"Did you buy a paper this morning?" Amanda asked.
"No," Susan said. "Do you want one?"
"Yeah. I do."
"Let me get one then."
"I can get it," Amanda said.
"No," Susan said. "Let me. I need to get up and stretch."
"OK."
Susan got up from her chair.
"What do you want?"
"Get the Times. I want to read about Hitler. I suspect he's up to no good."
Susan smiled.
"I suspect you're right. Do you want anything else?"
"No," Amanda said. "Just get me something to read."
"All right."
Susan gazed lovingly at Amanda and Elizabeth and then headed for the door. She walked out of the room a few seconds later and left her daughter and her mother to themselves.
Amanda closed her eyes and let her mind drift to the days and weeks again. She got as far as early September when she heard a knock on the door. She opened her eyes.
"Mom? Is that you?" Amanda asked.
"No. It's Ella. May I come in?"
"Of course," Amanda said. "Let me get the door."
Amanda got up from her chair and walked across the room. She reached the door just as the person on the other side slowly pushed it open.
"Have I come at a bad time?" Ella Wagner asked.
"No. You've come at a good time. Grandma is just waking up."
Amanda opened the door wide and took a closer look at her neighbor. She saw Ella holding a diaper bag in one arm and a fifteen-month-old tornado in the other.
"The nurse said we could visit now," Ella said.
"You can," Amanda replied. "Come on in."
Ella and Lizzie entered the room.
"Where is your mother?" Ella asked.
"She went to the newsstand to buy a paper. You just missed her."
"Will she be back soon?"
"She should be," Amanda said.
"I see. Do you mind if we sit?"
"Of course not. Take my seat."
Amanda raced to the side of the bed, retrieved her chair, and positioned it so that Ella could sit in it with a minimum of effort. She took the diaper bag from Ella, placed it on the floor, and helped the young mother into the chair.
"Thank you," Ella said.
"Is there anything else I can do?" Amanda asked.
"Yes," Ella replied. She laughed. "Take Lizzie off my hands. She's been extremely restless since we walked into the hospital."
"I would be happy to take her."
"Thank you."
Amanda took Lizzie from Ella and walked to an open spot in the middle of the room. She gave the toddler a hug and a kiss, rubbed noses with her, and held her high.
"Have you been 'restless,' Miss Lizzie?"
Amanda expected the World's Happiest Baby. She got the World's Grumpiest Toddler. Lizzie cried and fussed and tried to squirm her way out of Amanda's arms.
"I wasn't joking," Ella said.
"I guess not," Amanda said. She laughed. "Let me take Lizzie for a walk in the hallway. Then you can visit Elizabeth in peace. Is that OK?"
"Yes."
"All right then. We're off."
Amanda lowered Lizzie to the floor, grabbed her hand, and led her out of the room and into a hallway that stretched the length of the building. She released the toddler's hand the moment they reached the long corridor.
Amanda was sure that all Lizzie wanted to do was to run around and burn off excess energy. She was wrong. All she wanted to do was run back into Room 220.
Lizzie had no interest in running the length of the hospital. She had no interest in meeting the staff at two nursing stations or a nice old man who waved to people from a wheelchair. She just wanted to return to the room she had left and presumably return to her mother.
Amanda fought the good fight for ten minutes. She didn't like giving in to someone who crapped her pants three times a day, but she did like doing favors. She liked giving Ella at least a few quality minutes with an elderly woman she had come to revere.
Amanda lifted Lizzie, kissed her on the nose, and carried her back to Room 220. When she opened the door, she found a scene that tugged at her heartstrings. Ella kneeled at Elizabeth's side, clasped her rosary beads in her folded hands, and prayed for the restoration of her friend's body, mind, and spirit.
"Would you like more time with her?" Amanda asked.
"No. I am finished," Ella said as she rose to her feet and made the sign of the cross.
Amanda tightened her hold on the squirming child and entered the room. She stopped when she saw the concern, unease, and fear in her neighbor's eyes.
"Did Elizabeth respond to you?" Amanda asked.
Ella shook her head.
"She did not even acknowledge me."
"Don't feel bad," Amanda said. "She doesn't acknowledge us half the time."
Lizzie tried to wriggle free.
"How did your walk go?" Ella asked.
"It didn't," Amanda replied. She stared at Lizzie when the toddler pushed away and started to cry. "Will you simmer down?"
"Perhaps we should go," Ella said. "I can come back later."
"Are you sure? My mom will be back any minute."
Ella nodded.
"I am sure. We should go."
"OK."
Ella pulled a greeting card out of the diaper bag, placed it on the table next to the bed, and lifted the bag from the floor. She pushed her chair against the wall and walked toward the door.
"Thank you for watching her," Ella said.
Amanda handed Lizzie to her mother.
"It was my pleasure. She's the best."
Amanda meant it too. Even at her worst, Lizzie Wagner was ten times more charming and appealing than the average one-year-old. She was simply having a bad afternoon brought on by the stifling heat, too much excitement, and perhaps not enough sleep.
She assumed Lizzie would calm down when she went to Ella and was mildly surprised when she did not. The girl was as fussy in her mother's arms as in her big sister's.
Amanda noticed that Lizzie fought off every effort to calm her down. She pounded her fists, spit out her pacifier, and resisted everything from soothing voices to gentle pats.
Then Amanda noticed something else. She noticed that Lizzie looked repeatedly at the bed. She seemed determined to visit the one person she had not yet seen.
"I will bring her by tomorrow when she is feeling better," Ella said. "I am sure she will be calmer. Give your mother my best."
Ella started to leave.
"Wait!" Amanda shouted.
Ella turned around.
"Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure," Amanda said. "Do you mind if I hold Lizzie again?"
"Of course not."
Ella handed Lizzie to Amanda.
"Thank you."
"What do you have in mind?" Ella asked.
"You'll see."
Amanda did her best to get Lizzie under control and then carried her slowly toward the bed. She could feel a change in the baby's mood with each step. Lizzie stopped crying, kicking, and wiggling and started smiling, cooing, and gurgling. By the time Amanda reached the bed and placed Lizzie on Elizabeth's chest, the toddler was in a state of rapture.
"She is happy," Ella said.
"She's more than happy," Amanda said. "She's in nirvana."
Lizzie wasn't alone either.
Elizabeth too had responded to the contact. She had lifted her arms and brought them around her younger self. She had smiled and started to talk. She had laughed.
"Grandma? Grandma?" Amanda asked. "Are you feeling better?"
Elizabeth didn't answer at first with words. She smiled and laughed. She smiled and laughed when Lizzie cooed and gurgled and smiled and laughed when she didn't. She responded to pure love with pure joy and gave it back in spades.
"I can't believe this," Amanda said as tears began to flow. "You're getting better. You're coming back, Grams. You're coming back!"
"I never went away, dear," Elizabeth said.
Amanda took a deep breath as she tried to reconcile what she saw and heard with what she believed was possible. She was watching a recovery unfold in real time.
"Are you OK, Grandma? Are you OK?" Amanda asked.
Elizabeth laughed.
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
Elizabeth smiled.
"I'm positive. Just leave me with my baby."
Amanda pulled a blanket over Elizabeth and Lizzie and then wrapped them in her arms. She held them like puzzle pieces that could never again be separated.
"Get my mom," Amanda said to Ella. "Please get my mom!"
"Are you sure?" Ella asked.
"I'm sure," Amanda replied. "I want her to see this."
"I already have," another woman said.
Amanda turned her head and looked at the open door for the first time in minutes. She saw her mother, cheeks streaked with tears, standing next to her smiling neighbor.
"I already have," Susan repeated.
CHAPTER 76: SUSAN
Thursday, August 17, 1939
Susan read the typewritten sheet – the final typewritten sheet – one last time and scribbled a note in the margins. She wrote her initials at the top of the page, placed the sheet atop a small stack in the middle of the dining room table, and awaited her reward.
She expected Jack to nod or smile or perhaps even grin. She did not expect him to get up from his chair, walk to the other side of the table, and kiss her tenderly on the lips.
"Thank you," Jack said.
"You're welcome," Susan replied.
"I mean it. Thank you for sticking it out."
Susan laughed.
"Did you think I would leave you adrift, sailor?"
Jack smiled.
"I wasn't sure. I knew you had better things to do this summer than correct the manuscript of a three-hundred-page book."
Susan took Jack's hands.
"That's where you're wrong, Admiral Hicks. I didn't have better things to do."
"You're being kind."
"I'm being honest," Susan said. "It has been my pleasure to help you complete this work. I can't think of one thing I've done that's more important."
Jack laughed.
"I can."
"What's that?" Susan asked.
"You raised a wonderful daughter."
"You know what I mean."
"I do," Jack said. He kissed Susan's hands. "I do."
Susan smiled and shook her head as Jack returned to his seat. She wondered if it were even possible to admire anyone more than she admired this admiral, widower, author, and friend.
"So what's next?" Susan asked.
Jack folded his hands atop the table.
"I submit the manuscript to some publishers and wait."
"Do you think they will take it?"
Jack nodded.
"I know they will. Someone will," Jack said. "Two publishers have already contacted my agent. The First Lady apparently put in a good word when she made her rounds last month."
"It's nice to have friends in high places."
Jack sighed and gazed at Susan.
"It's nice to have friends in this room."
"Are you getting fresh, Admiral?"
Jack laughed.
"I'm getting something."
"Perhaps it's good then that there's a table between us," Susan said. She smiled. "I'd hate to think what might happen if there wasn't."
Jack blushed.
"I think it's time we talked about something else."
Susan giggled.
"I agree."
"How is your mother?" Jack asked.
"She's good and getting better. She had a breakthrough the other day."
"She did?"
Susan nodded.
"It seems all she needed was a little quality time with the neighbor girl," Susan said. "She's talking and eating and laughing now. She's laughing a lot."
"That's great news. Where is she now?"
"She's still at the hospital."
"Is she all right?" Jack asked.
"She's fine. She's just recovering. She'll be home on Monday."
"I'll be sure to stop by and say hello."
"You do that," Susan said. "I know she'd like to see you."
"Where is Amanda today?"
"She's at the hospital too. She's giving me a break."
"That was nice of her," Jack said.
"It was."
Jack gathered the papers on the table and brought them together in a tidy stack. He placed the stack inside a manila folder and then inserted the folder into a well-worn leather briefcase.
"Do you mind if I help myself to a glass of water?" Jack asked.
"Of course not," Susan said. "Let me get it."
"No. You sit still. I can manage."
Susan started to object but stopped when she heard a familiar sound. She heard someone step onto the front porch, open the squeaky mailbox door, and slam the door shut.
"OK. You get your water," Susan said. "I'll get my mail."
Susan got up from her chair, walked across the living room, and opened her front door to the sight of neighborhood kids having a water-balloon fight in the street. She watched as they made a mess of themselves and their surroundings but kept delightfully cool. She smiled when she remembered the many times she had beat the heat the same way as a girl.
Susan reached into the vertical mailbox and pulled out three letters. She waved to the kids, told them to watch out for cars, and then retreated to the cooler, drier confines of her house. She reached the dining room table just as her guest finished a glass of iced tea.
"The tea looked better," Jack said. He smiled. "I hope you don't mind."
Susan laughed.
"I don't mind. Amanda might though. She made it."
"It's delicious," Jack said. "What's in it?"
"Oh, I don't know. Mint. Ginger. Eye of newt."
Jack smiled.
"I'm sold. Tell Amanda I'll pay her to make more. It's perfect."
"I'll pass along your review," Susan said.
Susan reclaimed her seat and quickly scanned the mail. She found a bill from the hospital, a fundraising postcard from the Friends of Princeton, and a small letter from G.B. in Los Angeles, California. The letter was addressed to Elizabeth Campbell.
Susan sank in her chair. She could not imagine why Geoffrey Bell had written to Elizabeth unless Elizabeth had written to him. She tried to recall the specifics of a letter Bell had sent to all three women. One passage came to mind:
I am particularly concerned about Amanda's growing relationship with the son of Germany's military attaché. My research on the diplomat suggests that his family is about to undergo a serious transition – one in which allegiances and possibly friendships will be sorely tested.
"Is something wrong?" Jack asked. "You seem distracted."
"I am," Susan said.
"Can I help with anything?
"I don't know."
Susan sighed as she considered her options. Several questions hit her at once. Should she open someone else's mail? Should she open it now? Should she share the letter with Jack? Should she share the letter with anyone?
Susan pondered the matter for a minute and decided she couldn't wait. She had to know what Bell had written and had to know it now. She opened the letter and started reading.
Dear Elizabeth: I was dismayed to learn of your decision to withhold my last letter from your granddaughter. By ignoring my warnings, acting independently, and taking matters into your own hands, you may have put lives at risk. Please cease communications with the Schmidt family and return to Los Angeles immediately. Regards, Geoffrey Bell
"Susan?"
Jack's matter-of-fact voice snapped Susan out of a daze.
"Huh?"
"I asked you a question," Jack said.
"Yes?"
"I asked if I could help with anything. You said, 'I don't know.'"
"I was wrong," Susan said. "I do know."
"You know what?"
"I know you can't help. You can't help with this," Susan said. She sighed. "No one can."
CHAPTER 77: ELIZABETH
Tuesday, August 22, 1939
Elizabeth looked at the reply to the reply to the letter she didn't show Amanda and shook her head. She had no words to justify her actions.
"I'm sorry. I should have leveled with you," Elizabeth said. "I should have leveled with both of you. I should have trusted your judgment."
"You made a mistake, Mom. So did I. So did Amanda," Susan said. "We have all acted in ways that were selfish, shortsighted, and even dangerous."
"Don't forget stupid," Amanda said. "Stupid deserves at least an honorable mention."
Susan laughed.
"You're right. We've been stupid too."
Elizabeth sipped her coffee and looked at her two favorite people. She regretted letting them down and vowed to do better in the future.
"What do you suggest going forward?" Elizabeth asked.
"I thought you'd never ask," Susan said. "I've given this a lot of thought and can think of at least three things we need to do."
"OK."
"The first thing we need to do is put all our cards on the table. I'm going to start by showing you the letters I've received from Professor Bell."
Elizabeth watched closely as Susan placed a stack of letters and postcards on the dining table and spread them out. She had seen most of them but not all.
"How many are there?" Amanda asked.
"Twenty," Susan answered.
Amanda picked up a letter, scanned it, and put it down. She looked at Elizabeth for a moment, as if trying to read her thoughts, and then returned to her mother.
"What if I don't have letters?"
"Then tell us about your conversations," Susan said. "If you think of something you told Kurt but haven't shared with us, then tell us. Even if you think it's unimportant, tell us."
"OK."
"That brings me to the second thing."
"What's that?" Elizabeth asked.
"We need to figure out what Professor Bell meant when he said your letter 'may have put lives at risk,'" Susan said. "I know Kurt and his family may be at some risk in Germany, but I have a feeling the professor was referring to someone else."
Mercer Street (American Journey Book 2) Page 34
