When the Clouds Roll By by Myra Johnson Page B

it has. I don’t deny it. But don’t you think—”
    “What I think—what I know —is that Gilbert needs time to heal. He needs time to find himself, to figure out how to live his life again.” Her voice shook. She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “And I have to be prepared for the possibility that I won’t fit into his life anymore.”
    “That will never happen!” Mrs. Ballard pulled her into a fierce hug. “Gilbert needs you. He will always need you.”
    Annemarie returned the hug briefly, then freed herself and stepped back. She fumbled in her skirt pocket for a handkerchief, but finding none, she used the back of her hand to brush away the wetness on her cheeks. “As I told you, I will always love him. I will be there for him as long as he wants me. But I won’t push him into marriage. Not now, not ever.”
    While Mrs. Ballard fluttered her hands and stammered, Annemarie strode into the hallway and retrieved her things from the coat closet. She met Mrs. Ballard in the parlor doorway, and her heart twisted at the look of utter confusion skewing the woman’s features.
    Mrs. Ballard stretched an arm toward Annemarie, her other hand clenched at her bosom. “Dear, dear, I’ve upset you. You mustn’t go until we’ve come to an understanding about this.”
    “If you mean the wedding, there is nothing more to say.” Annemarie softened her gaze into an apologetic smile as she pulled on her coat and gloves. She dropped a kiss upon Mrs. Ballard’s powdered cheek. “Promise me you won’t bring it up again—to me or to Gilbert. If the Lord wants us together, He will work things out in His own good time.”
    If . . . In Annemarie’s mind that tiny word loomed like an insurmountable precipice.
    She refused Mrs. Ballard’s offer to let Thomas drive her home, claiming a brisk walk would help calm her thoughts and give her a little time alone with God.
    Then she walked out the front door and straight into Samuel Vickary’s arms.

9
    T he feel of Annemarie leaning against his chest, her gloved fingers digging into his biceps, disoriented Samuel for one glorious moment. He fumbled to regain his balance while making sure Annemarie had both feet solidly on the ground. “Steady, there. Are you all right?”
    She laughed nervously and straightened, but her grip on Samuel’s arms held firm. “My fault entirely. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
    He tried to breathe, but the cold night air froze in his lungs. Or was it the nearness of Annemarie Kendall? Clarity returning, he patted her elbows and gingerly stepped back as she lowered her arms. “Headed home already?” His voice sounded as creaky as the porch board beneath his feet. “Surely you’re not walking?”
    “It’s not far.” She smiled and adjusted her gloves. “And what are you doing outdoors without your coat again? Don’t you feel the cold at all?”
    “I’m from Indiana, remember? This is nothing compared to the winters we have up north.” Grinning, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. He’d never be cold again if he could spend the rest of his life basking in the warmth of Annemarie’s gaze.
    This was certainly not going to happen, at least not in the way he’d insanely begun to let himself imagine. Friends—that’s all they’d ever be.
    And a friend wouldn’t allow a young lady to walk unescorted this time of night. “Let me see you home. After Marguerite’s sumptuous cooking I could use the exercise.”
    She tightened her lips, sending a quick glance toward the parlor windows. “Well, I . . . ”
    How stupid of him. Naturally, Annemarie would be concerned about what Mrs. Ballard would think. Their being seen together along quiet streets after dark might be perceived much differently from two friends strolling the sidewalks of downtown Hot Springs in broad daylight.
    “Forgive me. I was being presumptuous.” Samuel reached for the doorknob. “At least let me ask Mrs. Ballard if her chauffeur can drive