Rachel Van Dyken (3 page)

****

A steady rhythmic rapping on the old oak door pried Blaine out of a deep sleep. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and pushed the quilt away from his face. The broad daylight streaming through the window blinded him temporarily. He threw back the
covers
and sat up on the edge of the bed. Rubbing the haze from his eyes with his fists, he called out, “Yes, Mrs. Callahan, I’m up… I’m up.”

From behind the heavy wood door, he could hear Mrs. Callahan’s thick Irish brogue, “I drew ye a bath, Captain Graham. Th
’
water’s coolin’.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “You might want to hop to it, Laddie, before Old Mr. Hanigan jumps yer claim.”

Blaine chuckled. “Yes, ma’am! Just
you
tell that old codger to mind himself.”

Her throaty laughed echoed back to him. “He’ll mind himself, or he’ll be talkin’ out t’other side of his face. Supper will be in half an hour.”

From
farther
down the hall, Blaine could hear the faint sound of Mr. Hanigan’s stern protest, “Madam, I’ll thank ye t’ leave me out of it.”

Mrs. Callahan’s laugh echoed through the house as she tromped back down the stairs.

He had to smile as he stood and grabbed his robe. Their playful adversarial banter was part of what made this place home. It was what Blaine imagined a happy family sounded like, a whole family… one that had settled into a comfortable co-existence. And the boarding house residents were his fam
ily. At any rate, the closest thing
he’d
had
to it
in over fifteen years.

“I always miss your cooking when I’m flying, Mrs. Callahan.” Blaine finished off his third helping of the tender roasted beef and potatoes and push
ed
back from the table
with a content
ed
sigh
.

“Thank’ee,
lad
. Yer appetite pleases me
considerable. Th’rest of these blokes don’t know how t’ compliment the cook. They eat like birds. Old crotchety birds.” A chorus of protests mixed with belated attempts to
favor her cooking rose from the three older men at the table, but Mrs. Callahan just shook her head and replied, “No, no. Yer too late.”

“It’s getting close to seven. I’ll be going out tonight,” Blaine stated
with a glance at the dining room clock
, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh?” He could see the gears turning behind her twinkling emerald eyes. The rarity of the event wasn’t lost on her,
and
she was a quick study. “What might ye be about?”

“I’m going dancing.”

“I see. Um… and will there be a young lady joining ye this evenin’, Mr. Graham?”
She glanced at Mr. Hanigan
,
who winked knowingly and chuckled under his breath.

The suggestion brought a warm
blush
cr
eeping across Blaine’s
face in response. “Yes,” he murmured. “Miss Bell, a stewardess on the flight last night. She’ll be joining me.”

“Well, then!” Mrs. Callahan clapped her hands together. “Ye best be getting ‘round
, says I
!”
Her delight took him by surprise, but it
seemed
contagious
.
Mr. Hanigan grinned and slapped Blaine on the back in congratulations, while the other two boarders nodded their whole-hearted approval.

Blaine shrugged and rose from his chair. “I’ll just go grab my wallet.”
As he strode down the hall and up the stairs to his room, his stomach churned uneasily. It had been a long time since he’d last
been
out
with a woman
. How long? Four? Five years? It
had been
in Italy
if he remembered right.
Celebrating V-E Day. Everyone was carousing in the streets then
–
t
here
wa
s a good chance it didn’t
actua
lly count.

With anxiety surging through him, he scoured his room for his wallet, becoming increasingly frazzled in the search. It was just like him to misplace the st
upid thing in this situation.

“Captain Graham?” Mrs. Callahan hollered up the stairwell. “Captain Graham?”

Hearing the tangible fear in her voice sent a chill down his spine, and he sped down the stairs. “What is it? What’s wrong, Mrs. Callahan?” Her eyes were bugging wide with apprehension.

“There’s a telegram for ye.”

Telegrams never carried good news. The war years were too recent, and Mrs. Callahan
told him she
had held her breath every time the buzzer r
a
ng in those days, waiting for the telegram which would finally confirm her worst fears of the fate of her only son. That telegram was delivered six years ago, but the residual effects of that one delivery
haunted
her still.

She stood beside the courier with her hands clasped together over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with the threatening tears and
burned with fear into
Blaine’s face.

He
approached
the uniformed man and took the envelope from his outstretched hand. The man’s face was emotionless, revealing nothing, but the intensity of Mrs. Callahan’s concern transferred to Blaine. He ran his free hand through his sandy blond hair and stared at the envelope in his trembling hand.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mr. Hanigan intoned.

“Just open it
,
lad
,”
encouraged another boarder, Mr.
Case
y.

Blaine glanced from one face to
an
other, then peeled the flap open and read the message silently. When he looked up again, all their eyes were glued to him for his reaction. An uncertain grin spread across his face as he folded the telegram and put it in his pocket. “Mr. Hanigan is right. It’s nothing. Nothing to be concerned about, Mrs. Callahan.” He cleared his throat and averted his eyes to the old grandfather clock. “Well, I need to be going… How do I look?”

Outside on the front steps, he pulled the paper out of his pocket again an
d tried to absorb the words printed
there.

His father was dying. He wanted him to come home.

Young
Mara
Crawford’s
hands shook as she checked the mailbox for the second time that day.

Nothing.

It shouldn’t surprise her, yet every day she still held hope that David’s son would respond to her telegram. It had only been
a few days
. Had he even received it? Should she send another?

The wind picked up, blowing
her dark
hair into her face. Mara closed the mailbox and sighed. Her job description did not include telling a dying man his son wasn’t coming home, yet as the
snow and
gravel crunched beneath her feet
,
she accepted the fact that the prodigal
may
never return. God never promised life would be easy or that happy endings would always be reality.

The trees lining the driveway back to the house swayed. Orange and yellow leaves scattered in front of her. Suddenly, her chest was heavy with d
read. How does one deliver
news
such
as she
carried
?

Months ago she would most likely have ru
n back into the house and thrown this bit of information in David’s face.

Upon their introduction he had been a
n angry, belligerent and
bitter man wanting help from no one. On several occasions he had thrown his food
straight at
Mara’s
head, amidst a torrent of curses which would make a sailor blush
.

With the realization that his bitterness was rooted far deeper than she could handle on her own, Mara began praying for him. The result was a change in the way she interacted with him.

Each time he had
one of his
fit
s
,
Mara would
move
to his bedside, pat his hand, and say
,
“It’s going to be just fine
,
Mr. Graham
. I’m here.”

Gradually, he began to respond to her gentleness.

She tried to conjure up a smile as she approached the front door. How many times had she done this same thing over the past
several days
? And
old Mr. Graham, tender-
hearted
Mr. Graham
,
would say
,
“Did you find anything?” She would shake her head no
,
and the light in his eyes would dim.

He said his son would never forgive him.

Mara wasn’t willing to give up. Everyone deserved forgiveness.

Taking a soothing breath
,
she walked into the large
two-story
house and began ascending the stairs lik
e she had so many times before.

When she first came to David she had been told he had
six
months to live
at the most
. After
the first
month she was ready to quit.
By the time the second month was almost through,
David broke
at last
–
A
relief
,
considering she was getting ready to
start
slip
ping
sleeping aids into his orange juice.

“Mara?” he had said.

She
had
walked to his side and pressed her palm to his forehead
.
“Yes
,
Mr. Graham?
A
re you feeling
all right
?”

A single tear ran down his cheek. Shaking his head
,
he let out a long string of coughs
,
then sighed
,
“You’re just like her.”

“Who?” Mara asked as she adjusted his blankets.

“
Emily.
My wife. She died when my—
”
he paused and looked out the window
.
“I have a son
,
you know.”

And that was when David told her of his life. The mistakes he had made. The life he had led
– the anger and bitterness which had consumed him and kept him from being a father to his own grieving son. He told her of the way he had turned his back on God, and how all of these things had resulted in the loss of his son.

“Do you know what I think
,
Mr. Graham
?”

He swallowed and shook his head.

“
B
itterness ha
s
done more damage than your illness.
I’m more worried about your
heart.
”

“Me too
,
Mara
.
M
e too.” And with that David broke down into gut
-
wrenching sobs. Hours later
,
Mara opened her
B
ible and prayed with him. They’d been close ever since.

Approaching David’s door
now,
Mara prayed for strength then promptly pasted a bright smile onto her face. “And how’s my favorite patient today?”

“Grumpy
,
” David answered
,
crossing his arms.

“Grumpy?” Mara laughed
.
“
A
nd why are you grumpy?”

“My nurse was gone for over an hour
,
and I didn’t have anyone to read to me.” His eyes twinkled.

“And you can’t pick up a book and read yourself?”

“I like your voice
better
.”

“
You old Casanova
,
” Mara huffed
,
sitting on
the edge of
his bed
.
The man had enough charisma to charm anyone regardless of age, though most of the time it had to do with sneaking extra pie away from the kitchen or trying to talk her out of giving him more nasty
-
tasting medicine.
She took his hand and squeezed
.

“
Mr. Graham
, I.
.
.” Her eyes searched his. Maybe he would understand without her saying the words. She prayed for God to intervene.

“Say, do you want to play gin rummy?” David reached for the cards as Mara mouthed a
t
hank you
,
God
into the air.

They played for an hour before Mara
informed
David it was time for his nap.

“I’m not a child you know.” He yawned
.
“And I’ll have you know
,
I’m not even tired.”

Mara
rais
ed a quizzical brow and crossed her arms.

“Oh
,
fine…
don’t get your britches in a bunch.”

She walked to the door and turned down the light
.
“I’ll wake you for supper
.
T
ry to rest for a while okay?”

“Rest.
Hmph
.
I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

Rolling her eyes, Mara shut the door behind her
.