Her words should have made me feel better, but they made me melancholy instead. The rest of my life without her seemed like a long, long time.
“Don’t think about January,” she said, putting her hands on my arms and looking me over. I wore a traveling suit of light blue with a matching hat. Seamed nylons and black heels completed my outfit. “Focus on today.”
I nodded, accepting her instructions, and closed my suitcase. Just like in 1861, it was easier to distract my mind and stay busy. Then I wouldn’t think about the decision or the fact that God seemed silent on the matter. If I was lucky, something would happen, and I would have no doubt in my mind which path to choose. That had happened to Mama, though a lot of heartache had preceded her choice.
“Are you coming, Anna?” I called to my sister in the next room.
A horn at the front of the house sounded, and I looked out my window to see Daddy getting out of our maroon Studebakerto grab Anna’s suitcase, which Mama had already placed on the front stoop. He looked up at my window and pointed at his wristwatch.
I nodded and called out to my sister, “We don’t want to miss the train.”
Grabbing my handbag and gloves from the nightstand, I followed Mama down the hall to Anna’s room. She was sitting on her bed, staring out the window.
She’d lost so much weight these past three years, and her face was pale. The anniversary of Richard’s death was next week, which had brought about another wave of melancholy. If we had not been committed to going to Washington, I was certain she would insist on staying home. It was my hope that I could distract her and give her a purpose in her work so she wouldn’t focus on her loss. I had wanted to go to medical school to become a doctor, but when Anna said she wanted to be a nurse and wouldn’t go to nursing school without me, I changed course.
“Anna,” I said gently, “Daddy’s waiting. We need to leave.”
She slowly rose, clutching her pink hat. There were tearstains trailing down her cheeks. Her green eyes, so much like Mama’s, were dull with grief. She had been born three years before me, though I felt like the older sister in almost every way.
Mama went to her and embraced her, just like she had hugged me, then took Anna’s hand to lead her down to the waiting Studebaker. Daddy’s concerned gaze mingled with Mama’s. She smiled at him, and he returned the sad smile.
When he looked at me, I saw pride in his blue eyes—though there was also apprehension. Just last night, he’d warned me not to press Anna too fast. Not to ask too much of her. He knew my propensity to take control and fix things. It served me well in a hospital but didn’t always translate to other areas of my life.
We all got into the Studebaker, and Daddy pulled away from the house. It was clear that he and Mama were worried for us. They knew another war was imminent, but they didn’t knowthe details. I had no heart to tell them, nor did I want to risk changing history. Anna was aware that Daddy, Mama, and I were time-crossers, but she was not. I was able to speak to her about my other paths, but she struggled to understand. It was Mama and Daddy, and my grandfather Hollingsworth, who understood more than anyone else.
No one spoke as we drove to the depot. The day was overcast and threatened rain, matching the mood in the car. I tried to think of something to say—anything. This could be the last time I saw my parents, yet my mind was blank. How did one have such a conversation? Especially when Anna was struggling beside me with her own grief?
“You’re both making us proud,” Daddy finally said when we pulled up to the depot.
“We’ll pray for you every single day.” Mama reached into the backseat and took each of our hands in hers. “I cannot wait to see what God does with your lives.”
Daddy jumped out of the car and grabbed our suitcases. We followed him into the depot, where he purchased our tickets. Mama wrapped one arm through Anna’s elbow and one through mine as we walked to the platform, watching the train pull into the station. She hugged Anna and then me before Daddy took us into his arms.
“Take care of each other,” he said to us, kissing our foreheads. “And write often.”
“Be careful,” Mama added. “If you can come home and visit, please do. I know you’ll be having fun with all those naval officers, but don’t forget about us.”
Her teasing brought a small smile to Anna’s lips, and it bolstered my hope. This move was going to do wonders for her. It had to.
“All aboard!” the stationmaster called. A dozen other passengers prepared to board the train as we gave our parents one more hug.
“Don’t forget to say hello to your grandfather for us,” Mama said, blowing kisses. “Good-bye! I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I called to her and Daddy as I stepped onto the stairs and boarded the train, Anna right ahead of me.
Waving one last time, I entered the warm train car, my suitcase in hand.
A porter took our luggage, and we found seats facing the depot. Daddy stood with his arm around Mama as they gazed up at the train, searching the windows for one last glimpse of us.
“Not everyone is as lucky as us, are they?” Anna asked, her voice melancholy.
I shook my head and wrapped my arm through hers. “No.” Not everyone was as lucky as us.
And I had been blessed with three sets of loving parents—three equally amazing lives—making it even harder to know which path was the one I should choose.
The newly built Naval Medical Center stood in Bethesda, Maryland, less than ten miles north of Washington, DC. The tall, white, gleaming building was an impressive structure that would serve countless military personnel, as well as every US president in the future, though it would be called the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in my 2001 path. For now, it was fresh and new, having just opened the previous fall.
I stood in the small dorm room Anna and I had been assigned as the newest nurse recruits for the United States Navy. We had entered service with relative rank as lieutenants. Though we did not have official military status, we would be treated like officers.
