March 10, 1921
Haley Higgins
A thrill of anticipation thrummed through my chest when the doorbell of the Hartigan brownstone rang. Haley Higgins stood on the other side, and I could only imagine what she’d think when she saw me. I hung back as one of Sally’s maids opened the door.
“Hello,” came Haley’s familiar Bostonian accent.
From my position near the back of the stairs, I caught a glimpse of her. She wore a simple, conservative skirt and a matching spring jacket. Her curls were pulled back into a ponytail, escaping slightly from an unadorned cloche hat. She wore plain pumps—what I was certain she’d call no-nonsense shoes—appropriate for a nurse who spent a great deal of time on her feet. A tall woman, she towered over the petite maid.
“I’m Nurse Higgins, here to see the lady of the house.”
The maid invited Haley inside, then scurried away to find Sally. I had only moments alone with my old friend before Sally shattered the moment.
I stepped into view. “Hello, Haley,” I said, my accent a mix of British and American—not the French she was accustomed to hearing from me.
She blinked as recognition dawned. A sly smile crossed her face. “Antoinette?”
“No longer,” I said. “But I’m afraid I can say no more than that.”
Haley laughed. “Aren’t you full of surprises? Now, am I here under false pretenses? Is this your way of rooting me out?”
“I’m afraid not. My father is terribly ill. You are the only one I trust to care for him. I hope you will consider the job.”
Before I could relay any details, Sally arrived.
“Nurse Higgins,” she said. “Thank you for coming. I’m Mrs. Hartigan. Ginger insisted on my hiring you to help my husband. Please come into the sitting room so we can discuss the matter.”
Haley glanced over her shoulder, lifting a dark, questioning brow before following Sally. I trailed after them.
Coffee and cookies awaited on the oak coffee table. The room was tastefully decorated, its furnishings elegant yet understated. Sally took the armchair at one end while Haley and I sat opposite each other.
Sally smiled. “Miss Higgins, would you care for cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine,” Haley said as I stirred a teaspoon of sugar into mine. The war was over, and rationing was no longer necessary.
“Ginger tells me you met during the war,” Sally said. “In England.”
Haley glanced at me as I sipped my coffee. We had met in France, but Sally was under the impression I had spent the war years with my in-laws north of London.
“Yes,” Haley said after a beat. “We did.”
“I was in London, volunteering to help the wounded,” I said smoothly. “Miss Higgins was on duty there. Her skills are exceptional.” I smiled at Haley. That part wasn’t a lie.
“It’s very kind of you to say so, Mrs…?”
“Gold,” I supplied quickly. Then, with a chuckle, I added, “See, Sally? Miss Higgins made a stronger impression on me than I did on her.”
“I can tell you, Mrs. Gold,” Haley said with a knowing look, “that is entirely untrue.”
Sally cleared her throat. “I suppose we should discuss our situation. My husband—Ginger’s father—is immobile. We have a rolling chair for him, of course, but he can no longer walk. We’ve turned his office into a bedroom for him.”
“What is his prognosis?” Haley asked.
“They call it ALS,” Sally said.
I watched Haley’s reaction. A professionally controlled expression, though I was sure I caught a flash of despair.
“Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis,” she said.
Sally held a white handkerchief, wringing it in her hands. “I can never remember what the letters stand for. What does it mean?”
Haley cast a glance my way before explaining, “There’s no muscle nourishment, which causes the muscles to waste away. The spinal cord is affected, as are the nerve tissues.”
“Is there anything that can be done?” I asked, my voice catching.
“The doctors don’t seem to think so,” Sally said. “Though they’ve named the disease, they don’t really understand what’s happening.”
“I’m afraid that’s correct,” Haley admitted. “At this time, the only treatment is supportive—focusing on easing symptoms. Pain relief, guided movement, assistance with feeding.”
My heart sank. As much as I respected Haley’s intelligence and competence, she wasn’t a miracle worker. My father would die from this incurable disease.
“Will you help us, Nurse Higgins?” Sally asked. “It’s a live-in position with good pay.”
“And good company,” I added with a slight shrug.
Haley stared back at me. “The company would prove to be enlightening, no doubt.”
“Will you do it?” I repeated Sally’s question. “Will you help us?”
Haley nodded. “I would be honored. Is it possible to meet Mr. Hartigan? I imagine he might like a say in this.”
I appreciated that Haley would consider my father’s feelings in this arrangement, and I had a feeling they’d get along well.
Sally stood. “I’ll check on him. Please give me a moment.”
Haley took a sip of coffee, staring at me over the rim of her cup. “It’s an understatement to say you’ve changed since the last time we shared a coffee together.”
I remembered the day. It was the first time either of us had ever set eyes on a tank.
“The war changes us all.”
“Some more than others,” Haley said. “But I look forward to getting to know this version of you, Mrs. Gold.”
I laughed. “Please call me Ginger.”
~~~
The story continues with Mayhem or Miss the Boat.
