I put my hand over his, my smile pressing against the warmth of his palm.
“You’ve surprised me yet again,” he said with a smile of his own, removing his hand. “I’m so used to uncovering selfishness and betrayal. I almost don’t know what to do with sacrifice and hope.”
“You can hold it close,” I told him, “just as I am trying to do.”
He looked at me with such longing, I was certain he would kiss me. I wanted to know what it felt like to be held in his passionate embrace. Would it be practiced and polished, like Seth’s? Wild and uncertain, like Zechariah’s? Or something altogether different?
I waited for him to kiss me, but instead he stood and offered me his arm. When I rose, he tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and then led me away from the alley toward the lights of Willard’s Hotel.
And though he was affectionate, holding me close at his side, he made no attempt to take the kiss I would have freely given him.
27
OCTOBER 20, 1941
PACIFIC OCEAN
A storm raged around the ship as we made our way toward Honolulu. I lay in bed, feeling the dip and sway of the vessel, watching the rainwater slash against my stateroom window, and thinking of Gray.
Warmth infused my limbs, and for the first time in a long time, I was completely relaxed. I could still see the look in his eyes as he listened to me tell him about my paths. It was as if I could see all the gears in his remarkable mind moving, adjusting, clicking together as he put the pieces in place. He was captivated by the miracle of my life—perhaps captivated by me, too—yet he hadn’t tried to kiss me.
A disappointed sigh escaped my lips because I knew it was probably for the best. I would have to face Zechariah in less than an hour, and his kiss—or rather, the way he’d reacted afterward—still had me reeling in confusion.
Perhaps it was best if I didn’t kiss anyone again until I knew what my fickle heart wanted.
I finally got out of bed, wondering what I’d face when I saw Zechariah today, and started to get dressed.
Anna was in the bathroom, singing in the shower, when I felt a shudder pass through our stateroom. Everything shook—just for a second—but it was strong enough that I slapped my hand on the desktop to stop a glass bottle of perfume from falling to the floor.
The shudder was followed by silence as Anna stopped singing in the bathroom.
Wind and rain still lashed the side of the ship. Had the storm caused the shuddering? Or was it something else entirely?
As I rushed to get dressed, Anna stepped out of the bathroom in a terry-cloth robe. “Did you feel that?”
I nodded. “I’m trying to hurry so I can see what happened.”
A knock sounded at our door a second later. “All hands in the emergency ward,” Helen called. “There’s been an explosion, and several crew members were injured.”
“Coming!” I quickly secured my hair with a ribbon. Had the explosion come from another ship? An enemy ship? Two US destroyers had been attacked in the past month by Germany, and eleven sailors had been killed.
I hadn’t been afraid to be in the middle of the ocean until now.
Anna frantically dressed as I pulled on my shoes. “Go on without me,” she said. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
I raced out of the stateroom and ran to the emergency ward. A dozen men had already been brought in, and two nurses were doing triage while a couple of surgeons prepared for surgery.
Zechariah was there in his white surgical attire. He was focused and serious as he scrubbed his hands, glancing up at me when I went to the washbasin beside him. “Our first patient has a piece of metal protruding from his abdomen.” He rinsed the soap off his hands and forearms and walked toward the operating room without another word.
After I washed my hands, I followed, pulling on a surgical gown. I grabbed one from the wall and hurried to help Zechariah into it. He accepted my help, barely acknowledging me as he looked at the patient who lay on the operating table.
We worked side by side for hours, removing shrapnel from those who had been close to the blast, stitching up deep wounds, and treating third- and fourth-degree burns. As we worked, I learned it hadn’t been enemy fire but a boiler explosion. Miraculously, no one was killed, though a few of the patients would need to be monitored closely to make sure infection or bleeding did not threaten their lives.
It was a long day, with the storm causing the ship to list, bringing on seasickness in several of the nurses. Thankfully, I didn’t suffer the malady, though by the end of the day, my head was pounding and my eyes felt like sandpaper.
I was sitting in the breakroom, drinking a cup of coffee by myself, when Zechariah walked in. Night had fallen, and dinner was waiting for me in the nurse’s dining room, but I was too tired to walk down the stairs and cross the ship. I needed a strong cup of coffee to give me a bit of energy first.
Though I had worked alongside Zechariah for the past eight hours, we had said nothing significant to one another. He’d given no hint or indication that he had anything to say to me, or that he was even going to acknowledge the kiss.
