Trying to hide my disappointment in his reaction, I moved around him and left the parlor in search of water.
He followed me. “What was that?”
I ignored him, walking through the foyer and into a back hall that led outside. Surely there was a pump or well in the yard.
“Maggie,” he said. “What was that?”
“I stitched up a wound. It’s not much different from sewing a garment.” I cringed saying it. There was a vast difference.
“No.” He put his hand on my arm to stop me. “Your competenceback there indicates you’ve done that before—many times.”
“I helped Miss Barton when the soldiers came in from Baltimore. It’s not that difficult, if you can stomach it.”
“You’re telling me that you gained enough experience helping injured soldiers a mere five weeks ago to perform surgery on that mangled foot? And to do it like an experienced surgeon, with complete confidence and control? Your hands didn’t shake, you didn’t break a sweat, and you were so focused, you didn’t even notice when the room filled up with soldiers watching you.”
I glanced back the way we’d come.Hadthe room been full of soldiers? “It isn’t that hard.”
His brown eyes were filled with incredulity. “I disagree.”
My throat was suddenly dry, and my voice didn’t feel like it was working properly. I had no way to explain myself, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t let this go until he understood what had just happened. “I’ve always had a knack for healing,” I told him, trying to sound innocent. “Something just takes over me, and I don’t think—I use my instincts.”
It was partially true, and it seemed to ease his disbelief. Just a bit.
“I need to wash my hands,” I said. “Please excuse me.”
“I can’t leave you alone here.” He looked around the hall where soldiers were coming and going. “It isn’t safe.”
I was alone all the time in 2001 and seemed to do just fine. But I wouldn’t disagree with him, so he accompanied me to the summer kitchen, where we found fresh water.
As I washed my hands at the pump, I glanced at him and saw that his gaze was still full of unanswered questions—but something more, something even deeper. Perhaps he hadn’t been looking at me with accusation after all.
“That was incredible,” he said quietly in a sort of hushed wonder. “No matter how you knew what to do, it was amazing.”
His praise meant more to me than it should.
11
JUNE 3, 1941
BETHESDA, MARYLAND
Rain slashed against the windows in the cafeteria where I ate spaghetti and garlic bread for lunch. With me were Anna and a couple of other nurses we had befriended since arriving at the Naval Medical Center six weeks before.
“My favorites will always be the Andy Hardy movies with Mickey Rooney,” Anna said with a sigh. “I sawAndy Hardy’s Private Secretarythree times when it released in February, and I plan to seeLife Begins for Andy Hardyin August when it comes out.”
“You would choose Mickey Rooney over Clark Gable?” Betty LeGrow lifted an eyebrow at Anna. “Or Humphrey Bogart?”
Anna’s green eyes shone in a way they rarely did anymore, and she nodded. “Don’t you think Mickey Rooney’s cute?”
“Not Clark Gable or Humphrey Bogart cute,” Betty said.
I smiled as their conversation continued. Movies were a fun pastime, but I didn’t love them like Anna loved them. I knew enough about the actors and actresses to have a decent conversation, but that was all. In 1861, there were no films, and in2001, I rarely took the time to go to a movie theater or watch television. Once in a while, Delilah could talk me into watching an old film on the Turner Classic Movies channel or seeing a blockbuster likeTitanicorJurassic Park. But for the most part, my movie-watching happened with Anna in 1941.
Twirling the spaghetti on my fork, I lifted it slowly to keep the noodles in place and tucked it into my mouth.
“Nurse Hollingsworth?” Dr. Philips’s voice almost made me choke as I spun to look behind me.
He stood in the doorway, wearing his white operating uniform with a white cap over his dark hair. His blue-eyed gaze slid across the table of ladies before he turned his full attention back to me.
