In this moment, p.25
In This Moment, page 25
That same tension became taut between us as he hesitated and then looked down at the napkin in his lap. “To be honest, I don’t know if I should be an option. You’re young and vibrant, full of passion and intelligence. I know what I am, and I could never pretend to be anything else. You deserve so much more.”
“What are you?” I asked, truly curious how he saw himself.
He scoffed and shook his head. “I’m cantankerous, old, and stuck in my ways.” His gaze found mine as he added, “And terrified that I’ve found the most incredible woman I will ever meet, and she sees me for what I truly am.”
“I do see you for what you truly are,” I said, my voice soft and gentle. “I see a man who hides behind his irritable moods so he doesn’t have to get close to people, for fear he will lose them, especially when those people come and go so quickly in his profession. I have a feeling those tendencies started when he was a child, moving to a foreign land, attending boarding schools.” I smiled. “I also see an incredibly brilliant man who is strong, compassionate, and fearless in the face of the human condition. He has a great capacity to love if he would only learn how to trust his own emotions. But more importantly, I see a man capable of changing, though he’s convinced himself otherwise.”
Zechariah’s expression relaxed and he smiled. It touched his eyes first and then his lips. “Do you truly see me that way?”
“I truly see you that way.”
“Then you may be the first.”
“And you may be surprised. Your facade isn’t foolproof, Dr. Philips. Helen Daly has a pretty good handle on you, and I’m sure there are others.”
“As long as you see me,” he said.
The waitress arrived with our seafood, interrupting the conversation, for which I was thankful. It had become too serious. Was Zechariah falling in love with me? The possibility was both thrilling and alarming.
After the waitress left, I said a silent prayer and then took a bite of tuna. It was local and fresh and practically melted in my mouth. “My mother loves tuna,” I said, trying to change the subject so he would not ask something of me that I could not offer. “I will need to tell her to come to Panama City for the best tuna in the world.” I was speaking of my mom, Peggy Clarke, from 2001, but it still applied.
Talking about her reminded me that I didn’t know if I would ever see her again. Tomorrow was fast approaching, and with it, answers to a question I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
24
SEPTEMBER 13, 1861
WASHINGTON, DC
Thunder shook the windows, tearing me from my sleep. Though it was morning, the sky was as dark and foreboding as night. Lightning rent the sky, followed immediately by another clap of thunder so powerful, it felt as if the very earth tore apart around me. Wind rushed at the house, howling like a wild beast.
I was in 1861 again, and the truth shook me deeper than any storm, ravaging my heart and soul with a reality I had tried to ignore for the past two days.
My body had died in 2001, and I would never return there again.
Pain and grief wrapped around my heart, squeezing so hard that I could not breathe. My body began to shiver violently, and I tried to pull the covers around me, but it was no use. I was in shock—and though I had some awareness of it, I could not seem to calm down. Great sobs racked my body, and I became so nauseated, I had to leave my bed to vomit into a wastebasket.
I sat on the cold floor, hugging the wastebasket as tears streamed down my cheeks.
For a split second, I tried to convince myself that perhaps I had been knocked unconscious and was lying in a hospital in 2001, but I knew it couldn’t be true. I could not have possibly survived whatever happened to my body in 2001. The searing heat and explosion had blasted through me.
I rocked back and forth, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe that I would never see Mom and Dad again, or Delilah, or my coworkers at GUH. There had been a possibility that I would have to say good-bye someday, but I wasn’t ready. If I had known—if I had been able to say good-bye properly—would it hurt so much? I thought I had at least four months left, but it had been torn from me without consultation.
“Why?” I called out to God, who felt more like an angry storm than a gentle breeze in this moment. “Why didn’t you let me choose?”
I remembered the last conversation I’d had with Delilah. I had told her I wished God would choose for me. Now that He had, it hurt far worse than I had realized it would. Why was I so flippant that last day? Surely God hadn’t taken 2001 from me because of a glib comment.
My only consolation was that Delilah knew I was still alive—somewhere. She knew the truth, even if my parents did not. Would she try to tell them, to relieve them of some of their pain? Or would she keep the secret forever?
I set the wastebasket aside and hugged my knees to my chest, my long nightgown covering my legs. I couldn’t imagine the pain my loved ones were feeling in 2001. Had the attacks stopped with the Pentagon? Or had they continued, taking out other government buildings? What was the fate of America?
And what about my father? Had the Navy Yard been attacked? I doubted it, though I feared for the US Capitol and the White House.
I suddenly understood how Papa felt when I refused to tell him how the Civil War would play out. I wanted to know the fate of my loved ones and my country. Was it wrong of Papa to want the same?
My heart broke there on my bedroom floor as the tears continued to flow. For me, for those I loved, for the thousands who were mourning after the attacks, and for the loss of my hopes and dreams in 2001. I cried for America too, as I thought of all she had sacrificed for freedom, and would continue to sacrifice as history unfolded.
I didn’t know how long I sat on the floor with the storm raging outside. But eventually I climbed back into my bed on shaky legs and pulled the covers up to my chin.
“Lord,” I prayed quietly, my eyes burning from all the tears, “I knew I would eventually lose two of my paths, and I knew it would be difficult, but why does it have to hurt so much? Is this punishment for my lack of faith? For my anger toward You for giving me this gift?”
Even as I asked, I knew it wasn’t true. No matter how angry or faithless I was, God was good and He loved me. He understood what it was to be human, to be uncertain and angry. For my lack of understanding, He would not punish me—and I would not allow myself to see Him as mean and uncaring. I had asked Him to tell me what path I should choose, and He had given me an answer. At least, a partial answer. I was not supposed to choose 2001. It was as simple as that. I hadn’t wanted Him to rip it from me, but perhaps that was the only way I would have let it go.
“I don’t want my other paths torn from me,” I whispered to God as thunder rumbled through my room. “I’m sorry I’ve been angry about making my final decision. My life is a gift—a unique and rare gift. And I will use the next four months to truly seek Your will for my future. I will choose to believe You have a plan and that You will fulfill that plan in my life.”
I still had two lives to live. Granted, I had lost a great deal, and I would mourn the loss for the rest of my life, but my story had not ended. One chapter had simply been closed. And I still had time to discern which path He wanted me to take.
I hadn’t found the answers I’d been searching for, so perhaps I had been looking in the wrong places. I was comparing my lives based on my career, my purpose, and the people who populated each path. What I hadn’t done was turn inward and ask myself what my heart was longing after. Wasn’t that what Daddy and Mama had been trying to tell me in Williamsburg? That I needed to make the best choice for me and not anyone else?
But today wasn’t the day to ponder that question. My heart had just been broken, and I couldn’t trust it to be honest.
As the storm slowly abated, so too did my tears. I could almost hear Mama’s gentle voice telling me it would be okay. My life would go on, and I would ultimately make the right choice. And no matter what, God would be sovereign, and He would show me the way. I just needed to trust myself and Him.
A knock sounded at my door a moment before Saphira entered. Her black hair was caught up in a handkerchief, and she wore a fresh, crisp apron over her colorful dress. She saw me and immediately came to my side.
“Are you feeling poorly?” she asked, her eyebrows tilted in concern.
“Yes.” My head pounded, and my eyes felt like sandpaper. “I do not feel well at all.”
“Would you like for me to send for Dr. Ayers?”
“No.” My malady was a condition of the heart, and no amount of doctoring could fix it.
I stayed in bed for most of the morning, tending to my heart. When I finally got up, my limbs felt heavy, as if I were treading through a pool of mud. Everything exhausted me, from my toilette to walking down the stairs, to sitting at the dining room table and forcing myself to drink a cup of tea. Goldie tried to get me to eat some toast, but I couldn’t stomach anything.
The intensity of the storm had moved on, but it was still raining, filling the streets with mud. I had planned to go to the Sanitary Commission to apply to work as a nurse, but I wasn’t fit to do anything today. Besides, it would be difficult to go out in this weather, and I didn’t want to ask Joseph to hitch up the carriage. Since Papa wouldn’t be home until evening, I contemplated going back to bed, but I didn’t want to alarm Saphira, who was already concerned.
I was still at the table with my tea, debating what to do, when there was a knock at the front door.
As Joseph came through the dining room to answer it, I said, “Whoever it is, please tell them I’m not receiving visitors today.”
“Yes, Miss Margaret.” He smiled, his face filled with compassion, and I was certain Saphira or Goldie had told him I was not feeling well.
I stayed in the dining room, planning to hide there until the caller left, and heard Joseph say, “Good morning, Mr. Cooper.”
“Good morning,” Gray responded. “Is Miss Wakefield receiving callers?”
Gray had come out in the rain to see me? To him, it was less than twenty-four hours since we stood on Rose’s porch. Had he come to call on me so soon? It was odd to come early in the morning. Perhaps something was wrong.
I left the dining room, running a hand over my hair, conscious that I probably looked frightful. My face was still puffy and my eyes were red, but I couldn’t risk Gray leaving.
Joseph’s back was toward me as I entered the foyer. “Miss Margaret isn’t recei—”
“I’m here, Joseph,” I said, walking up behind him.
Gray stood on our front stoop, looking handsome in his tailored suitcoat, his hat in his hand. His dark eyes glowed with pleasure at the sight of me, but within a heartbeat, I could tell he knew something was wrong.
“Good morning,” he said, his brows dipping. “May I come in?”
“Yes, please.” I tried to smile, but it was almost impossible. “Thank you, Joseph. That will be all.”
Joseph nodded and left the foyer as Gray entered.
I closed the door behind him, thankful that Joseph had set a fire in the hearth earlier that morning. The air was cool and wet. “Come into the parlor and warm yourself.”
Gray did not move from the foyer, concern darkening his eyes. “What’s wrong, Maggie?”
“I’m not feeling well this morning.”
“Has your father been home to tell you the news? Is that it?”
“News? What news?”
Gray frowned. “He hasn’t told you yet?”
“I haven’t spoken to Papa since last night. Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry for speaking. It’s not my news to tell. I just thought, with the way you look, that you’d heard something upsetting. I assumed—” He paused, clearly disappointed with himself. “Again, I’m sorry.”
“You cannot leave me in suspense. What hasn’t Papa told me?” I didn’t think I could bear more bad news, but I also couldn’t live in a state of not knowing.
Gray set his hat and gloves on the hall table and then came closer to me. He laid gentle hands on my arms. “If your father has not spoken to you, then what has you so upset? And don’t tell me it’s nothing. It’s clear something has devastated you.”
The tears started again, and I leaned into his embrace. Gray wrapped his arms around me, cradling me. It was the first time he had held me since Bull Run. He was warm and strong, and he smelled of soap. He didn’t ask any more questions or hurry me, but allowed me to weep. I knew I could not explain myself, but I also knew that I needed someone else’s strength and comfort—his comfort.
Slowly, my tears subsided, and he gently handed me a clean handkerchief, then led me into the parlor and drew me onto the sofa with him. His touch anchored me to the moment—to him—offering immeasurable reassurance.
“Can you tell me what’s happened?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. “I’m afraid I cannot.”
He was silent for a moment. “Does this have something to do with your double life?”
I looked up at him sharply to see if he was goading or teasing me, but he was not. Apparently, he had concluded that I was leading a double life, but did he have any idea the extent of it?
“My d-double life?” I asked.
“I know that things are not as they seem, Maggie. It’s my job to look for signs and clues, and it’s evident you are leading two very different lives. You are your father’s daughter and hostess, but you must also be working as a doctor or, at the very least, a nurse somewhere else. Am I wrong?”
I swallowed hard and shook my head, wanting so desperately for him to know, to understand, at least in part. “You are not wrong.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything else,” he said cautiously, “but if you’d like to tell me, I can assure you that your secrets are safe with me.”
“I wish I could tell you,” I whispered and clung to the handkerchief he had given me as his arm settled around my waist, holding me steady.
“Perhaps one day you will.” He hesitated and then said, “Does this have something to do with your medical work?”
I took several long, deep breaths. I was heartbroken that I would not complete my medical schooling in 2001, but it was so much more than that. “Yes,” I finally said. “Something devastating has happened, though there is nothing I can do to change it.”
“I’m very sorry, Maggie. I wish I could make it better for you.” He removed his arm from my waist and took my hand in his.
I offered him my first smile since I woke up and nodded through my heartbreak. “I know you do.”
“Then I will pray for you, because I know nothing is impossible with God.”
His words sounded like Mama and Daddy’s, and it was the second indication he’d given that he was a man of faith. It bolstered me, and my breathing began to settle. “Why have you come?”
Gray’s smile was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. No wonder Mr. Pinkerton had hired him and put him in charge of uncovering Rose Greenhow’s espionage. He was handsome, charming, and intelligent. A perfect combination for an agent.
“I know it’s not customary to pay calls during the day,” he said, “but I didn’t want to wait until evening to see you again. I hope you’re not upset that I’m here.”
“How could I be?” My affection for Gray grew exponentially in that moment, but then I recalled what he had said when he first arrived. “What did you think my father had told me?”
He frowned. “It’s not my place to tell you, but I can’t leave you wondering.” He let out a breath. “Your father was given his orders this morning. He’s been commissioned as a colonel and placed in command of a brigade in Stone’s division, guarding fords along the Potomac River north of Washington.”
I closed my eyes, trying not to give in to despair at the news.
“It is the safest place he can be,” Gray assured me, squeezing my hand and drawing my eyes open again. “We have not seen any action near Washington, and I don’t think the rebels will try to attack the city with all the soldiers we have here. The war will most likely take place on battlefields outside of Washington.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
“I do.” He smiled again, his gaze filling with reassurance. “Every man I know wants to fight for his country, and God calls each of us to different battlefields. I’ve been called to Pinkerton’s agency, Mr. Lincoln has been called to the White House, and your father has been called to military service. Each of us must answer that call, or we will feel we have failed. I know you understand this, since you have been called to the medical field, and you would feel that you have no purpose if you weren’t allowed to heal. It’s the same with your father.”
Gray did understand me—more, perhaps, than I realized.
He set his hand over mine, affection filling his eyes with something that warmed me from the inside out. “I know how desperately he wants to do this. You have to believe in him.” He was offering me his strength for whatever I would face, and I realized I loved him for it, and for so many other reasons. Losing my path in 2001 had shown me that life was precious. What if I lost Gray? Or Papa? Or the purpose God had given me in 1861? Life was too short to hold back, and I didn’t want to any longer. I wanted to throw myself headlong into nursing, into supporting Papa’s dreams—and into loving Gray.
Here, perhaps, was the key to unlocking what my heart wanted.
Yet the same was true for 1941. Yesterday Zechariah had told me he wanted to be an option in my life. His feelings for me were growing, and mine for him. Would it be wrong to court both men at the same time, even if I was the only person who knew? I could try to sort out my feelings for them, but would it be fair to tell them how I felt until I had chosen between them?
“Papa has a good friend in you, and so do I.”
“A friend?” Gray asked, his gaze teasing.
“Aren’t all the best relationships based upon the foundation of friendship?”
“Perhaps,” he said, his voice low as he ran his thumb over the back of my hand, “but I was hoping for something more enduring than friendship.”
