22

Over the next few days, Gilbert couldn’t get Samuel’s words out of his mind. If it was true the problems between Gilbert and Mary weren’t entirely his doing—if Mary just needed time to sort out her feelings—then maybe she’d yet come back to him.

Except how would he ever convince her while she lived and worked a thousand miles away?

“Are you paying attention?” Mrs. Frederick’s sharp tone snapped Gilbert back to the present.

“Of course. We were talking about wheat.” He scraped a hand across his eyes and tried to focus on the agricultural notes spread before him on the kitchen table. “So we’re looking at an October planting date?”

“Correct. It also means we must begin preparing the fields now.” Mrs. Frederick used her pencil to circle a large area on a roughly drawn map of the property. “John always liked to plant his wheat in this section here. It has the best drainage.”

Gilbert nodded as if he understood, but this farming business made him nervous. Combine his lack of knowledge with all the variables—weather, equipment failure, market conditions—and it was a risky business indeed. “So . . . what do we do first?”

Mrs. Frederick narrowed her gaze, clearly annoyed by his ignorance. “I tell you what. You go play with your horses, and I will take charge of the farming. As long as you have money to pay, I know men we can hire to plow and plant, and later to harvest.” Gathering up the papers strewn across the table, she rose and marched from the room.

Money. Yes, at least he had his money. But he’d give it all away if he thought it would bring Mary back.

All right, then, Mrs. Frederick was perfectly welcome to manage the planting while Gilbert wrote the checks. In the meantime, tending to his horses seemed as good a pastime as any, no matter if Mrs. Frederick deemed it a frivolous pursuit. Considering Mary shared an equally negative opinion, the woman was in good company.

Gathering up his cane and a battered felt fedora, Gilbert plodded out the back door and across the yard to the paddock where Mac grazed. When he braced his arms along the fence rail and whistled softly, Mac lifted his head with a nicker and ambled over. Always in search of the sugar cubes Gilbert spoiled him with, he nuzzled Gilbert’s shirtfront, leaving behind a trail of grass-tinged saliva.

“All right, all right! Wrong pocket this time, fella.” Laughing, Gilbert fished two lumps of sugar from his trouser pocket. While the contented horse munched, Gilbert used his handkerchief to blot the slimy wetness from his shirt.

Obadiah ambled out from the barn. “Mornin’, Mistah Ballard. Got some good news.”

“Great. I could use some.” Gilbert tipped back his hat.

“Miss Glory’s showin’ signs of comin’ in season. I think she’ll be ready for ol’ Mac any day now.” Obadiah shot him a wide, white grin. “This time next year we could have us a fine little colt or filly.”

Gilbert reached across the fence to scratch Mac behind the ear. “Whaddya say, boy? You ready to be a papa?”

What he kept to himself was the crushing dread the horses might be the only “children” Gilbert would ever claim.

“Please, Mary, you can’t spend another Friday night holed up in the nurses’ quarters.” Aggie Hinkhouse, the petite blonde Mary roomed with, adjusted a colorful scarf at her throat. “We won’t go anywhere expensive, just a nice dinner out somewhere.”

“It isn’t the expense that concerns me,” Mary said as she slipped on a comfy pair of slippers. “It’s my aching feet. The charge nurse on my floor had me running all over the hospital today.”

“Well, you are the new girl.” Aggie plopped onto the bed next to Mary and gave her head a disbelieving shake. “Everyone thinks you’re crazy, you know, trading your cushy position at a tame little Arkansas hospital for this.” Her sweeping gesture implied everything from the long hours to the grueling, often gruesome duties of caring for the recovering war wounded.

Mary tightened the sash of her bathrobe. “It’s a change I welcomed, I assure you.”

“Humph. Must be a man involved.” Scooting farther onto the bed so she could lean against the wall, Aggie folded her hands and tapped her index fingers together. “Let’s hear it, Mary. Every word.”

“You think you’re so smart, do you?” The tiny dorm room suddenly seemed even smaller. Mary strode to the dresser and snatched up her hairbrush.

“Here, let me.” Joining her at the dresser, Aggie took the brush and began stroking it through Mary’s thick curls. “And, yeah, I consider myself very smart, at least when it comes to recognizing a broken heart when I see it.”

Mary didn’t dare meet her own reflection in the mirror. Instead, she whirled past Aggie and went straight to the closet they shared. “I just remembered I haven’t had a chance to wear this frilly new dress my mum bought for me last week. Dinner out would be the perfect occasion.”

And why shouldn’t she get out and enjoy herself? Aggie was right—she’d moped around in this drab little room too many nights already. Twenty minutes later the two of them met another pair of nurses out front, and shortly afterward, a taxi collected them. Following Aggie’s instructions, the driver wound through town toward a restaurant one of the corpsmen in Aggie’s unit had recommended.

The quaint Italian bistro claimed the best meatballs in D.C., and after one bite, Mary was convinced. The delicious food, her new friends’ laughter, and the continual buzz of activity past their round corner booth soon swept her cares away—perhaps only temporarily, but she determined to enjoy the respite for as long as it lasted. She decided she’d been a fool for never taking Lois up on her invitations to go out with the girls after work. If she’d only had the courage to expand her horizons beyond the hospital, her mother, and pining over Gilbert, who knew where life might have taken her?

One of the nurses had just begun an off-color joke when the waiter interrupted to clear their plates. “Would anyone care for a dessert menu?”

“Oh, definitely!” Aggie nudged Mary. “You’ll have something, won’t you?”

“I shouldn’t.” Shaking her head, Mary rested a palm against her full stomach, already straining the waistline of her new dress.

At the table across from their booth, the host had just seated two young men in natty slacks and blazers. One of the men leaned toward Mary and wiggled his brows. “If you say no, you’ll regret it. They serve the best cannoli in town.”

“The best meatballs, the best cannoli.” Mary knew she must be blushing beneath the man’s flirtatious grin. “Is there anything they serve here that isn’t the best in town?”

“Well, obviously, they serve the prettiest girls here, too.”

Heart fluttering, Mary glanced away.

“Hey, boys,” one of her companions called, “we’ve got room in our booth. Why don’t you join us?” She motioned for Mary and the others to scoot in toward the center.

The two men shared a look and then wasted no time in changing tables. Sitting on the outside edge, Mary suddenly found herself squeezed between Aggie and the young man who’d spoken to her. She couldn’t suppress a shiver.

“Cold?” He glanced her way, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. “I could lend you my jacket.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“My name’s Vince. What’s yours?”

“Mary.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary.” Vince rested his arm on the seat back behind her. When his hand brushed her shoulder, she sat up straighter and pretended to adjust her napkin. Vince cast her a puzzled glance and then quietly drew his hand into his lap. He looked almost apologetic before clearing his throat and asking, “So, what do you do?”

“My friends and I are all nurses at Walter Reed.” Mary shot him a nervous smile. “And you?”

“I’m a congressional aide. Exciting stuff going on in D.C. these days.”

“I’m sure.”

The waiter, returning with dessert menus, gave a knowing roll of his eyes to discover the new seating arrangements. He signaled a busboy to bring place settings for the gentlemen and then took orders for their dinner and the ladies’ desserts.

“And put those desserts on my tab,” Vince said as the waiter turned to go.

“That’s quite unnecessary.” Mary’s stomach grew more unsettled by the moment. She began to wish she’d forgone the cannoli.

“Now, Mary,” Aggie chided, patting her arm, “it’s rude to turn down such a charming offer.”

Across the booth, Vince’s friend and the other two nurses appeared to be making hasty progress getting acquainted. Mary prayed the men’s dinner would arrive quickly so Vince would spend more time eating than flirting.

And then she thought, Why? What, really, was keeping her from enjoying the attention of a handsome man? And what better way to get over the man she could never have?

“What did you think of Daddy-Long-Legs?” Vince asked as he parked his automobile in front of the nurses’ quarters.

Mary pinched her handbag between her fingers. It was her fourth date with Vince, and she felt no less nervous than when she first met him two weeks ago. “I enjoyed the film very much. Mary Pickford is so beautiful and expressive.”

“No more so than another Mary I know.” Vince pried her fingers loose and seared the back of her hand with a tender kiss.

She swallowed and tried not to pull away.

Even in the darkened car, she could make out his bemused half-smile. “What is it about you, Mary? We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks now, and yet I still feel I hardly know you. I’ve decided you’re either incredibly shy or getting over a broken heart.”

When she didn’t answer, he placed his index finger beneath her chin and gently turned her head until he could gaze into her eyes. “Aha,” he said with all the authority of a physician diagnosing a patient, “it’s both. Who was it, Mary? Who broke your fragile heart?”

Shrugging off his touch, she glanced out the side window. “No one you’d know. He’s in the past now and best forgotten.”

“Except you can’t forget him, can you? It’s written all over your face.” Vince slid his arm around her, and when he nestled her against his chest, she didn’t resist. “If he was fool enough to hurt you—even worse, let a girl as sweet as you get away—” Caressing her hair, he released a noisy sigh. “If I could personally pound some sense into his thick skull for you, I’d gladly do it.”

In spite of the tears never far from the surface these days, Mary chuckled softly, the sound muted by the nubby fabric of Vince’s blazer. His comforting touch and gentle words made her feel safe, protected, cared for. Little by little, she relaxed against him. “You’re a kind man, Vince. I’m sorry I’ve been so reserved.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s amazingly refreshing to meet a girl who isn’t throwing herself at every available guy she meets—and believe me, there are plenty in this town who do.”

Mary sat up, one hand resting upon Vince’s chest. She offered a shy smile. “And you’re every bit the gentleman, for which I’m grateful.” She moved to reach for the door handle. “I should go in. It’s late.”

“Wait.” Vince caught her hand. “One kiss, Mary, is all I ask. I’ve been dreaming about kissing you since I first laid eyes on you in the restaurant.”

Her stomach somersaulted. She stared straight ahead. “I don’t know if . . .”

“If you’re ready? I understand. But you don’t have to be afraid.” Vince slid toward her, reaching up to cup her cheek. “I would never hurt you, Mary, I promise.”

When his lips brushed hers, her heart stopped. Short, panicky breaths struggled past her frozen throat muscles, while heat suffused her limbs. Gilbert . . . Gilbert.

With a shudder, she pulled away. “I’m sorry . . . I can’t.”

Vince’s dark eyes grew flinty, even as he gently thumbed away the tear sliding down her cheek. “I could kill the guy who did this to you.”

“Don’t judge him. You don’t know what he’s been through.” Mary shoved open the car door.

In a flash, Vince had rounded the automobile and helped Mary to her feet. “Okay, okay. Whatever happened, I can tell how much you cared for him. But like you said, he’s in the past. Say you’ll let me be part of your future. Please.”

She gripped his forearms and heaved an exhausted groan. “I like you, Vince. Very much. But I’m making no decisions about my future beyond getting what sleep I can in the next few hours before my shift begins.” Then, regretting her snappish tone, she pressed her lips together in an apologetic smile. “Thank you again for the lovely evening. Now I really must say good night.”

“Good night, Gilbert.” Mrs. Frederick nodded from the foyer. “I will have breakfast ready at seven as usual.”

Yawning, Gilbert looked up from the dime novel he’d been reading. He was fairly certain he’d dozed through the last few paragraphs. “I’m headed up soon, myself.”

Mrs. Frederick turned to go, then paused and faced him again, lips pursed. “Perhaps it is not my place to say anything, but as I am old enough to be your mother, I will take this liberty.”

Gilbert laid his novel on the arm of the chair as curiosity nudged aside his lethargy. “Don’t ever hesitate to speak your mind with me.” He gave a short laugh. “Besides, I hold your opinions in much higher regard than those of my own mother.”

Her stern glare spoke her disapproval of such a disrespectful remark. Hands folded at her waist, she stepped into the parlor. “What I have to say is . . . of a personal nature. You never go into town anymore except to purchase supplies. I worry because you spend so much time alone here at the farm.”

“I’m not alone. I have you and Obadiah and the horses. And I’ve been attending chapel services at the hospital every Sunday.” He reached for his cane and pushed up from the chair. “If anyone needs to be chided for choosing to be alone, it’s you. When was the last time you took me up on one of my numerous offers to drive you into the city?”

Mrs. Frederick sniffed and glanced away. “I am old. I have no need for other people. I am happy here.”

“I don’t think so.” Gilbert stepped closer. His voice softened. “I think you’re as lonely as I am.”

The woman answered with a pinch-faced frown, her tone harsh with rancor. “I am German, remember. Loneliness is the price I pay.”

Her words twisted Gilbert’s insides. Almost a year after the Armistice and the war continued to wrap its ugly tentacles around the people Gilbert cared about. He gathered Mrs. Frederick’s hands into his own and held them firmly. Her palms were rough with calluses, while the backs bore dark spots from the sun and purple veins stood out like twisted ropes beneath the skin. Strong hands and yet so fragile, like the woman they belonged to.

“I know it sounds trite,” he murmured, “but time does heal. People will come to remember the Frederick family as the good citizens of Hot Springs—of America—the way you’ve always been. But only if you give them reason to.”

Doubt filled her eyes as she slowly shook her head. “How do I do that?”

“By standing tall and showing you’re not afraid. By simply being yourself and trusting the ones who matter will stand with you, and the ones who don’t . . . well, they aren’t worth worrying about.”

“Yes . . . yes.” Mrs. Frederick firmed her mouth. “I know in my heart what you say is right. To honor the memory of my husband and son, I will try.” She peered up at him with a hesitant smile. “You will ask me again next time you go into town?”

Gilbert nodded as he gave her hands a final press. “I will ask again.”

Watching her disappear down the hall toward her rooms, he wondered if it was his imagination, or if she held herself slightly more erect.

Fatigue washed over him. He sank into the nearest chair and massaged his temples. Did he believe what he’d told her? Because if he did, it would mean letting go of Mary once and for all.