Hearts Divided

by Debbie Macomber

  Greg’s smile faded. “No question there.”

  The phone rang once; Barbara must have answered it right away, and within a few minutes she returned to the kitchen, carrying a portable phone. “It’s for you.”

  Greg started toward her.

  “Not you, honey,” she said, nodding at Ruth. “The call is for Ruth.”

  “Me?” She was startled. No one knew she’d come here. Anyone wanting to reach her would automatically use her cell-phone number. Her frown quickly disappeared as she realized who it must be.

  “Is it Paul?” she asked, her voice low and hopeful.

  “It is. He thinks Greg’s about to get on the line.” She clasped her husband’s elbow. “Come on, honey, let’s give Ruth and Paul some privacy.” She was halfway out of the room when she turned back, caught Ruth’s eye and winked.

  That was just the encouragement Ruth needed. Still, she felt decidedly nervous as she picked up the portable phone resting on the kitchen counter. After the way they’d parted, she didn’t know what to expect or how to react.

  “Hello, Paul,” she said, hoping to sound calm and confident, neither of which she was.

  Her greeting was followed by a slight hesitation. “Ruth?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” Her voice sounded downright cheerful—and more than a little forced.

  “What are you doing at my parents’ place?” he asked gruffly.

  “Visiting.”

  Again he paused, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of this. “I’d like to speak to my father.”

  “I’m sorry, he and your mother stepped out of the room so you and I could talk.”

  “About what?” He hadn’t warmed to her yet.

  “Your calling ruins everything,” she told him. “I was going to send you a telegram. My grandmother sent one to my grandfather sixty years ago.”

  “A telegram?”

  “I know it’s outdated. It’s also rather romantic, I thought.”

  “What did you intend to say in this telegram?”

  “I hadn’t decided. My first idea was to say the same thing Helen said to my grandfather. It was a short message—just three little words.”

  “I love you?” He was warming up now.

  “No.”

  “No?” He seemed skeptical. “What else could it be? Helen loved him, didn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes, but that was already understood. Oh, Paul, I heard the rest of the story and it’s so beautiful, so compelling, you’ll see why she loved him as much as she did. Sam helped her look to the future and step out of the past.”

  “You’re avoiding the question,” he said.

  That confused her for a moment. “What’s the question?”

  “Do you love me enough to accept me as a marine?”

  “I wasn’t sending that answer by way of Western Union.” The answer that was going to change her life…

  “You can tell me now,” he offered casually.

  “Before I do, you have to promise, on your word of honor as a United States marine, that you’ll never walk away from me like that again.”

  “You think it was easy?” he demanded.

  “I don’t care if it was easy or not, you can’t ever do it again.” His abandonment had hurt too much.

  “All right,” he muttered. “I promise I’ll never walk away from you again.”

  “Word of honor?”

  “Word of honor,” he agreed.

  He’d earned it now. “I’m crazy about you, Paul Gordon. Crazy. Crazy in love with you. If having the marines as your career means that much to you, then I’ll adjust. I’ll find a way to make it work. But you need to compromise, too, when it comes to my career. I can’t just leave a teaching job in order to follow you somewhere.”

  The last thing Ruth expected after her admission was a long stretch of silence.

  Then, “Are you serious? You’ll accept my being in the military?”

  “Yes. Do you think I’d do this otherwise?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But what you don’t know is that I’ve been thinking about giving up the marines.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were?” Never once had it occurred to Ruth that he’d consider such a thing.

  “My dad and I have had a couple of long talks about it,” he went on to say.

  “Tell me more.”

  “You already know this part—I’m crazy about you, too. I wasn’t convinced I could find a way to live the rest of my life without you. One option I’ve looked into is training. I’ve already talked to my commander about it, and he thinks it’s a good possibility I’d be able to stay in the marines, but I’d be stationed in one place for a while.”

  Ruth slumped onto a kitchen stool, feeling deliciously weak, too weak to stay upright. “Oh, Paul, that’s wonderful!”

  “I felt like a fool,” he said. “I made my big stand, and I honestly felt I was right, but I didn’t have to force you to decide that very minute. My pride wouldn’t allow me to back off, though.”

  “Pride carried me the first week,” she said. “Then I went to see my grandmother, and she told me how she met my grandfather at the end of the war. Their romance was as much of an adventure as everything else she told us.”

  “She’s a very special woman,” Paul said. “Just like her granddaughter.”

  “I’ll tell you everything later.”

  “I can’t wait to hear it. I’m just wondering if history might repeat itself,” Paul murmured.

  “How?”

  “I’m wondering if someday you’ll be my bride.”

  “That’s the perfect question,” Ruth said, and it was perfect for what she had in mind.

  She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “I do believe I’ll send you that telegram after all.”

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  Helen Shelton

  5-B Poppy Lane

  Cedar Cove, Washington

  May 9

  Dear Winifred,

  It’s time to celebrate—your birthday and my granddaughter’s engagement. Yes, Ruth has agreed to marry Paul Gordon, the young man she introduced me to in April. They’ve decided to have a December wedding in Oregon, where her family lives. Paul is a fine young man and I feel she’s chosen well.

  Yes, my dear friend, I’ll meet you in Seattle and we’ll board the ferry for Victoria together. It’s been far too long since we’ve had an extended visit. I’m looking forward to hearing about your granddaughters.

  I’m feeling good. Ruth and my sons know all about my war adventures. It was time, as you’ve been telling me all these years. Ruth has the tapes and is making copies for everyone in the family. She claims this is more than family history, this is history. Maybe she’s right….

  I’ll see you next week.

  The warmest of wishes,

  Helen

  LIBERTY HALL

  Lois Faye Dyer

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to explosives expert Skeeter Burnett

  for sharing his knowledge; to Paula Eykelhof,

  Meg Ruley and Christina Hogrebe for their

  compassion and understanding; and to my

  critique group, my children, sisters,

  brother and friends for support

  above and beyond the call of duty.

  Dear Reader,

  I grew up listening to my grandparents relaying stories about “the war years.” The courage and dedication of ordinary citizens who donned uniforms and left their homes to defend our country never failed to leave me awed and amazed. It was difficult to imagine my charming Uncle Bill as a sailor in the Pacific, or Uncles Karl and Knute as soldiers in North Africa. They were funny and lovable and kind—how could they be warriors?

  As an adult, it is just as awe inspiring to me to hear reports of our military men and women. Thus, the opportunity to explore whether a cautious English professor like Chloe Abbott and a battle-hardened soldier like Jake Morrissey could find a future together was irre
sistible.

  I’m delighted to be sharing this collection with two of my favorite authors and dear friends, Debbie Macomber and Katherine Stone. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as we enjoyed the planning of this anthology over lunches filled with laughter.

  Warmest regards,

  Lois Faye Dyer

  c/o Paperbacks Plus

  1618 Bay Street

  Port Orchard, WA 98366

  www.specialauthors.com/who/bio_dyer.html

  In memory of my husband, Bud.

  Psalm 23: 1–6

  Prologue

  From: Winifred@Codebreakers.org

  To: Clara@AppleButterLadies.com

  Sent: Wednesday, May 16

  Subject: Good morning—

  Dear Clara,

  Thank you so much for forwarding your apple crisp recipe. My bridge club loved it and I feel quite proud to have an “apple expert” as my dear friend.:-)

  The postman brought a letter from Helen yesterday. (We must find a way to convince her to try the World Wide Web so she can share morning e-mail with us!) I was so pleased to learn she’s talked to her granddaughter about her wartime experiences. I confess I was a bit surprised that she chose her granddaughter, Ruth, as her confidante—I thought she might have told her son first. But I don’t think it matters who she told, as long as she told someone in her family. As far as I know, Ruth is the first person Helen has talked to about her involvement in the French Underground—except for her husband, me and you, Clara.

  I’ve never forgotten her torment and the pain in her eyes when she told us. I think that was the moment when the three of us bonded, crying together in her hotel room while our husbands waited downstairs in the lobby with Sam. She seemed so fragile, clutching her wedding bouquet. Remember how she wept when she told us about losing her husband in France? And how worried she was about whether she was being fair to Sam by marrying him when she was still devastated by what happened in France? I’m so glad we were there to support her that morning and convince her to go through with her wedding, especially since her marriage to Sam turned out so well. Now that she’s shared her secrets with Ruth, too, I’m hopeful she’ll find a measure of peace.

  Helen’s note said her granddaughter’s in love! There must be something in the air this spring—first we learn your granddaughter, Elizabeth, is engaged and now Helen’s Ruth finds love with Paul. I’m so delighted for both of you. What happy times are in store for you and Helen with engagements, weddings and great-grandchildren on the horizon.

  I confess I’m envious, Clara, since my own three granddaughters show no signs of hurrying toward marriage. Chloe, Alexie and Lily are busy with their careers, and when I ask them about marriage, their response inevitably is “no time, Gran.” Sigh. Perhaps I should try a bit of matchmaking, since I’m apparently the only one with free time to search for husbands for them. :-)

  I do wish we lived closer so I could pop in and visit you daily for coffee and a nice long chat. I vividly remember how difficult it was for me the first year after I lost my Richard. He’s been gone for six years now, and although I still miss him every day, the awful sadness and sense of being lost and adrift gradually eased. I know the grief will grow less for you, too, Clara, but until it does, please remember you can call me anytime, day or night, if you need to talk. I’m sure Helen would say the same.

  I must stop chattering and get busy—I have a Women’s Club meeting today. We’re working with the Rehabilitation Department at the University of Washington Medical Center on a project that’s dear to my heart. I’ve even convinced Chloe to get involved—such fun to work with my granddaughter! Have a wonderful day, Clara. Talk to you soon…

  All my love,

  Winifred

  One

  Jake Morrissey strode down the hall at the University of Washington Medical Center, scanning the signs above the doors until he found one that read Rehabilitation Medicine. He pushed open the big double doors and looked for his friend, Dan.

  The room was surprisingly uncrowded. Across from him, two women talked with a doctor wearing a lab coat. The white-haired older woman and the doctor faced him, the other woman had her back to him.

  And a very nice back it was. Tall and slender, she wore a simple, curve-hugging white dress, and her black hair was a sleek fall that brushed her shoulders.

  Classy, he thought. Wonder what the front view is like.

  A nurse in operating-room scrubs joined the group, and the brunette turned to greet her. She smiled, her eyes glowing emerald-green against fair skin, her face lit with amusement as she spoke to the nurse.

  Jake went from idle appreciation of a beautiful female to serious lust. The unusual reaction stunned him.

  “Hey, Sarge.” Dan’s voice broke the spell that held Jake motionless, staring at the brunette. He turned to his right and saw Dan, seated in a wheelchair farther down the room. A male nurse walked behind him, but the young soldier himself propelled the chair.

  “Dan.” Jake moved toward him and the two met halfway.

  A broad grin split the young marine’s face as they shook hands. “Man, it’s good to see you! What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been out of town. I didn’t know you were in Seattle until I flew back last night. I found out the VA Hospital sent you here for experimental therapy when I talked to Tomaselli around midnight.”

  “No kiddin’—you talked to Tomaselli? I heard he was back in the States and that he was shot. Didn’t hear where he was or what happened, though.”

  “His unit was cleaning out a nest of insurgents in the hills near the Khyber Pass in Afghanistan, and he took a bullet in his leg.” Jake glanced downward. “That’s where they got you, too, he told me. Right leg or left?”

  “Left.” Dan shifted the lap robe to reveal a prosthetic attached just below his knee.

  “Damn. I’m sorry,” Jake said with feeling. “Tomaselli didn’t tell me you lost the leg.”

  “Hell, Jake. I didn’t lose it. I know exactly where it went.” Dan grinned and Jake laughed, shaking his head. But before he could say anything, Dan looked past him and grimaced. “Hang around, will you?” he whispered. “I’ve gotta do some PR stuff. I promised the doc—and I could use some backup.”

  Jake glanced over his shoulder, following Dan’s gaze. The pretty brunette and the small group she’d been talking with were walking in their direction. They’d been joined by a midthirties woman in jeans and sweater and a tall lanky guy with cameras slung around his neck.

  “PR?” He looked back at Dan.

  “Yeah. A newspaper reporter is doing a story on the equipment in here.”

  That takes care of the guy with the cameras and the woman in jeans, Jake thought. “Who are the two women with the doctor?”

  “They must be from the Seattle Women’s Club—the group that donated the equipment I’ve been using.”

  “Sure, I’ll stay.”

  “Thanks,” Dan murmured.

  Jake stepped aside, silently observing as Dan said hello to his doctor and was introduced to the older woman, Winifred Abbott, and her granddaughter, Chloe Abbott.

  “Hey, Sarge,” a male voice called.

  Chloe looked over her shoulder. A pajama-clad patient sat in a wheelchair across the room, grinning broadly at the tall, burly man walking toward him. Dressed casually in a light-blue cotton shirt tucked into belted jeans, black boots on his feet, the visitor seemed to dominate the room.

  “Our patient has arrived,” Dr. Jacobson said. “Are you ready to talk to Dan?” he asked the reporter.

  “In a moment.” She gestured at the male nurse and the other man standing next to the patient in the wheelchair. “Tony, can you get a few candid shots first?” The photographer nodded, lifting his camera to focus on the trio.

  Dr. Jacobson waited until the photographer lowered his camera. “I think we’re ready. Ladies, shall we…?” He waved the reporter ahead of him, following with Winifred and Chloe.

  The man talking to the pati
ent turned and stared straight at Chloe, his eyes narrowed. She’d only seen his profile earlier; now she realized that her earlier impression of “good-looking” hadn’t done him justice. His eyes were a bright blue in a ruggedly handsome face. Short black hair, dark eyebrows and lashes, high cheekbones and a strong jaw combined to create a sense of strength and purpose.

  His eyes didn’t waver from her as she crossed the room with Dr. Jacobson, and the group was introduced to Dan West, the wheelchair-bound Marine.

  “I’d like you all to meet Jake Morrissey,” Dan said after shaking their hands. “Two years ago, he was our master sergeant during my first tour of duty in the Middle East.”

  Jake shook hands with the reporter and photographer, Dr. Jacobson and the nurse, then Winifred, before he reached Chloe.

  “Chloe.” His fingers and palm were slightly rough with calluses, engulfing her much smaller hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Mr. Morrissey,” Chloe said politely. He held her hand a few seconds too long until she tugged discreetly. He immediately released her, a slight smile of apology curving his mouth. Amused, she smiled back at him and his gaze sharpened, holding a glint of admiration.

  “Mr. Morrissey.” The reporter claimed his attention. “Since you worked with Dan, I’d like to include you in the article. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” He gave the reporter a half smile before looking at Chloe and Winifred. “As long as it’s all right with the ladies?”

  “Whatever makes the article more effective is fine with me,” Winifred said. “Our goal is to generate more donations to the medical center’s equipment fund.”

  Chloe murmured her agreement.

  “Excellent. I’d like to get some shots of you using the equipment first, Dan, then we’ll take group photos.” The reporter bustled off with the photographer, Dr. Jacobson and Dan in tow.

  “It’s a terrible thing to lose a limb, especially at his age,” Winifred said. “He’s such a nice young man.”