by Amanda Harte
But very few of us would have reacted positively to watching a doctor cut a hole in our sister’s throat. Carolyn was careful not to say that. Instead, she replied, “Most of us aren’t so sure of our vocation then.”
Dwight shrugged and looked around the courtyard, as if he were seeing it for the first time. The chateau was constructed as a square with the four wings surrounding a central courtyard, a single large gate providing access to it. In earlier times, formal gardens had edged the open space, but the war had changed that, and now there was only mud.
Though the courtyard was bleak, nothing could destroy the beauty of the building itself. Constructed of gray stone with a darker gray slate roof, it was perfectly proportioned, the courtyard large enough that the three-story castle did not overwhelm it.
Carolyn glanced up at the window of the room she shared with Helen. Like all the rooms on the top floor, the window was a dormer set into the steeply pitched roof. Carolyn had seen dormers before, but the ones at home had been utilitarian. They had not been topped with beautiful stone carvings. And none of the buildings she had ever seen in Texas had boasted towers that made them look like a castle from one of the fairytales her mother had read to Carolyn and her sisters.
When she was seven, she had listened to fairytales. The man who stood so close to her had chosen his life’s work at the same age. Carolyn looked at Dwight, trying to picture him as a seven-year-old. “I imagine your family was proud of you.”
To her surprise, Dwight shook his head. “Dad wanted me to be a farmer like him; Mother just wanted whatever Dad did. I knew I’d have to convince them that this was right for me.”
Again, she was amazed. Dwight was unlike anyone she’d ever met. “Obviously, you did convince your parents.”
As Dwight shrugged, the sun glinted off one of the brass buttons on his uniform. “Not right away. At first they figured I’d grow out of it. When I didn’t and it was clear that they weren’t going to approve, I changed my tactics.” Dwight gestured toward the corner of the chateau that was reserved for officers. “No general planned his strategy more carefully than I did.” It wasn’t a boast, merely a simple statement of fact. “The first thing I did was convince Doc Sherman to let me help him.”
“And your parents agreed to that?” It didn’t sound likely, given the way Dwight had described them.
“Not really. They told me I could go into town when I finished my work on the farm. Then they gave me more chores to do.”
“Yet somehow you managed to finish them.”
Two of the nurses left their wing. When they saw Carolyn and Dwight, though they nodded a greeting, Carolyn noticed that they walked along the perimeter of the courtyard rather than taking the direct route that would have brought them close to Dwight.
Seeming oblivious to the nurses’ shunning, Dwight continued his explanation. “I enlisted my sisters’ help. To put it bluntly, I bribed them. I used the money I earned working for the doctor to buy my sisters ribbons and lace and the other things seven young girls craved.”
“Seven? You have seven sisters?” There were days when Carolyn thought two were too many.
“Yes, indeed.” Dwight seemed faintly amused by Carolyn’s reaction. “I’m the oldest child and the only male.”
The elder Mr. Hollins’ behavior suddenly made sense. “No wonder your father wanted you to be a farmer. He wants to leave the farm to you.”
Twin furrows appeared between Dwight’s eyes as he considered Carolyn’s words. “I never thought of that.”
Carolyn knew all about dynasties and inheritances, but perhaps that was because she had lived in a town rather than on a farm. “My father took Theo to the bank from the time he was ten.”
“Theo, I gather, is your brother.”
Carolyn nodded, bemused. Who would have thought that her casual question would have resulted in her standing here in the courtyard trading family histories with Dwight Hollins? “I’m from a smaller family than you,” she told him. “Martha’s two years older than me. The twins—that’s Theo and Emily—are two years younger.”
“So you’re in the middle.” Dwight’s expression was pensive. “I sometimes wondered what it would be like to be a middle child.”
And Carolyn had wondered what it would have been like if she’d been the oldest. “Most of the time I felt as if I had two mothers, my real one and Martha.” Carolyn remembered all the advice Martha had given her and how vehemently her older sister had protested when she had announced her intention of becoming a nurse’s aide. “Didn’t you take care of your sisters?”
“I suppose I did, when there was time. Looking back, though, it seems like I spent every waking moment preparing to be a doctor.”
It was odd. When he’d invited her to accompany him on his rounds, Dwight had seemed in a hurry. Now he was apparently content to stand in the sunshine, talking. “You must have had some time off,” she said. “After all, you fell in love.”
For a second, Dwight’s expression was blank, as if he did not understand her words. Then he nodded brusquely. “Oh, yes. Of course. Louise. A doctor needs a wife like Louise.”
Carolyn stared at him. Dwight sounded the way he had when he had explained his tactics for gaining his parents’ acceptance. It was one thing to plan your education, quite another to choose a wife according to plan. “You sound as if you had a schedule. Step one, finish medical school; step two, find a wife.” Carolyn could picture him making a list the way she did when she was going shopping.
“Would it be so wrong if I had?” Dwight glanced down at her left hand. “Surely you and …” He paused, obviously searching for her fiancé’s name.
“Ed.”
“You and Ed must have planned the best time to become engaged.”
“Actually, we didn’t. It just happened.”
It had been late summer, one of those days when the sun shone from a sky so deeply blue that it almost hurt her eyes. Though the thermometer declared that it was close to a hundred, a light breeze and the shade of the live oak would have made it pleasant to sit on the swing, gliding ever so slowly, if the situation had not been so serious. Today was the day she and her sisters had dreaded. Not waiting to be drafted, Theo had enlisted in the Army.
“What will I do if he’s killed?” Carolyn turned to the young man sitting next to her. When Martha and Emily had asked the same question, she had shook her head vehemently, denying that it could happen. Although Carolyn knew the realities of war and the heavy casualties the Allies had already endured, someone needed to be strong. Someone needed to hold out hope. But now that she was with Ed, there was no need for pretense. He would understand. “I can’t bear the thought of a world without Theo,” Carolyn said, her voice cracking with emotion.
She had expected Ed to murmur soothing words. Instead, he took her hand between both of his and turned until he was facing her. “I wish someone cared whether or not I came back,” he said, his voice as bleak as her sisters’ had been when they spoke of Theo’s enlistment.
“What do you mean?” Never before had Carolyn seen Ed so serious.
“I enlisted this morning.”
Carolyn felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, Ed! Why did you do that?” Though everything else was changing around her, she had somehow believed that Ed would remain at home, that the draft would not take him. And now he had enlisted!
The expression in his green eyes was almost reproachful as he said, “The same reason Theo did. I want to serve my country. Besides,” Ed lowered his eyes, as if he were ashamed of what he was about to say. “I figured I was expendable. No one would miss me.”
Carolyn’s heart ached at the thought that Ed would believe that. “Don’t be ridiculous!” She squeezed his hand. “We’d all miss you. Your parents would miss you. I’d miss you.”
Ed managed a weak smile. “Sure you’d miss your pal—for a couple weeks.” Beneath its thick coating of freckles, his face was pale, and Carolyn could feel his anguish. Poor Ed! He’d always be
en the odd one, tall, lanky, uncoordinated. When the other boys played sports, Ed was never asked to join them, for it was well known that he’d fumble the ball or trip over his feet. Though when he was with her, he could talk for hours, he was tongue-tied around other girls and—despite her coaxing—had never so much as asked one for a date. And now Ed, the boy who’d been her best friend, was going to war, thinking no one cared. She couldn’t let him believe that.
“That’s not true!” Carolyn said, her voice thick with emotion. “I want you to be safe. I love you, Ed.” The words tumbled out, unplanned, but when she saw the spark of hope that lit Ed’s eyes, she couldn’t regret them.
“You don’t really love me.” This was the Ed she knew, convinced that no one could love him. “You’re my friend.”
“Of course I’m your friend.” The droop of his mouth told Carolyn those were not the words he wanted to hear. She couldn’t—she simply couldn’t—let him go to war, thinking he had no reason to return. In another of those impetuous acts that her mother had warned her about, Carolyn laid her free hand on Ed’s cheek, turning his face so that he was looking directly at her. She smiled, then lowered her eyes for a second. When she met his gaze again, she said softly, “I know it’s forward of me to say this, but … well …” She ducked her head again. “If you were to ask me a certain question …” Carolyn let her voice trail off.
Ed gripped her hand so tightly it hurt. “Are you saying what I think you are?”
She smiled again. “Try asking me.”
Though she would have thought it impossible, Ed’s face paled even more, making his freckles more pronounced. He swallowed, cleared his throat, then swallowed again. For a second, she thought he was going to remain silent. Then he stammered, “Will you … er … will you marry me?”
She nodded. “Yes, Ed. I will.” If Carolyn had had any doubts about the wisdom of her decision, the joy she saw on Ed’s face erased them. She faced her family’s protests and the town’s incredulity calmly, refusing to explain what they all considered to be an inexplicable action, saying only that the war helped people see clearly what was important. For Carolyn, keeping Ed alive was the most important thing she could do.
“You mean you agreed to get married on a whim?” For an instant Carolyn stared at Dwight, startled by his words. She’d been so lost in her memories that for a few seconds she had been transported back to Texas in August.
She shook her head at the man who stood opposite her, his feet planted firmly on French ground, his brown hair gleaming in the October sun. “I didn’t say that it was a whim.” She would tell no one the reason for her engagement. “I love Ed. It’s just that the war hastened our plans.” Not wanting to discuss her own engagement any longer, she turned the tables. “Haven’t you ever done anything spontaneously?”
Dwight shook his head. “I believe in thinking before I act.”
“General Pershing could take lessons from you. Maybe you should command the American forces.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” This time there was nothing joking in Dwight’s voice. “I want to save lives, not take them. That’s what’s important.”
Carolyn couldn’t dispute the importance of saving lives, but it wasn’t everything. “What about fun? Where does that fit into your life plan?”
“It doesn’t.”
“But …” Carolyn started to protest. Dwight was wrong, so very wrong. For a second, she was tempted to tell him that and show him how to have fun. One look at his face quenched that thought. He wouldn’t appreciate anyone telling him to laugh. This was Dwight Hollins, the man whose solemnity was legendary, the one who apparently planned every aspect of his life. Carolyn would take a lesson from him. She might not be able to plan her life, but in the future she would think before she spoke, especially when she was speaking to Dwight Hollins.
Dwight stared at the empty sheet of paper and frowned. It was getting late, and he still hadn’t started his letter to Louise. He could blame it on the heavy workload, but the fact was, today had been no worse than any others. There was no reason why he had spent the last half hour sitting in the small room he shared with three other doctors, staring out the window rather than write a letter to Louise.
When he had left the States, he and Louise had agreed that they would write weekly, always on the same day. That way there would never be any question about when they should write. It had been such a good plan.
Dwight’s lips curved in a smile at the memory of Carolyn’s expression when she had spoken of spontaneity. It was obvious that he and she had very little in common. What would she think if she heard how he and Louise scheduled their correspondence? Carolyn would undoubtedly have some kind of sarcastic retort, probably telling him that women preferred spontaneity. She was wrong, of course. All women weren’t like her. Louise most certainly was not.
Leaning back in his chair, Dwight closed his eyes, trying to picture the woman who would become his wife when the war ended. She was tall, slender, dark-haired—almost the complete opposite of Carolyn, who was medium height, nicely curved and blond. Dwight’s eyes flew open and he frowned in disgust. Drat it all! Why did he keep thinking of Carolyn? It was Louise’s smile he should be remembering, Louise’s pretty face he should dream of. There was no reason he should think of Carolyn.
Dwight rose and began to pace the floor, trying to diagnose the cause of his errant thoughts. It had to be because Carolyn was here, and Louise was thousands of miles away. Pure proximity. Nothing else.
Dwight smiled in satisfaction. He was a good diagnostician. Now that he’d identified the cause of the problem, he knew how to cure it. Think of Louise, he admonished himself. She was the woman he was going to marry.
Dwight stared out the window, thankful that his room did not face the courtyard. He could see trees from here, and although they did not look like the trees at home, they were preferable to the sight of a muddy courtyard. Of course, he hadn’t noticed the mud when he had been with Carolyn. It was only later when he had tried to clean his boots that he had realized he’d stood in inch-deep mud for close to half an hour.
Think of Louise. She wouldn’t have stood in the mud. Louise was far too sensible for that. The truth was, that practicality was one of the things that had attracted Dwight. He had met Louise at one of the few social events he’d attended while he was a resident. She was beautiful and charming, but—more than that—he had realized she would be the perfect wife. The daughter of a doctor, Louise understood the demands of a physician’s life. Just as important, she was a careful planner like Dwight himself. Spontaneity was not a word in her vocabulary, any more than it was in his.
Louise had developed a blueprint for her life, and that blueprint included marrying the right man, having three children, a home with a garden, and a cocker spaniel. She had already chosen the names for their children—three boys’ and three girls’ names, so they’d be prepared—and had begun looking for the perfect lot for their home. She had also started visiting dog breeders. “You can’t start too early,” she had told Dwight.
He, unfortunately, had not started early enough if he was going to finish his letter tonight. Dwight picked up the pen and began to write. Dear Louise. But though he told himself he needed to write, his mind refused to concentrate on the letter. Instead, he remembered the day they had become engaged. It had been Christmas, for Louise had said she had always dreamed of a Christmas engagement and a Midsummer Night’s wedding. How her face had lit with pleasure when he had slipped the diamond ring onto her finger! It was silly to think that she’d been happier about the ring itself than about the prospect of marrying him. It was simply that the ring was new and she was the first of her friends to become engaged. That was the only reason Louise had spent the day visiting friends, showing off the diamond, while he’d remained at home celebrating the holiday with her family.
Dwight pushed that thought aside and began to write. He would tell Louise about the break in the rain and the hope of a Christmas truce. Those we
re safe topics. He would definitely not tell Louise about Carolyn and their discussion of engagements.
Dwight laid the pen on the desk and leaned back again, thinking. There was something mysterious about Carolyn’s engagement. Or was there? Perhaps it was simply that it was different. It was clear that Carolyn’s engagement bore little resemblance to his and that her agreement to marry Ed had been impulsive. And yet, who was to say that that was wrong? She loved Ed. She had said that. And he … Dwight frowned. He loved Louise; of course he did.
Carolyn poured herself a cup of tea and settled back in the one comfortable chair that the room boasted. The letter from Ed that had arrived that morning was on the table next to her, waiting to be read. But first she wanted to unwind, to put the day’s events behind her.
Why had she gotten herself into such a predicament, discussing engagements? It wasn’t as if she could blame anyone else. She was the one who’d introduced the subject. She should have realized that Dwight would turn the tables on her and ask her about Ed. But, no. No matter how many times her mother or Martha chided her for her impetuosity, she hadn’t learned. She still spoke without thinking first.
Fortunately, Carolyn hadn’t had to tell any lies to get out of the hole she’d dug. She simply hadn’t told Dwight the entire truth. She had no intention of telling him—or anyone—that she had practically proposed to Ed and that she viewed her engagement as part of the war effort. She loved Ed. That was true. It was also true that she loved him as a friend or a brother, not as the man she was planning to marry. But that was one of those truths that she would not reveal. Not now. Probably not ever.
Carefully, she slit the envelope and pulled out the thin sheet of paper.
My darling Carolyn. Ed’s handwriting was like him, big loopy letters that scrawled across the page. She smiled, remembering the notes they’d left in the crotch of the oak tree when they were children. Those letters had not started, “My darling.”
Your letters mean more than I can ever tell you, he wrote. The one thing the Army didn’t prepare us for was boredom, and that’s what we’ve got. Each day seems like the one before. We have Stand To at dawn. That’s one of the two times a day that we get out of the trenches. You can’t imagine how good it feels to stand on the ground with air—not dirt walls—around you. I’ve been told that the sunrise here in France is beautiful, but I can’t vouch for it, since every day, every single day, it has rained at dawn.