Dancing in the Rain (21 page)

“Perhaps he wants a change of scenery.” Carolyn was grasping at straws; she knew that, but she also knew that she wasn’t going to give Margaret the satisfaction of admitting that she had asked herself the same questions.

Margaret’s hoot told Carolyn that she found her explanation incredible. “Are you trying to convince me that the good doctor comes here—mere miles from the front—because he wants a change of scenery? Carolyn, the man isn’t crazy. He’s in love.”

Carolyn wasn’t sure of that. After all, though his behavior was suspiciously similar to the traditional courtship rituals, since that afternoon in Goudot, Dwight had never once mentioned love or marriage. He had acted as if he had expected her refusal to return to Goudot and as if her refusal to marry him was of no significance. That was good. Of course it was.

“It’s not love,” she told Margaret. “It’s friendship.”

Margaret raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I give up! If you want to delude yourself, go ahead. I know the truth, and I’m quite certain you do, too.”

Self-delusion. Helen had accused her of that months ago, telling Carolyn that she and Dwight were in love but were trying to deny it. The truth was, Carolyn no longer tried to deny it. She loved Dwight with all her heart. But that didn’t change the fact that she could not consider marrying him. Other women married after their husbands or fiancés died. Carolyn knew that and approved of it. In fact, she hoped her sister Martha would one day remarry. But other women’s situations were different. Those women were not living with the knowledge that they had failed their men. Carolyn could not undo the mistakes she had made, but she would not repeat them.

“Do you know what today is?” Dwight asked. It was two days later, and he’d arrived in time to spend part of her half-day off with her. As he had on his last visits, he appeared visibly tired, his face lined with exhaustion, yet his eyes sparkled as if he looked forward to their time together as much as she did.

“Am I to assume that today is something special?” This year for the first time, she had forgotten Valentine’s Day until one of Dwight’s letters had mentioned it. What had she forgotten this time?

“Indeed, it is special.” Dwight led her to the table where they spent rainy days, then sat on the bench, turning so that he was facing her. “Today is the first day of spring,” he said and reached for her hands. “If you’ve read Tennyson, you know what that means: a young man’s fancy turns to love.”

Though Carolyn hadn’t read Tennyson, she had heard the phrase, for Emily had accused Theo of falling into love each spring and falling out of love three months later, as if the changing seasons regulated his feelings. When they had spoken of Theo, she and Emily had laughed. Carolyn wasn’t laughing now. This was probably the least romantic spot on earth: a mess tent that smelled of stale food and mud, a place where instead of soft, lyrical music, the silences were punctuated by the sound of distant artillery fire. And yet, Carolyn could not ignore the fire that she saw in Dwight’s eyes or the earnestness she heard in his voice. In another time and place, in another life, her heart would have sung with happiness that this wonderful man was sitting there, looking at her as if she were the most precious being on earth. Instead, her heart began to pound with fear that he would utter the words that would destroy their friendship.

Dwight raised her hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on them. “I love you, Carolyn.” The gesture was sweetly romantic and the words the ones every woman longed to hear. They should have kindled a warmth deep inside her. Instead, Carolyn felt as if someone were tightening a band around her heart. Dwight smiled at Carolyn, apparently not sensing her inner turmoil. “Please say you’ll marry me.”

Carolyn closed her eyes as she tried to fight the pain that threatened to engulf her. “Oh, Dwight!” She blinked, hoping to hold back her tears. “I can’t.”

His eyes darkened, and she saw confusion on his face. “I don’t understand. Was I wrong in thinking you loved me?”

A coward would lie, but Carolyn was not a coward. “You weren’t mistaken. I do love you.” It was the first time she had spoken the words aloud since the day she had learned of Ed’s death. It was odd, how right it felt to admit her love when she knew that it was wrong to love Dwight. Worse yet was the hope that the simple phrase lit in Dwight’s eyes. Perhaps she should have lied; perhaps that would have been kinder.

“Then why won’t you marry me?”

Carolyn stared at the tent wall, wishing there were a way to make this easier. “Because I can’t.” And, oh, how she wished that weren’t true! It wasn’t hard to conjure the image of herself married to Dwight. She could picture them in a country home, with big old trees in the front yard, one of them holding a swing where their children played. She could picture herself cooking dinner for Dwight, then waiting until he returned from a late house call to share it with him. But those were fantasies that would never come true.

Though she tried to tug her hands away, Dwight kept them clasped in his. His hands were warm and comforting, and that made Carolyn feel worse. Why was it that she kept hurting the men she loved?

“If you think it’s too soon,” Dwight said, “I can wait. I understand if you want a full year’s mourning.” That had been the traditional period before the war, but now couples, apparently sharing Dwight’s belief that not a single day should be wasted, often married more quickly. That might be right for them, but it was wrong for Carolyn.

“I can’t marry you, Dwight. Not now; not a year from now.” Though Carolyn hated the pain that her words caused, she couldn’t let him continue to hope, not when she knew that her answer would never change.

“Why?” It was only one word, yet it sounded as if it were wrenched from deep inside Dwight.

“It would be wrong.”

He gave her a long appraising look. “Because of Ed?”

Carolyn nodded.

“But he’s gone.”

“I know.” That was the problem. If the war had ended and Ed were still alive, perhaps there could be another answer. As it was, there was no hope.

Carolyn frowned as she pulled out a piece of stationery and prepared to answer a fortnight’s worth of correspondence. Though she normally replied the next day, for the past two weeks she had been unable to do more than scan the letters, wishing for an hour’s respite. The days since Dwight’s last visit had been tumultuous ones, for March 21 had marked more than the start of spring. It was also the beginning of the enemy’s latest offensive, what some were calling the Emperor Battle. The combination of poisonous gas and the greatest artillery barrage of the war meant that every field hospital on the Western Front was flooded with wounded men. Though the staff worked around the clock, there were times when it felt as if they were making no progress, as if two wounded arrived for every one they treated.

Today was the first day that they had been able to tend to every injured soldier, and Carolyn had returned to her sleeping tent an hour earlier than usual. Though she was exhausted, she did not want to delay her correspondence any longer. Carolyn slid her brother’s letter from the envelope, then closed her eyes, remembering how often she had answered first Ed’s, then Theo’s epistles. And now. Now she went whole days without thinking of Ed, and when she did, it was becoming more and more difficult to remember what he looked like. It seemed as if Ed were fading from her memory the way the daguerreotypes from the War Between the States had faded with age. Carolyn hated that. Somehow it felt like the ultimate betrayal, worse even than her feelings for Dwight.

Carolyn frowned again. She didn’t have to close her eyes to picture Dwight. He was always there, hovering at the edges of her mind. When she assisted a doctor in the operating tent, she remembered Dwight’s skill. When the mailman handed her a letter, she remembered Dwight waiting for an envelope from Louise. And when it rained, she remembered how she and Dwight had danced together. Thoughts of Dwight were crisp and fresh, while memories of Ed were blurred and faded. That was so very, very wrong!

Resolutely, Carolyn re-read Theo’s letter.
What’s wrong, Sis? I’m worried, because your letters don’t sound like you.
Carolyn clenched her pen. Could she do nothing right? The last thing she wanted was to add to Theo’s worries. He had enough of those, being so close to the front, never knowing when the next offensive would put him in the midst of constant shelling. Fortunately, Theo’s premonitions earlier this year had proven unfounded, and he was still safe. That was the one blessing 1918 had brought.

Carolyn scribbled a quick note to her brother, trying to make him smile with images of his fastidious sister standing ankle-deep in mud, wearing one of the least flattering aprons mankind had invented over a dull gray uniform.
You may have vowed never to eat another canned tomato once the war ends,
she wrote.
I made a different vow. I can promise you that I will never, ever own another gray garment.

When she had sealed her letter to Theo, Carolyn opened one from Martha.
I know it may seem impossible,
her sister had written,
but try to find something good each day, some reason you’re glad to be alive. That’s how I dealt with Henry’s death.
Carolyn bit the end of her pen. What was good about her life? Unbidden, the image of Dwight opening his saddlebags and pulling out a Thermos leaped into Carolyn’s mind. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. It was foolish and frivolous to think of Dwight’s visits. What was important was the work she was doing and the lives she was helping to save. Martha was right. Carolyn needed to focus on what was important. She could do that. She would think of nothing other than nursing. She would be as single-minded as Dwight.

With a cry of disgust, Carolyn tossed her pen onto the table. Why did everything remind her of Dwight?

If only everything didn’t remind him of her! Dwight stared at the nurse who stood on the opposite side of the operating table. “Scalpel,” he repeated. The woman reached for the instrument, nearly dropping it in her hurry to hand it to him. Carolyn would not have fumbled. Even her first day assisting him, she had shown more skill than this nurse, who had years of experience.

“You can prepare the next patient,” he said as he tied the final suture on Private Canfield’s leg.

The nurse turned to the man in the next bed and began to explain what would happen. Though her voice was low and soothing, Dwight saw that the man remained anxious, his eyes darting nervously from the nurse to Dwight. That hadn’t happened when Carolyn joked with the patients. Carolyn had been so good at reassuring them that the men frequently regarded Dwight as ancillary to his nurse rather than the other way around.

Dwight frowned. This was ridiculous! He had work to do, and he couldn’t do it unless he stopped thinking of Carolyn. He had to stop thinking of her, but Dwight knew the only way that would happen would be if Carolyn agreed to marry him and return here. That didn’t appear likely.

Dwight had been surprised by Carolyn’s second refusal and had wanted to ask Helen Guthrie’s opinion. He hadn’t, though, for there were some things a man didn’t like to put in writing, and rejection was one of them. He had tried to understand Carolyn’s reaction. Perhaps it was only that his timing had been off. That must be it. Carolyn needed to mourn Ed a bit longer. Then she would agree to marry Dwight. Of course she would. Hadn’t she said that she loved him?

“Is something wrong, Doctor?”

Dwight blinked at the nurse’s question. Had she somehow read his thoughts? Shocked, he realized that he had been staring into space, so lost in his reverie that he had forgotten his work. No wonder the nurse was regarding him with concern.

“No!” Dwight replied with more emphasis than normal. No, nothing was wrong, and no, he wouldn’t continue acting like a lovesick youth. He would get his life back on kilter, and there was only one way to do that. As soon as the shift was completed, he would put his plan into motion.

“Why don’t you just ask for a transfer?” The other physician’s expression was sympathetic when he agreed to cover for Dwight. “Wouldn’t it be easier to court her if you were together?”

Dwight shrugged. “Nothing in my life has been easy. Why should this be any different?” Besides, if this trip ended the way he hoped it would, he and Carolyn would soon be together—here in Goudot.

By all rights he should have been exhausted by the time he reached the field hospital. He had slept only a few hours the night before, and it had been weeks since he had had the luxury of a full night’s sleep. But, though weariness had settled in his bones, Dwight could not suppress the excitement that surged through his veins as he tied the horse to a post. Soon! Soon he would see her, and then maybe …

Her face looked thinner than before, the lines between her eyes deeper, as if she too had had little sleep. Her skirt was wrinkled and spattered with mud, a fact Dwight noted when she gave it an apologetic glance. As if he cared! It mattered not a whit whether she wore nurse’s gray or that beautiful red silk dress she had donned on Christmas Day. He smiled when his eyes caught a sparkle on her bodice and he realized that she was wearing the brooch he had given her. Surely that was a good sign. The rain that continued to fall certainly wasn’t a favorable omen. Unless …

“You look like you need some cheering,” he told Carolyn when he had greeted her.

The swift smile that had lit her face when she’d first seen him faded. “The new enemy offensive means that we have more wounded than ever before. Oh, Dwight, I feel so helpless when we lose one.”

How well he knew the feeling! “I know,” he said softly, taking her hand in his again. “The only thing that helps is thinking of the ones you manage to save.”

“But I wish …”

“I know.” Carolyn needed cheering, and maybe if he could raise her spirits, she would give him the answer he wanted. Dwight gave her hand a little squeeze. “A wise woman once told me that laughter heals, and so does dancing in the rain.” He gestured toward the tent flap. “I’m not very good at telling jokes, but it’s raining, and I still remember the steps to the Castle Gavotte.”