Until June

by Barbara M. Britton

“I grunt. I grunt to get on the toilet. I grunt to get into bed. And what about my bath. How would your mother feel seeing you touch a half-naked man when he gets out of the tub? Tell me that, Jo.”

  “She wouldn’t mind. You’re covered.”

  “Barely. You rub ointment on my backside.”

  “Not as much. Lately.” Her cheeks warmed.

  “What if she won’t let you come back to the lodge?” He gave her an ah-hah stare.

  “She would.” But she may not. Geoff wasn’t Mr. Gilbertsen whose main need was comfort and fluids. “We could stay at your place?”

  He swiped his hands over his face as if he was embarrassed by what he asked her to do. Shaking his head, he said a deadpan, “No.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She had committed to staying at the lodge until June.

  “I’m going to open my gift.” She turned and took the stairs two at a time.

  She shut the door to her bedroom. Hurry up, June. Hurry up, Companion. Hurry up, life. And what was her life going to be like after June? Had her customers gone elsewhere? Her breaths ached. She stood rooted to the throw rug, staring at the ceiling.

  Shhh-kunk. Shhh-kunk. Shhh-kunk.

  What was that? It sounded like the drag of a sack of flour.

  He wouldn’t.

  Staccato wheezing grew louder.

  Her muscles tensed as she opened the door.

  Geoff lay on his side. His arms pulled his torso upward while his stumps cleared a stair. A wind gust breath escaped from his mouth.

  “Are you insane?” She hurried down the staircase. She sat on the stair above him and blocked his ascent. “If you fell—”

  “You’d get to go to Juneau for Christmas.” He grabbed the railing and pulled himself into a lazy sitting position.

  “That’s not how I’d want to go.” His inference was insulting. Did he think her shallow? Did he think money was all she cared about?

  He adjusted his lean so his butt sat fully on a stair. “I know why you want to go. It’s time I tell you why I want to stay.”

  “You already did.” Though, she didn’t like the way he made her caregiver duties sound vulgar.

  “Not all of it.” He paused, making her wait and wonder what he was going to reveal. The intensity in his eyes kept her speechless. “On the front lines, any little thump or snap or whisper could mean death. A good soldier,” he hesitated, “I mean someone who stayed alive, had to be ready to react. Fire his weapon. Put on a gas mask. Charge the enemy. If not, your trench became your coffin.” He adjusted his weight. “You don’t know what it’s like living on the edge of death. My body needs time to recuperate from the front.”

  When she heard Geoff talk about war, she hated the Germans. She hated the killing and the scars. She hated all the scars. Even the ones she couldn’t see.

  She relaxed against the stair above. “It’s noisy in Juneau.”

  “And when the Model-T backfired, I messed my bed. When Mrs. Prescott dropped a plate, I shook like a wet dog.”

  “I drop things.”

  He tilted his head back and laughed. “But here in the wilderness, I know it’s just you. Just Jo being clumsy.”

  “You could replace me with someone sure-handed but…” She glanced down the staircase and shielded her eyes. “I don’t see a line of women waiting to take my place.”

  Sighing, he said, “I don’t think I’d survive breaking in someone else.”

  Scooting alongside Geoff, she took hold of his arm. “We can celebrate Christmas at the lodge. Maybe the goose will taste better than the one at Thanksgiving. I’ll do my best not to drop it.”

  “Good. I finally won at something.” Geoff sputtered a contented laugh. He slid, carefully, to the bottom stair.

  She stood and placed her hands on her hips. “From now on the stairs are off limits. You’re not Gregory.”

  “Thank heavens. I don’t want to fight a bear.”

  In the afternoon, Josephine penned a letter to her mother explaining her absence at Christmas. She wrote that traveling and visitors would put a strain on Geoff’s recovery. With her excuse complete, she read a letter from Ann.

  Dear Josephine,

  Marty Hill came to dinner on Sunday. He said you and Geoff Chambers visited the mine. He told me privately that you looked thin and pale, but Mr. Chambers looked quite robust. I trust this has nothing to do with the letter you wrote me regarding men. Do take care of yourself. Marty hopes to return soon.

  I may hear as early as next week about the receptionist position at the bank. It doesn’t pay much but think of all the men I’ll meet.

  Mother sends her love. Her new medicine seems to be easing her pain. She knitted a doily and…

  Josephine couldn’t finish the letter. Dread crept over her, the same dread that paralyzed her when Ivan approached. Did her sister think she was having relations with Geoff? Had Marty said something? Marty’s gaze had touched her more intimately in one afternoon than Geoff’s gaze had in months of care. She almost regretted writing about Greg and Daria. Almost. Seeing her story in a magazine was worth the gossip.

  That night, before bed, she filled the tub and tested the water while Geoff lounged against the bathroom wall. His arms and chest were larger and more defined than the first time she attempted to help him bathe. Is this the robust look Marty had noticed?

  When the water was the perfect temperature, she bent to lift Geoff’s legs.

  He held up a hand. “I’ve got this. Give me room.”

  “Let me help. It’s my job.” She’d blame her stupid Christmas tantrum if he fell.

  “It’s not about you.” He pointed to his own chest and then motioned for her to move toward the doorway.

  Humming a patriotic marching tune, he gripped the sides of the tub and lifted his stumps off the floor. His arm muscles bulged as he held the weight of his body upright. His butt crested the side of the tub and rested briefly on the rim. His left stump hurdled over the edge, but his right leg caught on the steel. His shoulders trembled with fatigue as he fought with his snagged stump.

  “Let me do something.” She reached for him.

  “No,” he snapped. “Stay back.” He grunted his words.

  Her fingernails embedded in her palms. Please, God, no accidents.

  With red-faced determination, Geoff shifted the troublesome leg over the side of the tub. Dropping into the water, he exhaled with glee. He raised his hands into the air. “Wahoo! I did it.”

  She clapped for his success.

  “Face the wall,” he commanded, “and don’t turn around.”

  She turned, grinning at his accomplishment.

  Water sloshed in the tub. Suddenly, something hit the wall beside her.

  She jumped.

  His underwear slid to the ground leaving a wet streak on the wall.

  “That is the last pair of drenched underwear you will have to deal with. From now on, I will bathe without clothes.”

  “You will?” She cleared her throat as she picked up the waterlogged shorts, still averting her gaze. “Can you get out of the tub on your own? Because I’m not giving this underwear back to you.” She was teasingly serious.

  “I don’t know if I can hurl my wheelchair at a black bear, but I can lift myself out of this tub.” He splashed in the water, filling the room with the fresh scent of soap.

  His chipper whistling warmed her soul.

  “I hope you like your early Christmas gift,” he said. “No more bath duty.”

  “You mean if I had threatened to leave earlier, I could have gotten out of tub duty? I’ll have to threaten you more often.” Her laughter changed into a scream as water droplets drenched the back of her dress. She escaped from his shower with a smile on her face.

  21

  On December 24, 1918, she baked Geoff a birthday cake. Not chocolate, but strawberry. She didn’t have any fresh berries, so she used strawberry flavored gelatin. The cake turned out more pink than red, but its mouth-watering aroma made the lodge smell like
a bakery. With no food dye to darken the frosting for writing, she etched “21” on top of the cake with a toothpick.

  Geoff glanced up from a pile of mining bills. “Can we have cake after lunch?”

  “Think you’ll be done with work by then?” She set the cake on the dining room table.

  “I wish. Maybe the sugar will make my headache go away.’’

  She retrieved a brown paper wrapped box from the kitchen. “Here’s something that might ease your pain.” She held out his gift.

  “What’s this?” He put down his papers. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  Her hand stayed outstretched. “It’s customary in my family to give someone a gift if you see them on their birthday. It’s not expensive or fancy.”

  “I can’t.” He shifted his gaze to a ledger.

  “Take it.” She placed the box on his stump. “You’re the only one who will understand the meaning. I made your gift to pass the time. Nothing more.”

  He stared at the box. “I’ll take it if you promise no more gifts.”

  “Only handmade,” she said.

  He unwrapped her gift slowly as if he was thinking of reconsidering her offer. Crunching up the paper, he tossed it onto the coffee table. Opening the flaps, he lifted out a pillow decorated with needlepoint cards. A king of hearts. A queen of hearts. A jack of hearts. And a ten of hearts.

  “That’s the first run I beat you with.” She picked up the wad of paper. “A friendly reminder you haven’t bested me in rummy.”

  He grinned. “One of these days, I’m going to beat you with this same hand. Thanks, Runt.”

  Grabbing her wool coat from the closet, she headed for the back door.

  “Happy Birthday, Old Man.”

  Geoff propped his birthday pillow on the couch. “Where are you going? It’s starting to snow.”

  “There’s a four-foot fir near the path. It will make a perfect Christmas tree for the living room.”

  “We don’t need to decorate.”

  “It’s a tradition. My family cuts down a tree every Christmas Eve. And since…” She broke off her sentence. She didn’t want to revisit the traveling argument.

  “Then I’ll come along. No sense in breaking tradition.”

  She stopped buttoning her coat. Was he feeling nostalgic, too?

  “I’ll need legs and my walking stick.” He shifted some papers, hesitated, then waved her on. “It’s too much trouble. You could have the tree decorated before I’m ready to go.”

  “Are you bluffing? I’m an expert at those straps.” She dashed into his room before he could change his mind and brought his wooden stilts. “Besides, the fresh air will do wonders for your head.”

  He removed his cut-off pants. “You sound like Doc Miller, Jr.”

  She held out his left leg. “If the shoe fits?”

  “Hah. Funny.” He was strapped and dressed in record time.

  As they exited the back door, snow drifted slantwise across the landscape making it seem as if heaven was sprinkling white confetti over the lodge. Geoff gripped his walking stick in one hand and the rifle in the other. She carried an axe and a saw. All in all, they were well prepared and well armed.

  “I’m not taking any chances.” Geoff plunged his walking stick into the snow. “There was a black bear nosing around a day ago.”

  “Wonder if he likes strawberry cake?” She giggled.

  He frowned.

  The beast trotted out from snow-dusted fronds.

  Geoff pointed his stick at the dog. “I swear, if that animal knocks me over.”

  “You’ll swear regardless if he knocks you down or not.” She bent over and brushed snowflakes off her pet.

  “No use drying him with your hand.” Geoff balanced on his wooden staff and eyed the beast suspiciously. “He’s going to get wet with this snow.”

  “We could bring him inside for the night.” She held her breath hoping for agreement.

  “Absolutely not. The porch is sufficient for a wild dog.”

  She stopped petting the canine and found the fir tree she had spotted previously. As the saw’s teeth cut into the bark, the scent of evergreen wafted to her nose reminding her of carolers and candle lights.

  “Now it smells like Christmas.” She breathed deeply and continued with the saw. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her arm ached. Back and forth. Her arm burned. Back and forth. Fortunately, the fir collapsed onto the trail.

  “Tim-ber,” Geoff called like a seasoned lumberjack.

  Grabbing the trunk, she dragged the tree through the snow with her non-sawing arm.

  “Good thing it’s not much bigger or it would be dragging you.” He tried to match her pace. His wooden shoes packed the snow leaving a trail.

  When they reached the porch, she handed him a hammer. “You can nail the planks on for a stand. I’ll hold the tree. I already smell like pancake syrup.”

  “That’s not the only thing you smell of.” Clink. Clink. Clink.

  “Wet dog?” She leaned in to sniff her hands.

  “Summer garden.” Clink. Clink. “I noticed your perfume in the house. I like it.”

  Heat flooded her face. His flattery made her feel as tall as the oldest pines. “I opened an early Christmas gift from my mom. She sent a sachet of sweet pea and gardenia.”

  He stood the tree on its stand. “It’s nice.”

  The tree or her fragrance? She grabbed hold of the trunk and headed for the stairs. “What would be really nice is the scent of warm beast.”

  Geoff clutched the hammer in his hand like a weapon. “That’s not on my Christmas list.”

  But it was on hers.

  ~*~

  That night they sat by their little tree and opened greeting cards. She opened a card from her family. Her heart warmed at her mother’s legible cursive. Her heart sunk to her toes when she read Ann had begun seeing Marty Hill. Would Geoff be upset if Marty spent more time in Juneau?

  “Now here’s a man that knows how to celebrate the holidays.” Geoff held up a card from Brice Todd. “Tropical sun, beaches.”

  She glanced at Brice’s opulent card and pictured his blond hair and bronzed body lying on the beach in nothing but shorts, not even sandals. Somehow, the image didn’t entice her as much as it had when they were at the mansion.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Her head jerked up. Envelopes fell off the arm of her chair.

  “I was thinking about the beach,” she stammered. “How nice it would be to be somewhere warm. I haven’t been out of Alaska.”

  “I hadn’t been out of the country until I enlisted.” Geoff rested his arm on her needlepoint pillow. The fir tree looked as if it was growing out of his head.

  Is that why he went to war? She placed her family’s Christmas card on the table. Her damp palms had curled the edges.

  “Why did you go to war?” She licked her parched lips.

  Geoff stopped organizing cards. Glittering ornaments on the top card held his interest.

  Oh, why did she blurt that out? “I shouldn’t pry.” She rocked forward. “More tea?”

  “No. No tea.” He manipulated his stumps so he sat higher against the back of the couch. “It’s not a horrible secret why I fought. Although, no one brings it up anymore. I met a need.” He glanced at her. “Somewhat like you.”

  “Being a caregiver is different than being a soldier. I barely left home.” She finished off a few drops of cold tea. “And our fights aren’t to the death.” She gave a stiff nod to his pressed-lipped grin. She didn’t want to be reminded of her mistakes.

  “I read of a need for engineers in Europe.” His index finger rotated round and round and round on the arm rest. “I have no formal degree but practically growing up at Kat Wil, I’d seen plenty of land surveys. Ask me to build a sluice. Done. Beam a tunnel. No problem. Reinforce a trench. Easy.” His fingernail picked at the leather. “I wasn’t supposed to be first defense. But trench lines change. You think a section is British and it
spews out Germans.”

  “It doesn’t sound very organized.”

  His gaze bore through her. “It’s not when men are dying.”

  She shifted to the edge of her seat. “I’m thankful it’s over.”

  “Over?” He slapped his mutilated thigh. “I thought I’d come back alive. A bit of shrapnel embedded in my skin maybe. Or in a coffin. I never imagined this.” He drew a hand across his uneven legs.

  Her conscience ached for all the times she’d cursed Geoff, cursed his foul moods, cursed the work involved in his care. Why hadn’t she tried to understand his war wounds earlier?

  Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the arm rest on the couch. “I’m sure your family was proud of you.” I’m proud.

  “It was my decision. My father supported it.” He glanced at a Christmas card from his family. “My father has Bradley. Brice’s father wouldn’t permit him to go to war. Brice is his only son.”

  Had Brice visited the Chamberses’ mansion that day because he felt guilty that his best friend was an amputee? Is a friend losing his life easier than a friend losing his dignity? She was determined all the more to see Geoff overcome his injuries.

  “Did I depress you, Runt?” He shifted closer.

  She shook her head. “And if I was sad, it would be my own fault for bringing up the war.” A war she didn’t understand. Europe seemed so far away from Juneau. She had been bitter and selfish about this job. Bitter about relocating to the lodge. Selfish for resenting the care he required. That needed to change.

  He continued to stare.

  She popped out of the chair. “I’d like some tea.”

  “At this hour? You?” He clapped his hands. “Great. You’ll be alert for a game of birthday rummy.”

  “If you birthday wished for a win, you’re in trouble.”

  ~*~

  At midnight, the invisible soldiers returned to torment Geoff. At least they had waited until his birthday had ended. Grabbing a blanket and the afghan, she hurried to his room.

  “Geoff,” she whispered. She wanted to be sure he was awake, aware, and not aggressive.

  “Jo,” he said breathily. “I had a nightmare.”

  “Must have been all our trench talk.” She checked his forehead. Clammy but cool.