[2016] A Widow's Love

by Christian Michael

  Cora knew very well that she herself was not in love with Matthew. She was too practical a woman to love a man she had not spoken with in ten years. What of Elizabeth though? For Elizabeth, the love was built in, and if Cora had not made this trip, a marriage might have been possible for her. Likely had even been planned by Mama O’Leary. Then why send her? Pity? Cora bristled at the thought.

  “You have done nothing but pick at your food. And now I’m forced to eat it for you.” Simon waved his hand at her plate which she’d pushed to his side of the table.

  Cora rested her chin on her folded hands and watched Simon’s obvious pleasure as he dug into her steak and fried potatoes. Should she confess how she was feeling or would he ridicule her? She didn’t feel up to sparring with him today. She sighed and shut her eyes.

  A feather-light touch on her face and she blinked in surprise. Simon was leaning across the table, his hand on her cheek.

  “Things will work out, Nurse Cora. Just enjoy your time in St. Louis.”

  For an instant she allowed herself to lean into his hand and take the comfort he offered. “Will it, Simon? I’m not certain anymore. Please remind me why I should marry your brother.”

  Simon pulled his hand away and refocused on her plate. He lifted his fork to his mouth, but before taking the bite he said, “That I cannot do, Nurse Cora. Most anything else I could tell you, but not that.”

  Their walk around the city was silent at first as Cora was still melancholy. But it didn’t last because she soon found herself in love with the rapid pace and the friendly inhabitants who spoke with them freely.

  “Oh look, Simon, there’s a hospital.” Cora stood outside of it and imagined the constant buzz of activity inside.

  “You miss it?” Simon asked quietly.

  She looked up at him and studied his face. “As much as you likely miss writing.”

  His eyes darted to hers. He smiled. “Ah, but I have been writing. Just not for the newspapers. My own enjoyment.”

  “But you miss it?”

  He cocked his head, considering. “Indeed. Every bit as much as you miss nursing.”

  “Come. Let’s find a newspaper office.” Before he could argue, she grasped his hand and started down the street. He didn’t want her to treat him differently because of his injuries, so she did not, keeping their pace steady.

  “And there it is,” Simon announced.

  “Shall we go in, so you can acquaint yourself with the editor?” she asked, but was already pulling him to the door. “Perhaps there’s a story you can write about our journey.”

  “What is this rush, Nurse Cora, to find me a job? I never thought you a fan.”

  Her cheeks warmed, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “Private Simon, I’ll have you know, I’ve read every word you’ve ever had published.” At his look of surprise, she continued. “Your mother made certain of that.” He looked away. Had she hurt him? She relented, her voice soft as she told him the truth. “At my request.”

  His eyes darted to hers. “And?”

  “You are, as you have always been, a very fine writer.”

  He bowed. “Thank you, Nurse Cora.”

  “You’re welcome, Private, Simon.”

  Chapter 7

  On their third day in St. Louis, they encountered a fall festival which boasted more food than they could eat and as much entertainment as they could stand. The weather even cooperated, rising to unseasonably warm temperatures. At an outside pavilion, they listened to a band playing and watched as couples danced. Elizabeth had found a partner almost immediately. Cora could not help herself. Like old times, she grabbed Simon’s hand. “Let’s dance.” She begged, standing before him.

  “I do not dance anymore.” He attempted to pull his hands free, but Cora stood firm.

  “Of course you do. We’ve always danced. You were the partner Hannah and I fought over as we learned our footwork.”

  “I no longer dance.” He looked down at his feet.

  Cora felt one moment of sympathy, but quickly swallowed it. Simon did not want her help, or her pity.

  She leaned forward and whispered near his ear, “You never were that good. I doubt I will notice any change.”

  He laughed. “All right, Nurse Cora, you have convinced me. But if I fall, it shall be your fault.”

  “Well it certainly wouldn’t be the first time, now would it?” Cora glanced back saucily over her shoulder, the music silencing her inhibitions.

  “No,” He said quietly. “It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Dancing was awkward at first as Simon found his footing. They bumped into other couples and tripped over each other, but eventually found a sort of rhythm. Dance after dance belonged to them.

  When he left her at her room that night, Simon smiled and nodded his head, but said nothing. She retired inside, wishing for a chat with Hannah. What would she say? How would she advise her?

  For the first time, perhaps since before the war, Cora felt alive. And happy. Happy, really? But why? Was it the journey?

  Or was it the company?

  Tonight she had remembered quite vividly how and when she had lost her crush on Matthew. Simon himself had caused it. When she was little more than thirteen, after a fall from her horse, he had carried her home. And not in a forced sort of way. He had held her like she was the most delicate creature in the world, not once making her feel like a burden or ridiculing her for falling as she expected him to, but with great worry and concern. Her feelings for Matthew had evaporated soon after.

  She climbed out of bed and for the first time in years, she whispered her prayers by the side of the bed, her knees digging into the carpet. Dear Lord. I need your guidance. Please lend me your strength. Marrying Matthew O’Leary could lead to the biggest heart break of my life. Please walk with me. Amen.

  Chapter 8

  Early the next morning, a knock sounded on her door. Elizabeth? Cora climbed out of bed to answer it. Simon stood in the doorway, clutching the wall, his face creased in pain.

  Cora grabbed his hand. “Is it your feet?” He nodded. “Let me dress and I’ll gather supplies and come to your room.” She knew his pain must be great to seek her assistance.

  She moved swiftly and arrived at his door less than fifteen minutes later. When she peeled away his socks, his feet were pink, irritated, swollen. “Oh Simon,” she whispered.

  “Just stop,” He shouted, pulling his feet from her hands. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t want your pity. I can take care of this myself.”

  “You are the most ungrateful person.”

  “I am not ungrateful.” He struggled over the word. “I simply do not want you to take care of me.”

  “You of all people. I don’t understand.” With her hands on her hips, she paced in front of him. “When this happened to you, I said to myself, Simon will be fine because Simon has never cared about those foolish prideful things other men have cared about. He never ran quite as fast or fought quite as well, but he was always more of a man than the others. But you reacted quite differently than I expected.”

  “More of a man? You thought me more of a man?”

  “Of course, I always did. Why else would I take the time to spend with you? That you could solve problems with your tongue, with your words. That you could make friends and bring admiration just though your clever word work, your humor. What is there not to respect? But then this happened.” She waved toward his feet. “And you changed. Where was the Simon I once knew?”

  “I didn’t want your pity.” He spat the word. “I could only be that person you describe because I had you sparring with me, you running alongside me, you matching me barb for barb, word for word, wit for wit. I thought I had lost it when this happened. I didn’t feel like a man at all.”

  “You thought me a foolish enough girl that your feet matter to me beyond not wanting you to be hurt? Did you think your feet matter to me more than your mind? Your heart? Well then I guess you never knew me very well
, Private Simon.”

  He grabbed her arms. “No, it was not you I did not know, Nurse Cora. It was myself. Until you reminded me, until you’ve begun to show me again.”

  “If that is so…then may I bathe your feet?” she whispered.

  The fight left his face and he dropped into the chair again. “Yes. Yes, you may.”

  They were quiet as she prepared the water and set to work. After she had finished cleaning and massaging his injuries, she let his feet to soak. “But why, Simon, why did you send me away after? Father had trained me. You doubted my ability to care for you adequately?” She still felt the pain of rejection these four years later.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, but said nothing.

  “Why, Private Simon? I want to understand.”

  “We weren’t equals anymore. We weren’t the same. You felt sorry for me. You felt pity for me. I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want you to feel such retched emotions for me. I couldn’t bear that all you would see me as was a cripple.”

  Pity? She thought back, tried to remember. Had she? She dropped her hands in her lap. She had not. What had she felt? Fear, a great wide yawning fear like an ocean without a shore that he would die, and that she wouldn’t know how to walk the earth without him. She jumped to her feet. Was that true? Had she felt like that?

  “Cora, what’s wrong?” He reached for her, but she stepped away.

  “I never felt pity for you.” She whispered. “Never.” She began to gather her things. “I saw far too many truly pitiful things during the war to feel badly for you over your feet.” She hardened her jaw. “And you, Private Simon have pitied yourself far better than I, or anyone else could have done. If you didn’t, you would still be a writer.”

  “I should have known better than to confide in you—“

  “No, you should have known me better than to send me away out of fear over my pity. You should never have sent me away.” She knew her voice was too loud. She knew she was too emotional. Her father would tell her to check her emotions.

  She did not want to. She wanted to let them rage and she wanted them to rage at Simon, all the hurt and humiliation and pain she’d felt and smothered, buried under the next patient and the next. Only Simon had never been a patient to her.

  She left the room without another word. There was a thud against the door after she closed it, and she could not help but smile as she imagined Simon throwing something in his anger at her. How her feelings could run so quickly from anger to humor for him was beyond her. Surely Hannah would be able to explain it to her.

  Chapter 9

  Cora stood at the large picture window downstairs in the lobby watching the children play next to the street, chasing each other. Her mind was muddled and she felt physically drained from sparring with Simon first thing in the morning. They had eaten breakfast and lunch separately which had made her miss him. And missing him had made her angry at herself for caring.

  “Cora.”

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to turn around.

  “Cora. We need to talk. We can’t keep on like this. We’ve always talked.”

  She twisted around. “Once, a long time ago, we always talked. But you’ve changed,” she charged.

  “And you think you have not?”

  Cora felt her mouth open.

  “Ah, I see you think not.”

  She snapped her mouth shut and turned away, but he grabbed her arm, his grip gentle, and turned her around. “You think I like seeing you like this? Ready to be a “mail order bride” for my brother? The strong, opinionated woman I grew up with, the one who bravely traveled with her father? Saw things that grown men couldn’t stand, grown men would turn away from? This bowing, grateful girl?” he twisted the words until they were an insult.

  “What would you have me do?” she whispered. “Papa is not here to make me strong.”

  “Your father did not make you strong,” Simon yelled. “He was not there all the time when we were children. You were strong then, simply because you were.” He closed his eyes, breathed out through his nose. “Cora, Nurse Cora, he saw in you what you already had. Strength. Kindness. Intelligence. The strength to use your kindness and intelligence to help others. That is why he taught you. His teaching did not make you strong. “

  “No,” she breathed.

  “And this, this travesty of which you were--this marrying for security female. Well, I simply don’t recognize you.”

  “How dare you?”

  “How dare I not? After all we’ve known of each other. And Matthew is my brother. How dare I not?”

  “You think your brother does not wed well?”

  “I think my brother knows nothing of you. And you of him.” He turned away. “But I think my brother weds very well. He could not do better,” he finished.

  Cora’s cheeks warmed and she covered them with her gloved hands. “Then why?”

  “I believe you, Cora, can do better.” He walked away then before she could say another word.

  She dropped into a chair, exhausted. Was sparring with Simon always so exhausting? Or had the stakes never been so high before? What did it all mean? This churning in her gut? This bleeding of her heart? Simon awakened the emotions that she’d had to shut down during the war. Had to shut down after Papa had died. What was she to do?

  Was he right? Had she been strong before Papa had leant her his hand, his ear, his confidence? Had he chosen her to train because he saw that strength Simon spoke of?

  And Simon, blessed, damnable Simon. What was she to do about him? She knew him right. Knew that marrying his brother was as soulfully wrong as she could possibly be. She did not know him. Did not love him. And more than anything else, she wanted to marry for love.

  She caught a glimpse of Simon crossing the street, his limp pronounced. But she could never marry for love when she was quite certain she loved Simon with all the heart she had to give. But did she have the courage to tell Simon the truth? She bowed her head to ask God for strength when she remembered Simon’s words. “You’ve always been strong.”

  She had been, hadn’t she? Maybe it was time to prove it, but first, she needed to talk with Elizabeth.

  Chapter 10

  After talking with Elizabeth, Cora hurried to the post office. She had an important telegram to send.

  She had just finished when she met Simon at the door. She drew back in surprise, not expecting to face him so soon. But she remembered her strength and squared her shoulders. “Simon, could I talk with you?” Her voice didn’t sound strong. It sounded insecure and scared.

  Simon glanced toward the line inside the Post Office, then back at her. “Yes, I suppose.”

  Still angry with her. She sighed as they sat down on one of the benches out front.

  He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable.

  “I can’t marry Matthew.”

  Simon sat up then, his eyes sharp on her face. “Why not?”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to him. I don’t love him, and I don’t believe I ever can. Because…” She closed her eyes and lowered her head. Strength.

  She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Simon stood up before she could say another word. “There’s no line now. I need to go,” he said. “Stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked away. Disappointment pressed into Cora’s chest. Had he known what she was going to say? Had he known and been repulsed? Of course he had; she had been so obvious. He couldn’t get away fast enough. Her heart breaking, she hurried back to the hotel.

  Chapter 11

  In her room, she gasped air into her lungs. What had she done? Sent a telegram to Matthew refusing his proposal. Then to Simon, revealed her undying love. She was so foolish!

  How could she ever face him again? Now she was truly alone. In St. Louis, far from home, like the unfortunate Mary. She had enough money to see her home, but what then? Return to her brother. No! She could never do that.

  But did she want
to leave St. Louis? She could perhaps ask for a job at the hospital. Her time spent nursing at her father’s side during the war might count as sufficient experience.

  Someone knocked on her door. Cora jumped. Elizabeth?

  She pulled open the door. Once again, Simon stood on the other side, this time breathing heavy, his forehead creased in irritation.

  “Whatever is the matter? Did you run the entire way?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes I did. I ran the entire way because you were supposed to wait for me.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you wait, Nurse Cora?”

  Cora dropped her gaze to his shoes, to the carpeted floor, to the hem of her dress, to anything, anything but his inquisitive blue eyes. Then his fingers were touching her chin—gently—pulling it up so that her eyes met his again.

  “Why, Cora?”

  She wanted to sink into the floor, her embarrassment was so great. She pulled away from his hand and turned her back on him. “Because you don’t love me. Because I confessed my feelings and you don’t return them.” She whipped back around. “You knew what I was trying to say, but you rushed away as quickly as you could to mail a letter.”

  “I never said that. I wasn’t mailing a letter.” He waved the piece of paper. “I was checking for a telegram.” He moved closer until very little space separated them.

  “A telegram?”

  “Yes, a telegram. I’ve been waiting for it since our arrival in St. Louis. I sent one to my brother last week during one of our train stops.”

  She shook her head. What did a telegram have to do with anything? Hannah? She clutched at his arms. “Hannah? Mama O’Leary, they’re okay?”

  He smiled. “Oh they are well. Very well and very happy I’m guessing.” He held out the telegram. When she didn’t take it, he nodded encouragingly. “Read it.”

  She opened the paper: Cora STOP was STOP always STOP meant STOP for STOP you STOP