I swallowed the rush of nerves at his words, needing to return to solid ground. “I’m only popular because I’m one of twelve women on a ship of four hundred men.”
“That’s not why you’re popular, Maggie.”
I caught my breath at my name on his lips. Gone was the cross voice and demanding mood, and in its place was a gentleness I had only witnessed when I saw him with his patients.
“You could be one in a crowd of a thousand women, and you’d still draw every eye in the room.”
“You flatter me, Dr. Philips.”
“My name is Zechariah.”
“I know your name,” I said, just above a whisper, my heart pounding so loudly I could hardly hear myself speak.
We stood that way for several moments. He did not smile, and I could tell he was battling a war within his own heart. He was revealing a great deal to me, and it cost him. I wanted to reassure him that I was a safe harbor—but even as I formed the words, I realized that I wasn’t safe. I was an unknown port. Would I be here after January? If he opened his heart to me, would I be here to hold it safe? Did Iwantto hold it?
Perhaps, for the time being, I could be a safe place for him.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I said, hoping I wasn’t pushing him further than he was willing to go.
He stiffened, but he didn’t deny my request. Instead, he appeared to be gathering his thoughts. “I remember the exact moment I wanted to be a doctor. I was ten years old, and I watched as my mother, a doctor herself, tried to save my father’s life. He died of a heart attack, and there was nothing we could do. I felt so helpless, and even though my motherandfather were doctors, and neither could save him, I knew that one day God would allow someone, somewhere, to find a way. I determined then and there to dedicate my life to alleviating as much pain and suffering as I could in the world.”
“I remember the exact moment I wanted to be a doc—” I paused and amended, “a nurse.”
It was much the same for me when my mother died, though I was only five years old in my 1800s path. I had been living for fifteen years and had a great deal of self-awareness. Shehad died in childbirth, and I knew that had cesarean sections been developed by then, she would still be alive. It would have prevented so much pain, heartache, and suffering. I decided then and there that I would be a doctor in one of my paths—or all of them, if I could be. But I could not tell Zechariah that story, so I altered it.
“I lost someone very special to me when I was five, and that was when I knew I wanted to serve in the medical field.”
“You and I are much the same,” he said. “Though perhaps you are a bit gentler than me.”
I smiled. “Youdoknow how to tease.”
He also smiled, revealing that handsome man I had glimpsed a few times before.
“Why are you so stern and foreboding?” I asked, feeling emboldened by his openness. “At first I thought it was because you didn’t feel well. But now, as you seem to be healing, you’re still cross.”
The silence stretched on for a long time before he finally said, “My parents were missionaries to China, and I grew up as an only child, spending much of my formative years in strict boarding schools. When I was finally allowed to come home, my father passed away, and my mother became driven, almost obsessed. It was not easy for her to remain in China, though she was determined to complete the work she and my father had started. She was a passionate, emotional person, and in the end it destroyed her. She was always outspoken against the Chinese for their treatment of women, and when the Nationalist Party rose to power in 1927, she was one of forty foreigners who lost their lives.”
He paused and lifted his chin. “I learned from a very early age that emotion means weakness, and weakness means destruction. I was eighteen when she died, and it prompted me to join the navy. They fostered and encouraged me to keep my emotions in check, and it has served me well these fourteen years.”
His story moved me, and I stepped closer to him, unsure if he would welcome my touch but wanting to alleviate the suffering he was feeling. I slowly laid my hand on his forearm.
He stiffened but did not pull away.
“Protecting your emotions might serve you well in some areas of life,” I said, “but in others, they are one of God’s greatest gifts.”
“When are they a gift?” he asked, his voice low.
“When we are excited, hopeful, and full of joy. And sometimes negative emotions can be a gift. When I feel jealous or bitter, I know I am in the wrong, and my emotions act as warning signals and redirect me.” I paused, unsure if I should continue. “But perhaps the greatest gift emotion gives us is the feeling of love.”
“Have you ever been in love, Maggie?”
His question made me hesitate. Was I in love with Gray? Was I falling in love with Zechariah? My heart pounded harder as I realized I couldn’t answer honestly.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Have you?”
Zechariah turned to me, slowly, cautiously putting his hand over mine. His touch was as gentle as I imagined it would be as I watched him perform surgeries. “I didn’t think I was capable of falling in love until recently.”
It was my turn to stiffen as my pulse thrummed wildly in my veins. An image of Gray flashed before my eyes, of the moment we sat on the bench together in Lafayette Square, of him kissing my hand and how I hadn’t wanted it to end.
