Marta's Legacy Collection (37 page)

Boots stood in the doorway. “A little tipsy, tha’s all. He took me dancing and then to some party. So? How did you like Trip? Nice guy, isn’t he.”

“Yes. He’s nice.” It seemed a harmless enough thing to say to her inebriated friend. In truth, she had liked him entirely too much. She had felt the loss of him when he said good night. “I don’t expect to hear from him again.”

“Too bad.” Boots waved her hand. “I’m going to hit the hay before I end up on the floor. Nigh’ night.”

Trip called the next day. “How about an ice cream at Eddy’s?”

And the evening after that. “It’s a nice evening for a walk around Lake Merritt.”

When he didn’t call on Monday, Hildemara felt the hint of heartbreak coming on. How could she have allowed herself to fall for someone so fast?

When he called the next day and asked her to dinner and another movie, she declined.

“Sunday, then. Church?”

“I don’t know my schedule yet. I may put in for extra shifts.”

Trip didn’t press.

Boots came home early. “Why are you crying? Did that guy do something . . . ?”

“No. He didn’t do anything. Nothing’s wrong.”

Boots sat on the sofa. “He hasn’t asked you out again. Is that it?”

“He did ask me out.”

Boots shook her head. “So what’s the problem?”

“I’m not going out with him again.”

“Why not? You like him. He likes you. Put two and two together and—”

“And I end up with a broken heart. Trip could have any girl he wants, Boots. He’s gorgeous. He’s going to UCB. He’s going to be a doctor. That should make even you sit up and take notice.”

Boots gave Hildie a hard push. “Next time he asks, say yes.”

Next time he asked, Hildie thought up another lame excuse to say no. “I have to study for the state board exam.” She wanted to keep a distance rather than let herself hope.

The day after she received the good news that she’d passed and now qualified as a registered nurse, Trip showed up on the medical ward with a bouquet of daisies he’d probably bought from the hospital gift shop. “Congratulations!”

She took the bouquet and set it on the nurses’ station counter. “How did you know?”

“Boots told me. You aren’t on shift tonight and you don’t have to study. Let me take you out so we can celebrate.” He said it loudly enough for three nurses to overhear, even if they hadn’t been eavesdropping. Hildemara blushed and stepped away from the others, moving farther down the hall.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He frowned. “Did I do something to offend you?”

“No.”

“Why do you keep saying no, Hildemara?”

“Mr. Arundel!” Jones beckoned him down the hall. They spoke in low voices. Without looking at her, Trip strode down the hall and disappeared through the swinging doors. Feeling a lump growing in her throat, Hildie went to check on her patients. When she came back to the nurses’ station, Jones looked up at her. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Hildemara.”

Trip showed up in the cafeteria a few days later. Hildemara grabbed her tray and retreated to a table behind a potted palm. Trip gave his order, waited for it, and crossed the room. He set his tray on the table, but didn’t sit. “Boots said you probably wouldn’t trust me unless I had references. So . . .” He reached into his pocket, took out three envelopes, and slid them across the table. “Just so you’ll know I’m not the wolf waiting to devour Little Red Riding Hood.” He took his tray and left.

Annoyed, she tore open the envelopes. One letter came from Trip’s pastor claiming Trip was a morally upright young man who attended church every Sunday. Another came from the head nurse of the psych ward, far more serious in tone, commending Mr. Arundel for hard work, intelligence, and compassion. The third was in the form of a petition:
All the undersigned concur that Miss Hildemara Waltert, more commonly known as Flo, should go out with Mr. Cale Arundel, commonly known as Trip, of Colorado Springs, a most honorable young man.
Signatures followed, with Jasia Boutacoff at the top and twenty-two other nurses’ names below hers, including Miss Brown and Miss Jones!

Cheeks flaming, she folded the letters and stuffed them into her uniform pocket. She tried to eat her lunch, but felt the amused glances of several whose names were on the list. Trip sat alone across the room. He ate quickly, dumped his garbage, and came back to her table. Sliding a chair out, he turned it around and straddled it. Folding his arms on the back, he looked at her. “We had a great time, didn’t we? Or was I deluding myself? I have been working on the psych ward, after all.”

“Trip . . .”

“You know, it would be easier to marry you first and then ask you out.”

“Don’t make fun of me, please.”

“I saw you before you ever saw me, Hildie. You were praying with one of your patients. I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. I asked around about you. I liked what people had to say.”

“You asked about me?”

He grimaced in apology. “Boots has a reputation. I wanted to know if her roommate plays the field like she does. I wanted to know a little more about you before I made a move.” He smiled slightly. “I think you feel something for me or you wouldn’t be running so scared. I’d like to spend more time with you, get to know you better, have you get to know me.” He rose and turned the chair around. “Your decision.” He pushed the chair under the table. “You tell me no again, and I’ll take it as no.” He gave her a rueful smile, his gaze caressing her face. “I’m praying you say yes.” He walked away.

When she got off work, he was waiting outside the medical ward. She took the stairs instead of the elevator. He kept up with her. “So?”

“Yes.”

He flashed a smile at her. “Good.”

She stopped on the landing. Maybe he wasn’t the Casanova she had first thought, but that didn’t mean that this relationship would come to anything. He might take her out a few more times and realize she was the most boring girl he’d ever met and wonder why he’d bothered in the first place.

He was right: she was scared. She was already halfway to being in love with him. She needed to say something, but couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t expose her feelings.

Trip stepped closer. He took her hand and wove his fingers through hers. “Don’t worry so much, Hildemara Waltert. We’ll take it one step at a time and see where this takes us.”

And so they did for the next six months, until Mama called and said she needed Hildemara to come home right away. “Your father has cancer.”

33

1940

Cancer meant Papa was dying. Hildie had seen patients wasting away, in pain, dying slowly, relatives coming and going, broken and grieving. Cancer meant there was no hope. Cancer meant a lingering, excruciating death. When had he been diagnosed? What had been done for him? What, if anything, could be done? How long had Mama waited before calling for help? Hildemara couldn’t imagine her asking unless there was no hope at all.

She felt sick and afraid, wondering if she would be up to taking care of her father. How would she bear it? It was hard enough watching a stranger suffer.

And Trip. It meant leaving him, and she loved him so much she ached with it. She hadn’t told him yet. Maybe God had kept her silent for a reason. She had no idea how long she might be gone, and then, when it was all over, what would happen to Mama? A week ago, she and Trip had had a conversation that gave her reason to hope he loved her as much as she loved him. “We can talk about the future when I graduate from UC.”

“How long will that be?”

“Another year, maybe less, if I can squeeze in a few courses over the summer.”

Hildie wanted to tell him two people working together toward a common goal could get there a lot faster than one man on his own. She lost her courage.

Now it didn’t matter. Her father took precedence.

With newspaper headlines and radio reports blaring about the Nazis invading Denmark, Norway, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands and nurses talking about possible military service, Hildie put in for emergency leave. She packed everything in two suitcases and called Trip to break their Friday night date.

“I had something special planned.”

“I’m sorry, Trip.” She clutched the telephone, trying not to start crying again.

“What’s wrong, Hildie?”

“My father has cancer. I’m going home to take care of him.”

“Home to Murietta? I’m coming over.”

“No, Trip. Please don’t. I can’t allow myself to think about anything but Papa right now. And I—”

“I love you, Hildie.”

She wanted to say she loved him, too, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have to leave. She felt torn between her love for Papa and her love for Trip.

“Stay put. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

Panic set in when he hung up. She called the bus station for schedules, called Mama with the time she would arrive in Murietta, raked her fingers through her hair, and wondered if she should call a cab and go before Trip arrived. With no one in the house, she felt vulnerable. She knew she would make a complete fool of herself over him.

When the knock came, she almost didn’t answer the door.

Trip knocked again, harder. “Hildie!”

She unlocked the door and opened it. Trip stepped inside and pulled her into his arms. Crying, she clung to him, knowing it would be a long time before she saw him again, if ever. He nudged the door shut with his foot. She shook with sobs and his arms tightened. She could feel his heart beating fast and hard.

Pulling her arms down, she pushed back. Trip didn’t try to hold on. “I only have a few minutes before I have to leave for the bus station.”

“Let me drive you to Murietta. I’d like to meet your parents.”

“No.”

He looked pained. “Why do I get the feeling you’re closing the door on me again?” When she didn’t say anything, he stepped closer. “What’s going on, Hildie?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to find when I get there, Trip. I don’t know how long I’m going to be away. Months? A year? I have no way of knowing.” If she was gone too long, he might find someone else. She wouldn’t want to come back. And what would Mama say if she showed up with a young man? She hadn’t mentioned Trip in any letters, holding tight to her feelings, not sharing them with anyone, except Boots, who couldn’t help but see. What would Trip think if Mama spoke her mind as she always did?
“Well, this is the first I’ve heard you have a young man in your life.
”
What then?

Covering her face, Hildie burst into more tears. Embarrassed to have Trip see her so out of control, she turned away. She didn’t dare tell him how she felt. It would only make everything worse. When Trip touched her shoulder, she moved away. Wiping her face, she gulped. “It’s better if I go home alone. I’ll have time to think, time to get control of my emotions. I need to make some kind of plan for how to care for him.”

Trip came up behind her and ran his hands down her arms. He spoke gently, reasonably. “What are your mother and father going to think of me if you arrive on a bus?”

She bit her lip. “They won’t think anything.”

“I know what I’d think. My daughter is keeping company with an insensitive man who doesn’t care anything about her family. Not much of a recommendation there.” He turned her around. “Hildie?”

“They don’t know about you.”

He went still, his eyes flickering with confusion, then hurt. “You never told them about us?” When she didn’t answer, he let out his breath as though punched. He took his hands from her waist. “Well, I guess that makes it clear where I stand.”

“You don’t understand.”

He stepped back and held up his hands in surrender. “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain. I get it.”

“Trip. Please.”

“Please what? You can’t love someone if you can’t trust him, Hildie, and you’ve never let yourself trust me.” Eyes moist, he turned away. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming. I’m just dense.” He picked up her two suitcases. “Is this it?” He didn’t meet her eyes. “Anything else you want to take home with you?”

Was he giving her one last chance?

“You’re right, Hildie. I don’t understand.” He went out the door. She had no choice but to follow, lock the door behind her, and get in his car.

Neither spoke on the drive to the bus station. He pulled up in front. When he started to open his door, she put her hand on his arm. “Don’t get out of the car. Please. I can make it on my own.” She tried to smile. She tried to tell him the last six months had been the happiest of her life. She tried to tell him she loved him and would never forget him as long as she lived. Instead, she gulped and said, “Don’t hate me, Trip.”

“I don’t hate you.”

So much for happily ever after. “Good-bye, Trip.” Trembling all over, she reached for the door handle.

Swearing softly, Trip reached for her. “Just one thing before you go.” He dug his fingers into her hair. “I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.” He kissed her. He wasn’t tentative or careful or even gentle. He drank her in and filled her up with sensations. When he drew back, they both sat breathing hard, stunned. He ran his thumb over her lips, tears filling his eyes. “Something to remember me by.” He let go, leaned across, and shoved the door open. “I’m sorry about your father, Hildie.”

Standing on the sidewalk with her two suitcases, Hildie watched Trip drive away. He didn’t look back. Not once.

She boarded the bus, found a seat in the last row by herself, and cried all the way to Murietta.

Mama stood waiting outside the bus station. She frowned when Hildie came down the steps, collected her luggage, and met her. They didn’t embrace. Mama shook her head. “You look awful. Are you going to be all right? I don’t want you going to pieces the minute you walk in the door and see your father. That will just make it worse for him. You understand me?”

Cover up. Pretend everything is all right.
“I got it out of my system on the way home.”

“I hope so.”

Hildie had no intention of telling her mother she had just lost the love of her life. “How long have you known about the cancer?” She put her suitcases in the backseat and sat in front.

“It came on suddenly.” Mama started the car.

“No symptoms at all?”

“I’m not a nurse, Hildemara. He looked a little yellow to me, and I told him so, but your father said he didn’t have time for a doctor. Not then, anyway.” She ground the gears.

Yellow? Oh, God.
“Is it in his liver?”

“Yes.”

Hildemara shut her eyes for a moment and then looked out the window, hoping Mama wouldn’t guess what she already knew. It wouldn’t be long.

Mama drove more slowly than usual. “I’m glad you’re home, Hildemara.”

“So am I, Mama. So am I.”

Papa sat in the living room, his Bible open on his lap. Hildie set her suitcases down and went to him, trying not to show the shock at his changed physical appearance. “Hello, Papa.”

He rose with difficulty. “Hildemara! Mama said she had a surprise for me.”

When he opened his arms, Hildie walked into them. She held him firmly, but gently, willing herself not to cry. “I’m home, Papa.” She ran her hands over his back, guessing at how much weight he had lost since Christmas. She could feel his vertebrae, his ribs.

Papa took her by the arms and stepped back. “There was a time when you couldn’t put your arms all the way around me.” He had always stood straight and tall with broad shoulders and thick biceps. Now he was bent from weariness and pain. He edged back toward his chair, reaching back with a tremulous hand. She wanted to step forward and help him, but the look on his face prevented her. He had his pride, and she had already damaged it with her quick tactile examination.

“He doesn’t have much appetite.” Mama stood in the middle of the room. “But I’ll get supper on the stove. I’m sure you’re hungry after your long trip, Hildemara.”

Hildie bent and picked up her suitcases so Papa wouldn’t see her tears. “I hope I’m not sleeping on the sofa.”

“Bernie’s room is empty, now that he and Elizabeth are settled in the new cottage. You can sleep in there. Bernie’s out in the orchard. Elizabeth loves farming as much as your brother. She grows flats of flowers for the nursery.”

“Wish she’d grow us some grandchildren,” Papa said with a laugh.

Hildie felt a wave of sadness. She had learned more than she wanted to know about some things while in the hospital. For Bernie to father a child, after the case of mumps he’d had as a boy, would take a miracle. She remembered him screaming in pain as the disease attacked his testicles. She hadn’t understood then what she knew now. She wondered if Dr. Whiting would ever tell them. Probably not, unless they asked. “Will they be eating with us?”

“No. She cooks for the two of them.”

Hildie set her suitcases in Bernie’s old room and looked out through the screen. The cottage her brother had built for his bride was white with yellow shutters. A flower box held purple pansies and white alyssum. A lattice shed had been built beyond the washhouse past the bay tree. Elizabeth stood inside it, working among flats of flowers.

“Rikka will be home from school soon,” Mama called out over the radio Papa always wanted turned on in the living room. Another radio music program had been interrupted with the increasingly dismal news in Europe. Germans were bombing Paris. In Italy, Mussolini declared war on Britain and France. As sick as he was, Papa still wanted to know what went on in the world.

Rikki had commencement exercises soon, Hildie remembered. Papa had already insisted he would attend the ceremony, even if he had to use a cane.

Hildie came back into the living room. “You want any help, Mama?”

“No. You just sit with Papa and visit.”

Hildie sat at the end of the sofa closest to Papa’s chair. He reminded her of the old gentlemen on the geriatric ward. Cancer aged a man. Her heart broke watching him lean back carefully, a hand resting lightly over his swollen abdomen. “Your baby sister is doing well in high school. Top grades in art.”

“No surprise there, Papa.”

Mama cut peeled potatoes into pieces over a pot. “She wanted to quit and get married a while back.”

“Married! To Paul?” Or was it Johnny? She couldn’t remember. Her baby sister went through boys faster than babies went through diapers.

Mama snorted. “She’s had two boyfriends since Paul. The new one is Melvin Walker. He’s an improvement over the others—five years older, has a good, steady job.”

Papa smiled. “She’ll know when the right one comes along, and I have a feeling it isn’t this one.”

Hildie thought of Trip. He’d been the right one. It just hadn’t been the right time.

Mama added water to the pot. “This one won’t be brushed off. He knows what he wants, and he’s sticking close until she sees his worth.”