by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
Burying his face in her neck to hide unmanly tears, Robert inhaled her unique perfume of sunshine and gasoline.
“Robert. Oh, Robert.”
“I’m here, sweetheart. All in one piece.”
Her shoulders started to shake, and cool wetness soaked through his uniform.
Every doubt about whether or not she still loved him dissolved. “Marry me, JoJo. I was an idiot to think time and distance would change my love for you. Say you’ll marry me. I can’t be away from you again.”
She sobbed harder and tightened her hold around his neck.
He’d survived barbed wire, mustard gas, and mines on the battlefield, but he was going to die of strangulation if she didn’t ease up.
It was a good way to die.
He bent lower. “Say yes. Don’t think about what your parents will say or what mine will say, just say yes. I’d get down on one knee, but …”
A little hiccup of laughter rewarded him.
“At least let me go so I can kiss you.”
Her hold loosened.
He angled his head and captured her lips in a kiss. She tasted sweeter than a Fisher Scone and felt like heaven in his arms. He pressed her closer, deepening the kiss to fill his starving soul with her goodness. Dreaming of her—of this kiss—kept him sane and fighting through the inhumanity of war. He was never letting her go, not until death parted them.
The sound of rushing water roared in his ears.
Jolene pulled away and lowered her head. Was she hiding?
Robert looked around to see why. A grinning mob formed a semicircle around the grandstand portico, clapping and whooping like they were watching an auto polo match. A few people near the back turned to frown at something.
Robert swallowed.
Jolene’s dad and the French mallet man who’d ridden beside Theo Caplan the day Mitch died pushed their way through the crowd.
Hampered by his inability to stand on both feet, Robert did his best to shield Jolene while turning to face the enemy. “Look, sir, let me explai—”
Mr. Caplan swung a right hook. Robert’s head snapped sideways. Pain exploded along his jaw.
Jolene screamed. Robert staggered back, nearly taking her down with him. Hands gripped her upper arms. Dragged her away. Twisting and turning, she couldn’t break the hold. “Let me go!”
“Hey!” A group of men pushed through the gawking crowd. The Montgomery Marauders Auto Polo Team. All four of them, in matching blue shirts.
Jolene was tossed sideways. Pierre rushed to meet the men’s upraised fists. She stumbled into the crowd. “Help me stop them. Please.”
Her voice was drowned by shouting—calls for the police clashed with hollers of encouragement to the combatants.
She pushed against bodies to get to Robert, but a group of men stood, backs to the fray, arms spread wide. An impenetrable line.
Jolene jumped, ducked, and kept pressing forward to catch glimpses. Robert lay on the ground, hands and body curled to protect his white cast. His crutches too far away for him to grab. Two Montgomery team members had pulled her father away, holding his arms while a third punched him in the stomach. The fourth Montgomery and Pierre traded blows. Was Robert bleeding? “Oh, please! I need to see!”
This was all her fault—kissing Robert in public!
They’d been so careful before, always finding somewhere public enough that their love for each other didn’t lead to impropriety yet private enough to keep from being discovered by either of their families. Until the day Theo discovered them holding hands … a discovery that led to such heartbreak for them all.
Jolene shook the thought away. She’d spent the last seventeen months wondering and worrying without a single letter from Robert. And now he was here, she needed to touch him. To reassure her arms and hands that he wasn’t a ghost. To hold him close and smell his skin and feel his sandy-colored hair prickle against her palm.
Shrill whistles cut the air. The crowd parted for a couple of uniformed officers rushing forward. The two men holding her father let go. He slumped for an instant then stood tall, his jaw clenched.
Jolene rushed through in the police officers’ wake. Robert sat up. Other than the beginnings of a swollen lower lip, he looked remarkably undamaged. She knelt down and held his hand close to her cheek. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, but his lips were rimmed in white.
“Miss, please, move away.” One of the two police officers held out a hand and helped Jolene stand. “We need to take some statements, so you’ll have to wait until we’re done, if you please.”
She didn’t please, but she nodded and stepped to the side. Her father grabbed her arm, keeping her from retrieving Robert’s crutches.
The taller officer turned to the crowd. “Can anyone tell me what happened here?”
A chorus of voices answered, their shouted words mingling together into unintelligible babble.
“You there”—the officer pointed to a distinguished-looking gentleman in a derby hat—“what say you?”
“As best as I could tell, the soldier was kissing his girl when that one”—he pointed to her father—“came roaring up and decked him. Then those four in the blue shirts jumped in and were pummeling that one and that one.”
A few voices called out affirmations of the version.
The officer turned to Jolene. “Are you the girl?”
She nodded.
“Then you’ll have to come down to the station with us, too.”
At that, all four of the Montgomery Marauders started defending their actions and pleading with the officers that they couldn’t leave the fairgrounds because they had an auto polo match in a few hours.
“Then you shouldn’t have started a brawl.” The tall officer tapped a finger against the black billy club hanging from his belt.
“If I may …” Her father tipped his head sideways with a touch of deference. “The fight was a publicity stunt that got slightly out of hand. No one in the crowd was hurt, as you can see.”
“Except this soldier here.” The shorter officer, his girth and height nearly proportionate, hoisted Robert to his feet. “What say you, Corporal? You want to press charges over this … publicity stunt?”
“Of course he doesn’t.”
Mr. Montgomery pushed through the crowd and stood next to her father. A casual observer might not detect the hatred between the two men, but Jolene saw it in the raised tendons running down her father’s neck and Mr. Montgomery’s tight smile.
The tall officer took off his hat, his bald spot shocking on a man so young. “And who might you be?”
Mr. Montgomery extended his right hand. “Charles Montgomery. And this is Mr. Oliver Caplan. We own the two auto clubs that are competing at three this afternoon.”
Her father stepped forward and shook the officer’s hand as well. “Yes, folks, if you want to see a real fight, you just come for the match and we’ll show you a good one.”
By the looks of disgust on several faces in the crowd, Jolene guessed many of them were planning to turn in their tickets rather than watch the match.
That would not be good, not when finances were already stretched thin.
Mr. Montgomery stepped close to Robert. “And my son here will be competing just to show you that there’s no real harm done.”
Robert snapped his jaw shut. Apparently it was too much for Dad to say, “Good to see you, son. How are you doing, son? How come the army sent you home early, son?”
The police officers huddled together for a moment before the taller, almost bald one said they wouldn’t make any arrests. “However, you pull another publicity stunt like this one, and we’ll clap you in jail faster than you can blink.”
Mr. Caplan whispered something to the Frenchman. He nodded, and the two men wrapped arms around Jolene’s waist, forcing her to walk away.
Since he had no desire to end up in a jail cell, Robert let her go.
For now.
His father smiled for the crowd,
but his nostrils flared wide as if venting exhaust from an engine. He leaned his head close to Robert’s ear. “What your mother will say when she finds out you went to see a Caplan before coming to see her, I dare—”
“Don’t.” Robert twisted away from the staring strangers, gingerly balancing his weight by touching his boot cast on the ground. He didn’t care about preserving the facade of geniality, but this was private business. “I’m not some gullible spectator who will fall for a trumped-up dog-and-pony show to increase sales for your precious rivalry.”
“Trumped up?” Dad stooped to pick up the crutches and scanned the thinning crowd like he was trying to find their owner. “Your brother’s death may be old news to you, but it’s still as fresh as the day it happened for me. I’ll never forgive the Caplans for taking him from me. Never.”
Seventeen months and the hatred was still vitriolic. Robert gritted his teeth against the pain in his ankle, jaw, and heart. No amount of time or distance would ever make his father forgive him.
Robert held out his hand and waited until comprehension dawned on his father’s face. “You might have considered why the army sent me home before volunteering me to drive today.”
His father handed over the crutches. “Nonsense. You’re a better driver with a broken—what? Leg—?”
“Ankle.”
“—and one hand tied behind your back than the idiots I’ve got now.”
Jimmy, the mechanic and the only blue-shirted Montgomery Marauder Robert recognized, glanced their way and pressed his lips into a thin line.
Way to inspire the team, Dad!
Robert tucked the crutches under his arms and swung his good leg forward. “Can we discuss this someplace more private?”
His face hard, Dad pointed to his left. “This way. Your mother will be anxious to see you.”
What was left of the crowd parted as Robert, his father, and the four team members headed toward the team camp. Soon, the uniformed Marauders were lost in the shifting sea of fairgoers.
Jaw and ankle throbbing, Robert’s palms slickened with the effort to remain upright.
Pop!
Robert ducked and threw his hands over his ears. Steel bands wrapped around his chest. He gasped in shallow bursts and clawed at the bands, the instinct to run shooting adrenaline through him. Need to run. Need to get away. Need to breathe. The steel bands held strong. A small voice struggled to be heard over the shouting inside his head. Safe. Safe. No guns. No artillery fire. Nothing to fear. Just a sunny day at a fair far away from the front lines.
“You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
The criticism jerked Robert upright. He filled his lungs with sweet air and blew it out with a shudder. Both crutches were lying on the ground, the padded armrests flung farther than the bottom tips so they formed a V with his feet at the center point. Pitying glances showed in faces all around him. He straightened. “My apologies.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should slap you or just keep hanging on, so I settled for something in between.” The steel bands released Robert’s chest as his father leaned down to pick up the crutches.
“Of course.” Robert touched his cast to the dirt for balance and lifted his chin to stare at the mighty Mount Rainier, grounding himself in the Puyallup Valley instead of the trenches of France. At Walter Reed, he’d been told that sudden noises could set off a reaction, but he’d ridiculed the warning—much to the doctor’s amusement. Now he understood those knowing smirks.
The padded end of a crutch bumped against his chest.
Robert grabbed hold and fit it under his armpit, repeating the process with the second one a moment later. He started forward without looking at his father.
“I’d like to see my mother now.”
Chapter 3
Once they were far enough away from the grandstand, Jolene opened her mouth to apologize, but Pierre gripped her elbow and sent her a “Don’t talk” look.
“Might I have a moment to speak with your daughter, Mr. Caplan?” Pierre’s voice was as tight as his fingers.
Dad crossed his arms over his chest. “Certainly. Only let’s have no repeat of the kind of behavior that got us into this mess, shall we?”
As though the kiss, rather than the man she’d been caught with, was the problem.
“But of course, Mr. Caplan. I have too much of the respect for your daughter.” Pierre’s tone was smooth as oil, but a vein pulsed at his temple. Jolene let him pull her past the game booths and lunch counters. As they passed the fruit and vegetable displays, she craned her neck to see the winning entries, but Pierre’s grip forced her to keep a brisk pace.
“Pierre, please. Can’t we slow down?” She pried at his fingers on her elbow.
He let go and lifted his left hand, palm up. “This way, if you please.”
They continued until they found a quiet spot. Pierre laid a handkerchief on one of the hay bales marking the boundary between the fairgrounds and parking lot. Jolene sat and rested her hands in her lap.
Pierre looked at a place over her head. “I am of a surety that you know your parents wish us to marry.”
A hard lump of dread weighed down her heart. “I’m aware.”
He smoothed his thin mustache with his thumb and index finger. “But you are of the desire to marry Robert Montgomery. This I have known for many months.”
Jolene gasped. “How?”
He stared at her, eyebrows slightly elevated. “You were not all the time discreet before he left for La Grande Guerre.”
“Did you say anything to my parents? Or … anyone else?” She checked to make sure no one could overhear them.
“Jolene, ma chère, do you think your love for this man is secret now?”
Heat crept up her neck. “No. I suppose not.” Though she wanted to think that, except for Theo knowing, it had been until today.
“And do you think your parents will allow you to marry this man?” Pierre slid his hands into the pockets of his tweed pants. “Is this why you make a display of yourself in public, to make them agree?”
“No.” At least, she didn’t think so. “I was simply overcome at the sight of him after so long.” She hung her head. “It was foolish beyond permission, I know. But I do want to marry him.”
“Are you … of a surety?”
His hesitation made her face hot and her hands cold. “What do you mean?”
He sat beside her and gripped his hands until the knuckles whitened. “I do not ask to make you angry, chère. I ask because I am all the time wanting what is best for you, and I am not sure that it is a man who would make you the source of scandal.”
“He wants to marry me. He said so.”
“But of course he does. This is not in question.” Pierre tapped his thumbs together. “Will you marry him? Against your parents’ wishes, against his parents’ wishes, and even against what might be your best interests?”
Face burning, Jolene wriggled and tugged at her skirt until she no longer sat on the coin purse tucked in her pocket. “A girl doesn’t publicly kiss one man and expect to get an offer of marriage from someone else.”
Pierre inhaled sharply. “What you mean, of course, is that you do not wish to receive an offer of marriage from me now that Robert Montgomery has made his feelings known.” He fingered the button over his heart. “Do you know what kind of man he is? Now?”
Jolene’s heart hiccuped. “What are you saying?”
“War changes men, ma chère. There may be injuries to your Robert that are much harder to mend than broken bones, non?”
If he’d said it with malice, it could be dismissed. That he said it with such tenderness demanded consideration.
He studied her. “I know you do not love me as you think a woman should love a man, but you know me, my Jolene. You know my character, and you know a woman can learn to love a man.”
What was she to do with this Pierre? No brother’s voice vibrated with such ardor. She’d always assumed they shared a mutual, though filial, af
fection rather than a romantic one. She’d also assumed Pierre shared her reticence in considering marriage, but now …
Had he been in love with her all this time?
Even if he had, she needed time—time to know her own heart—now that Robert had returned. But how was a girl to explain such a thing to a man?
As though he sensed her inner struggle, he took her hand and held it between both of his. “Cherie, l’amour—love—is a thousand choices over a thousand days that lead to a thousand more. There should be passion, this is sure.” He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. “The friendship we share will bind us, as will the way of a man with a woman, and the children of our union.”
She disengaged from his grasp and walked away from the arguments that, much as she hated to admit it, were terribly similar to the ones she’d been considering an hour ago. Before Mr. Walpole. Before Robert. Before the kiss.
“You have a most difficult choice to make, ma chère. After this day, you must marry someone.”
Because a girl didn’t kiss a man in public and not shelter her reputation with an engagement and marriage.
Jolene stopped walking and bit down on her bottom lip.
“I am sorry to be so blunt, but …” Pierre came alongside her. “As I have said, you know me. We are friends, and if you will allow it, we will grow to love each other with a passion you cannot begin to imagine now. But I am going home to La Belle France next month. I must make the plans to travel for one person or two. I do not ask you to answer me this moment, but I will ask it by the end of today.” He picked up her left hand and pressed a warm kiss onto her cold fingers. “Choose wisely, ma chère.”
As he walked away, Jolene pressed both hands to her heart. Such a good man. One any girl would be lucky to marry. And he was right, she could choose to love him.
But did she want to?
Robert heard his mother singing before he knocked on the door to the house on wheels. “Mrs. Montgomery? I have a telegram for you all the way from—”
The door swung open, nearly hitting him in the face. His mother raced down the steps. “Robbie!” She pulled his neck down into a hug so tight, he couldn’t dislodge the crutches digging into his armpits. “Thank You, Lord. Thank You for bringing my Robbie home.”