hurrying downstairs.
She made it as far as the lobby before collapsing in tears onto the nearest bench.
“Miss Kendall?”
Startled, she fumbled through her handbag for a handkerchief and swiped at her drippy nose and eyes. “Oh, you’re the nice chaplain, Gilbert’s friend.”
“Samuel Vickary. Though around here I answer to ‘Padre.’” The trim, sandy-haired man nodded toward the empty space beside her. “May I?”
“Of course.” Annemarie forced a shaky smile as he lowered himself onto the bench. “I’m normally not one to be so weepy. I must look a fright.”
“Not at all. You look—” He coughed, or was it nervous laughter? When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a raspy whisper. “You look fine, truly.”
“I’m sorry not to have thanked you sooner for all you’ve done for Gilbert. I understand you’re staying with the Ballards.”
“They’ve been very kind to offer me rooms.” Another self-conscious chuckle. “I’m not used to living in such finery, not to mention having servants at my beck and call. I telephoned my mother in Fort Wayne yesterday to give her my new address, and now she’s worried I’ll be spoiled beyond redemption.”
Annemarie dried her eyes and tucked the handkerchief into her handbag. “After what you went through over in France, I’m sure you’re quite deserving of a little pampering.”
Neither of them spoke for several seconds. In the silence, Annemarie found her gaze drawn to the way his long, thin fingers splayed across his thighs. He tapped his index fingers in rhythm, one, two . . . one, two, three , and stared across the lobby.
Then they both spoke at once.
“Will you see—”
“I understand you’re—”
Laughing behind her gloved hand, Annemarie tried again. “I was just going to ask if you’d see your family at Christmas.”
“My mother is all I have left. She loves to travel and is already making plans to visit me here.”
“How wonderful for you. I can’t imagine how lonely it would be to spend the holidays in an unfamiliar city and so far from your loved ones.” Hearing the words leave her mouth, she lowered her eyes in embarrassment. “But I suppose you already know exactly how it feels.”
Chaplain Vickary sat back with a sigh. “At least I’m back on American soil. Far too many of our soldiers are still left in Europe.”
“But praise God the fighting is over and they’re only there to keep the peace.” Annemarie shifted slightly and cast the chaplain a shy smile. “Your turn. What were you about to ask me?”
“I was just going to say I heard you work at a pottery factory. A family business, I understand?”
“Kendall Pottery Works. My grandfather established the business right after the Civil War.”
“Kendall Pottery?” The chaplain narrowed one eye. “ You’re the ‘A. Kendall’ whose works are on display at the Arlington?”
Annemarie nodded, her cheeks warming. “Those are pieces I’ve made in my spare time. At the factory we make mainly serviceable items for everyday use.”
“Well, I’m quite impressed. You have a real talent.”
“Thank you.” She pursed her lips and looked away, wishing her father would just once recognize the value of artistry. Surely there was more to life than plain beige bowls and urns. The world was bleak enough.
“Have you always lived in Hot Springs?”
Annemarie beamed. “All my life. I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to grow up.”
“It’s quite a scenic locale, even judging from what little I’ve seen so far.”
“Just wait until you see the mountains in springtime. When the sun rises big and bright and golden at the edge of the bluest sky you’ve ever seen, and the redbuds color the mountainsides in every shade of pink, and tiny new leaves of palest green pop out on every branch—why, words simply can’t describe it!”
Chaplain Vickary grinned, his gray eyes snapping. “I think you just described it perfectly.”
Annemarie’s
She made it as far as the lobby before collapsing in tears onto the nearest bench.
“Miss Kendall?”
Startled, she fumbled through her handbag for a handkerchief and swiped at her drippy nose and eyes. “Oh, you’re the nice chaplain, Gilbert’s friend.”
“Samuel Vickary. Though around here I answer to ‘Padre.’” The trim, sandy-haired man nodded toward the empty space beside her. “May I?”
“Of course.” Annemarie forced a shaky smile as he lowered himself onto the bench. “I’m normally not one to be so weepy. I must look a fright.”
“Not at all. You look—” He coughed, or was it nervous laughter? When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a raspy whisper. “You look fine, truly.”
“I’m sorry not to have thanked you sooner for all you’ve done for Gilbert. I understand you’re staying with the Ballards.”
“They’ve been very kind to offer me rooms.” Another self-conscious chuckle. “I’m not used to living in such finery, not to mention having servants at my beck and call. I telephoned my mother in Fort Wayne yesterday to give her my new address, and now she’s worried I’ll be spoiled beyond redemption.”
Annemarie dried her eyes and tucked the handkerchief into her handbag. “After what you went through over in France, I’m sure you’re quite deserving of a little pampering.”
Neither of them spoke for several seconds. In the silence, Annemarie found her gaze drawn to the way his long, thin fingers splayed across his thighs. He tapped his index fingers in rhythm, one, two . . . one, two, three , and stared across the lobby.
Then they both spoke at once.
“Will you see—”
“I understand you’re—”
Laughing behind her gloved hand, Annemarie tried again. “I was just going to ask if you’d see your family at Christmas.”
“My mother is all I have left. She loves to travel and is already making plans to visit me here.”
“How wonderful for you. I can’t imagine how lonely it would be to spend the holidays in an unfamiliar city and so far from your loved ones.” Hearing the words leave her mouth, she lowered her eyes in embarrassment. “But I suppose you already know exactly how it feels.”
Chaplain Vickary sat back with a sigh. “At least I’m back on American soil. Far too many of our soldiers are still left in Europe.”
“But praise God the fighting is over and they’re only there to keep the peace.” Annemarie shifted slightly and cast the chaplain a shy smile. “Your turn. What were you about to ask me?”
“I was just going to say I heard you work at a pottery factory. A family business, I understand?”
“Kendall Pottery Works. My grandfather established the business right after the Civil War.”
“Kendall Pottery?” The chaplain narrowed one eye. “ You’re the ‘A. Kendall’ whose works are on display at the Arlington?”
Annemarie nodded, her cheeks warming. “Those are pieces I’ve made in my spare time. At the factory we make mainly serviceable items for everyday use.”
“Well, I’m quite impressed. You have a real talent.”
“Thank you.” She pursed her lips and looked away, wishing her father would just once recognize the value of artistry. Surely there was more to life than plain beige bowls and urns. The world was bleak enough.
“Have you always lived in Hot Springs?”
Annemarie beamed. “All my life. I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to grow up.”
“It’s quite a scenic locale, even judging from what little I’ve seen so far.”
“Just wait until you see the mountains in springtime. When the sun rises big and bright and golden at the edge of the bluest sky you’ve ever seen, and the redbuds color the mountainsides in every shade of pink, and tiny new leaves of palest green pop out on every branch—why, words simply can’t describe it!”
Chaplain Vickary grinned, his gray eyes snapping. “I think you just described it perfectly.”
Annemarie’s
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