When the Clouds Roll By (4 page)

Helen, Helen . . . when I needed you most . . . why?

“You ever gonna tell me about her?”

Samuel pulled himself from his reverie. “I’m sorry?”

“The woman who broke your heart. Come on, Sam, tell me your sob story. Get my mind off my own.”

Samuel gave a nervous laugh. “What makes you think I have a story to tell?”

“Because of the way you look at Annemarie’s picture every time I pull it out. It’s in your eyes, Padre. There for all the world to see.” Gil nudged him with his elbow. “So who was she?”

A harsh breath raked through Samuel’s lungs. He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “Her name was Helen. Helen Oakes. As pretty as your Annemarie but with bright golden hair and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose.”

“So what happened?”

Helen’s last letter was still tucked away in Samuel’s kit bag. He should have burned it months ago, but instead he continued to torture himself by rereading it from time to time to see if by some crazy chance he’d misread the words that ended things between them.

He stared at the floorboards between his boots, remembering against his will. “We got engaged a few months after I finished seminary. We were planning to marry and move into the parsonage next door to the church where I’d already been called to pastor. But then America entered the war, and in my heart I knew God needed me serving at the front more than my congregation needed me in Fort Wayne.”

Gilbert shifted to ease the pressure on his stump. “Can’t say it was God’s call, but the only thing I ever wanted to do with my life was to serve in the army and fight for my country.” He tugged Annemarie’s photograph from his pocket and stared in silence for so long, Samuel thought he’d drifted off.

Then Gilbert asked, “Did Helen say she’d wait for you?”

Samuel sat back and inhaled a tired breath. “She did, at first. But as the casualty lists grew, so did her fear. In her last letter, she apologized for being so weak, for doubting God’s power to bring me home safely, but she couldn’t live with the constant dread. She wrote she needed to get on with her life and find some peace.”

“I’m sorry, Padre. That was cruel.”

“She didn’t mean to be. And I can’t blame her. I remind myself how hard it’s been for those waiting at home for their soldier’s return, every day filled with the fear of bad news.”

“Will you try to see her again, maybe patch things up?”

“Too late. My mother wrote a couple of months ago saying Helen had become engaged to a banker and is moving to Indianapolis.” Just as well. Samuel had long since given up on the idea of returning to his pastorate or even attempting to resume his old life. He reached for the photo of Annemarie, drawn to it as always in ways he couldn’t explain. “May I?”

Gilbert passed him the picture. “At least I know Annemarie is faithful.” He leaned his head against the window, where snowflakes now collected in the corners. “But I’m going to do her a big favor once I get back to Hot Springs. She’ll not be saddled with a cripple for a husband.”

The finality in Gilbert’s tone set off new warning bells in Samuel’s brain. “What are you saying, Gil? What are you planning to do?”

“What I should have done a long time ago. Now leave me alone, Sam. I want to sleep.”

Samuel had the sick feeling Gilbert was talking about a completely different kind of sleep, a sleep from which he’d never awaken. He wouldn’t be the first soldier driven to suicide by the horrors of this wretched war. Father, help him find the strength to keep going. Give him the will to live.

He studied the girl in the portrait and realized with sudden certainty that if things were different—if he were coming home to a woman like Annemarie—he’d fight harder for her love than any doughboy ever fought on the Western Front.

4

W
ait, Mama, I can’t find my other glove!” Annemarie tore through the assortment of scarves, mittens, and stocking caps in the base of the carved oak coat tree.

“You had them both this morning, dear. Now hurry or we’ll be late!” Mama opened the front door, letting in a chilling gust. “Your father is already waiting in the drive with the motorcar.”

Annemarie could smell the exhaust fumes from her father’s Model T. He gave the horn an impatient tootle. Mama cast Annemarie a chiding glance and hurried down the front steps.

The horn screeched once more, and Annemarie banged down the lid on the coat tree bin. Glove or no glove, she must be on her way, or they’d never get to the station before Gilbert’s train arrived. She dashed out the door, slamming it behind her. “I’m coming, Papa!”

Crawling into the rear seat behind her mother, Annemarie shivered and tucked her bare hand into the opposite coat sleeve. The depot wasn’t far, just across town and down the hill to Elm and Market Streets—not nearly enough time to stop the ridiculous tremors that started the moment she went upstairs to change out of her paint-and-clay-stained smock. After a hurry-up bath in tepid water, she’d ransacked her wardrobe for something presentable—something Gilbert’s fussy, overbearing mother would approve of. She’d finally chosen her cobalt-blue wool suit with the shawl collar.

Mama swiveled to glance over her shoulder. “Goodness, Annemarie, I can hear your teeth chattering! You should have worn a warmer coat.”

“This
is
my warmest coat.” Annemarie hugged herself and clamped her teeth together to silence the noise.

“Well, we’re almost there—watch the horse and buggy, Joseph!”

Papa braked and sounded the horn. “I’ll mind my driving, Ida, and you mind our anxious daughter.”

“I’m
not
anxious, Papa.” Annemarie’s mouth twisted. All right, she was
quite
anxious, truth be told. The thought that within the hour—perhaps in only minutes!—she’d see her beloved Gilbert again had her practically bursting out of her skin.

For days now she’d been imagining the moment, at least the way she hoped and prayed it would be. Their gazes would collide, a mile-wide grin spreading across Gilbert’s face. Love would shine in his eyes, all thoughts of war forgotten. With one happy kiss she’d rekindle love and hope in her Gilbert’s heart. He’d once again become the boy she remembered, the man she intended to spend the rest of her life loving and laughing with, growing into contented old age at his side.

They arrived at the depot, and Papa found a parking spot across the street. It was a gloomy day for a homecoming, a cold December wind blowing out of the north beneath lowering gray clouds and ice crystals nipping at bare cheeks and noses. Though when out and about they’d been wearing masks to protect against the Spanish influenza, recent news reports indicated the worst had passed. For this one special day, Mama had said it might be all right to leave the masks in their pockets.

Not to mention it would be hard to share a much anticipated welcome-home kiss through gauze.

Inside the Mediterranean-style building, Annemarie and her parents found Mrs. Ballard. She stood near a window with her son Thomas, Gilbert’s younger brother and an assistant manager at the Arlington Hotel. A childhood bout with rheumatic fever had weakened Thomas’s heart and kept him out of the war, and he hadn’t been able to hide his envy of Gilbert. Would he feel any differently, Annemarie wondered, when he saw firsthand what the war had done to his brother?

Clothed in burgundy brocade and a luxurious fur stole, Mrs. Ballard looked as if she’d dressed for a night at the opera. A broad-brimmed, feather-trimmed hat was secured with a gossamer silk scarf tied beneath her chin. She rushed forward and extended a gloved hand to Annemarie. “I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t arrive in time. The stationmaster says the train is not more than ten minutes away.”

No sooner had she spoken than Annemarie caught the distant sound of the whistle. Its melancholy tone made her shiver anew. She hurried to the window and peered down the length of railroad tracks. “I hope he hasn’t been traveling alone all this way. Will he go directly to the hospital, do you think?”

“It will be best to get him there straightaway and out of this frigid weather. I’ve already made sure an ambulance is waiting.”

Of course. Mrs. Ballard always had everything under control.

“Besides,” she went on, “we certainly don’t want to risk Gilbert’s being exposed to the influenza.” She glanced around the station with a sniff. “I don’t care what the papers say. People are still getting sick. You
have
been careful, haven’t you, Annemarie?”

“Extremely.” Although she could only imagine the exposure risk on a crowded train. Surely, Gilbert would have taken precautions.

Beneath her feet, a rumbling vibration began. Annemarie sucked in her breath and returned to the window. “The train—it’s here!”

The rumble deepened, setting Annemarie’s insides aquiver as the depot erupted into a flurry of excited activity. The big black engine appeared through a cloud of steam, brakes squealing. Waiting family and friends burst through the doors and waved frantically as the train slowed and finally stopped.

Stepping onto the platform, Annemarie scanned the passenger car windows for a glimpse of her sweetheart. An elderly gentleman stepped off the train, his arms full of wrapped Christmas gifts. His appearance brought a shout of joy from a couple nearby with a young boy in tow.

Next came a soldier—Jack Trapp, the lad whose family lived across the street from the Kendalls. My, how he’d grown up, and praise God he’d come back alive and whole! Then, seeing only his mother and his fourteen-year-old sister there to meet him—another sister still served in France with the Army Signal Corps—Annemarie’s heart clenched. Mr. Trapp had passed away last summer, a terrible blow to the family, and poor Jack must now shoulder responsibilities as the man of the house.

Other travelers emerged, welcomed by friends and family, but as each happy group departed, Annemarie’s anxiety grew. Where was Gilbert? The platform was nearly empty now. Besides the Kendalls and Ballards, the only people still waiting were a porter and two ambulance attendants from the Army and Navy Hospital.

Finally, a soldier with a bandaged head limped down the steps from the last car. He wore a vacant expression, as if he wasn’t at all certain he was supposed to be here. An attendant hurried over and asked his name, then wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and helped him into the back of the ambulance.

When two men in army green assisted an even more severely wounded soldier off the train, a coldness completely unrelated to the frigid December day crept through Annemarie’s limbs. Until today, the war had been a distant thing. No newspaper article, no radio announcement, not even letters from the front could begin to convey the emptiness, the bewilderment, the stark disillusionment she saw in these men’s eyes.

“Oh, Papa.” The words were barely a whisper, a misty breath carried away by the wind. Annemarie hugged her father’s arm and buried her face in his coat sleeve.

“I know, Annie-girl. Be strong now. Gilbert will need—” Papa gave her shoulder a firm pat. “Ah, look up and dry your tears. Here he comes!”

Annemarie pushed away from her father and choked out a sob, her gaze searching out her sweetheart. Someone was lowering an empty wheelchair to the platform. On the steps above, Gilbert leaned heavily upon a uniformed man who helped him descend on his one good leg.

“Gilbert! Oh, my son!” Mrs. Ballard dashed across the platform, the tails of her scarf flying like banners. She wrapped Gilbert in a desperate hug sure to crush the breath from his lungs.

By the time Annemarie regained her senses enough to set her feet into motion, she found Gilbert surrounded by his mother, brother, and now an ambulance attendant as his companion helped him into the wheelchair. Mrs. Ballard chattered like a mynah bird while tearfully fussing over her son. Thomas laughed through his own tears and gave his brother a hearty slap on the back.

The uniformed companion edged to one side, and as Annemarie drew near, she glimpsed the gold cross on his collar. He looked up at her with a sudden smile, then doffed his cap and stepped forward. “Annemarie. I’d know you anywhere.”

Clear gray eyes met hers in a look both hesitant and compelling. Torn between urgency to make her way to Gilbert and curiosity about the intriguing stranger who somehow knew her name, she stammered a reply. “I’m—forgive me—he’s—”

The fair-haired chaplain nodded and stepped out of her way. She hurried past, reaching Gilbert’s side with barely time for a few words and a loving glance. Reaching around his mother’s stout form, Gilbert found Annemarie’s hand—her gloveless hand—and clutched it for a precious moment before Mrs. Ballard had the medics bustling him into the ambulance.

Disappointed, deflated, Annemarie felt the last remnants of hope slipping away. The reunion she’d dreamed about was over almost before it began.

“Chin up, dear.” Mama wrapped an arm around Annemarie’s shoulders. “Today a mother received her son back. Be thankful, and look forward to tomorrow. You and Gilbert will have the rest of your lives together.”

If only, if only . . .

She held her bare hand against her cheek and thanked the Lord for missing gloves.

One glimpse of the real-life Annemarie and Samuel was smitten. Gilbert’s fiancée was ever so much more beautiful in person than in the faded, crumpled photograph Gilbert kept close to his heart. Samuel had never seen such heavenly brown eyes, nor lips so full and inviting.

Get hold of yourself, man. She’s spoken for.

He waited to be sure Gilbert was in the ambulance before collecting his baggage and deciding he’d better find a place to stay. Though the military hospital provided housing for doctors and certain other staff members, maintaining a certain distance between the professional and personal aspects of his new duty assignment seemed preferable. He left his things with the stationmaster, then set out to explore the city.

Gilbert’s descriptions of forested mountains and burbling mineral springs had certainly whetted his interest in Hot Springs—not to mention the idea of settling amid new surroundings for a while. His mother back in Fort Wayne made no secret of her disappointment, but he wasn’t ready to return there. Too many reminders of the life he’d left behind. If he’d known how the war would scar him, if he could have foreseen the nearly insurmountable challenges to his faith—

He paused on the sidewalk, fist clenched.
Lord, I’m striving with all of my being to remain faithful. Give me strength.

As usual, the heavens remained silent, and Samuel could only walk on in the hope that the God he lived to serve hadn’t completely forsaken him.

Except for the pines, nearly all the trees had shed their leaves for the winter. The landscape, while still wildly beautiful, now shivered under an iron-gray sky as Samuel marched up Central Avenue in search of accommodations. Bathhouse Row, they called it, this strip of health spas at the foot of a mountain. He read the names as he walked past—Lamar, Fordyce, Superior, among others—and wondered why so many so close together didn’t drive each other out of business.

At the far end of the tree-lined promenade, he spied the Arlington Hotel and remembered Gilbert said his brother was a manager there. Considering how Gilbert had described the hotel, Samuel suspected the rates for a long-term stay would far exceed his chaplain’s pay, but at least it was a place to start.

He marched up the front steps and entered an expansive and elegant lobby. Already Samuel felt out of his element. He clamped his sagging jaw and tried to look nonchalant while he got his bearings. An elderly couple in coats and mufflers nodded a greeting as they shuffled toward the exit. Excusing himself to move out of their way, Samuel backed into a glass curio cabinet.

The sound of rattling figurines shot panic through Samuel’s chest. He whirled around and braced both hands on the cabinet until everything settled. Thank heavens nothing had broken. After a quick glance across the lobby confirmed his clumsiness had gone unnoticed, he pretended to admire the items gracing the shelves.

A moment later, he was no longer pretending. Behind the glass, a striking assortment of ceramic vases, bowls, plates, and platters were on display.
Original Pottery Designs by A. Kendall of Hot Springs, Arkansas
, read a small, handwritten sign on the middle shelf. Samuel looked closer to read the tiny price tags next to each item.

Or, more accurately,
hefty
prices printed on tiny tags.

“Interested in a gift for someone?”

Samuel glanced over his shoulder at a slender, dark-haired gentleman in a gray suit. He uttered a reluctant chuckle. “No, thanks. Just admiring the work.”

“Well, you won’t find anything finer—” The man moved into Samuel’s line of vision, and his face spread into a sudden smile of recognition. “You’re the soldier who was with my brother on the train.”

Samuel studied the man’s face. “And you’re Gilbert’s younger brother. He’s told me a lot about you.”