A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five)

by Moody, Diane

“I’m Susie Blake, and I’ll be taking good care of Mr. Christopher while he’s our guest. Are you his wife?”

  “No, I’m just his girlfriend.” That sounded so lame. “I mean, we’re very close . . . very close. We’ve been seeing each other since‌—‌let me think‌—‌over a year now? So I guess you could say we’re, uh . . . yeah, I’m his girlfriend. Lucy. My name’s Lucy.”

  I bit the side of my lip. This is precisely why I write books, because I can never seem to get a sentence out without getting tangled up with words. There’s a reason God calls some to speak and some to write.

  Susie laughed as she checked Mark’s monitor, punching buttons and rearranging tubes. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. And I’m thinking you must be pretty special to my patient here, no matter what your relationship is.” She smiled up at me as she tucked the blanket in beneath Mark’s leg.

  “Well, he’s amazing. You’ll see. He’s kind and funny and smart, and never met a stranger.”

  “Sounds like a sweetheart of a guy. I’ll look forward to getting to know him soon. In the meantime, you let us know if there’s anything you need. There’s a pillow and blanket in the closet there, and that’s a recliner, so feel free to kick back when you want to sleep. There’s a refrigerator around the corner where we keep some juice and fruit. Popsicles are up top in the freezer. We keep the coffee fresh, so help yourself.”

  “Thanks. That’s really nice.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll check back in a little while.”

  I grabbed the blanket and pillow from the closet, thankful for some added warmth against the ice locker that was Mark’s room. I pulled the chair closer to the bed and covered my legs with the soft blue blanket. I stared at Mark for the longest time before remembering what his nurse just said about coma patients being able to hear the sound of your voice. I tried, but it felt so strange, like I was trying to disturb his nap or something.

  I dropped my head in my hands and rubbed my face, wondering why I couldn’t just do something normal for a change. Why was everything such a challenge? How hard could it be just to talk to him? Then again, I couldn’t remember ever being this tired. Still, I wasn’t about to sleep when I finally had time to be with him. To watch over him. To make sure he was comfortable.

  When I opened my eyes, I noticed Aunt Lucille’s diary sitting beside my purse. I stuck my fingers through the bed rails and gently stroked Mark’s fingers. Then, with another glance at his bruised face, I reached for the diary and decided to spend some time with my aunt.

  I’d thumbed through a few of the pages, but purposefully refrained from actually reading it until I could give the contents the attention it deserved. For the first time I noticed the ink was green‌—‌the same as every note or letter or recipe my aunt had ever written. But who knew green ink was readily available back in the forties? I caressed the familiar handwriting as it beckoned me into its pages.

  I was also astounded by the style she’d written. Stephen had told me it read like a love story, but I had no idea she’d used actual dialogue‌—‌quotation marks and all. I smiled, thinking how easy that would make it for me to write my novella.

  I glanced over at Mark and cleared my throat. I told him about Stephen sending me Aunt Lucille’s diary and asked if he would mind if I read it out loud to him. I touched the heart of diamonds resting against my chest as a moment passed. Nothing.

  “Okay, then. I’ll take that as a yes. Which doesn’t surprise me. You would have loved her, Mark. I’m glad I can share her with you. So here goes.”

  December 1944

  Dear Diary,

  How perfect. A brand new diary and something new to write about‌—‌or I should say “someone” new? The most wonderful things seem to happen when you least expect them. Yesterday, as I boarded the El on my way home from classes, I dropped one of my textbooks in the aisle. Clumsy, but with my coat and gloves and armload of books, it just slipped from my hands.

  I turned around and reached down for it just as a handsome young soldier did the same. “Allow me,” he said, as we both stood back up, our eyes locked. He slowly removed his cap but never took his eyes off me. It felt as if time stood still. I don’t think I took a single breath the entire time. We just stood there‌—‌staring at each other. Even now, I’ve got goose bumps just thinking about it. His eyes were so blue, and his smile seemed to light his entire face. Little lines feathered his kind eyes, and his dimples were surely as deep as the ocean. I’d never seen him before, and yet I felt as if I’d always known him. How is that possible?

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dusted off my book.

  “There now,” he said. “All nice and clean.” He tilted his head to read the title. “‘Teaching High School English.’ Well, now. I bet that’s a real page-turner.”

  He smiled back at me, and I could feel the heat creeping across my face. “You’ve no idea,” I teased, as I took the book from his hands. “I’m not usually so clumsy, but thank you.”

  “You are most welcome.” The train began to move, jostling us together. He grabbed my elbow to steady me. “I believe there’s a seat right here with your name on it.” He stepped out of the way and motioned me toward the aisle seat.

  I thanked him and sat down, setting my purse on the floor next to my feet. When I turned, he was still standing beside me, his hand gripping the bar above him.

  I twisted to look back over my shoulder. “I’m sure there are more seats in the back.”

  “Oh, I’m perfectly fine where I am. But thank you, Miss . . . ?”

  I looked over my shoulder again as I stalled for an answer. I didn’t usually give my name to strangers. But he just seemed so . . . genuine. Still, how many times had Father warned me about men in uniform? “Lucille, just because a man is in uniform doesn’t mean he’s a gentleman. Don’t ever forget that.” He was right, of course, but‍—

  “Forgive me,” the soldier said, placing his hand over his heart. “Where are my manners? My name is Gary Reynolds, Lieutenant, United States Army.” His smile crinkled around his eyes again which sent my heart hammering in my chest.

  “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Reynolds.”

  He held out his hand to shake. “Please‌—‌call me Gary.”

  I smiled, staring at his strong hand as I allowed him to shake mine. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Gary Reynolds.”

  He paused, still holding my hand as he leaned down toward me. “This is the part where you tell me your name,” he whispered near the vicinity of my ear.

  I couldn’t help the shiver skittering down my spine from his nearness, the warmth of his breath against my ear, and the heady scent of his after-shave. I gave him as casual a smile as I could muster.

  “Lucille. I’m Lucille.”

  “Lucille,” he said, straightening again. “That’s a lovely name. It suits you.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll be sure and tell my parents you approve of the name they gave me.”

  He laughed, and I could almost feel the sound of it drawing me into his arms. I scolded myself for such a silly thought. But it was such a beautiful sound‌—‌a laugh so natural and spontaneous.

  “I’m honored! To think, we just met and already you’re eager to tell your parents about me. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

  I laughed, still fighting the urge to get lost in those baby blues. “I’ve always heard soldiers were fast, but that might just be a record.”

  I looked out the window to my right, noticing for the first time the elderly lady sitting beside me. Her wrinkled face gleamed as she nodded toward the lieutenant, her eyes dancing. I smiled at her, praying he hadn’t noticed.

  “Hello, ma’am.” He extended his hand across me toward her. “You certainly look lovely in that pretty red hat.”

  She touched the rim of her knitted cap. “Thank you, young man. You obviously have excellent taste.” She gave a slight nod toward me, all smiles, and this time even her painted brows were dancing.

  I felt the h
eat in my face despite the drafty December chill in the train.

  “Why, thank you, ma’am.” He leaned slightly across me, his hand shielding his mouth from me as he faked a whisper to her. “But I’m not making much headway here.” He tossed a not-so-subtle toward me. “She seems hesitant to tell me her last name. Any suggestions?”

  The woman straightened her back. “A proper young lady never gives her name to a perfect stranger‌—‌even if he is a peach of a guy.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink.

  We all laughed, and I was grateful for a chance to catch my breath. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) she got off at the next stop, shuffling down the aisle in her yellow galoshes. After I stood to let her by, the lieutenant smiled at me as we maneuvered around others coming and going. When I finally took my seat again, a new panic started to waft over me. What if he gets off and I never see him again?

  “May I?”

  He motioned toward the seat beside me. “Oh, sure.” Not sure what else to do, I scooted over to the window seat, giving him mine.

  “Thanks. So Lucille, are you from Chicago? Is this home to you, or are you a student just passing through?”

  “Both, actually. Born and raised in Chicago‍—‍”

  “So am I! Where’d you go to high school?”

  “Calumet. You?”

  “Tilden. Why, we were practically neighbors.” He stared at me, gazing up at my hair, my eyes, my lips . . . I felt myself blushing again, so I turned to look out the window only to find it covered with steam.

  “Tell me, Lucille.” He shifted in his seat, turning toward me and folding his arms across his chest as though settling in for a nice, long chat.

  “Tell you what?”

  “Everything. I’m home on leave before heading back overseas, I may never see you again, so tell me everything about you. Your favorite color. Favorite flavor of ice cream. Favorite candy. All your hopes and dreams.”

  “Favorite color, blue. Favorite ice cream, butter pecan. Favorite candy, Fanny May, of course.”

  “Chicago’s best.”

  “Hopes and dreams? I’ll be graduating next spring, and I’d like to teach high school English, preferably here in Chicago.”

  “What about family? Brothers or sisters?”

  “Just one baby brother. He just turned five.”

  “He’s five? You’re what‌—‌twenty? Twenty-one?”

  “I’m twenty. Jack was born when I was fifteen. Mother and Father call him their miracle baby.”

  “What was that like for you, after being an only child for all those years?”

  “I adored Jack from the minute I first got to hold him at the hospital.”

  “And I bet he thinks you’re the cat’s meow.”

  I smiled, remembering how Jack always greeted me every afternoon with happy squeals and hugs. “I assure you, the feeling’s mutual.”

  For the next half hour, as the train drew ever closer to home, we talked non-stop. He told me of his family‌—‌just one brother, who was serving with the Army Air Corps in England. He said he was with the 124th Field Artillery stationed in Congleton, England. He hadn’t been on the battlefield since his job was assisting the colonel in command of the base. He told me of his dream to be an architect, and how he looked forward to coming back to college after the war. We talked about movies and music and theater, and anything and everything we could think of.

  “Lucille, would it be too much to ask‍—‍”

  “This is where I get off,” I said as the train slowed again.

  He stood up. “Well, what a coincidence. Mine too. Small world, isn’t it?”

  I doubted seriously this was his stop. What will I do if he tries to follow me home?

  And then I wondered what would happen if he didn’t. Would I ever see him again?

  “Miss Alexander?”

  I looked up as Dr. Bradley entered Mark’s room. It took a minute for my mind to leap back from 1944. I stood, letting the blanket and pillow fall back in the recliner. “Dr. Bradley, thanks for coming by.”

  “Sorry to disturb you. I apologize it’s taken me so long to get up here and check on Mark. I was in surgery, and it took a lot longer than usual. How’s he doing?”

  I rubbed my face, then folded my arms across my chest. “About the same. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound or even twitched an eye.”

  “No, and I don’t expect him to for a while yet.” He shined a small flashlight in Mark’s eyes, holding up one eyelid then the other. He continued his examination.

  “Define ‘a while yet,’ if you don’t mind.”

  He smiled, nodding. I’m sure he’s asked that question a million times a day. “I’m afraid there’s no way to actually know when that might happen. In a case like Mark’s, the more he rests initially, the better. We’ll keep a close eye on him, and hopefully, when he’s good and ready, he’ll come around.”

  “Wait, what do you mean by ‘hopefully’?”

  He entered something on his iPad, then closed it. I assumed this was the new version of making notes on medical charts. “Don’t worry‌—‌Lucy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “The hardest part is the waiting. Your mind wants to jump ahead and explore all the possibilities, the best and worst case scenarios. But every case is different, which means Mark’s recovery will depend on how his body and mind respond to the injuries.” He closed the gap between us and gently patted my shoulder. “I’ll be back in the morning. You get some rest, okay?”

  “Thank you, Dr. Bradley.”

  “Sure enough,” he said, exiting the room.

  I stretched my legs then stood beside Mark’s bed. I wrapped my hand around his, prayed another silent prayer, and wondered when God would see fit to give me back my Mark.

  Chapter 4

  Chad returned shortly after Dr. Bradley left, bringing me some mail, extra socks, another chai latte from Starbucks, and best of all my laptop.

  He also brought an attitude.

  “Either you go home and clean up, or I’ll throw you in that shower myself.” He motioned a thumb toward the small bathroom behind him and leveled his eyes at me. “Which will it be?”

  “Is it that bad?”

  He rolled his eyes. “The last thing you want is Mark waking up and getting a whiff of you like this. It might send him back into another coma.”

  “All right, all right.” I pushed the recliner upright and took a sip of my chai. Wiping the foam from my lip, I warned, “But you have to stay with Mark until I’m out.”

  “Hey, do you not see the Sports Illustrated I brought? I came to stay, little sister. So hop in that shower before the stink police come charging in here.”

  “I said I would, okay? You’re not the boss of me, you know.” It was my favorite go-to line with my brother, but for some reason my snarky quip failed to hit its mark. I was learning that hospitals tend to zap the humor. I grabbed the tote bag Chad had brought, almost afraid to peek in and see what he did or did not remember to bring me. I opened the bathroom door. “Listen, if he so much as twitches his pinky, you bang on the door and let me know. Understood?”

  He raised a hand in defense as he plopped into the recliner. “Fine. If he passes gas, I’ll call.”

  “You are so gross and not even remotely funny, I might add. Have a little respect for the coma guy, will you?”

  “Go, already.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I looped the towel around my neck and opened the door. Chad was passed out in the recliner, his head back and his mouth hanging open as he snored quietly. I padded over to the other side of the bed to check on Mark. If only he would wake up. At least now he wouldn’t pass out from his smelly girlfriend. Mark loved the scent of my shampoo. It smells like orange blossoms, he always said. I leaned over to kiss his cheek, wishing my fresh scent would rouse him.

  I towel-dried my hair as I strolled over to the window. Winter was in the air, the wind still scattering the last fallen remnants of autumn’s leaves. I shivered
, noticing visitors and medical personnel below wrapped in coats and scarves, their breath puffing clouds before them. I wondered if I’d still be in this room when the first snow fell. Would I spend Christmas here as well? I took a deep breath and tried to coax my mind away from all the what-ifs that kept swirling through my head.

  The door slowly whooshed open behind me. I turned just as my uncle poked his head around the door. “Lucy?” he whispered.

  I gravitated toward his outstretched arms. “Uncle Ted? What are you‌—‌how did‍—‍?”

  “Your mother called me,” he whispered, noticing Mark asleep and Chad sacked out in the chair. “I came as soon as I heard.” He hugged me and kissed the top of my damp head. “Unfortunately, I’ve been out of town and only found out this morning. How’s Mark doing?”

  My mom’s older brother tucked me under his arm as we walked toward Mark’s bed. “About the same, actually. He’s still in a coma. Hasn’t come around yet.” My voice wobbled but I didn’t really care. This was my Uncle Ted, after all. He was in the ministry and used to situations like this, visiting people in the hospital under the worst of circumstances.

  Uncle Ted was one of my favorite relatives. He loved people, lived large, and knew how to enjoy life‌—‌including fast cars. A couple years ago, I rode with him to one of Chad’s baseball games. At the time he owned a flashy red Dodge Viper, and I forced myself to quit watching the speedometer when it passed ninety-five. I swallowed my gum as I yelled at him to slow down. Instead, he just flashed me his world-famous grin and pressed the gas pedal harder.

  With a head full of hair that turned snowy white back when he was barely in his forties, my uncle always looked the part of a pastor. “Dr. Theodore Wendel” had served as senior pastor at Hickory Street Cathedral for many years until he retired a few years ago. Since then, he’s served in an interim position at First Church covering pastoral ministries for that downtown church. A perfect fit.

  “Frannie told me about the whole hostage situation. She’d seen some of the footage online and said it was terrifying to see‌—‌like something out of a movie.”