by Camille Eide
“To take us to St. Luke’s,” he said. “That is, if you’d like to go.”
“Oh yes!” She collected her things, took his hand, and stood. “Thank you, John.”
He avoided her eyes.
As they left the restaurant, Eliza’s heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, but she quickly put her gratitude aside. It was just one more thing she loved about him that she would miss.
30
At the hospital, Eliza stood by while John asked the desk staff about Millie, but no one seemed to know where she was. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, he and Eliza were directed to the basement wing.
The basement. Because of the color of Millie’s skin.
Pressing down her anger, Eliza joined John in the elevator. “I hope they at least gave her a bed,” she muttered.
John glanced at Eliza without a word, just stuffed a fist in his jacket pocket and watched the lights change until the B glowed.
Nothing could have prepared Eliza for the sight of Millie’s room. From the doorway, she counted seven occupied beds—the patients all colored—crammed into the room like puzzle pieces. Men and women of varying ages surrounded one bed.
Soft murmurings quieted when she and John walked in.
Swallowed by a giant, white pillow, Millie looked like a small, sleeping child. Her hair was a misty, gray halo, her skin nearly the same color.
Dear God, she looks so frail …
As John moved toward the bed, a few of the people shifted as best they could to make room for him.
One young woman in a maid’s uniform gave Eliza a polite smile. Everyone else remained somber.
John leaned down and spoke quietly to Millie, but she didn’t respond. He turned toward Eliza, his expression as uncertain as she felt.
Is she dying?
John straightened and spoke in low tones to a younger man—probably Millie’s grandson Nathaniel. The two men maneuvered through the people and left the room.
Eliza moved closer and reached for Millie’s hand, tears brimming. “I’ll pray for you, Millie.” To Eliza’s ear, the words sounded so presumptuous, as if her clumsy prayers could fix the woman. “I …” It felt like everyone in the room was listening. She leaned down, kissed the old woman’s forehead, and whispered, “I love you.”
Millie smiled faintly but didn’t open her eyes.
Eliza looked to John, who beckoned to her from the doorway. She excused herself and slipped away to join him.
John glanced at Millie’s family, then leaned down to speak into Eliza’s ear. “It’s her heart. The doctors don’t expect her to last much longer,” he said. “They don’t even know how she made it this long.”
Eliza’s eyes drifted closed. She wept soundlessly.
A strong arm encircled her, and she leaned into the comfort of John’s embrace.
As the cab carried Eliza and John toward her apartment, she knew she should try to make conversation, but it seemed her heart had swollen until it pressed against her lungs and stole her ability to speak.
Perhaps John didn’t mind her silence, since he was also quiet. He was probably thinking about things that he didn’t need to, like what he might have done differently for Millie. Which was pointless. Millie had made choices for reasons of her own, and it was unlikely John could have dissuaded her.
Another blanket of fog had settled over the city while John and Eliza were inside the hospital, and the thickness enveloped them now, closing in, cutting them off from the world. Normally, fog wouldn’t be so troubling. But today, the idea of losing both Millie and John at once left Eliza feeling more isolated than she had felt in a long time.
After the cab stopped at Eliza’s apartment building, John opened her door and offered her an elbow. “I’ll see you to your door.”
Biting her lip, Eliza glanced at the building. “Thank you, but I am sure the girls living here will start a small riot if they see you. Besides, it’s … not necessary.”
“All right, then. As you wish.”
Eliza swallowed hard. “Goodbye, John. It’s been …” Words couldn’t describe what her time with him had been. Raising her hand in a wave, she turned and walked away. It was all she could do.
“Eliza?”
She turned. In the haze, she could barely see his face in the glow of a nearby streetlamp.
He took a few steps toward her, then stopped and drew a deep breath. “I owe you an apology. The other day, at the gate, when I ... it was incredibly thoughtless of me to kiss you like that. I had hoped I was no longer that kind of man.”
Her tongue turned wooden. He wouldn’t make her relive that day’s humiliation, not today of all days, would he?
John took a step closer.
She kept a steady vigil on his chest to avoid seeing his eyes. She had worked too hard to put that kiss and his confession behind her to dredge it all up now.
When he didn’t speak, she looked up and met his gaze. This time, he didn’t look pained and conflicted. He looked desperate.
“I tried to tell myself I didn’t dare hope,” he said softly.
Her heart raced. “Hope for what?”
“You.” He swallowed hard. “Eliza, you’re a beautiful, kind, intelligent woman. You have your whole life ahead of you. You deserve a good, honorable man, one without a scandalous reputation. A man who isn’t …” With a frown, he lowered his gaze to his cane. “You deserve a whole man.”
“Yes, I do,” she whispered, dizzy from her heart beating out of control. “And I’m looking at one now.”
He searched her eyes.
If he was trying to see into her heart, she would make him look no further. “You’re a very good man, John. And you’re far more ‘whole’ than anyone I know.”
“You can say that after everything you’ve heard?”
She nodded. “I know exactly who you are. You don’t pretend you’re something you’re not. You don’t put on a false front. You live each day in humble faith with a moral strength that’s genuine.”
His voice softened. “You see all that?”
“John,” she whispered, afraid her voice would break. “You’re the most honorable man I’ve ever known.”
“Honorable?” His expression crumbled. “I’ve never felt honorable in my life.” His dark eyes locked onto hers, filled with the same turmoil she’d seen the day he kissed her. “I ache for you, Eliza. There. Do you still think I’m honorable?”
A tear fell as she nodded, caught up in the wave of bliss rippling through her.
Gently, he stroked the wet trail, then touched his lips to her cheek.
Her eyes drifted closed.
“I ache to hold you,” he whispered against her skin, “and tell you how much I love you.”
She finally forced her eyes open. The look on his face made her forget how to breathe. “I love you too, John,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”
He pulled her close and held her tight. When he finally released her, he leaned down and met her with a kiss so gentle and so full of love she feared she was dreaming.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as she returned his kiss, saying without words what she had desperately longed to say.
He said her name and kissed her again, warming a path to her heart, filling a place that had long been vacant.
This was love, right and real. A joy like nothing she’d ever known flooded her, filling her more than she ever believed possible.
When they finally parted, John pressed a solemn kiss to her forehead and released her. He reached into his pocket and took something out.
A small jewelry box.
He looked into her eyes. “Eliza, even though I believed God had forgiven me, I feared I still owed penalties—like the inevitable consequences of our mistakes. So when you came into my life, I thought the time had come to pay my dues, that perhaps falling in love with you was part of my punishment. But a good friend reminded me that God doesn’t work that way. That sometimes God, in His mercy, shields us from penalties we
deserve and gives us joys we don’t.” His voice fell low. “Unexpected and unimaginable joys.”
He looked at the box as if it might help him proceed.
Eliza’s breath caught.
“That day at the gate, you asked me not to let you walk out of my life.” His gaze met hers. “Eliza, I believe God brought you into my life, and I can’t imagine living another day without you. Please don’t ever walk out again.”
Was she dreaming?
He opened the box and turned it around. Nestled in a satin crevasse, a large, oval solitaire glittered. “Sweetheart, this thing has been burning a hole in my pocket all evening.” He searched her eyes. “I hope you can forgive me for not doing this on bended knee. Will you marry me?”
Eliza gasped. “Oh, John.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, heart bursting. If this was God’s doing, then He deserved her deepest thanks.
As they parted, John chuckled. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
She smiled, tears blurring her vision. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Smiling back, John heaved a sigh.
“So what good friend shall I thank for convincing you to give love a chance?”
“Oscar,” he said. “I owe him more than I can ever repay. We’ll probably have to feed him dinner every night for the rest of his life now.”
Eliza winced. “Okay. But there’s … something I need to tell you.”
His expression sobered. “What’s that?”
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook.”
A slow smile spread across his face and he shook his head. “Scandalous,” he whispered in mock horror.
Eliza hugged him tight.
31
Eliza awoke with a jolt. Had last night been a dream?
She checked her hand and smiled. No, she hadn’t dreamt it. She was engaged to be married. To John David Vincent, the man she loved.
She felt something warm and soft at her shoulder. At some point in the night, Mr. Darcy must have decided that Eliza was his new pillow. How would he like living in a huge storybook house with a cottage garden? Hopefully, John liked cats.
A knock at the door startled her. She slipped a robe over her nightgown and cracked the door an inch.
Ivy peered through the crack. “Say—for a girl who’s not taking any calls, you sure get your share of ’em. I wish I were as popular as you.” She tucked a bus transfer slip through the door and pointed at the scrawled writing on it. “One of them called twice. And then there’s the fella who called just now. Of course, I told him to buzz off.” Ivy tilted to better see Eliza through the crack. “But he didn’t sound like that other guy. This one …” Ivy fanned herself. “Oh my stars, but he sounded dreamy. If you toss him back, I’m throwing out a line.” Ivy frowned. “He didn’t leave a number. He said you’d have it.” She raised an eyebrow.
John. Eliza smiled. “Thanks bunches, Ivy. You’re a doll.”
“Mm-hmm,” Ivy said.
Eliza let Darcy out, then dressed quickly. On her way out the door to telephone John, she spotted the transfer slip. She picked it up and frowned at the message. She’d been called twice by someone at Flushing Hospital in Queens County, New York.
The hospital listed on Betty’s birth certificate.
Eliza hurried down the stairs to the phone.
The operator reminded her that this telephone was restricted to local calls, and authorization for long-distance calls was required.
Eliza groaned. She dreaded going to the super, but then he wasn’t known to pass up a chance to add his “finder’s fee” to tenants’ phone charges.
Once Eliza had authorization, the operator placed the call to the hospital. Eliza gave her name to the desk clerk. She waited several minutes before someone came on the line.
“Is this Mrs. Eliza Saunderson?”
“Yes. I had a message that you called.” Please, tell me you know something about my parents.
“I’m Margaret Carter, head nurse. I oversee our hospital volunteers. Mrs. Saunderson, I called because you contacted us about a patient who gave birth here in 1919. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I did. Do you have any information about Lara Petrovich and her child?”
“No, I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that.”
Eliza’s hope deflated.
“This may sound rather unusual, but the reason I’m calling is that when I gave your information to a candy striper to file as you had asked, I was told that you are not the only person who has contacted this hospital about that particular patient. This other person also asked us for any information about that patient and infant, and left his name on file. It seems the man has been looking for the Petrovich family for quite some time. The candy striper found his information when she filed yours.”
Eliza gasped. Her body felt wooden. “Was his name Ivan?”
“No. His name is Vlad.”
Vlad? Who was that, another brother?
“I believe his full name is—let me see if I can pronounce it—Vladimir Tishchenko. He called a while back and asked to be contacted if there was any new information about Lara or Vasily Petrovich or the infant born to them. We don’t give out patient information, but I didn’t see any harm in telling you that someone else has also been looking for your family. He is Russian, but I believe he lives in West Virginia. Would you like his number?”
“Yes, please.” Eliza hunted for something to write on and found a pencil stub, no paper. She tore the no calls note off the wall, turned it over, and wrote the telephone number. She barely remembered to thank the woman, whose name she’d already forgotten. Then she stared at the name and number.
Who was Vlad and what was his interest in her parents? Was he a relative? A friend? An enemy? Or perhaps … a spy? Could this person be the reason her parents left Russia and changed their names?
Had they been hiding from this Vladimir?
Eliza stared at the telephone number, then at the receiver. She needed to know and had no choice but to risk the call. She didn’t have to give her name.
But she did have to get another long distance call approved. Once the call was placed, a woman answered in Russian.
Eliza’s hopes fizzled. “Hello,” she said, hoping the woman understood English. “I’m calling for Vladimir Tish-chenko?” Eliza winced, certain she had destroyed the pronunciation of the man’s name.
“Vlad is not home. Who is calling, please?”
Until she knew why the man was interested in her parents, she would not reveal her identity. “I am calling because Vlad left his telephone number at Flushing Hospital in New York, and the head nurse gave it to me.”
“The hospital told you to call Vlad? Why?”
“Because I also called the hospital. About … a family named Petrovich.”
The line went silent. “Petrovich?”
“Yes.” Perhaps the nurse’s information was incorrect.
The woman spoke in Russian, then English. “Wait. I have Vlad telephone you from work. You wait for his call, da?”
God, should I trust these strangers? Do I really want to know what connection this man has with my parents?
If this contact with Vlad was God’s way of helping her, then perhaps she should trust it.
“Yes, please ask him to call me. My name is Eliza.” She gave the telephone number and ended the call, then stared at the receiver.
Had she done the right thing?
Minutes passed. She was about to give up and call John when the phone rang.
Hands trembling, she answered. “Hello?”
“Eliza?” A male voice.
“Yes.”
“May I ask who you are?” His Russian accent was heavy, but his English was good.
Not so fast, mister. “The hospital in New York gave me your number. It seems you and I are both looking for information about the same family.”
A few beats of silence followed. “Do you know Vasily and Lara Petrovich?” he said slowly. “And their child?�
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Eliza’s pulse raced. “Perhaps. Will you please tell me why you are looking for them?”
A slow exhale played out across the line. “I need to know what you will do with information. Is your interest personal or political?”
“Personal.” Eliza willed her rigid shoulders to relax.
“Ah, good. Then, in that case, my mother has lifelong friend who lost contact with Vasily when he left Russia. This woman searched many years for him. She knew that Vasily set sail for New York in late 1918, but nothing more. I live in United States now, so she asked my mother for my help. I contacted many New York hospitals and clinics until I found hospital where Lara Petrovich gave birth. Like finding … needle in haystack as they say, da?”
“Yes,” Eliza whispered. And the woman searching is …?
“Now I ask who you are,” the man went on, “or do you still have questions for me?”
“One more. What is the name of your mother’s friend?”
“Katerina Petrovich.”
Eliza gasped. “She’s my—I mean, she never married?”
Vlad let out a sigh. “No. She was promised to my uncle Anatoly—my mother’s brother. They were all childhood friends, you see, very close. But my uncle died same winter. I was only infant. I never knew him.”
“So you never knew Vasily and Lara?”
“No.”
Eliza’s heart sank.
“Now, may I ask why you also want to find Vasily and child?”
“Vasily and Lara are my parents. I am their second daughter. The first daughter, the one born in New York, is my sister.”
“You are Vasily’s child?” Vlad exclaimed something in Russian. “Your parents and sister, they are well? I must send telegram to Katerina at once. She will be overjoyed to find brother!”
Eliza’s eyes stung with tears. “Vlad, I’m sorry, but my parents died in a train accident many years ago. My sister and I are the only ones remaining.”
A pause stretched for several seconds. “I am so sorry to hear this. You must miss them very much.”