by Anna Schmidt
He’d be giving one of those gifts to Karen tomorrow.
* * * * *
“Mommy?”
“Hmm?” Laurie’s voice pricked Karen’s sleep, a small entreaty that didn’t sound quite right. “What’s up, Sweet Cheeks?”
“I don’t feel good.”
Karen sat up quickly. She reached out a hand to the precious child, felt the heat of fever against her palm, and scrambled up from her couch-bed. “What hurts?”
“Everything.” Tears slid down Laurie’s cheeks, one after another, silent tears, far more worrisome than their noisy counterparts. “My head. My tummy. And my boo-boo.” She held out the hand she’d scraped in a tumble on the sidewalk the day before.
Karen kissed the hand, picked the child up, and moved to the small bathroom. “I’m going to pour you a nice tub of cool water and give you some medicine to help that fever. The medicine will make you more comfortable.”
“But I can still go to school, right?” Sadness and anticipation warred for Laurie’s voice. “We are putting up our stable today, and Mary and Joseph and their donkey friend will start walking. I promised I would help them.”
Laurie loved school, much as Karen had. She enjoyed the interaction, the learning, the grace of the sweet Sisters who taught her. But there would be no school today, and that would cause an argument. The child came by her work ethic honestly, so Karen knew she’d have a quarrel on her hands. “Not with a fever, Laurie.”
“Then the medicine can make it go away. Maybe I should take extra?”
Karen shook her head firmly. “Too much medicine makes the body more ill. And you must never touch medicines, all right?”
“Yes.” Too sick to argue, Laurie’s head lolled against Karen’s chest. Karen checked her temperature, then cringed when the mercury finally paused above 103 degrees. She settled Laurie into a shallow, cool bath with a few of her favorite floating toys. She crushed half an aspirin into a small dish of applesauce, sweetened it lightly, and offered it to Laurie.
“It tastes yucky.”
Karen didn’t argue. “The medicine isn’t sweet, but it’s helpful. The applesauce is sweet. Focus on that. Getting your fever down is important, Laurie.”
Glassy-eyed, the little girl eyed the applesauce, frowned, then pinched her nose and opened her mouth, but not any too wide. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” Karen fed her the applesauce, then offered her a cup of ginger water. “This will help your tummy stay settled.”
“I like this.”
Laurie’s sincerity made Karen smile. “I’m glad, honey. And then I’m going to tuck you back into bed so you can sleep some more, okay?”
Laurie’s yawn was answer enough. Karen lifted her from the claw-foot tub once the fever had broken, dried her off, and tucked her into lightweight pajamas.
“I like my fuzzy jammies,” Laurie protested.
Karen nodded. “I know. But if the fever comes back, those jammies are too warm. These are just right for keeping little girls comfy-cozy when they have a fever.”
“Really?”
Karen smiled. “Cross my heart.”
“Well, okay then.” Laurie knew if her mother crossed her heart, she was being totally honest. It was a measure they’d begun once Laurie was old enough to understand the pledge, a building of trust in a world that sometimes didn’t welcome a single mother with a child. But the war had made many women single mothers, and most assumed Karen was like so many others: a war widow.
Her lie of omission saved Laurie no small amount of grief.
And you, as well. Admit it, you seek no censure. But someday she’ll find out, and that lack of honesty might trip you up, no matter how often you’ve crossed your heart in the past. One lie of omission about something so important . . . Are you willing to continue that risk?
Was she? For now, yes. Her day of reckoning would come, she sensed it. But for this moment, caring for her sick child was the most important thing.
She hunted up Major Flora in the early hours of the morning. “Laurie is sick. I can’t ring today.”
“How bad is she? Is it flu? They’ve had an outbreak of cases all around the city, but it’s not a real bad sort.”
“It could be anything,” Karen told her. “I’ll keep her away from the mothers, but we need someone to ring at Macy’s.”
The major might have shrugged off another assignment, but the foot traffic to and from the shopping district fed their kettles and their outreach each year. “I’ll find someone for today. And then I’ll see about tomorrow, too.”
Karen began to protest, but Major Flora would hear none of it. “We’ll take each day as it comes.” Firm, she met Karen’s gaze. “Laurie comes first.”
“Yes.” Karen knew that, but she’d pledged her time as gratitude for the help she’d found in these walls. Mental, spiritual, physical . . . the army came through when family shoved her out the door. She had so much to be grateful for.
* * * * *
Mike had Arnie make a sandwich with plenty of meat and cheese. Bagels were well and good, but a hearty sandwich would put some meat on Karen’s bones. And maybe give her added energy. He took the mug of coffee and the sandwich and walked to her spot, determined to make things right after his gaffe the previous day.
A heavyset man with a dark beard was ringing the bell on Karen’s corner.
Mike’s anticipation nosedived. Had he insulted her so much that she wouldn’t come back? Had she taken ill? Been hurt? He crossed the street and headed for the bell ringer. “Where’s Karen O’Leary?”
The man eyed him, suspicious. “Don’t know no Karen anybody, copper.”
Ah. Obviously this guy didn’t think too highly of police. Mike swallowed a sigh and met the man’s gaze. “Karen’s been ringing here since Thanksgiving. And she was supposed to be here today.”
“But she ain’t.” The old man offered a gap-toothed smile. “I’ll tell you what. If you call the army, they can help you.”
“Call them?”
The old man made a face of disbelief. “On the phone, you know?”
“I know phones.” Mike couldn’t believe he’d been that dense. Would a call to the Salvation Army headquarters in the Meatpacking District help his cause? Maybe. “You hungry?”
The old man’s eyes went wide in appreciation. “Always.”
Mike’s heart melted.
This old fellow might not dress up the corner like Karen’s beauty had done, but he was part of the body of Christ. Mike handed over the coffee and the sandwich. “Here you go. For when you’re off duty.”
The man’s gaze brightened at the sight of the sandwich. His jaw worked left and right. His throat convulsed. But then he nodded, put his hunger on hold, and tucked the sandwich behind the kettle. “That’s as good as a Christmas dinner, right there.”
His words humbled Mike.
A gentle, inner nudge advised him to stop looking back at war . . . at choices made and unmade . . . at loss.
Instead he needed to press on and look forward. That had never been hard before the war, but evil and loss had taken a toll on his faith. His heart.
This old man’s gaze said Mike should speed up his adjustment to a rapidly changing world. And Mike knew the old guy was right. “God bless you, my friend.”
The man saluted him, and it was then Mike realized he was missing his right hand. “And you, copper.”
Had the First World War taken his hand?
Or an industrial accident, too common in this age of bigger and better machines?
Either way, the man’s grace taught a valuable lesson of appreciation. When Mike finished his shift midafternoon, he stopped at a station phone, called the operator, and asked her to connect him to the Salvation Army on West Fourteenth.
She made the connection faster than he expected, and when a woman’s voice came on the line, he fumbled his words. “I, ummm . . . I’m looking for Karen O’Leary.”
“For whom?”
“Karen O’Leary.�
�� He drew a breath, suddenly inspired. “This is Officer Michael Wolzak of the NYPD. Ms. O’Leary was mugged last week while bell ringing in front of Macy’s.”
“Yes, yes, she was!” the woman exclaimed. “Have you caught the muggers, Officer?”
“Not as yet, but I need to talk to Mrs. O’Leary. I went to her bell-ringing site and she wasn’t there today.”
“I’ll give you the number to the Booth Home. That’s where she works,” the woman explained.
Mike was thrilled to get the information but dismayed that he uncovered it so easily.
What if he hadn’t been a cop?
What if he was up to no good, tracking Karen? He’d make sure to speak to the army directors about safe protocol . . . now that he had the information he sought.
He took down the address and the phone number, thanked the woman, and hung up.
Mary Lynn would already be home from school. He tried their phone to tell her he’d be late, but the line was busy. No surprise there. Fast-talking neighbors rarely left the eight-party line open. He called his aunt, asked her to keep trying Mary Lynn to explain his delay, then headed for the downtown train.
Chapter Eight
• • • • • • • • • • • •
“May I help you, sir?”
Mike approached the front desk and decided honesty was the best policy. “I’m Mike Wolzak of the NYPD. I’m here to see Karen O’Leary. She’s a nurse here, I believe. If she’s not on shift now, I can come back later when she is.”
“The police.” The woman’s left brow shot up, then lowered. “Oh, you’re probably here about that nasty business last week.”
“Yes.” Mike hoped they were discussing the same nasty business. Either way, he wanted to see Karen. Check on her. Make sure she was all right.
“June?”
A heavyset teenage girl came forward from where she’d been stringing bright-toned Christmas balls in the front window with festive ribbon. “Yes?”
“Can you go ’round to Karen O’Leary’s apartment and tell her we have an officer here to see her?”
June made a face of regret. “I can but it won’t do any good. Laurie’s sick and Karen won’t leave her with a fever.”
“I could follow you.” Mike made the offer as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, but his brain wrapped around this new piece of information. Karen lived on-site. Convenient and cost-effective. Add smart and frugal to his ever-growing list of reasons to like her.
Although, the way his heart skipped a beat every time he saw Karen O’Leary said his list didn’t need to be lengthened. Something about her called to him. Protector, friend, confidant, partner . . . There had to be a reason he couldn’t get her out of his mind, even when they were apart. Which was silly since they’d just met.
“Destiny. Your dad used to say that about your mother, that he knew right off she was his destiny, even though he fought the idea of settling down for nearly a year.”
Arnie had shared that with Mike when he first came home from the front and was trying to wrap his brain around his new lot in life. His father gone, his mother dying. But neither one would have traded their years together despite the pain of loss. That knowledge spurred Mike on.
As the girl led him around a ninety-degree corner, a door ahead of them opened. Karen stepped into the hall, and as he searched her face, he saw only one expression: joy. “They buzzed me and said someone was coming down, but I never thought it was you, Mike.”
He held out the cord-handled bag he carried. “For you.”
“For me?” Wonder lifted her tone and her eyes after she peeked into the bag. “A Merry Christmas wreath for my door. Oh, Mike, how lovely.”
“I thought Laurie would enjoy it, but now I hear she’s sick.”
“She is but doing better, which means I can work tonight. We’ve had a baby boom around here. . . .”
“As you mentioned the other day.”
She nodded, swung the door wide, and called Laurie’s name. The little girl popped up from the couch, where a crew of stuffed animals and books surrounded her. “Officer Mike!”
“Hey.” He crossed the room and bent to give her a hug. “Don’t get me sick, okay?”
“I won’t!” She giggled up at him and sent her mother a look of mischief. “Mommy said I can’t go to school tomorrow, but I’m trying my best to talk her into it. It’s December and we’re learning so many marvelous things about Baby Jesus and the stable. How Mary and Joseph walked and walked and walked. And we’re practicing for our Christmas play, and I get to be a singer but a singer must learn songs.” Her overdone sigh was aimed straight at her mother.
“If your fever stays gone tomorrow, you may go back the next day. And cajoling will do you no good.”
“So you need to be home with her tomorrow?” Mike watched as Karen withdrew the festive wreath he’d bought from a street vendor near the Midtown subway station. “Here, let me help.” He spotted the nail on her door and worked the loop of aluminum wire over the nail’s broad end. “There.”
“It’s just perfect!” Delight filled her voice and her eyes, and if Mike wasn’t making a big thing out of nothing much, she looked happier to see him than he probably deserved. And that made him feel good.
“Yes.” She answered his question as Laurie called her name. “It seems the healthier the child, the more trouble the care.”
Her pretend scolding made Laurie laugh. Karen’s sigh of relief told Mike she’d been worried about the girl not that long ago. “She was pretty sick, huh?”
Karen kept her voice low. “It’s common with kids, but worrisome still. While the aspirin’s working, she thinks she’s fine. As its effects wear off, the fever rises. But the school nurse said there’s a bug going around, nothing major, just a couple of days of congestion and fever.”
“So. Tomorrow. I have off, and I’d like to step in and do your bell ringing for you.”
“Bell ringing? I . . . um . . .”
“A simple ‘Yes, Mike’ will suffice. And then you and the major don’t have to worry about a fill-in. And you can catch up on some sleep. May I?” He asked the question as he dropped his gaze to where Laurie was holding up a children’s book about Christmas, her look imploring.
“But Mike, surely you have other things to do on your day off.”
“I don’t, not tomorrow anyway, so it’s a done deal. I take it this book is a favorite?” He settled into the worn sofa. Laurie scrambled to snuggle in beside him, and it was the most natural and wonderful thing in the world to brace his arm around the sick child and draw her close.
“I’ve read it five times already, and that’s just the afternoon count.”
Mike laughed at her bemused expression, but her admission struck a chord within him. He used to read the same stories to Mary Lynn repeatedly when she was little. Their ten-year age difference kept them miles apart from playing together, but he’d been a good older brother in other ways. Reading and helping with homework . . . he’d done all right then.
A knock at the door drew his attention up as he started the story softly. Laurie cuddled into his side, ready to be swept into a land of fairy tales and make-believe.
“Louise.” Karen crossed the room and grasped the hands of a very pregnant young woman. “Did you enjoy your shopping day?”
The young woman’s face brightened. “Even without money, it’s a thrill to walk the streets of Midtown.”
Karen’s emphatic nod said she agreed. “The lights themselves are enough of a treat, aren’t they?”
“Amazing.” Louise sent a look toward Mike and Laurie. “Is she better?”
“Getting better, I think,” Karen replied. “But this is just part of motherhood. Dealing with the unexpected.”
“And the worry,” Louise answered softly. “I’m not sure I’m ready for any of that. I’m already worried enough about keeping me going. A baby?” She dropped a look of concern to her swollen figure. “I can’t even imagine doing it.”
Karen squeezed her hands and shook her head, confident. “Worry is not of God. We are in His hands, at His time. He wants us to not just believe that, but to know it. In our hearts, our souls.”
“I want to.” Mike could barely hear Louise’s soft response over his storytelling, but the concern that shadowed her face said more than words ever could. “I want to believe that God’s there, watching over us.”
“He is.” Karen’s smile said she lived her faith, heart and soul. “But He gave us free will. All of us.” She waved a hand indicating a big, wide world beyond their doors. “Our job is to make the best decisions possible from this point forward. But no one said it would be easy, Louise. Big decisions rarely are. Have you been to see Susan?”
Louise nodded. “She’s not having any labor pains right now, and she said to tell you thank you for sitting with her. Talking to her.”
Karen waved the thanks off. “Just doing my job.”
“Oh, Karen.” Louise reached out and gave Karen a big hug. “You do so much more than that. You’re such a good example to us all. I hope you know that.”
Karen’s face went still.
Louise didn’t appear to notice.
Mike couldn’t help but notice.
She made a little face of chagrin, stepped back, and waved Louise off. “Go, now. Stay away from the germs in here. I feel fine now, but I could be incubating whatever that one’s got.” She hooked a thumb toward Laurie. “And Mike, you should think of that too. We don’t want to get everyone sick.”
“I can handle a little bug,” Mike informed her as Louise walked away. “A friend?”
“Oh, Mike”—she clapped a hand to her mouth as she crossed the room—“I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce you. Yes, that’s Louise, one of our expectant mothers.”
Mike drew his brows together, finished the last page of the current story, then faced Karen. “One of them? They wander the halls of the hospital?”
She faced him, puzzled, but then her face changed as awareness dawned. “You don’t know what this is.”
“The hospital?”