Gift from the Sea (13 page)

He shook off such impossible thoughts and turned his attention back to the pond and the fields beyond, rejecting the barn and the horses as too much of a risk. The best course would be through the fields to the harbor. Once he was strong enough. He edged forward and took hold of the levers for raising the window. He tugged and grimaced at the pain that stunned his still partially numb fingers.

“The window is nailed shut,” Sean said.

Stefan had heard no stirring from the room above, no footfalls on the stairway. “I thought perhaps some fresh air. The room is very close,” he explained and saw that Sean was not fooled. Scowling, the elder man approached him.

“Back to bed with you,” the fisherman ordered as he took hold of Stefan’s upper arm and steered him away from the window. Once he had almost bodily lifted Stefan onto the bed, he waited until he had covered himself, then handed him a glass of water. “This will cool you.”

“Thank you,” Stefan said, drinking and then handing back the water glass.

Sean stood where he was, his mouth working as if trying to form the proper words. “Do not dishonor these good people,” he warned. “They have already put themselves at great risk to help you survive. They may yet pay a terrible price for their kindness.”

Such an idea had never occurred to Stefan. He understood they might have problems but nothing they couldn’t handle. After all, from what he had gathered, the doctor and Maggie’s father were in charge of things here on this island. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that should the news ever get out that we
have been aiding a German officer, the Hunters—if they aren’t arrested and jailed for treason—may as well close up the inn for good and move as far away as possible. For they will surely never do business or find forgiveness on this island after that.”

“I did not ask them to take me in,” Stefan protested.

Sean’s smile was wry and devoid of humor. “Did you not now? Are you saying that when you lay there freezing to death you didn’t once pray to God to send someone to help you?”

“I prayed,” Stefan admitted.

“Best keep at it,” Sean said, setting the glass on the side table and turning to the door. “You’ll be needing God’s mercy in the days to come.”

In the darkness Stefan twisted himself around until he could just see the corner of the inn through the window. Maggie’s window remained dark.

If Maggie had hoped that a night’s rest would clear her head and bring her to her senses, she was mistaken. Surely she had given Stefan Witte every possible consideration. She had nursed him, listened to the story of his sister and nephew, read his scrawled diary of life on the battlefield and even kept that final appointment at the docks. And yet each step seemed only to move her closer to a precipice she could not fathom.

As she dressed for the day, she firmly reminded herself it was a given that he would attempt to play upon her sympathies. He had not turned to her originally because he had viewed her father as the more sympathetic. But now, having failed to gain her father’s trust, or the doctor’s, he had set his sights on her.

She studied the envelope, still sealed and lying on her dressing table. She picked it up, touched her thumbnail to
the sealed flap, but stopped. What if this was truly information that could save lives? What if she could be a part of something that might shorten this horrible war by even one hour? What if…

She touched her cheek as she had many times while she read his plea for her to help him, then firmly withdrew her hand and put the kiss out of her mind. She was no one’s fool—and certainly not Stefan Witte’s fool. She dropped the sealed envelope back onto her dressing table, then took special care with anchoring her nurse’s cap into place. She smoothed her apron, checked the turn of the three-quarter cuffs of the shirtwaist, turned sideways to examine the precision of the bow at her waist.

Very well, I will help him get his information delivered, and if it is a ruse, then he will pay the price and my conscience will be clear. I have saved your life, Stefan Witte, and now if you are to be believed, I can help save the lives of others. And if he was lying? Then may God have mercy on you.

Maggie shoved the sealed envelope into the pocket of her apron and headed downstairs to join her family for breakfast.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully as she took her place at the table.

“Well, this is an improvement,” Jeanne said. “I take it you had a good night?”

“I slept well,” Maggie said. “And you?”

“Quite well. Frederick and I are accompanying your parents to church this morning. You really must join us.”

“I have a patient to attend,” Maggie replied with an apologetic smile.

Her father cleared his throat. “I believe you could take today off, Maggie. Sean and Sarah will see to your patient.”

“But…”

“You had the time to go into town yesterday. You can certainly come to church with us today.” It was not an invitation.

“But…Yes, Papa, all right.” She heard her mother’s soft sigh of relief. “I’ll just go and change.”

“This afternoon perhaps we could go skating on the pond,” Jeanne called. “Won’t that be fun?”

Maggie changed into her best wool navy suit, with its three-quarter-length jacket belted at the waist and ankle-length full skirt. It had been months since she’d worn the outfit, and as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, she saw a woman who had experienced the best and worst of life—love and death—since the last time she had worn the suit. So much had changed and yet the suit fit her the same as it had before. Only inside, in her heart and mind, nothing seemed to fit at all.

When she returned to the lobby, the others were busy donning capes, cloaks and gloves for the sleigh ride to the church. “I’ll be along, my dear,” Gabe said as he kissed Lucie’s cheek. “As soon as Dr. Williams has come and gone.”

Maggie saw a look pass between her parents. Something had shifted overnight. The atmosphere surrounding the normal routine of the house felt unsettled. In spite of every effort to maintain normalcy for the sake of Jeanne and Frederick, Maggie could see that something had happened. It had to be Stefan. Her heart pounded. Was he worse? Had he fallen? Her earlier resolve was forgotten in the face of her concern.

“I could come later with Papa,” she said suddenly. “If Dr. Williams has new instructions, I should hear them.”

“Dr. Williams will speak with Sean,” her father said quietly. “Sean will be caring for our patient until he can be transferred.”

“What has happened?” Maggie asked, heedless of the warning look her mother sent her way.

Her father laughed, a false guffaw she’d heard him use in situations that made him uncomfortable or angry. “I am simply taking your Aunt Jeanne’s words to heed, Maggie. You’ve been working too hard. It seems that Jeanne will not be here forever, as we might have hoped, so you should have the opportunity to enjoy the pleasure of her company for a few days.”

A half truth at best, but Maggie knew better than to force the issue. She accepted the felt hat, with its wide satin band, that her mother had held for her while she had pulled on leather gloves.

“Now go along,” her father urged, kissing her cheek and ushering them all to the door. “It won’t do to be late.”

The church was nearly filled and Maggie did not miss the fact that several of the regulars took note of her presence, whispering to one another behind gloved fingers or casting knowing looks at a neighbor across the aisle. Her mother led the way to the third pew on the right, where the family normally sat. Maggie, head held high, followed. If she caught the glance of any of the other parishioners she was greeted either by a smile that said the person was glad she had come to her senses or a scowl from a person who thought her absence had been an act of defiance. Eleanor Pritchard seemed especially taken with her unexpected appearance at services.

Ignoring them all, Maggie took her place next to Jeanne and rose with everyone else as the organist played the opening to the first hymn. By the final verse of the respon
sive reading that followed the hymn, her father had slipped quietly into his place on the aisle.

Maggie glanced over at him, but he did not meet her gaze. Instead he took her mother’s hand, then focused all his attention on the service.

Maggie’s mind was so filled with questions that she heard little of the message that day. Something about forgiving one’s enemies and while that was beyond her ability to fully obey, surely she had done her best. At least where Stefan was concerned.

But the morning’s events had raised new doubts and troubling questions. Her mind raced with thoughts of Stefan. The very idea that he might have taken worse or done something in his desperation to break free had sent her heart into spasms of panic and fear. It stunned her to realize that her fear was not for herself or even for her family. She feared for Stefan. The hour flew by as she tried to untangle the mess of contradictory thoughts that pounded in her head. Before she knew it, they were standing for the final hymn and benediction.

Outside the little church she waited with her parents while Jeanne and Frederick chatted with several locals that Jeanne had met through her years of visiting the island. Given Jeanne’s natural penchant for social conversation, this could take some time, and Maggie saw her opportunity. “Please tell me what has happened,” she asked and saw by her father’s look that he had no doubt what she was asking.

“Your mother and I simply believe that it is asking too much of you to spend all your time with him,” Gabe replied.

“No. It’s something more than that,” Maggie insisted.

“Lower your voice,” her mother warned.

“What is it?” Maggie demanded in a low hiss. “I deserve to know.”

“He may be planning an escape,” Mama said, turning away from a group of passing parishioners.

Maggie released a choked laugh. “How? He most assuredly cannot manage an escape. The man can barely stand and even then needs assistance.”

“Sean found him trying to open the bedroom window last evening.”

Maggie’s look flew from her mother to her father. “How is that possible?”

“It isn’t. The window is nailed shut, Still, it shows the way of his thinking.” Papa sounded tired and worried. “Sean and Sarah had retired for the night after he asked to be left alone for the evening. Sounds from the room below them woke Sarah, and she sent Sean to check. When Sean came into the room, he was walking around unaided and attempting to open the window.”

“I’ll speak with him,” Maggie said and realized she had almost said
warn him.
About what? And why?

“You will do no such thing,” her father growled. “For now Sean will attend him—day and night. As soon as Jeanne and Frederick leave, we will turn him over to the coast guard for transfer to New Bedford. Now here they come. Not another word.”

Maggie knew better than to debate the matter further, but that did not mean she was content to let it drop. She thought of the Christmas truce, and indeed had they not had a kind of similar truce here on Nantucket? By taking him in and caring for his injuries and poor health, had they not crossed the no-man’s-land he had described and looked at the other side? Or was she a fool? Had he made up the tale
to gain her sympathy and, having second thoughts, had he decided to repay her family’s kindness by trying to escape?

Her mother had always taught her that trust was a two-way road. Perhaps in the night Stefan had regretted giving her the envelope that could decide his fate one way or the other depending on whose hands it reached. If only she could see him, speak with him face-to-face about the letter, then she would know if he was lying to her.

T
he young minister and his wife joined them at the inn for Sunday dinner, and Jeanne kept everyone entertained with stories of life on the Continent before the war. Jeanne’s personal maid had taken over the duty of serving the dinner while Sarah and Sean remained at the cottage with Stefan. Maggie had hoped to catch Sarah alone in the kitchen. She wondered what Stefan had been told or if he had simply accepted that he’d been caught in the act and this was the result. Had he asked for her? Was he at all distressed at this turn of events, or would he simply now turn the focus of his desperation on Sarah and Sean?

Well, so be it. Upon awakening that very morning, hadn’t she already been thinking it would be best to return to their former status of patient and nurse? It was a relief to have her father decide she should no longer attend the man, wasn’t it? Isn’t this what she had wanted from the beginning? And yet Stefan’s eyes and the touch of his lips on her cheek haunted her every waking moment.

She forced her attention back to the gathering at the
dining table. The minister’s wife was showing Jeanne a small framed photograph of her sister’s child. Jeanne passed the photo to Maggie. The woman holding the child looked at the photographer with no expression, and the child appeared sullen and unhappy. Nothing like the photograph of Stefan’s sister and nephew, both of them so happy and filled with the joy of life.

Once again doubt, her constant companion these days, raised troubling questions. What if he had fabricated the story of Uma? Was the woman in the photograph really his sister? She was a woman about Maggie’s age with the same golden hair as Stefan, and the boy she held on her lap had Stefan’s smile. In fact, pictures of Stefan at that age would surely be interchangeable with this child’s image.

Uma Witte. Maggie’s counterpart on the other side of the world but perhaps on the same side of this war. For if she was to believe Stefan, Uma had abhorred this war as much as Maggie did. But unlike Maggie she had not turned her back on it even after she had begun to feel its effects. For the war had not only taken her husband, it had then come to her very doorstep, her bare cupboard, her starving child. With official channels closed to her, she had fought back in the only way available to her. She had gone underground and joined the resistance. Maggie actually envied Uma her courage. Maggie had done little but isolate herself from the events and people around her. Oh, she had nursed the sick and been praised for doing so in the wake of her personal tragedy, but she felt something of a fraud. The nursing had been her refuge, her place to hide from the possibility of truly caring—loving—again.

“Not everyone has the luxury of simply going on with
life,” Jeanne was saying to the minister, and her tone, so serious, caught Maggie’s full attention.

“Of course,” the minister was saying, “those who live in Europe, who must face this war every day.” His tone was patronizing, dismissive.

Maggie saw Frederick briefly place his hand over Jeanne’s, an unspoken signal that Jeanne chose not to heed. “Forgive me, Reverend McAllister,” she said quietly, “but the war has not yet truly come to your shores. Until the citizens of Nantucket find themselves living with the reality of a foreign occupation or imminent attack, it is impossible to understand what life is like for so very many innocent souls all over Europe now. Even in Germany and my late husband’s beloved ancestral home of Austria-Hungary.”

There was a stunned silence around the circle of the table. It was Frederick who broke the grip of that sudden quiet. “But enough of war and politics. The duchess and I were planning to go ice-skating this afternoon, Reverend. Perhaps you and your wife will join us?”

The minister’s wife tittered with uneasiness as she glanced quickly at her husband, who was scowling at Jeanne. “It is the Lord’s Day,” he reminded them all.

“And what better way to praise God than to enjoy the beauty of His creation in this peaceful setting that offers God’s own respite from a world in chaos?” Jeanne replied, meeting the minister’s gaze until he dropped his eyes.

“Thank you for the dinner, Mrs. Hunter, but I’m afraid Mrs. McAllister and I must be going. We have some calls to make to the sick and infirm this afternoon. This too is the Lord’s work,” he added as he stood and pulled out his wife’s chair. “In fact, Mrs. Pritchard mentioned that you
are caring for a patient at the cottage. Perhaps we should begin our visits there.”

Maggie glanced at her father, but he remained perfectly composed. “Sadly, this patient’s maladies are still under question, and until the doctor can determine their source, he doesn’t want to risk having the man infect others.” He smiled. “I’ll be sure our patient knows of your concern.”

“And our prayers,” Mrs. McAllister added.

While Lucie and Gabe escorted the McAllisters to the door, Jeanne turned to Maggie. “Your minister is so very young, a child in the matter of real-life experiences. Was I too forward with him?”

“Yes,” Frederick answered before Maggie could open her mouth. “You know very well that you were. You cannot simply go about telling people what you think, Duchess—not in times like this.”

“And why not?” Jeanne replied. “Someone needs to speak up—August would have.” She turned back to Maggie. “My dear husband was horrified by what was happening, and he certainly saw no reason to stay quiet.”

“And when he went back to Austria to try to broker a truce, he was assassinated,” Frederick reminded her gently. “Just be careful, please.” His gaze was so filled with tenderness that Maggie realized Frederick was in love with Jeanne. This was the way her parents looked at each other.

Frederick noticed Maggie staring at him. He laughed then, and patted Jeanne’s hand in an affectionate manner. “Now if you are quite finished with trying to solve the problems of the world, could we go skating? After such a feast as this, I need the exercise.”

Jeanne caressed his cheek, and her entire expression softened as she looked at him for a long moment, oblivi
ous to Maggie’s presence. “We shall go skating,” she said, “if that will make you happy.”

Maggie was stunned, for Jeanne’s tone and gesture spoke volumes. Not only was Frederick in love with her, but also Jeanne returned those feelings. How could that not be disloyal—even a betrayal—of the love she had lost?

“Coming, love?” Jeanne asked, and Maggie looked up, shocked that Jeanne would direct such an open endearment to Frederick.

But Jeanne was looking at her, as was Frederick.

“Yes,” she stammered. “I’ll just go and change.”

Stefan heard the laughter before he saw them, his ears alert to any sound that might signal Maggie’s arrival. Sarah Chadwick had been polite but vague in answer to his question about Maggie’s whereabouts.

“I believe the family has gone to church,” she replied after delivering his breakfast tray. Her manner was that of someone performing an unpleasant task, and she did not look directly at him. In fact, she practically fled the room.

But now it was well past the church hour—well past the noon dinner hour—and still she had not come. Stefan had asked Sean to help him into the wheelchair after lunch, and the man had done so without a word. But his action when he went to the window and tried it to be sure it was still secure spoke louder than any words.

Stefan was dozing in the wheelchair when he heard her laughter. He awoke with a start and glanced around the room, searching for the source of the sound, listening for her step outside his door, but the house was silent. Then again came voices, high-pitched with excitement outside the window.

He wheeled himself forward and looked out. The first to pass was a tall woman with reddish-blond hair, walking arm in arm with an equally tall man. Behind them came Maggie, hurrying to catch up to the longer strides of her companions over the packed snow. Each of them carried ice skates over their shoulders, the laces tied together, the blades sparkling in the bright winter sun.

He saw Maggie glance once at the cottage as she passed and then look just as quickly away, running now to catch up with the others. Her voice echoed on the cold, still air. “Wait for me,” she shouted, and the handsome couple paused.

“Come along, little one,” the man called with the clipped, precise accent of the British.

Then the woman added, “It’s so cold, Freddie. You should have warned me.” But her voice was full of gaiety and happiness, not reproach. The man tenderly pulled the woman’s fur collar closer around her throat, his gloved fingers lingering to brush her cheek as Maggie reached them, breathless but laughing.

Fascinated at seeing this girlish side of the woman who for days had barely dared favor him with a smile, Stefan pressed closer to the window. He could feel the rush of cold air seeping in wherever the window frame was not properly sealed, and for a long moment he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensation of fresh, pure air—of freedom.

A shout from the pond brought him back to the present. The man had led the woman to the very center of the ice and was twirling her around. Despite her protests she cut a graceful figure, reminding Stefan of a music box Uma had once cherished upon which a ballerina pirouetted to the music when the key was wound.

When Maggie took to the ice, he saw that she was an
even more accomplished skater than her companions, but unlike the tall woman, Maggie took no time for pirouettes or cutting precise, ladylike figures in the ice. Instead she struck out to circle the perimeter of the large pond, her feet driving the blades of the skates firmly into the ice as she gathered momentum. Even after working up to a fierce speed, she did not allow herself to coast. Rather she pushed herself as if this were some race she needed to win, making each turn by hunching low, her mittened fingers sometimes skimming the ice as she rode the curve of the circle. Over and over she followed the oval shore of the pond until her companions paused to watch.

“Maggie!” the woman shouted. “Stop that. You look ridiculous. Besides, you’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

Maggie slowed her pace and stood upright, her hands clasped behind her as she made it another half lap around the pond before she glided to the center, showering shards of ice in all directions like the sparks of a fire as she came to a stop. She was breathing hard and laughing even as the woman continued to reprimand her.

“But, Auntie Jeanne,” Stefan heard Maggie protest, “it’s glorious—a little like flying I think.” And then she twirled round and round on her skates, her head flung back and her arms outstretched.

Stefan’s breath caught. In that moment she became the very image of everything that life had been before the war—free, self-reliant, beautiful. He could not deny that his feelings for her had progressed well beyond admiration and gratitude, and he knew without a doubt that this vision of Maggie Hunter laughing, spinning, lifting her arms to the heavens in an act of unadulterated peace and liberty would sustain him. Even if he went to prison, he would
keep repeating his story until someone else believed him, someone with the authority to take action. And although Maggie might never realize it, he would be doing it for her family as much as to honor Uma’s memory. Most of all he would be doing it because he was falling in love with her and it might be the only way he could ever honor that love.

Maggie did not return to the cottage that week. Instead she left with her father every morning for town, where she went to work at the hospital while he attended to the business of managing the many properties he owned in addition to the inn. In the late afternoon the family had dinner at home, then gathered in the parlor, where Frederick and Gabe played chess while Lucie worked on her needlework and Jeanne sat sketching the various members of the family. By week’s end Maggie had begun to feel as confined as Stefan Witte was.

“I’m going for a walk,” she announced one evening. She saw her mother cast a look at her father, who continued the chess game. Maggie knew that he had few concerns about her trying to visit Stefan, for she had already tried, twice, and been turned away, first by Sean and then by Sarah.

“I’ll come with you,” Jeanne announced.

Maggie had noticed that Jeanne was nearly as restless as she was these days. The duchess often seemed distracted, even irritated. The only time she showed any real enthusiasm was on the daily trips she insisted that she and Frederick make into town. But she always returned from those excursions even more out of sorts than before.

On most any other occasion Maggie would have welcomed Jeanne’s company. In fact, more than once she had considered telling her all about Stefan, even
about the kiss. But then her father would comment on the world situation and that brought her back to the realization that this was a time of war, a time of secrets too dangerous to share.

“It’s so very damp and cold,” Maggie said now even though a warming trend had melted a good deal of the snow and left the ice on the pond too thin for skating. She hoped she looked appropriately disappointed that Jeanne might not come with her.

“But not too cold for you?” Jeanne arched one eyebrow and smiled. “My dear Margaret Rose, if I did not know you better, I would think you had planned a tryst with some young suitor.”

Maggie felt color stain her cheeks, and Jeanne laughed, her good spirits momentarily restored. “Aha! It is as I thought. I always hoped you would return to your routine at the hospital, where at least you had some chance of meeting others.”