She looked up, surprised. Good. He enjoyed surprising her.
“It’s a poem from a Boston paper, from the War Between the States. Of course, those Yankees use a different name, but we won’t hold that against them in this instance.”
She smiled. “How very gracious of you.” When he unfolded the paper and cleared his throat, her eyebrows arched further. “A recitation? Goodness, I am honored.”
He started to say she was also beautiful, but stopped himself. She was the kind of woman more moved by poetry than easy compliments. And he could barely believe he was about to recite poetry for her. His father would cuff him and tell him he was soft, but his father was not staring into those stunning hazel eyes. He noticed, to his great pleasure, that she stopped knitting and gave him her full attention.
“Faith and hope give strength to her sight,
She sees a red dawn after the night.
Oh, soldiers brave, will it brighten the day,
And shorten the march on the weary way,
To know that at home the loving and true
Are knitting and hoping and praying for you.”
Normally John would have said it was foolishly poetic to call a lady’s eyes “glistening,” but there was no other word for how she looked at him when he finished. A very tightly held piece of him flew out of his grasp as she did. He thought, at that moment, that he would do twenty painful laps around that horrid gymnasium if it meant she would look at him that way again. Or a while longer. He felt the curve of her smile deep in his chest, warm and disarming.
“You are a most amazing man, Captain Gallows.” She said it with something he dearly hoped was awe.
“John,” he blurted out, not caring that they were in a very public hallway where anyone could walk by.
“John,” she said quietly. Her eyes flicked down, and the delicacy of the gesture affected him just as surely as if her eyelashes had brushed his cheek.
She looked up at him twice after that, and they both pretended to go back to their work. By her third intake of breath he gently pushed the hand holding her needles down to still on her lap. “Go ahead.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re trying not to ask me something. Even someone with my alarming lack of subtlety could see that. Leanne.” He used her name, not wanting to lose the closeness of the moment. “Ask me anything.”
She hesitated again, carefully choosing words, tentative as a doe. “How did it change you? Your accident. You speak so gallantly of it, and yet I can’t help but think it was a harrowing experience.”
He saw the question hiding in so many eyes after his speeches. What’s it like, to almost die? Some were genuinely interested, others grotesquely fascinated. “How did it change me?” He discarded his stock answer of having been a better dancer before, knowing she deserved the truest answer he had. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure what that answer was. “I suppose,” he started, no idea where he was going, “that not much frightens me now. Except, perhaps, the idea of not being worthy of the second chance I’ve been given.”
He needn’t have worried she would find such words foolish, for the comment only doubled the warmth in her eyes. “I think that a very worthy thing to fear. Far too many soldiers have come home ready to squander their lives, as if they’ve suddenly inherited some grand fortune and must spend it immediately.” She began stitching again, her fingers working without any attention or even a glance downward. Why was he so enthralled by Leanne’s delicate hands? “Then there are those like Private Carson,” she went on. “I think he fears he hasn’t come home worth anything at all. I think it’s good you recognize the gift you’ve been given.” A small laugh ruffled around the edges of her words. “Even if you are dreadfully cheeky about it.”
“I prefer to think I’m wonderfully cheeky about it.” Her laugh was full and musical, as warm as her eyes and as clear as sunlight.
“Oh, I’ve no doubt. Pity the poor soul who can see through your bravado, my good captain.”
Had she realized what she just said? “Can you?” Her laugh stilled, and even John was stunned by how dark his words had become without his realizing it. “What do you see?”
He watched her falter, then find her courage. He would wait. He wanted—needed—to hear her answer to this question. She finally looked straight at him, steady and honest. “I think that charming as you are, you are in more pain than you let on to anyone. I think what happened up there in the sky changed you even more than you know, and you are wise enough to be frightened of that fact. I think I amuse you, that you are used to getting your way far too much and…” she flushed, the needles in her hands finally stopping their movement “…that you have a very regrettable habit of making me say too much.”
John ought to have had a clever comeback for a sermon like that, but his wit failed him. After far too long a pause, he resorted to the only superiority he could manage. “Well, now, you’ve given me no choice.”
“I’ve misspoken. I’m sorry.”
“On the contrary, I can’t see how I can respond to that with anything but an invitation to the officers’ ball Friday evening. You do in fact—” although he didn’t really like her choice of words “—amuse me, far more than perhaps is good for either of us. And you’re absolutely right, I always get my way so don’t bother to decline. You do say far too much, but that should come greatly in handy at a ball, seeing as now I can’t dance and I haven’t any more poetry. And we’ve already seen you are a master of distraction.”
“An officers’ ball?”
“The USS Charleston crew is having a grand event thrown for them in New York. The ship earned its liberty flag.”
“Surely you’re not asking me to go to New York!”
John laughed to think she thought him capable of such celebrity. “Not at all. The general’s throwing a much smaller ball here, though, as a twin celebration. I can’t promise you the splendor of the Astor Hotel, but I suspect it will be a grand evening just the same. Besides, after our last session, I would think you’d find it in my medical interest. It was you who suggested I waltz, after all. To deny me is to deny my continued recovery.”
She liked the idea. How could she not, when she herself had come up with the idea of a waltz to improve his movement? And truly, what woman can resist a ball? Yet she was trying. “I’m sure I’m not allowed to go.”
“Anyone may come as a guest of an officer. And even if you weren’t allowed, hasn’t it yet become clear to you that I’m not much for rules? Aside from your therapeutic assistance, you and I constitute a community service. Barnes is giving the ball, he makes the rules—and he’ll allow it if I ask him. I know that man. He will just see it as an extension of the publicity campaign—which it isn’t,” he added quickly. “This is purely a social request.”
She completed a stitch and eyed him. “Oh, no, it isn’t. You’ve something up your sleeve.”
“I’m crushed you would think so.” She was right, of course; he did. “Have you peered into my soul and found me so deeply lacking?”
“It does not take much observation to know John Gallows is fond of schemes.” She put down the stitching. “May I suggest a novel approach? Why don’t you tell me the real reason why we’re going, and I might surprise you by consenting. It will save us both time and considerable energy.”
She meant it. That struck him as both disturbing and irresistible. At first he held back, hiding in a few botched stitches and clamping his mouth shut so hard his teeth nearly clacked.
“I would like to take you to the ball,” he said, hoping the half-truth would suffice but rather sure it wouldn’t. He looked up, expecting her to gloat, but found the most extraordinary expression on her face. Not victory, not amusement but genuine pleasure.
She waited. Glory, but that woman knew how to wield her silences. “And why,” she said eventually, “would you like to take me to the ball?”
It had somehow become a game, a match of wits rather than some battle he must win. “There
’s no mystery there—men like to take women to balls. The dancing is so dreadfully dull if there are no women present.”
“Ah, the dancing.” Her eyes lit up. “You want to dance at the ball, is it? Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t we?”
“Why? We danced the other day.”
“It’s just that you don’t strike me as the kind of man to do things he doesn’t do exceptionally well.”
“I dance exceptionally well for a man of my…experiences.” He started to say “limitations,” which wasn’t like him at all. A Gallows never bowed to limitations. “And yes, I want to be seen dancing.”
Her eyes widened in understanding. “You want General Barnes to see you dancing, don’t you? You want to show him how well your leg is so that he’ll send you back.”
He thought about denying it, but there really wasn’t any use. “Partly.”
“Entirely.” She pushed out a sigh. “Why deceive him like that? You’ve made great strides, but your leg is not healed by any means. Certainly not enough to do what you’re asking.”
“I can accomplish one waltz, for goodness’ sake. That is, if you help me.”
“I’m sure you could find any number of women willing to aid you in this deception. As you said, men ask women to balls all the time.”
He leaned in. “I need you.” She knew how to let him lean on her, how to offer support in ways that weren’t obvious. Any other woman would make him look—and feel—like an invalid. He had to look like the most capable man in the room. “Please do this for me.” He’d sworn he wouldn’t plead.
“I can’t.”
He gave her his best Gallows command. “You can. Just help me through one dance in front of Barnes. I shall be a model patient after that.”
“You will not ever be a model patient. It will hurt, John.”
“It hurts now. I’m no stranger to pain for a worthy goal.”
She paused for an unbearable gap of silence until John was sure he’d burst. Then she began twirling the yarn around her finger the way she did when she worked out a problem, and he knew he’d prevailed. “I’ve nothing to wear.”
A “thank-you” swelled in his heart, and for a frightening moment he wasn’t sure if the gratitude was directed at her or Heaven. “I’ll buy you a dress myself if I must call that bluff.” He knew he would stop at nothing to get her acceptance—but if her arguments were on such trivial matters now, then victory was surely close at hand.
“Here is my proposition—if you get as far as the gusset on your sock, I’ll waltz with you at the ball.” She pointed to the bottom of her sock’s cuff, the part where he imagined the heel began.
“That far? By Friday? You’re mad.”
“I could say the same of you, trying to make a showplace out of an officers’ ball.”
She had him. And he had her. He hadn’t enjoyed anything this much since France. “Please ask God to stop popping ideas into your head. I fear I won’t survive the next one.”
Chapter Twelve
Leanne turned slightly, watching how the fringe of the delicate champagne underskirt swished elegantly. It made the most delightful sound as it moved beneath the smooth rose overskirt. She was nearly ready for the officers’ ball.
She’d owned the rose-and-white cameo for years, but it sat at her neck with a new regal air. Ida had loaned her some pearl ear bobs and pulled up Leanne’s hair in a way that set them off beautifully. “I know Captain Gallows is a handsome fellow, but who knew it went deeper than that?” Ida said as she tucked a cream rose into Leanne’s hair.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I’m no expert on such matters, but I do know it takes far more than a handsome face to catch your fancy. There must be a fair amount behind those gorgeous eyes.”
It was unnerving to have someone else recognize the tumult going on inside her. “Pardon?”
Ida sat back on one hip. “You really think I didn’t know? Honey, it’s all over your face every time that man walks in the room. I know you try to hide it—he does, too—but neither of you are having much success. And tonight, why, you’re fairly glowing.”
Leanne felt her face flush. “I…”
Ida set down the hairbrush. “Relax. There’s no shame in enjoying the attentions of a handsome man. Half of Columbia would line up to be in your place. I’ve never thought we had much choice in where our hearts landed, anyways.”
Leanne turned to her friend. “My heart? He would not be the one my heart would choose. And yet, in the past few days I’ve seen…compelling things in his nature. It’s as if I can’t help it—I see too deeply into his character. And he into mine. But, Ida, why on earth would I have such a response to a man without faith? I can’t have a future with such a man.”
“How do you know he’s got no faith?” When Leanne raised a dubious eyebrow, Ida continued, “Well, yes, I know he acts like a rollicking fellow on the outside, but if you say he goes deeper than that, why not straight-out ask him?”
Standing and straightening her skirts, Leanne eyed herself in the mirror. Her dress was stunning, her hair lovely, the evening air was perfect but none of these things explained why Leanne could not squelch the thrill she felt this evening. Like a princess. A princess with entirely the wrong prince. “I don’t have to.” She sighed, fingering the cameo. “We’ve spoken of it directly. I believe he admires my faith, that much is true, but he surely does not share it.”
“Gracious, Leanne, it’s a ball, not a marriage proposal. You said he asked for your help in something—” for Leanne would not break John’s confidence about the waltz “—and you’re helping. What would he learn about God if you turned him down?” Ida helped Leanne into her shawl, sighing her approval as she cast her gaze from head to foot. “Perfection.” She handed Leanne her evening bag. “Maybe it isn’t the faith he has that’s important here, but the faith he could have.” Ida chuckled a bit. “Why, could you imagine what God could do with a fellow like that once He got through to him?”
She’d had the same thought dozens of times since meeting John Gallows, and it hadn’t rendered her attraction any less dangerous.
It was the oddest thing to watch John turn as she entered the parlor. His entire countenance changed, as if someone had just sent an electric current through him. Most unnerving of all was the knowledge that the “current” had been the sight of her. She could understand the shock, however, for no less than twice the voltage seemed to shoot through her at the sight of him.
John was in the same dashing dress uniform he had worn for his presentation—hung with medals and strung with gold cords so that he looked every inch the hero—but it seemed to have double the effect on her this time. Maybe because now she knew more about the man under all those very fine trappings. He had his hat tucked under his elbow, so that the glossy curves of his hair picked up the flicker of the lights behind him. He looked at her stunned as if they’d never met, and yet smiling as though greeting a long-lost friend. She was sure she had the same expression on her own face, for John looked like the John Gallows she knew, and then again like the most handsome hero God ever created. Ida sighed a swooning “My, my, my!” behind her. Some small part of her was glad they were friends, glad she’d been privy to his weaknesses, for had she met him in all his glory like this she would surely have been starstruck.
“I’d never have thought I’d be so happy to reach a gusset,” he said, reaching into his pocket to show the nine inches of ribbing she’d required of him. In her fluster over the party, she’d completely forgotten the bargain she’d struck. John Gallows was very good at dissolving her sensibilities. “I’d have hated to miss this.” He walked toward her, the cane making him look like some grand English lord. “You look absolutely lovely.”
He truly meant it, she could see it in his eyes, but he paid the compliment with such oversize gallantry that Leanne was sure she was more pink than her dress. After the long moment it took to find her voice, she managed a “Thank you.”
“Toni
ght will be a new experience for me,” he began as he laid the sock on the hall table, donned his cap and extended his arm. “I’m not accustomed to everyone’s eyes being on someone else. I find I can’t decide if you’ve foiled my plan or helped it immensely.”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, feeing for all the world like Cinderella. “Captain Gallows, you overestimate my appeal.”
“Oh, no,” he said with a look that made Leanne’s insides flutter in ten directions, “I don’t believe I do.” Ida opened the hall doors for them, grinning entirely too widely as she ushered them into the golden stillness of the fall evening. The weather was perfect beyond measure, and while they both paused at the top of the Red Cross House stairs to take in the glory of the evening, his gaze came to rest unapologetically on her. “I talked Nelson out of calisthenics today,” he said as he gripped the railing to work his way carefully down the stairs. “I told him I’d shift my weight all afternoon and that you and I would walk to the Assembly Hall. In dress boots at that, so it ought to count for six laps if not seven.”
He looked steeled for battle, so determined to reach the goal he’d set for himself that she felt guilty for her own doubts. It was a perfect evening for walking, but wouldn’t that run the risk of taxing his leg in advance of the ball? “Are you sure you want to walk?”
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