Entangled Hearts

Chapter 38

In the middle of the afternoon on the first Sunday in October, John and Laura Mae found themselves alone together in the garden. Little Laura Gene had been put to bed for her afternoon nap, and Mrs. Chatterton was in the library outlining a speech to give at the missionary society meeting the next day.

It was an unusually late fall; the air was still as warm as if it were the middle of summer. The sky was clear, except for a few fleecy white clouds just above the horizon in the east. The autumn leaves on the trees rustled as the breeze passed through them. The gladiolas, dahlias, and asters were still in bloom. John noted all these things, but they only served as a background for the one thing that held his attention—the loveliness of Laura Mae. It would not be long now until two full years since the close of the war would have passed, and Laura Mae would have to keep her promise to Mrs. Chatterton. John thought of this and decided to ask her, this very afternoon, to marry him.

"John, are there pretty flowers in France?" Laura Mae asked after a long silence, during which each was absorbed in their own thoughts.

"I'll say there are, but I spent most of my time where things were not so pleasant to look at," John said, wondering why she was thinking about France.

"I would like to go over there and see that country, maybe I could answer several questions for myself if I did." She still seemed to be lost in deep thought.

"It might be possible to arrange it so all of us could go across the ocean together and look around at some of the countries on the other side. If I had not been hurt in the war and had been my own boss, I think I would have traveled for a while and seen the sights of interest in Europe before coming home. My buddy is still over in France; he is doing reconstruction work over there. I wish he would come back home; I would persuade him to go into business with me here in Kingsford," John said seriously.

"Why did he stay in France?" Laura Mae asked, not having any idea that John's buddy was anyone that she knew, for John had taken his mother's advice and had never mentioned that his friend's name was Gene.

"He had a streak of bad luck. His young wife died during the war, after that, he was not himself at all. He kept wishing that he would be killed in battle. When the Armistice was signed, he chose to stay in France to help rebuild some of the damaged places. I get letters from him quite often. Say, would you like to see some of the pictures that we took while we were over there in France?" John asked enthusiastically.

"Yes, I surely would like to see them," she replied with eagerness.

"I have a whole album full of them. I will run up to my room and get it." He hurried into the house and soon returned with an album bulging with snapshots. They sat down on the garden bench near the rose arbor, and John began to turn the pages.

"These first pictures are not war pictures; some of them go back as far as my Freshman year in high school." They looked at them together, laughing at the poses of John that seemed ridiculous, since he had not grown out of his days of boyish pranks.

"Now, we are coming to some snapshots of camp life," John said. "There is a good one of my buddy on the next page. He surely is a fine fellow. I have known him from back in college and I think he is as near perfect as a man can be. The French dames could not impress him in the least." He turned the page slowly. Laura Mae drew in a short breath and looked closer to make sure that her eyes were not deceiving her.

"Gene," she gasped, then stared ahead, motionless. John heard her utter the name.

"Do you know him?" he asked, puzzled.

"He—he is my husband," she sobbed and laughed, hysterically.

"May, you cannot be serious! His wife's name was Laura Mae Porter. She died during the war."