Coming Home, Chapter 7

Wounds can make us keep others at a distance. We might even see it as protection. We may build walls around us that seem to keep us safe, but actually keep us isolated.

If I look back, I see this as one of the most profound miracles God has performed in my own life. I’ve learned that taking risks with friendship is worth it. I’ve discovered to give myself grace, to see my own worth, but also to give grace with other flawed people. I’ve also given myself permission to move on if a relationship isn’t healthy, and to find joy in community that is life giving.

Connection can be one of the places where healing is most profound, and perhaps that is why exploring this chapter took time. I didn’t want to gloss over how tenuous connection can feel, or how deeply rooted feelings can be when we bring those to the table or explore them in a new light.

In today’s chapter, we explore that theme a little deeper. I hope this chapter brings you joy, and I’d love to hear feedback. In our other novels that we’ve read together, I had written them years earlier, but this is being written week by week.

I’m so thankful you are joining me in the writing of this story. Thank you for joining me on this novel adventure!

I treasure you,

Thomas stood outside the grand old hospital on Central Avenue. He was due to travel home for the summer to help his parents on the farm, but he longed for one more chance to talk to Molly. He had dropped by her residence and waited reluctantly outside the door after knocking, grateful when a shy blonde with stunning blue eyes and an accent opened the door. She introduced herself as Dagmar, a friend of Molly’s and told him where he could find Molly. Now he stood in front of the imposing Empire brick structure. Like a woman of a certain age, the building needed extra care but it did not diminish her beauty. Decorative towers and steep mansard roofs were a reminder of old Europe.

“Thomas!”

He whirled around. Molly stood on the steps. Her long red tresses were rolled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a light blue, stiff, ankle-length cotton dress with a pinafore apron and a white cap. Her legs were encased in heavy white stockings. She pulled off her cap as she approached and stuffed it in her apron.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk with you.”

Fatigue marked every feature, even in the set of her shoulders.

“Is everything all right?”

“I almost lost my job,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“What happened?”

She strode down the stairs, swiping away an errant curl that had escaped the rigid cap. Thomas followed, trying to keep pace. She stopped and sat on a park bench, resting her head in her hands. She glanced up, as if seeing if he was still there and waved at the empty spot beside her, and he took it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

For the next several moments she told him about Mr. Simone and her decision to suture his broken stitches. She described the moment that the matron opened the door and how Molly was caught red-handed with a needle and leftover catgut string in her hand.

“I was so afraid,” she said.

She described how the severe woman, whose job it was to oversee hospital aides and care for the patients, had reprimanded her. “All I could think about was what I was about to lose. My job. My place at the university. Even my dream of the infirmary.” She paused. “But I also wondered what would have happened to Mr. Simone if I hadn’t taken care of his wound.”

“What now?” Thomas asked with a sense of dread. He held his hat in his hand, bending the brim back and forth.

“She gave me another chance.” Molly hiccupped, then broke into a sob.

Thomas put an arm around her shoulder and patted her. “That’s good news, right?”

Her hiccups continued.

“I don’t know what I’d do in the same situation. I may not have been as brave as you,” he said. “How is your patient?”

“When we went back to Mr. Simone, he was resting comfortably. His fever had gone down, but even so the matron said I should have come for her when the doctor ignored my concerns. She said that taking matters into my own hands was not a sign of strength, and if the patient had suffered any repercussions of my unauthorized medical care, I would have been liable.”

“I’m glad he was doing better,” Thomas said. “You must have done a great job.”

“If I have any other infractions, she’ll report me.”

“I understand,” he said. And he did. Thomas grew up with a mother who, as a nurse, often had to make on-the-spot decisions, especially when tending to women in labor, or when she ventured into a population that had no other means of medical care. He had never given thought to the risks she took, and it made him respect Molly’s decision even more. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asked.

She sniffed, then whispered yes.

An electric streetcar rambled by as they strolled to a nearby bakery. He ordered two black coffees and a strudel. When he exited the shop, Molly had chosen a table with a striped umbrella that provided shade. He set her coffee in front of her and placed the strudel between them. A light breeze played as the sun started to ebb.

“Why are you here?” Molly asked again once they were settled. She stirred cream into her coffee.

“Dagmar told me where to find you,” he said. He smiled. “She knew who I was.”

Molly laughed, and it was refreshing to see her mood lighten. “I may have mentioned you.”

He clasped his hands. “I’m going home in a couple of days, but I wanted to talk with you before I left.”

Molly’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.

Thomas had rehearsed what he wanted to say for the past two hours, but now it felt overdone, so he simply said, “I’d like to see you this summer. I could come back once a month or so—that is, if you are open to it.”

She closed her eyes. “Thomas, I told you…”

“I heard you.” He sat his hat between them. “I’ve been at a distance…”

“I know,” she said softly.

“I thought that staying away meant that I was respecting what you need, but I’m not so sure now.”

“I thought you were angry with me.”

He started to reach for her hand but resisted the impulse. “Medical school is hard in the best of times, and having a good friend is important—if you are still open to that.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. She looked away. When she turned to face him, her eyes were filled with tears. “I’d like that very much.”

“We can write, but once a month or so I’ll travel here. We can take a walk in the park, and you can tell me all the things that are happening at the hospital,” he said, pointing at the building down the street. “And next year, when things get tough in school, we can lean on each other.”

She emptied her coffee cup, then stood. “If we miss the last car, we’ll be stranded,” she said. She reached for his hand and they ran toward the car, jumping on at the last minute. Molly quickly found a seat and he joined her.

As the streetcar ambled down the street, Thomas couldn’t help but be grateful for this woman—who was now his friend.

Thomas baked under the heavy Midwestern sun of Covington, Kentucky. Temperatures pushed past 90 degrees, and thick humidity rose off the Ohio and Licking rivers. He sought shade underneath an ancient tree that graced the back pasture, pulling his soaked shirt off his back. He took a long pull of water, watching as a wagon with a weary horse passed not far away.

Repairing fences was backbreaking work; it also left too much time to think.

He had returned twice to Cincinnati since returning home. Molly had a half-day off on Saturdays and a full day on Sundays. He arranged a picnic in the park for one of the visits, and on the second he met the gaggle of women who lived with Molly. Hazel had made him blush as she flirted openly, teasing him without remorse. Dagmar bustled around the kitchen, providing tea and cookies for the group. Adelaide and Esther gathered around the table with them, asking questions and cheering on Molly as she beat him in a game of checkers.

He had written faithfully once a week, and she did the same. Greeting the mail carrier had become one of his favorite past times. Without the threat of romance, Molly opened up like a spring sky. She talked about her future plans. She filled him in on the politics of the hospital, and he had come to know the names of doctors, nurses, and matrons. She delighted in sharing conversations and mimicked the imperious tones of some of the doctors perfectly. She also grieved when a patient died. He had also loved the moment she told him about Mr. Simone leaving the hospital, his wife and new baby son at his side.

Every moment he spent with her was a gift, but also a reminder of what he might never have with her. There was no other woman who might capture his attention, for his heart had been captured by the beautiful redhead.

“Thomas?”

Thomas set the hammer down and turned to see who had interrupted his thoughts. A familiar face greeted him from the other side of the fence. The weary horse and battered wagon he had noticed earlier was parked under a tree by the gate.

“Adam?”

The man’s face split into a wide smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me. It’s been a long time.”

Adam was one of the boys who used to invite him to fish or hunt when he first came to America. While others had eventually stopped asking, Adam would simply sit on the front porch and whittle or hum a tune.