LITMIR.BIZ

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the battle so he could prove to himself he was the hero everyone seemed to think he was. Whatever he did—and honestly, he didn’t even clearly remember most of it—up there to those dirigible lines was sheer, terrorized survival, not heroism. Grab this or fall. Secure that or risk it ripping off and taking him with it. He climbed out onto that airship not because he wanted to be brave, but because it was try something or die. He was working only to save himself, and that other lives would benefit from his actions was the last thing on his mind. That wasn’t the kind of thing one ought to get a medal for. The fellows who had risked their lives to pull in wounded mates, who went back out into gunfire to drag their captain to safety? Those were the men who should be making speeches and wearing medals. He wasn’t here stirring up patriotism because he was brave. He was here because his name was Gallows, he had a silver tongue, took a good photograph and had somehow managed not to die.

      * * *

       Ida tossed her nurse’s hat down on her bureau. “You know, I thought I was an admirer of the male physiology.”

       Leanne looked up from the outline of reconstructive exercises she’d been studying. “You’re not?”

       “I think how God put us together is one of the most amazing things ever. Y’all would think there’s no way to make it tedious.” Ida leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling, her long auburn mane tumbling down behind her. She had a gift for striking dramatic poses.

       They sat in their shared bedroom at the Red Cross House. It was comfortably furnished by army standards, with a pair of beds, bureaus and desks much like the dormitory rooms she’d had at the university. It had color and comfort, two things the bland army housing clearly lacked. She found she couldn’t fully approve of the way the U.S. Army piled soldiers into barracks that looked more like hospital wards than homes. The standardized, militarized buildings utterly lacked the pleasant feel of the Red Cross House. Not that the Red Cross House was perfect, but Leanne had come to appreciate privacy for the dear commodity it was in military life. It made her grateful she enjoyed Ida’s company so much. “I take it you’re not fond of your current rotation?”

       “I have babysat my five-year-old cousins and heard less complaining. And I declare, I could be tending a ship of pirates and hear more civilized conversation. To think I thought being surrounded by soldiers would be a good thing!” She flung out one hand as if addressing the universe. “I had to smack one private’s hand three times for attempting to get…too private.”

       Leanne laughed at Ida’s pun. “Your sense of humor serves you well.” Ida’s vibrancy made her a grand friend to have in trying times. “I imagine you’re just the kind of care some of those boys need. Have you drawn any of them yet?” Ida was an immensely talented artist. She’d tacked a few of her better sketches up on the wall of their room and Leanne thought they rivaled some of the things she’d seen framed on the best walls in Charleston.

       Ida opened one eye from her dramatic recline and shot Leanne a look. “I have not. They don’t merit my talents. Truly, I’m not askin’ for chivalry. Just a little civility would be fine with me. Goodness knows, with the work I put into seeing them healed and healthy, it’s the least they could do. A man’s broad shoulder is one of the finest things God has ever made, but I had to muck out the gouges in one today that rivaled a Tennessee swamp. By rights, he should owe me nothing less than a fine dinner for my troubles.”

       “Have you been to Tennessee, Ida?”

       Ida groaned. “I feel like I have now. At least that one had the decency to pass out eventually. At the start, he was fighting me like I was the enemy.” She pulled herself upright. “And speaking of pain and chivalry, how was your knitting lesson with Captain Gallows?”

       Leanne winced. She’d hoped to avoid this conversation with Ida, who was quick to insert a romantic intention into just about any male-female interaction. Leanne hadn’t really decided what to make of John Gallows, and she didn’t want Ida jumping to all kinds of conclusions. “Well—” she planted her eyes on the outline “—I did change my mind about it being unnecessary. As it turns out, Captain Gallows did most certainly need a dress rehearsal.”

       Ida raised an eyebrow.

       “Really, I’m not sure he had any more trouble than any other first-time student, but it did seem to fluster him more than he liked.” She remembered the look on his face, amazed how it still surprised her for reasons she couldn’t quite work out.

       “Fluster?” She leaned on her desk, planting her elbows in a “tell me all about it” pose.

       Leanne looked down to see she’d written “John?” above an illustration of leg exercises. She quickly crossed it out and turned the page. The last thing she needed to do was to refer to Captain Gallows by his given name in front of someone with Ida’s imagination. “I believe the captain is used to mastering things quickly, that’s all. He’d thought it would be easier—I did, too, actually—but even with larger needles his big hands make it difficult. It took longer than either of us thought it would.”

       “But you succeeded in teaching our brave hero?”

       Leanne wasn’t sure she succeeded at anything except bringing herself into a further state of confusion. Still, she was relatively certain Gallows would look more in command of his stitches at the first photo shoot tomorrow. He’d actually been right. Had they just taken photos, it would have been clear to her or any other knitter that he wasn’t really knitting. It was painfully obvious to her when people pretended to knit in paintings or photos—their needles were always pointed upward, waggling about in a way that couldn’t possibly produce stitches. John had wanted to make sure he was knitting so that it looked real in the photographs. While she’d first chalked that up to vanity, she’d realized it was a sort of integrity. An honor she hadn’t really attributed to the man with the gleaming cinema-star smile. “Yes,” she said feeling a regrettable hint of color come over her cheeks. “We made it work and I think tomorrow will be a success.”

       “You’ll be famous. Have you thought of that?”

       Leanne sincerely doubted anyone even noticed her in the same room with someone like Captain Gallows. “Not really.”

       “I heard the quartermaster talking about the supplies he needed to get for all those Era magazine people. They’re talking about putting Captain Gallows on the cover.” She nodded at Leanne. “If he’s on, you’re on. We’re gonna have to get your hair done up right and everything. Have you even given a moment’s thought to that?”

       Leanne had actually thought about what she wanted to wear. Not because of the cameras, but because of something John had said. Something about sky-blue being his favorite color. She had a blouse the color of the sky. Mama had said the color suited her especially well. The sleeves had a delicate ruffle at her wrists, which she supposed would be the only part of her to make it into a photo of any kind.

       Yesterday, her planned obscurity didn’t bother her at all. As a matter of fact, General Barnes had said something to the effect that she’d “hardly be noticed” and she’d been almost relieved at the assurance. Today, after the supreme teaching effort required to get Gallows to any kind of competency, she found herself miffed. No one had ever asked what she thought of this campaign. Of course she agreed with the need to get more people knitting for the soldiers. And it was dreadfully difficult to convince boys to pick up the yarn and needles with images of their doting grandmothers clouding their vision. But it all seemed so…so…contrived. As if both she and John had been tricked into something far beyond their original intentions by people who didn’t really care about the true purpose.

       John seemed to actually care. He covered it up well, but she could see it in the way he chose his words, the way he would try over and over to get the stitches right. But she had the niggling sense that his ego wouldn’t allow anyone to know he cared. Would he let go of all that bravado if they knew each other better? Did she want to know John Gallows better?

       Would he even take the time if given the chance? Leanne found she couldn’t be sure he took this as seriously as she. She took this very seriously, and it bothered

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