Journey Back to Christmas. Leigh Duncan

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Here.” Always prepared, Dottie handed her an embroidered handkerchief she’d pulled from her purse.

      Hanna swallowed a sob. Dottie was so kind. Far kinder than a weak-willed woman like her deserved. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be stronger? Why couldn’t she bury her sorrow and pain? Chet had willingly fought for their country. He was the one who, like so many others, had given his life protecting their freedom while she’d stayed home to watch and wait and support the war effort by buying bonds and saving tin foil. Yet, here she was, in tears again.

      Standing in the cold in front of the theater wasn’t going to help her get past this, but a walk might clear her head. Mindful of the beautiful but treacherous ice and snow, she started down the sidewalk toward her car with Dottie—bless her—at her side.

      She whispered, “I just miss him.”

      “Of course you do,” Dottie agreed.

      “Seeing all those soldiers coming home. It just, ah, it breaks me up.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hands.

      “Of course it does.” Dottie leaned down, her voice growing fainter when two women passed them headed in the opposite direction on the sidewalk. “He’s your husband.”

      “Was,” Hanna corrected. She had to remember that Chet was gone. Otherwise, a fresh wave of grief would wash over her whenever she thought of him.

      “Oh, Hanna, honey. He’s still your husband. Nothing changes that.”

      If only that were true.

      More tears hovered near the surface. Any second now, they’d burst through the protective barriers she’d erected around her heart. She tore her gaze from the rooster tail of slush and snow that trailed the tires of a passing car and cast a pleading glance at the friend who was trying so hard to make her feel better.

      “Well, you know what I mean.” Dottie struggled to offer the right words. “He’s still in your heart. You’re always going to be Mrs.—” Hanna’s expression must have finally registered. “Oh, I’m just making it worse, now, aren’t I?”

      A muffled sob escaped. The dam broke, and the hot tears ran in rivulets down her cold cheeks.

      “Go on and blow.” Offering the same kind of advice she’d give one of their patients, Dottie motioned to the handkerchief. She patted the side of a well-stocked purse. “I’ve got another one in here.”

      Though her eyes swam, Hanna smiled. No matter how bad things got, she could always count on Dottie to make her laugh. She’d discovered that the day they’d both begun nursing school. They’d been best friends ever since.

      “Oh, look at me blubbering.” Hanna struggled to pull herself together. “And when all our boys are over there doing something heroic.”

      “Aw, have a good cry.” Dottie patted her shoulder. “Not all of us are born to change the world.”

      “Yes, but nothing ever got solved by blubbering on a sidewalk, either.” That was it, wasn’t it? Now, with Chet gone, what use was she? “I’m lost, Dottie,” she admitted. “I used to know who I was. I was Mrs. Chet Morse, wife.” She sighed. The yellow telegram hadn’t just announced Chet’s death. In a way, it had marked the end of her life, too. “I wasn’t out to change the world. I just wanted to make a happy home for my husband. And now…” She shook her head.

      Now, what?

      “I don’t have any purpose at all.” There, she’d said it. Without Chet, without a husband to make a home for, without children to raise, what was she supposed to do with the rest of her life?

      “Well,” Dottie tilted her head, “you could walk me to the square.”

      The suggestion was so surprising that she tsked. “That’s not exactly a purpose.”

      “You never know.” Dottie smiled slyly. “Even the smallest stone makes a ripple in the water.”

      Hanna glanced at her friend. She didn’t understand what Dottie meant and let her eyebrows bunch. “What stone?”

      “It’s a saying,” Dottie answered with a laugh. “C’mon. They’re decorating the gazebo.”

      Well, she’d wanted to take a walk, she conceded while Dottie threaded their arms together. Maybe her friend was right. A walk past Henderson’s Hardware and down Main Street to the gazebo might perk her right up. It couldn’t hurt to wander past the Christmas trees the shop owners had erected with such care along the sidewalks. Or to take in all the decorations. Everywhere she looked, greenery tied with bright red ribbons gave windows and storefronts a festive look. The colorful lights against the backdrop of a night sky added such a merry touch that they warmed even her heart. Throughout Central Falls, people were trying so hard to make this a cheerful Christmas homecoming for the soldiers and sailors who’d been away at war.

      How could she do any less?

      By the time she and Dottie reached the center of town, she’d dried her eyes and banished her tears. She even hummed along when Dottie, hearing the carolers on the square, burst into song. As they approached the gazebo, she squared her shoulders and hid her pain. She refused to dampen the mood of her neighbors who were pitching in to decorate the gathering place at the heart of Central Falls. To prove she’d caught the Christmas spirit, she pulled her camera from her bag and snapped a photo of the women in winter coats and heels who busied themselves untangling strings of lights, while men in suits and hats threaded the strands through hooks attached to the gazebo’s eaves. Spotting a former patient, she stopped to say hello.

      “How are you doing, Mr. McGregor?” She watched closely, ready to spring into action, as the older gentleman wearing a bowler hat leaned from a tall ladder to place an ornament on the Christmas tree. Mr. McGregor had taken a bad fall last year and broken his collarbone. She knew it still gave him fits. “How’s your shoulder these days?”

      “Ah, you know. The old rheumatism acts up when there’s a storm coming.” Carefully, Mr. McGregor worked his way down the rungs of the ladder. Once he had both feet on the floor of the gazebo again, he rubbed his arm. “And I can tell there’s a doozy coming in tomorrow.”

      Hanna nodded. At the hospital this afternoon, she’d overheard sweet old Doc Smithy talking with her favorite patient about a blizzard. “That’s what everyone’s saying.”

      Mr. McGregor glanced up as if he could see through the gazebo’s pitched roof. “It’s a shame, too. Cloud cover is going to hide the comet.”

      “Oh, darn,” Hanna exclaimed with an unexpected pang of disappointment. “I didn’t think of that. I was looking forward to seeing it.” She shrugged. There were worse things than not seeing a bright light arc across the sky. “But, a big snow storm. It’ll be a good night to nestle in, I guess.”

      Or it would be if she had someone to nestle in with.

      She shook the thought aside. Maintaining a brave face, she drew in a steadying breath and issued herself a stern reminder to stay cheerful and upbeat.

      But Mr. McGregor only pinned her with a concern that saw through her false bravado. “And how are you holding up?”

      Heat flooded her cheeks. Her СКАЧАТЬ