She'd given him that love, but then she'd stolen it from him. If only she could tell him the truth. But what would it accomplish? Right now he thought she was a calculating gold digger. If she told him the truth, he'd realize she was the sort of woman who would betray a confidence and tell lies just to protect her heart.

"The bracelet deserves to be loved?" Lucy let out a long sigh. "You talk as if it has feelings, as if you feel sorry for it."

Lillian nuzzled Barbara's soft neck. "I do feel sorry for it."

"Why do you have more compa.s.sion for that bracelet than you do for people?"

Her muscles stiffened. When Barbara squirmed in her grip, she forced herself to relax and speak calmly. "You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Well, you don't know me at all. You never even tried."

Lillian wrestled with a lifetime of frustration and annoyance and hurt, but the bracelet circled her wrist, its warmth seeping inside and melting her resistance. She stopped on the sidewalk until her sister faced her. "No, I don't know you as well as I should. But I'd like to."

Lucy gaped at her. "Pardon?"

"You and I have a history, and a lot of it is ugly. You were sickly, and I ignored you because I was strong. I was rude to you."

"I'll say." She crossed her arms and glanced up the road toward the lake.

"And all my life you've called me coldhearted and cruel. That's hard to hear and dangerous to believe."

Lucy gasped, a retort practically visible on her tongue, but then she pressed her lips shut. "I was . . . I was hurt."

"So was I. Now, we can spend the rest of our lives arguing about who wounded the other the most. Is that what you want?"

Tears welled in Lucy's eyes, and she shook her head.

Lillian jiggled her wrist and made the sparkles dance. "Or you and I can decide that our sisterhood has intrinsic beauty-we're twins, for heaven's sake. We can decide to forgive each other for the past and love each other for who we are. I'm willing to do that. Are you?"

Lucy wiped tears from her red cheeks. "It's all I ever wanted. A sister."

A sigh ruffled the baby's bonnet. "All right then. As of today, we're starting over."

"I-I'd hug you, but the baby."

Lillian laughed, shaky and damp, and her sister joined her, the rhythm of their laughter melding, identical yet unique.

US Naval Hospital, Brooklyn

Tuesday, June 30, 1942

Arch forced himself to look in the handheld mirror at his flattened eyelid and the void filled with a flesh-colored composite. In a few weeks, a sh.e.l.l-shaped gla.s.s eye would rest over the rounded implant. The sight was rather disturbing.

"The war has raised some challenges." Lieutenant Schneider sat on a stool facing Arch's exam chair. "The art and science of making ocular prosthetics was developed in Germany, and the process has always been a closely guarded secret. Now we've lost our supplier."

Arch murmured his understanding and laid the mirror in his bathrobe-covered lap.

The ocularist held out open palms. "The Navy is researching other materials, but in the meantime, we have to work with the supply in stock. We should have the right size, and we can polish it to fit. We'll match your eye color as best we can."

"How much longer?"

"You're healing well, Dr. Kendrick said. Another two weeks for the swelling to resolve, then we can start fitting you. You should be able to go home in three weeks."

Late July. "The sooner the better."

Lieutenant Schneider grinned. "Raring to go? I'm sure it's difficult to sit still and do nothing."

Arch returned the grin. "Actually, I've been quite busy."

"Good." He stood and offered his hand. "I'll see you next week."

"Thank you, sir." Arch shook the man's hand-after a miss. How long would it take to adjust to a lack of depth perception?

After Lieutenant Schneider left, a nurse came in and replaced Arch's bandages, mostly so he wouldn't shock people.

Arch thanked the nurse and headed for the recreation room. Yesterday he hadn't minded creating shock.

Bitsy had visited again, and alone this time. He'd shocked her four times. First, he told her his plans for the Boston office of Vandenberg Insurance, which made her brow wrinkle. Second, he told her his plans for his salary, which made her gasp. Third, he informed her that Pauline Grayson had told malicious lies and he'd already written to his parents to refute them, which made Bitsy blanch.

Fourth, he removed his bandages, which made her recoil and beg him to have the decency to cover up.

He hadn't done it to test her, but to show her the truth-he wasn't the man for her.

In a huff, Bitsy declared something was seriously wrong with him, and then she'd left.

He'd become skilled at driving women away.

Arch peeked into the recreation room, where patients in matching pajamas and bathrobes played pool and chess, discussing how Ted Williams of the Red Sox had enlisted in the US Marines.

In the hallway in front of him, a pay phone beckoned.

While he'd never regret driving Bitsy away-and in time she'd be glad-he'd always regret driving Lillian away.

The urge to speak to her had grown inside like a painful tumor. The only way to feel better was to excise it. He would have preferred to talk to her in person, but three weeks was too long. A phone call would be better than nothing.

He checked his watch. At 1800, someone would be home. Had Lillian taken a new job? What was she doing now?

Arch plunked a coin into the phone and dialed the operator. While she made the connection, he gathered his courage and his words.

"h.e.l.lo?" That was Mary's voice, and it warmed him.

"h.e.l.lo, Mary. This is Arch."

"Arch! I'm so glad you called. How are you? I've been praying for you."

"Thank you. I'm doing well. The doctors plan to fit me with a gla.s.s eye, and I'll be released in three weeks."

"That's wonderful news."

Arch leaned back against the wall by the phone. "Is Lillian there?"

"No, I'm afraid not. She went home to Ohio."

He frowned. "For a visit or . . . ?"

"We don't know." Mary's voice was soft and sad. "The incident at the store was traumatic for her. Jim and I don't think she'll return to Boston. She paid her rent for July, and she promised to let us know by July 1, but we still haven't heard from her."

Oh no. She'd retreated. She'd closed herself off from the world.

"Arch? If she calls, would you like me to give her a message?"

"No." His answer came out too fast. "No, don't tell her I called. Don't tell Jim either. I don't want him to think I'm hunting down his sister."

Mary sighed. "He misses you, although he'd never admit it."

"I miss him too, but don't you dare tell him."

Mary chuckled. "Men are such strange creatures."

Arch hated this, hated saying good-bye to people he cared for. "I wish you both all the best."

"Thank you. And I'll keep praying for you."

He settled the receiver on the hook to hang up, then picked it up again and dug in his bathrobe pocket for more coins. Any intelligent operator would be able to connect him to the Avery residence.

What a warm home, cozy and filled with laughter.

A picture filled his mind, and he hung up the phone.

He'd step off the train in Vermilion wearing a civilian suit and his brand-new gla.s.s eye. He'd knock on the front door of the Avery home. She'd be shocked to see him.

He had no illusions that she'd take him back. That wasn't his purpose.

All he wanted was to show her she was worthy of a long journey, worthy of an apology, worthy of love.

She didn't have to accept any of it, but she needed to know.

47.

US Naval Hospital, Brooklyn

Sat.u.r.day, July 4, 1942

"It's good of you to visit our boys on the Fourth of July." The Red Cross volunteer at the hospital front desk smiled at Lillian. "Don't forget the barbecue on the back lawn at six o'clock. Only two hours from now. Friends and family are invited."

Lillian managed a smile, but she was neither friend nor family, and she wouldn't be staying that long.

The volunteer traced her finger down a piece of paper. "Vandenberg . . . Archer Vandenberg . . . Yes, go down this hall to your right, up the stairs, down the hall, second ward on your left."

"Thank you." She sorted the directions in her mind and straightened the jacket of her green suit. She could do this. She had to.

"Miss?" The volunteer gave her a sympathetic smile. "It's difficult to see our young men maimed, but we urge our visitors to conceal their shock and control their tears. It's best for the boys."

"Yes, ma'am." Lillian headed down the hall. If only the sight of Arch's injury were her only concern. She, of all people, could handle that.

Instead she dreaded seeing either his hot hatred or the cool condescension he'd shown the night they broke up.

On that night, she'd acted in her own strength, and she'd failed. Today she'd accept her own weakness, admit her sin, and stand in G.o.d's strength, the strength of the truth.

Up the stairs, down the hall, her shoes tapped in beat with Dad's favorite hymn: When darkness veils His lovely face, I rest on His unchanging grace; In ev'ry high and stormy gale My anchor holds within the veil.

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand.

All other ground is sinking sand, All other ground is sinking sand.

The ward stretched long. Tall windows brightened the beds on either side of the aisle. Men in pale blue pajamas milled around or lay in bed, and white-clad nurses and pharmacist's mates took care of their needs.

Lillian made her way down the aisle, searching for Arch, hugging her purse to her stomach, her right wrist bare and forlorn.

A familiar laugh drew her eye. Arch sat on the side of a bed with his back to her, chatting with a man in a wheelchair and two other men on the bed across from him.

Her heart lurched in a bittersweet way at the sound of his voice, the set of his shoulders, and how the bandage around his head made his blond hair stick up.

To her left, a man whistled. "Some lucky dog has a visitor."