Dancing in the Rain (12 page)

Dwight frowned. Why did she have to mention Louise? For the past month, he’d been trying not to worry about his future bride. Three days after he had told Carolyn about the missing letters, he had received one from Louise. She had said nothing about not writing, so perhaps Carolyn was right and somehow the letters had been lost in the mail. And yet, though he couldn’t pinpoint a problem, Dwight knew there was one. Louise’s letters were shorter than before, and there was something almost distant about them. At times he felt that they were letters from a stranger, not the woman he was going to marry. If only this war were over and he were back in the States with Louise!

Dwight looked around. There was no one in sight, no one to watch him make a fool of himself learning the Castle Gavotte. “All right,” he told Carolyn. “Let’s give it a try.”

Though she claimed it was her older sister who was the teacher, Carolyn appeared to share her sibling’s gift for instruction. Dwight felt awkward at first, trying to follow Carolyn’s directions. “Put your hand here,” she said. “Now, take a step backward.” He did, but somehow his foot landed on top of Carolyn’s. Though it must have hurt, she simply laughed and said, “Let’s try that again.” No matter how often he made the wrong move, no matter how often he pinched her toes, she never complained. Instead, she praised him whenever he did manage to step backwards and then sideways, and when at last his feet seemed to be following his brain’s directions, she laughed with pleasure.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

It was. And yet as she continued to hum and they continued to dance together, what had felt awkward became natural. More than that, it became fun. Dwight had never realized that holding a woman in his arms and gliding across the floor could feel so good. But when Carolyn tilted her face toward his and smiled, those blue eyes sparkling with pleasure, he knew that he could dance with her for the rest of his life.

“Bravo!” a man called.

“Told you, fellas,” another crowed.

A third began to hum ‘The Wedding March.’

To Dwight’s dismay, three soldiers stood in a doorway, their grins telling him they were enjoying his discomfort. The spell was broken.

She shouldn’t feel guilty. She wouldn’t feel guilty. After all, all they did was dance together. So what if it felt better to dance with Dwight than any of the dozens of partners she had had in the past? So what if dancing with him had made her forget—if only for a few minutes—that they were in the midst of a war? They hadn’t done anything wrong. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were doing it for themselves; Dwight was learning to dance for the patients.

Carolyn picked up her pen. There was no reason to feel guilty. And yet … Resolutely, she took a piece of stationery from the box and began to write.

Frowning, she crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket. It was a mistake saying they would dance, for Ed had never mastered the art of dancing, no matter how often she had tried to teach him. He wasn’t like Dwight, who had learned quickly, despite his claims to the contrary. Carolyn frowned again. She would not, absolutely would not, think about Dwight.

Carolyn stared out the window, trying to think of what else to tell Ed. She wouldn’t write him about Dwight’s dancing lessons. In fact, she would not write anything about Dwight, for Ed’s last letter had told her how glad he was that she had found a friend.
If I didn’t know you better,
Ed had written,
I might feel jealous of the time you spend with Doctor Hollins, but I do know you, my darling Carolyn, and so I’m thankful that you are able to help him save lives.

The door swung open, and Helen poked her head inside. “I’m going into town,” she said, her grin telling Carolyn that she was feeling better. “Can I convince you to go with me?”

Carolyn nodded and closed her pen. She wished she knew why it was becoming more difficult to write to Ed. When she had first arrived in France, the words had flowed easily, and she’d enjoyed describing her daily life, trying to infuse even mundane events with humor. But recently she had felt stymied, trying to decide what to say. Oddly, letters to her brother Theo remained easy to compose. With a sigh, Carolyn reached for her cloak. Perhaps a walk into Goudot would clear her mind.

“I need to buy one or two more gifts,” she told Helen. Though she had bought everything she had planned, when Carolyn had learned that the Christmas of 1917 was being called “The Christmas That Almost Wasn’t,” she had decided to buy everyone one more gift, just to show the people in Washington how wrong they were. How foolish could they be? Carolyn couldn’t understand why the Council of National Defense had thought that eliminating gift giving could accomplish anything good. She had cringed at the thought of thousands of disappointed children on Christmas morning. Thank goodness the American shopkeepers had managed to convince the Council of its folly.

“Shopping is why I’m going,” Helen said. “I want something else for Glen.”

As they descended the stairs, Carolyn gave Helen a sideways glance. “I thought the baby was going to be his gift.”

“It’s the main one,” her roommate agreed, “but I want something else.”

As they walked into Goudot, their hands thrust into their coat pockets to keep them warm, Carolyn asked Helen about her baby. “When are you going to see a doctor?” Though she knew Helen was reluctant, because she wanted to keep her pregnancy secret for as long as possible, Carolyn was concerned by the severity of Helen’s morning sickness. What if something were wrong?

“I’ll do it after Christmas,” Helen said. “I thought I might ask Doctor Hollins.”

Carolyn’s step faltered. “Dw … er, Doctor Hollins? I thought you were afraid of him?”

Helen’s smile reminded Carolyn of a cat she had once seen, grinning over some secret. “That was the old Dr. Hollins. It hasn’t escaped my notice—or that of the other nurses—that the man is almost human these days.” Helen’s brown eyes sparkled with amusement. “And we know who’s responsible. We just don’t know what you’ve done to civilize the beast.”

Blood rushed to Carolyn’s face. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Of course not.” Helen made no effort to hide her sarcasm. “Now, what are you shopping for?”

That was a safe topic, and Carolyn seized it. “I already bought Ed a warm blanket. He keeps complaining that the Army issue is scratchy, so I thought he’d appreciate a new one, but I’d like to give him something more. Maybe something he can eat.” For Ed had groused about the sameness of the food, too, telling her that once the war was over, he would refuse to eat another canned tomato.

Rumor was that someone back in the States had decided that canned tomatoes and salmon were highly nutritious substitutes for beef and potatoes and had sent whole shiploads of them to the front lines, much to the soldiers’ displeasure. “We want real food,” Ed had declared. “None of that monkey meat, either.” Monkey meat, Carolyn had learned, was the soldiers’ term for corned beef.

As they wandered through the small grocery store, Carolyn stopped and smiled. “Ed will like this,” she said, pulling a fruitcake from the shelf. Though Theo had refused to eat their mother’s fruitcake, insisting that it was a waste of good rum, Ed had always asked for a second piece. Carolyn had once asked him if he was simply being polite, trying to assuage her mother’s feelings, but he had insisted that he found the cake delicious. This one might not have the same flavor as her mother’s, but Carolyn hoped it would remind Ed of home and happier times.

She was walking back to the counter when she spied a tin. Stopping to give it a closer look, she grinned. It was perfect.

Though the sun was hiding behind a heavy curtain of clouds, Carolyn felt her spirits rise when she woke on Christmas morning. Perhaps it was foolish to believe that the war had reached its turning point. Perhaps she was being a Pollyanna, thinking that the new year would bring peace. And yet she could not repress her optimism. It was Christmas, and maybe, just maybe, there would be a miracle.

The room felt oddly empty with Helen gone. Though there was no official ceasefire, both sides appeared to have stopped shelling, and so Miss Pierce had given Helen two days’ leave to meet Glen. Carolyn missed her roommate’s company at the same time that she was happy for her. Dieppe, which was where Helen and Glen planned to spend the holiday, was reputed to be a pretty seaside resort. Carolyn doubted the Guthries would notice much about it other than the fact that they were there together. By now Glen would know that he was to be a father. Carolyn closed her eyes, trying to imagine the man’s expression of joy. For Helen and Glen, the prospect of parenthood was nothing less than a miracle, the finest Christmas gift either of them could want.

After she had finished her morning ablutions, Carolyn reached into the armoire and drew out her red silk dress. Though her sisters had laughed when she had packed it, telling her that there would be nowhere to wear anything so fancy, Carolyn had insisted on bringing it and a pair of soft leather dancing shoes. Today she was glad that she had. The color was festive, and the patients would surely enjoy seeing something other than the nurses’ somber gray and white uniforms. Even Miss Pierce had agreed that they need not wear their uniforms today. Today was a holiday, and—barring the unexpected resumption of hostilities—it would remain one.

Carolyn fastened the last hook on the dress, then executed a quick pirouette. After months of wearing cotton and wool uniforms, it was wonderful to feel the swirl of silk against her legs. The gown was impractical. There was no doubt of that. The deeply scooped neckline and tiny sleeves were not designed for buildings with a coal shortage, and the fact that she was wearing low pumps rather than her normal high-button boots meant that her ankles were also exposed to the cold. Carolyn didn’t care, for there was no denying that her heart felt as light as her feet today.

When she walked into the dining room and saw the garlands draped over the long windows and the candles on the tables, Carolyn was glad she had worn her pretty dress. The kitchen staff had obviously gone to great lengths to make the room beautiful. It was fitting that she was wearing her nicest frock.

Carolyn was even more thankful she had made a special effort when she saw Dwight. His gaze moved slowly from the top of her head to her toes, seeming to assess each inch. And, judging from the gleam that shone in his eyes and the smile that transformed his face, he liked what he saw.

For a second, Carolyn’s heart stopped; then it began to race.
Stop it!
she admonished herself. There was no reason to react like a schoolgirl with her first beau. She wasn’t a teenager; Dwight wasn’t her beau; and she hadn’t worn the pretty dress for him. She was simply dressing for the patients. She had promised Corporal Seymour a demonstration of the Castle Gavotte, and the red frock was more appropriate for that than her uniform.

It was good that Dwight liked the dress, but that was merely because his approval confirmed that the men would enjoy seeing her dance the Castle Gavotte. That was the only reason Carolyn’s cheeks warmed when Dwight gave a low whistle.

“Very nice,” he said. “But aren’t you missing something?”

Carolyn shook her head, puzzled.

“Your clothespin.” As Dwight grinned, she laughed. She wouldn’t classify it as a miracle, but there was no denying that it was pleasant to see Dwight joking.

“I have a whole bag of them,” she said softly. Knowing that many of the patients would receive no gifts from home, she had bought a bag of clothespins and written each patient’s name on it. It was a silly gift, of course, but that was the point. The clothespins were designed to make the men laugh.

“And not a single one for your nose.” Dwight touched the tip of her nose. It was a casual touch, nothing more than the continuation of his joking, and yet the way it made her feel was anything but casual. A shiver of pleasure traveled down her body, and the warmth it generated made her forget that the dining room was cold.

“We’d better eat,” she said, trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Thank goodness her voice sounded normal! Carolyn wasn’t certain how she had managed that, for she most certainly did not feel normal. Fortunately, the room was filling with other doctors and nurses, all seemingly as happy as she that today was a holiday. Their excited chatter defused the tension that had begun to build within Carolyn.

When they finished the light breakfast they had agreed was all they would eat before dancing, she turned to Dwight again. “Are you ready?” Today, instead of his doctor’s uniform, he was dressed in a dark suit that emphasized his muscular physique. It was the first time Carolyn had seen him out of his uniform, and she was surprised at what a difference it made. Instead of his jacket with its cargo pockets, metal buttons and standing collar, Dwight wore a normal suit jacket. Though Carolyn suspected the boiled collar and cravat were less comfortable than his uniform, she liked the contrast of the white shirt with the charcoal wool. She also liked the fact that he wore ordinary trousers and shoes instead of military pants bloused into knee-high boots. There might not be a truce, but wearing civilian clothing helped keep the thoughts of war at bay, if only for a few hours.

“Ready?” she asked again.

As Dwight shrugged, the fine wool of his suit moved so smoothly that she realized it must have been custom made for him, not ordered from the Sears catalog the way so many of the suits in Canela were. Carolyn wondered if that had been Louise’s influence. She doubted many farmers owned custom suits.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Placing her hand on his arm, Dwight led the way to the ward where Corporal Seymour was recuperating. As they walked along the hallway, Carolyn glimpsed their reflection in the long windows. Out of uniform, their faces wreathed in smiles, they could have been any couple anywhere, out for a brief stroll. It was hard to believe that there was a war only a few miles away.