It certainly was the last thing he’d expected. “Really? I rather thought I’d botched the explanation, myself.” He waited for some speech of chastisement from her, the “be sensible,” “you’ve suffered a serious injury” or worst of all “don’t be such a selfish, ungrateful cad” sort he’d been expecting her to launch into any moment. Especially after the way he’d just behaved in that insufferable photographic session. He’d deserve every word of it if she did decide to scold.
She didn’t. She just stared at him for a long moment, as if reading some startling new information in his face, and then resumed her knitting. With the most confounding smile on her face. She understood. How, he’d never guess, for he knew the thought was foreign to her. She was a creature of peace and comfort, he of pride and battle. He mostly just let her knit in silence because he was truly stumped at how to respond. Land sakes, when was the last time a woman stumped him?
A few minutes later she came to a decision of sorts, for she put down her knitting, sat upright and turned to looked him in the eye. “John, I should like to ask you something.”
Did she have any idea how beautiful she looked when she got like that? Warm and effervescent as if she held the secret of life in her hands? “Anything.”
“Well, actually, I would like to ask you to let me do something.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Why yes, of course you may kiss me.” The resulting flame in her cheeks was entirely too irresistible, and he laughed until she did as well.
She covered her face in her hands like a schoolgirl. “You are incorrigible. Really. I am trying to be serious.”
He’d known that, knew it would mortify her and had been helpless to rein in his impulses. Only half of him regretted it, which was a dubious sign indeed. “My apologies,” he said, truly meaning it. “I made a promise to be a gentleman the other night, and I mean to keep it. Very well then, let us be serious. What is your request?”
She could not raise her eyes. “I cannot ask now. You’ve dashed my courage.” He felt her words like a thorn, knowing he deserved the prick. She pushed her knitting back into the bag and went to rise.
John caught her elbow. He could not, would not let it go after she’d been so forgiving of his misbehavior after the ball. “Please,” he pleaded, tugging her back toward the bench. “I am sorry. Truly. Please, Leanne, ask me anything you like. I can’t imagine denying any request you have to make.”
Leanne let her eyes fall closed for a second, mustering her nerve. What could possibly be so difficult for her to ask? “I should like to ask…if you would allow…I should like to pray for your leg. I don’t see any other way for you to pass the exam as quickly as you feel you must save with God’s help. If not for your peace of mind then for mine.”
John didn’t know what he’d expected, but this surely wasn’t it. “You want to pray for my leg? For the test?”
She looked embarrassed by the thought. “Yes.”
He blinked. It had been a long time since someone surprised him so. “For your peace of mind?”
“What you want seems terribly foolish and a waste of many of your gifts. And yet, somehow, I can see why you want to be there even when you are so needed here. I don’t know which is right, so how can I do anything but leave it to God to decide? I cannot go on having no peace about it. And, quite frankly, neither can you. When you are angry and frustrated your leg is only worse.”
“Your prayers are yours to make, by all means.”
Her face reddened further, and he felt heat prickle his own palms. “I meant here. Now. With you.”
John’s discomfort with the notion was nearly physical, and yet he found himself completely unable to launch any refusal. She was genuinely trying to help, and it clearly meant a great deal to her. “He’s bound to know I don’t…subscribe. Why assist someone who shows Him no regard?”
“Because we are all His children, and He delights in granting our requests—if they are for our good, of course.”
Now it made sense to him. “So if you pray for my success and I achieve it, then you can be assured God considers it for my own good? And should I fail tomorrow’s test, the same assurance holds?”
“That is rather putting it oddly, but I suppose, yes.”
“Doesn’t speak much for my role in the achievement, does it?” He shifted in his seat. “I suppose I should feel rather insignificant now that you put it that way.”
She smiled. “I don’t think you are capable of feeling insignificant.”
He coughed, rattled beyond words. This was going to be awkward. He could already feel a sweat breaking out above his collar. The photographic crew had left, and they were essentially alone, but they were still in a hallway. In the middle of a building. Ought such things happen rather in churches, in private or on ancient mountaintops? Here seemed so—ordinary. Yet try as he might, he could not find it in his heart to deny Leanne this request. “I’m not at all sure how one goes about such things.” He sighed, trying not to sound put out. “Closing of the eyes and folding of hands, isn’t it?”
A warm amusement replaced the flush on her features. “Nothing is required of you. You may close your eyes if you like—I always do—but you need not pray with me, only allow me to pray for you.” A sparkle lit her eyes. “It won’t hurt. I suspect you won’t even feel a thing.”
I doubt that, John thought, although he didn’t know what on earth he’d do if he did feel something other than the acute uneasiness he currently suffered. God did not simply show up on army benches at the request of insistent young ladies. John realized he did not especially want God showing up in any of the everyday parts of his life, did not welcome the idea of the Almighty following close behind his ordinary undertakings, even at Leanne’s insistence. He watched her fold her hands, fighting the urge to take a deep breath as she closed her eyes. He’d dived off high cliffs into unknown waters with less trepidation.
“Holy Father,” she began in a tender voice, “I come to You on behalf of my friend John and his desire to serve.” John shut his eyes, finding the moment too intimate to keep them open. “Cast Your hand over all that happens tomorrow. Let Your will be accomplished. If it is through the strength of his leg and the regard of General Barnes, then let it be so. Your will is to be trusted, so help us both to trust that tomorrow’s outcome is as You wish. I thank You for the many who serve, for the comfort of all those who have lost—lost abilities, loved ones, dreams and health.” John found her voice so peaceful and so full of grace, he had to open his eyes to confirm they had not amazingly transported to some sacred space. She was so changed when she prayed, and yet it came from her as easily as any common words she spoke. “All lives are precious to You, and I thank You for the price You paid for our lives in the sacrifice of Your Son, Jesus. May You guide my path and John’s both tomorrow and always, in Jesus’s name, amen.”
After a second’s hesitation, Leanne opened one eye to his startled gaze and whispered, “It is customary to say ‘amen,’ if you agree with the prayer.”
John didn’t know if he agreed with either the prayer itself or the woman who prayed it, but the “Amen” sounded full and satisfying as it slipped from his mouth.
Chapter Sixteen
John had grown to hate the gymnasium. Without Leanne, it loomed as a drab battlefield on which he waged his personal war against the leg that had become his enemy.
“Gallows. Ready to show me what you can do?” Dr. Madison walked over with the clipboard and pen John had come to loathe almost more than his leg. The doctor was sly, always adjusting the paper so that John could not read whatever notes were being taken. To make matters worse, Madison had a habit of becoming disturbingly cheerful when a benchmark approached. The doctor’s upbeat manner made John feel like a child about to take a school test. Some days he half expected to walk out of a session with a letter grade marked on his forehead. Today was the ultimate “pass” or “fail.”
The exam consisted of several exercises to show his flexibil
ity, two tests of strength and the dastardly test of stamina. “How far, how fast” haunted him every lap of this place, especially when Leanne was not by his side. And she was not by his side today—by his choice, not hers. The distraction of her presence was a risk he could not take. Today was John against pain, pure and simple. John would prevail, pure and simple.
“Weights first, shall we?” Dr. Madison’s smile broadcast confidence as they walked over to the groupings of free weights, pulleys and dumbbells that occupied the north corner of the room. Some considerate soul had placed these benches next to the windows, so that soldiers had a view of a lovely patch of green as they endured therapy. “You worked eighty pounds easily on your left leg last week. If you can get to forty-five degrees with sixty pounds on your right leg, I think you’ll have shown grand progress.”
It was the angle that always posed the problem. Any brute could hoist a pile of iron. It was bending like a pretzel while one did it that always eluded him. “And we all know I’m nothing if not grand.” John smiled as he removed his tan day uniform shirt and hung it on the series of pegs by the wall. He settled himself on the bench, breathing deeply while Nelson loaded the weights.
Breathe in. Brace. Extend. Bend. The healthy left leg complied with ease. Nelson removed half the weights so that John’s right leg hoisted forty pounds. Some pain, but nothing to faze the likes of him. Fifty pounds hurt enough to silence his chatter, but still he managed it with the appearance of ease. Fifty-five stung. Nelson loaded the final five-pound weight and John focused every ounce of his being on the muscles in his right leg. The last six inches of the extension were nasty, but he made it not once but twice. Nelson smiled.
“And the flex next, please.” Dr. Madison merely raised one eyebrow in appreciation as he made some mark on his paper. John rolled over as if in the comfiest of beds. The flex was much easier.
Three more exercises met the requirements John knew Dr. Madison placed on his return orders. “Range of motion, your specialty,” the doctor joked as they moved to a wall marked with a large collection of arcs and lines.
“Where are my cameras?” John casually wiped the sweat from his brow with a rough towel.
“Ever the comedian. To the right, if you will.” John held the bar bolted to the wall and swung his left leg to the right. While it was hard to hold his full weight on his bad leg, the move wasn’t that challenging. It’s opposite—moving his right leg to the left—produced some pain. It was the next exercise—side steps with his body weight involved, precisely the move Leanne was attempting to improve with her waltzing scheme—that proved difficult. He closed his eyes, imagining his careful twirls around the room with Leanne, grafting her image into his memories of easy dances and carefree parties before the war. His leg cramped up a bit with the second try, but he was able to meet the black mark on the wall he knew to be his goal. How irritating to have one’s future hanging on a smudge of paint two inches out of reach.
“Nurse Sample’s ingenuity agrees with you,” Dr. Madison remarked with amusement. “Two inches greater range. Perhaps we should enlist more violinists.”
“I’d prefer if you enlisted better cooks,” John said as he turned to stand with his back against the wall, bending to the far left as instructed. “I’ve lost weight in the time I’ve been here. How is it the army managed better rations in France than on its own…” He caught a sight out of the corner of his eye that stole the end of his thought. Through one corner of one window, perhaps where she thought he could not see her, John saw Leanne. She was seated on a small bench by the corner of the yard outside the gymnasium—one of the many chairs set out for reconstruction patients to sit and take in the sun.
“Captain?” Dr. Madison pushed his clipboard into John’s vision. “On its own what?”
“…soil,” John finished, fishing the thought back up from the depths of his brain where the sight of Leanne had banished it. He’d asked Leanne not to attend today’s examination, and yet there she was, sitting on the hill facing the gymnasium. “Soil,” he repeated, fighting the urge to blink and shake his head as he performed the “touch your toes” movement he knew came next. “How is it the army can’t cook on its own soil?”
“I expect it is the sheer number of mouths to feed now.” It was true: Camp Jackson had swollen beyond capacity weeks ago, with men and facilities tucked into every conceivable corner. Dr. Madison peered down to see how close John’s hands got to his boots. John pressed the extra two inches to brush the top of his laces, pretending the lightning bolt of pain currently shooting up his right leg wasn’t really there. He returned to upright, half expecting to find Leanne gone, the image of her under the tree a figment of his imagination.
“Again, please.” Dr. Madison’s tone was dry, rather less impressed than John would have liked.
He started to say “Why?” but replaced it with “Certainly,” making it sound as if reaching for his boots was the highlight of his dressing routine rather than one of the most painful parts of every morning. When he returned upright for the second time, he fixed his eyes on Leanne to block out his leg’s complaint. Why would she come here when he’d asked her not to? The answer hit him when he recognized the particular fold of her hands. Why must he continually experience the sight and sound of Leanne Sample praying for him? That’s what she was doing, he could tell. Hang her, she had to pick the one thing he’d find even more distracting than her presence! She had no way of knowing he’d catch sight of her, probably thought she was hidden, and if Dr. Madison had not asked him to bend to the left in this particular spot, he most likely would have missed her. Which begged the even more disturbing question of how “fate”—for it was much easier to consider it fate than Who he knew Leanne would credit for the coincidence—had lined up this glimpse at this particular moment. She’s praying for you. Right now. Your name is leaving her lips, flung toward the vault of Heaven to do something she doesn’t even think is wise.
“Gallows? Captain Gallows!”
John managed to wrench his attention back from Leanne’s folded hands. “Pardon?”
“Are you finding your exam so dull as to daydream out the window?”
“It’s so dreary without the pain,” he lied, enjoying the disbelieving “hrmph” the remark drew from the doctor. “I’m all healed, thanks to you.”
Dr. Madison gave him the look of weary toleration he gave all John’s “I’m healed!” lies and pointed toward the track painted on the gymnasium floor. “You’re much improved, I’ll grant you that. Laps, please.”
Laps, as they had always been, were the true test. John could gut through any measure of pain for the handful of seconds it took to produce a pose, but laps were his ultimate enemy. No matter what mental fortitude he possessed, he could not will his knee not to buckle. He could not persuade his tendons to unfreeze, could not fool his way through a final lap without the help of his cane. John could sway the muses of speech and appearance, but time and distance were two masters he could not best. He’d grown to hate the incessant tick of Dr. Madison’s stopwatch and the battlefield of those cold green ovals with their merciless white borders.
“One mile, eighteen minutes?” John tried to make it sound as if he were selecting between steak or lobster entrees.
“Twenty will suffice.”
In truth, John’s best time at the mile had been twenty-three minutes, and they both knew it. In fact, they never talked as if any of this were ever half as painful and difficult as it truly was. That was the game they played. “Well, as I’ll not be stalling for time with the lovely Nurse Sample on my arm, I expect that should pose no problem.” With a wink and a salute, John set off.
* * *
She shouldn’t be here. He’d told her not to come and she’d argued against it, until he’d told her she would prove too much of a distraction. Part of her told herself he was a soldier who needed to focus on the vital task at hand, but another, more rebellious part of her latched onto the look in his eyes when he’d asked her to sta
y “where that pretty face can’t undermine the mission.”
“I’m not blind.” She’d sighed to Ida the evening before as they’d each sat on their beds after supper. She’d just related how she’d dared to pray over John’s leg, and the dozen emotions of that encounter washed over her with new vigor. “I know my heart is beginning to wander toward him.”
“He’s mighty wander-able.” Ida’s West Virginia drawl languished over the words and she braided her hair into the thick plait she did every evening. “I can’t blame you at all, but you’d best keep the eyes of your soul wide open, as my daddy would say.”
“John has so many good qualities…” She’d told herself that over and over.
“But there are so many…considerations in his case.”
“Considerably!” she joked. “He maneuvers people and situations to suit his own ends far too easily. He is a charmer in the best and worst sense of the word—a silver-tongued man if there ever was one.” Leanne curled her toes up under her skirts and let her head fall back against the bedroom wall. “And he couldn’t be further from any kind of faith. He’s an unsuitable prospect on any number of levels.”
“Were you picking a horse, I might agree. Matters of the heart don’t come quite so clear-cut, I find. Even in horses, though, it’s the yearling that makes the least sense on paper that just may well take the race by storm.”
Leanne managed a chuckle. Ida often had the strangest way of looking at things, and yet they made their own kind of wise sense. “Are you calling Captain Gallows a long shot?”
“I’m just saying the finish line is a long ways off, and you’d best take this race one turn at a time.” Ida tied her braid up in a silk ribbon—one of the few luxuries still within wartime reach. “You’ve put tomorrow in God’s hands. How about you leave it there?”
Leanne had gone to sleep meaning to do just what Ida said, but couldn’t now that the day was here. She’d made too many errors during her rounds this morning, to the point where the doctor had sent her home an hour early and told her to rest. Rest? How could she rest not being allowed to watch John’s test? Unable to stay completely away, Leanne had hid herself on the hill where she could see just into the gymnasium but not in a spot where she’d see him in particular. From here she could watch over where he was without watching over him, and John would never catch sight of her.
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