When the Clouds Roll By

by Myra Johnson

  “You’re coming down to dinner then?” She fluttered her hands in a vain attempt help.

  “No. I’m going out after all.” He tugged at his trouser leg until it slid down to cover the infernal contraption attached to his thigh. Though the artificial leg gave him a semblance of normalcy, it remained a source of perpetual discomfort. “Hand me my crutches, will you?”

  His mother complied but with no small amount of disdain. “Are you seeing her again?”

  “No, Mother dear. I’m safe from her wickedness for tonight.” Casting his mother a withering glance over his shoulder, he snatched up his tweed jacket and hobbled to the door, every footfall shooting pain through his skull.

  At the landing he paused to work his arms into his jacket sleeves, then checked the inside pocket for his vial of morphine pills. Almost empty, thanks to yet another killer headache. He reminded himself to contact his supplier first thing in the morning. In the meantime, he’d have to settle for a night of poker, cheap cigars, and free-flowing booze. Although if he kept this up, his income from the part-time job Thomas had finagled for him wouldn’t suffice.

  Why are you doing this to yourself, Gilbert?

  The question caught him up short, nearly pitching him headfirst down the staircase. He wasn’t sure whose voice echoed through his head—Samuel’s, Mary’s, Annemarie’s?

  God’s?

  As if God cared. Where was God when the artillery shell exploded? Where was God when Gilbert’s blood poured from his severed thigh? Where was God the day Gilbert looked down from a hospital window to see his sweetheart walking away on the arm of his best friend?

  Why was he doing this to himself? Because if he were bad enough, vile enough, contemptible enough, maybe he’d convince Annemarie and everyone else that she truly was better off without him.

  And maybe, in the process, he’d convince himself.

  23

  Why you thought you needed me to check your work, Jack, I’ll never know.” Annemarie tapped the ledger page with her pencil. “And I daresay your handwriting is oceans more legible than mine!”

  Jack Trapp looked sharp in his crisply starched shirt, paisley tie, and gray pinstriped vest. He nudged his chair back and shot Annemarie a self-satisfied grin. “Army life’s good for something, I suppose. Clerking for army muckety-mucks taught me plenty about bookkeeping, filing, and the like.”

  “And if it kept you away from the front lines and safe from harm, all the better.” Annemarie returned his smile with a twinge of sadness for all the men who weren’t as fortunate.

  Like Sam. Like Gilbert.

  Shaking off such melancholy thoughts, she retrieved another invoice from the stack they’d been working through. “What do you hear from your sister Joanna? Is she still in Paris?”

  “We had a letter just yesterday. The Army Signal Corps is keeping her busy while the bigwigs iron out the peace treaty. Hopefully she’ll be home by summer.”

  “She’s so brave to have volunteered.” If not for Papa needing her at the factory—and the fact that Annemarie’s French was atrocious—she might have joined her neighbor for an overseas adventure. Serving her country as a Hello Girl, as the wartime telephone operators were called, would have been so much more exciting than filing invoices and inventorying supplies.

  And maybe in France she could have made her way to Gilbert when he needed her.

  Why, oh why, couldn’t she let such thoughts go? He’d made his choice. And she’d made hers. Every moment she spent with Samuel, she found herself falling ever more deeply in love. At least she prayed it was love. She only knew she hadn’t felt so happy and alive since those halcyon days before Wilson declared war on Germany and Gilbert sailed away on a troop ship.

  She handed Jack the next invoice. “I’ve explained before about the Mountain Valley Water account, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, a standing order for ceramic jugs to be filled monthly.” Jack flipped to another page in the ledger and made an entry. “I’ve been making myself a list of reminders—which orders are due when, payroll schedules, customer contact names . . .”

  “You are the picture of efficiency.” Annemarie checked the time—nearly noon—and bounced up from her chair. “And I am about to be late meeting Sam for lunch.”

  Jack stood and helped her on with her light spring coat. “Last-minute planning for the grand opening of your shop?”

  A shiver raced up Annemarie’s spine. “I can hardly believe it’s only a few days away. Next Monday will be here before I know it!” She found her hat and handbag and hurried to the door. “Remind my father he promised to bring the car for me at my shop this evening. I’ve told him a thousand times already, but he still won’t remember.”

  “You bet. Thanks again for your help this morning.”

  “As if you needed it. Why, I’m already ancient history in this office.” With a jaunty nod, she scurried out.

  Putting all thoughts of the factory behind her, she made it to the corner just as the trolley arrived. She climbed aboard and found a seat only seconds before the car lurched forward with a clang. The March breeze carried a whisper of early-spring blossoms as it toyed with the curl she could never keep in place. She dearly loved springtime—the palest shades of green peeking out through the trees, poking up through the lawns. Tulips and jonquils nosing through fragrant mulch, dogwoods and redbuds dotting the mountainsides with hints of color . . .

  The most splendorous season of all, a time for new beginnings.

  “Central and Reserve,” the conductor called, and the trolley ground to a stop.

  Annemarie stepped to the pavement and marched up the hill toward the imposing array of red brick and Swiss chalet-style buildings comprising the Army and Navy Hospital. Hurrying up the steep flight of steps from Reserve Avenue, she glimpsed Sam waving to her from the administration building veranda. Her throat clenched, and she waved back with ferocity.

  He met her on the pathway in front of the building, where he swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly—a kiss for all the world to see, and she didn’t care. Releasing her, he offered a smile tinged with concern. “You’re late. I was worried.”

  “Jack had some questions about the factory accounts, and the time slipped away.” She wished she could soothe away the doubt she constantly read in Sam’s expression, in the hesitant tone of his voice.

  She wished for freedom from her own doubts and misgivings and prayed springtime would be a time of new beginnings for them both. Hooking her arm through Sam’s, she leaned into his shoulder. “I’m starved. Where are we going for lunch?”

  Sam kissed her temple. “How does a picnic sound?”

  “Delightful! The weather is perfect for a picnic.”

  “Wait here,” he said, leaving her on the path. “I’ll be right back with the hamper.”

  Annemarie couldn’t help but laugh at the picture Sam made as he bounded up the hospital steps like a schoolboy. On the veranda, he retrieved a picnic basket covered with a red gingham cloth—and by the looks of it, he’d brought enough for half the county. Nearly bent double by the weight, he was huffing and puffing like a freight train by the time he rejoined her on the path.

  Annemarie wrapped her hands around the basket handle to help carry the burden. “I hope we’re not going far. What on earth have you packed for us?”

  “Oh, just a few sandwiches and salads, some fruit and cheese, bottled spring water. The hospital kitchen was most obliging.” Samuel nodded toward a grassy area south of the building. “There, how about under that tree?”

  “Perfect. Because I don’t think we can carry this thing another inch.” She groaned with relief when they deposited the hamper in the lacy shade of an elm tree just leafing out.

  Folding aside the cloth, Samuel reached into the basket and brought out a fuzzy plaid blanket, which he spread at the base of the tree. He turned to Annemarie and bowed from the waist. “Your table, miss. May I seat you?”

  “Why, thank you.” With a coy smile, she offer
ed Samuel her hand as she gracefully lowered herself to the ground. “I do hope you’ll join me, kind sir.”

  “I was hoping you’d ask.” Samuel plopped onto the blanket next to her, and the light of laughter shining in his eyes made her heart soar.

  If only it could always be like this—the past locked securely away, the war but a distant memory, their only thought the joy of being together. She reached for Samuel’s hand, and he pulled her toward him for a tender kiss.

  Sometime later, the remnants of their lunch scattered across the blanket, Annemarie leaned against the tree trunk and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. Contentment seeped through her limbs like rich cream, and the world seemed softer somehow.

  Samuel ran a finger along the back of her hand, his touch featherlight and dreamy. “What are you thinking?”

  She turned a smile his way. “That I’d like to stay right here under this tree for the rest of my life.”

  “Hmm. What if it rains?”

  “It won’t. Rain is strictly forbidden.”

  Samuel scooted against the trunk and rested his head near hers. “I hear summers can get mighty hot around here.”

  “Nope. Not under this tree.”

  “Hail? Sleet? Snow? I suppose you’re having none of those either.”

  “Absolutely not.” She tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, and he enfolded her under his arm. With a long, sad sigh, she asked, “Tell me why, Sam. Why can’t we make this moment last forever?”

  “If I could make it so, I would.” His warm lips brushed her forehead, and she felt her growing sadness creep into him. He held her in silence for a long time, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with her own, until finally he nudged her to her knees and then stood to help her to her feet.

  “Must we go?” She tucked her arms beneath his and studied his gaze, now dark and brooding.

  “I have hospital calls to make, and you have a grand opening to prepare for.” He laughed gently. “Or have you forgotten?”

  Somehow she had, for though their lunch plans had included going over last-minute details, not one word had been spoken about the shop. “Blame yourself for distracting me with this marvelous picnic. How could I think of anything else in such an idyllic setting?”

  His languorous smile suggested her studio opening had been the furthest thing from his mind as well. He drew a teasing finger down the length of her nose before bending to gather up the picnic supplies. “I’ll meet you at the shop immediately after my last appointment this afternoon. I expect it’ll be shortly after four—five at the latest.”

  Annemarie helped him fold the blanket. “I couldn’t do this without you, you know. You’ve made a lifelong dream come true.”

  Their hands meshed as they drew the ends of the blanket together, and she was loathe to let him go. He looked ready to voice a reply but then swallowed and turned away to finish folding the blanket.

  Always, always the specter of guilt rising between them—his, her own.

  Dear Lord, You who make all things new, set us free from the past once and for all.

  Pausing at the top of the hospital steps, Gilbert closed his fist around the railing until his arm shook. The curse he’d barely managed to suppress scalded his throat. He wished he were crushing Sam’s pious little neck.

  “You coming, Gil?” Thomas looked up from a lower step. “You’re on the clock this afternoon, remember?” Then his gaze followed Gilbert’s to where Annemarie and Samuel were packing up the remains of a picnic. “Might as well accept it. Annemarie has moved on.”

  Now Gilbert turned his rage upon Thomas. He shook the end of his crutch in Thomas’s face. “I don’t need your sass, little brother. Bad enough I have to work for you.”

  “And you won’t be for long if you keep up that attitude.” Thomas glared. “So, are you coming with me, or are you going to stand there wallowing in self-pity over something you brought on yourself?”

  Seething, Gilbert cast a final glance toward the couple striding along the path. Though it galled him to admit it, he knew Thomas was right. Gilbert’s first mistake was showing Annemarie’s photograph to Samuel aboard the Comfort. He’d seen the attraction in Sam’s eyes . . . the longing . . . even then. And having already determined he could never burden Annemarie with his disabilities, Gilbert had decided to take full advantage. He’d even told Samuel point-blank he had Gilbert’s blessing to pursue Annemarie’s affection.

  Then why—why—did seeing them together make him want to rip both their hearts out and cast their writhing bodies off the nearest cliff?

  He looked up to see Thomas striding toward the car without him. Well, good riddance. Gilbert had better things to do than sit at a cluttered desk in a cramped office poring over housekeeping staff schedules. Besides, Thomas would never fire his own brother, or their mother would never let him hear the end of it.

  On the other hand, Gilbert didn’t look forward to another confrontation with Samuel and Annemarie. Before they noticed him, he sidled back inside the hospital and made his way to the wing where Mary would be working. If anyone could take the edge off his anger, it was she.

  He skidded to a halt at the entrance to the ward. The eagle-eyed chief nurse Mrs. Daley would be making rounds at this hour.

  “Lieutenant Ballard.” The woman with the steel-gray topknot pressed her knuckles against her narrow hipbones. “A word, if you please.”

  “Ma’am.” He pulled in a long breath through his nose, then released it noisily as he followed the nurse to a more private corner.

  Hands folded at her waist, Mrs. Daley shot him a one-eyed glare. “The hospital rumor mill is running rampant. Be warned, I will not have you sullying the reputation of one of my nurses.”

  Gilbert’s chest rose, ready to explode. “Don’t—” He reined in his temper along with his tongue, then lowered his voice and tried again. “Don’t take this out on Mary. Please. She’s done nothing wrong.”

  “Be that as it may, this hospital has standards that must be adhered to. I have already instructed Miss McClarney any further . . . visits . . . with you on hospital property will result in her immediate expulsion from the Army Nurse Corps.”

  Jaw trembling, Gilbert nodded. “I understand. You have my word.”

  By Saturday afternoon, with both their mothers assisting with the finishing touches, Samuel decided little remained to prepare Annemarie’s shop for Monday’s grand opening. While Annemarie and Mrs. Kendall returned some cleaning supplies to the back room, Samuel surveyed the arrangement of pottery to be displayed in the front window.

  “What do you think, Mother? Should this taller piece be moved farther back?”

  “Not too far, or the light won’t be right.” Samuel’s mother edged the rose-colored vase a fraction of an inch to the left. “Annemarie does such exquisite work. I’d purchase this for myself if I thought I could carry it safely home on the train. It would go so well with the wallpaper in the dining room.”

  “I’m sure we could wrap it securely.” Although Samuel suspected transporting the vase was the least of his mother’s concerns. Between ensuring Samuel had fully recovered from the influenza, and then helping Annemarie with her plans for the shop, she’d stayed on much longer than originally planned. He squeezed her shoulder. “You’re homesick, aren’t you?”

  “A wee bit.” She swiveled to face him and smiled into his eyes. “It would be much easier to go home if I weren’t so worried about my only son.”

  “I’m fine, Mother. Feeling fitter than ever, in fact.”

  Arching a brow, she brushed a speck of dust from the placket of his Oxford shirt. “Physically, yes. But what about here?” She patted his chest. “It’s your heart I’m most concerned about.”

  He tried to laugh off her remark while pretending to notice a smudge on a display cabinet door. “Annemarie makes me happy. I believe I make her happy, too.”

  “I’ve no doubt either way.” She stilled his hand as he busily polished the imaginary smudge. “Bu
t I’m your mother, and it’s been clear since I first arrived there’s something troubling you, something you refuse to talk about, perhaps even admit to yourself.”

  Samuel straightened. Was he that transparent? “It’s the war, that’s all.”

  “All? My darling boy, though I never set foot on a battlefield, I listened to every news report, read every word printed in the paper. What you endured was an ordeal beyond imagining.”

  Samuel strode across to the sales counter in search of something else with which to distract himself. “Stop, Mother. Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know you don’t, and that’s the problem.” His mother linked her arm through his, effectively stopping his meaningless activity. “You listen to everyone else’s stories—all those troubled soldiers who come to you seeking counsel and prayer—but you hold your own story inside. And it’s eating you alive.”

  Annemarie’s lilting laughter preceded her return from the back room. “No, Mama, I am not shopping for a new dress for the opening. My mauve watered silk will do just fine.”

  “But it’s such a special occasion. You deserve something new.” Mrs. Kendall waggled a lace-edged handkerchief toward Samuel’s mother, who silently released her hold on Samuel’s arm. “Help me convince her, Ursula. I know a lovely little dress shop. The three of us could— Oh, dear, why such long faces? Is something wrong?”

  “Sam?” Annemarie marched to his side, her gaze probing.

  With a forced smile, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “It’s nothing. Mother was just talking about needing to return home soon.”

  Her furrowed brow said she didn’t quite believe him, but she turned to his mother and said, “It must be hard to think of being apart again, especially after Sam was away for so long. I’m glad you’ve been able to stay as long as you have.”

  “And I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.” Samuel’s mother perused the showroom with a satisfied sigh. “Well, it appears there is not a thing more to be done here—except to shop for a dress,” she added with a wink.