IN US WE TRUST
The clock chimed 10 and startled Margaret into dropping the latest Abigail Porterfield mystery, ruffling the pages so she'd lose her place and never discover the murderer's identity. She'd drifted to sleep over its pages while waiting for him to get home. And waiting. And waiting. Unbidden, the old insecurities leeched into her, blood and breast and brain. He's so late. Where is he?
More important, who is he with?
No. She thrust the disloyal charge out of her head. She refused to entertain doubts of his fidelity. History was history, and they'd both acquired colorful pasts. But now they were simply two people struggling to heal each other, to build a life together. Old fickle feelings should have no place in their imaginations.
But had any woman ever demanded loyalty from Hawkeye Pierce before? Or expected it? Or received it?
Like ashes of incense and old piano tunes, scars of former desertions ran deep along her heart, and could still throb to the surface of her skin, especially on nights like this.
It was her own fault he was out of the house at all. "It's a perfect opportunity," she convinced him. "Greenfield needs paramedics, and you need something to do besides poke around this old house. You've fixed all the cabinet doors twice already. You know you need to get back to work, back into the world. Here's a limited, part-time chance to contribute to our community, and use your skills." His local doctor conferred with Sidney, and they endorsed the idea that he was ready.
Hawkeye was reluctantly persuaded to give the job a try; the Greenfield village council was reluctantly persuaded to give him a try. The EMTs covered four small towns with emergency medical assistance and transportation to the local hospital. He was overqualified, of course. His second-shift teammates, Tom and Roger, grew to like the new guy, especially when he made it clear he had no ambition for higher rank or more authority. They respected his abilities and were impressed with his cool head and improvisation during emergencies.
"Finally," Hawkeye remarked, "a reason to have lived through Korea." The work gave him renewed purpose and vigor, Margaret observed. "There's nothing like that adrenalin rush," he admitted to her. Margaret smiled, preferring the more pedestrian pace at the clinic where she worked.
But, T is for Trust.
And for 10:20. The current Time, which was more than Two hours past his expected homecoming. She speculated: if she had to choose between his lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and lying in Nurse Nancy's arms, just which alternative would she select?
She retreated to their small kitchen and decided to brew a pot of blackberry tea. A sturdy cup would keep her company, and she'd have something to offer him when he returned home. IF he returned home. No. She shook the idea out of her head.
When.
When.
When? "Tea for two, and two for tea," she hummed absently. "Me for you, and you for me…" In about Ten more minutes, she could legitimately go to the Telephone and begin a round of calls, starting with his friend Tom, then the hospital, then the highway patrol, then—
His key in the door, and his footsteps in the hall; his weary sigh, his coat flung over a chair. They embraced, supporting each other against the pressures inside and out. "Missed you…" murmured into his chest. His lips brushed against her hair.
"Sorry, late call. Crash on Rt. 30, kinda messy."
"Come have some tea," she started to draw him into the kitchen, and noticed the three-foot branch attached to a root ball that was depositing dirt on her clean floor. "What…?"
His grin broke through the fatigue. "You say you love gardens, but you've never planted any flowers because you've never stayed around long enough to see them bloom. Well, this" he introduced it with a grand sweep of his hand, "is a dogwood tree. We are going to plant it right in the center of the yard" he planted a kiss on her cheek "so you can see it every morning. And it's going to grow for 50 years" he pecked her other cheek " and you are going to see it bloom for 50 springs, and watch our as-yet-mythical grandchildren climb it," he proclaimed with a full-lipped, soft, warm kiss planted deep with desire.
And now her tears grew little puddles on his shoulder. Any chump could buy a ring. Benjamin Franklin Pierce had brought her a tree, and his promise of 50 years. They would put down roots together. Trust would bloom. And they would endure.
finis