by Darcie Chan
—
In her dim hospital room, Karen opened her eyes. She heard the usual beeping of monitors and the muffled sounds of activity outside her door, but it had been something else, a slight movement, a soft intake of breath, that had interrupted her sleep.
He was sitting in a chair at her bedside. At first she was convinced she was dreaming. Certain details, though, were not the sort she would expect to see in a dream about her husband. His left arm in a bright white cast. The white Steri-Strips adhered to his forehead. His hair, longer, ragged, framing a face that was thinner than she had ever seen it, even when he’d been a wily young thing fresh out of basic training. The tears that moistened the thin face.
“I never get tired of watching you sleep. You’re so beautiful.”
“Nick.”
The dream was real, and they were in each other’s arms as quickly as his broken bones and her sluggish post-comatose body would allow.
They didn’t speak for a long while. Karen couldn’t have said anything had she tried, as the sobs and the heaving breaths would have prevented it. Eventually, they quieted together and just held each other.
“I’m sorry,” Karen finally managed to whisper. “I gave up.”
“Shhh, honey, don’t talk, just listen,” Nick said. His uninjured arm kept her pulled tight as he kissed her temple and spoke softly next to her ear. “I’m the one who should be sorry, for leaving you, for not understanding that what we needed was to be together regardless of our finances or anything else. I never should have risked leaving again for any reason.”
“I don’t deserve to live,” she choked.
“That’s the depression talking, and it’s not true,” Nick replied. “You deserve it more than anyone I know. You’re stronger than anyone I know. All this time, you’ve kept going. You took care of your dad and Ben all by yourself, even when you were hurting inside. What happened to me by itself would be enough to make anyone crack under the pressure, and you were dealing with so much more.”
There was another long silence.
“You must be exhausted,” Karen whispered. She reached over and pulled back the covers, motioning for him to crawl in with her. It took some maneuvering, but they were able to find a position comfortable for both of them and Nick’s cast in the hospital bed. She still couldn’t believe that he was here with her, alive and relatively unharmed. She had been so sure she would never see him again.
“Tell me what happened to you?” she asked with her forehead nestled against his jaw. “George said you were kidnapped by militants wanting you to fix a drone.”
“Yes. They surrounded my Jeep once I was off-base, and my colleague and I couldn’t hold them off. They shot Elliott, the guy I was driving with, and took me across the border to Yemen. They had the drone in an old warehouse. The thing was damaged beyond repair—at least there was nothing I could do to get it to fly again—but I couldn’t tell them that. I let on like I was fixing it, that it would take a long time, but really, the only thing I could do was rewire it and program it to send out an encrypted SOS, in the hope that our guys could track my location and send help.”
“How did this happen?” she asked, lightly touching the cast on his arm.
“When they first got me,” he said. “The ribs, too. I didn’t make it easy for them.”
Karen had many more questions, but they would wait. Nick’s voice had taken on an edge, and she changed the subject so that he wouldn’t have to relive his ordeal further. “Did you hear about Father O’Brien?”
“No, what about him?”
“He had a stroke. He’s here in the hospital, too. Came to see me earlier this afternoon.”
“He’s all right, then?”
“He told me his doctor says he will be. He’ll have to take medication and be a little more careful, but he seemed like his regular self. He thinks he’s going to go home in time to say Mass this Sunday.”
“Amazing, especially at his age,” Nick said. “There are miracles all around us.”
“There are,” Karen agreed, and she felt her eyes well up again. “I’m so thankful we’re both here to see them.”
“I am, too,” Nick said. “And when we go home, I promise you that every day for the rest of our lives is going to be a celebration of living, and each other.”
Chapter 34
By Friday, Father O’Brien was getting frustrated. He felt fine physically. Miraculously, despite a moderately severe stroke on the right side of his brain, he had no paralysis on his left side or other lingering effects except a bit of numbness in his left big toe. He’d had two physical therapy sessions, both of which had gone well. Out of an abundance of caution, Fred had restricted visitors until Thursday afternoon, and since then, it seemed that practically everyone in Mill River had come to see him.
Not that he wasn’t grateful for such an outpouring of love and support. Or having been allowed to visit Karen Cooper in her hospital room down the hall, where they’d joked about which one of them had won the race to the hospital. Or the fresh cherry pie that Ruth had brought over.
But what he wanted more than anything was to be able to go home to the comfortable parish house he loved, to sit in his chair in his office at St. John’s and work on a homily for Sunday’s Mass.
At least he was able to do the third thing. After he’d showered and changed into fresh clothes, one of his nurses had brought him a lap desk and some lined paper. He was scribbling away, absorbed in thought, when yet another knock sounded at his door. He sighed and set down his pen.
“Father O’Brien?” A woman with shoulder-length black hair peeked into the room. She looked familiar.
“Yes? Come in,” he encouraged her. She smiled and entered, along with an older woman with curly white hair whom he didn’t recognize. He focused again on the younger lady. “You’re the one who interviewed me a few months ago, aren’t you? Julia Tomlinson?”
“I am. It’s nice to see you again, Father, although I’m sorry about the location.”
“Believe me, I’m more than ready to get out of here. But I’m curious why you tracked me down. What brings you back up this way? Did you run out of stories to cover in New York City? And who did you bring along with you?”
Julia laughed. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well. They told me what happened to you when I arrived at the church. Some lovely woman there—I think she said her name was Elsa— told us where we could find you and encouraged us to visit you here, since you’d been having other visitors from the congregation. Father O’Brien, this is Mrs. Elizabeth Montgomery,” Julia said, gently ushering her companion forward. “She contacted me a few weeks ago, after she read my interview with you. May we sit down?”
“Please,” Father O’Brien said. Julia pushed the two chairs in the room closer to his bedside, and she and Elizabeth each took one.
“As I was saying, Elizabeth contacted me after she read the interview because she was interested in meeting you. At first I thought she might be—what is the best way of describing it—a fan of yours? In which case, there was no reason why she couldn’t call you or write to you or come up to Mill River herself. But when she explained why she wanted to get in touch with you, I could see that it would be better for her to reach out with me along so you wouldn’t think that what she has to say is some crazy concoction of her imagination. That, and also because I could see the potential of an amazing article in the reason why she wanted to meet you.”
“The truth is, Father,” Elizabeth said, “you still might think I’m crazy after I tell you why I’m here, but could you hear me out before you make that decision?”
He was utterly perplexed and very curious. Neither of the women seemed anything but kind and normal. “All right,” he said to Elizabeth.
“I grew up in New Hampshire, in a little town called Suncook, just south of Concord. I was an only child, but my parents were wonderful and loving, everything you could ask for in a mother and father. We were very close.
“They�
�ve been gone a long time now—my father almost fifty years and my mother nearly thirty. After my father was gone, my mother and I became even closer. There wasn’t a day that went by when we didn’t see each other or talk on the phone. I thought I knew everything about her. When she passed away, though, I learned that wasn’t true.
“She left me a letter telling me that she and Dad had adopted me when I was a newborn. They couldn’t have children of their own, and their priest came to them one afternoon and asked whether they’d be willing to care for a child whose mother was so ill that she no longer could. Of course they said yes. I was sickly as a baby, underweight and colicky, but my mother was determined. With her constant care, I found good health and thrived.
“I don’t know why she never told me that I was adopted while she was living. Maybe she was afraid my love for her would change somehow, which is ridiculous. But back then, adoption wasn’t so common, and some folks looked down on couples who couldn’t have their own children. I suppose I’ll never know some things.
“My mother didn’t have a lot of information about where I came from, other than the fact that the whole thing was arranged illicitly by her priest and a priest who knew my birth family. She also told me that my original surname was O’Brien, and my birth mother’s name was Anna.”
Father O’Brien opened his mouth, but he quickly closed it as he remembered his promise to let her speak uninterrupted.
“You told me in our interview that your mother’s name was Anna,” Julia said quietly.
“I did, and it was. But—”
Elizabeth held up her hand. “You promised to let me finish,” she said gently, and he sighed and waited for her to continue.
“After I read my mother’s letter, I didn’t do anything with the information for a long time. It took some getting used to, learning that I’d been adopted. But eventually, I started to wonder about where I came from. About that time, something called the Internet had started to pick up steam, and suddenly, there were ways of finding out about your ancestry that people hadn’t dreamed of before then.
“My daughter and grandson helped me a lot, I’ll admit. I still don’t know how to work a computer very well, but my grandson sure is a whiz, I tell you. The other thing that was difficult is that our country sure has a lot of Anna O’Briens.”
Father O’Brien had to chuckle. “I imagine that’s true. Have you gone through all of them?”
“Almost,” Elizabeth said. “We’ve been working at our own pace, trying to narrow down the possibilities, including those Annas who have already passed. When I read Julia’s article in America, I thought it was a good lead. The names matched up, at least. I wondered if you might be willing to share a little about your family with me, to see if your mother might be the Anna I’m looking for.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I don’t think that’s the case. Yes, my mother’s name was Anna, and I had a younger sister, but she died in infancy. I attended her funeral. My uncle Frank officiated.”
A strange look passed between Julia and Elizabeth.
“Maybe you should show him,” Julia said. Elizabeth nodded, reached into her purse, and took out a yellowed, folded piece of paper and a small flat box.
“Besides the letter, my mother left me this. There was a note tucked inside. It’s barely legible now,” she said, unfolding the paper and holding it out to him, “but it was an instruction that the box and its contents should go with the baby. And it was signed by someone named Frank.”
Father O’Brien reached out to take the note. When he saw the faded handwriting and signature, his hand began to tremble so violently that he could no longer make out the letters.
Elizabeth stood up and came closer to him. She carefully lifted the lid on the box, but he already knew what he was about to see. He closed his eyes. When he had reopened them, the shimmering spoon resting inside the box was exactly as it had been in his dreams.
“May I?” he whispered. Elizabeth nodded, and he took the spoon from the box. The name Anna was engraved on the front of the handle; on the back, as he knew it would be, the inscription read, “My sweet girl.”
“This…this was my mother’s,” he said. “I thought…I thought it had been lost.” He looked into Elizabeth’s eyes—blue eyes that were exactly the same shade as his own—and acknowledged the truth of who she was. “I held you once,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a sob. “I held you when you were three days old. Your given name was Grace Elizabeth.”
“It still is,” she said, bending her tear-streaked face toward his to kiss his cheek. “I go by my middle name.”
EPILOGUE
No one is to be despaired of as long as he breathes. (While there is life there is hope.)
—DESIDERIUS ERASMUS
Late in the afternoon on Saturday, December 20, just before it was time for her to walk down the aisle, Claudia Simon stood before the mirror in the dressing room at St. John’s. Everything was perfect—hair, makeup, veil, and gown. Pauline had made the veil to match the gown, and it was just as stunning. Claudia touched the combs and pins holding it in her hair and straightened the sheer fabric that flowed past her shoulders.
“You about ready, Claudia?” her father asked as he came into the dressing room. “The music is about to start. And wow, you are beautiful.” As if on cue, she heard the organ begin “Wedding March.” She took a deep breath and smiled as she slipped her hand through her father’s arm.
Even though she had sworn to herself that she would not blubber all the way down the aisle, the sight of Kyle standing at the altar beside Father O’Brien unlocked the floodgates. As she passed the pews filled with people she loved, she couldn’t help thinking that a wedding was a real-life version of Facebook. People from all stages of her life were gathered here with her, all in one place, ready to celebrate this huge happiness with her and Kyle. All of these people standing as she passed were her current and future friends list. The thought was ridiculous, of course—who in her right mind would be thinking about social media on her trip down the aisle?—but it helped her to smile more and cry less.
The wedding Mass passed in a blur, and before she knew it, Kyle was sliding a ring onto her finger, Father O’Brien was announcing them as Mr. and Mrs. Kyle Hansen, and Kyle was lifting her veil for their first kiss as husband and wife. He kept it classy, which made her happy, although he couldn’t help grabbing her up and spinning her around in a hug as they began their walk back down the aisle to form a receiving line.
Kevin was standing with the other groomsmen and their dates, but Misty wasn’t with him. Strangely, Claudia didn’t remember seeing Misty in the church as she’d walked down the aisle. Kyle had never mentioned the text messages Misty had sent him, and Claudia couldn’t help but wonder whether her absence was his doing. Had he privately disinvited her from the wedding?
“Congrats, bro,” Kevin said as he hugged Kyle. “And Claudia, I always wanted a sister. Well, that’s not really true, but it’s awesome that my new sister is you. Welcome to the family.”
“Aw, thanks, Kevin,” Claudia said with a laugh as he kissed her on the cheek. “I already have a brother, but I’m glad to have another one! So, are you ready to give the big toast at the reception?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ve practiced a bunch of times.”
“You’ll be great,” Kyle said. “Best best man ever.”
“I haven’t seen Misty,” Claudia said. “Did she step away for a minute?”
“Uh, no,” Kevin said, and the jovial look on his face vanished. “She’s not here. I mean, she was going to come, but that was before we— Well, we’re done. I’ll tell you about it later. I don’t want to hold up the line.”
“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” Claudia heard Kyle say. “Come find me later, all right?” Kevin nodded, and she struggled to keep from smiling before Kyle gently took her elbow and nudged her toward the next person in line.
After they had gone through the receiving line and had their p
hotos taken, they freshened up in the dressing room. The guests were awaiting their arrival at the marble mansion, but Claudia had a little trouble convincing Kyle to leave the church.
“You are stunning,” he said, pulling her close and kissing her neck. “Everyone’s almost gone. And since we’re officially married now…”
She scoffed at him. “Kyle Hansen, I am not about to consummate our marriage in the church basement!”
“I’m kidding, kidding,” he said. “It’s just that you are so irresistible—”
“We have a mansion full of guests waiting for us,” she said, “and what about this surprise wedding-night venue you have planned? You really don’t want to spoil that, now, do you?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I’m thinking that maybe we should leave the reception early.”
They left the church to go to Kyle’s truck and were surprised to see snow falling heavily. Already, the ground was covered, and the tree branches were quickly becoming lined with white.
“Could it be more perfect?” Claudia said.
“Nope. Not for a winter wedding, anyway.”
Kyle helped her get into the truck and tucked the long train on her dress in over her legs. It took only a few minutes to drive from St. John’s to the big house on the hill. They parked in a space reserved with a sign and a display of red roses.
“I can’t wait to see inside,” Claudia said as they hurried to the front door, holding hands and shielding their faces from the snow. A new sign was affixed to the front of the house: MARY’S MARBLE INN BED-AND-BREAKFAST, EST. 2013. Beneath that, a temporary sign read, “Hansen Wedding Reception.”
The door opened suddenly, and Ruth was standing there, beckoning them inside. “Come in, come in, before you freeze!” Once they were safely in the foyer, she smiled and clasped her hands. “All right. Everyone is waiting, so just follow me.”
