Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
“Shall we go to the picture show? The new Charlie Chaplin picture is at the theater—Easy Street, I think it’s called.
They have a late showing tonight.” Lucy had stopped in Ginger’s doorway, dressed to the nines for dinner.
No doubt her mother and William were going also, as it wouldn’t have been appropriate for Lucy to go alone.
Ginger glanced up from her bed, where she’d spread the books on anesthesia.
She stretched her neck, rubbing the back of it with light fingertips.
She hadn’t realized what an awkward position she’d been sitting in.
She checked the clock on the mantel. Nine o’clock.
Quite a normal time for dinner and dancing, perhaps even picture shows.
But not for nurses who had anesthesia exams to take in the morning. “I’m sorry. I promised Dr. Radford I’d take an exam tomorrow. To see if I qualify to be trained in anesthesia.”
Lucy gave her a pensive look. She shut the door, then came into the room. “You really aren’t interested at all in poor William, are you?”
Ginger straightened. She shook her head ruefully. “No, I’m not.”
“It’s because of Colonel Benson, isn’t it?” Lucy gave her a shrewd glance. “Don’t deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at him. When the man was playing polo, you spent the whole match practically fanning yourself.”
Despite her best effort, Ginger snickered. She covered her mouth, a blush heating her cheeks. To her credit, Lucy laughed. “You see,” Lucy said. “I knew it. The man is devastatingly handsome, whatever his other qualities might be.”
This could be an opportunity to smooth whatever rough edges Lucy had in her memories of Noah. “His other qualities,” Ginger said, standing, “are quite wonderful.”
Lucy sighed and sat on the stool in front of the vanity, facing Ginger. “Yes, I know. You love him. You told me as much before.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know what being in love is, if I’m honest. I thought once—” She broke off abruptly, then looked down at her gloved hand.
Had Lucy thought she loved Stephen? Given the letters Ginger had found, she couldn’t imagine Lucy meant anyone else. And it explained a great deal—such as why Lucy had always been so insistent on her friendship with Angelica.
She didn’t want to ruin whatever fragile truce Lucy offered by coming in here.
They’d never been adult women together. Ginger wasn’t even sure she’d ever considered Lucy an adult.
She rested her hip against the bedpost. “It took me a long time to know what being in love was,” Ginger said, her voice quiet.
“I thought I was in love with James Clark, simply because he seemed compatible.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “I knew you didn’t love him. But I suppose I never thought you cared much about being in love. That’s the sort of silly, fanciful thing you always left to me. You—you were books and politics and … all that.” Lucy gestured to the papers spread on Ginger’s bedspread.
“I wasn’t always so studious.” Ginger quirked a brow at her. “You make me sound like a bore.”
“You are a bore.” Lucy laughed. “In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever had so much fun sitting next to you as I did during that polo match.
It was oddly comforting to see you light up the way you did while watching the colonel.
He brings out a side in you I’m not sure I know too well. Makes you quite human.”
“You missed the part of my life when I wasn’t quite such a bore, but you were barely out of the nursery at that point.
” In all her exchanges with Lucy recently, Ginger had never really felt the need to pry into the depths of Lucy’s personality, to ask her about her own worldview, until now.
They were sisters but could they also be friends—despite the age gap between them?
Ginger had always thought Lucy too different from her for that.
“But I suppose the war has made me more serious than I used to be.”
“More than serious.” Lucy’s lament was filled less with her usual drama and more with a reflection of her growing maturity.
“It wouldn’t do you harm to enjoy yourself occasionally.
I can’t pretend to have seen what you’ve seen, Ginny, but do you really want it to control your outlook on life and rob you of joy? ”
Ginger considered her words, sitting on the edge of the bed.
How long had it been since she’d thought about simply enjoying herself?
The other sisters she’d worked with weren’t all like her, were they?
She remembered equally as much laughter and gossip from her time among them as she did the difficult times.
“Once when I was working in Alexandria, a ship came in from Gallipoli—carrying a load of frozen human feet.”
Lucy twisted her face in disgust. “That’s horrifying.”
“It was.” Ginger shrugged, running her hand against the coverlet. “And, it wasn’t. My mind had to disconnect at some point, I think. I’m not sure anyone who’s seen what I’ve seen can come out of this war unchanged.”
Lucy stood and marched over to Ginger. Slipping her arms around her neck, she embraced her.
Ginger hesitated, then returned her embrace.
She couldn’t think of the last time she’d hugged her sister.
But her family seldom hugged one another.
Some of her mother’s relatives—her Aunt Madeline, who was the warmest person Ginger knew—was fond of hugs.
But no one else. Lucy stepped back, her face bright.
“If I haven’t told you before, I admire what you’ve done.
And I know how hard you worked to help Mama and me over the last few months.
But don’t let it all change you. I want you to be happy too. Even if it’s with that colonel.”
Where was this coming from? Ginger stared at her, stunned. Lucy seemed changed over the last couple of weeks. She seemed content.
“Mother doesn’t approve of the colonel,” Ginger said. Confiding in Lucy was oddly comforting, but she did so tentatively. Telling Lucy anything like this had always felt too risky before. “She saw Noah kiss me. Lectured me the next morning, telling me how much pain I’ve caused her.”
“Mama is still mourning Father and Henry. I don’t think she can bear the thought of losing you to the man that almost ruined the family. Give her time.” Lucy played with a simple gold chain around her neck.
Ginger hated that Lucy saw Noah that way. “Or that I won’t marry the man who is offering us a lifeboat.”
“That too.” Lucy straightened, smoothing out her skirt. “But I suppose that’s what younger sisters are for. To learn from the mistakes of their older sisters and remedy accordingly.”
Ginger gave Lucy a surprised look. Was Lucy interested in William? “Does that mean you’re going to consider William as a beau?”
Lucy gave a girlish smile. “I suppose. I could do worse. And then I’ll outrank you. I’ll be a countess and you just an officer’s wife.” Lucy lifted her eyebrows in mock wickedness. “Really, I should thank you.”
“I don’t want you to marry him if you don’t want to.”
“I like him. Honestly. He’s not the sort of man I would have picked for myself, but what do I know of men?
Though, I may not have much to do with the decision.
He still seems quite taken with you.” Lucy gave a twist of her lips.
“So if you do plan to marry the colonel, I wish you’d just say so and let William know. ”
Lucy left the room, and Ginger felt an unexpected peace as she sat back down to her papers. She rang for tea, leafing through her books but no longer able to concentrate. She hadn’t thought that William’s coming here would be anything to cause her family this much hope.
If Lucy married William, they didn’t need her so much, did they?
She untied her hair from its knot, running her fingers through the long strands.
Her scalp hurt from wearing her hair with so many pins.
Tumbling it over her shoulders, she lay back on the bed, folding an open book over her chest. The encounter with Lucy had dissolved her tension.
She closed her eyes, listening to the soft tick of the clock, like a heartbeat.
When she woke, a hand covered her mouth. She stifled a scream, blinking in the garish electric light. Noah’s face hovered close to hers.
She sat bolt upright, the book tumbling onto her lap. Noah leaned against the bedpost. “My bride covered with books—what a tempting scene,” Noah said. A slight slur filled his speech. His eyes were unusually bright. Even from here she could sense the alcohol seeping from his skin.
Ginger scrambled up, tucking her legs underneath her as she gathered her hair over her shoulder. “You scared me half to death. What are you doing here?” She scrubbed her eyes, still trying to adjust. “You’re drunk. And dressed like that, you’re fortunate I didn’t scream.”
Noah wore an Egyptian galabeyah tunic. He stepped, swayed, then sat on the bed. “I found myself in need of the gentle ministrations that only your gentle breasts could provide.”
Her jaw dropped open. “Noah!” He’d never been so bold.
He chuckled. “I meant hands.” His face was worn with exhaustion. He closed his eyes.
“Somehow I doubt that. But, speaking of hands, what on earth did you do to yours?” She climbed across the bed toward him, taking his hand in hers. The backs of his knuckles were bruised, bloody, and swollen.
Keeping one eye shut, Noah squinted at her.
“I beat a man to a bloody pulp. On behalf of the Egyptian nationalist extremists I’ve recently joined.
” With a fumbling gesture, he lifted the sleeve of his left arm to reveal something even more frightening—the mark of a scorpion, on his forearm just above his wrist. The way his skin was burned and red, it looked as though he’d been branded with a hot iron.
She gasped, then reached for it. He’d need medical attention. The nationalists? “What happened?” She inspected the mark, touching the inflamed skin near the burn gently. He’d carry that mark for life.