The Memoir of Johnny Devine (34 page)

After the cab stopped at Eliza’s apartment
building, John opened her door and offered her an elbow. “I’ll see
you to your door.”

Biting her lip, Eliza glanced at the
building. “Thank you, but I am sure the girls living here will
start a small riot if they see you. Besides, it’s … not
necessary.”

“
All right, then. As you
wish.”

Eliza swallowed hard. “Goodbye, John. It’s
been …” Words couldn’t describe what her time with him had been.
Raising her hand in a wave, she turned and walked away. It was all
she could do.

“
Eliza?”

She turned. In the haze, she could barely
see his face in the glow of a nearby streetlamp.

He took a few steps toward her, then stopped
and drew a deep breath. “I owe you an apology. The other day, at
the gate, when I ... it was incredibly thoughtless of me to kiss
you like that. I had hoped I was no longer that kind of man.”

Her tongue turned wooden. He wouldn’t make
her relive that day’s humiliation, not today of all days, would
he?

John took a step closer.

She kept a steady vigil on his chest to
avoid seeing his eyes. She had worked too hard to put that kiss and
his confession behind her to dredge it all up now.

When he didn’t speak, she looked up and met
his gaze. This time, he didn’t look pained and conflicted. He
looked desperate.

“
I tried to tell myself I
didn’t dare hope,” he said softly.

Her heart raced. “Hope for what?”

“
You.” He swallowed hard.
“Eliza, you’re a beautiful, kind, intelligent woman. You have your
whole life ahead of you. You deserve a good, honorable man, one
without a scandalous reputation. A man who isn’t …” With a frown,
he lowered his gaze to his cane. “You deserve a whole
man.”

“
Yes, I do,” she
whispered, dizzy from her heart beating out of control. “And I’m
looking at one now.”

He searched her eyes.

If he was trying to see into her heart, she
would make him look no further. “You’re a very good man, John. And
you’re far more ‘whole’ than anyone I know.”

“
You can say that after
everything you’ve heard?”

She nodded. “I know exactly who you are. You
don’t pretend you’re something you’re not. You don’t put on a false
front. You live each day in humble faith with a moral strength
that’s genuine.”

His voice softened. “You see all that?”

“
John,” she whispered,
afraid her voice would break. “You’re the most honorable man I’ve
ever known.”

“
Honorable
?” His expression crumbled.
“I’ve never felt honorable in my life.” His dark eyes locked onto
hers, filled with the same turmoil she’d seen the day he kissed
her. “I ache for you, Eliza. There. Do you still think I’m
honorable?”

A tear fell as she nodded, caught up in the
wave of bliss rippling through her.

Gently, he stroked the wet trail, then
touched his lips to her cheek.

Her eyes drifted closed.

“
I ache to hold you,” he
whispered against her skin, “and tell you how much I love
you.”

She finally forced her eyes open. The look
on his face made her forget how to breathe. “I love you too, John,”
she whispered. “With all my heart.”

He pulled her close and held her tight. When
he finally released her, he leaned down and met her with a kiss so
gentle and so full of love she feared she was dreaming.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as she
returned his kiss, saying without words what she had desperately
longed to say.

He said her name and kissed her again,
warming a path to her heart, filling a place that had long been
vacant.

This was love, right and real. A joy like
nothing she’d ever known flooded her, filling her more than she
ever believed possible.

When they finally parted, John pressed a
solemn kiss to her forehead and released her. He reached into his
pocket and took something out.

A small jewelry box.

He looked into her eyes. “Eliza, even though
I believed God had forgiven me, I feared I still owed
penalties—like the inevitable consequences of our mistakes. So when
you came into my life, I thought the time had come to pay my dues,
that perhaps falling in love with you was part of my punishment.
But a good friend reminded me that God doesn’t work that way. That
sometimes God, in His mercy, shields us from penalties we deserve
and gives us joys we don’t.” His voice fell low. “Unexpected and
unimaginable joys.”

He looked at the box as if it might help him
proceed.

Eliza’s breath caught.

“
That day at the gate, you
asked me not to let you walk out of my life.” His gaze met hers.
“Eliza, I believe God brought you into my life, and I can’t imagine
living another day without you. Please don’t ever walk out
again.”

Was she dreaming?

He opened the box and turned it around.
Nestled in a satin crevasse, a large, oval solitaire glittered.
“Sweetheart, this thing has been burning a hole in my pocket all
evening.” He searched her eyes. “I hope you can forgive me for not
doing this on bended knee. Will you marry me?”

Eliza gasped. “Oh, John.” She wrapped her
arms around his neck and kissed him again, heart bursting. If this
was God’s doing, then He deserved her deepest thanks.

As they parted, John chuckled. “I’m going to
take that as a yes.”

She smiled, tears blurring her vision. “Yes!
Yes! Yes!”

Smiling back, John heaved a sigh.

“
So what good friend shall
I thank for convincing you to give love a chance?”

“
Oscar,” he said. “I owe
him more than I can ever repay. We’ll probably have to feed him
dinner every night for the rest of his life now.”

Eliza winced. “Okay. But there’s … something
I need to tell you.”

His expression sobered. “What’s that?”

“
I’m afraid I’m not much
of a cook.”

A slow smile spread across his face and he
shook his head. “Scandalous,” he whispered in mock horror.

Eliza hugged him tight.

Eliza
awoke with a jolt. Had last night been a dream?

She checked her hand and smiled. No, she
hadn’t dreamt it. She was engaged to be married. To John David
Vincent, the man she loved.

She felt something warm and soft at her
shoulder. At some point in the night, Mr. Darcy must have decided
that Eliza was his new pillow. How would he like living in a huge
storybook house with a cottage garden? Hopefully, John liked
cats.

A knock at the door startled her. She
slipped a robe over her nightgown and cracked the door an inch.

Ivy peered through the
crack. “Say—for a girl who’s not taking any calls, you sure get
your share of ’em. I wish I were as popular as you.” She tucked a
bus transfer slip through the door and pointed at the scrawled
writing on it. “One of them called twice. And then there’s the
fella who called just now. Of course, I told him to buzz off.” Ivy
tilted to better see Eliza through the crack. “But he didn’t sound
like that other guy. This one …” Ivy fanned herself. “Oh my stars,
but he sounded dreamy. If you toss him back,
I’m
throwing out a line.” Ivy
frowned. “He didn’t leave a number. He said you’d have it.” She
raised an eyebrow.

John.
Eliza smiled. “Thanks bunches, Ivy. You’re a
doll.”

“
Mm-hmm,” Ivy
said.

Eliza let Darcy out, then dressed quickly.
On her way out the door to telephone John, she spotted the transfer
slip. She picked it up and frowned at the message. She’d been
called twice by someone at Flushing Hospital in Queens County, New
York.

The hospital listed on Betty’s birth
certificate.

Eliza hurried down the stairs to the
phone.

The operator reminded her that this
telephone was restricted to local calls, and authorization for
long-distance calls was required.

Eliza groaned. She dreaded going to the
super, but then he wasn’t known to pass up a chance to add his
“finder’s fee” to tenants’ phone charges.

Once Eliza had authorization, the operator
placed the call to the hospital. Eliza gave her name to the desk
clerk. She waited several minutes before someone came on the
line.

“
Is this Mrs. Eliza
Saunderson?”

“
Yes. I had a message that
you called.”
Please, tell me you know
something about my parents.

“
I’m Margaret Carter, head
nurse. I oversee our hospital volunteers. Mrs. Saunderson, I called
because you contacted us about a patient who gave birth here in
1919. Is that correct?”

“
Yes, I did. Do you have
any information about Lara Petrovich and her child?”

“
No, I’m sorry, I can’t
help you with that.”

Eliza’s hope deflated.

“
This may sound rather
unusual, but the reason I’m calling is that when I gave your
information to a candy striper to file as you had asked, I was told
that you are not the only person who has contacted this hospital
about that particular patient. This other person also asked us for
any information about that patient and infant, and left his name on
file. It seems the man has been looking for the Petrovich family
for quite some time. The candy striper found his information when
she filed yours.”

Eliza gasped. Her body felt wooden. “Was his
name Ivan?”

“
No. His name is
Vlad.”

Vlad
? Who was that, another brother?

“
I believe his full name
is—let me see if I can pronounce it—Vladimir Tishchenko. He called
a while back and asked to be contacted if there was any new
information about Lara or Vasily Petrovich or the infant born to
them. We don’t give out patient information, but I didn’t see any
harm in telling you that someone else has also been looking for
your family. He is Russian, but I believe he lives in West
Virginia. Would you like his number?”

“
Yes, please.” Eliza
hunted for something to write on and found a pencil stub, no paper.
She tore the
no calls
note off the wall, turned it over, and wrote the telephone
number. She barely remembered to thank the woman, whose name she’d
already forgotten. Then she stared at the name and
number.

Who was Vlad and what was his interest in
her parents? Was he a relative? A friend? An enemy? Or perhaps … a
spy? Could this person be the reason her parents left Russia and
changed their names?

Had they been hiding from this Vladimir?

Eliza stared at the telephone number, then
at the receiver. She needed to know and had no choice but to risk
the call. She didn’t have to give her name.

But she did have to get another long
distance call approved. Once the call was placed, a woman answered
in Russian.

Eliza’s hopes fizzled. “Hello,” she said,
hoping the woman understood English. “I’m calling for Vladimir
Tish-chenko?” Eliza winced, certain she had destroyed the
pronunciation of the man’s name.

“
Vlad is not home. Who is
calling, please?”

Until she knew why the man was interested in
her parents, she would not reveal her identity. “I am calling
because Vlad left his telephone number at Flushing Hospital in New
York, and the head nurse gave it to me.”

“
The hospital told you to
call Vlad? Why?”

“
Because I also called the
hospital. About … a family named Petrovich.”

The line went silent. “Petrovich?”

“
Yes.” Perhaps the nurse’s
information was incorrect.

The woman spoke in Russian, then English.
“Wait. I have Vlad telephone you from work. You wait for his call,
da?”

God, should I trust these strangers? Do I
really want to know what connection this man has with my
parents?

If this contact with
Vlad
was
God’s
way of helping her, then perhaps she should trust it.

“
Yes, please ask him to
call me. My name is Eliza.” She gave the telephone number and ended
the call, then stared at the receiver.

Had she done the right thing?

Minutes passed. She was about to give up and
call John when the phone rang.

Hands trembling, she answered. “Hello?”

“
Eliza?” A male
voice.

“
Yes.”

“
May I ask who you are?”
His Russian accent was heavy, but his English was good.

Not so fast,
mister
. “The hospital in New York gave me
your number. It seems you and I are both looking for information
about the same family.”

A few beats of silence followed. “Do you
know Vasily and Lara Petrovich?” he said slowly. “And their
child?”

Eliza’s pulse raced. “Perhaps. Will you
please tell me why you are looking for them?”

A slow exhale played out across the line. “I
need to know what you will do with information. Is your interest
personal or political?”

“
Personal.” Eliza willed
her rigid shoulders to relax.

“
Ah, good. Then, in that
case, my mother has lifelong friend who lost contact with Vasily
when he left Russia. This woman searched many years for him. She
knew that Vasily set sail for New York in late 1918, but nothing
more. I live in United States now, so she asked my mother for my
help. I contacted many New York hospitals and clinics until I found
hospital where Lara Petrovich gave birth. Like finding … needle in
haystack as they say, da?”