CHAPTER ONE
December 6, 1917, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada
Pearline Campbell stared at the shard of glass protruding from her left hand. How did it get there? Why didn’t it hurt? Slowly, she lifted her chin and gazed around. Mama’s sewing room? She was on the floor. Why? A scrap of blue silk caught her eye, a wee remnant from the dress Mama had made for Pearline’s twenty-first birthday last May. How strange.
A cold gust of air revived her senses. Who opened the window in December? Wait. The window wasn’t open—the glass was gone. Mama’s lace curtains fluttered freely in the winter breeze. A massive black cloud filled the sky to the northeast. Pearline scanned the room. Broken glass shimmered from every surface. Orange beads littered the floor.
Where was Daisy? A moment before, Daisy had rushed past, frantic. Something about a ship on fire in the harbor. Come. See. Pearline scanned the room, trying to make sense of the scene. Then her eyes caught a familiar shape, and she gasped. Daisy lay in a heap against the wall, her face covered in blood.
Four days earlier. . .
An explosion behind Sergeant Oliver Hamilton flung him face-first onto the trench’s muddy bottom. As he lifted his head, a distressed screech escaped from between his chin and shoulder. A rat wiggled free and scurried away in the darkness.
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Over the blast of artillery, a human cry rang out. “Hamilton, I’m hit. Help me, I’m hit.”
Murphy’s voice was clear, despite the nonstop blasts wreaking havoc with Oliver’s ears. The private must be nearby.
“Murphy? Where are you?”
“Over here. Help me, Hamilton. I’m over here.”
Oliver fought to lift himself from the putrid mud as rain pelted his head. He slipped and fell again. Was it pitch dark, or were his eyes refusing to open? Pain on the left side of his head made him want to sink back down and never move again. Where was Murphy?
“I’m coming, Murph. Keep talking so I can find you.” Oliver slung his rifle onto his back and thrashed his arms around in the darkness, trying to find his friend.
“Here. I’m here.” The man’s voice seemed to come from all sides. “I’m right here.”
The harder Oliver tried to pull one foot out, the deeper the other foot sank.
Murphy’s voice multiplied. Two voices. Then four. All calling out for help. “Over here! This way, Hamilton.”
Up to his knees in muck, Oliver felt panic rise in his gut.
“Murphy!” He was to his hips in filth now. Vermin crawled up his torso.
“I’m here.”
Two firm hands suddenly gripped Oliver’s shoulders. He stiffened. The Germans must have jumped right into the trenches. This would be the end for the Canadians. They were goners. Well, he wouldn’t roll over and surrender. He’d take as many of them with him as he could. He tried to jerk himself free of the Hun’s grasp while punching his fists in the general direction of where the man’s face should be.
Strong hands clutched both his wrists. “Settle down, soldier, it’s okay.”
Then a feminine voice. “Come on, Oliver. Come back to us.”
Oliver’s entire body convulsed.
“You’re safe, Hamilton,” the male voice said again. “You’re on your
way home, remember? Everything’s going to be all right.”
Oliver forced open his right eye. He was sitting in bed, drenched in sweat and panting. An orderly held his wrists.
He looked around. Two long rows of upper and lower bunks lined one side of the room, bolted down to form clusters of four men in various states of sleep. Nearly all the patients sported bandages.
“You’re aboard the Llandovery Castle , Hamilton. Remember? We’ll dock in Halifax tomorrow. You’re almost home.”
Blinking several times, Oliver turned toward the voice. It belonged to the nursing sister who’d been ministering to his needs since they boarded the hospital ship at Liverpool a week or so earlier. Or had it been a month?
“Sorry,” he muttered. He’d been waking with these nightmares nearly every night and had witnessed the same happening to some of the others. The nurses had their hands full, and he was part of the problem. He despised being one of the weak.
“Here, take a sip of water.” The nurse handed him a cup. He swallowed gratefully, the cool water soothing his throat and washing away the taste of fear. The orderly moved on to another bunk, where a soldier thrashed in his sleep. Before the orderly could wake him, the soldier cried out for his mother—an all too familiar and pitiful sound.
“Here.” The nurse took the empty cup from his hand. “Think you can go back to sleep?”
Oliver lay down but tossed his sheet and blanket to the side. “It’s the last place I want to go. The dreams are almost worse than the real war.”
“I know. But your body needs sleep to heal.” She took Oliver’s hand in her soft, plump one. “I can stay with you for a minute if you like.”
Oliver nodded, but the pain of moving his head reminded him of his damaged face, his missing eye.
“Soon you’ll be home, safe and sound.” Her voice soothed. “Your family will be so happy to see you. Do you have siblings?”
This time, Oliver remembered not to move his head. “Two sisters,
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both older. Both married.”
“So you’re the baby. Any nieces or nephews?”
“Three of each. Half of them born after I left.” Oliver couldn’t even picture the faces of the children and wondered if they would remember him. He found it hard enough to recall what his sisters, Rose and Lily, looked like.
“Tell me again about the young lady waiting for you in Halifax.” The nurse crouched in the tight space between bunks. “Pearl, was it?”
“Pearline.”
“Right. Pearline. Is this her?” She pointed to the small photo stuck to the underside of the upper bunk but didn’t wait for an answer. “She’s as pretty as her name.”
“That she is.” Oliver touched the picture with his free hand and studied the smiling face he’d stared at for two long years. Pearline’s captivating eyes smiled back at him. “Even prettier in person.”
“How did you two meet?”
Oliver let out a slow breath. “Our fathers are both harbor pilots. And friends. Her family moved into the house across the street from ours when she was about ten. I was thirteen or fourteen, so I didn’t take much notice of her then. Her big brother and I were chums, though. Still are. Alexander is still on the battlefield.”
“Somewhere along the way, Pearline caught your attention.”
“Oh yeah.” Oliver grinned at the memory of Pearline beating carpets in her family’s backyard while he and Alexander chopped and stacked firewood. The whole idea had been to hurry Alex’s chores along so the two of them could run down to Point Pleasant Park, but Alex’s little sister had suddenly become a lovely distraction.
Under a long apron, she’d worn a light blue dress, with a matching ribbon in her hair. She handled the carpet beater with grace and concentration so appealing that Alexander had cuffed Oliver’s shoulder and ordered him to pay attention before somebody lost a foot to the ax.
The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile. “Must be hard having two men you love in the thick of war. She’ll be happy to see you.”
Oliver only blinked a few times.
“And how has Pearline kept busy all this time, besides rolling bandages and knitting socks for soldiers? College?”
“Well, she started at nursing school but didn’t finish. Didn’t have the stomach for it.”
“Mm. Not everyone does.”
“Besides writing to me every night, she spends most of her days volunteering with her mother at an orphanage. Always plenty to do there.”
“So. . .will you follow in your father’s footsteps once you’re officially discharged? I hear harbor pilots make good money.”
Oliver winced. How could he begin to explain? “Well. . .yes. They make right good money, but that was never my plan.” He raised a hand to his head and traced the edge of the bandage. “Until now.”
The nurse leaned in, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I trained to teach school. Pop was a little disappointed, but he got used to the idea.” Oliver lowered his arm and folded his hands across his chest.
“Teaching is a wonderful profession. What age did you teach?”
“I didn’t get to start, except for a month of student teaching junior high. I loved it.” Oliver couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “I had just graduated and nearly signed a contract with a public school in Halifax. By then, we were a year into the war. They needed more men, so Alex and I signed up.”
The nurse smoothed a wrinkle in Oliver’s sleeve. “Well, I should think any parent would feel proud. I’m sure yours do too. Besides, the war was only a detour. I’ll bet your experiences will make you an even better teacher.”
Oliver sighed and turned his gaze toward the portholes lining the opposite wall. He knew the nurse meant well. She was trying to get his mind off the battlefield and onto a brighter future. She might be putting her training to good use, but she couldn’t possibly understand. Anyway, what was the point of spilling everything out to someone he’d never see again after tomorrow? He could never teach, not now. Standing in front of a classroom full of children with this monster
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face? Pop would get his wish after all—provided Oliver could qualify as a harbor pilot with only one eye.
The nurse released Oliver’s hand and pulled the covers over his chest. “Now I want you to dream about kissing sweet Pearline and the cozy home you’re going to live in and all the young students who will hang on your every word, Mister Hamilton. You’ll feel familiar ground under your feet soon.”
Oliver tried to relax, but instead of envisioning students who’d never be his, he recalled the headlines in the newspaper Ma had sent months earlier. A hospital ship much like this one had run aground in dense fog last August, carrying over five hundred wounded Canadian soldiers. Though all had been rescued, the HMHS Letitia would sit forever deep below Halifax’s harbor.
He was hardly “home free” yet.
Halifax, Nova Scotia, Wednesday, December 5
Pearline bit her bottom lip as she raised a trembling hand to knock on the front door of her future mother-in-law’s home, across the street from her own. Overhead, the winter sun displayed its full brilliance against a blue sky. Gulls cried in the distance, and the fragrance of salty sea air wafted on the breeze. Maybe she should have eaten breakfast as Mama had coaxed, but she was too afraid of what her nerves might do. She’d rather be weak from hunger than need a place to relieve her stomach of its contents.
The door opened, and Josephine Hamilton’s elegance filled the frame. “Pearline, my dear.” She pulled the door wide and stepped back into the spacious foyer. “Come in while I finish getting ready.” From a coatrack, she pulled a long, black woolen coat with a fur collar. “Big day for you.”
“Yes.” Pearline’s gaze drifted to the piano in the adjoining parlor, where a framed photo of Oliver at his college graduation reminded her how handsome he was—or at least, had been. “I confess, I’m nervous to see him.”
Mrs. Hamilton buttoned her coat and added a gray hat. “Perfectly understandable. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. Two years is a long time.”
Pearline nodded. “Benjamin and Sophia both thought they should be allowed to miss school and come with me today. Thankfully, Mama didn’t give them a moment’s hope of that happening.”
Mrs. Hamilton laughed as she pulled on her gloves. “I know Oliver is a bit of a hero to Benjamin—along with Alex, of course. But does Sophia remember him well?”
Pearline nodded. “Oh, sure. She was six when he left, and he was always so kind to her. She remembers his piggyback rides. I don’t think she’d forget him even if. . .” She let the thought go unfinished and followed Mrs. Hamilton out the door. “He’s expecting us, right?”
Mrs. Hamilton walked briskly along, kicking up cinders from the street. “Yes. I told him last night I’d bring you with me today.”
“Is he. . .all right with that?”
Mrs. Hamilton let out a long sigh. “Oliver’s not himself, Pearline.”
That’s what Pearline was afraid of. Although she and Oliver had followed their parents’ advice by not making their engagement official before he left for the war, they’d had a clear understanding. Her commitment hadn’t wavered. According to Oliver’s letters, his had not either. But he tended to keep his letters impossibly cheerful. “Does he not want to see me?”
“It’s not that.” Mrs. Hamilton led her across the street to the waiting trolley, where they both stepped aboard and settled into seats behind a man reading The Halifax Herald. Pearline scanned the headline: 200 Wounded Return Home Aboard HMHS Llandovery Castle.
His Majesty’s Hospital Ship. And Oliver was one of the two hundred. As Papa had predicted, they’d moved the wounded from the ship to the new hospital after dark to prevent civilians from witnessing the horrors of their wounds. The official stance was that the nocturnal move would spare the soldiers a gawking audience. If Oliver was
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having second thoughts about their relationship, was it because he’d been subjected to the stares of others since he last wrote?
“Maybe he doesn’t understand how grateful I feel that he’s alive.” Pearline rubbed the unadorned ring finger of her gloved hand. How long before it would sport a gold band, or at least an engagement ring?
“How grateful we all feel.” Mrs. Hamilton braced one hand on the back of the seat in front of them as the trolley began to move. “War changes a man. In Oliver’s case, inside and out.”
“Is he concerned I’ll be shocked? Because I’ve had plenty of time to prepare.” Pearline had even practiced before the mirror, examining her expressions until she found one that would tell Oliver she loved him, no matter what she saw. “I wrote him to say it didn’t matter how he looked.”
“I know, dear.” Mrs. Hamilton squeezed Pearline’s arm.
Was Oliver reconsidering his commitment to her? Pearline couldn’t bring herself to form the question aloud. A month had passed since the first notice arrived. His parents had immediately crossed the street to the Campbell home to share the news. They handed Pearline the postcard. On one side, it was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Chester Hamilton, Young Avenue, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. Designed for men too wounded or too illiterate to write more, the other side featured a cold, efficient list of possible options with boxes for the sender to check off. Oliver had checked three:
I have been admitted into hospital. Wounded.
Letter follows at first opportunity. Then, at the bottom:
Signed: Oliver
Date: October 12, 1917
Pearline had imagined everything from missing arms to complete paralysis. His follow-up letters, one for Pearline and one for his parents, brought relief. Oliver wrote with such optimism that Pearline had practically memorized his words.
I suppose I should warn you, I’m down by one eye. The left was blown away, which works out well since I always closed that one while shooting anyway. I should be an excellent shot now. In any case, it’s gotten me out of the trenches and on my way home. The nurses are great—more like mothers and big sisters than anything. Nothing to worry about there, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you. I’m sure you’re just as gorgeous through one eye as two.
Had his note been all bravado? His next communication, three days ago, was a telegram saying he was on his way and would go directly to Camp Hill Hospital upon arrival in Halifax. According to the newspaper, the ship had docked yesterday, loaded with wounded men who quickly filled a third of the beds at the new facility built for this purpose. Only family members were allowed to visit on the first day, and Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton had seen their son as soon as they could.
Now, his mother hummed softly before speaking further. “Oliver wants to see you as much as you want to see him, Pearline. He may not know it, but I do. I think he’s afraid of what he might see in your eyes.”
Pearline studied Mrs. Hamilton’s face. “How bad is it?”
Mrs. Hamilton waved one hand vaguely around the left side of her face. “He’s all bandaged still. I don’t know how bad it looks, really.” She took Pearline’s hand. “How committed are you to my son?” Her blue eyes, so much like Oliver’s, glistened with unshed tears as she waited for an answer.
Pearline held her gaze. “Completely.”
Mrs. Hamilton waited, but when no more words were forthcoming, she spoke again. “Are you certain? Because if you’re not, I’d rather you walk away now than put him through rejection later.”
“I am.” Pearline wished she felt as brave as her words implied, but Mrs. Hamilton’s warning was quickly eroding her courage. How bad were Oliver’s wounds? Her stomach churned.
With another massive sigh, Mrs. Hamilton patted Pearline’s hand. “As I thought. You’ll do fine. Oliver needs you.” With a sniff, she raised
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her chin. “Here’s our stop.”
Without further conversation, they walked the last few steps down Robie Street to the hospital’s front doors. Pearline prayed silently. God, You know my heart. It makes no difference to me what Oliver looks like now. But if he’s become coldhearted or cruel because of his sufferings, how will I ever bear it?
CHAPTER TWO
Pearline’s heart pounded as she followed Oliver’s mother down the hallway of Camp Hill Hospital’s third floor. Nursing sisters in crisp blue-and-white uniforms and veiled caps carried trays or assisted patients with walking. Though she tried not to stare at the soldiers, Pearline couldn’t help but notice one man in a wheelchair. Both legs ended in heavy bandages above his knees. His eyes appeared to focus into the distance. Pearline averted her gaze quickly. She prayed Oliver’s face would not display the same hollow look.
With odors of antiseptic threatening to overwhelm her, she forced herself to take a deep breath and put on a smile. “I’m so grateful he has this nice new place to convalesce.”
“Yes. Hopefully not for long. Then we can bring him home to his own room and fatten him up with his favorite meals.” Mrs. Hamilton turned abruptly through double doors leading into a large room.
Two long rows of identical beds lined the walls. Men in pale blue pajamas filled the beds. Some sat; others lay flat and stared at the ceiling. A few appeared asleep.
“Fourth bed on the left,” Mrs. Hamilton murmured.
Pearline spotted him. Oliver was sitting up, pillows neatly tucked behind him. White bandages covered the top of his head, left eye, and cheek. One hand rested on top of a gray blanket, the other was in the hands of a nurse. Pearline stood still as the nurse took Oliver’s pulse, engaging him in quiet conversation. Both of his hands and his entire upper body appeared whole. The contours of the blanket suggested two normal legs beneath. Pearline released her breath.
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The nurse made a note on her clipboard. “Are your parents coming back today?”
“Just my mother.”
“Make sure she takes you for a walk. You need to get your land legs under you again.”
“I most certainly will take him for a walk.” Mrs. Hamilton strode to the bedside. “Good morning, Son. Sleep well?”
Oliver smiled at his mother and reached for her hand. “Hi, Ma.”
The nurse acknowledged Mrs. Hamilton with a nod and moved on to her next patient.
Pearline took a step forward at the same time as Oliver turned her way. She gave him her brightest smile, but his shocked expression was not what she’d hoped for. Oliver stared back. His lips mouthed her name, but no sound came out.
She forced herself to keep smiling.
Oliver’s voice was barely discernible. “Ma, I told you. I’m not ready.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Hamilton turned and stretched one hand toward Pearline. “We’re always ready to see people who love us.”
Gratefully, Pearline took Mrs. Hamilton’s hand and moved to the bedside. “Hello, Oliver.”
Oliver glanced her way, then returned his gaze to his mother. “Ma, you weren’t supposed to—”
“It’s all right, Oliver.” Pearline reached for Oliver’s hand. “I wanted to come.”
He pulled his hand away. “It’s too soon. I need—”
“You need to talk. To this young lady.” Mrs. Hamilton patted her son’s leg and turned to leave. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Pearline felt panic rising in her stomach.
“Ma, wait—!”
Pearline wanted to echo Oliver’s words, but Mrs. Hamilton was already halfway to the doors. She disappeared around the corner, and Pearline slowly turned to face Oliver. He continued to stare at the door as though willing his mother to return. When she did not, he let out
a long sigh and finally looked at Pearline.
Neither of them spoke as they studied each other. The exposed part of his face was unmarred except for a ragged red scar running from the left edge of his lip to his jaw, where it appeared stitches had been recently removed. His entire right side looked the same as it had two years ago when they’d said goodbye, except perhaps for heavier stubble. His remaining eye was as blue and full of life as always. He was still her Oliver, and she longed to throw her arms around him and tell him everything would be all right. Now that he was home, they could move on with their lives together. Plan a wedding, find a home. Start a family.
“I’ve missed you so much.” She leaned closer and softened her voice to a whisper. “Can’t wait to get you out of here.” She reached for his hand again.
Again, he slipped it out of her grasp.
Oliver feared he might not hold back a torrent of tears. Pearline was even lovelier than he remembered. After two long years of staring at a two-dimensional, black-and-white image, seeing her again was more intense than he’d imagined. . .and he’d imagined it a thousand times. Her smile melted his heart. The big brown eyes he remembered so well still held their youthful sparkle, but she was every inch a woman. She’d swept up her hair under a slate-blue hat with a jaunty brim. Her matching winter coat hung unbuttoned, revealing a lacy white blouse. Her left wrist was hooked through the loops of a beaded drawstring purse in a shade of red that Oliver would have found attractive before the war. Now, he’d seen enough red for a lifetime.
A rolling metal cart squeaked down the corridor, accentuating his silence. He needed to say something. She deserved that and so much more. How could Ma go against his express request by bringing her here and then simply take off? He’d deal with Ma later. Right now, the woman he loved more than life stood in front of him, waiting for a response. He rested his head against the pillow and closed his eye so he wouldn’t need to say the difficult words to her face.
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“Pearline, I’m sorry. I wanted to wait so we could have a proper conversation away from here. I don’t know what Ma was thinking.”
Pearline took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Maybe your mother knows you better than you know yourself. Or maybe she was thinking of me. Once I knew your ship had arrived, I could hardly stand the wait. Now that I’m here, I can hardly stand not hugging and kissing you.”
“Don’t, Pearline. I know you think that’s true now, but. . .trust me. You will change your mind.”
“Oliver, please. Look at me.”
He kept his eye closed. How could she ever understand the pain of looking at her pretty face, knowing his own was so ravaged? She had no idea what she’d need to endure if she stayed with him. “I think it’s best if you leave now. Send Ma back in.”
An impatient sigh. “I’m not leaving, and don’t be mad at your mother. If I’d known you needed more time, I suppose I could have waited. Maybe. But I’m here now. Can’t we talk? Just for a bit?”
He turned his face away from her and slowly opened his eye. On the next bed, his buddy Murphy sat with a robe draped over his shoulders, his arm in a sling, and his feet on the floor. Murphy’s silent gaze roamed from Oliver to Pearline and back to Oliver again. He slowly shook his head, and Oliver could almost hear his unspoken ridicule. You’re crazy, Hamilton. Don’t let this beauty get away.
“Mind your own business, Murph.”
Murphy snickered, then stood and wobbled toward the door. In search of some fresh air, no doubt. Maybe later, Oliver would explain to Murphy about Pearline’s weak stomach. Then he’d understand.
Pearline remained in his peripheral view, unmoving. “Please, Oliver. Don’t ignore me. I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
Oliver turned to face her. Was that a tremble in her smile? Oh no, don’t cry. Maybe he could make her laugh.
“That a new hat?”
It worked. Pearline’s soft chuckle sounded like music. “Silly man.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Matches the coat.”
She nodded, still smiling. “The fabric was my Christmas gift last year. Mama helped me make the coat, and we took the extra to a milliner. He made two hats from it, one for me and one for Mama. I’m sure I wrote you.”
He nodded. “I think I got that one. I imagined a different shade of blue.” He paused, scrambling for a neutral topic. “How’s everything at home? Rufus still annoying the neighborhood with his barking?”
Pearline laughed. “Not as much. He’s sticking closer to home these days too. I can’t remember his last escape attempt. Benjamin and Sophie are eager to see you.”
Tears began to well, and Oliver quickly looked away, swallowing the emotion. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Pearline cleared her throat. “Ollie, I don’t understand. Your last letter gave no indication that you didn’t want to see me or that you needed more time. You seemed to be doing so well.”
“I didn’t—” His voice cracked, and he tried again. “I wrote that letter. . .before.”
“Before what?”
He paused, remembering the horrible day. “Before they let me have a mirror.”
Pearline reached out and gently touched his unmarred cheek. “Without the bandages?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s bad. I knew immediately. I’ll never be able to teach—”
“What? Of course you will.”
“I won’t, Pearline.” His words came out more fiercely than he intended, but she had to realize the truth. “You know how kids can be. I will never stand in front of a group of students—or a group of any kind. I could never be so cruel.”
“Cruel?” Pearline shook her head. “Ollie, you’re being ridiculous. In the first place, you’re not healed yet. I’m sure everything will look much better once the doctors finish. In the second place, when did you
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ever care about your looks or about what others think?”
He stared at the light hanging from the ceiling and recalled a short, dumpy geography teacher with a bulbous nose and pocked complexion. “Did you have Miss Snodgrass in grade seven?”
“Yes.”
“What did the kids call her behind her back?”
Pearline paused for a second. “Miss Snot Nose.”
“That was nothing like this.” He could already imagine the names the kids might dream up for him. Cyclops. Gargoyle. Boogeyman.
She let out an impatient huff. “You’re right, that was nothing like this. You wear battle wounds, Oliver. To the boys, you’ll be a war hero. To the girls, you’ll look just as handsome as you do to me. As handsome as you’ll always look to me. Besides, who cares if a handful of kids find a stupid nickname for you? After all you’ve been through, I should think—”
“I already told Pop I want to apprentice as a harbor pilot.”
Pearline stopped abruptly. “You did?” She shook her head. “Ollie. You’ve never wanted to do that. All you ever dreamed of was teaching.”
“Yeah, well. . .” He closed his eye again. “That was before.”
A long sigh escaped Pearline’s lips, then silence. Had she walked away? He opened his eye to sneak a quick peek, only to discover her studying the ceiling as though her next words could be found there. He quickly closed his eye again when she began to speak.
“You don’t need to decide this now, my love. The war has stolen so much from you already—from both of us. Don’t let it take your dream too.”
He swallowed hard. “I thought Pop would be thrilled, you know? Finally getting his way.”
“He wasn’t?”
“He’s not sure I can do the job without both eyes. A good harbor pilot needs good eyesight, proper depth perception.”
Pearline gently ran a finger across the back of his hand. “Yes, I imagine that’s true.”
Her touch made his heart pound with longing. He pulled his hand
away and forced his mind back to the conversation. “Pop said he’d take me out in the boat when I’m ready, and we’ll see how it goes.”
“Well, our harbor certainly needs more pilots. With so many men off fighting, Papa tells me they’re down to fourteen. The usual complement is twenty-five plus eight apprentices, and now the ports are busier than ever. Papa calls it a ‘disaster waiting to happen.’ ”
“Pop said the same.”
Pearline glanced around the room. “Ollie, I guess if that’s what you want, I’m behind you. I’m just not convinced it’s what you want.”
“It is. If that doesn’t work out, I can always fish. The fish won’t care what I look like.”
“Neither do I, darling. Please believe me.”
For the first time, Oliver dared look straight into her eyes. “It’s too soon for you to know that.”
“You insult me if you think I’m that superficial, Oliver Hamilton.”
Oliver shrugged. “No insult intended. I’m just saying you can’t make such a judgment call without all the information. Nobody can.”
She brushed a tear away and gently shook her head. This would be so much easier if she simply walked away right now. He really didn’t want to say the rest, but she wasn’t moving.
Best to simply plunge in. He cleared his throat. “Besides. . . there’s more.”
Pearline’s gaze traveled to the foot of the bed and back, no doubt looking to see where else he might be wounded. She raised her eyebrows.
“You may as well know now. I wake up with night terrors.”
She took this in without looking away and nodded slowly. “That’s perfectly normal, Ollie. Mama and I read all about shell shock. It will get better with time.”
Oliver had talked with enough veterans to know that wasn’t necessarily true. “Maybe. Could take years. I can’t ask you to wait for them to stop, and I’m certainly not going to subject you to my nighttime escapades. Our parents were right when they encouraged us to wait.”
Pearline shook her head. “Ollie. You don’t understand. I can help
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you through it. Whatever it takes, I’ll—”
“No, you don’t understand. Most nights, it takes a strong, muscular orderly to settle me down. I’ve slugged a couple of them hard enough to leave bruises. I could never put you through that.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “If I ever hurt you—in any way—I couldn’t live with myself.”
“But you’ll put your parents through it? Do you think that’s better?”
“Put your parents through what?” Ma appeared over Pearline’s shoulder. She sidled over to the bed and grasped one of Oliver’s feet through the blanket.
“You know. What we talked about last night.”
“The nightmares?”
He nodded, feeling the pain on the left side of his face again. It should be time for more medication, but the nurses were weaning him off at his request.
Ma leaned toward Pearline. “He doesn’t want his wife to hear him calling out for Mama in his sleep.”
Oliver clenched both fists.
Pearline covered his right hand with both of hers. This time, she didn’t let him pull away. “Oliver, you and I have waited too long to let a few bad dreams get in the way of—”
“They are not just ‘bad dreams,’ ” he yelled through gritted teeth. “They’re more real than the real thing, only worse.” Several sets of eyes had turned his way. Oliver lowered his voice and stared at the blanket. “You can’t possibly understand. Either of you.”
“All right, enough about that for now.” Ma grabbed the robe lying across the foot of the bed. “We need to get you up for a walk, and it’s a beautiful sunny day. The air’s a little nippy, but it will feel good to fill your lungs with it. I already checked with the nurses, and they agree. Come.”
Oliver submitted to his mother’s wishes and donned the robe and slippers. Pearline threw a blanket over his shoulders for good measure. She looped her arm through his, and Ma led the way out of the ward. Weak from lying in bed so much, he slowed their pace to one that
didn’t make the room spin.
“You all right?” Pearline looked into his face. Hers had paled a bit, but then she’d always had a touchy stomach. Another reason to end this now, before she could see his ravaged face.
“Just a bit wobbly from ten days at sea.”
They followed Ma down the hall, then through glass doors leading to a small outdoor atrium, where half a dozen patients took advantage of the cool fresh air. Most of them smoked cigarettes. Three sat in wheelchairs, one leaned on crutches, and the other two used canes.
Pearline pulled her arm free. “You’re the only patient moving unaided, Ollie. You’re doing so well.”
“She’s right, Son. You have a lot to be thankful for.”
Oliver ignored them. He walked to the balcony’s edge and steadied himself with one hand on the railing. He gazed eastward, hoping in vain for a glimpse of the harbor between buildings and hilltops, and sucked in a long, deep breath. Ma and Pearline were not wrong. He should feel grateful, and he knew it.
But they didn’t understand. How could they? Maybe in time. Pearline would fare better with a man who was whole and could offer her a stable life. For her sake, he almost wished she’d found someone else while he was gone. But even if she never found a husband, she’d still be better off alone. She wouldn’t have to come to bed each night wondering whether she’d find Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde. He couldn’t do that to her.
The breeze picked up, and the trio returned to Oliver’s bed.
“We’ll let you rest.” Ma tucked the blankets around him like she had when he was a boy. “I’ll let you two say your goodbyes.” Ma kissed his cheek. “I’ll return with your father this evening.”
If only he didn’t need to say difficult words to Pearline. “Bye, Ma.”
She walked away, and Pearline moved closer. “Please think about what I said, Ollie. I’ll come back this evening, and we can talk some more.”
“No.” He forced himself to hold firm.
One glance at her crestfallen face nearly did him in, but he needed
