in the sixteen years he’d been gone. Streaks of gray appeared at his temples, and he had more lines around his eyes than she remembered. But the confidence in his eyes as he stared at the camera suggested a lively personality at odds with the emotionally distant father who resided in her memory.
He’d been a good provider, ensuring his family lived in a comfortable home in a respectable neighborhood in Albany, New York. At her young age, Eloise knew only that her closet was full of pretty dresses, her toy box overflowed, and food was plentiful. Her father joined them for dinner then disappeared into his den until bedtime, when he reemerged.
With Eloise on one side and Allan on the other, he’d read one chapter from a book. Only one. His duty complete, he would send them with a peck on the cheek to find Mother, who made sure they brushed their teeth and said their prayers.
They were in the middle of a Hardy Boys mystery—she couldn’t remember which one—when Father disappeared. Eloise tried to finish the story, reading one chapter a night, and only one chapter, to Allan before bedtime. But it wasn’t the same without Father between them. She missed resting her cheek against the worn fabric of his favorite cardigan as his voice adapted to the events of the story. Sometimes it was deep and resonant, other times as soft as an eerie whisper.
She envisioned him reading the same stories to his new family. Could he do so without images of the long-ago bedtime ritual flickering in his mind? In his heart?
Childhood memories drifted around her. A few sad days but mostly happy ones, even after they’d moved to Mother’s hometown and rebuilt their lives as a fatherless family of three. If not for this horrid war, the rhythms of their uneventful and peaceful lives would have continued. Each new week began with worship and was followed by days of work and evenings of leisure. The seasons followed one another in a cycle as old as time.
Their renewed peace was brutally interrupted on a day of infamy when bombs dropped from the skies and young men died. The events precipitated tragic grief and unwelcome change.
Though her tangled thoughts still collided with one another, she finally succumbed to a restless, troubled sleep.
Bombs fall. Young men die.
Flames soar. Explosions knock her to the ground.
“Eloise?”
Allan calls her name. He’s there, in the distance. She reaches for him, and he grips her hand.
“Eloise, honey, wake up.”
“No,” she mutters. “No.” Deep inside the recesses of her mind, she understands that consciousness will cause her to lose this tenuous connection with her brother. She can’t let him go.
“You’re having a bad dream.” His voice is soft and kind. Familiar. But it interferes with her desperate wish to remain burrowed inside herself.
“A good dream,” she says.
“Then sleep.” Warm lips touch her forehead as she descends again into welcome darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
At the Topeka station, Phillip settled onto the phone booth’s wooden bench and closed the door. He didn’t want to make this call, but what choice did he have? Eloise had tried to talk him out of it, insisting that, for the sake of the mission, he had to go to Springfield on his own. He tried to persuade her to go with him and even promised to return with her to Seattle once the mission was over.
But she was dead set on seeing her father in St. Louis, and Phillip was just as stubborn. Where she went, he was going to go too, whether she liked it or not. He only hoped Uncle Richard would understand. A day’s delay was all he needed. Surely that could do no harm.
Yeah, right.
A lot could change in twenty-four hours, and in his line of work, it often did. But he couldn’t very well hog-tie Eloise to the cabin chair during the St. Louis layover. Neither could he allow her to go off on her own. She needed someone beside her when she found her father. Phillip was all she had.
When Richard answered the phone, Phillip launched into his spiel. “Mr. Whitmer, how nice to speak with you. Phillip Carter here.” The greeting would put Richard on alert that Phillip was calling from an unsecured line. The entire conversation would be a type of verbal jargon code. Hopefully, Richard could decipher it.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Carter?”
So far, so good. “We’ve had a hiccup in our travel plans. Turns out good old Dad is in St. Louis. We thought we’d stop in and see him.”
The line was silent a moment, but Phillip could imagine Richard’s mental wheels whirring as he worked out the message. He was familiar with Eloise’s dossier, so it wouldn’t take him long.
“How interesting,” Richard finally said. “Does he know you’re coming?”
“No, it’s a surprise.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Nope. Not even a little bit. “Sis has her heart set on seeing him. It’s been a long time.” Phillip let out a small chuckle. “Quite the coincidence, don’t you think, that we’d all be in the same place at the same time?”
“I don’t put much stock in coincidences.”
“Neither do I. But there are exceptions.”
Another silence.
“Take good care of your sister, Mr. Carter,” Richard said. “And please stay in touch.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“I’m not sure I do, but we can talk about it later.”
Phillip wasn’t sure whether Richard meant his words to sound ominous, but they made him feel like a boy who’d been sent to the woodshed. The unspoken message was clear. Phillip would be held responsible for any consequences arising from their unscheduled stopover.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned coincidences. But it wa
s his best card, and he had to play it. His unspoken message to his uncle was also clear. If God had engineered these circumstances, then neither Phillip nor Richard had a right to interfere in His plans.
But that was the big unknown. If.
“Give your sister my regards,” Richard continued.
“I’ll do that, sir.”
The call ended, but Phillip stayed in the booth. Noise from the crowded station filtered through the cracks in the door, but the booth was still quieter than the rackety train. Despite the nighttime noise, he’d slept well until Eloise awakened him with her tearful moans. At first he’d tried to awaken her, but she resisted his efforts to pull her from sleep. “A good dream,” she’d whispered.
He’d given in to the impulse he’d been fighting all day and brushed his lips against her forehead. In the dim light from the shaded night lamp, his gaze had been drawn to her closed eyes, the curve of her cheek, the shape of her mouth. The subtle rise and fall of her chest beneath the thin blanket.
It would have been so easy to slip in the bed beside her, to adjust the contours of his body to hers as she slept. Only to hold her close in case the nightmare returned. But he hadn’t dared give in to the temptation no matter its justification. He squeezed her fingers then released her hand. After returning to the upper berth, he lay on his back, his forearm across his eyes, and tried to forget the surge that raced through him when his lips touched her cool, pale skin. He wanted to deny that he was falling in love when the thought of marriage, or even courtship, was impossible. After this operation, he was joining the battle where it mattered. Overseas. He didn’t need any potential entanglements to complicate his life or to prevent him from doing his duty.
Though Eloise was already doing exactly that.
His heart lurched as he caught sight of her through the phone booth’s glass door when a few soldiers with clipped hair and starched uniforms moved away from the newsstand where she idly flipped through a magazine. He glanced at his watch. About twenty more minutes until they needed to be on board the train.
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