“The question is, what would I do without you?” She pressed out of Flo’s hold and slumped back onto the bench. “You saw me through mountains of tears when I got a hope chest instead of a mitt. You carried baseball bats like a batboy even though you didn’t play. You even put ice on my toes after Joe stepped on my feet at dance class. You’ve always been there for me, Flo. You’re the true friend.”
Florence’s face flashed pink and she dipped her head in her humble manner. “I guess we’re the sisters we never had. I only wish I’d spent more time in sports, like you. All those beautiful summer days when I locked myself inside learning to knit and crochet. I didn’t meet a lot of boys that way, did I?”
“Well, that’s in the past.” Victoria sucked in a deep breath, but nothing worked. The shortness of breath she’d had her entire life suddenly worsened.
“Flo?”
“I’m right here. What’s wrong?”
“I…my…”
“Victoria!”
Her eyes…spots…the room spinning. Her fingers clutched at her chest, tighter and tighter as black spots filled her vision. What was happening?
She gasped, her mouth opening and closing for air. “I…Flo…Florence?”
Chapter 7
Dr. Cleewell towered over Victoria, his thick, outdated moustache twitching at the edges. “You frightened us, young lady.”
“What happened?” She’d been talking with Flo, hadn’t she? That was all Victoria remembered. That and the black spots before her eyes.
“I’m afraid you passed out at that dance school of yours. Florence drove you home and your folks called me right away. Gave us all a bit of a scare.” He patted her hand, this doctor who had delivered her as a baby. She thought through her day, what she’d done, what she’d eaten. Nothing that should have caused her to faint.
“How about if you tell me what happened just before you passed out?”
“Nothing strange really. I’d finished with my youngest students and was having a hard time catching my breath. But that always happens right after class.” And she’d been thinking about that handsome Joe Huntington, but that shouldn’t have made her faint.
Twitch…twitch. With a frown, he smoothed the ends of the caterpillar of a mustache under his nose. “Always?”
“Certainly. When I was little it happened during and after games, when I ran, you know? And it’s been the same with dance. Isn’t that what happens if you run? I mean doesn’t everybody—”
“No, Victoria. Well, maybe now since I’m a bit older than Methuselah, but not when I was your age. No, it isn’t what happens to healthy folks.”
Healthy folks? She was healthy. Hardly sick a day in her life. Dr. Cleewell was talking nonsense. He, of all people, knew how healthy she was. “What are you talking about?”
“Has this shortness of breath been getting worse?”
Had it?
“Or have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?”
Getting worse…yes…yes, it had. But nothing she’d be upset about. Too little sleep and too much bouncing around in the classroom. Maybe a cold coming on. “Now that you mention it, maybe a little. I’ve felt sort of wobbly at times. Nothing really out of the ordinary. But I suppose you could say I’ve been getting short of breath more often than usual.”
He sat on the edge of her bed, squeezed her hands in his. “Now, it’s important for you to tell me if this has ever happened before.”
“What do you mean happened before? It always happens.”
Dr. Cleewell frowned at her and the mustache drooped toward the floor. Almost made her giggle in spite of his questions. “So you’ve had this feeling before? In fact, you say you’ve had it your whole life that you can remember? Just not this bad.”
What kind of silliness was this? She was no different from anyone else. “Pretty much. At least as long as I can remember. Never stopped me from doing what I wanted any more than any other person I know.”
“I’ll bet it didn’t. You have spunk, girlie.”
“So what’s wrong with me? Some cold or…something like that?”
“I have a few ideas. Just guesses, you know.”
Stop guessing and spell it out. What was wrong with her? “And?”
Her mother pressed in, concern sprouting all over her normally calm face. “What? What do you think?”
He stroked his chin a time or two and glanced toward the door. “Will Mr. Banks be home soon?”
Victoria had had enough. Not a child any longer, she expected answers for herself. “Why is that important, Dr. Cleewell?”
“I thought, perhaps—”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m twenty-three years old, Dr. Cleewell. Old enough for good news or bad. And I’m assuming from the look on your face, you have bad news for me. So out with it, please.”
He licked his lips, his gaze not wavering from the door. Finally, he looked her in the eye. “I don’t know a hoot and a holler about hearts, Victoria. Not much, anyway, but I heard a faint murmur when I listened. Instead of guessing, I’d like to send you to a specialist who should be able to get a handle about what’s going on.”
“But my classes!”
Dr. Cleewell’s mustache flapped when he nearly shouted, “Classes? You’re worried about classes at a time like this?”
The door opened and her father walked in. “Well, you’ve been waiting for Dad. You might as well tell him what you suspect.”
“Benjamin, what’s going on here?”
Victoria assured her mother nothing was wrong while her father spoke with the doctor. A lot of nonsense over nothing. Except her father kept gazing her way until she locked eyes with him, and then he’d look away.
“Well, Dr. Cleewell, when can I return to my classes?”
Her father stepped closer. “Victoria, this isn’t any time to think about classes. Your health is what matters at the moment. We all want what’s best for you. I have no doubt your girls will feel the same.”
“Dad, I just overdid a bit. And the girls have been passing around a cold or something. I’m probably fighting that off. That’s all there is to it.”
“And this is what we want to find out…for certain. But there’s no sense taking chances.”
She looked beyond her father where Mom had gone to sit in the vanity chair, her eyes redder than a cherry. “Mom? Why, you’re crying.” This wasn’t a cold. A slight heart murmur. No one cried over heart murmurs. What had Dr. Cleewell told her mother? And when? While she was passed out?
“Just concerned. I’m fine, dear.”
But Victoria could tell there was more to this than she was saying. What was going on?
Joe had said he was stopping by to talk with her tonight. Not possible. “Mom, could you call Joe and tell him not to come tonight? Please?”
Her mother rose from the chair. “Of course, dear.” But her gaze stuck on Victoria like glue to construction paper. She didn’t want to leave the room.
“Thank you.” Victoria waited a minute after her mother left and then turned to Dr. Cleewell. “Now, if you and my father will please tell me exactly what you think is going on.”
*
Joe returned the phone to his desk. She had seemed fine this morning when he stopped in her studio. Must be coming down with something. Still…he should stop by and at least take the flowers he’d bought. No sense wasting a buck’s worth of flowers.
A quick gaze around the front room and he reached for his coat. Why didn’t he remember to hang it where it belonged?
As he climbed behind the wheel, he said an extra prayer that the old girl would start first try.
And she did!
The stars shone brighter than usual. Was that a good sign? Must be. His heart tripped when he thought of seeing Victoria, cold or no cold. Even with a red nose, she would be more beautiful than any other woman he knew. He imagined pulling her into his arms to protect her, to ward off any illness. Now, wasn’t that silly? But he’d gladly try; any excuse to have her in his arm
s. Her head on his chest. The sweet smell in her hair that he remembered from the graduation dance. He closed his eyes and almost heard the music as his mind wandered back to the past.
*
With a reputation for not being able to dance, he did little more than a sad sway with the beauty in his arms. It didn’t matter; merely holding Victoria meant the world to him. She looked up and locked her gaze with his, and he melted. Such a beauty. Sixteen years old, and the most beautiful girl in the world.
Then his happiness had popped like a bubble. Mrs. Pendergaster, the toughest chaperone, had quickly moved to their sides.
“Young man, you will keep a distance of one hand span between the two of you. You know better. We’ll have none of that modern hanky-panky on our dance floor.”
Joe stifled the chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. I guess I didn’t notice.”
“Didn’t notice?” She adjusted the glasses on the end of her nose. “Humph. I’m watching you, young man. Do not think I’ll allow any funny business.” She meant it, too.
*
Now his empty arms ached to hold Victoria again. Closer, without Mrs. Pendergaster to interfere.
Joe looked up. No chaperone. No Victoria. Just his modest front room. Rose-colored wallpaper that his mother had hung after saving for years. The house was quiet, not alive the way it had been when his entire family filled the nooks and crannies. Loud voices, shouting boys, laughing parents. Now it was a lonely place. How he longed to fill it with joy again.
What had happened to his promise to himself that his business would be up and running before he found “the one” for him? He laughed. His promise hadn’t taken into account reacquainting himself with blonde, blue-eyed Victoria Banks.
Since Art hadn’t accepted any of his savings, assuring Joe he was bringing the expertise to the company, Joe might be able to swing getting married.
If she said yes. That is, if he got up the courage to ask.
There he went again, putting the cart before the horse. They hadn’t even gone on a date thus far and already he was hearing wedding bells. But they had run into each other enough for him to know in his heart she was the only one. Or maybe he’d known that when she gave him a shiner ten years ago. Or when he picked her up for the dance almost seven years ago. She’d been waiting in a pale blue dress, the same color as her eyes. He’d bought a gardenia because the florist said it was the only flower to buy a special date. And she was special. Beautiful. Since then, any other girl he’d dated—and there’d only been a handful—had always looked like Victoria in his mind.
He shook his head. Enough. She doesn’t even know how I feel.
Joe reached over and cranked the heat off. The car had suddenly grown very warm.
*
“No, Mother. I don’t want him to see me like this. Please.” Her words cut, and she knew it, but she didn’t plan to have him see her looking like—like an invalid. If what she had was as serious a condition as Dr. Cleewell had intimated, more from his reactions than his words, then she had no intention of dragging Joe along. Maybe he and Flo might… She didn’t want to think about that possibility right now.
Her mother struck a pose that broached no nonsense. “But, Victoria.”
“No, I’ve made up my mind. And don’t make that face, Mom. He’s Daddy’s work partner, nothing more. Now if you’d please turn out the light, I’ll get some sleep. Dr. Cleewell said it’s important I have plenty of rest until I go to Lansing.”
“And that will be day after tomorrow, young lady. No piddling around, waiting. We want you to have the best care as soon as possible.”
“Oh, Mom. Think of the costs. How will I pay the bills?”
Her mother closed the door gently, but Victoria heard the soft words. “We won’t even think about that right now.”
How could she not? And Joe? This could be very serious, in which case she had no intention of tethering him to a sickly woman.
There comes a time in anyone’s life when being fair is more important than a handsome face.
*
In a sterile white ward with no other patients, Victoria shuddered when Dr. Quentin Weatherford marched into the room at St. Mary’s in Lansing. All business, very professional. But cold. The look on his face worried her. Dr. Weatherford shook his head. He treated her like a child, addressing her father. “I’m sorry, Mr. Banks. I hear the murmur, and I have an idea from what she’s told me what’s likely to be going on, though it’s quite uncommon in an adult of Victoria’s age.” He nibbled the edge of his lip and shook his head. “You need a cardiologist who deals with this specifically, not a man who tells old fellas who’ve indulged all their lives that they need to stop the riotous living. I’d recommend Dr. Gross in Boston. He’s a pioneer in patent ductus arteriosus and the one who will be able to tell you for sure. I had the privilege of going to school with him, and there’s none better.”
Victoria caught the edge of his sleeve. “Talk to me, Dr. Weatherford. I am not a child. I want you to talk to me about what’s wrong and what you think should be done.”
Finally creased with compassion, his expression let on much more than his words had.
“It’s that bad?”
He shook his head, patted her hand. “I can’t give you a definitive answer. Though I plan on a few more tests here—”
“No, sir. They’ll just repeat them in Boston. I’ll owe my parents enough money as it is. No more tests until I get there. No sense paying for the same test twice. Because you intend to send me no matter what you find, is that correct?”
“Correct. Once you see Dr. Gross, I’ll feel better if he says there’s nothing wrong. But you need to consult with Gross. That is a given. He’s the best there is.”
“Thank you for your honesty. I’d like to speak with my father now, alone, please.”
Her father put on a strained happy face, the kind a person wears when he wants to cry but must look happy. She was such a burden. When Dr. Weatherford left the room, she took her father’s hand in hers. “Dad, this hospital alone is going to cost so much money. There’s no way you can send me to Boston.”
“We won’t talk about money right now.” He squeezed her fingers. “Not now. You are all that matters. We’ll find the way. I can always mortgage the company.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.”
Tears welled against the back of her lids and her lips trembled. How had she deserved parents like hers? She simply couldn’t allow them to get in over their heads. Maybe if she just took it easy with the dance classes for a while. That was it; she just had to be more careful until she felt stronger.
“Dad, what if I simply take a break from the studi—”
“No what-ifs. You need to be seen by this special heart doctor, Gross. We want you well. Not patched together with tar and shingles. Fixed. Do you understand? And I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll make the arrangements tonight for your trip to Boston. A quick trip home to pack my own bag, and I’ll return tomorrow to accompany you.”
“Maybe if I go alone that would save us some money.”
“Dr. Weatherford already put the kibosh on that. You have to go with an escort. And that is me.”
Chapter 8
Art’s rushing home from Lansing to return that same afternoon set everyone on edge. He had asked Joe to come over for a few last-minute instructions, and Joe walked in on him tossing clothes in a bag, unlike the organized man Joe knew him to be.
Joe sank into the oversize wing-back chair in the living room watching as he planted his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “What can I do to help?”
“Joe, I need you to hold down the fort while I’m gone.” Art whispered to his wife, “And if you’d finish putting my shirts in the suitcase, I think I’ll be all set for the train.”
Mrs. Banks eyed the chaos. “I think that’s wise.” She refolded and smoothed the wrinkles from the top shirts in the suitcase, then fastened the clasp. Joe didn’t miss the misty eyes that spoke of her desire to be the one go
ing.
“I’m happy to do whatever you need, sir.” Joe rose and lifted the suitcase. “If there’s anything you need, ma’am, while he’s away.”
With Art’s fingers steepled, he pointed at Joe. “Son, just your being available in a pinch will set my mind at rest. There’s that new roof on the restaurant west of town.”
“That’s a huge project, sir. Won’t they want you on-site?”
“I have no doubt of that, but Ben Harcourt is the supervisor on the job. He’ll do fine.” Yet the worried look on his face said Art wasn’t as sure as he let on. Nevertheless, Art clapped his hands together as if that scrubbed the worry lines from his face. It didn’t. Joe knew from talking with him that this project might make or break the recovery of the business. Art had to be worried sick. What a time for the owner of the company to leave town.
Joe clasped Art’s shoulder. “Listen, if you folks would agree, I could accompany Victoria to Boston.” Just a word with her. He must find out if she was all right. She hadn’t seen him before she left for Lansing, and now…this. Why hadn’t she been willing to talk with him? He didn’t understand. “Or I could accompany Mrs. Banks so she could go.”
Maybe that wasn’t playing fair, but he wanted to see Victoria, and he didn’t miss the way Mrs. Banks’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.
“Joe, Victoria said she doesn’t want to see you. I don’t begin to understand what’s going through her head at the moment, but you’ll have to respect her wishes. Just as we have to. Victoria isn’t a child anymore. She knows her own mind.”
Joe wished Victoria knew his mind. How he’d love to wrap his arms around her and tell her nothing could touch her, harm her. He wouldn’t allow it. If only she would give him a chance to show her.
“Will you at least take a letter to her when you go? I just…I want her to know I’m thinking of her.” He wanted to hold her, kiss her, tell her everything was going to be fine, but she wouldn’t give him the opportunity. What had changed? Certainly not the fact that she had an issue with her heart. It couldn’t be that. Surely she didn’t think he was so shallow that he’d allow an illness to change his feelings.
Soldier's Homecoming (9781460341308) Page 9
