by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
As he absorbed her tears, Robert adjusted to the shock of grief-etched lines beside her mouth and across her brow. Her hair was almost white now, not lightly salted auburn, and she’d lost so much weight her skin sagged.
His father coughed. “I’ll leave the two of you.” The subsequent swish of air and the crunch of boots on straw announced his departure.
More relieved than he should be to have his father gone, Robert basked in the embrace of the parent he knew loved him more than her own life. “Hi, Ma.”
“Let me look at you.” She pushed against his shoulders and scanned his face. “You look like you haven’t eaten a decent meal since you left.”
“I haven’t, and whatever you’re making smells delicious. Might a weary soldier get a bite?”
“Of course. Come on in.” She proceeded into the house and turned to watch, anxiety in her green eyes. “Do you need help?”
“Can you take this?” He handed her one crutch then half pulled, half hopped to get up the three steps. Once inside, he curled and twisted his body until he could sit at the little table. “Whew!”
His mother smiled at him, but it was tinged with concern. “How long ago did this happen?” She took both crutches and propped them against the wall behind him.
“A few weeks ago. The doctors said it wasn’t too bad, but I might walk with a limp the rest of my life.”
She rubbed a palm over her heart. “Oh, son. I’m so sorry.”
He lifted one shoulder. “It’s nothing compared to—” Images of mangled bodies stopped his words. “I got off lucky.”
Her mouth trembled and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, as though her sympathetic heart understood every word he hadn’t said. She leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Of course. And I’m lucky to have you home.”
Robert closed his eyes against the piercing joy of her nearness. The thought of two women had kept him going during the worst moments of war: Jolene and the dream of her kisses, and his mother and her home-baked bread. He breathed in the yeasty smell of her apron and felt something inside his spirit relax. Being here, more than landing in America or even seeing Jolene, said he was home.
Safe.
Ma squeezed his collarbone and stepped to the stove. “Why didn’t your father stay?”
And the moment was over. “You know how it is between us.”
She bowed her head, took a deep breath, and released it in a rush. “I had hoped …” Ma squared her shoulders and reached above her head for a bowl. “Never mind that now.”
Robert felt small for ruining her happiness, but some things couldn’t be repaired, and he was tired of fighting.
She ladled thick stew into the bowl and set it on the table. “Go on. You need a little fattening up.”
He took a spoon from the wooden rack built into the windowsill beside the table. “Thanks, Ma. It smells wonderful.” He bowed his head and gave thanks for the food, promising God a longer prayer later to account for all the blessings of the day. At the first bite of beef, carrots, onions, and potatoes swimming in savory tomato sauce, Robert moaned with pleasure.
Nothing beat home cooking.
Ma smiled. “In a few more minutes I’ll have some fresh bread for you, too.”
Heaven!
“Your father will be coming back for his lunch soon, so you’d best tell me what I need to know before he gets here.” She ladled stew into a bowl for herself then sat at the table opposite him.
Between bites, Robert told her what happened under the grandstand. She ate in silence, interrupting him only when it was time to take the bread from the oven. “And how did Jolene’s father feel about you kissing her in public?”
Robert swallowed the last bite of stew. “He smashed his fist into my jaw and then whisked her away. I didn’t exactly have time to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Ma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before opening the oven door. “I see. And you’ve told your father you intend to marry her?” The trepidation in her voice spoke volumes. Her hands shook a little as she placed the golden loaves on top of the stove.
“Not yet.” He was proud to love such a wonderful girl. He wasn’t giving her up, not for anyone. “But nothing will keep me from marrying her, not him or even you.”
Ma turned one bread pan upside down. A golden loaf slipped into her towel-covered hand. “If you want to marry Jolene, I’m all for your happiness. But do you know that Jolene wants to marry you?”
Remembering their kiss put a grin on his lips. “I’m fairly sure she does.”
Ma sliced the heel from the loaf, buttered it, and set it on the table. “Fairly sure?”
He’d said the words in jest. That she took them seriously stung. He opened his mouth to tell her so then frowned. Come to think of it … Jolene hadn’t said yes.
Robert took a bite of bread. It tasted like clay.
“Were you able to keep up a correspondence with her while you were away?”
Away. Not “at war.” The distinction shouldn’t bother him, but it did. “I was trying to get over losing her. I didn’t think exchanging letters was a good idea.”
“And it’s unlikely Mr. and Mrs. Caplan would have allowed Jolene to accept them if you did.” Ma pinched off a piece of bread and held it in front of her lips. “You know she’s been seeing quite a lot of another man.”
Robert sat back. “Are you trying to tell me she doesn’t love me? Because she kissed me readily enough.”
“She kissed you, or did you kiss her?” Ma slipped the piece of bread into her mouth.
“What difference does it make?”
Ma raised her chin. “Are you telling me you would be so ungallant as to force a woman to marry you because she kissed a soldier come home from war?”
Amazing he could still feel ten years old. “No.”
“Son, I’m not trying to rain on your parade, but you have to consider that, even if you didn’t get over Jolene these past seventeen months, perhaps she got over you.”
Robert pushed his empty bowl away. “Then how do I win her back?”
Ma’s shrug wasn’t encouraging. “I remember her from before Mitch …” She pressed a fist against her lips. “Seventeen months, and I still can’t say it.”
“It’s okay. I know what you mean.” He’d lived ten lifetimes in those months.
She swiped a finger under each eye. “Before the accident, Martha Caplan, Jolene, and I used to chat sometimes. This silliness between the teams wasn’t a good enough reason to avoid the only women who understand what it’s like to live as we do. I know Jolene. At least I knew her once, and I don’t think her personality has changed. She’s a sensitive girl. She’ll not marry without her parents’ blessing. If she hasn’t already lost her heart to the other young man, you’ll need to make peace between our families before she’ll agree to marry you.”
“She agreed to—” Robert clamped his lips shut. Ma didn’t need to know that Jolene once agreed to elope with him. That Mitch was dead because Theo caught them planning where to meet. Robert went to war to pay for that mistake. No need to bring it up on his first day home.
“Agreed to what?”
Ma’s question sent his brain scrambling for a suitable answer. Nothing came. He shoved another piece of bread in his mouth and mumbled, “Never mind.”
Chapter 4
J olene wandered around the fairgrounds, eventually finding her way back to the scone booth. As she stood in line, she listened to the speech about Fisher Flour Mill and its exceptional milling process, which was the reason the scones were so light and fluffy. She passed the display of Paulhamus Farms jams and jellies, proudly claiming responsibility for bringing Fisher Scones to the Western Washington State Fair and for providing their delicious filling.
She paid ten cents for the scone, but its warm sweetness couldn’t distract her from her troubled thoughts. Had Robert changed from the man she fell in love with? Was Pierre right?
Pierre …
What was she go
ing to do about him? Her parents approved of him, but did they know marriage meant she would move to France? It would serve Dad right if she married without letting him know that.
Not that she should make such a choice because she was angry with her father right now. How could he have punched Robert—he was crippled and in uniform! Surely, if Robert had turned violent from the horrors of war, he would have retaliated. Instead, he did nothing but try to protect himself. Still, was one incident enough to judge his character after seventeen months apart?
Which brought her tumultuous thoughts full circle, with no resolution in sight.
She licked crumbs from her fingers and searched for a garbage can through the thick crowd.
“Miss Caplan, were you looking for me?” The man who’d proposed she join the aeroplane company waved at her.
What was his name again?
She waved back, put a smile on, and waited for him to zigzag through the crowd. “Hello, again.”
He tipped his straw hat. “Miss Caplan. I’m hoping you have good news for me.”
“Actually, I—”
“Excuse me.”
Jolene turned at Robert’s voice. Her heart leapt at his approach, but her eyes scanned the crowd to see if any of the Caplan’s Crusaders were nearby. “What are you doing here?”
He gave her an odd sort of frown, turned to the older gentleman, and stuck out his hand. “Hello, sir. Robert Montgomery.”
“Horace Walpole.” He shook Robert’s hand and winced before tugging his hand away. He squinted up at Robert. “Have we met before?”
“Yes, sir. When you came to France to train mechanics in repairing your company’s DH-4 planes.”
Mr. Walpole’s smile seemed to freeze. “I see. Well, Miss Caplan and I were discussing a job offer.”
Robert stiffened. “She’s not interested.”
Jolene gasped. How dare he speak for her! They weren’t engaged, and not likely to be if he’d turned into an overbearing brute.
Mr. Walpole’s eyes shifted between Jolene and Robert. “Shall we finish our business later, Miss Caplan?”
After shooting Robert a speak-for-me-again-and-I’ll-hit-you-myself glare, Jolene nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Walpole. I look forward to speaking with you later today.”
He tipped his hat and melted into the crowd.
Jolene turned her attention to Robert. His jaw was starting to tinge purple. What a wretched day he’d had! Jolene’s indignation faded a degree. A reprieve was needed, not another battle. “How long have you been waiting?”
He planted his crutches in the ground. “A minute or two. I figured you’d be back, since you didn’t get your scone earlier.”
How well he knew her.
“Do you know what kind of man he is? Now?” Pierre’s questions reared their ugly heads.
Jolene didn’t want to think about potential problems. She wanted to enjoy Robert’s safe return and the fact that she no longer had to hide her love for him. “I guess we let the cat out of the bag earlier.”
He bent closer. “Yeah. I think we’d better talk about that.”
Jolene longed to touch his cheek, but they were in enough trouble. “Where would you like to go?”
Rising to his full height, he looked over top of the crowd. “There’s a bench over there”—he jutted his chin toward the flower displays—“that’s empty for now.”
“How about I go ahead, and you follow at your own pace?”
His gaze sent a thrill through her. “I’d follow you anywhere, Jolene Caplan.”
Blushing, she walked where he’d indicated. She could feel Robert’s eyes on her all the way to the empty bench. She sat and waited for him to join her.
He eased himself down and set the crutches on the ground beside him. “What job did Walpole offer you?”
Reprieve over. “Aerial stunt pilot.”
“For Dayton-Wright? Absolutely not!”
A few fairgoers gawked at them.
Robert glared right back. “Do you know what we called the Dayton-Wright DH-4 planes over in France? Flaming coffins, that’s what. And they want to put a woman in one? Over my dead body.”
Jolene smiled at his protectiveness. “Since Mr. Walpole said they want me to demonstrate the safety and maneuverability of their planes, I doubt they’d put me in one that was dangerous. But if I turn him down, I prefer to tell Mr. Walpole my own way.”
“My Jolene. Always the peacemaker.”
Was he insulting her? Just because she chose to use soft words and to speak when tempers weren’t inflamed didn’t mean she couldn’t stand up for herself. Her way was better than throwing punches first and shouting later.
To prove it—to herself if no one else—she changed the subject to something less inflammatory. “Did you work on planes, then?” She traced a circle on her kneecap.
“I worked on whatever kind of engine they put in front of me for as long as they’d let me.” He scratched his neck. “But eventually they needed me more in the trenches.”
Jolene sensed his reluctance to say more, but Pierre’s questions needed to be answered. “Are you … okay?”
He went still. “You mean other than a broken ankle?”
The familiar crook in his nose, those tawny eyes, and the angles of his jaw lured Jolene to believe she still knew him, but seventeen months and a war stood between them. And maybe even more. “The papers have started talking about something called shell shock.”
“And you want to know if I’m suffering from it?” No mockery laced his question.
Thank heaven he was taking her seriously. Jolene nodded.
A wry grin twisted his lips. “An hour ago, I would have laughed at you, but not now.”
Goose bumps pebbled her skin. “Why?”
He looked out over the fair crowd and told her how he’d made a fool of himself over the pop of a balloon. “The doctors say my reaction is normal and to expect loud noises, especially if they’re sudden, to startle me for as much as six months. But I’ve seen shell-shocked soldiers. You can tell them by the hollowness in their eyes.” Robert opened his eyes wider and grinned. “See. All here.”
Sweet relief filled her lungs. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Robert shifted on the bench, his grin fading. “Are you? I mean, are you really?”
Had he missed the whole part about kissing him like a wanton woman?
“I mean”—he scrubbed at his scalp like he was trying to remove a layer of skin—“I know you kissed me and all, but …”
But? She didn’t know this faltering Robert. He’d always been so sure of himself. Of her. Of their love. Her heart began to race. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”
He rolled his shoulders. “Look, before I left, I told you not to write. To forget all about me.”
The words stabbed afresh. He’d wanted a clean break—a chance to get over her and for her to get over him. She’d been miserable for days. Her mother thought she’d caught a cold. “I remember.”
Robert gripped his hands together in front of him. “Well? Did you?”
She squinted like it would bring his confusing words into focus. “Did I what?”
He lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Did you … forget about me?”
“Forget about you? Do you think I would—?” She lowered her voice. No point in causing another public spectacle. “Do you think I would have kissed you like that if I’d forgotten about you?”
Robert heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his toes. “Thank goodness.” He grabbed her hand and started to babble. “I was afraid maybe I had kissed you and you didn’t kiss me back, and I didn’t know if that was true, so I wasn’t sure what to think.”
Jolene squeezed his hand. “Silly boy.”
Robert swiped a hand against his cheek.
If she acknowledged his tears, it would embarrass him, so Jolene looked around for a new topic of conversation. “Did you see the displays of fruits and vegetables?”
“No, but I’
m guessing you have.”
“Not yet. I got a little sidetracked by a certain soldier.” She stood and tugged on his hand. “Would you come with me?”
With an exaggerated huff, he let go of her hand and bent to retrieve his crutches. “If you insist.”
Grinning because his show of reluctance was exactly what she expected—and therefore proof he was still her Robert—Jolene waited for him to stand before sauntering toward the displays of canned goods stacked in layers of color.
They started with the vegetables. Asparagus, beans, and pickles in shades of green with an occasional red, white, or blue ribbon hanging from jars to indicate winners. Many of the fairgoers around them offered Robert a nod or salute. A few of the women gripped his hand to thank him for his service and ask if he knew their son or nephew, brother or cousin.
He didn’t, but he answered each with a solemn assurance that no news was good news and that the war was winding down.
Pride swelling her heart, Jolene stood beside him soaking in these stolen moments where everyone around them assumed they were a joyful, reunited soldier and his girl enjoying a sunny day at the fair.
They moved to the fruit where pale applesauce and canned pears gave way to the orangey yellows of apricots and peaches.
Jolene picked up the winning jar of peaches, feeling the weight of it and turning it in her hand to observe the perfect golden slices touched with red slivers at their core. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. “Do you know why I spend every free moment at every fair wandering through the canned fruit and vegetable entries?”
Robert bent his head closer to her lips.
“Because this”—she fingered the blue ribbon hanging from the jar—“is the embodiment of my dream: to live in one place long enough to grow my own fruit tree, pick and preserve its goodness, and win a blue ribbon at the local fair.”
A hand touched the small of her back. “I know. And I want to give it to you more than you can possibly imagine.”
All the obstacles to such a rosy future filled her lungs to bursting. She saw one way, but if she spoke it aloud, would her dream dissipate like vapor?