When the Clouds Roll By

by Myra Johnson

  Clothed in burgundy brocade and a luxurious fur stole, Mrs. Ballard looked as if she’d dressed for a night at the opera. A broad-brimmed, feather-trimmed hat was secured with a gossamer silk scarf tied beneath her chin. She rushed forward and extended a gloved hand to Annemarie. “I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t arrive in time. The stationmaster says the train is not more than ten minutes away.”

  No sooner had she spoken than Annemarie caught the distant sound of the whistle. Its melancholy tone made her shiver anew. She hurried to the window and peered down the length of railroad tracks. “I hope he hasn’t been traveling alone all this way. Will he go directly to the hospital, do you think?”

  “It will be best to get him there straightaway and out of this frigid weather. I’ve already made sure an ambulance is waiting.”

  Of course. Mrs. Ballard always had everything under control.

  “Besides,” she went on, “we certainly don’t want to risk Gilbert’s being exposed to the influenza.” She glanced around the station with a sniff. “I don’t care what the papers say. People are still getting sick. You have been careful, haven’t you, Annemarie?”

  “Extremely.” Although she could only imagine the exposure risk on a crowded train. Surely, Gilbert would have taken precautions.

  Beneath her feet, a rumbling vibration began. Annemarie sucked in her breath and returned to the window. “The train—it’s here!”

  The rumble deepened, setting Annemarie’s insides aquiver as the depot erupted into a flurry of excited activity. The big black engine appeared through a cloud of steam, brakes squealing. Waiting family and friends burst through the doors and waved frantically as the train slowed and finally stopped.

  Stepping onto the platform, Annemarie scanned the passenger car windows for a glimpse of her sweetheart. An elderly gentleman stepped off the train, his arms full of wrapped Christmas gifts. His appearance brought a shout of joy from a couple nearby with a young boy in tow.

  Next came a soldier—Jack Trapp, the lad whose family lived across the street from the Kendalls. My, how he’d grown up, and praise God he’d come back alive and whole! Then, seeing only his mother and his fourteen-year-old sister there to meet him—another sister still served in France with the Army Signal Corps—Annemarie’s heart clenched. Mr. Trapp had passed away last summer, a terrible blow to the family, and poor Jack must now shoulder responsibilities as the man of the house.

  Other travelers emerged, welcomed by friends and family, but as each happy group departed, Annemarie’s anxiety grew. Where was Gilbert? The platform was nearly empty now. Besides the Kendalls and Ballards, the only people still waiting were a porter and two ambulance attendants from the Army and Navy Hospital.

  Finally, a soldier with a bandaged head limped down the steps from the last car. He wore a vacant expression, as if he wasn’t at all certain he was supposed to be here. An attendant hurried over and asked his name, then wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and helped him into the back of the ambulance.

  When two men in army green assisted an even more severely wounded soldier off the train, a coldness completely unrelated to the frigid December day crept through Annemarie’s limbs. Until today, the war had been a distant thing. No newspaper article, no radio announcement, not even letters from the front could begin to convey the emptiness, the bewilderment, the stark disillusionment she saw in these men’s eyes.

  “Oh, Papa.” The words were barely a whisper, a misty breath carried away by the wind. Annemarie hugged her father’s arm and buried her face in his coat sleeve.

  “I know, Annie-girl. Be strong now. Gilbert will need—” Papa gave her shoulder a firm pat. “Ah, look up and dry your tears. Here he comes!”

  Annemarie pushed away from her father and choked out a sob, her gaze searching out her sweetheart. Someone was lowering an empty wheelchair to the platform. On the steps above, Gilbert leaned heavily upon a uniformed man who helped him descend on his one good leg.

  “Gilbert! Oh, my son!” Mrs. Ballard dashed across the platform, the tails of her scarf flying like banners. She wrapped Gilbert in a desperate hug sure to crush the breath from his lungs.

  By the time Annemarie regained her senses enough to set her feet into motion, she found Gilbert surrounded by his mother, brother, and now an ambulance attendant as his companion helped him into the wheelchair. Mrs. Ballard chattered like a mynah bird while tearfully fussing over her son. Thomas laughed through his own tears and gave his brother a hearty slap on the back.

  The uniformed companion edged to one side, and as Annemarie drew near, she glimpsed the gold cross on his collar. He looked up at her with a sudden smile, then doffed his cap and stepped forward. “Annemarie. I’d know you anywhere.”

  Clear gray eyes met hers in a look both hesitant and compelling. Torn between urgency to make her way to Gilbert and curiosity about the intriguing stranger who somehow knew her name, she stammered a reply. “I’m—forgive me—he’s—”

  The fair-haired chaplain nodded and stepped out of her way. She hurried past, reaching Gilbert’s side with barely time for a few words and a loving glance. Reaching around his mother’s stout form, Gilbert found Annemarie’s hand—her gloveless hand—and clutched it for a precious moment before Mrs. Ballard had the medics bustling him into the ambulance.

  Disappointed, deflated, Annemarie felt the last remnants of hope slipping away. The reunion she’d dreamed about was over almost before it began.

  “Chin up, dear.” Mama wrapped an arm around Annemarie’s shoulders. “Today a mother received her son back. Be thankful, and look forward to tomorrow. You and Gilbert will have the rest of your lives together.”

  If only, if only . . .

  She held her bare hand against her cheek and thanked the Lord for missing gloves.

  One glimpse of the real-life Annemarie and Samuel was smitten. Gilbert’s fiancée was ever so much more beautiful in person than in the faded, crumpled photograph Gilbert kept close to his heart. Samuel had never seen such heavenly brown eyes, nor lips so full and inviting.

  Get hold of yourself, man. She’s spoken for.

  He waited to be sure Gilbert was in the ambulance before collecting his baggage and deciding he’d better find a place to stay. Though the military hospital provided housing for doctors and certain other staff members, maintaining a certain distance between the professional and personal aspects of his new duty assignment seemed preferable. He left his things with the stationmaster, then set out to explore the city.

  Gilbert’s descriptions of forested mountains and burbling mineral springs had certainly whetted his interest in Hot Springs—not to mention the idea of settling amid new surroundings for a while. His mother back in Fort Wayne made no secret of her disappointment, but he wasn’t ready to return there. Too many reminders of the life he’d left behind. If he’d known how the war would scar him, if he could have foreseen the nearly insurmountable challenges to his faith—

  He paused on the sidewalk, fist clenched. Lord, I’m striving with all of my being to remain faithful. Give me strength.

  As usual, the heavens remained silent, and Samuel could only walk on in the hope that the God he lived to serve hadn’t completely forsaken him.

  Except for the pines, nearly all the trees had shed their leaves for the winter. The landscape, while still wildly beautiful, now shivered under an iron-gray sky as Samuel marched up Central Avenue in search of accommodations. Bathhouse Row, they called it, this strip of health spas at the foot of a mountain. He read the names as he walked past—Lamar, Fordyce, Superior, among others—and wondered why so many so close together didn’t drive each other out of business.

  At the far end of the tree-lined promenade, he spied the Arlington Hotel and remembered Gilbert said his brother was a manager there. Considering how Gilbert had described the hotel, Samuel suspected the rates for a long-term stay would far exceed his chaplain’s pay, but at least it was a place to start.

  He marched up the front steps and ente
red an expansive and elegant lobby. Already Samuel felt out of his element. He clamped his sagging jaw and tried to look nonchalant while he got his bearings. An elderly couple in coats and mufflers nodded a greeting as they shuffled toward the exit. Excusing himself to move out of their way, Samuel backed into a glass curio cabinet.

  The sound of rattling figurines shot panic through Samuel’s chest. He whirled around and braced both hands on the cabinet until everything settled. Thank heavens nothing had broken. After a quick glance across the lobby confirmed his clumsiness had gone unnoticed, he pretended to admire the items gracing the shelves.

  A moment later, he was no longer pretending. Behind the glass, a striking assortment of ceramic vases, bowls, plates, and platters were on display. Original Pottery Designs by A. Kendall of Hot Springs, Arkansas, read a small, handwritten sign on the middle shelf. Samuel looked closer to read the tiny price tags next to each item.

  Or, more accurately, hefty prices printed on tiny tags.

  “Interested in a gift for someone?”

  Samuel glanced over his shoulder at a slender, dark-haired gentleman in a gray suit. He uttered a reluctant chuckle. “No, thanks. Just admiring the work.”

  “Well, you won’t find anything finer—” The man moved into Samuel’s line of vision, and his face spread into a sudden smile of recognition. “You’re the soldier who was with my brother on the train.”

  Samuel studied the man’s face. “And you’re Gilbert’s younger brother. He’s told me a lot about you.”

  “Thomas Ballard, at your service.” He gripped Samuel’s hand and pumped it violently. “Guess we were too preoccupied at the depot for formal introductions. Then my mother took over and I decided to get out of the way.”

  Samuel had certainly taken note of the domineering Mrs. Ballard. No wonder Gilbert had so frequently voiced his misgivings about returning to such a smothering welcome. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Thomas. I’m Samuel Vickary. I got acquainted with your brother aboard the Comfort while we were shipping back to the States.”

  “Here, let’s sit down and take a load off. You must be worn out after your long trip.” Thomas ushered Samuel over to a brocade settee. From here they could look out over busy Central Avenue. “You’re a chaplain, I see. In town for some R and R? Hot Springs is a great place to rest and rejuvenate.”

  “Actually, the Army and Navy Hospital is my new duty assignment, and I’m in need of some living quarters.”

  “Then look no further. You’ve come to the right place.”

  Again, Samuel let his gaze travel the expensively decorated lobby. He released a nervous chuckle. “I’m afraid even a night or two at the Arlington would obliterate my finances. Any chance you could point me toward a rooming house or a reasonably priced apartment?”

  “Heavens no! Why, you’ll stay with my mother and me, of course.”

  Samuel coughed his surprise.

  “I’m serious. The house is huge, and it’s just Mother, me, and a couple of live-in servants. You’d have an entire upstairs wing to yourself.”

  Wing? “Really, I couldn’t impose. Besides, you don’t even know me.”

  Thomas’s expression sobered. “I saw you with my brother. I saw the genuine concern in your eyes. And even in those brief moments I could see how much he trusts and relies on you. That’s enough for me. It’ll be enough for my mother, too.”

  Samuel lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’ll give you a hint: yes.”

  Still stunned, Samuel cracked a crooked grin. “All right, then, if you’re sure your mother won’t object.”

  “To my brother’s new best friend who also happens to be a man of the cloth?” Thomas clapped Samuel on the shoulder. “Consider yourself part of the family.”

  “Thanks. I’m grateful beyond words.” At worst, he’d try the arrangement for a week or two while determining whether he and the Ballards were compatible housemates. And he’d insist on paying a fair rate for room and board.

  Then, as Thomas drove him back to the depot to collect his belongings, it occurred to him living at the Ballard home might mean he’d see more of Gilbert’s fiancée.

  Annemarie. Samuel’s pulse quickened at the very thought of her.

  He knotted his fists. What would it take for him to shake off such ridiculous notions? Gilbert’s crisis of despair was only temporary, and any day now he’d come to his senses. In the meantime, Samuel had made it his sworn duty to make sure Gilbert found himself again and reclaimed the woman whose love had sustained him through the war.

  At least one of them deserved a happy ending.

  5

  Gilbert knew it would be like this, Mother hovering, Thomas pressing for details about the war. The only bright spot in this dreaded reunion was seeing his beloved Annemarie again. Dear God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered!

  Dear God, give me the strength to give her up.

  After days on the train, Gilbert was none too happy about the ambulance ride, three wounded veterans crowded into the back of the small vehicle. At least it was only a few blocks to the hospital.

  At least it got him away from his doting mother.

  For a while anyway. It didn’t take long for her to find him once he’d been admitted. Her strident voice carried throughout the ward as she kept insisting her son simply must have a private room.

  “There are no private rooms available, ma’am,” a nurse patiently explained. “I assure you, your son will get the best of care right here on the ward.”

  “But he’s an officer. Are you certain something can’t be arranged—”

  “Mother. Stop. Please.” Gilbert sank deeper into his pillow and closed his eyes. Tired, so tired. If they’d just let him sleep . . .

  “Gilbert?”

  The soft, sweet voice ripped a hole in his heart. He slid open his eyes to find Annemarie at his bedside, the same unruly tress creeping across her right temple. At the depot he’d scarcely had two minutes to soak up her beauty, her longing gazes, the tender touch of her hand, until Mother insisted if he sat there a moment longer, he’d “catch his death.”

  Death. If the woman only knew how many times he’d faced death on the battlefield, how many times he still faced it in his own dark thoughts.

  Annemarie stepped closer and ran a finger along his forehead, nudging aside a lock of hair. He hadn’t had a haircut in weeks, hadn’t shaved for at least two days. He’d seen the stunned look in her eyes when she first glimpsed him at the depot. Wounded, unkempt—how he must look to her! Heaven help him, this was not how he’d envisioned his homecoming . . . at least not before a whizzbang from a German 77mm field gun took his leg, tore his arm to shreds, and left him with the mother of all headaches.

  Suppressing a groan, he edged higher in the bed and reached for Annemarie’s hand. “What are you doing here? This is no place for you.”

  She glanced at their surroundings—rows of beds marching down each side of the ward, trays of medical supplies on steel carts, nurses moving quietly among the patients with cups of water, bowls of broth . . . hypodermics filled with morphine.

  A physical craving curdled his belly. He tugged his hand free of Annemarie’s and clenched a fist. How much longer before they’d bring him another injection?

  Annemarie was speaking. He swallowed, his mouth tasting like cotton, and shifted his glance to her face. “What did you say?”

  She gave a gentle laugh. “I just asked, if I shouldn’t be here, then where should I be?” She bent over him, one arm encircling his head, her breath like gossamer against his cheek. A tear pooled in the corner of her eye. “Oh, Gilbert, I’ve missed you so much!”

  “My, my, my!” His mother appeared at his left, hands clasped at her bosom. “How long I have waited to see the two of you together again. Gilbert, dear, I will leave you in Annemarie’s care while I find your doctor to discuss your course of treatment. And see what can be done about a private room.”<
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  “Mother, I told you—”

  “No arguments, my darling. Only the very best for my son the war hero.” Dropping a kiss upon his forehead, she bustled out of the ward.

  Before Gilbert could apologize to Annemarie for his mother’s interruption—not to mention her usual high-handedness—a nurse approached. “Visiting hours are over. I must ask you to say your good-byes and let our patient have his rest.”

  Annemarie cast Gilbert another longing gaze as she stroked his forehead. “I’ll come again tomorrow, as soon as I can break away from the factory.”

  This was his chance to tell her not to return, to never see him again. That’s what he’d planned, anyway, all the way across the ocean, then the long train ride home. But she was so beautiful, so very beautiful. And when he looked into those wide brown eyes so filled with love, he could almost forget he’d come home half a man.

  He’d never hold her in two strong arms again. He’d never stand beside her on two good legs. He’d never carry her over the threshold into their married life together.

  At the far end of the ward, she turned with a smile and a cheery wave before slipping out through the swinging double door. He yearned to cry out, to beg her not to go. Though twenty other patients filled the ward, Gilbert had never felt so alone, not even when he lay blown to bits on a bloody field in France.

  He clawed his good hand through the hair at his temple. A thousand cannons exploded inside his skull. “Nurse. Nurse!”

  A flame-haired girl in a white apron hurried over. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “The pain—I need my injection.”

  The nurse checked his chart and frowned. “I’m so sorry. It’s too soon.”

  “There must be something—”

  “Let me find a doctor.”

  He wanted to tell her to forget the doctor and fetch him a loaded pistol. He was ready to do anything if it would take away the pain.

  Why couldn’t You let me die on the battlefield, Lord?

  Even a slow, painful death would have been so much easier than giving up the love of his life.