In this moment, p.3
In This Moment, page 3
Anna set her suitcase on one of the beds. “I hope they have enough work for us so we don’t have to spend much time in our room.”
“A few well-placed pictures of Clark Gable and Gary Cooper would brighten this place up,” I teased her, since she was crazy about movie stars. It was one thing that made her smile.
“Luckily,” she said with an uncharacteristic lightheartedness, “I might have one or two.”
A knock at the door made me stop laughing. I found a young private at our door, wearing a blue navy uniform with a flat hat. He saluted me.
“Lieutenant Margaret Hollingsworth?”
“Yes.”
“Nurse Daly would like to see you in her office, ma’am.”
I looked at Anna, surprised to be called to the Chief Nurse’s office so soon after arriving. I had not yet taken off my gloves or my hat, so I nodded at the private. “Can you tell me where to find her office?”
“This way.” He took a step back and motioned down the long hallway.
“Here only five minutes and already in trouble,” Anna said with a glint of humor. I made a face at her and closed the door to follow the private.
A few other dorm rooms were open, allowing me to glimpse the nurses inside. Some smiled, while others appeared not to notice me as I passed. An occasional laugh filtered into the hall, and someone was listening to a Bing Crosby record. I took a left and then a right before coming to a door with a glass window and the name Lieutenant Helen Daly painted on it. The private stopped and saluted me again before turning away.
I tapped on the door and waited for Nurse Daly to welcome me in.
She rose at my entrance, wearing a navy-blue skirt and matching jacket with brass buttons down the front. Under her jacket was a white blouse with brass pins at the collar.
“Nurse Hollingsworth?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” I closed the door behind me and then went to her desk, where I shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Helen Daly was a pleasant-looking woman, not beautiful but not plain either. She wore her brown hair in rolls along the side of her head to a bun in back and had on a pair of spectacles. I would have placed her in her early thirties, energetic and healthy. As the Chief Nurse, she was our superior and boss.
“Won’t you have a seat?” she asked.
The setting sun created a cascade of colors outside the office window. I took the seat across from her organized desk, trying not to fidget. I could think of no reason she would want to see me alone.
She opened a folder and pulled out a piece of paper with an official-looking seal. Meticulously, taking her time, she closed the folder and laid the letter on top before clasping her hands together and smiling at me.
I returned the smile, waiting for her to start the conversation.
“I am very pleased to have you here with us,” she began. “I spoke to several of your instructors at the Virginia Commonwealth University School of Nursing. They said you are intelligent, quick to take instruction, and could have easily completed your training in half the time it takes others.”
If they knew the reason was because of my advanced studies in 2001, they might not be so impressed.
“However,” Nurse Daly continued as she looked back at the letter, “our policy states that a nurse must be at least twenty-one before she is accepted to serve in the United States Navy.”
“I am aware,” I said, hoping this would not be a problem. “I believe my grandfather sent you a—”
“Yes.” She picked up the paper. “Not only did I receive a copy of the letter Congressman Hollingsworth sent to Rear Admiral Stark, I also received a phone call from the Rear Admiral’s office, instructing us to allow you to enter service here.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Should I be impressed or intimidated, Nurse Hollingsworth?”
Heat warmed my cheeks at the fuss this had caused. “I will be twenty-one in less than nine months,” I was quick to assure her.
“Then why not wait nine months?” Her voice was pleasant and entreating. “What is the hurry?”
I thought of Anna, of her need to start living her life again and doing it as soon as possible. I didn’t want to make her wait until January—especially when I didn’t know if I would still be here after my birthday. If I hadn’t come with her, I was certain she wouldn’t have come on her own.
But would Anna want me to share such an intimate part of her life with our superior, even if it did answer her question?
“As you said,” I began, trying to make my voice sound neutral, “I could have easily finished my training in half the time it took. Nursing is second nature to me. I didn’t want to wait nine more months, not when I was ready to start making a difference now.”
“A noble calling, indeed.” Nurse Daly tucked Grandfather Hollingsworth’s letter back into the file. She clasped her hands again, setting them on the desk. “My best advice is to keep your age to yourself—as well as your connection to Rear Admiral Stark. There are a lot of nurses here who don’t have a powerful grandfather to get them in the door. They had to wait for the honor of serving in the United States Navy, and they will not take kindly to someone who didn’t jump through the same hoops. It could cause a lot of resentment, and I’d hate to see that.”
I nodded, not wishing to make any waves.
“Now.” She stood. “I imagine you are tired and would like to unpack.”
A knock at the door made both of us turn. A tall officer stood on the other side of the glass.
“Yes?” Nurse Daly called.
The door opened, and a captain walked in, wearing a navy-blue dress uniform. He bore the insignia of the medical corps, indicating he was not only an officer but a doctor as well. His bearing suggested years in military service, with perfect posture, broad shoulders, and arrogance to spare.
“Dr. Philips,” Nurse Daly said with a smile, motioning to me. “May I introduce you to Nurse Margaret Hollingsworth? She specializes in surgical nursing and will be helping you in the operating room.”
His brooding eyes turned to me. Dr. Philips was easily in his early thirties, if not a bit older. His blue eyes and dark hair complemented his tanned skin, though it appeared a bit sallow at the moment. He had the look of the sea about him, creasing the skin at his eyes, as if he’d spent years squinting under the sun.
I stood at the introduction.
“How do you do?” he asked curtly, standing at attention. He did not smile or offer a welcoming gaze. If anything, he appeared to want to be done with me and finish the errand that had brought him to Nurse Daly’s office.
“How do you do?” I replied.
“This is the nurse I spoke to you about,” Nurse Daly said as if choosing her words carefully. “The one who came so highly recommended by Rear Admiral Stark.”
Dr. Philips snapped his attention back to me. “You must be a remarkable nurse to have caught the attention of the Chief of Naval Operations.”
“He’s a friend of my grandfather’s.”
No sign of emotion emanated from his gaze. “I suppose we’ll have to treat you with kid gloves so we don’t make the boss mad.”
Nurse Daly made the slightest noise, indicating her displeasure at his words, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.
My back stiffened. I did not personally know Rear Admiral Stark, but I would not admit that to this man. “I do not wish for special treatment.”
“What you wish for and what you receive are rarely the same thing, Nurse Hollingsworth. You cannot come here under special instructions from the Chief of Naval Operations and pretend to be like the rest of us.”
“Did you need something from me, Captain?” Nurse Daly interrupted.
His irritated gaze finally turned away from me as he opened the door and muttered, “I’ve forgotten.”
As soon as the door closed, Nurse Daly sighed. “I’m afraid I should apologize for him, but if I start now, I would never stop. Dr. Zechariah Philips tends to say whatever is on his mind. You’ll realize soon enough that he has a loud bark, though he rarely bites. Learning how to work with him will probably be your biggest challenge in the navy.”
I wished she was correct, but with WWII looming in this path and Anna’s mental health on tenterhooks, a cranky doctor was the least of my worries.
3
APRIL 18, 2001
WASHINGTON, DC
The next day, the locker room was quiet as I changed into my street clothes at Georgetown University Hospital following my afternoon shift. I was in my fourth year of medical school and was doing a four-week emergency medicine rotation. The day had been busy. Two heart attacks, a car accident, and a burn victim had kept me running, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My days were filled with purpose—and kept me distracted.
“Meg?” A nurse found me in the locker room. “Dr. Erdman would like to see you before you go home.”
In 2001, I was Margaret Clarke. Miraculously, I bore the same first name in each of my paths, though Mama and Daddy said it wasn’t that much of a miracle. They had both had similar names in their two paths. Perhaps it was the name God had inspired each set of parents to give me. But my last names were different, and each family called me something unique. In 1861, Papa called me Margaret. In 1941, I had been Maggie from birth. And in 2001, my parents and friends called me Meg. It reminded me that though I was the same person, I had three distinct lives.
“Thanks,” I called out to the nurse as I shoved my scrubs into the laundry bin and grabbed my backpack out of my locker. A quick look at my watch told me I was already running late, but I couldn’t ignore my professor.
It seemed like I was always running late to something since starting med school. If I had the choice in 2001, I would spend every waking moment at the hospital or studying at the library. The knowledge I gained in this path would never be equaled in 1941 or 1861, and I wanted to know as much as possible.
It was like a fever, this burning desire to learn everything I could. If I didn’t stay in 2001, all of this medical advancement would be lost to me. Though I couldn’t use any of it in my other paths, for fear I would change history, I still wanted to know what made the human body work. And if I stayed here, I wanted to be prepared to be of use to the most people.
I walked down the hall to Dr. Erdman’s office and tapped on his door. Though the circumstances were different, it reminded me of visiting Nurse Daly’s office the day before in 1941. I could still see the disdain in Dr. Zechariah Philips’s gaze as he regarded me. Perhaps I wasn’t yet twenty-one, but I had more experience and knowledge than most of the nurses in that hospital. It was the reason I didn’t feel guilty about my grandfather pulling strings for me and why I wouldn’t let Dr. Philips intimidate me. I had much more important things to worry about.
“Come in,” Dr. Erdman called.
I stepped into his disorganized office, noting the sun through his window as it sank in the western sky. My mom would be irritated that I was late, though she’d come to expect it.
“Ah, Meg. Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”
I sat on the hard leather chair, hoping he had good news.
“I will get right to the point, since I know you’re probably eager to go home.” He leaned forward, his gray hair falling over his eye before he pushed it back. “You are a remarkable young woman, one we have been honored to work with these past three years. It’s very rare when a seventeen-year-old enters this program and thrives.”
“Thank you.” I accepted the compliment with grace, having received a great deal of attention since I graduated from high school at the age of fourteen and then completed my pre-med degree by the age of seventeen. In actuality, I had been living for forty-two years by the time I graduated from high school in this path, which made it much easier than anyone realized.
“As you know,” he continued, “you will soon need to declare which field you will apply to for residency.”
I nodded.
“It is my hope that you will choose general surgery as your field, and that you will choose to stay here at Georgetown University Hospital.”
I smiled, thankful for his vote of confidence. Surgery was the most fascinating field of study to me, and I hoped to become a general surgeon one day.
“What you don’t know,” Dr. Erdman continued, “is that two other students have expressed interest in a residency position in the surgery department here, but there is only one position available. It’s my job to find out if you’re interested in the position as well.”
“I am. Very much.” I would love to stay in the DC area. It was close to my parents, who lived in Georgetown, less than a mile from my apartment.
“Good. But let me warn you, your competition is fierce. We will take several things into consideration while making our decision, which should come in October. So be sure to give every last bit of energy to your final months here. We are looking for someone who is dedicated.”
“Thank you for letting me know.” I was ready and willing to meet that call. After all, I had been putting my education first above all else my entire life. Nothing would change now.
“You may go,” Dr. Erdman said. “Get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
I stood, smiling as I shook his hand. “Thank you for considering me for the position. I won’t let you down.”
It was already six o’clock, and my mother was expecting me in half an hour, though there was no way I was going to make it in time. I rushed out of the hospital complex and found my car. In less than ten minutes, I was on P Street, where I lived with my roommate in a beautiful red-brick row house.
The old trolley tracks ran up the cobble road of P Street, and black wrought-iron fences encircled the small front yards. It took forever to find a place to park, and then I jogged toward our apartment. We had lived on the third floor of the old townhome for the past two years. It was about a six-minute drive to the hospital and less than a seven-minute walk to the Department of Art and Art History at Georgetown University for my roommate, Delilah. She was a junior studying art history, though she didn’t know what she hoped to do with the degree. It was more of a requirement from her parents, who insisted she attend college and paid generously for her to room with me.
I took the stairs two at a time to our apartment and was fumbling with my key when the door popped open. Delilah stood on the other side.
“You’re late,” she said.
“I know.” I tossed my backpack onto the hook near the door and started taking off my sneakers as I ran down the hall to my room. “My mother should be used to it by now.”
Delilah held a bowl of cookie dough as she followed me, dipping her spoon into the gooey batter before licking it. She was wearing her painting apron, which was splattered with a hundred different colors, and had her short blue hair in pigtails. We’d met at church as kids, and when I was looking to move out of my parents’ house two years ago, she came with me. Where I was neat and tidy, she was messy and generally disheveled. I tried to eat a healthy, well-rounded diet, but she loved cookie dough and Mountain Dew. We couldn’t be more different—or more compatible.
The most remarkable thing? She knew about my time-crossing and didn’t doubt me for a second. The truth had come out when we were ten years old and I was spouting off information about the California gold rush, since I lived in San Francisco in 1851 in my other path. She’d asked me how I knew so much, and I had told her. Just like that. I trusted Delilah completely, and she trusted me. Ever since then, I’d been open with her, just as I was with Anna and my parents in 1941. We often talked about my final decision, though Delilah was certain I would choose 2001. She wouldn’t accept any other possibility.
“What will you wear?” Delilah asked, flopping down on my bed with her cookie dough.
“You shouldn’t be eating that,” I told her, trying in vain to get her to eat healthier.
She made a face at me and kept eating it.
“I was thinking about wearing my long black evening gown.” I opened my closet, and since it was color-coded, I knew exactly where to find it.
“You’re so boring.”
I smiled. “What would you wear to a reception at the White House?”
“If my mom was the social secretary for the president and I’d been invited to a congressional reception in the East Room?” She lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her voice monotone with sarcasm. “I can’t even imagine.”
I had showered in the locker room at work, and my hair was still damp. It curled around my shoulders, since I kept it shorter in 2001 than I did in my other paths. A simple clip would have to do. Taking the dress and hair clip into the bathroom, I changed quickly, leaving my street clothes on the floor—something I would never do if I had time to spare—and secured one side of my curls up off my face.
“Don’t forget to put on a little mascara,” Delilah said. “Who knows who you might meet tonight.”
It took a few minutes to put on some makeup, and then I had to find my black heels.
“I think I’m ready,” I said as I grabbed a small black purse and put my lipstick, cell phone, and a few dollars inside.
Delilah followed me back to the front door, a forlorn look on her face. “I wish my mom invited me to the White House as often as yours does.”
“Has your mom ever invited you to the White House?”
“You know what I mean.”
I opened the door and stepped out into the hall, closing my purse. “Hey, I have a lot to tell you when I get home, so wait up for me, will you?”
“Is it about one of your other paths?” Delilah leaned forward, her brown eyes filled with curiosity.
