J olene wandered around the fairgrounds, eventually finding her way back to the scone booth. As she stood in line, she listened to the speech about Fisher Flour Mill and its exceptional milling process, which was the reason the scones were so light and fluffy. She passed the display of Paulhamus Farms jams and jellies, proudly claiming responsibility for bringing Fisher Scones to the Western Washington State Fair and for providing their delicious filling.
She paid ten cents for the scone, but its warm sweetness couldn’t distract her from her troubled thoughts. Had Robert changed from the man she fell in love with? Was Pierre right?
Pierre …
What was she going to do about him? Her parents approved of him, but did they know marriage meant she would move to France? It would serve Dad right if she married without letting him know that.
Not that she should make such a choice because she was angry with her father right now. How could he have punched Robert—he was crippled and in uniform! Surely, if Robert had turned violent from the horrors of war, he would have retaliated. Instead, he did nothing but try to protect himself. Still, was one incident enough to judge his character after seventeen months apart?
Which brought her tumultuous thoughts full circle, with no resolution in sight.
She licked crumbs from her fingers and searched for a garbage can through the thick crowd.
“Miss Caplan, were you looking for me?” The man who’d proposed she join the aeroplane company waved at her.
What was his name again?
She waved back, put a smile on, and waited for him to zigzag through the crowd. “Hello, again.”
He tipped his straw hat. “Miss Caplan. I’m hoping you have good news for me.”
“Actually, I—”
“Excuse me.”
Jolene turned at Robert’s voice. Her heart leapt at his approach, but her eyes scanned the crowd to see if any of the Caplan’s Crusaders were nearby. “What are you doing here?”
He gave her an odd sort of frown, turned to the older gentleman, and stuck out his hand. “Hello, sir. Robert Montgomery.”
“Horace Walpole.” He shook Robert’s hand and winced before tugging his hand away. He squinted up at Robert. “Have we met before?”
“Yes, sir. When you came to France to train mechanics in repairing your company’s DH-4 planes.”
Mr. Walpole’s smile seemed to freeze. “I see. Well, Miss Caplan and I were discussing a job offer.”
Robert stiffened. “She’s not interested.”
Jolene gasped. How dare he speak for her! They weren’t engaged, and not likely to be if he’d turned into an overbearing brute.
Mr. Walpole’s eyes shifted between Jolene and Robert. “Shall we finish our business later, Miss Caplan?”
After shooting Robert a speak-for-me-again-and-I’ll-hit-you-myself glare, Jolene nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Walpole. I look forward to speaking with you later today.”
He tipped his hat and melted into the crowd.
Jolene turned her attention to Robert. His jaw was starting to tinge purple. What a wretched day he’d had! Jolene’s indignation faded a degree. A reprieve was needed, not another battle. “How long have you been waiting?”
He planted his crutches in the ground. “A minute or two. I figured you’d be back, since you didn’t get your scone earlier.”
How well he knew her.
“Do you know what kind of man he is? Now?” Pierre’s questions reared their ugly heads.
Jolene didn’t want to think about potential problems. She wanted to enjoy Robert’s safe return and the fact that she no longer had to hide her love for him. “I guess we let the cat out of the bag earlier.”
He bent closer. “Yeah. I think we’d better talk about that.”
Jolene longed to touch his cheek, but they were in enough trouble. “Where would you like to go?”
Rising to his full height, he looked over top of the crowd. “There’s a bench over there”—he jutted his chin toward the flower displays—“that’s empty for now.”
“How about I go ahead, and you follow at your own pace?”
His gaze sent a thrill through her. “I’d follow you anywhere, Jolene Caplan.”
Blushing, she walked where he’d indicated. She could feel Robert’s eyes on her all the way to the empty bench. She sat and waited for him to join her.
He eased himself down and set the crutches on the ground beside him. “What job did Walpole offer you?”
Reprieve over. “Aerial stunt pilot.”
“For Dayton-Wright? Absolutely not!”
A few fairgoers gawked at them.
Robert glared right back. “Do you know what we called the Dayton-Wright DH-4 planes over in France? Flaming coffins, that’s what. And they want to put a woman in one? Over my dead body.”
Jolene smiled at his protectiveness. “Since Mr. Walpole said they want me to demonstrate the safety and maneuverability of their planes, I doubt they’d put me in one that was dangerous. But if I turn him down, I prefer to tell Mr. Walpole my own way.”
“My Jolene. Always the peacemaker.”
Was he insulting her? Just because she chose to use soft words and to speak when tempers weren’t inflamed didn’t mean she couldn’t stand up for herself. Her way was better than throwing punches first and shouting later.
To prove it—to herself if no one else—she changed the subject to something less inflammatory. “Did you work on planes, then?” She traced a circle on her kneecap.
“I worked on whatever kind of engine they put in front of me for as long as they’d let me.” He scratched his neck. “But eventually they needed me more in the trenches.”
Jolene sensed his reluctance to say more, but Pierre’s questions needed to be answered. “Are you … okay?”
He went still. “You mean other than a broken ankle?”
The familiar crook in his nose, those tawny eyes, and the angles of his jaw lured Jolene to believe she still knew him, but seventeen months and a war stood between them. And maybe even more. “The papers have started talking about something called shell shock.”
“And you want to know if I’m suffering from it?” No mockery laced his question.
Thank heaven he was taking her seriously. Jolene nodded.
A wry grin twisted his lips. “An hour ago, I would have laughed at you, but not now.”
Goose bumps pebbled her skin. “Why?”
He looked out over the fair crowd and told her how he’d made a fool of himself over the pop of a balloon. “The doctors say my reaction is normal and to expect loud noises, especially if they’re sudden, to startle me for as much as six months. But I’ve seen shell-shocked soldiers. You can tell them by the hollowness in their eyes.” Robert opened his eyes wider and grinned. “See. All here.”
Sweet relief filled her lungs. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Robert shifted on the bench, his grin fading. “Are you? I mean, are you really?”
Had he missed the whole part about kissing him like a wanton woman?
“I mean”—he scrubbed at his scalp like he was trying to remove a layer of skin—“I know you kissed me and all, but …”
But? She didn’t know this faltering Robert. He’d always been so sure of himself. Of her. Of their love. Her heart began to race. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”
He rolled his shoulders. “Look, before I left, I told you not to write. To forget all about me.”
The words stabbed afresh. He’d wanted a clean break—a chance to get over her and for her to get over him. She’d been miserable for days. Her mother thought she’d caught a cold. “I remember.”
Robert gripped his hands together in front of him. “Well? Did you?”
She squinted like it would bring his confusing words into focus. “Did I what?”
He lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Did you … forget about me?”
“Forget about you? Do you think I would—?” She lowered her voice. No point in causing another public spectacle. “Do you think I would have kissed you like that if I’d forgotten about you?”
Robert heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his toes. “Thank goodness.” He grabbed her hand and started to babble. “I was afraid maybe I had kissed you and you didn’t kiss me back, and I didn’t know if that was true, so I wasn’t sure what to think.”
Jolene squeezed his hand. “Silly boy.”
Robert swiped a hand against his cheek.
If she acknowledged his tears, it would embarrass him, so Jolene looked around for a new topic of conversation. “Did you see the displays of fruits and vegetables?”
“No, but I’m guessing you have.”
“Not yet. I got a little sidetracked by a certain soldier.” She stood and tugged on his hand. “Would you come with me?”
With an exaggerated huff, he let go of her hand and bent to retrieve his crutches. “If you insist.”
Grinning because his show of reluctance was exactly what she expected—and therefore proof he was still her Robert—Jolene waited for him to stand before sauntering toward the displays of canned goods stacked in layers of color.
They started with the vegetables. Asparagus, beans, and pickles in shades of green with an occasional red, white, or blue ribbon hanging from jars to indicate winners. Many of the fairgoers around them offered Robert a nod or salute. A few of the women gripped his hand to thank him for his service and ask if he knew their son or nephew, brother or cousin.
He didn’t, but he answered each with a solemn assurance that no news was good news and that the war was winding down.
Pride swelling her heart, Jolene stood beside him soaking in these stolen moments where everyone around them assumed they were a joyful, reunited soldier and his girl enjoying a sunny day at the fair.
They moved to the fruit where pale applesauce and canned pears gave way to the orangey yellows of apricots and peaches.
Jolene picked up the winning jar of peaches, feeling the weight of it and turning it in her hand to observe the perfect golden slices touched with red slivers at their core. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. “Do you know why I spend every free moment at every fair wandering through the canned fruit and vegetable entries?”
Robert bent his head closer to her lips.
“Because this”—she fingered the blue ribbon hanging from the jar—“is the embodiment of my dream: to live in one place long enough to grow my own fruit tree, pick and preserve its goodness, and win a blue ribbon at the local fair.”
A hand touched the small of her back. “I know. And I want to give it to you more than you can possibly imagine.”
All the obstacles to such a rosy future filled her lungs to bursting. She saw one way, but if she spoke it aloud, would her dream dissipate like vapor?
Robert leaned close to her ear. “Last time we … I mean … you were willing to run away and marry me. I still want that. Do you?”
She set the can of peaches back on the display before her shaking fingers dropped it. This conversation—this heartbreak—had been looming since the moment she saw him under the grandstand. To drag it out was unfair to him and her. “What I want is peace between our families. I want to welcome your parents into our home the same way I want you to welcome mine. I want our children to love both sets of grandparents.”
And she didn’t know how that would happen other than for Robert to ask for and receive permission to marry her.
He swung his crutches and shuffled away from the beautiful display of canned fruits.
Following, her steps weighted, Jolene absorbed the sight of Robert—his broad shoulders tapered into his waist, the tan uniform crisp except for the horizontal creases from sitting with his back pressed against a seat, and the long legs. She engraved the sight into her mind so that, in the years to come, she might remember every part of this man who held her heart—
But might never again hold her hand.
Robert leaned into another step, his eyes watching the uneven ground, taking in the shoes in various shapes and sizes parting like the Red Sea before him.
If Jolene followed him, she was silent. Just as well. She’d said enough already.
What a fool he’d been, running off to war hoping it would solve the problems he’d left behind. Hoping, somehow, that distance would bandage the wounds, and silence salve the rift.
It didn’t work.
Nothing he’d done after losing Mitch had worked.
He’d give his right arm—no, his very life—to take back what happened that day. It was all his fault, from getting caught holding Jolene’s hand to losing his focus in the middle of a match.
All.
His.
Fault.
A bale of hay came into view. He’d come to the edge of the fairgrounds with nothing but a parking lot for cars, buggies, and a few horse-drawn carts beyond the hay boundary.
End of the line. Nowhere to go but back the way he’d come or in an endless loop around the perimeter. He sensed rather than saw Jolene’s presence. Part of him wanted to yell at her to go away, but the greater part longed to draw her near and never let go. To kiss her until she admitted she was as crazy in love with him as he was with her, and that she’d defy her parents to become his wife.
Because defiance has worked so well for you, hasn’t it?
His sarcastic conscience hit with the force of a hammer.
The first rule of any conflict, whether on the field of play or the field of war, was to change tactics when the one you were using didn’t work. And the first rule of love was to put your beloved’s needs above your own. What Jolene wanted was right and good.
If only the chance of success wasn’t so slim.
Robert closed his eyes to gather his courage. “If I ask, and your father says no, what will you do?”
A swish of fabric. The faint scent of gasoline. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough, JoJo. Promise me you won’t run off to be an aerial stunt pilot.” He gripped the handles of his crutches until his palms ached. “Promise.”
“Then you prefer that I marry Pierre and live in France?”
Pain lanced through his chest with the force of a bullet. He bit back a groan.
“Do you?”
He couldn’t get the word past his tight lips, so he nodded. Jolene deserved to marry, to have children, to grow her fruit trees even if they were planted in foreign soil.
“Then you must promise me something in return, Robbie.”
The sound of his nickname in her voice turned his legs to rubber. Only the brace of his crutches saved him from falling to the ground. “What?”
She touched his elbow, a gesture of love and caring that rippled in agonizing waves through his body. “You must promise to find some sweet girl to marry.”
Open himself again to the pain of love and loss? “Never.”