When the Clouds Roll By

by Myra Johnson

“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

  More 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.

  And pray. If the Lord meant for the two of them to be together, He’d bring it about in His own good time.

  And then Wednesday afternoon it happened.

  “Mary?”

  At the sound of his voice, she whirled around, nearly dropping the stack of fresh linens in her arms. She cast a quick glance right and left, but except for Gilbert, the corridor was empty.

  A lazy grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Hope I didn’t startle you.”

  “Heavens, no.” And lying’s a sin, Mary McClarney. She swallowed the nervous prickles climbing up her throat. A pillowcase slid to the floor, and she stared at it as if it might sprout wings and fly back to her. Anything to keep from looking into the eyes of the man who could slice her anxious heart to shreds or send it soaring heavenward with just one word.

  He wheeled closer. “I’ve missed you, Mary.”

  “Have you, now?” Mary drew her shoulders back and forced her eyes to meet his. No matter how sweet his words, his tone, his pleading gaze, she wasn’t without pride. “I’m not hard to find, should anyone care to come looking.”

  “I care, Mary. Honestly I do.” A regretful frown deepened the dimple in his right cheek. “Truth is I worried you might be put out with me for ruining our date the other night. I did promise you dinner, after all, and then had the nerve to fall asleep in your lap.”

  “You needn’t apologize. I could tell you were upset by—” She drew her lower lip between her teeth. Bringing Miss Kendall into the conversation would only amplify his discomfort—and Mary’s. “I mean, it was clear how much pain you were suffering. My father had headaches like that, too.”

  “I knew you understood.” Gilbert’s hand sought hers, and she nearly dropped the sheets again. “Will you give me another chance? Dinner this weekend? You name the time and place.”

  “Well, I . . . ” Between the hopeful look in his eyes and the smooth warmth of his palm cradling her hand, she could hardly think a coherent thought. To her left, a storage room door stood ajar. With another hurried glance in both directions, she nodded toward the door. “Perhaps we should . . .”

  He took the hint, and she followed him into the storage room. As she nudged the door closed behind them, he turned his chair to face her. His gaze slanting downward, he murmured, “I’ve been a cad, Mary. Please let me make it up to you.”

  Monday’s conversation with the chaplain swirled through Mary’s brain, bringing with it a measure of the good sense she seemed to lack whenever in the presence of Lieutenant Gil
bert Ballard. Taking a step backward, she speared him with an accusing stare. “Seems like you’re always needin’ to make something up to me. But I’m not someone to be pitied. Nor am I a woman to be toyed with whilst your own heart is mending. Ask me out because you want to be with me, or we’ll not be seeing each other again.”

  Gilbert flinched, and for a long, painful minute she expected him to wheel himself out the door and vanish from her life as quickly as he’d come into it. Then slowly he lifted his gaze to meet hers, and the tortured look beneath those dark and twisted brows bored a hole straight through her soul. His voice low and ragged, he said, “I don’t deserve you, Mary McClarney. But I need you. I need you like the air I breathe.”

  Her hand flew to her heart, as if she could stifle the ferocious pounding behind her sternum. Need wasn’t the same as love . . . but couldn’t it become love . . . someday?

  Gilbert lifted an imploring hand. “Please, Mary.”

  The linens cascaded to the floor. Slowly, slowly, she sank to her knees in front of his chair, her whole body atremble as he leaned forward to draw her against his chest. His breath scalded her cheek as his lips sought hers. Her fingers crept upward to twine themselves through his thick black curls, and she claimed them in a way she’d only dreamed of that night in the backseat of his car.

  Now Gilbert’s hungry kiss claimed her, until the urgency of his need made her tear herself from his arms with a whispered cry. She huddled amongst the scattered linens, her heart threatening to explode from her chest. The air in the tiny room pulsed with the sounds of their gasping breaths.

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Mary leapt to her feet. “Lord have mercy! What are we doing?” Frantically she gathered up sheets and pillowcases, now wrinkled and soiled, and prayed whoever approached didn’t stop at the storage room.

  When the steps continued on, she braved a glance at Gilbert. Would he now think her a shameless harlot? He said he needed her. Did he only mean in that way?

  He ran a hand across his upper lip and gave her a shaky smile. “I know what you’re thinking, Mary, and you’re wrong. But I won’t apologize for kissing you, and I’d do it again—I will do it again, every chance I get, if you’ll let me.” Again, he reached for her hand, tugging her knuckles to his lips for a searing kiss. “Say you’ll let me, Mary. Say it.”