by Sally Laity
Accompanying her limping coworker home for what had evolved into a weekly get-together with Estelle’s family, Mary slipped an arm around her. “Slow we walk. Not so much hurt.”
Estelle gave a pained smile when they turned down her street. “They looked so stylish in the store window on Satur-day. That’s what I get for buying in haste.” Suddenly she stopped. “Wait, this should help more than anything.” Placing a hand on Mary’s shoulder for balance, she slipped both shoes and anklets off entirely, revealing an angry, nickel-sized abrasion on one foot. “Mmm, much better.” But tiny lines of distress fanned out from her eyes as she gingerly walked the rest of the way barefooted.
Even Mary was glad when they finally reached the portion of the tenement row house belonging to the Thomases. They mounted the steps and went inside.
“Well, well,” Nelson remarked in the entry, grinning like the Cheshire cat in Christine Chudzik’s favorite story. “Olympic’s star seamstresses return home after a hard day at the factory.”
Estelle just groaned and headed for the couch, where she collapsed with a sigh onto the slipcovered cushions.
But Mary had detected a decidedly cheerier tone than usual in Nelson’s voice and glanced up at him. Then she realized something else. He seemed taller than she remembered. Why, he was standing! Without crutches! An unbidden smile of astonishment teased her lips.
“Thought it was high time I mastered the old peg leg,” he quipped with a self-conscious shrug. “They say all it takes is practice, practice, and more practice. Either of you gals up to a little stroll around the block?” He looked from one to the other in speculation.
“Count me out,” Estelle moaned. “It was all I could do to stroll home, with this swell blister I acquired, compliments of my new shoes.”
“Mary Theresa?” he asked tentatively, dark, even brows climbing to his mahogany hair in question. “I gotta warn you, though. I’m not very good at this yet, so I could very likely trip over one or both of my feet. . .in case you’d rather not risk the embarrassment of being seen with a clumsy oaf.”
His poignant smile tore at her heart. In truth, Mary would have preferred to remain behind with Estelle. . .but not for the reason he suggested. Her aversion related to being alone with men—period. Still, the fact that Nelson was more concerned with her possible discomfort than his own struck a tender note in her spirit. He’d never given her cause not to trust him. And he looked so vulnerable, wobbling ever so slightly while he waited for her response. How could she refuse?
“Sure thing. I go. There is time?” she asked as he reached around to push the screen door open for her.
“Oh, you mean before supper. Yeah, Dad hasn’t come in yet. Besides, I probably can’t walk very far.” Following her outside, Nelson stopped and turned, poking his head back inside. “Sis? Tell Mom we won’t be too long, okay?” He let the door close with a bang.
Mary went down the steps first, then stood aside, trying not to show her alarm as he tackled the same feat, his movements haltingly slow and ungainly, his face scrunched up in concentration.
When he made it to the sidewalk, he flashed a toothy grin. “See? Easy as pie.”
She couldn’t suppress a smile. “This I see.”
Letting him set the pace, Mary did her best to stay out of the way, yet remained close enough to offer assistance, just in case. The coming evening was sure to be a lovely one, with the mild ocean breeze gently stirring the treetops, occasionally tugging stray hairs loose from their pins. She let her gaze drift to the assortment of row homes on either side of the street, noticing the lamplight beginning to glow here and there behind the curtained windows. A sprinkle of children’s laughter added a charm of its own.
“It’s been pretty nice having you come to supper with Stella,” Nelson said between grunts as he hobbled along. “She’s been needing a friend. Most of her schoolmates are married now and busy with their own lives.”
“Good for me, too, she is. Only my host family I know—and yours—in America.”
“Did you come from a large family back in Poland?”
A twinge of alarm skittered up Mary’s spine, but at the sincerity in his voice, she willed her wariness aside. “Two brothers, one sister, our parents.” Speaking of her departed loved ones didn’t sting as much as she’d expected, though she knew the sadness would never completely go away.
“I’d like to hear about them someday,” Nelson said, “when you feel like talking.”
Mary slanted him a glance, noticing how the brown plaid shirt deepened his eyes to a rich chocolate shade. “Perhaps. Someday.”
He smiled then, a smile slow and gentle and filled with understanding.
She stifled a gasp as the world came to a sudden standstill.
Turning the next corner, Nelson stumbled. His hands flailed madly about, finally latching onto Mary in a desperate move to keep from falling.
She tamped down a rush of unwelcome memories and held her ground until he’d regained his balance.
“Sorry,” he murmured, abashed as he released his grip. “Please forgive me. I was stupid to attempt this without a cane.”
Still fighting for her own composure, Mary tried to ignore the lingering traces of his touch. Amazingly, she felt strangely bereft as they faded away—despite her loathsome experiences at the concentration camp. “Home you have the cane?” she blurted out. “I could get it.”
Guilt colored Nelson’s strong features as he shook his head. “I broke the fool thing, over my good knee. Pretty dumb, now that I think about it.”
He had the most disarming way of making her smile, Mary realized. And she shouldn’t be smiling. “Are you hurt?” she finally managed, subduing the uncustomary giddiness she so often felt in his presence. . .even as her practical side re-minded her there could never be anything more than friendship between them.
“Naw. Except for my pride.” Nelson started forward again, and she fell into step beside him. “At one time I was quite the athlete,” he went on candidly. “Played football in high school; ran track for the sheer fun of it.” He paused. “I thought my life was over when I found out I was a cr—I mean, lost my leg. For several months in the hospital, I was furious at the doctors for pulling me through.”
“Some people were not so fortunate,” Mary whispered, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk.
❧
The quiet reminder sliced through Nelson’s conscience. Here he was, strong and healthy and walking around—however clumsily—in two shoes. While beside him was an angel-spirited beauty who’d had her whole family senselessly ripped away, yet she gave no murmur or complaint. What right did he have to gripe? Or more important, to blame God? Estelle had been right. So was Jon, and so was Mary. It was time he smartened up.
“Thanks.” He looked at her with a half-smile. “For the reminder, I mean.”
She lowered her lashes and kept the slow, laborious pace.
By the time they turned the final corner and were nearing home, Nelson’s stump ached. He should have been content just to go to the corner and back on his first try, instead of overdoing things.
But he wouldn’t have missed this walk for anything.
Enticing supper smells met them as he and Mary climbed the steps and went inside.
“Oh, good,” his mom said. “Everything’s ready. Soon as you two come to the table, we can eat.”
❧
“How is blister?” Mary Theresa asked as she took her place next to Estelle.
She gave her an agonized look. “The same. Sure hope I can find some comfortable shoes to wear to work tomorrow.”
“I hope, too.”
Mr. Thomas waited until he had everyone’s attention, then folded his hands and bowed his head. “We thank You, dear Lord, for Your wondrous provisions. Thank You for bringing our Mary back to us for another evening. Please continue to keep Your hand of blessing upon her day by day. And please touch Stella’s foot and ease the discomfort she’s feeling. Help us to be faithful to You alway
s. Now bless this food so lovingly prepared for us all, in the name of your precious Son. Amen.”
Once again, Mary was touched by the prayer—and by the amazing concept that Almighty God would concern Himself with such trivial matters as blisters! Such a spirit of love pervaded this home, this family, she found herself counting the days until she could be here again. Our Mary, Estelle’s father had called her. And heaven help her, she truly wished she were a part of them.
But she knew that could never be. Christians or not, some things simply could not be shared with these dear people. She couldn’t bear the look she knew would be in their eyes. To be precious in God’s eyes, that would have to be enough for her.
“Help yourself, Dear,” Mrs. Thomas said, passing the stuffed cabbage. “I hope it’s the way you like it.”
Shaking off the cruel reality which had dampened her pleasant reverie, Mary smiled and took the bowl. “Delicious, it looks. Like back in Poland.”
“Mom even made bread today,” Estelle commented. “Since it goes so well with the dish.”
“Enough chatter,” Nelson teased. “There’s a couple of hungry men waiting for the food to come our way.”
Estelle tossed her thick hair and gave a mock salute. “Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!” After placing two cabbage rolls on her plate, she passed the bowl to her father.
“How was the walk, Son?” the older man asked, his expression colored by a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. He nudged his bifocals a bit higher.
“Not too bad. Mary Theresa only had to carry me the last stretch.” Filling his own plate, Nelson winked at her.
Mary decided she’d better give her whole concentration to the task of buttering the fresh, cloudlike bread.
After the meal ended, she helped her hostess clear the table while Estelle elevated her sore foot.
“I’m so happy to have you to supper with us,” Mrs. Thomas said, putting on her apron and removing a second from the drawer for Mary.
“This I not need,” she tried to protest.
But the older woman wouldn’t be dissuaded. “No sense spoiling that pretty dress,” she insisted, tying the strings snugly around Mary’s waist, mothering her. “You have such lovely clothes.”
Mary swallowed down a rush of emotion. “Thank you. Host family, the Chudziks, help me dress American.”
“Well, they taught you well. Still, it can get quite warm here in the city in the summertime. You might consider some dresses with short sleeves. It’s much cooler that way.”
“Maybe new dresses I buy next summer,” she placated, knowing the day would never come when she would expose those disgusting concentration camp identification numbers to the world.
“How long have you been in New York now?” Mrs. Thomas asked while the dishpan filled with water.
Mary fought to regain her serenity. “I think seven, maybe eight months.”
“I do hope you like it here. There are lots of things to do in the city, places to go.” She added dinner plates and glasses to the sudsy water.
“Yes. To museums the Chudziks are taking me sometimes. And parks.”
“I’m glad. We really love having you here with us and would like to think you’re happy in America.”
Nodding, Mary reached for the first item set on the drain board. “Peace there is here. Not like back home. This I like. And your family.”
With a teary smile and soapy hands, the little woman hugged her.
Not until the time came for Mary to leave did she remember that Estelle wouldn’t be able to walk her to the trolley. Mary wasn’t exactly fearful of navigating the streets at night, and it was only two blocks to the stop. Surely she could manage that short distance.
But Nelson lumbered to his feet as she headed for the door. “Thought I’d keep you company.”
“Safe I am. Truly. No need to come.”
He raised a hand to quiet her protests. “I need all the practice I can get, remember?”
“Are you sure, Son?” Mr. Thomas asked from his customary parlor chair. “I could drive her home in my car.”
“Yeah, Dad. I intend to walk as much as I possibly can.”
Alarm jolted her heart, but what could she say? A quick good-bye to Estelle and her parents, and Mary again started up the street with the one young man in the world she knew she’d be wiser to avoid.
Nelson’s gait was still quite awkward, and Mary sensed this walk caused him even more discomfort, but they had plenty of time before the next streetcar arrived.
When they finally gained the stop, Nelson reached inside the sweater he’d put on and drew out a book. “I have something for you. Sort of a thank you for putting up with a clumsy oaf. It’s not much.”
Mary took the volume he held out, its leather cover soft and flexible beneath her fingertips. “Oh!” she gasped. “A Bible it is! I cannot—”
“Yes, you can. It’s not that great, Mary. Just my old one. It’s pretty marked up and all, so I hope you don’t mind. Mom and Dad bought me a new Bible not long ago. It’s silly letting this collect dust on my bookshelf. And the way you seemed to admire Mom’s. . .I’d like you to have it.”
Fighting against a stinging behind her eyelids, Mary Theresa could barely utter a word. “Thank you,” she somehow said around her tight throat.
When the night breeze tossed a stray lock of hair into her eyes, Nelson reached to brush it away, the touch of his fingertips warming her to her toes. The subdued light revealed a longing in his eyes that she’d never glimpsed before, and it changed the rhythm of her pulse.
The approaching trolley rumbled to a stop just then, and Nelson handed her up. “Good night, Mary Theresa.”
She smiled past the mistiness in her eyes and stumbled blindly to a seat, silently voicing her thankfulness to God that the streetcar had come along when it had. . .because otherwise she might have kissed Nelson Thomas.
nine
Aware that she was beginning to nod off, Mary Theresa blinked and peered through heavy eyelids at the alarm clock beside her bed. Two a.m. already? But it was worth the loss of sleep. She closed the Bible Estelle’s brother had given her and hugged it to her heart. Thank You for granting my dearest wish. Like a soul coming out of a famine, she’d already struggled through a portion of the New Testament, flipping through in search of familiar passages, laboring over the outdated English words, yet determined to conquer them.
She noticed that Nelson had underlined verses here and there, often with an addition of a written note or related reference along the margin in a neat, strong hand. Even though some of the comments were beyond her understanding, she still stopped to peruse them whenever she came to one, pondering new meanings and concepts.
So far, she admitted with a yawn, all seemed to coincide with the wonderful things Corrie ten Boom passed along to her and the other women at the death camp. And that only increased her hunger to know more.
“A new day is tomorrow.” Then with supreme reluctance, she laid the treasured Book on her night table. A Bible all her own. No reason to hurry. She would read slowly, as her limited command of the language necessitated, starting with the Gospel of John, where she’d discovered the sewn-in ribbon marker had been placed. And she would savor every word.
Turning to her side, Mary snuggled into her pillow, her thoughts a delicious blend of Scripture verses and the evening stroll with Estelle’s very charming brother. His voice still rang in her mind, and her heart skipped at the memory of the longing she’d seen in his eyes in that unguarded moment. Even yet, it reawakened yearnings she had buried long ago and never planned to resurrect.
Inside, she knew she should not dwell on even the smallest of such forbidden pleasures. But still. . .what could it hurt just to think about him for a little while, to imagine she was just like other young women, just for tonight. . .?
❧
Nelson rose from the upholstered chair when his parents came downstairs dressed for prayer meeting. “Thought I’d tag along this time—if you don’t mind
a slowpoke, that is.” He’d practiced walking throughout the day and already could detect marginal improvement since those first two attempts last night with Mary Theresa. She’d been very enjoyable company, and he’d appreciated the opportunity of getting to know her a little. He’d never met anyone so shy. Something about her plucked an unplayed chord inside his spirit, though he still doubted that any woman could find him appealing, least of all someone as perfect as she. No, better to think of her as a friend and be grateful for that much.
Aside from that, he rather hoped for a chance to talk to the pastor after church.
A look of elation passed between the older couple before his dad grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug, wrinkling Nelson’s best suit. “Remind me to thank Jon and Mary for whatever they did to get you to return to the land of the living,” the older man teased.
“Hey, did I miss something?” Stella asked, straightening the waistband of her pleated charcoal skirt as she traipsed down from her room, a false pout on her lips. “I thought I heard someone mention Mary.”
Mom just smiled. “Your father just commented on how indebted we are to that dear girl. Leave the parlor light on, Nelson. I don’t like coming home to a dark house.”
Stella shot a glance to Nelson and placed a hand over her heart in pretend shock. “Don’t tell me you have deigned to honor us with your presence at the Wednesday night service.”
“Shut up, Squirt,” he countered, purposely flicking a lock of her curly hair into her face.
Hardly offended by the brotherly prank, she wrinkled her nose at him and followed their parents out to their old four-door sedan, with Nelson lagging behind.
A reasonably short drive took them to the stately brick church a stone’s throw from Central Park, where the older couple had met, married, and remained members in the ensuing years. Nelson couldn’t have imagined his family going elsewhere.
“As I live and breathe,” Pastor Herman said, striding to meet their little group when they entered the sanctuary a scant few minutes before the service. Of medium height with a wiry build, the man ran his long fingers through his thatch of white hair and headed straight to Nelson, a warm smile revealing perfect dentures. “Welcome back, young man. It’s good to see you again. This is an answer to prayer.”