Page 114 of Two Wars and a Wedding

But that train in the middle of nowhere brought her Holt.

That was a dangerous line of thought. She couldn’t let herself think that way. Betsy shook her fingers free from his. “Then why don’t you? Why don’t you go back to law school? Finish your degree?”

“Because it was what my father wanted for me. Because when I tried to bring him to justice, the law wouldn’t hear me. What was the use of it?”

“Then go back to law school and make them hear you.” If anyone could bring good out of evil, it was Holt. He was too good for her. Better to send him on his way to do the things he was meant to do. He’d go his way and she’d go hers. “Go back to law school. Use your power to fight for the people like your mother. Be the one who believes them.”

“I believe in you,” Holt said simply.

Betsy pressed her fingers to her temples. “Don’t. Please.”

“Don’t believe in you? Or don’t love you?”

“Either. Both.” Betsy couldn’t look at Holt, because if she did, she might weaken, and if she weakened, she might go to him, and if she did . . . “Could you go away now, please?”

And because he was Holt, he did.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

VOYAGE OF HORROR ON HOSPITAL SHIP

Intended only for carrying troops, the Seneca was never designed as a hospital vessel. She was in no way fitted for such service. Miss Elizabeth Hawes [sic], the Red Cross representative, proved to be the angel of the dreadful journey.

Were it not for Miss Hawes [sic], many of the patients must have died on the trip. The woman deserves a medal from the United States Government. She went right down among the wounded in the foul hold of the ship, where they were lying on rough boards, and nursed them. She made gruel and cooling drinks and encouraged them.

—New York World, July 22, 1898

VOYAGE FULL OF MISERY

It was a miserable voyage, but made more miserable by the drunkenness on the part of several military officers and by the neglect and indifference on the part of the medical men to whom was intrusted [sic] the health of the passengers. . . . Personally, I failed to observe any particular “sacrifice” on the part of anyone, with the exception of Miss Elizabeth Hayes, the Red Cross nurse. Miss Hayes proved to be an angel of mercy.

—John Maxwell, reporter and passenger on the Seneca, Chicago Tribune, July 22, 1898

JUST A HYSTERICAL WOMAN

“It is really too bad that so much importance is being placed in the utterances of hysterical females. . . . Miss Hayes is a hysterical woman and she is liable to say almost anything. She lies, that is all.”

—Major George Torney, chief medical officer of the Relief, quoted in the New-York Tribune and the New York World, July 26, 1898

* * *

New York, New York

July 22, 1898

A launch took the Seneca passengers from Hoffman Island to Manhattan the following morning.

This was the end, Holt realized. The final leg of their long, strange journey. Once that launch touched the dock, they would all go their separate ways.

Betsy would go her way and he’d go his.

She’d made her feelings clear. One didn’t get much clearer than “go away.” “Go away” meant go away.

So here Holt was, standing at the back of the launch, watching all the other passengers thronging around Betsy, thanking her, saying their farewells, wishing he could be there too, but knowing he’d forfeited that right. He’d forfeited the hope not just of her affection but of her friendship. Looking back, Holt wanted to kick himself. He could have just handed over the letter and left. He could have let Betsy bask in her well-deserved accolades. Instead, he’d ruined it all by forcing his feelings on her.

He’d been an ass.

He was as bad as that Charles who’d followed her to Lamia without her asking him. Worse. She’d never invited Holt’s affections.