Eve's Daughters (40 page)

“I’ve lived my entire life in a tiny two-room apartment with my mother. We were poor . . . I mean, barely-enough-to-eat poor. In fact, we still are poor. My mother is an out-of-work dance band musician who is currently making tank parts in a factory.”

Stephen suddenly pulled me into his arms. I had the unsettling feeling as
he crushed me to his chest that it was because he wanted to silence my words. He didn’t want to know anything about me. It would be easier to dump a girl he had never gotten close to. I pushed him away after a moment. He would probably break up with me anyhow now that he knew about my past, but if what the other nurses said was true, why postpone the inevitable?

“I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel sorry for me, Stephen. I don’t want pity. I wouldn’t trade my childhood for anyone else’s. My mother is such a dynamic, free-spirited soul that she made it an adventure to be poor. She’s a marvelous person . . . and thoroughly unconventional. I spent three years of my childhood in a speakeasy being raised by a bunch of bootleggers, because the only job my mother could find was playing the piano for them.”

He tightened his grip on my arms. “Grace, stop it. Why are you trying to shock me?” His face was puzzled and angry.

“I just thought you should know the truth,” I said quietly. “You’ve been hiding the truth about your family from me, for some reason, but I wanted you to know that we’re from two entirely different worlds.”

He dropped his hands, sagging back against the bench. “Who told you?” he said.

“Told me what?”

“About the ‘world’ I come from?”

“The senior nurses.”

“Curse them all!” He pounded the back of the bench with his fist. A moment later he sprang to his feet, as if needing an outlet for his rage, and strode down to the edge of the lake, his shoulders hunched, his hands jammed into his pockets.

I didn’t know what to do. I was hopelessly ignorant when it came to men, much less their moods. But Father O’Duggan had always waited patiently for me when I was upset, giving me time until I was ready to talk. I decided to do the same.

Eventually, Stephen returned and sank down beside me again. Anger still etched his features. “I’m sorry, Grace,” he said, and the fury in his voice brought tears to my eyes. I was in love with him. He was about to break up with me, and in spite of all the warnings, my heart felt like shattered glass.

“Once! Just once!” he continued, “I wanted a woman to like me for myself, not because my parents have a few bucks! I deliberately avoided talking about my background or yours because it shouldn’t matter! All my life I’ve had to wonder, ‘Is this girl dating me because she likes me or because she likes my money?’ I’m fed up with debutantes and their rich daddies, looking to make
a socially prestigious match! I’m fed up with gold diggers trying to strike it rich. And I’m fed up with senior nurses who can’t mind their own business!”

I waited for the stillness of the afternoon to descend again, for the geese to settle on the water after Stephen’s shouts had disturbed them. “I understand why you might feel that way,” I eventually said. “One of the things I loved about coming to school here in Philadelphia was the anonymity. No one knew I was poor, no one knew my mother was divorced. But I’ve always had the opposite problem you do—men don’t want to date me because I’m
not
a socially prestigious match.”

He looked at me as if that was a totally foreign idea to him. “Not date you? But if they only knew you . . .”

“It’s true,” I assured him. “In fact, I wonder what your parents would say if they knew you were dating me?”

I saw his jaw muscles tighten. “I don’t care what they’d say! I don’t care if the woman I date is rich or poor!”

“Well, believe it or not, Stephen, it doesn’t matter to me if the man I date is rich or poor either. I’m not a gold digger. I had no idea your parents had money until last night, but by then it was too late—I had fallen in love with you anyway.” I stood and hurried up the path out of the park, afraid to look at him, unwilling to see how he had reacted to my words. I had foolishly revealed my heart, and now I didn’t know how I would ever be able to work beside him again. We had another full year of studies in the same hospital.

I wasn’t surprised when Stephen didn’t follow me. I walked faster and faster. My only thought was to get to my room, to get through the night of sorrow that awaited me, then to get through tomorrow. I thought I finally understood why my mother avoided men. She must have had her heart shattered as well. I would be like her from now on. No medical students. No interns. No men, period. Maybe I’d become a missionary after the war. In the meantime, I would chalk up this experience as my first broken heart. Someday in the future I would vaguely remember Stephen Bradford the way I remembered the sailor who had given me my first kiss.

As I neared the nurses’ home, I realized that I wasn’t ready to face anyone yet, knowing that my pain was probably visible for all to see. The senior nurses who hung around the lounge would take one look at me and know that Dr. Bradford, the Candy Man, had added another broken heart to his collection. When a city bus pulled up to the curb beside me, I boarded it without bothering to read its destination.

Evening fell as I rode through the unfamiliar streets, gazing at office buildings
and storefronts, my tears still close to the surface. The bus passed houses and apartment buildings where warm lights glowed behind curtained windows, then street after street of row houses in neighborhoods I had never seen before. Many of the homes had stars posted in their windows, a sign that a son or a daughter served in the armed forces. Occasionally I saw a gold star and knew that a loved one had been killed in action. I recalled Father O’Duggan’s words from so long ago: “
Gazing through the windows at other families isn’t the same as living there day after day and knowing what really goes on behind closed doors. There is a heartache like the one you’re feeling right now in a good many homes.
”

As I rode on, too numb to move from my seat, a steady stream of strangers got on and off the bus. Few people spoke, each passenger an island in the crowd. The bus filled with the evening rush until it was jammed, then it emptied again as evening turned to night.

“End of the line, ma’am,” the bus driver said. I looked around as we pulled into the bus station. I was the only passenger. I climbed down from the bus and wandered into a nearby diner. It smelled of fried foods and stale coffee. All the booths were filled, many people straddling suitcases and duffle bags as they waited for bus connections out of the city. I found an empty chrome stool at the counter and ordered a cheese sandwich, watching people as I ate, wondering what stories they had to tell.

When I finished eating I went outside into a starless night. A raw, damp wind had begun to blow, turning the city cold. I thought of returning to the nurses’ home and shuddered.

Suddenly a bell began to toll. I looked toward the sound and saw a large stone church at the end of the block, outlined against the dark sky. Jeweled windows glowed with light from within, and a graceful steeple pointed toward heaven, the direction I should have been looking all along. I crossed the street and ran to the church like an injured child running to her father for consolation.

The doors were unlocked. A scattering of people sat or knelt in prayer as a robed clergyman moved silently around the altar. I sank into an empty pew in the rear of the church and closed my eyes, allowing my Father to comfort me in the echoing silence.

“
He was despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief . . . Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. . . .

“
Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest . . . I am with you always . . . I will never leave you or forsake you
. . .”

God knew what was best for my life—whether that was marrying Stephen or not. As painful as it would be to let Stephen go, I had to trust Him. “
All things work together for good to them that love God.”
I curled up on the pew and wept without making a sound.

A car horn woke me from a deep sleep. I sat up, disoriented, my heart pounding as I gazed around the shadowy, unfamiliar church. Then I remembered where I was, and the pain that had caused me to flee here. The sanctuary was deserted and dark; pale light filtered through the stained-glass windows from the early morning sun.

I scrambled off the pew. I had slept all night! No one from the nurses’ home knew where I was! I ran from the church, my muscles stiff with cold and cramped from spending the night on the hard bench. I boarded a bus that would take me back to the hospital. The ride seemed interminable as I imagined the consequences of what I had done.

I was in a great deal of trouble. I hadn’t signed out overnight or phoned my roommate to tell her when I would return. I could be expelled. My empty stomach was a knot of worry on the long ride across town.

As soon as I staggered into the lobby of the nurses’ home, I saw Mrs. McClure, the director of nurses, talking to a policeman. My roommate stood beside her, weeping. Then I saw Stephen. He wore a haggard look, and the same clothes he’d worn yesterday. When he saw me he bounded across the lobby and crushed me in his arms.

“Grace! Oh, thank God . . . thank God!” I felt his tears on my neck. I began to cry, too, as fear and exhaustion settled over me. Finally Stephen pulled away, holding my arms tightly as he searched my face. “Are you all right, Grace? I’ve been worried sick! I was trying to catch up with you yesterday when you just vanished and—”

“Why didn’t you call when you knew you’d be gone overnight?” Mrs. McClure demanded. “You had this place in an uproar!”

“I’m very, very sorry for worrying everyone. I jumped on a bus and I got lost and then I went into a church to pray and . . . and I didn’t mean to be gone all night—I fell asleep! I’m so sorry!” I burst into tears.

Stephen pulled me into his arms again to comfort me. “It’s all my fault. You thought I was angry with you, Grace, but I wasn’t. I never meant to hurt you. My words came out all wrong.”

After thinking that I’d lost him, his embrace seemed like a miracle. Then
another thought struck me. “I hope you didn’t call my mother and get her all worried !”

“You’re not considered a missing person until twenty-four hours have passed,” the cop said, closing his notebook. “Like yourself, most ‘missing’ people aren’t missing at all.”

After he left, my roommate told her story, admonishing me for all the worry I’d caused her. Then Mrs. McClure gave me a stern lecture, making very sure I understood the seriousness of my offense and the punishment that would inevitably follow. Through it all, Stephen never stopped clinging to me.

As I was about to be banished to my room for a very long time, he turned to Mrs. McClure. “May I please speak to Grace in private first?”

“Certainly, Dr. Bradford.” Only Stephen’s wealth and social status could explain her deference to a lowly intern.

He led me into the empty lounge and sat beside me on the sofa. He caressed my hair, my face, my shoulders, as if to reassure himself that I was all in one piece. Tears glistened in his hazel eyes.

“I’ve been out of my mind the past few hours, worrying about you. If anything had happened to you . . .” He paused until he could go on. “So I started asking myself why I was so upset. It took me a long time to come up with the answer because I’ve never been in love before. I had no idea it would feel like this. My life is bound up with yours, Grace. I can’t explain it . . . but you matter to me. I don’t want you out of my sight or out of my arms or out of my life for more than ten seconds. I love you . . . I . . . I love you.” He clung to me as if he’d never let go. I wondered if I was dreaming.

“I love you too,” I whispered.

“I know. You told me you loved me yesterday and I was so surprised I . . . I was speechless. I thought, this can’t be true! This amazing, incredible woman really loves an arrogant, opinionated, selfish chump like me?”

Two first-year nurses strolled into the lounge, saw us, then backed out again. “Oops . . . sorry.”

Stephen crushed me to himself and kissed me. “Will you marry me, Grace?” he asked when he could breathe again. “I want to take care of you and protect you. I want to give you all the things you’ve never had growing up. I want . . . I want to share my life with you. I know you have one more year of school, but when you graduate and the war finally ends . . . will you marry me?”

“Yes!” I could barely speak through my tears, so I said it again to make sure he heard me. “Yes, Stephen. Yes!”

ΤWENTY-THREE

1980

As Suzanne pulled the car into the driveway, Grace sighed. She was thankful to be home again, thankful—as her mother must haye been—to be far away from Bremenville. But she didn’t move to get out of the car right away. Glancing at Suzanne, she saw that there was unfinished business, unanswered questions between them.

“So that’s all there is to tell of my story,” Grace said. “Germany surrendered that same month, and Japan surrendered four months later. I graduated from nursing school in June of 1946, and your father and I were married in August. Your brother was born in 1948, and you know the rest of my life story because you joined us two years later.”

“I guess I never realized before that Daddy felt bad about not serving in World War II. Is that why he was so hostile to Jeff when they first met? Because Jeff protested Vietnam instead of doing his duty?”

“Maybe so.” In spite of all the personal turmoil their trip had caused her, Grace was grateful for the insight it seemed to have given her daughter. She felt closer to Suzanne than she had in a long time. “Sue, I know you’ve always criticized what you call my ‘perfect
Father Knows Best
life.’ You think your father is some sort of monster because he likes things orderly and organized. But you have to understand that I was raised in an upside down home that was an embarrassment to me. All I ever wanted was to be like everyone else. I wanted the security that your father offered. I was attracted to his self-confidence and the fact that he had everything under control. He had the best qualities of all my fathers: he was as generous as Booty Higgins, as smart as O’Brien, as protective as Black Jack, as sentimental as Mick, and he loved God as much as Father O’Duggan did. Stephen wanted a house and two children and a wife who wore sensible dresses with aprons and kept to a weekly routine like Mam, and I was happy to give it to him. With your father, I finally had the kind of life I’d dreamed of ever since I was a child. We had a boy and a girl and a house in the suburbs—we were the perfect family.”