When the Clouds Roll By (17 page)

The song ended to deafening applause and a few wolf whistles that Miss Steiner acknowledged with a sultry smile and a wave of her white-gloved hand. With a nod to the orchestra leader, she began her next number. The livelier piece helped Annemarie shake off the mantle of gloom. She came to have fun, after all. Gilbert Ballard could just—

A commotion to her left drew her attention. Two waiters bustled to create a wider aisle, dishes and glasses clattering as diners rose to move their chairs aside and shift tables farther apart. An attractive young woman with flame-red hair strode through the opening, and behind her a man in a wheelchair.

Gilbert!

Annemarie’s heart hammered like a cadre of snare drums before it sank to her toes and stopped—utterly stopped. She could die right there on the spot.

“Annie? Are you okay?” Dorothy leaned forward, blocking Annemarie’s view. “The champagne’s not bad, is it? I know you’re not used to it, but—”

“It’s him—
him
!” Her voice came out in a coarse whisper. She gave a brusque nod in Gilbert’s direction.

By the time Dorothy caught her meaning and followed her gaze, a waiter was assisting the redhead into her chair while the maître d’ guided Gilbert’s wheelchair up to their table. “Oh my. You want to get out of here, honey?”

Stretching tall, she inhaled long and slowly through her nose. “Absolutely not.” She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and pasted on her most serene smile. “We came to hear Carla Steiner. Not to mention I’m starving, so I’m not leaving until I’ve eaten every last bite of my beef bourguignon.
And
dessert. Didn’t I see Black Forest cake on the menu?”

“The best in town.” Dorothy smirked, leaning close to Annemarie’s ear. “Good for you, honey. I’m proud of you.”

Gilbert had arranged to have Mary seated at his right so he’d have his good arm available for . . . wherever the evening led. “Enjoying the show?”

“Oh, yes!” A shivery sigh escaped Mary’s lips. “Mercy me, but this is an elegant place! If I’d known, I’d have found something more glamorous to wear.”

“You look fine.” Truth be told, he doubted she owned anything nicer than the dusky brown frock she wore. But the simple lines imbued an understated sophistication, and the cream-colored lace collar did something wonderful to her lightly freckled complexion. His fingers itched to stroke the curve of her cheek, to touch the soft, pink ripeness of her pouty lower lip.

Fumbling with the huge menu, Mary glanced his way with a self-conscious giggle. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry, can’t stop myself.” He let his hand graze the tender skin on the back of her wrist. His belly throbbed with longing.

But was she the type of girl who’d give him what he wanted—what he
needed
? All these years he’d saved himself, kept himself pure for Annemarie. Not even those French femme fatales with their butchered-English come-ons had turned his eye. Instead, he’d fantasized about his wedding night, taking Annemarie to his bed and finally releasing the pent-up passion he’d suppressed for so long out of respect for her and obedience to God.

Well, God hadn’t done him any good lately, and Annemarie was out of the picture. Now all he cared about was finding relief from the loneliness, from the depression, from the constant raging headaches that made him half-blind with agony.

Mary closed the menu and cast him a demure smile. “I’d best let you order for me. I can’t make heads nor tails of these fancy names.”

“My pleasure.” He’d been eying the steak au poivre but decided with his weak arm he’d probably make a fool of himself trying to slice through the beef. “Let’s go with the duck
à
l’orange. I’ll order some wine as well.”

“None for me, thank you. I’m a teetotaler.”

And why was he not surprised? So much for getting her a little tipsy and then sending Zachary off for a smoke later while the two of them nuzzled in the backseat of the car.

Their server returned to take their orders, then left them to enjoy Carla Steiner’s performance while they waited for dinner. She’d moved into a plaintive rendition of “After You’ve Gone,” and the words stabbed Gilbert’s soul. A jilted lover pouring guilt upon the man who’d left her crying and alone—as if he didn’t feel guilty enough already. When the singer turned her gaze toward their side of the room, he looked away.

And straight into Annemarie’s cool brown stare.

She arched one brow and offered a semblance of a smile before returning her attention to the stage. She certainly wasn’t crying over him now, and her indifference cut deeper than the surgeon’s knife.

Pain throbbed behind his eyes until he wanted to gouge them out. His arm ached. His stump felt like he’d set it on fire. He had to get out of there—
now!

19

M
ore than a week had passed, but every time Annemarie thought about seeing Gilbert enter the Emerald Club with the little red-haired nurse parading along beside him, a stinging coldness swept through her. How he could so easily cast her aside, then take up with someone new so quickly—

Or maybe it hadn’t been all that quickly. What if going to war had become a convenient opportunity to put some distance between them? He might have started seeing other women as soon as he landed on foreign shores. How many had there been? How long had he been playing her for the fool?

Of course Dorothy had sympathized, but Gilbert and his date left the club almost immediately after he’d caught Annemarie’s eye—and just as well. She hoped he was duly embarrassed to be seen in public with another woman so soon after their breakup.

God forgive her, she didn’t wish him ill. But he’d hurt her, hurt her terribly! At least Sam understood. Other than Dorothy, he was the only person she’d confided in about that horrid night. All week he’d tried to convince her Gilbert was only putting up a front, that his feelings for Annemarie were as strong as ever, and someday he’d realize it. Although Annemarie didn’t share Samuel’s confidence, his reassurance meant more than she could say.

By the following Monday, Samuel insisted he was fit to return to his hospital duties. With Papa driving and Samuel in the backseat of her father’s Model T, Annemarie twisted to study Samuel’s face for any telltale signs of fatigue. “Are you sure you’re ready to go back to work? A few more days to get your strength back wouldn’t hurt, you know.”

“I promise I’ll take it easy. I’ve been away from the hospital long enough.” Samuel gave her hand a pat and then pushed open the rear door.

“Well, all right, but I wish you weren’t set on returning to that lonely apartment afterward. You and your mother are welcome to stay with us as long as you want.”

“Annemarie’s right, son.” Papa smiled over his shoulder. “We have plenty of room, and Ida’s enjoying the chance to get to know your mother.”

“I’m sure Mother will be over to visit often. She’s planning to stay at least another week or two.” Samuel laughed. “Who knows? Now that she’s retired from dressmaking, she may decide to stay in Hot Springs as long as I’m stationed here just so she can keep an eye on me.”

An unexpected pang squeezed Annemarie’s stomach. “You don’t anticipate being reassigned any time soon?”

“Not that I know of, but . . .” Samuel dipped his chin, his gaze shifting sideways. “With the army you never know.”

“But surely—”

Papa tapped the steering wheel. “Let the poor man get on to work, Annie-girl, so you and I can do the same.”

She cast Samuel a parting glare. “Just you take it slow today, Sam, do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Grinning, he gave a crisp salute before climbing out of the car.

Annemarie waved through the window as they drove away, unable to clamp down on the niggling fear that she was losing her friend.

Honestly! He’d still be in town, for goodness’ sake, living and working only a few blocks away. Still, they’d spent so much time together over the past three weeks that his absence from her home, her everyday comings and goings, would be tangible. Just knowing he was there, a friend to talk to and share with, someone to confide in when she seesawed between the pain of heartbreak over Gilbert and the blistering desire to wring her ex-fiancé’s neck—

Admit it, Annemarie. You’ve grown attached to Sam Vickary, and you’ll miss having him underfoot.

“Stop your frettin’, young lady. The lad’s the picture of health now. He’ll be just fine.” Papa turned off Central Avenue and headed up the road to the factory.

She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. “He’s just stubborn enough to push himself beyond his limits. I should probably go over on my lunch hour and check on him.”

Papa guffawed. “I’m beginning to think there’s more to your concern for Samuel Vickary than you’re letting on.”

Annemarie flung a disbelieving gaze at her father. “And what’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“No need to get all hoity-toity with me. I’m only stating the obvious.” Papa swerved to pass a double-parked milk truck and then glanced at Annemarie with a crooked grin. “Listen, dear one, I know Gilbert has broken your heart and you’re still getting over the dastardly scoundrel. But seems to me our nice young chaplain could be more than a little interested in seeing what might develop between you two.”

“You can’t be serious! Sam’s a good friend, nothing more.”

“Your mother and I were ‘good friends’ before we married. Friendship’s not a bad way to begin.”

Annemarie harrumphed and glared out the window. “You forget Gilbert and I were friends before we became engaged.”

“Yes, but childhood friendships don’t always grow into lasting relationships. Now, with you and Samuel—”

“Papa!”

They’d arrived in the parking lot behind the factory. Annemarie exploded from the car and marched across the lot while furiously digging through her purse for the back door key. Once inside the workroom she yanked off her coat and tossed it over a hook, then stood there and seethed. The idea there could ever be anything between her and Sam! Papa had to be mistaken, because every word out of Sam’s mouth was about never losing hope Gilbert would soon come crawling back to her and begging her forgiveness.

Her father quietly closed the door and hung his overcoat beside hers. “Don’t you think it’s about time you stop denying the obvious? You’re attracted to Sam. He’s attracted to you. What harm can it do to see where things lead? I doubt you’d find a better man if you searched the whole world over.”

Annemarie slid a glance toward her father, but in her mind’s eye she pictured Sam, his mouth quirking into that silly, off-center smile that made him so endearing.

She gave herself a mental shake. Surely, Papa was reading much more into their friendship than could possibly be true.

But one thing he was
not
mistaken about: Annemarie could search the rest of her days and never find a man as true and loyal and honorable as Army Chaplain Samuel Vickary.

“
You’re a good man, Padre. Glad to see you back on duty.” The old soldier—the same one from the isolation ward who one month ago had been convinced he was at death’s door—gripped Samuel’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Thanks, Sergeant King. It’s good to be back.” Samuel extracted his nearly bloodless hand and unobtrusively flexed his fingers a few times while moving a chair closer to the sergeant’s bedside. “It’s especially good to see you alive and kicking. Clearly the Lord has more use for you here than in heaven.”

“Your prayers made the difference, no doubt about it. Up to now I’ve been pretty useless just about anywhere the Lord chose to put me. But your promise of the Lord’s forgiveness gave me something to hold onto, a reason to live so’s maybe I could yet become a better man.”

Samuel could only nod as his thoughts returned to that day. The same overpowering sense of shame churned his belly—guilt over sins he’d long since repented of but could never forget. Would—
could
—God truly forgive him?

Would he ever be able to forgive himself?

“Just sorry you had to catch the danged influenza, Padre. Tears me up to think you may have got it from me.” The sergeant, a long-term rheumatism patient, drew up one leg and massaged his knee. “Took a lot of guts for you to visit all us sick folks every day like you did.”

Bravery had nothing to do with it, and Samuel wished they could change the subject. “The worst is over, so they tell me. How can I pray for you today?”

While Sergeant King shared recent news about a troublesome teenage grandson over in Tulsa, Samuel looked across the ward to see the young Irish nurse Mary McClarney approaching. The instant their eyes met, she quickly glanced away, her freckled cheeks reddening. She couldn’t be unaware of Samuel’s friendship with Annemarie. She couldn’t even presume he wouldn’t know she’d been seeing Gilbert.

Forcing his mind back to the sergeant, Samuel offered a few scriptural assurances about prodigal sons and promised to keep Sergeant King’s grandson in his prayers. He excused himself and strode toward the exit, hoping he could escape the ward without being drawn into a conversation with Mary McClarney.

No such luck.

“Chaplain, a word if you don’t mind?” Mary finished administering a patient’s injection, then gathered her supplies onto a small metal tray and covered them with a cloth. She nodded toward the door, and Samuel followed her out. After depositing the tray in the work area behind the nurses’ station, Mary suggested they talk in an unoccupied waiting room nearby.

“I have a feeling I know what this is about, Miss McClarney.” Samuel strode to the window and laced his fingers behind his back. “And I’m not at all sure we should be having this conversation.”

“But I’ve no one else I can confide in. Not even my dear mum would understand.” She came up beside him and wrung her hands. “I know you’re friends with Gilbert—Lieutenant Ballard—and I just want you to know I didn’t pursue him. A girl of my station—why, if he hadn’t first approached me, I’d never in my life have been so bold.”

Samuel could hear the sincerity in her voice. He chewed the inside of his lip as he turned to face her. “What are you asking for, Mary? My blessing? That isn’t mine to offer.”

“I know, sir, but to know you understand would surely ease my mind.” She rested her forehead against the windowpane, her warm breath misting the glass. “Do you think I don’t know he’s still in love with
her
? Do you think I don’t realize he’s only using me for a time?”

“And you’re all right with that?” Samuel touched her shoulder, and she looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Mary, you’re a fine and caring nurse, a Christian woman with a good heart. You’ve no reason to settle for anything less than a man completely devoted to you. And that man
isn’t
Gilbert Ballard.”

Her lower lip trembled. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “But he could be, if only he’d let himself. We’re good together. I know his needs, his fears, his pain. I can love him like no one else.”

Looking into her eyes, Samuel saw the truth behind her words, and a great sadness filled him. Sadness for Mary, for Gilbert. Sadness for Annemarie. “Yes,” he said, sweeping away a teardrop with the side of his thumb, “but can he ever really love you?”

“
But can he ever really love you?”

The chaplain’s question wove a tapestry of confusion through Mary’s thoughts. Was it so wrong to believe Gilbert saw her as more than a momentary diversion? Did she hope in vain his feelings for her might someday deepen into something real and lasting?

She couldn’t forget the awkwardness of the night at the Emerald Club, the shock of knowing Miss Kendall had seen them together. Gilbert had hurried them out before they’d even had a chance to order dinner, and with his headache raging, she’d expected to be taken home straightaway, her lovely evening with the man of her dreams cut miserably short.

But it hadn’t been that way at all. Gilbert had ordered his chauffeur to take a slow drive around town and then asked if he could rest his head in Mary’s lap until the pain subsided. She’d massaged his temples, his neck, his shoulders, until he’d groaned in blessed relief and drifted into peaceful slumber.

Nearly two hours later, with her legs buzzing from the weight of his head and her back stiff from sitting so still, he’d finally stirred—and the look of gratitude shining from his eyes warmed her head to toe. If such a gaze didn’t speak love, Mary didn’t know what did.

Except . . . since then Gilbert had barely spoken ten words to her. She’d seen him only briefly when he happened to arrive for a treatment at the same time she was escorting a patient to or from the physical therapy floor. Oh, he’d smiled rightly enough but always seemed preoccupied or in a hurry.

Or was it embarrassment over his unseemly dalliance with an unsophisticated Irish nurse?

In any case, she certainly wouldn’t risk hospital gossip by making any overtures of her own. No, she must maintain her dignity, remain hopeful, and strive for patience.