"She must have. She returned with a smile."
"That says something. I must admit you're more progressive than most mothers I've known. Most wouldn't have let their daughters even leave the house."
"I trust Amanda," Susan said. "I trust her to make good decisions."
"I admire that."
"You just admire freethinking women."
"They are more interesting," Jack said.
Susan laughed.
She liked laughing. She liked being around a man who made her laugh and put her at ease. She wondered what it would be like to be with such a man for the rest of her life.
"Thank you for taking me out here," Susan said.
"You're welcome."
"I mean it. Dinner in a rowboat shows imagination."
"Is this a first for you?" Jack asked.
"Oddly enough, no. Bruce took me out once."
"Is that right?"
Susan nodded.
"He took me out on Geneva Lake, in Wisconsin, when I was twenty-three," Susan said. She sighed. "He took me out on the night he proposed."
"He sounds like a romantic man."
"He wasn't," Susan said. She laughed. "He wasn't at all. Like most men, though, he could sometimes be tender, sensitive, and creative."
Jack poured two glasses of wine. He handed one to Susan.
"Do you miss him?" Jack asked.
Susan grabbed the glass and forced a smile. She didn't know how to answer the question. She did miss Bruce Peterson. She missed the life they had together, but she didn't miss how Bruce had treated her at the end and certainly didn't want to discuss either subject with Jack.
"I do," Susan said.
"There's nothing wrong with that, Susan. I'd think less of you if you didn't."
"You're very gracious. Many men would think less of me. They would wonder why I have any lingering feelings for a husband who betrayed my trust."
"You forget that I've been in your shoes," Jack said. "It's easy to remember the worst in a person when that person has hurt you deeply. What's difficult is putting that hurt aside and remembering why you were attracted to that person in the first place."
Susan smiled.
"It seems I'm dining not only with an admiral but also a poet."
Jack laughed softly.
"If I were a poet, I wouldn't need your help on the book."
"You might," Susan said. "Even poets need feedback."
"I suppose."
Susan gazed at the modest man. She admired someone who recognized his own strengths and weaknesses. Jack Hicks may have downplayed his talents as a writer, but that didn't change the fact he was a great writer. Susan had seen his work. She knew that he was as capable as anyone of communicating a complicated message to an uncomplicated public.
"How much further do we have to go?" Susan asked.
"Do you mean on the book?"
"Yes."
Jack paused.
"I estimate thirty to forty pages. We're getting close to the end."
Susan sighed.
"Do you think we'll have a first draft ready by the end of August?"
Jack nodded.
"I'm sure of it," Jack said. "Why do you ask? Are you planning to leave me in September?"
Susan smiled. She had wondered when Jack would acknowledge the 800-pound gorilla sitting in the rowboat. She didn't blame him. There really was no point in ignoring a subject that was never far from their minds.
"Let's just say I'd like to finish the draft before I make any big decisions."
Jack smiled sadly.
"I guess I can live with that."
Susan regretted her answer the second she saw the shine go out of Jack's eyes. She hated stringing along this kind, thoughtful, patient man with evasive comments. She studied his face for a moment, put down her glass, and leaned forward.
"I mean it when I say I haven't committed to leaving Princeton or you," Susan said. "I just need more time to think things through. Can you understand that?"
"I can," Jack said.
"That's good because I'm going to ask for more understanding in the coming weeks."
"You are?"
"I am," Susan said. "I'm going to ask you to be understanding, patient, open-minded, and perhaps even a little reckless."
"That's a tall order, Mrs. Peterson."
"It is. Right now, though, I don't need any of those things."
"You don't?" Jack asked.
"I don't," Susan said. She leaned forward a bit more. "All I need now is a kiss."
The admiral fulfilled the civilian's request. When he was done, he put down his glass, leaned forward himself, and fulfilled it again.
Susan studied the happy widower in the short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants. She liked this man. She loved him too. The question now was what to do with him.
She had forty-six days to make the call of her life, seven weeks to choose a new path. The day of resolution drew closer. The time for action neared. The Decision loomed.
CHAPTER 71: AMANDA
New York, New York – Friday, July 28, 1939
The passenger terminal on Pier 86, at the foot of West Forty-Sixth Street, was huge. High, wide, long, and open, it was as big as an aircraft hanger, as light as a shopping-mall atrium, and as functional as Grand Central Station. It wasn't the most private venue in Manhattan, but it was more than suitable to say goodbye to someone Amanda Peterson hoped to see again.
"Do you have everything you need?" Amanda asked. "That suitcase seems small."
"It's big enough," Kurt said. "I like to travel light."
Amanda leaned forward and put her mouth to Kurt's ear.
"Why don't you say goodbye to my family?" Amanda whispered. "This would probably be a good time. I'll walk you to the gangway when you're done."
"All right."
Amanda released Kurt's hands and stepped back. She watched closely as the German who was an American in all but name moved on to the next woman in his receiving line.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Campbell," Kurt said.
Elizabeth smiled.
"Please call me Elizabeth."
"OK. Goodbye, Elizabeth. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I want you to know that I respect your views, your skepticism, and your willingness to see me as a person."
"It wasn't hard, Kurt. You made it easy."
"In any case, thank you."
"You're welcome."
Kurt gave Elizabeth a gentle hug. When he was finished, he smiled, took a breath, and then moved down the line to a tearful middle-aged mother.
"Goodbye to you, too, Mrs. Peterson … Susan," Kurt said. "Thank you for your kindness and understanding. Thank you for allowing me to get to know your wonderful daughter and bringing me into your family. I hope to repay the favor some day."
"There's no need," Susan said. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "Please give my best to your family. Tell your mother I will pray for her every day."
"I'll tell her that."
Susan took Kurt's hand and gently squeezed it.
"Please be safe. We will all sleep better knowing that you are looking out for yourself as well as those you love. Promise that you'll be careful when you get to Germany."
"I promise," Kurt said.
Susan dropped the hand, leaned forward, and smothered Kurt with a hug. She held onto him until a man spoke over a crackling public address system and announced a passenger liner's pending departure to Cherbourg, Southampton, Rotterdam, and Hamburg.
"Goodbye, Kurt."
"Goodbye."
Amanda wiped away a few tears of her own, walked to Kurt's side, and took his hand. She gave him a reassuring smile and then turned to face her mother.
"We won't be long," Amanda said.
Susan smiled softly.
"Take your time, honey."
Amanda acknowledged the comment with a nod and then led Kurt to the boarding area about thirty yards away. More than twenty people waited patiently to show their tickets to an attenda
nt and ascend a steep gangway that shot through the side of the building.
When they reached the back of the line, Kurt released Amanda's hand, lowered his suitcase to the ground, and straightened his tie. He glanced at Elizabeth and Susan and then at Amanda.
"They don't think I'm coming back, do they?" Kurt asked.
"They don't know you're coming back," Amanda said. "I haven't told them."
"When are you going to tell them?"
"Next week. That way they can't ship me out with you."
Kurt laughed.
"You think of everything."
Amanda put her hands to Kurt's face.
"Right now I'm thinking only of you," Amanda said. "Don't take any unnecessary chances over there. Do what you have to do, save your family if you can, and get your butt back here before all hell breaks loose."
"I will. Even if I have to return alone, I will. I'll return to Princeton before you leave."
Amanda kissed Kurt gently.
"I'm counting on that."
"Is there anything I can bring you?" Kurt asked.
Amanda smiled.
"As a matter of fact, there is. Bring me an edelweiss."
"You want a flower?"
Amanda nodded.
"I don't care if its fresh, dried, or squished in waxed paper. Bring me a flower. Bring me something beautiful from a place that's about to get ugly."
Kurt laughed and smiled.
"OK. I will."
Amanda took a deep breath.
"I guess this is it."
"I guess it is," Kurt said.
Amanda wiped away a fresh tear and then placed her hands on Kurt's shoulders.
"I love you."
She kissed him longer and harder.
"I love you too," Kurt said.
Amanda lowered her hands and smiled sadly.
"Come back to me. I'll be waiting."
Kurt nodded, picked up his suitcase, and then looked over his shoulder at a nonexistent line and a ticket attendant that called out to late boarders. He smiled at Amanda.
"That's my cue," Kurt said. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
Kurt walked to the attendant, showed him his ticket, and ascended the gangway. He took about ten steps, stopped, and turned around to face Amanda. He blew her a kiss.
Amanda returned the kiss and watched closely as Kurt advanced through the opening in the terminal wall and disappeared from sight. She had said her first goodbye to the only boy she ever loved. She hoped it wouldn't be her last.
CHAPTER 72: ELIZABETH
Princeton, New Jersey – Tuesday, August 1, 1939
"You did what?" Susan asked.
"I told him," Amanda said. "I told him we were time travelers."
"You had no right to do that."
"I had every right."
Elizabeth put a hand to her temple to stave off a headache that had suddenly grown worse. She hated family fights as much as she hated rap music.
"No. You didn't," Susan said. "You had no right to tell Kurt a thing."
"Don't get all high and mighty on me, Mother. You're planning to do the same thing with Jack. I know you are."
"You know nothing."
"Will you two stop it?" Elizabeth asked. "You're giving me a migraine."
Amanda turned toward the woman in the living-room recliner.
"I'm sorry, Grandma, but I have to get this out. I told Kurt about us because I want him to come back with us. I love him and want to build a life with him."
Susan stepped forward until she, too, was about eight feet from Elizabeth. She looked at her mother and then at Amanda. Like Amanda, she appeared to be spoiling for a fight.
"What exactly did you tell him?" Susan asked.
"I told him a lot of things," Amanda said.
"That's not an answer."
"I told him to return by September 10. That's when we're leaving, isn't it?"
"What did you say about us?" Susan asked. "What did you say about the future?"
"I told him enough to get a commitment. That's all you need to know."
"I've heard enough," Elizabeth said. "I'm getting a glass of water."
Elizabeth got out of her chair, stared at each of the combatants, and walked shakily to the dining area and then to the kitchen. When she reached the refrigerator, she pulled out a pitcher of ice water, carried it to the counter, and grabbed a glass from the cupboard.
She sank when she heard the voices in the living room grow louder. She understood why Susan and Amanda had to talk, but she didn't understand why they had to fight.
Elizabeth poured herself a small glass of water and drank it quickly. She repeated the process twice until the throbbing pain in her head finally began to subside.
She put the pitcher away, placed the glass in the sink, and walked out of the kitchen and into the dining area. She stopped when she reached the arched doorway that divided the dining area and a living room that had become increasingly noisy.
"I want to know!" Susan demanded. "I want to know exactly what you said."
"What difference does it make?" Amanda asked.
Susan put her hands on her hips.
"It makes a huge difference. What did you say?"
"I said we could help his mother."
"What do you mean?" Susan asked.
"I said we could help her find cancer treatment."
"What else?"
"That's mostly it," Amanda said.
"There's more," Susan said. "I know there's more."
"I said we could find jobs for Heinrich and Karl."
"Try again."
"What do you want from me, Mom?"
"I want the truth!"
"I've told you the truth," Amanda said.
"You've told me part of the truth," Susan said. "There is no way Kurt would have agreed to come back here and leave 1939 unless you told him more. Tell me what you said."
"No."
"Amanda?"
"No!"
Elizabeth stepped into the living room.
"Tell her, Amanda," Elizabeth said. "Tell us both."
Amanda sighed.
"I told him about Molotov-Ribbentrop."
"What?" Susan asked.
"I told him about a treaty Russia and Germany will sign in three weeks," Amanda said. "I had to give him a prediction. I had to give him proof."
Susan tapped her foot.
"What else?"
"Don't push me, Mom."
"I'll push you until I get everything. What else did you tell Kurt?"
Elizabeth walked to Susan's side. She did not want to jump into this scrap any more than she wanted to jump into Lake Carnegie, but she did want answers.
"Tell us," Elizabeth said.
"No."
"Tell us!" Susan said.
"I told him war was coming!" Amanda said. "OK? I told him war was coming September 1 and that he had to get out of Germany before then or he would never get out."
"Amanda!"
"I had no choice. I had to tell him if I wanted to see him again."
Elizabeth felt her head swim as she considered what she had just heard. She reached out to Susan just as her daughter moved toward Amanda.
"What else?" Susan asked. "What else?"
"I told him about El Alamein and Stalingrad. I told him about Normandy."
"No! No!"
"Yes! Yes!"
"You didn't," Susan said. She shook her head. "You didn't."
"I did, Mom. I did," Amanda said. She dissolved into tears. "I told him too much. I said the world was about to explode. I told him Hitler would leave Europe in ruins."
"No."
"I said Germany was going to lose."
Elizabeth heard "Stalingrad" and "Normandy" and some of the rest but not "explode" or "Hitler" or "ruins." By the time Amanda Peterson had spilled the rest of her beans, Elizabeth Campbell had dropped to the floor.
CHAPTER 73: AMANDA
Wednesday, August 2, 1939
Amanda gazed at the woma
n in the hospital bed and then at the one sitting on the other side of the bed. She couldn't speak to the first and didn't want to speak to the second, but she knew at some point she would have to answer to both. Such was the case when one acted selfishly, recklessly, and provocatively and drove another person to death's door.
Amanda started to speak but stopped when a nurse entered the room. She watched closely as the caregiver checked Elizabeth's pulse, put a hand on the patient's forehead, and then made a few notations on a clipboard attached to the footboard of the bed.
When the nurse finally exited the room, Amanda gazed again at Susan, gathered her courage, and prepared to engage. Small talk, she concluded, was better than no talk.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Amanda asked.
"I got a little," Susan said.
Amanda knew for a fact that Susan had slept less than four hours. She had heard her mother go to bed at midnight, get up at four, and clean the upstairs bathroom between five and six.
"You don't look like you did," Amanda said.
"Are you saying I look haggard?"
Amanda sighed.
"No. I'm saying you look tired."
"I guess I am," Susan said.
Sleep had not been a high priority for either woman after they had called an ambulance and followed the emergency vehicle to Mercer County Hospital. Neither had food. Both Susan and Amanda had found it impossible to eat even as much as a sandwich after returning home at eight.
Amanda studied her mother's eyes as the two exchanged stares. She looked for warmth, forgiveness, and even lingering anger, but she found nothing except indifference and fatigue.
"Do you want to get lunch?" Amanda asked.
Susan sighed.
"Let's wait."
"You're not saying much."
"I have nothing to say," Susan said.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No. I'm not mad at you."
"Are you disappointed in me?"
"Let's talk later."
Amanda looked away, toward a window, as tears flooded her eyes. She didn't need a direct answer to her question. She could hear her mother's answer in every clipped response.
"I'm sorry, Mom," Amanda said. "I'm so sorry."
Susan smiled softly.
"Don't be sorry."
"Why not? I made a mess of everything."
Mercer Street (American Journey Book 2) Page 32