Destination Hope - Book 5 - Reconciliation - Chapter 13

I want to extend my deep appreciation for those who have been taking this journey with me through a pivotal time in our nation's history.

For new readers to this story, I linked Chapter 1. Chapters 2 - 4 are linked under September, 5 - 10 under October, and 11 and 12 under November.

Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation

A Novel By:

Charles J. Patricoff

Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.

Chapter 13

Delays

To say it was a happy reunion would be an understatement.

“It’s good to see you,” Nathaniel managed to choke out. The friends greeted each other with obvious affection. It had been a long time. “I wondered…you know.”  Nathaniel wiped his right eye. “I’m so glad I decided to come around to the back of the house.”

All of a sudden, Bailey broke away and raced for his favorite toy lying on the ground near the little house twenty yards or more away from the main house. Nathaniel shook his head and yelled, “Bring it here, boy.”

After tossing the baseball for at least thirty minutes, Nathaniel’s shoulders drooped. The panting Bailey barked as if to say, “Throw it again.” Nathaniel limped to the home’s back steps and sat down under the thick, refreshing shade of a spreading maple. He wiped his brow as the lathered black Labrador snuggled next to his friend of so many past adventures. Then he crawled onto Nathaniel’s left thigh and laid his square head between his fist-size front paws.

Nathaniel rubbed Bailey’s muscular left shoulder and leaned his head on the hand rail’s dowel rod supports. “Where is everyone, Bailey?”

Bailey cocked his head a bit, then, laid it back down, as if to indicate he did not know. Minutes later, fatigue won over anticipation.

“Here he is,” Eleanor’s nurse, a rather height-challenged, well-fed matron, backed through the hospital room’s doorway. She used her hip to swing the door open wide.

Eleanor lit up like an untrimmed oil lamp.  “Is he…”

“He’s perfect.” Mrs. Chatfield waddled to the side of Eleanor’s bed. “May I present…” Driven by a heretofore unknown instinct, Eleanor reached for the tightly wrapped bundle as the bright-eyed nurse said, “Your son.”

In the blink of an eye, Eleanor locked her gaze on squinting slits, pink cheeks, a button of a nose, and active, suckling lips.

As Eleanor un-wrapped her gift from God, Emma leaned over and asked, “Can I see?”

They both counted. Emma said, “He’s got the right number of fingers and toes.”

The attending nurse folded her hands in front of her white apron and repeated, “Like I said, he’s perfect. But I do believe he’s hungry.”

Eleanor beamed. An unfamiliar emotion flowed from the depth of her soul. She stared at her little man and said, “I love you…” Eleanor’s mouth stuck wide open. Her head lifted and she looked from Emma to Mrs. Chatfield and back to her close friend. “I don’t have a name for him.  I always believed Mr. Graham would be here to do the honor.”

Emma took a step away from the bed.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Chatfield said, and stepped back, too. “Uh, maybe…I’ll, uh…why don’t I?”  She moseyed toward the room’s exit. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She made a clean escape.

“He needs a name for the birth records,” Emma said.

Eleanor’s gaze remained fixed on her son. “I know, Em. I always liked the name, William.”  She shifted her eyes to Emma. “But, I don’t think Nathaniel would like it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, his nickname would probably be, Billy.”

“So?”

“He’s a boy from the North. What if Nathaniel takes us to his home in Tennessee?”

“Ellie,” Emma said, folded her arms. “I’m afraid you’re not making any sense.”

Eleanor tilted her head. “Billy Yank.”

A second passed. Emma’s face scrunched. Then, her eyes widened. “I get it.”

The two friends laughed out loud, causing Eleanor’s child to fuss. Silly grins surfaced, snorts erupted, and they laughed harder. A fresh stab of pain hit Eleanor as Emma said, “I guess you could always call him Junior.”

After a third round of laughter, Eleanor asked, “Should you go and tell Reverend Moody?”

“Oh, he knows the baby is here. He went to his office over at the YMCA to catch up on a few things.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Men. They don’t seem to have any idea about what’s important.”

“Well, he’s expecting a post from General Howard.”

Eleanor frowned and thought. Where have I heard that name before? “General Howard…didn’t he lose an arm during the war?”

Emma smiled. “That’s him.”

Eleanor nodded. “What has your husband so fired up?”

“He and General Howard have been corresponding to create a Christ-centered university for Negroes especially for those recently set free from slavery.”

Eleanor gazed at her friend and said, “That is important. I should speak to Nathaniel. Maybe, we can help in some way.”

Nathaniel woke from his nap. He yawned, stretched, and tried to shake free from the fog clouding his thinking and a demanding pressure to go back to sleep. His stirrings woke Bailey, resting by Nathaniel’s side. Nathaniel rubbed the big dog’s chest. “I wonder what time it is, Bailey?”

Bailey rose to his feet, stretched and shook his frame as if he shared his friend’s exhausted state. Then, as if sparked by some cosmic command, he bolted for the gnarled baseball lying near one of the shade-giving maple trees.

“Well, it’s not time to play.” Nathaniel rubbed his stomach. “I wonder.” He grabbed the handrail, got up, and walked the few steps to the top of the three-foot square landing. He reached for the doorknob. It turned. He pushed the door open a crack. Nathaniel called over his left shoulder, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bailey dropped the ball.

Nathaniel checked the sun’s location. No wonder I’m so hungry. “It’s got to be after six o’clock.” He opened the door wide and stepped into the house. “Come boy.”

Bailey rushed to the steps. He placed both front paws on the first step and stalled.

“Come on, Bailey.”

Bailey’s head rose. His eyes shifted. He panted and remained stoic.

Nathaniel patted his right thigh and repeated the command, but Bailey would not budge. “You’re not allowed in the house, is that it, boy?”

Bailey kept panting and released a little whine. His face appeared to relax.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Nathaniel held up his hand, showing his palm to Bailey. “You wait here.”

Bailey sat. He seemed satisfied.

Nathaniel took a few paces deeper into the house and closed the door. The kitchen appeared to be a cook’s dream. My home’s kitchen is nothing compared to this. Would Eleanor be happy…even be content living there?

Nathaniel dismissed his future concern and decided to address a more pressing, present matter. He hoped to find even a scrap of bread to ease the pangs of hunger attacking his better sense of well-being. But even if I do, there is not a soul here from whom I can request permission. He dropped the notion, suppressed his natural demands, and left the kitchen.

He passed through the dining room and took note of the odd mix of furnishings. No two pieces resembled another, and most appeared to be ages older than the house. I suppose preachers in the north are like us in the south—dependent upon the goodwill gifts of others.

He stopped and took mental inventory of another room on the main floor. This must be the good reverend’s study. He came within the width of a horse’s tail hair of falling deep into envy as he identified key, substantive works, crossing the ages, crammed on the book shelves lining the walls behind D. L. Moody’s desk. Again, he faced and fought the demon of inadequacy with the weapon of gratefulness. Lord Jesus, I am so thankful to you that our community saw fit to build, furnish, and stock a public library. It’s in these works we have the keys to retaining liberty for ourselves and our children. He touched a single binding, Plato’s Republic, and yanked his hand away as if it represented some grotesque evil. “And that’s a work, which supports the lie that totalitarianism is somehow better than individual freedom and personal responsibility,” he muttered to himself.

He came about and gazed at Reverend Moody’s open Bible on top of the desk. “I suppose, we need to understand both points of view to appreciate the virtues of Your precious gifts of life and liberty, Lord.”

After taking into account the main parlor, he decided to locate Eleanor’s sanctuary. It took no more effort than that needed to climb the stairs to the second floor. Once inside the first door closest to the top of the steps, his nose picked up her scent with his first breath. He closed his eyes. He took an even deeper breath. In seconds, he recalled their long walks together around the Gettysburg College grounds, as she helped him regain his overall physical strength. That fall was the best time of his natural life, and he recalled his strong desire to ask for her hand in marriage—but allowed reason to bridle his actions. Maybe I was just a coward. “Well, you are not anymore,” he told himself.

A noise came from the floor below.  Bailey howled from behind the house. A man’s voice called, “Hello. Is anyone there?”

Startled, Nathaniel rushed out of Eleanor’s bedroom and raced to the top of the staircase. “Reverend Moody, sir. Is that you?”

“Yes, and who has the nerve to invade my home?”

“Please forgive me, sir.” Nathaniel began his descent. He noticed Reverend Moody’s shadow approaching the bottom steps. “It’s me, Nathaniel Graham.”

Reverend Moody appeared. He halted abruptly, then blinked. “Nate…I’m glad it’s you.”  Moody pulled his right arm away from behind his back. “Don’t you know I could have shot you?” He let the revolver hang.

Nathaniel dismissed the notion. “I’m sure you would have wanted to question an intruder before dispatching him with that.” Nathaniel neared the last step. “By the way, where is Eleanor? Didn’t she receive my wire?”

Moody rejected Nathaniel’s extended hand and reached around, grabbing him and crushing him with a hug that would rival a Grizzly’s. “I don’t know about any messages, but you aren’t fooling old Dwight.” He released his captive. “You and I both know she’s the only reason you’re here.”

Nathaniel allowed a sheepish grin surface. “I’m glad to see that you are well, too.”

“No doubt, no doubt.” Moody twisted and headed for his study. “But, if you’re hoping to find Eleanor here, you won’t.” He opened a top drawer. Before he deposited the revolver, he held it up and said, “And by the way, this is yours.”

Nathaniel shook his head, unconcerned about the hardware and asked, “Well, where is she?”

Moody grinned, almost devilish. “As I said, we both know she’s the one reason you’re here.  But now,” he said, walking around his desk, “you have another.”

Nathaniel cocked his head as Bailey might. “I’m not following.”

Moody offered his hand. “I would say congratulations are in order.”

Nathaniel shook his head, still confused.

Moody winked. “I suggest, my friend, it’s time for you to meet your son.”

Nathaniel’s jaw dropped and just missed the floor. Moody’s smile broadened as he reached for his bowler hat hanging on the coat stand by the front door.

Chuckling, Moody said, “Give me a minute to make sure Bailey has food and fresh water, and then we will head for the hospital.”

Nathaniel stood as if nailed to the wood floor. He could hear commotion coming from the rear of the house, but his mind swirled. A boy, it’s a boy.  Oh, dear Lord, help me be a good man for him. How am I supposed to train him in the way he should go, to live for You, when I fail to be an obedient servant almost every day—shoot, every hour.  Nathaniel’s innermost being answered: Perfect behavior is not the goal. Moral excellence, holiness, is.

A full, unconscious minute passed. Moody rushed through the hall, slapped Nathaniel on the back, and said, “Okay, Bailey’s taken care of.” He opened the front door and said, “Don’t you want to see your family?”

Nathaniel’s shoulders relaxed. My family? He fixed his gaze on Reverend Moody. “Let’s go.”

The two men almost raced to Moody’s carriage. Climbing into the driver’s seat, Moody said, “We’re not far.”

“That’s good. I can’t wait to see Eleanor any longer.”

“And your son.”

“He’s not my son until Eleanor and I are properly wed.”

“I can fix that.” Moody slapped the reins and shouted, “Walk on.”

Nathaniel smiled.  Yeah Dwight, fix it quick.

“What do you mean, I can’t see her?”

The nurse with stringy-gray hair placed her gnarled hands on her horse-end wide hips and said, “Visiting hours ended thirty minutes ago. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Nathaniel gave into his natural instincts. “But, I’ve been traveling for two days to get here. Can’t you make an exception?”

“What about, me?” Reverend Moody asked. “I’m a minister.” He tilted his head in Nathaniel’s direction and revealed, “And so is he.”

“I don’t care if one of you happened to be the President.” Her stern eyes shifted on the same plane between the two men. “No one is breaking the hospital’s rules. We have other patients here who need their rest. I can’t allow you to disturb them.”

Nathaniel fought a sense of desperation. But I haven’t seen her in close to two years. I’m so close. He started to challenge. “But…”  He stifled his desires. “I mean, please ma’am, could you take her a note from me?”

Her face relaxed just a bit. “Yes I can do that.”

“Thank you. Do you have some paper and something to write with?”

The nurse scowled. “Do I look like I’m a newspaper reporter?”

“Here.” Reverend Moody took out his notepad and a pencil from his inside suit jacket pocket. “Use this.”

As fast as his fingers could write, Nathaniel scratched out his arrival announcement standing at the hospital’s information counter. After a minute, he extracted the note from the miniature journal, folded it, and handed it to the feminine sentinel.

“And who is this for?” She dropped the note on top of some other papers.

“Miss…”

Reverend Moody stepped forward. “Mrs. Graham. Mrs. Eleanor Graham. She’s in room 312.”

“Thanks, Reverend Moody.” Nathaniel asked, “Can you make sure she gets this right away, ma’am?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“And ma’am, please be sure to tell her I’ll be back in the morning, first thing.”

She offered a slight smile.

Reverend Moody said, “Well, everything is settled.”

“Not quite.” Nathaniel fixed his eyes on the nurse for one last inquiry. “When can I see her in the morning?”

“Not before nine o’clock,” she replied in a matter of fact tone.

“Okay, please let her know, I’ll be here at nine, sharp.”

Again, she offered a less than friendly smile.

“Alright then,” Reverend Moody slapped Nathaniel on his back. “How about you and me grab a bite to eat.”

“Sounds good.” Nathaniel turned his attention to the protector of hospital policy and with all the grace he could muster said, “Thank you for your kindness.”

As the two men departed, the anger-infested nurse who warded off a local Confederate advance harrumphed. She began to straighten her desk, sorting through hospital papers announcing work schedules and personnel assignments. Then, she grabbed her presumed enemy’s cherished note. She crumpled the paper in her hands and tossed the note into the tin trashcan at her post. She grinned. “I don’t show kindness to Rebels.”