Dancing in the Rain

by Amanda Harte

  She had to make him understand, and she had to do it quickly. “Actually, Doctor Hollins, I thought perhaps I could convince you to waltz with me.”

  His frown deepened. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” he demanded.

  “I don’t believe so.” She twirled as if she were ending a dance, then looked pointedly at the door. He had to understand.

  “May I have a word with you?” His annoyance was growing.

  “Yes, sir. Perhaps in the hallway.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she left the operating theater. A second later Dwight was next to her, his face suffused with anger.

  “Will you kindly explain what that charade was all about?” Though his fury was palpable, Dwight kept his voice low so that the waiting men would not overhear him.

  There was no time for explanations. Carolyn grabbed Dwight’s hand and began to hurry along the corridor, nodding at the men whose stretchers lined one side. They had been arranged in order of the severity of their wounds. Though Dwight tried to protest, she would not loosen her grip. “There’s a man who can’t wait,” she said as softly as she could.

  “Are you questioning our triage?” he demanded.

  “No, Doctor, I’m not. I think this man’s injury was not apparent when he was brought in.” They had reached the tenth stretcher. Though the other patients were all conscious, this man was not. He was unnaturally pale, and his skin was cold and clammy.

  Dwight reached for the man’s hand, checking his pulse. “He’s in shock.” The words confirmed Carolyn’s fears. Two orderlies were tending to patients at the end of the corridor. “Get this man into the theater now!” Dwight shouted. As he and Carolyn hurried back into the operating room, the frown had disappeared. “That was good thinking, Carolyn,” he said, his voice once more warm with approval. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just tell me what was wrong.”

  That was simple. Carolyn had seen what fear did to people, how it could lower defenses that were already dangerously low because of wounds. “It would have upset the men who were waiting for you. They’ll know there’s a problem when they see the new patient brought in, but at least you’ll be there to reassure them.” If she and Dwight had left without an explanation—even one as silly as his need to reprimand her for her frivolity—the men would have imagined disasters far worse than the truth.

  Twelve hours later, Carolyn and Dwight entered the ward to check on the patients who had been in surgery that morning. Though it had been an arduous day, they had been lucky and had lost no patients. Dwight had discovered that the man who had been in shock had internal bleeding, and he had been able to stop it in time. Equally encouraging, though they had been forced to perform several of the amputations they both hated, they had all been successful.

  “Is the doc a good dancer?” The question came from one of the men who had been awaiting surgery when Carolyn had invited Dwight to waltz. Apparently he remembered the ploy Carolyn had used to get Dwight out of the room.

  “No!” Dwight’s response was immediate.

  Carolyn winked at the patient. “The doctor thinks dancing is frivolous. You and I know better.”

  The man winked back. “I’ll bet he’s looking forward to dancing at your wedding.”

  Her wedding. Carolyn still couldn’t form a mental picture of that day. “I wasn’t planning to invite him.”

  “And I wasn’t planning to attend,” Dwight added.

  To her surprise, the patients laughed.

  “Did you hear that, Jake?” one demanded.

  “Sure did, but I don’t believe it.”

  The man named Jake grinned at Carolyn. “You two act just like the missus and me, and you’re not even married.”

  “What do you mean?” Dwight demanded at the same time that Carolyn said, “You thought we …”

  “That’s preposterous.” Dwight words blended with Carolyn’s as she said, “Of course not!”

  Jake shook his head. “You can’t fool us, not with that sparkler on your hand.” He pointed at Carolyn’s ring. “The missus always said I don’t notice much, but I reckon I know an engagement ring when I see it.”

  Suddenly, Carolyn understood why the men were laughing. And, though perhaps it shouldn’t have mattered, it somehow seemed vital that they know the truth. She, the woman who had invented a wise old grandmother, wanted no misunderstandings on this subject. “You’re right,” she agreed. “I am engaged.”

  “As am I,” Dwight admitted.

  Jake turned toward the other men. “I told you so!” There was no disguising the triumph in his voice.

  He thought he understood, but he was mistaken—badly mistaken. When Jake was once more looking at her, Carolyn shook her head slowly. “The doctor and I are engaged,” she said, “but not to each other.”

  He winked. “Oh, I get it. No one’s supposed to know.”

  “Must be some Army regulation,” another chimed in.

  “Your secret’s safe with us,” Jake declared. He turned and addressed his fellow patients. “Right, boys?”

  “Right.”

  Though the men all nodded solemnly, when someone began to hum ‘The Wedding March,’ the rest joined in.

  “Send us a piece of cake,” one cried.

  “I wanna dance with the bride,” another announced.

  “Dance? I wanna kiss the bride.”

  Her cheeks flaming, Carolyn did not dare to look at Dwight. It was, as he had said, preposterous. And yet, try though she might to deny it, the image of herself and Dwight standing in front of a church, exchanging vows and rings, danced before her eyes.

  Preposterous!

  Chapter Six

  Surgery was easy compared to this. Dwight shook his head as he entered the last of the shops on Goudot’s main street. The letters painted on the plate glass window said Épicerie. Dwight wasn’t certain what that meant, but judging from the enticing aromas that wafted through the air, it had something to do with food. Though food wasn’t what he had had in mind, desperation was a strong motivator.

  What had made him think he could do this? He was a physician, a man trained to heal others. As a farmer’s son, he had learned to do many things, from milking a cow to repairing a plow. Dwight could do those, and—if he said so himself—could do them passably well. Unfortunately, setting broken bones and herding cows into the barn did not prepare him for today’s tasks. It was bad enough that his French accent made the shopkeepers smile. He could handle that. The problem was, he had no idea what to do once he entered the shops. In all his twenty-seven years, he had never had to do this alone.

  The épicerie was no different from the other establishments he had entered. Dwight stared at the counters of merchandise, as bewildered as if he were on a distant planet, confronted with the artifacts of a strange society. “Non, merci,” he said as he retreated. This was not a good idea. Though his family would be disappointed if he failed in this mission, he saw no way of bringing it to a successful conclusion. He had once told Carolyn that he planned his life as completely as General Pershing planned his military campaigns. Wouldn’t she laugh if she could see him today? He was definitely not winning this campaign.

  It had seemed like such a good idea when he had left the hospital. He would actually take an afternoon off—the first since he had arrived—and would visit the town. Dwight knew from the other doctors’ comments that Goudot was small, but he had also heard that the stores were surprisingly well stocked for a town of five hundred, particularly for wartime. Surely one of those stores would have what he needed.

  The town was a little over a mile from the hospital. Dwight shook his head as he reminded himself that the French measured distance in kilometers. The town was two kilometers from the hospital. Though the road was cratered, the result of some aerial bombing that had occurred last year, Dwight had enjoyed the walk along the tree-lined route. French roads, he had discovered, were frequently lined with tall, slender trees. Poplars, he had heard someone call them. The enjoyment h
e had found in the walk had ended when he had entered the first shop.

  Dwight turned up the collar of his coat against the wind and headed back toward the hospital. There at least he knew what was expected of him. Unlike the dismal failure today’s expedition had proven to be, he was successful at the hospital.

  Dwight had taken two steps when he saw her. Though she wore the same dark woollen uniform as the other nurses, there was no mistaking that golden hair or the graceful way she walked. Unlike him, Carolyn appeared to have no problem shopping, for she had emerged from the butcher shop with a tightly wrapped package.

  “Carolyn!” He didn’t bother to disguise the pleasure in his voice as he crossed the street to join her. At least now he’d have something to think about other than his failures. Dwight sniffed Carolyn’s package appreciatively. “What is that? It smells delicious.” It was ridiculous to feel happy, simply because he was standing on a cobblestone street talking to the prettiest nurse in all of France, but Dwight could not deny the elation that surged through him.

  “I bought some sausage.” Carolyn peeled back the paper and let the aroma waft onto the air. “I told the cook I’d help her make stuffing for Thanksgiving, even if we are going to stuff goose instead of turkeys.”

  Dwight grimaced, remembering the cries of anguish he’d heard two of the other doctors emit when they learned that there were no turkeys to be found for the traditional feast. Dwight hadn’t understood the fuss then, and he didn’t now. They were in the midst of a war, for goodness sake. What was important was stopping the killing and getting the men home. Besides, he wasn’t sure there were many reasons to give thanks this year. Though the French and English had hoped that America’s entry into the war would ensure an Allied victory, it had been more than six months since President Wilson had declared war, and the tide had yet to turn.

  Carolyn must have misunderstood his frown, for twin furrows appeared between her eyes. “Don’t you like sausage in your stuffing?”

  Dwight shook his head, then nodded, not sure which question he was answering. “I like stuffing and gravy,” he admitted. He looked down the street, a little surprised that he and Carolyn were the only people outside. When he had arrived, he had seen a few elderly men and a number of women dressed in the unrelieved black that appeared to be their favorite color.

  Carolyn unwrapped the sausage. “The patients are more excited about the meal preparations than I would have thought possible. It’s all they can talk about when I go into the wards.” She smiled as if the memory of the men’s excitement was a pleasant one. “That’s one of the reasons I asked my sister to send our mother’s recipe for sausage stuffing. It’s the best.”

  Chastened by her explanation, Dwight managed a smile of his own. “Then we’ll have one reason to be thankful.”

  “We have many,” Carolyn countered. “For one thing, the rain has stopped.”

  As a black-clad woman approached the butcher shop, Dwight stepped out of the way. “It may not be raining, but now it’s snowing.” Although only a dusting had fallen overnight, lazy flakes were continuing to drift downward, and the road was turning white. He hadn’t minded the snow when he had been on the dirt road, but the cobblestones that paved the center of town would soon be slippery.

  “Ed says the men are hoping the ground will freeze. Those who were here last winter claim that’s better than living with mud.”

  Ed. Dwight tried not to react to the man’s name. Of course Carolyn would speak of her fiancé. Of course her view of the war would be centered on him. That was only natural. Dwight understood that. It must be something he’d eaten that made a lump form in his stomach. It couldn’t be anything else.

  Trying to regain his composure, he studied the buildings that formed the center of Goudot. They couldn’t have been more different from the stores at home. Those were simple wood-framed buildings. These were three stories high, constructed of stone and far from simple, for each had gracefully curved windows set into the roofs. The buildings at home were white-washed. Like the sky on a rainy day, these were gray, with darker gray slate roofs. What surprised Dwight the most was that, while the stores at home sprawled on large lots, these were narrow and were all attached, like the Philadelphia row houses he’d seen in a drawing. Goudot bore virtually no resemblance to an Iowa farm town.

  Though Dwight had no intention of discussing Ed, he wanted to continue his conversation with Carolyn. “The snow is actually the reason I’m here,” he told her. “It reminded me that Christmas is next month and I’d better buy my gifts.”

  She looked pointedly at his empty hands. “It doesn’t appear that you’ve been buying anything.”

  “That’s the heart of the matter.” Dwight blinked. Why was he speaking of hearts? He should have said crux, not heart. Hoping Carolyn didn’t notice anything odd about his choice of words, he continued, “I can’t decide what to get.” He considered her smile encouragement. “I don’t suppose you’d take pity on me, would you? Buying gifts for nine women is a daunting proposition.” The second the words were out of his mouth, Dwight regretted them. Why was he speaking of propositions? He should have said prospect. Like crux, it had less emotional baggage attached to it.

  Carolyn did not seem to notice his discomfort. “My shopping seems easy compared to that.”

  “You sound as if you’re done.”

  As she brushed a snowflake off the tip of her nose, Dwight remembered how she’d looked wearing a clothespin. Her nose looked much better unadorned. “I am finished shopping. Are you surprised?”

  “Will you refuse to help me if I admit that I am?” He had thought that Carolyn, a woman who clearly did not believe in advance planning, would buy her gifts at the last minute.

  She shook her head. “And deprive myself of some fun? Not likely.”

  “Fun? You call shopping fun?”

  With a little shrug, she said, “It’s one thing I’m good at.” She wasn’t boasting. In fact, it sounded almost as if she were apologizing. How odd. She was good at so many things; and yet she seemed unaware of that.

  Dwight wondered why. He wouldn’t ask, though, and risk alienating her. Instead he said, “You’ve given me another reason to be thankful. Now I won’t have to disappoint my family. That’s who I’m shopping for.”

  “How old are your sisters?” When Dwight told her their ages, Carolyn tipped her head to one side, apparently trying to decide on appropriate gifts. “Hats and gloves,” she announced a few seconds later. “There’s not a girl alive who wouldn’t love a new French hat.”

  Dwight looked at Carolyn’s head, suddenly aware that she was wearing a hat. She was right, he realized. Women did wear hats, and his sisters wouldn’t have to have theirs chosen by the Army or the Red Cross the way Carolyn did.

  She led Dwight to a small store where—judging from the proprietor’s warm greeting—she was well known. “Bonjour, Madame,” Carolyn said. Dwight looked around, wondering how he had missed this shop. Though the display window was small, it held three pieces of cloth and ribbon that appeared to be hats. For a moment, the two women chattered in French, with Carolyn gesturing toward the display of hats.

  “Certainement, mademoiselle,” the shopkeeper said. With an assessing look at Dwight, she pulled a deep purple turban from its stand, then pointed at Carolyn’s hat, obviously telling her to remove it so that she could try on the new one.

  For the next half hour, Carolyn tried on one hat after another, modeling each for Dwight, telling him which one she thought each of his sisters would like, given her age and the snippets of information he’d provided about his siblings. For a man who detested the very thought of shopping, spending so much time in an establishment that catered to women should have been a painful experience. It was not. In fact, Dwight could not remember when he had laughed more, for Carolyn’s light-hearted approach to life obviously extended to shopping. As she tried on each of the hats, she would tilt her head from side to side, letting him see the headpiece from all angles. They
had laughed when one of the turbans—which Madame insisted were the latest style—slipped down Carolyn’s forehead and covered her eyes, and they had both found the stuffed bird perched on top of a straw hat highly amusing.

  “I never knew shopping could be so much fun,” Dwight admitted as they left the store, his arms now filled with parcels. And he had never known that hats could be so attractive.

  “That’s because you never went shopping with me,” Carolyn said, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth. She brushed another snowflake from her nose. “You said you needed nine gifts. I assume one of the others is for your mother.”

  Dwight nodded. “Any suggestions?”

  It was Carolyn’s turn to nod. “Jewelry. Madame Fouquet has some lovely pieces.” She led the way back to one of the stores he had entered earlier that afternoon. At the time, he had seen nothing that appealed to him. As had happened in the hat shop, Carolyn spent a minute explaining their mission, and the woman who had regarded him with skepticism only an hour before began to smile.

  “Of course,” she said and pulled out a tray of pendants.

  “I thought your mother might like a lavaliere,” Carolyn said, pointing to a long chain with what appeared to be gold tassels hanging from a disc that had many holes punched in it. “The filigreed one is particularly beautiful.” Dwight looked at the piece of jewelry. Was that what the holes were called—filigree?

  Carolyn fastened the chain around her neck so that Dwight could admire it. “Very nice.” If the necklace—he couldn’t pronounce the French word that Carolyn had used—looked half as pretty on his mother as it did on Carolyn, it would be a success. “Now all that’s left is a gift for Louise. What would you suggest?”

  Carolyn blinked. “Shouldn’t you choose that yourself?”

  Didn’t she understand? It wasn’t a matter of should. The simple fact was, he couldn’t pick Louise’s gift. “I have no idea what she wants.”