Joe Huntington Is Finally Home
After long years away at war, Joe is determined to start his life anew. But it isn’t easy. Settling into his Michigan hometown at last, he doesn’t expect to come face-to-face with the girl who got away—and is still holding a grudge.
Feisty dance teacher Victoria Banks has always stood on her own two feet. But everyone needs help sometimes. It’s tempting to share her joys and troubles with a war hero who would like nothing more than to cherish her. But can she let go of the past…and take a second chance on love?
Joe was trying hard to make out the girl’s profile.
But it was dark, and all he could see were her shining eyes, glittery eyes, beautiful pale blue eyes. Her gaze glued itself to the stage.
She tucked a light curl behind her ear, and that motion struck a chord with him. A strangely familiar chord. Like seeing the girl next door.
As he turned to leave, he lifted the program from the seat and, not paying attention, rammed into her back. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve been more than a bit of a nuisance tonight.”
“Not to worry.” Her voice carried over her shoulder, cheerful in spite of all she’d endured at his expense. She’d probably get out and away from him as quickly as possible.
And then she glanced back.
His mouth nearly unhinged. That was why she looked familiar. Victoria Banks. “I guess I’ll always be saying I’m sorry to you, won’t I?”
Her large eyes widened. “Well, if it isn’t Joseph Huntington from Miss Davies’s Dance School. The graduation dance. All grown-up.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Or is that Sergeant Huntington?”
He groaned. “And I stepped on your foot…again.”
Books by Linda S. Glaz
Love Inspired Heartsong Presents
With Eyes of Love
Always, Abby
The Substitute Bride
The Preacher’s New Family
Bride by Necessity
The Soldier’s Homecoming
LINDA S. GLAZ
is married with three children, all grown, but that gives her so much time to write. She loves soccer and karate, which she taught for more than twenty-five years, and adores theater—especially musicals. She has two novellas and six novels all published or contracted, and has six suspense novels waiting to find homes. She also works as a literary agent for Hartline Literary Agency. Why does she do so much? She has a triple-A personality and must stay busy.
Linda S. Glaz
The Soldier’s Homecoming
And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.
—Romans 8:28
To my granddaughter, Victoria, who loves to dance, and who is a precious light in our lives. Love you, beautiful!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Howell, Michigan
June 1945
Victoria Banks spun on her toes until an unexpected wave of dizziness forced her to stop. She grabbed the edge of the wooden counter, but her students circled around clapping for more. She offered one last, unsteady pirouette and then brought class to a halt. “Enough for tonight.” Hand over heart, she laughed at the girls’ antics.
Like miniature cartoon dancers, her youngest class of ballerinas spun like the tops of music boxes. Round and round until Victoria felt faint. “No more. No more.”
“Awww,” Suki, a redhead whose curly hair was always in a mess, moped.
The little blonde with eyes more golden than moonbeams said, “C’mon, Miss Banks. Again. Again.”
“Please….”
Wiping perspiration from her face with a towel as her breath came in short gasps, Victoria attempted a smile. “No more today. We’re finished with this lesson, and I hope you’ll all go home and practice. Goodness knows I need some rest from all of you little bundles of energy.” Mother had been right, as usual. She shouldn’t have stayed out so late with her best friend, Florence, last night. Today she was paying for her foolishness.
She just needed to catch her breath, that was all. During the lessons her girls somehow managed to get her to demonstrate more than she ever planned. But tonight she had to hurry, because tonight she and Flo were catching the train into Lansing to see Phillipe dance Swan Lake. Oh, Phillipe Mandrin. Dancer extraordinaire. Not just a wonderful dancer, but a French danceur.
Flo’s older brother, David, and his wife would meet them at the station and escort them to dinner. From there, they were on their own until three hours later when David would pick them up from the theatre. Then they would spend the night with David and Louisa and ride back with them to Howell the next day. Flo said they were anxious for a visit with the home folks. What a glorious respite from the everyday.
With a wave to her final student, she collapsed in the only comfortable chair in her studio. A lavender pillow stitched by one of her students padded the seat.
She stared at the cover of En Pointe magazine, her favorite. All the news about ballet…and more. Did all girls fall in love with celebrities? She supposed so. Flo did. Phillipe Mandrin. Such a handsome, mysterious Frenchman. And apparently so did she, because Phillipe carried her heart in his palm.
Then she laughed at herself. How foolish to think she was enamored with a man she’d never met, a celebrity. Like believing she was in love with Tigers’ pitcher Tommy Bridges when she was fifteen.
As a child she had longed to grow up and play professional baseball, but no one in her family thought it appropriate for a girl. Why not? After all, men danced ballet. Why couldn’t girls play ball? Had she realized it then, male dancers would have been fuel for her arguments with her parents. Particularly her father. She giggled remembering what a little monster she’d been as a child.
And now her heart beat faster than a frightened bird’s whenever she thought of the deliciously talented Frenchman. Black hair and brown eyes reached from his picture on the magazine covers and stared her in the face. Coming from different worlds, they would never meet, but if only they could. If only… But those things didn’t happen, not to girls from Howell, Michigan. After all, Mandrin was famous and every girl in America who loved dance loved Phillipe.
*
Joseph Huntington stepped from the noisy train platform in the company of a dozen or more other returning soldiers. Glancing through a haze of blue-gray smoke and steam, he noticed most of the soldiers running into outstretched arms. Khaki-green and ruby-red joined together into focus as pretty girls kissed men’s hungry lips, and the girls’ warm fingers were feverishly snatched and pressed against the men’s coat breast pockets. Joe smiled at the happiness surrounding him even though no one waited for his smile, his kiss or his outstretched and welcoming hand.
Automobile horns blasted and he jumped out of the way. Then a whistle blew, startling him again as he picked up his heavy duffel bag. How long would this jumpiness last? He was no longer under attack. “Pardon me. Excuse me.” He staggered against the throng of people, doing his best to avoid running anyone over. Though that gorgeous girl two feet in front of him would be nice to run into. He sighed and skirted around her. “Coming through.” He brushed against blue-and-white polka dots and seamed nylons.
Oh, well, he’d catch a ride into the heart of the city, get a room, have dinner and then if he finished in time, he’d treat himself to the ballet. Something relaxing, something that showed the better side of humanity. Something that assured him he was truly home. Maybe some—one. With ruby lips and a polka-dotted skirt and seamed nylons who could dance all night.
Joe had always admired folks who could dance, even though he himself had been born with two left feet as evidenced by the feeble attempts he’d made at Miss Davies’s Dance and Etiquette School. “The way to get a girl,” his brother, Daniel, had claimed. The way to have a girl hate him was more like it.
Joe frowned as he recalled all the dainty feet he’d tromped on. Scrawny little girls like that feisty Victoria Banks. She was probably filled out and even prettier now. Or playing professional ball. He chuckled. Wasn’t that what she’d said she wanted to do just before she stuck her tongue between her lips, wound up her arm and blasted him in the eye with a curve ball? He drew in a sharp breath. Holding a girl in his arms at fifteen was downright painful, but as he looked about at all of the intimate homecomings surrounding him, suddenly it didn’t seem that bad an idea. Not even if that meant cozying up to the pitcher of the Walnut Street Sluggers.
The memory was accompanied by a groan. His graduation dance had ended any chance of that. What a disaster.
Victoria had floated around the dance floor, light on her feet and dazzling—nothing like Babe Ruth. All the other guys had wanted her for their date, but Joe had asked first, and she honored his request. Then, after his dance with Dru Carraway, the class wallflower, Dru had become sick. Joe, wanting to be a gentleman, had offered to drive her home. Only he couldn’t find Victoria to tell her. Still, Victoria shouldn’t have been so angry.
It wasn’t as though he’d tried to be a jerk. When he returned to the dance, Victoria was gone. Someone else had driven her home. His buddy Steve said she’d been mad as a badger for his leaving without her.
He’d called no fewer than a dozen times, but Victoria refused his calls. So immature. Just like on the ball diamond when she pegged him in the eye.
Well, that was long ago, long before he’d signed on to fight for Uncle Sam. Now he had to get serious, buckle down and find work. There was no time to worry about past experiences. Bad or good.
However, he would treat himself to a night out. Phillipe Mandrin and his partner, Genevieve DuMont, whom he’d heard about while stationed in Germany, would be a onetime luxury until he had his dream job. Meaning any job that brought in money and took him closer to starting his own company. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t get sidetracked by a pretty face when the one thing he had worked for was within his grasp.
“Joseph, over here!”
“What?” Joe turned to the sweet melody coming from a beautiful blonde’s mouth. But a burly private rushed past him into the waiting arms. What had he expected? No one waited for him, not here, not anywhere. Even his parents were gone.
Before hailing a cab, he reached for his wallet to be sure it still rested in his pocket. He’d saved all his pay to make a fresh start now that the war was over. Returning to Howell to do just that was within his reach. Another train ride after his big night in the city, and he’d find himself at the family home. His folks gone now, he’d have the house to care for. No doubt it needed a lot of upkeep at this point. He sighed. How could he complain? Dan, an attorney with a growing family, had paid the taxes while Joe was away, keeping the property up the best he could. But Joe realized Dan had his own home to care for all this time and he couldn’t expect too much.
“You served for both of us, so I was able to stay home with my family. It’s the least I can do for you,” he’d told Joe in a letter. Well, okay. It was a fair trade and he’d accepted with a heart full of gratitude.
Joe quickly calculated what a couple of cans of paint and some brushes cost.
An old man with a gray halo munching on a thick, soggy cigar slapped him on the back, interrupting his daydreams. “Way to go, young fella. Wish I could have been there with you. But I did my time in the Great War.” He shook his head and pulled the cigar from his lips a second time, the blast of smoke lingering. “So many boys killed then. Us doughboys took a few beatings, but we doled out some licks o’ our own till we beat ’em good.” When he looked back up, a smile loaded with creases replaced his melancholy expression. “Enough of that. Welcome home.” And this time, he slugged Joe in the shoulder as if to say I understand what you’ve been through, son. “Glad you made it back all in one piece.”
Joe slid his hand forward in a firm grip. “Thank you, sir.”
“What? Speak up, young fella.”
Joe raised his voice and offered a small salute. “Thank you.” His heart squeezed in his chest as he imagined what it must have been like in this man’s war. He’d heard stories from the older soldiers. None of them good. Joe noticed the hitch in the man’s step as he walked away.
Then he gazed past the heartbreaking memories of the men his platoon had lost, and feeling particularly blessed at the moment, he hailed a cab.
*
After a glorious train ride followed by dinner with Flo’s brother, Victoria and Florence hopped from David’s car. They tugged their coats closer and hurried to the opera hall where Mandrin would be performing. In front of the building, Victoria danced a quick step about Flo. “Look. Look at the picture of the two of them dancing. Have you ever seen such a beautiful couple? Lookit, Flo! Oh, he’s such a handsome man. An absolute dream in a bottle. If only…”
Flo’s lip quivered. “Let’s get inside. It’s too cold to be staring at a picture.” She clutched her coat tighter and planted a hand on her hat to keep it from blowing away. “We can see the real thing inside.”
“How can you say that? Look at those eyes. Doesn’t he simply melt your heart?” Victoria grabbed Flo’s arm and clung to her elbow as they pushed forward toward the window. “I can’t wait.”
Flo prodded her. “Then let’s move inside.”
The old ticket taker’s eyebrows, like caterpillars on a stem, rose as if she were asking, “Well, do you want tickets or not?”
“Yes, ma’am. Two tickets, please.” Victoria’s voice trembled. “As close to the stage as you have.” She snapped up the tickets and stared at her best friend. “See here? At least they aren’t in the nosebleeds.” She smiled at the woman in the cage. “I was afraid you might be sold out.”
“You girls are lucky. Plenty up top, but we had a cancellation of fifteen right in the middle. You’d better call this your lucky day.”
Victoria hoped her smile reflected the appreciation she felt. Not luck, this was a blessing!
The two girls quickly bypassed stragglers and scurried their way to row M, seats 9 and 11. “We’re almost in the middle. I can’t believe our good fortune. I don’t know who our benefactors were, but I’m so glad they canceled at the last minute. I’d have been happy in the top row. Just to see Phillipe dance.” Victoria placed a hand to her chest to steady her racing heart. Seeing Phillipe certainly had her in a tizzy.
Flo, her usual calm self, slid into her seat without a word. “Isn’t this hall incredible?” She pointed to the overhanging ceiling. “Look at all of the intricate details. The gold leaf, the carvings. Oh, what a treat. Thank you for asking me to come along.”
“Why, I’d no more leave my best friend than a piece of chocolate cake.”
Flo giggled. She knew Victoria would never leave a piece of cake.
The lights came down almost immediately, not giving them any time to read their programs. In the dark, Flo peeked over the top of her program, excitement shining in her eyes. “Thank goodness we arrived in time. They’re starting already. And it’s such poor manners to arrive late.”
Nodding, Victoria tugged the pin from her hat
, pressed it back into the felt and then set her hat carefully on her lap so as not to smudge it. After all, she didn’t buy a new hat every day what with fabric so dear during the war; a new article of clothing meant more than usual.
“Excuse me. Pardon me.” A deep voice cut through the darkness along with a giant of a man. “So sorry,” the man whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “I beg your pardon.”
“Ouch!” The big lug. “Shh.” And where were his manners? Flo was right; people could be so rude. Victoria spied army drab passing to her right. A soldier. Her heart softened. She could be a bit more forgiving. Her hat slid from her lap, but when she reached for the brim, warm hands grabbed it as it hit the floor.
“Excuse me.” Okay, so he had manners after all. “Terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to step on your foot.” He held the scuffed hat aloft. “And now this. Please, forgive me for being such an oaf. And such a beautiful hat. Is your foot all right?”
“Certainly,” she whispered. “You walked on the top and I walk on the bottoms.” It was the expression her father used to put someone at ease whenever his foot was inadvertently stepped on.
Her father had a gentleness about him, an extra special kindness. Except when she was young and wanted to grow up to play ball. He hadn’t tried to be gentle on that account. She huffed at the vivid memory.
Her plans for her thirteenth birthday had been for a party to remember. It was memorable, all right. Had it really been ten years ago already since he’d made it his business to put his foot down and have his own way?
Victoria thought back to the present her parents had given that year. The monstrosity took up the entire corner of her bedroom.
*
“What is it again, Mom?” Her face twisted into a knot in spite of her efforts to appear polite.
Her mother’s smile faded. “Why, it’s a hope chest, Victoria. And look at the fine carving your father did along the top.” The obvious disappointment spelled out on her mother’s face asked Victoria to at least give her father credit for a job well done.
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