cheeks flamed again. “I suppose I did go on a bit, didn’t I?” She shifted her gaze to the dreary landscape beyond the windows. “It’s just this whole past year has seemed like one long, endless season of winter. I don’t ever remember being so anxious for spring.”
The sun chose that moment to pierce the clouds with one golden ray. Sucking in a breath, Annemarie rose and went to the window. One hand resting upon the glass, she angled her face to receive the sun’s warmth.
“Spring will come again, you know.” The chaplain stood at her left shoulder. “‘Weeping may tarry for the night, But joy cometh in the morning.’”
“The thirtieth psalm—I know it well. ‘Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing; Thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness.’ I believe it as much as I ever did, but . . .” Annemarie released a shivery breath. “I’m afraid for Gilbert, so afraid for him.”
“I’ve been worried, too.” He seemed about to offer a comforting touch, but just as quickly withdrew his hand and lowered it to his side. He swiveled toward the window. “Looks like the clouds are lifting.”
Annemarie tore her gaze away from his somber profile and glanced out at the brightening sky. “Perhaps a walk would do us both good. Chaplain Vickary, would you care for a personally guided tour of downtown Hot Springs?”
The chaplain cast her an uncertain glance. “Are you sure it would be proper?”
“To familiarize my fiancé’s closest friend with his new surroundings? What could be considered improper about that?”
“Then I can’t think of a more delightful way to spend an afternoon.” The chaplain offered Annemarie his arm. “But only if you will also consider me a friend and call me Samuel.”
“Samuel it is,” she said, linking her arm through his. “But won’t you need your overcoat?”
“Not if we stay on the sunny side of the street.” He arched a brow and nodded toward the exit. “Shall we?”
Lightness rose in Annemarie’s breast. She smiled up at the chaplain—no, at her new friend Samuel. “Let’s!”
Gilbert sat in the dayroom, his wheelchair angled toward the window and a blanket over his legs—or what was left of them. A trio of aging veterans had invited him to join them in a game of dominoes, but he wasn’t in the mood. His head throbbed. His left ear had started its incessant ringing again. He doubted he could focus well enough to count the pips on his tiles anyway.
He pressed his right palm into his forehead and rubbed furiously. Just one hour without pain was all he asked. Even ten minutes. God, are You listening?
Obviously not. God had already shown exactly how much concern He had for Gilbert. Let Samuel spout his biblical propaganda, say what he wanted about the Lord’s protection. Gilbert knew otherwise. A loving God didn’t save a man’s life only to deprive him of the ability to earn an honest living, to be a good husband to the woman he loved.
He scraped his hand down his face and rested his stubbly chin in his palm. The sun had finally broken through the clouds and glinted off the roof of the New Imperial Bath House. On the pathway below he glimpsed a couple out for a walk. The man was tall, dressed in an olive-drab uniform. The woman on his arm wore a flat-brimmed hat that hid her features from Gilbert’s view, but there was something familiar about her posture, her long, purposeful stride.
Annemarie .
Gilbert sat forward, his forearm braced hard against the arm of his wheelchair. He blinked several times in a hopeless attempt to clear his vision. But there was no mistaking it— his Annemarie, leaning on the arm of another man.
An explosion of rage ripped through his chest. “Who? Who? ”
“Lieutenant Ballard?” One of those bothersome, hovering nurses came up beside him and rested a hand on the back of his chair. A round-faced redhead with a lilting Irish brogue, she didn’t look old enough to be out of
The sun chose that moment to pierce the clouds with one golden ray. Sucking in a breath, Annemarie rose and went to the window. One hand resting upon the glass, she angled her face to receive the sun’s warmth.
“Spring will come again, you know.” The chaplain stood at her left shoulder. “‘Weeping may tarry for the night, But joy cometh in the morning.’”
“The thirtieth psalm—I know it well. ‘Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing; Thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness.’ I believe it as much as I ever did, but . . .” Annemarie released a shivery breath. “I’m afraid for Gilbert, so afraid for him.”
“I’ve been worried, too.” He seemed about to offer a comforting touch, but just as quickly withdrew his hand and lowered it to his side. He swiveled toward the window. “Looks like the clouds are lifting.”
Annemarie tore her gaze away from his somber profile and glanced out at the brightening sky. “Perhaps a walk would do us both good. Chaplain Vickary, would you care for a personally guided tour of downtown Hot Springs?”
The chaplain cast her an uncertain glance. “Are you sure it would be proper?”
“To familiarize my fiancé’s closest friend with his new surroundings? What could be considered improper about that?”
“Then I can’t think of a more delightful way to spend an afternoon.” The chaplain offered Annemarie his arm. “But only if you will also consider me a friend and call me Samuel.”
“Samuel it is,” she said, linking her arm through his. “But won’t you need your overcoat?”
“Not if we stay on the sunny side of the street.” He arched a brow and nodded toward the exit. “Shall we?”
Lightness rose in Annemarie’s breast. She smiled up at the chaplain—no, at her new friend Samuel. “Let’s!”
Gilbert sat in the dayroom, his wheelchair angled toward the window and a blanket over his legs—or what was left of them. A trio of aging veterans had invited him to join them in a game of dominoes, but he wasn’t in the mood. His head throbbed. His left ear had started its incessant ringing again. He doubted he could focus well enough to count the pips on his tiles anyway.
He pressed his right palm into his forehead and rubbed furiously. Just one hour without pain was all he asked. Even ten minutes. God, are You listening?
Obviously not. God had already shown exactly how much concern He had for Gilbert. Let Samuel spout his biblical propaganda, say what he wanted about the Lord’s protection. Gilbert knew otherwise. A loving God didn’t save a man’s life only to deprive him of the ability to earn an honest living, to be a good husband to the woman he loved.
He scraped his hand down his face and rested his stubbly chin in his palm. The sun had finally broken through the clouds and glinted off the roof of the New Imperial Bath House. On the pathway below he glimpsed a couple out for a walk. The man was tall, dressed in an olive-drab uniform. The woman on his arm wore a flat-brimmed hat that hid her features from Gilbert’s view, but there was something familiar about her posture, her long, purposeful stride.
Annemarie .
Gilbert sat forward, his forearm braced hard against the arm of his wheelchair. He blinked several times in a hopeless attempt to clear his vision. But there was no mistaking it— his Annemarie, leaning on the arm of another man.
An explosion of rage ripped through his chest. “Who? Who? ”
“Lieutenant Ballard?” One of those bothersome, hovering nurses came up beside him and rested a hand on the back of his chair. A round-faced redhead with a lilting Irish brogue, she didn’t look old enough to be out of
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