Dancing in the Rain (10 page)

“Of course,” she said and pulled out a tray of pendants.

“I thought your mother might like a lavaliere,” Carolyn said, pointing to a long chain with what appeared to be gold tassels hanging from a disc that had many holes punched in it. “The filigreed one is particularly beautiful.” Dwight looked at the piece of jewelry. Was that what the holes were called—filigree?

Carolyn fastened the chain around her neck so that Dwight could admire it. “Very nice.” If the necklace—he couldn’t pronounce the French word that Carolyn had used—looked half as pretty on his mother as it did on Carolyn, it would be a success. “Now all that’s left is a gift for Louise. What would you suggest?”

Carolyn blinked. “Shouldn’t you choose that yourself?”

Didn’t she understand? It wasn’t a matter of
should.
The simple fact was, he couldn’t pick Louise’s gift. “I have no idea what she wants.”

“What did you give her last year?” Carolyn asked.

“Her engagement ring. But she selected that. She and I always bought her gifts together.”

For a second Carolyn stared at him, speechless. There was something in her expression that made him think she pitied him. That was absurd, of course. There was no reason anyone would pity him. He was a well-respected physician, engaged to marry a perfectly suitable young woman.

“I see,” Carolyn said at last. “I suppose Louise doesn’t like surprises.”

“Of course not. She’d rather get something she likes.” Dwight had to admit he’d been relieved when Louise had suggested they shop together. Until then, one of his sisters had always gone with him to choose gifts for their mother and the other girls. That wasn’t quite the same as selecting your own presents, but Dwight had been so thankful that he wouldn’t have to endure the ordeal alone that he hadn’t questioned Louise’s suggestion.

Carolyn gave him another long look. “I see,” she said again. Then she smiled brightly. “Is her hair long or short?”

It wasn’t a difficult question. Dwight knew that. The problem was, he couldn’t remember. For some reason, when he closed his eyes, he could not conjure his fiancée’s image. All he could see was Carolyn’s face, those blue eyes that sparkled more than the summer sky and the golden blonde hair that framed a perfectly beautiful face. Carolyn’s hair was short. Dwight knew that. He could also describe the way it waved. That must be the latest style. Louise probably had short hair, too.

“Short,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

“Then perhaps she would like ear bobs.” As the proprietor showed them another tray of jewelry, Carolyn picked a set of earrings and held them next to her face. “If Louise doesn’t like these, you can give them to your mother,” she explained. “They match the lavaliere.”

Dwight wasn’t certain Louise would like ear bobs, or whatever it was Carolyn had called them. “Do you have any other suggestions?” He couldn’t admit that he was having difficulty picturing any of the pieces of jewelry on Louise. Admitting that would mean admitting that he couldn’t remember exactly what she looked like, and that was an admission he did not want to make. A man ought to be able to describe the woman he intended to marry.

Carolyn walked around the store, looking at the items on display. “These enamel brooches are pretty.” She pointed to one that was embossed with flowers. Although it was delicate, the colors were vivid. Dwight was certain Louise would not wear it, for she had told him that colored stones were vulgar when he had mentioned that he liked sapphires.

“Not that one,” he said, and this time there was no hesitation in his voice.

“Then take the ear bobs.”

When the proprietor had wrapped the gifts, Dwight turned to Carolyn. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee as a thank you?” It was common courtesy, the least he could offer her after she had made his shopping excursion so pleasant. And if being courteous meant that the afternoon didn’t have to end yet, well … that wasn’t bad.

Carolyn nodded, her smile warming him more than a crackling fire. “I’d enjoy that.”

That night when he was back in his room, Dwight could remember nothing that they had said as they had sat at a small table in the town’s one pastry shop. They had talked for an hour, chatting about everything and nothing at the same time. It should have been boring. It should have felt like a waste of time. But it did not. Though he could recall none of the conversation, he had enjoyed every second of the time he had spent with Carolyn. For a few minutes, he had forgotten there was a war, and if that wasn’t magic, he didn’t know what was.

“You look happy,” Helen said as Carolyn entered their room. “Did you get a letter from Ed?”

Carolyn shook her head, then draped her cape over a hook. It was still too wet to be hung in the armoire. “I went shopping.”

A chuckle greeted her announcement. “No wonder you’re smiling. That’s every woman’s favorite way to spend an afternoon off.”

“It’s even more fun when you’re spending someone else’s money. I felt like Santa, or maybe I should say like Mrs. Claus, buying Christmas presents.”

“Dare I ask whose money you were spending?” Helen leaned back in the rocking chair that she had found in an attic and dragged to their room.

“Dwight’s.”

The rocking stopped abruptly. “Dwight … as in, Hollins?” There was no disguising Helen’s surprise. Carolyn could feel her cheeks begin to flush. You’d think she had done something criminal rather than simply spending an enjoyable afternoon.

“The man has seven sisters,” she said as evenly as she could. “He needed some help choosing gifts.”

Helen narrowed her eyes, as if considering Carolyn’s words. “I didn’t think Hollow Heart would admit he needed anything.”

A month ago, Carolyn would have laughed at the sobriquet. Today it annoyed her. “He’s not that bad,” she told her roommate. The truth was, she could not recall when she had spent a more pleasant three hours. Certainly not since she had come to France. Even thinking back to her life in Canela, though she could remember being happy, she could not recall a conversation as enjoyable as the one she’d shared with Dwight. He was not a hollow-hearted man.

For a long moment, Helen said nothing but continued to stare at Carolyn. “I see,” she said at last, and the look she gave Carolyn made her want to lower her gaze. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. She had spent a few pleasant hours with Dwight. That was all.

From the first time she had met him, Carolyn had admired his skill in the operating room; today simply proved that he had a life outside of medicine, that—contrary to the nurses’ belief—he was not emotionless. There was absolutely no reason for Carolyn to feel so defensive about the fact that she had spent her time off with Dwight. No reason at all.

The next morning Carolyn entered the dining room an hour earlier than usual. Though she had skipped breakfast several of the mornings when she had taken Helen’s first shift, she was hungry today. For some reason she had spent a restless night, plagued by dreams of weddings and grooms whose faces were suddenly transformed when she approached the front of the church. It was absurd, of course, that none of them had looked like Ed. He was going to be her groom.

When she had filled her plate, Carolyn looked for an empty chair. The dining room was surprisingly crowded. The long table that the nurses normally shared was full, although there was a table near them with an open spot. Carolyn headed in that direction. As she did, she passed by a table for two occupied by only one man. It would be rude not to greet him.

“Good morning, Doctor Hollins.” Though she had had no intention of sitting at his table, he rose and pulled out the chair opposite him. It would be inexcusably rude to refuse. She did not.

“My name is Dwight,” he said softly when she was seated.

“I know.” In her thoughts he was always “Dwight,” so much so that she had to make a conscious effort to remember to address him formally. Yesterday, because she had not wanted to remind either of them of the hospital, she had been careful not to use any name at all, even though he called her Carolyn.

“Then why don’t you use my name? And before you tell me it wouldn’t be seemly, I agree that we’re Doctor and Nurse when we’re in the operating room.”

“All right … Dwight.”

“That didn’t hurt, did it?”

Carolyn laughed. “Not much.” But she wasn’t laughing a minute later when he asked her to pass the salt. Their fingertips touched as she handed him the salt dish, and the spark that traveled up her arm was stronger than the shock she had once received when she’d touched a wire with wet hands. The electric shock had been painful; this was not. Instead, though it surprised her by its intensity, she found it oddly pleasant, an experience she would like to repeat.

Her sister Martha had told both Carolyn and Emily that they would know when they had met the man they were destined to marry, for they’d feel a pull as strong as the most powerful magnet, and the man’s slightest touch would make sparks fly. Both Carolyn and Emily had believed Martha was exaggerating. Now Carolyn wasn’t so certain. This was unlike anything she had ever experienced. What she didn’t understand was why it was Dwight who was generating sparks. It should be Ed. After all, Ed was the man she was going to marry.

The rest of the meal was uneventful, for Carolyn was careful to touch only the edges of the dishes she passed to Dwight, and by the time they entered the operating room, she had convinced herself that she had imagined the sparks. It
had
been her imagination, she realized when they reached the end of the shift and the odd electrical current had not recurred, though she had handed Dwight dozens of instruments and bandages, and their hands had touched more than once. Thank goodness!

Perhaps it was also her imagination that they worked together more smoothly than ever before. From the beginning, Carolyn had found it easy to work with Dwight. Helen, who had seen them operating, had told Carolyn that they looked like dancers in a perfectly choreographed ballet. Today, however, even the slightest hesitation was gone. Carolyn knew exactly what Dwight was going to need, and she handed it to him before he could telegraph his request. Though he said nothing, she sensed that he was pleased with their performance.

When the last patient had been treated, Dwight stripped off his mask and turned to Carolyn. “Thank you, Nurse,” he said, obviously remembering his promise of formality in the operating theater. “I’ve never seen such flawless work.”

One of the blushes that seemed to come so often stained Carolyn’s cheeks. “You make it easy,” she told Dwight, trying to return some of the pleasure his compliment had given her. “You always do things in exactly the same way.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Then you admit that planning has its merits?”

Carolyn removed and folded her apron, thankful that she was not the one who had to launder it. “I never said it didn’t.”

“But you still prefer spontaneity.”

She nodded. “It has its place,” she agreed, “but I’d be the first to admit that an operating room is not that place.”

The smile that had been teasing Dwight’s lips turned into a full-fledged grin. “We’ve agreed twice in as many minutes. That calls for a celebration.”

“What did you have in mind?” He still had rounds to do, and she had planned to visit the men in the wards.

“A cup of hot chocolate and some biscuits.”

Carolyn wasn’t certain which sounded more appealing, the food or the opportunity to sit down for a few minutes. “Biscuits? You sound English.” Dwight shrugged and opened the door for her. As they entered the long hallway that led past the wards, he said, “I can’t pronounce the French word for pastry the way you can.” He sounded as if he regretted his lack of fluency in French. That was silly. One man couldn’t know everything.

“While you were learning to be a doctor and save lives,” she told him, “I was taught to set a table, arrange flowers, and pronounce a few French phrases. Somehow I suspect your education has proven more valuable.”

“Unless you live in Goudot and want one of those fancy lemon pies that we ate yesterday.”

“The
tartes à citron?”
They had been delicious. As Carolyn spied a familiar uniform, she smiled. “I just saw something even better than lemon tarts: the mailman. Let’s see what he’s brought us.” The mailman made two deliveries, the first to the wards, the second to the dining room. Although the staff normally picked up their mail in the dining room, if they happened to be in the wards, they would collect their letters there.

Ten minutes later, when Carolyn had slid envelopes from Theo and Ed into her pocket, she touched Dwight’s arm. He was standing with his back to her, staring out the window as though fascinated by the sight of puddles. “Are you ready for hot chocolate?”

“May I give you a raincheck?”

Carolyn glanced outside, surprised at his suggestion. Anyone who had been in France for any length of time knew better than to delay activities until the rain stopped. “It’s not raining very much.” Besides, they were only walking to the other side of the courtyard. She looked back at Dwight and saw that the gleam in his eyes had faded. “What’s wrong?” she asked. When he did not answer, she took his arm and started walking toward the door. “You can tell me about it over chocolate. And don’t say no or promise me a raincheck, because I won’t accept either.” A fine mist was falling as they crossed the courtyard. “My granny always said a man was no better than a sand burr if he didn’t keep his word.”

As she had hoped, her words brought a shadow of a smile to Dwight’s face. “I’m afraid that I’m not acquainted with sand burrs.”

“For which you can be thankful. Now, are you going to renege on your promise of chocolate?”

The smile broadened a bit, although it was still far short of a grin. “And risk being called a sand burr? No!”

When they had ordered their drinks and a plate of the pastries that the shop in Goudot delivered each afternoon, Carolyn leaned forward. “What was bothering you?” Though Dwight seemed happier, his eyes still reflected concern.

He shrugged, as if trying to minimize his worries. “This makes two weeks that I haven’t gotten a letter from Louise, and that’s not like her. She writes to me every Monday.”