Clay hesitated, but clinical interest lit the doctor’s eyes, reminding him of his conversations with Dr. Hill in Kerrville. And the crowd had passed by.

Using medical terminology, Clay listed Leah’s injuries and the procedures he’d performed. Doc Block asked questions and contemplated what had been done during surgery, while Clay shared what he’d read in the text in the library.

It felt like going home to the man he’d once been. How many afternoons had he spent in Dr. Hill’s office, observing his mentor in the examination room, discussing patient care, and reading texts? Those had been good days, filled with promise and purpose.

A bittersweet ache formed in his chest over what should have been and would never be.

They reached the enlisted men’s mess, and Dr. Block offered his hand—not exactly military protocol. “A pleasure talking to you.”

Clay shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. I enjoyed it too.”

Dr. Block headed toward the officers’ mess. “If you ever want to chat, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, sir.” But he didn’t plan to.

18

TULLAHOMA
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1943

In the town library after closing time, Leah tried not to crumple her sheet of paper. A dozen well-dressed ladies chatted, waiting for the board meeting. Despite Leah’s pinned-up curls and her camel-colored suit, she didn’t belong.

“You’ll do fine.” Rita Sue wore a bottle green suit that complemented her light brown hair and hazel eyes. “It’s a wonderful idea.”

“Good evening, ladies.” A woman in her seventies entered the library. Although she was only an inch or two taller than Leah, she carried herself as if she were taller than Mrs. Sheridan. Her gaze landed on Leah, and silver eyebrows rose. “Who have we here?”

Rita Sue gestured to Leah. “Mrs. Channing, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Clay Paxton. She’s a librarian at Camp Forrest and a new volunteer.”

Leah shook the offered hand. “How do you do, Mrs. Channing.”

Eyes of indeterminate color bore into Leah’s. “Your name’s on the agenda. My, such confidence in one so young. Bless your heart.”

Leah had been in town long enough to know “bless your heart” didn’t always mean what it said. But she smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Channing swept past her to the head of the table. “Take your seats, ladies.”

Leah leaned close to Rita Sue. “Why is she running the meeting instead of Mrs. Sheridan?”

“She’s Mrs. Channing,” Rita Sue whispered, as if the name alone was the answer.

Channing . . . Come to think of it, Leah had seen the name on several businesses in town.

Over the next half hour, the ladies discussed the budget and maintenance and programs.

Mrs. Channing adjusted her reading glasses. “Next on the agenda, a proposal from Mrs. Paxton.”