When the Clouds Roll By Read Online Free Page A

throat and sat forward. “What’s her name? Do you have a photograph?”
    “Annemarie. Her name’s Annemarie Kendall.” Gilbert reached into the breast pocket of his pajama top and slid out a worn, ragged-edged photo stained with flecks of Gilbert’s own blood. Heart thudding, he stared into Annemarie’s smiling eyes before passing the picture to the chaplain.
    Chaplain Vickary smoothed the wrinkled photograph atop his Bible cover. “She’s beautiful. You’re a lucky man, Lieutenant.”
    “Yeah, I’m one lucky son of a gun.”
    Silence settled over them again, while the sound of waves crashing against the prow swallowed up the muted conversations going on nearby. Gilbert took one last look at Annemarie’s faded portrait where it still lay upon the chaplain’s Bible and then tore his gaze away. He knotted his right fist until it ached. Pounding it against his thigh, he murmured, “How can I go home like this? How ?”
    The padre covered Gilbert’s fist with his palm. “What are you afraid of, son?”
    Son . The man couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than Gilbert. But then the war had aged them all—the ones it hadn’t killed, anyway—stolen their youth while turning thousands of them into little better than helpless infants.
    “What am I afraid of?” Gilbert raised his eyes to meet the padre’s. “Her pity.”

3
    Hot Springs, Arkansas
    A nnemarie spread peach preserves across a bite-sized piece of a plump, golden roll. “These are delicious, Mrs. Ballard—so light and flaky.”
    “Marguerite’s special recipe, dear. I’m sure she’d be delighted to share it with you.”
    Marguerite, the Ballards’ longtime servant—of course. Gilbert’s mother probably hadn’t lifted a finger in her own kitchen in years. “I’ll be sure to ask her before we leave.” Not that it would help. Annemarie’s own culinary skills left much to be desired.
    The older woman chuckled. “And how many times must I ask you to call me Mother Ballard?”
    “I suppose I’m still getting used to the idea.” An uneasy shiver traveled Annemarie’s spine, but she covered it with a smile. “I can hardly believe Gilbert is finally coming home.”
    She couldn’t admit her deepest fears to her future mother-in-law—that there would be no wedding, that Gilbert’s feelings toward her had cooled. Every time she reread his recent letters, the dearth of any words of affection, much less even the slightest reference to their future together, made her heart lurch.
    Annemarie’s mother cleared her throat softly. “Perhaps you’d pass me the preserves, dear?”
    Annemarie looked up with a start and realized she’d been staring into space. “Sorry, Mama.” She reached across the table with the crystal bowl of preserves, but the dish clipped her mother’s water glass, toppling it and soaking the white damask tablecloth.
    Annemarie jumped up with a gasp and mopped at the spill with her napkin. “How clumsy of me! Here, Mama, let me refill your glass.”
    “Don’t trouble yourself, Annemarie.” Mrs. Ballard caught her arm. “I’ll ring for Marguerite.”
    “No, please. I insist.” Hurrying to the kitchen with the empty glass, Annemarie collapsed against the counter and berated herself for acting like such a ninny.
    She felt even sillier when Marguerite stepped through the back door with an empty dishpan. A gust of chilly December air nipped at Marguerite’s skirt as she kicked the door closed with her heel. She cast a nervous smile toward the swinging door to the dining room. “Oh my, did Miz Ballard ring for me and I didn’t hear?”
    “Don’t fret. I upset my mother’s water glass and came looking for the pitcher.” Annemarie spied it on the end of the counter and went to fill the glass.
    Marguerite set the pan in the sink and wiped her slender, coffee-colored hands on a dishtowel. “You look a mite flushed, Miss Annie. You feeling okay?”
    “Me? I’m fine.” Annemarie gave a pained laugh and