noticed his limp. He didn’t use his cane on stage, but Leanne reasoned that they’d arranged the stage in such a way as to afford him the shortest walk possible to the podium. The way he told the story, however, it was a wonder the audience didn’t break into applause at his very ability to walk upright. While his entanglement in the dirigible’s stay wires had saved his life, it had also shredded his right leg to near uselessness. He never said that outright, but Leanne could read between the lines of his crafted narrative. She guessed, just by how he phrased his descriptions and avoided certain words, that his leg still pained him significantly—both physically and emotionally. He did not seem a man to brook limitations of any kind.
“Now is the time to finish the job we’ve started,” he said, casting his keen eyes out across the audience. “Our enemy is close to defeated. Our cause is the most important one you will ever know.” Captain Gallows pointed out into the audience, and Leanne had no doubt every soul in the building felt as if he were pointing straight at them—she knew she did. “When you look your sons and daughters in the eye decades from now, as they enjoy a world of peace and prosperity, will you be able to say you did your part? Can you say you answered duty’s sacred call?”
Cheers began to swell up from the audience. The young students off to her left began to stand and clap. Next to her, Ida brandished her newly employed knitting needles as if she were Joan of Arc charging her troops into battle. Despite her resistance to Gallows, Leanne felt the echo of a “yes!” surge up in her own heart. Her work as a nurse, her aid to the troops and even her leisure hours spent knitting dozens of socks for soldiers answered her call. Homefront nurses were as essential to the cause as those serving overseas. She understood the need for combat, but wanted no part of it. Leanne longed to be part of the healing. And beyond her nursing, she was using her knitting, as well. She’d taught hospital staff how to knit the government-issued sock pattern, and she’d teach her first class of patients later this week. When those classes were off and stitching, she would teach more. For there was so very much to be done.
When someone behind her started up a chorus of last year’s popular war song “Over There,” Leanne stopped knitting and joined in. It felt important, gravely important, to be part of something so large and daunting. To be here, on her own, both serving and learning. The whole world was changing, and God had planted her on the crest of the incoming wave. While her grandmother had moaned that the war was “the worst time to be alive,” Leanne couldn’t help but feel that Nana was wrong. Despite all the hardship, this was indeed the best time to be young and alive.
If Captain Gallows wished to stir the crowd to the heights of patriotic frenzy, he had certainly succeeded. More than half the students in the room were now on their feet, cheering. Even Leanne had to admit Gallows was a compelling, charismatic spokesman for the cause. Perhaps she could be more gracious toward his very healthy ego than she had been earlier that day.
Captain Gallows made his way off the stage as the university chorus came onstage to lead in another song. She could see him “offstage” because of her vantage point far to the left, but he must have thought he was out of view for his limp became pronounced and he sank into a nearby chair. As the singing continued, she watched him, transfixed by the change in his stature. He picked his cane up from where it lay against the backstage wall. Instead of rising, as she expected him to do, he sat there, eventually leaning over the cane with his head resting on top of his hands. He looked as if he were in great pain. From the looks of it, his leg must have been agonizing him the entire speech. And surely no one would have thought one lick less of him had he used the cane.
Leanne watched him for a moment, surprised at the surge of sympathy she felt for this man she hardly knew and hadn’t much liked at first, until the dean of students approached Captain Gallows. Instantly his demeanor returned to the dashing hero, shooting upright as if he hadn’t a pain or care in the world. That was more in line with the behavior she expected of him. So which was the real John Gallows—the arrogant, larger-than-life hero—or the proud, wounded, struggling man she’d caught a glimpse of the moment before? There was no way for her to tell now. The captain and the dean walked off together, and Leanne remembered there was a reception of sorts for him afterward. As one of the Red Cross knitting teachers, she’d been invited. She hadn’t planned on going at first, for she hadn’t a taste for such things and it would be awkward since Ida hadn’t been asked. She’d go, now, if just to help make up her mind as to what kind of man he truly was.
“You know, I think I will go to that reception after all,” she said as casually as she could to Ida as they packed up their things to exit the hall.
“Well, now, who wouldn’t?” Ida didn’t seem the least bit slighted by her lack of an invitation. Some days Leanne wished for Ida’s confidence and, as Papa put it, “thick skin.” Instead of sulking, Ida only offered her an oversize wink. “Tell the good captain he can recruit me any day,” she whispered, visibly pleased at Leanne’s startled reaction.
“It’s a good thing I won’t and he can’t,” she replied, hoping no one else heard the scandalous remark.
“Says you.” Ida laughed, and sauntered away.
Yes, he was a hero. Yes, he was vital to the cause. Still, Leanne couldn’t see how even the most rousing of Gallows’s speeches could overcome her distaste for the man’s monumental air of self-importance.
Chapter Four
Leanne was just barely ten minutes into the reception, not yet even to the punch bowl, when Gallows swooped up behind her and took her by the elbow.
“Save me,” he whispered as he nodded to the library shelf to their left. “Pull a book off the shelf this very minute and save me from Professor Mosling, I implore you.” She couldn’t help but comply, for Leanne knew that calling Professor Mosling long-winded was an understatement. Mosling thought very highly of himself and his opinions, and shared them freely with unsuspecting victims. At great length and with considerable detail. Last month she’d been cornered for three quarters of an hour by the man as he shared his views on the use of domestic wool for socks. Mosling raised an arm with an all-too-hearty “There you are, Gallows!” Leanne snatched the largest book within reach and angled her shoulders away from the man.
“Really, Captain Gallows, there is much to be said for—” she realized in her haste she’d neglected to even scan the massive volume’s title “—Atlantic Shipping Records of the Cooper River. I find it a most fascinating subject,” she improvised, finding herself stumped.
“As do I,” replied Captain Gallows, his eyes filled with surprise and a healthy dose of amusement even though his voice was earnest. “Please, do go on.”
Go on? How on earth could she “go on”? “As I’m sure you know, the Cooper River runs right through Charleston, providing a major seaport thoroughfare…” It felt absurd; she was stringing together important-sounding words with almost no sense of their content. Still, Gallows’s eyes encouraged her, looking as if she was imparting the most vital knowledge imaginable.
“Do forgive me,” Gallows said to the professor, “but I simply cannot tear myself away from Miss Sample’s fascinating explanation.”
The ruse worked, for Mosling huffed a little, straightened his jacket and then seemed to find another suitable target within seconds. “Oh, yes, well, another time then.”
“Indeed,” said Captain Gallows, actually managing to sound sorry for the loss despite the relief she could see in his eyes. “Very soon.”
As soon as Mosling had left, Gallows took the huge text from her and began to laugh. “Atlantic Shipping Records? A most unfortunate choice. I could probably better explain these
