Homefront Hero

by Allie Pleiter

  John deliberately left his cane in the outer room and walked into the general’s office unaided. It hurt, but he absolutely refused to submit to any limp whatsoever. His dramatic entrance was lost, for Dr. Madison and General Barnes were standing over a large piece of paper on the general’s desk. John executed the customary salutes, after which Barnes held up the paper. It was a sample cover of Era magazine with John and Leanne in their first knitting photographs. “Outstanding work, Captain. You hit the newsstands in two weeks.”

  A month ago, John would have been thrilled to grace the cover of Era, even for something as ridiculous as the Red Cross knitting campaign.

  This morning as he looked at the photograph, he didn’t see his impending glory. All he could see were Leanne’s and his eyes. Hadn’t the photographer made some remark about “photographic chemistry”? Now with the clarity of hindsight, John recognized it as the first sparks of the flame that had been lit yesterday afternoon. A flame that singed far more than it warmed this morning. “Well, sir, it’s mission accomplished, then.” He’d have preferred to relish the victory more.

  “The director of the Red Cross called me this morning. They’re over the moon with the article, calling you their new ‘Homefront Hero.’”

  “Leave it to Captain Gallows to be declared a hero on two continents in as many months,” said Dr. Madison.

  “That’s our Gallows.” The general nodded, signaling John and the doctor to sit down. “No challenge too great, no job too hard.”

  “I did have a bit of help, sir. Had Nurse Sample been unable to teach a lug like me, I doubt the Red Cross would be so pleased.”

  “Nonsense. We know who we’ve got in you. You’ve got a star quality we need at the moment. Our battles at home are as big as the ones over there.” John didn’t like what Barnes was implying. It wasn’t in his plans to be too valuable over here—it’s why he’d resisted both the speeches and the photographs at first. He’d worked hard to turn both into leverage he could use to get back to France.

  John pulled himself upright in his chair. “With all respect, sir, it’s time for me to get back over to those battles. In two weeks I’ll have finished all I can do for you here. I have big plans.”

  “The captain has too many big plans in my opinion,” Dr. Madison interjected. “He works himself too hard. Encourage that, and he’ll not heal that leg as he should.”

  “You have your results from yesterday?”

  Madison handed Barnes a file, but the doctor’s face was a frustrating blank. John felt his leg turn to knots as the rest of his body tensed with anxiety. He’d wanted to ace the exam, to give Madison no choice but to pass him through; the tiny window of doubt he’d left with those last two exercises was driving him mad. Leanne’s prayers that God would grant the wisest outcome despite John’s wishes was driving him madder still.

  General Barnes opened the file and donned his glasses. John looked at Dr. Madison, but the man would not return his stare. Was that good or bad? Why were these men drawing this out so when they knew all that was hanging on their decision for him? Please, the silent groan echoed up from somewhere so deep inside John he was startled to think it might actually have been a prayer. Out of nowhere, he remembered the story Leanne told him on one of their insufferable laps about a Roman captain who asked Christ to heal his daughter. Out of respect for the Almighty’s authority, the soldier didn’t require a visit, just a command. Fine then, I respect Your authority. Please, Sir, if You’re all Leanne says, You know how much I need this.

  “A remarkably fast recovery,” Barnes said without looking up.

  “An alarmingly fast recovery,” added Madison, and John glowered at him.

  The general removed his glasses. “Madison here says that you do, in fact, meet the physical qualifications for being returned to active service. However, he’s recommending against it.”

  “It’s simply not wise to rush this.” Dr. Madison pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Gallows, you’ve been working hard. I reward hard work when I see it. Even when someone else doesn’t see it my way.” Barnes smiled. “I’m overriding the doctor’s recommendation and sending you back.”

  John shot up out of his chair, all pain forgotten. “Thank you, sir. Thank you!”

  Barnes motioned him back down. “Don’t thank me until you’ve heard it all. We still need your particular gifts on the home front. The truth is you’re not done here yet.”

  How very like the army to offer something with one hand and snatch it back with the other. “Meaning?”

  “John, I’ve got places you need to be.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his coat pocket and handed it to John. “Those higher up like what you’ve done here. I’ve been asked to ship you to Chicago in a week. They heard our recruitment rate has doubled since your presentation and they need you to do what you did here.”

  “Chicago, sir?” Fully aware of the general’s rank, John was still ready to argue. “Chicago?”

  “Only for a week of speeches at Fort Sheridan. Oh, you’ll thank me for this—it’s the president’s baby, that base, all big and fancy and they plan to give you quite the send-off before you ship out to air corps.”

  “Air corps? Pilot training?”

  Barnes smile widened. “You didn’t think we’d keep you on the ground after all that airborne heroism, did you?”

  Pilot training. It was better than he’d hoped. He’d have a chance at the real future on a ship of speed. On battle aircraft. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir. You’ll absolutely not regret this.” He dared a look at Dr. Madison. “Either of you.”

  “I regret it already.” Dr. Madison sighed.

  John shook the general’s hand. Pointing at the magazine cover mock-up, he said, “May I, sir?”

  “By all means. I’ll make sure a dozen of them go to your family when they hit the stands.”

  “Thank you again.” John shook Madison’s hand for good measure, even though the doctor looked sourly outranked. He saluted, snapping his heels together for emphasis even though it shot flames up his leg, and turned to go.

  “Your cane, Gallows,” the general called, the hint of a laugh in his voice showing how pleased he knew he’d just made John.

  John turned with a smile wider than the commander’s. “Left it outside, sir. Not needed.”

  Madison frowned even further, Barnes grinned and John ignored the fire in his leg as he nearly sauntered from the room.

  Chapter Nineteen

  John stood outside the general’s office, smelling victory in the fall air. The camp hummed with activity; new soldiers seemed to be pouring in daily. The overcrowding had bothered him before—every man was well aware things had gone far beyond capacity and even the officers were feeling crammed in like sardines—but not today. Today the bustle was music. He was going back. John spun his cane like Charlie Chaplin, whistling. There was far too much energy shooting through his body to be bothered with anything mortal like pain. They would send him back. His final chapter in the Great War would not be in the role of poster boy, but of soldier. He was leaving.

  He was leaving Leanne.

  It was for the best, he saw that. They were too different to share a lifetime, and war split even the truest of matches. He looked at the Era cover image Barnes had given him. Even in the stark black-and-white, her eyes pulled him in. Was it just his imagination, or was that spark already present between them back when this was taken? Had his annoyed amusement been something more all along? Did it matter now?

  She could not hear about his leaving from anyone other than him. He knew that, but dreaded the conversation. They’d need to be together at least once more in order to finish the photographic sessions. He ran his hand over the paper and wondered what would show in their eyes on that final image. Would fate allow him a farewell kiss? Would Leanne? John thought of the single sock, nearly finished yet never to see a mate, and thought it would make a fitting parting gift. There would be nothing gained by waiting to deliver the news.
It’d be best to tackle the task now, while he was still feeling the thrill of achievement.

  The house matron no longer asked his name, merely gave him a pleasant-but-supervisory smile as she went up to Leanne’s hallway on the second floor. The creak of the stairs cast his mind back to the dance, when she’d come down those same stairs, an absolute vision in rustling rose satin. That was the first time he’d wanted to kiss her—but that time was more about a man and a pretty girl than the far deeper stirrings of the previous day. Yesterday had told him he could love Leanne Sample, perhaps already did, but could not have her. John nearly laughed at his sorry lot. He knew her weaknesses, knew how to overthrow them, but was bowing to her request that he stand down. Nobility proved dismal company.

  She knew the minute she saw him. He’d spent the past few minutes searching for the kindest words, only to realize they weren’t needed.

  “Captain.” In a single, sad word, Leanne robbed his victory of satisfaction.

  He took a careful step toward her, noticing the way her hand tightened on the banister as he approached. How her hands fascinated him. He’d see them for years when he closed his eyes at night—those hands, and the color of her eyes. “I’m not leaving for two weeks, but I am leaving.” He did not want to have this conversation in a Red Cross House parlor. “Walk with me, please?”

  Her grip tightened. “What more is there to say?”

  “A great deal.” He wasn’t sure he could ever make her fully understand why he was going, but it was better to try than to spend this remaining time in such tension. “Please, Leanne, I beg of you.” He’d never used that phrase with anyone, ever.

  “I’ll get my wrap.” He hated the thin, fragile tone of her voice, hated knowing it was he who hurt her so. Leanne turned to go back up the stairs, only to meet Ida bringing a wrap down to her. Ida shot John a “don’t you hurt her more” look and handed Leanne a handkerchief, as well.

  They walked in silence. John led them purposely to the bench where she’d prayed over his leg. It felt a kindness to remind her that she’d prayed over the outcome of this test, prayed that God would allow the result best for all, not just the desire of either of their hearts. This was best for all concerned.

  “I’ll regret leaving you,” he began, knowing it was a poor start. “Can you understand why I must go back? Why I can’t leave it at dangling over the ocean? Only a fool with a piece of ribbon considers that bravery, not I.”

  “Is that how you see your honor?” Her words were sharp for the first time. He’d finally caused her enough pain to overpower her infinite grace.

  “Yes,” he replied. He never spoke of this to anyone, but he would not leave her without the truth. “I can paint the most valiant picture of my daring escapade when it’s called for, you already know that version. It’s nearly all fiction, Leanne. Yes, I saved lives, but do you know what that stunt up in the dirigible truly was? Pure fear of dying. Not bravery, nor honor, just fear. I didn’t climb out onto those stay wires to save the crew or the mission, I went out because it was the only thing I could think of to do to keep from dying.”

  “You sought to keep everyone from dying.”

  “No, that’s only how it looked. I gave no thought to anyone else on that ship, only to my own skin. There was no heroism in it, no nobility. And as for daring? Well, let us just say you’d be surprised at the lengths a man will go to stay alive.” He looked out over the lawn, not wanting to see her reaction, feeling sharp and raw as if he’d just ripped the bloody bandage off a wound. “And you’d be surprised the lengths other men will go to make it look like something it never was, just for the sake of gaining a poster boy to acclaim.”

  Her silence drew his eyes back to her despite his own resistance. It was unfair, what her face could do to him. Even hurt and angry, the morning sun set sparkles in her eyes and spun a halo of light through her hair. She seemed as weary as he, yet the stillness made her seem ethereal.

  “You lie even to yourself, John.” Her sigh was so delicate, so full of regret that he felt her emotion ripple down his own spine. “God spared your life and you tell yourself you must throw it away in order to deserve what He’s granted? He places you here and you run back to harm? Why must you thrash your life about like a battle-sword?”

  She said every question except one, so he said it for her. “Why must I leave you?”

  Leanne did not reply.

  “Leanne, I’ve always had to leave you. We are at war. It has only been a matter of ‘when,’ never of ‘if.’ It’s a wonder we met at all. Consider that God granted us the gift of some time together. Not much time, but some. We should make the most of it. I don’t want to spend my final days here keeping clear of you when I would much rather spend them with you.”

  “I cannot stand pain as well as you can.”

  She couldn’t have made her decision more clear. He’d promised to be a gentleman—he’d abide by her wishes. John stood, gathered his cane and pulled the magazine cover from his pocket. “I hope it is not too painful to have this.” He handed it to her. “It’s the eyes I like most. We’ll do fabulously. General Barnes tells me the Red Cross is thrilled.”

  Leanne took it, running a delicate finger over the “Knit Your Bit” slogan that splashed across the top of the image in large red letters. She managed a shadow of a smile as she looked up at him.

  “I’m not sorry for any of it, Leanne. Not one bit of it. You’re…” He didn’t even know what he wanted to say to her. There wasn’t a word for what she was to him, so he chose the closest one he could find. “You’re a gift.”

  * * *

  The final photo session was to show John stitching up the toe of the sock. John mastered the grafting stitch with ease, even though Leanne often found it the hardest skill to teach. She’d chosen to do this final step without rehearsal, not because it didn’t need preparation, but because she couldn’t endure any more time alone with John. He’d made it easy for her, sending word he was too busy with Chicago preparations to do anything but manage the photograph.

  Things were indeed chaotic at the camp—soldiers were coming in at twice the rate they had been over the summer and an outbreak of a common flulike soldier ailment called “the grip” had taxed all the nursing shifts. Still, Leanne saw easily through John’s ruse. He was avoiding her, plain and simple, and she was glad for it.

  All of her prayers for peace and contentment dissolved at the sight of him in full uniform again. She’d thought it impossible for him to grow any more handsome in her eyes, and yet achievement of his goal lent him an even more commanding presence. Even the sock he displayed made things worse. The cuff spoke of their first lessons, their verbal sparring and his oversize persona. The ribbing of how they’d grown to know each other, the gusset of the waltzes that had opened her heart to him and now the toe would speak of the end. Complete and yet incomplete, for a single sock is insufficient unto itself.

  “It’s a pity there’ll be no pair,” he said as they sat down in front of the lights. Had he seen the same symbolism in what they’d done together?

  “You know the skills now. I can send you with the yarn and needles to finish the job.” She’d tried to make it sound like the banter of their earlier lessons, but it fell hopelessly short.

  “It isn’t to be,” he’d replied. She couldn’t understand how his eyes could hold such regret and satisfaction in the same gaze. Perhaps it was by God’s design of male and female, how men could go to war and how women could wait at home. But there was no waiting here, just as there was no second sock.

  “Come on, you two, you’ve no energy today,” the photographer complained. “I need to see victory in those eyes, Captain Gallows. Show me victory!”

  After a handful of exposures, the photographer came out from behind the camera. “Thank you for your tireless service,” he said in poorly hidden frustration, looking directly at Leanne. “We’ll only need the captain for these final shots.” John balked, but Leanne was glad to stop trying to be something
she wasn’t under those hot lights. There was no hope of recapturing the spark of that first photograph. Not here, not today.

  Dismissed as she was, Leanne still couldn’t bring herself to leave the session. She watched from the back of the room as they shot the last exposures of John. His eyes found hers between shots, kept looking at her even though she could not always meet his gaze. Then the photographer would call for him to pose, and somehow John could instantly transform, could pull the charismatic presence up from some well she didn’t possess. He was every inch the hero, tall and dashing. Every boy would want to be him.

  “Should bring a pretty penny at the auction, Captain,” the photographer’s assistant admired when the final flash had gone off. “Carolina’s most famous sock.”

  She’d forgotten about that. Somewhere in the letting go, she’d convinced herself he’d give the sock to her. That when all this was over, she’d have that one memento, the fitting but painful symbol of their time together.

  “Not much else a single sadly knit sock can do, is there?” John replied. “It had better fetch a fortune—I doubt it’s good for anything else.”

  It had better fetch a fortune indeed. That single sock had cost Leanne her heart.

  Chapter Twenty

  “But you told me to do that other stitch here.” The soldier from Atlanta had every right to look annoyed. Leanne had given him completely wrong instructions. She’d been useless in today’s knitting class. She’d been useless in most of her duties, her mind dangerously preoccupied with the one student she no longer taught.