Nightingale by Susan May Warren Page B

Hahn’s shorter, and her coloring is lighter, but Bertha is tall, and dark, and—she has Linus’s eyes.” She ran her finger around the edge of the letter. “She said she worked for the judge’s family. I can imagine the judge then, handsome and bold. He probably whispered things into her ear, probably made her feel beautiful.”
    Caroline reached out, took the aerogram.
    â€œWhat if he got her pregnant?” She spoke almost to herself. “I’ll bet when she had the baby, the Judge told her that he would take him. Maybe her only choice had been to stay behind. To raise him. To continue working as their housekeeper.”
    She raised her gaze to Caroline. Who stared at her. “I’m going to end up imprisoned in that house. As their
housekeeper
.”
    â€œDon’t be overdramatic. Linus is not Bertha’s child—”
    â€œI’m serious. Unless I can find a way to tear Sadie away from them, I can’t leave. Bertha practically said that I’d be out on the street if they thought I was betraying Linus. And how would I support us, anyway? The shift here barely covers our expenses. I hand my entire check over to the Hahns every week for rent, not to mention my ration coupons.”
    â€œThey demand that?”
    â€œI demand that.”
    Caroline handed her the letter. “Open it. See if he’s really dead.”
    Sadie took the letter. “And if he’s not?”
    â€œThen you open Linus’s letter and learn the truth. It’s the only thing that’s going to set you free. Either way, you’ll have an answer. You’ll know what to do.”
    â€œWhat is Esther going to do?”
    The voice startled her nearly off her chair. She turned.
    Dr. O’Grady stood in the doorway, his stethoscope in his hand. “Excuse me, ladies. I am in search of coffee.”
    She’d always considered Dr. O’Grady kind, probably because of the texture in his hazel eyes, but also the way he treated the nurses as more than servants, knowing their names, speaking to them with a hue of respect. That and the compassion in his voice the day she showed up, two and a half years ago, six months pregnant in his office, desperation in her voice.
    Back then, he didn’t ask questions, didn’t glance at her empty finger. Just folded his long fingers together on his wooden desk and listened to the mostly truth.
    He always seemed younger than his forty years, with his dark hair slicked back, and a flash of memory of him with the saxophone at the victory dance made her smile. Now, standing in the doorway, he looked at her with those same kind eyes. “The war is over. It’s a question for all of us.”
    Caroline got up. “I’ll make a fresh pot.”
    Esther took the letter from the table, crumpled it into her pocket. “How is Charlie?”
    â€œI just checked in on him. He’s in God’s hands now. We just have to wait. And pray.”
    Pray. Yes, well, she could hardly expect favors from a God she’d betrayed.
    â€œAnd talk to him. I believe Charlie can hear us. Knows we care.” Dr. O’Grady winked at her. “He might even know when someone cheats at gin.”
    Oh. She allowed another smile, though.
    Caroline lit the burner on the stove, started a pot of coffee perking.
    O’Grady sat down at the table. Set his empty cup on it, ran his long surgeon’s finger around the rim.
    â€œI sit on the grading committee for the nursing superintendent program from my alma mater at the University of Madison. We offer a fellowship at the hospital for a one-year program, and I believe you’d be perfect for it.”
    She froze.
    â€œYou’d have to take the graduate exam, of course. But if you pass, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation, and… Well, like I said, I am on the board.” He looked up at her, smiled.
    Yes, he had kind eyes. So kind they whisked tears into her own. She