For the next three hours, I performed an incredibly delicate surgery under the most difficult and unpredictable circumstances of my life. I was relying on what I had learned in textbooks and observed just once. I did not have any of the proper tools and only the help of Gray and Saphira, who agreed to stand by my side. I was creating more trouble and questions as they watched me, but there was nothing I could do.
How would I ever explain this to Gray? Or Papa? What could I possibly say that would make any sense? And what would Saphira tell the others? That I was a butcher? A freak?
When the surgery was done and the soldier, who was still nameless, lay comfortably sleeping, I washed my hands in the basin on the stand. Saphira had already left the room with the soiled laundry, and Gray sat on a chair near the patient’s bed, watching me.
I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, but I couldn’t rest yet. It was past midnight, so if I went to sleep, I would wake up in 1941. It would be a full two days before I knew if I was going to wake up in 1861 ever again.
I owed Gray an explanation, but Papa was the only person I could think about right now.
“Will you sit with him?” I asked Gray. “I need to speak to my father.”
A myriad of emotions played across Gray’s face. “Will you ever tell me?” he asked quietly, gently.
I swallowed hard. “I—I don’t know.”
Slowly, he stood and came around the bed. The light radiated behind him, casting his face in shadows. He was close—dangerously close—and I was reminded that I had clung to him behind that tree. What might it be like to have those arms around me in a moment that wasn’t fraught with fear?
“I know you’re hiding something, Maggie,” he said. “Something I can’t figure out now, but I will. You’re a remarkable woman, capable of things I’ve never seen before—things I don’t even think a real surgeon could do. And somehow your father has no idea either. None of it makes sense, but there’s always an explanation. Always.”
“There is an explanation.” My voice was just above a whisper. “But even if I told you, you’d never believe me.”
“Try me.”
I wanted to, desperately, but I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“That’s what I thought.” He was quiet for a heartbeat. “Are you a spy?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “No.” But then I sobered, wishing I could ask him the same thing.
“I’m a patient man, Maggie Wakefield.” He crossed his arms. “I won’t rest until I know the truth.”
If I died tonight and didn’t return to 1861, he would never know, so it didn’t matter.
It also wouldn’t matter if I kissed him.
So I did, on the cheek, slowly and tenderly, placing my hand on his other cheek.
He covered my hand with his and inhaled deeply.
“Thank you for all your help today,” I whispered. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
We stared at one another for a heartbeat, and his gaze dropped to my lips. I felt a charge of electricity hum between us. Suddenly the kiss on his cheek was not enough. I ached for more.
Yet there was a soldier lying close to death on the bed—and Papa pacing in the parlor, waiting for an explanation.
I took a step back, swallowing the longing within.
Gray recovered as well. “I’ll stay with the soldier tonight. Tomorrow, we can talk.”
Nodding, I left the room and went down into the parlor. Papa stood near the cold fireplace. The house was quiet. I had not changed out of my soiled gown, but we needed to have this conversation. I wasn’t sure if he’d even believe me.
“Did the soldier die?” he asked.
“I think I saved his life.”
Papa sighed. “Are you going to explain?”
“I will try, but I don’t know if you’ll believe me.” I spoke quietly, hoping no one else would hear.
