Mercer Street (American Journey Book 2)

by John A. Heldt

Susan shook her head.

  "We don't know that. We don't know that you made a mess of anything."

  "What do you mean?" Amanda asked.

  "I mean we don't know," Susan said. "We don't know for a fact that Kurt has violated your trust. For all we know, he is exactly what he appears to be: a kind, thoughtful, trustworthy young man who loves you and plans to return to you."

  Amanda took a moment to get it together. She hated crying. She hated showing weakness and vulnerability, but she hated failing people even more. She grabbed a few tissues from a box on a bedside table, dried her eyes, and looked again at her mother.

  "What about Grandma?" Amanda asked in a soft voice. "What about her?"

  "What about her? I knew she had dizzy spells weeks ago," Susan said. She offered another comforting smile. "I could have insisted that she see a doctor. I could have taken her to a doctor, but I didn't. If anyone deserves blame for her current condition, it's me."

  Amanda settled into her chair and lowered her eyes. She no longer cared about blame or mistakes or missed opportunities. She cared only about the woman in the bed.

  "What did the doctor tell you this morning?" Amanda asked.

  "He didn't say much," Susan said. "He doesn't know much."

  "Why not? He's a doctor."

  "He's a doctor in 1939, Amanda. He doesn't have access to twenty-first-century technology. He doesn't even have a conscious patient. Until Grandma wakes up, he won't be able to determine whether she had a stroke, a heart attack, or something else."

  "So what do we do?" Amanda asked. "What can we do?"

  "We sit. We wait. We pray," Susan said. "There's not much else we can do."

  Amanda didn't like that answer. As a product of the digital age, she was used to getting diagnoses and prognoses in hours and not days. She didn't like walking through the darkness. She feared the unknown.

  "What will we do if she doesn't get better?"

  "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Susan said. "There's no point in worrying about something we don't know or can't control."

  Amanda nodded and mustered a weak smile. She agreed with the comment. She knew she would accomplish nothing by obsessing about things that might happen.

  She thought about the encouraging exchange with her mother and then directed her full attention to the patient. She scooted her chair closer to the bed.

  Amanda took Elizabeth's left hand, gazed at her bony fingers, and pondered all the things she had done with those fingers in seventy-nine years. She thought of all the letters she had typed, pots she had made, flowers she had planted, and even diapers she had changed.

  Elizabeth had lived an active life. Even if it had been domestic by modern standards, it had still been active. She had not wasted a moment in eight decades on earth.

  Then Amanda looked again at the hand and noticed something else. She saw that Elizabeth had replaced her second wedding ring with her first. Grandma Campbell had gone retro. She had embraced her past in a tangible, meaningful, surprising manner.

  Amanda gazed at the diamond in the platinum band and noted the irony. This rock had started it all. Had Professor Bell not retrieved the gem from 1958, three women would have never agreed to travel to 1938. They would have never agreed to safeguard two other stones, put their lives on hold, and bravely test the boundaries of the human experience.

  Amanda massaged Elizabeth's hand for a minute and then finally let it go. She figured if she couldn't coax her grandma into consciousness, she should at least let her rest peacefully.

  "Have you told Jack about Grandma?" Amanda asked.

  "No," Susan said. "I will later today."

  Amanda stared at her mother. She was surprised to hear that she hadn't told him. She had assumed that Susan Peterson had Jack Hicks on speed dial or whatever amounted to speed dial in an age where telephones looked like little Liberty Bells.

  "Was I right about you two?" Amanda asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Are you planning to tell Jack who we are? Are you planning to gain his trust, win him over, and persuade him to come back with us?"

  Susan looked at her daughter.

  "I'm thinking about it."

  "So I was right."

  "You were right," Susan said.

  "I'm not judging, Mom. I know you like Jack. You may even love him. I just want you to understand that I didn't ask Kurt to return with us on a whim. I thought about it for weeks. I thought about the promises I had made and the consequences of saying too much. I agonized a long time before deciding I couldn't leave Princeton without him."

  "I know."

  "So why haven't you taken the same step?" Amanda asked. "Why haven't you asked Jack to join us? It's not like he has a family or strong ties to this time."

  "I haven't taken the same step because I'm not ready," Susan said.

  "Are you waiting for a proposal?"

  Susan sighed.

  "I'm waiting for a sign."

  Amanda tilted her head.

  "Are you becoming psychic?"

  Susan smiled.

  "No. I'm becoming cautious."

  "I don't understand," Amanda said.

  "I'm reluctant to take a big step until I've cleared the emotional clutter I left behind," Susan said. "I can't ask anything of Jack until I've made my peace with the past."

  "Are you talking about Dad?"

  "Yes."

  "What does Dad have to do with this?" Amanda asked.

  "He has a lot to do with it. You'll understand someday," Susan said. "When you've been married to someone as long as I was to your father, you'll understand."

  Amanda disagreed but conceded she was in no position to argue. She had never been in a relationship that lasted twenty-five months, much less twenty-five years. Most of her affiliations with men could be measured in news cycles.

  "I suppose," Amanda said. "Just don't take too long to clear that clutter. We have only six more weeks in the thirties. That's not a lot of time."

  "It's not … but it's enough."

  "You really think so?"

  "I do," Susan said. "If there's one thing I've learned to do in forty-nine years, it's how to clear clutter. I'll be ready to go when the time comes – and so will you."

  CHAPTER 74: SUSAN

  Wednesday, August 9, 1939

  Susan pushed through the doors of the diner, hurried past a blur of booths, and looked for a reason to smile. She found one in the form of a friend.

  "I'm sorry I'm late," Susan said.

  "You're right on time in my book," Jack said.

  The admiral slid out of his booth, rose to his feet, and greeted Susan with a kiss on the cheek. He looked at her for a moment, smiled warmly, and then motioned for her to join him.

  "Please take a seat."

  Susan sat in the seat opposite Jack and put her purse on the bench. She grabbed a menu, gave it a quick scan, and then placed it on the table.

  "Have you ordered yet?" Susan asked.

  "No," Jack replied. "I knew you would show up."

  "I like your optimism."

  "How is your mother?"

  "She's conscious," Susan said.

  "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

  Susan frowned.

  "It's a good thing if a patient wants to live. It's a bad thing if she doesn't."

  "What did you learn at the hospital?" Jack asked.

  Susan sighed.

  "I learned she had a stroke."

  "Is she all right?"

  "She's stable," Susan said.

  "Is she able to speak?"

  Susan nodded.

  "She's able to speak and eat and follow commands. She's able to do a lot of things. She's unwilling to do any of them."

  "Give her time," Jack said. "She'll bounce back."

  "She might. She might not."

  "You have to be positive."

  "Are you a doctor now?" Susan asked.

  "No," Jack said. "I'm a man who's been in your shoes. I went through the same th
ing with my own mother several years ago. I know what you're up against."

  "I suppose you do."

  "How is Amanda doing?"

  "She's hurting," Susan said. "She thinks she's at least partly responsible."

  "Why is that?"

  "We argued in front of my mother before she collapsed."

  "I see," Jack said. "What did you argue about?"

  Susan sighed.

  "We argued about a lot of things. It doesn't matter. Amanda's not to blame."

  Jack nodded.

  "No. She's not. I can relate to how she feels though. I felt a lot of guilt when my mother had her stroke. We had argued over some fairly trivial things beforehand."

  "Did your mother recover?" Susan asked.

  "She did. She recovered fully. That's why I'm optimistic about Elizabeth's prognosis. If she's able to speak and eat and follow commands, she's more than halfway there."

  Susan leaned forward.

  "Let's talk about something else."

  "OK," Jack said. "What would you like to talk about?"

  Susan turned her head as a thin man in an apron entered the room.

  "How about sandwiches?"

  "Do you see the waiter?" Jack asked.

  "No. I see a man who wants to clear this booth of loiterers."

  Jack smiled.

  "Let's talk about sandwiches then."

  Susan opened her menu a second time. She examined her options, requested input from Jack, and settled on the Princeton Pastrami. She didn't know if it had anything on the Trenton Turkey, the Camden Club, or the Hoboken Ham, but it did look more interesting than a bowl of soup.

  "What are you going to get?" Susan asked.

  "I was thinking of a hot dog."

  Susan laughed and then looked at Jack with deep affection. She couldn't help but admire a man who could take her mind off an ailing mother, a troubled daughter, and a world war that only three time travelers, a German research assistant, and perhaps a few others saw coming.

  The waiter came to the table a moment later. He took two orders, grabbed two menus, and then escaped to the front of a diner that had become noticeably busier in the past ten minutes.

  "How is the book coming?" Susan asked.

  "It's coming," Jack said.

  "Is that your way of saying, 'I miss my assistant'?"

  Jack smiled.

  "Yes."

  "I'll try to help you more this week," Susan said.

  "You take care of your family. I'll be fine."

  "No. I want to help. I committed to this project. I want to finish it."

  "OK. Let's meet next week," Jack said. "I'll have more work for you."

  "How does Thursday at my place sound?"

  "It sounds perfect. We have a date."

  Susan smiled as she pondered the definition of "date." With Jack Hicks, it could mean anything from a baseball game to a lecture to a dinner in a rowboat.

  "Did you ever hear from Admiral Jones?" Susan asked.

  "No. He's still on vacation."

  Jack had tried twice in July to reach Sidney Jones. The two-star admiral, a professor at the U.S. Naval Academy, was among a handful of senior officers who had spoken publicly in favor of rebuilding the nation's outdated fleet.

  "What will you do if you can't reach him?" Susan asked.

  "I'll quote Bill Franks instead. He's an old friend who works in the War Department. I spoke with him at a luncheon in Philadelphia on Monday."

  "Does he know a lot about naval aviation?"

  "He does," Jack said. "He knows more than I do."

  "Then your problem is solved."

  "I suppose it is."

  Susan tilted her head.

  "You don't sound very excited."

  "Oh, I am," Jack said. "I'm very excited about using Bill as a source in the book."

  "Then why the frown?" Susan asked.

  Jack smiled.

  "Am I frowning?"

  "Yes. You are. Or at least you were."

  "I guess it's a good thing we're not playing poker then," Jack said. "I would never be able to bluff my way through a bad hand."

  "No. You wouldn't," Susan said. "Now tell me what's wrong."

  Jack sighed.

  "I'm not sure that anything is wrong. I'm just a little troubled by something Bill told me as I was leaving the luncheon."

  "What's that?" Susan asked.

  "Can I trust you to keep a secret?"

  "No."

  Jack laughed.

  "I thought so."

  "I'm kidding, Jack."

  "I know you are."

  "What did Bill tell you?" Susan asked.

  Jack took a deep breath.

  "He told me, in no uncertain terms, that Hitler is preparing for war. He said Germany has redeployed several Panzer divisions and other assets to its border with Poland."

  "How did you respond?"

  "I told him I didn't believe him," Jack said.

  "You did?"

  "Of course. I said there was no way Hitler would be so stupid or brazen. I said if he moved troops to the east, he would only invite a reciprocal move by Stalin."

  Susan felt a knot form in her stomach.

  "What did Bill say to that?"

  "He agreed with me," Jack said. "He said Hitler would never act so provocatively unless he was certain the Russians would not respond in kind."

  "So what are you saying?"

  "I'm saying that a man I trust, a man I've known for twenty years, believes the Germans and the Russians are about to sign a non-aggression pact."

  Susan recalled her argument with Amanda. She remembered that her daughter had mentioned a treaty called Molotov-Ribbentrop.

  "What do you believe?" Susan asked.

  Jack laughed.

  "I think Bill Franks is henhouse crazy," Jack said. He sighed. "I also think he's right."

  CHAPTER 75: AMANDA

  Monday, August 14, 1939

  Amanda Peterson could read eyes like Boy Scouts could read signs on a trail. She could tell whether a boyfriend had cheated, a girlfriend had blabbed, or a coworker had lied simply by looking at their pupils, irises, and lids. Once, as a college freshman, she had forced a boyfriend to confess to infidelity by looking him in the eyes and reciting the lyrics of a song by the Eagles.

  For twenty-two years she had been able to read her grandmother's eyes too. She had been able to tell whether she was mad, sad, or happy simply by looking at her peepers.

  For the past ten days, however, she had not been able to read anything at all. When she looked at Elizabeth Campbell's eyes, she did not see anger, sadness, or joy but rather vast reservoirs of disinterest. She saw a woman who had given up on life.

  Amanda pondered that change as she entered Room 220 at the Mercer County Hospital, glanced again at the eyes she could not read, and put a vase of fresh flowers on a table. She greeted Susan with a nod and then sat in a chair that had become her home away from home.

  "How is she doing?" Amanda asked.

  "She's doing all right," Susan said. "She asked for a glass of juice about a half hour ago. I guess that's something."

  "I guess."

  Amanda looked at her grandmother and watched her eyelids flutter and shut. She had hoped to say a few words to her but saw that the words would have to wait.

  "Where did you go?" Susan asked.

  "I went back to the house to pick up the mail," Amanda said.

  "Did Mr. Postman leave anything good?"

  "He did for me."

  "Oh?"

  Amanda reached into her purse.

  "I found this in the box," Amanda said.

  She handed Susan a postcard from Southampton, England. The front featured an image of an Edwardian couple strolling down a boardwalk. The back contained an August 3 postmark, a stamp bearing the likeness of George VI, and the handwriting of a homesick man.

  Susan gave the sepia photograph on the front of the card a quick examination and then flipped to the back. She read the short message,
smiled, and returned the card to its owner.

  "He misses you," Susan said.

  "I sure hope so," Amanda replied.

  "He does."

  Amanda settled in her chair, closed her eyes, and thought of the boy who had undoubtedly reached his destination. She wondered what had gone through his mind as he traveled to the Third Reich. She opened her eyes, held up the card, and read it again.

  Dearest A: I miss you! I need your laugh and smile. So does England. People are gloomy. I will stay here a day and move on. Give my best to your family. Love, K

  P.S. – I left two boxes in my closet. Please discard by August 30.

  Amanda smiled as she pondered the message. She couldn't think of another man who could present his romantic, observant, thoughtful, and practical sides in less than fifty words.

  She made a mental note to visit Kurt's place before August 30. If she did nothing else in the next sixteen days, she would clean out his apartment, prepare it for the next renter, and take care of any paperwork he had neglected in his rush to leave the country.

  Amanda slipped the postcard back into her purse and smiled at Susan. She was happy she could once again talk to her mother about her boyfriend without getting into an argument.

  Amanda snapped the purse shut, put the bag on the floor, and glanced again at Elizabeth. She saw that her fluttering eyes had fluttered again and this time remained in the ON position.

  "Hi, Grams," Amanda said. "Are you awake?"

  "What time is it?" Elizabeth asked.

  "It's about two."

  "Oh. Is it time for breakfast?"

  "No, Grandma. It's not."

  Elizabeth gazed at Amanda and then at Susan before resuming her favorite hospital activity. She laid her head back on her pillow, took a deep breath, and fixed her gaze on white perforated ceiling tiles that were as interesting as egg yolks.

  Amanda glanced at her mother and saw that she too was on the verge of tears. She hated what strokes did to people and to the people who loved them. They didn't just strip the victims of their ability to function and reason. They stripped them of their souls.

  Amanda looked around the room for a newspaper. She figured if she was going to spend another day in a hospital room waiting for a miracle to happen, she might as well put that time to good use. Perhaps she could learn something new about a world that was set to detonate.