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Chapter Eleven

J
ohn stifled an impulse to gulp. “Me? Are you saying I am from God or that I was your best idea?”

John was glad this brought a hearty laugh from her. Things had taken on a strange tension in the past few moments. “I suppose I should say both. You must know I believe each man is God’s creation. I’d have thought that would be clear enough, especially given that I am in nursing.”

So she did feel it a calling. That didn’t surprise him at all. She went so carefully, so completely about her work and she’d seen so much humanity in the private he’d so readily dismissed. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than his father had made him feel even the slightest hint of shame. Most found his ego, his driven nature, a valuable commodity. But this woman reminded him that his responsibilities—as an officer, and as a man—meant showing consideration for others, something he was far too prone to forget. “And me?”

She held up the sock, the row she’d fixed now neatly rounding the needles in orderly ribbing. “Well, I suppose the merit of that idea might have to wait until your sock is finished. But it is a grand start, I must say. And you’ve been a good sport.”

He effected a general-worthy huff. “An average man might break under such pressure.”

Her laugh died down to a soft, fluffy sound he liked very much. “And we all know that you, Captain Gallows, are decidedly exceptional.” They stared at each other, time as soft and gentle as her laugh. He realized, with a start, that he felt physically different around her. Pliable and light instead of heavy and rigid. He very nearly forgot his pain. She handed the sock back to him, and he shamelessly made sure their hands touched as he took it. She had the most exquisite hands—porcelain pale yet strong as could be. He dropped his first stitch as he tried to picture those creamy digits laced between the calloused thickness of his own fingers, quickly replacing the stitch while she pretended not to notice. They worked in companionable silence for a minute or two. He thought about asking her why she hadn’t requested they return to class, but decided he didn’t want to suggest any return whatsoever. Instead he stopped his poor stitching and pulled out a slip of newspaper from his coat. Dr. Madison had given this to him yesterday, and its delivery was the real reason he came to class today. He’d hoped for a personal delivery—more private than the full class, and most certainly more cozy than the company of Private Carson. As such, now seemed the perfect time. “I have something for you.”

She looked up, surprised. Good. He enjoyed surprising her.

“It’s a poem from a Boston paper, from the War Between the States. Of course, those Yankees use a different name, but we won’t hold that against them in this instance.”

She smiled. “How very gracious of you.” When he unfolded the paper and cleared his throat, her eyebrows arched further. “A recitation? Goodness, I am honored.”

He started to say she was also beautiful, but stopped himself. She was the kind of woman more moved by poetry than easy compliments. And he could barely believe he was about to recite poetry for her. His father would cuff him and tell him he was soft, but his father was not staring into those stunning hazel eyes. He noticed, to his great pleasure, that she stopped knitting and gave him her full attention.

“Faith and hope give strength to her sight,

She sees a red dawn after the night.

Oh, soldiers brave, will it brighten the day,

And shorten the march on the weary way,

To know that at home the loving and true

Are knitting and hoping and praying for you.”

Normally John would have said it was foolishly poetic to call a lady’s eyes “glistening,” but there was no other word for how she looked at him when he finished. A very tightly held piece of him flew out of his grasp as she did. He thought, at that moment, that he would do twenty painful laps around that horrid gymnasium if it meant she would look at him that way again. Or a while longer. He felt the curve of her smile deep in his chest, warm and disarming.

“You are a most amazing man, Captain Gallows.” She said it with something he dearly hoped was awe.

“John,” he blurted out, not caring that they were in a very public hallway where anyone could walk by.

“John,” she said quietly. Her eyes flicked down, and the delicacy of the gesture affected him just as surely as if her eyelashes had brushed his cheek.

She looked up at him twice after that, and they both pretended to go back to their work. By her third intake of breath he gently pushed the hand holding her needles down to still on her lap. “Go ahead.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re trying not to ask me something. Even someone with my alarming lack of subtlety could see that. Leanne.” He used her name, not wanting to lose the closeness of the moment. “Ask me anything.”

She hesitated again, carefully choosing words, tentative as a doe. “How did it change you? Your accident. You speak so gallantly of it, and yet I can’t help but think it was a harrowing experience.”

He saw the question hiding in so many eyes after his speeches.
What’s it like, to almost die?
Some were genuinely interested, others grotesquely fascinated. “How did it change me?” He discarded his stock answer of having been a better dancer before, knowing she deserved the truest answer he had. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure what that answer was. “I suppose,” he started, no idea where he was going, “that not much frightens me now. Except, perhaps, the idea of not being worthy of the second chance I’ve been given.”

He needn’t have worried she would find such words foolish, for the comment only doubled the warmth in her eyes. “I think that a very worthy thing to fear. Far too many soldiers have come home ready to squander their lives, as if they’ve suddenly inherited some grand fortune and must spend it immediately.” She began stitching again, her fingers working without any attention or even a glance downward. Why was he so enthralled by Leanne’s delicate hands? “Then there are those like Private Carson,” she went on. “I think he fears he hasn’t come home worth anything at all. I think it’s good you recognize the gift you’ve been given.” A small laugh ruffled around the edges of her words. “Even if you are dreadfully cheeky about it.”

“I prefer to think I’m wonderfully cheeky about it.” Her laugh was full and musical, as warm as her eyes and as clear as sunlight.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. Pity the poor soul who can see through your bravado, my good captain.”

Had she realized what she just said? “Can you?” Her laugh stilled, and even John was stunned by how dark his words had become without his realizing it. “What do you see?”

He watched her falter, then find her courage. He would wait. He wanted—needed—to hear her answer to this question. She finally looked straight at him, steady and honest. “I think that charming as you are, you are in more pain than you let on to anyone. I think what happened up there in the sky changed you even more than you know, and you are wise enough to be frightened of that fact. I think I amuse you, that you are used to getting your way far too much and…” she flushed, the needles in her hands finally stopping their movement “…that you have a very regrettable habit of making me say too much.”

John ought to have had a clever comeback for a sermon like that, but his wit failed him. After far too long a pause, he resorted to the only superiority he could manage. “Well, now, you’ve given me no choice.”

“I’ve misspoken. I’m sorry.”

“On the contrary, I can’t see how I can respond to that with anything but an invitation to the officers’ ball Friday evening. You do in fact—” although he didn’t really like her choice of words “—
amuse
me, far more than perhaps is good for either of us. And you’re absolutely right, I always get my way so don’t bother to decline. You do say far too much, but that should come greatly in handy at a ball, seeing as now I can’t dance and I haven’t any more poetry. And we’ve already seen you are a master of distraction.”

“An officers’ ball?”

“The
USS Charleston
crew is having a grand event thrown for them in New York. The ship earned its liberty flag.”

“Surely you’re not asking me to go to New York!”

John laughed to think she thought him capable of such celebrity. “Not at all. The general’s throwing a much smaller ball here, though, as a twin celebration. I can’t promise you the splendor of the Astor Hotel, but I suspect it will be a grand evening just the same. Besides, after our last session, I would think you’d find it in my medical interest. It was you who suggested I waltz, after all. To deny me is to deny my continued recovery.”

She liked the idea. How could she not, when she herself had come up with the idea of a waltz to improve his movement? And truly, what woman can resist a ball? Yet she was trying. “I’m sure I’m not allowed to go.”

“Anyone may come as a guest of an officer. And even if you weren’t allowed, hasn’t it yet become clear to you that I’m not much for rules? Aside from your therapeutic assistance, you and I constitute a community service. Barnes is giving the ball, he makes the rules—and he’ll allow it if I ask him. I know that man. He will just see it as an extension of the publicity campaign—which it
isn’t,
” he added quickly. “This is purely a social request.”

She completed a stitch and eyed him. “Oh, no, it isn’t. You’ve something up your sleeve.”

“I’m crushed you would think so.” She was right, of course; he did. “Have you peered into my soul and found me so deeply lacking?”

“It does not take much observation to know John Gallows is fond of schemes.” She put down the stitching. “May I suggest a novel approach? Why don’t you tell me the
real
reason why we’re going, and I might surprise you by consenting. It will save us both time and considerable energy.”

She meant it. That struck him as both disturbing and irresistible. At first he held back, hiding in a few botched stitches and clamping his mouth shut so hard his teeth nearly clacked.

“I would like to take you to the ball,” he said, hoping the half-truth would suffice but rather sure it wouldn’t. He looked up, expecting her to gloat, but found the most extraordinary expression on her face. Not victory, not amusement but genuine pleasure.

She waited. Glory, but that woman knew how to wield her silences. “And why,” she said eventually, “would you like to take me to the ball?”

It had somehow become a game, a match of wits rather than some battle he must win. “There’s no mystery there—men like to take women to balls. The dancing is so dreadfully dull if there are no women present.”

“Ah, the
dancing
.” Her eyes lit up. “You want to dance at the ball, is it? Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t we?”

“Why? We danced the other day.”

“It’s just that you don’t strike me as the kind of man to do things he doesn’t do exceptionally well.”

“I dance exceptionally well for a man of my…experiences.” He started to say “limitations,” which wasn’t like him at all. A Gallows never bowed to limitations. “And yes, I want to be seen dancing.”

Her eyes widened in understanding. “You want General Barnes to see you dancing, don’t you? You want to show him how well your leg is so that he’ll send you back.”

He thought about denying it, but there really wasn’t any use. “Partly.”

“Entirely.” She pushed out a sigh. “Why deceive him like that? You’ve made great strides, but your leg is not healed by any means. Certainly not enough to do what you’re asking.”

“I can accomplish one waltz, for goodness’ sake. That is, if you help me.”

“I’m sure you could find any number of women willing to aid you in this deception. As you said, men ask women to balls all the time.”

He leaned in. “I need
you
.” She knew how to let him lean on her, how to offer support in ways that weren’t obvious. Any other woman would make him look—and feel—like an invalid. He had to look like the most capable man in the room. “Please do this for me.” He’d sworn he wouldn’t plead.

“I can’t.”

He gave her his best Gallows command. “You can. Just help me through one dance in front of Barnes. I shall be a model patient after that.”

“You will not ever be a model patient. It will hurt, John.”

“It hurts
now
. I’m no stranger to pain for a worthy goal.”

She paused for an unbearable gap of silence until John was sure he’d burst. Then she began twirling the yarn around her finger the way she did when she worked out a problem, and he knew he’d prevailed. “I’ve nothing to wear.”

A “thank-you” swelled in his heart, and for a frightening moment he wasn’t sure if the gratitude was directed at her or Heaven. “I’ll buy you a dress myself if I must call that bluff.” He knew he would stop at nothing to get her acceptance—but if her arguments were on such trivial matters now, then victory was surely close at hand.

“Here is my proposition—if you get as far as the gusset on your sock, I’ll waltz with you at the ball.” She pointed to the bottom of her sock’s cuff, the part where he imagined the heel began.

“That far? By Friday? You’re mad.”

“I could say the same of you, trying to make a showplace out of an officers’ ball.”