Every Tear a Memory (Till We Meet Again) - Softcover

Johnson, Myra

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1426753721 ISBN 13: 9781426753725

Verlag: Abingdon Press, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

Will the aftermath of the Great War spoil Joanna’s chance at love? Joanna Trapp found adventure serving in France as a “Hello Girl” for the Army Signal Corps, but she still mourns her doughboy sweetheart killed in battle. Returning to Hot Springs, Arkansas, she takes a job as a switchboard operator at the Arlington Hotel and quickly discovers that after her experiences overseas civilian life proves dull. Thomas Ballard still regrets he was medically ineligible to serve in the war and feels inferior to those who did, especially his war-hero brother, Gilbert. When Thomas finds himself attracted to Joanna, he strives to match her adventurous spirit, when all he really wants is to settle down, raise a family, and earn respect as a successful businessman. As romance blossoms, can two such different people learn to accept their own as well as each other’s God-created individuality . . . or will love change them both?

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Myra Johnson is an award-winning author. She and her husband of 42 years proudly claim two beautiful daughters, two fine sons-in-law, precious grandchildren, and a pair of playful pooches. They live in Charlotte, North Carolina. Learn more about Myra and her books at MyraJohnson.com.

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Every Tear a Memory

By Myra Johnson

Abingdon Press

Copyright © 2014 Myra Johnson
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4267-5372-5

CHAPTER 1

Saint-Étienne-à-Arnes, France

October 8, 1919

Jack's letter, still unopened, accused her from atop the dresser. Hard to ignore her name pressed deeply into the vellum in her brother's precise cursive, but Joanna Trapp wasn't in the mood for more depressing news from the home front. Not today.

After securing unruly straw-yellow curls off her face with tortoise-shell combs, she turned from the mirror and glanced at her friend Véronique, snuggled in a narrow bed beneath a faded quilt. No reason to wake the sleepyhead. Joanna had planned all along to face this day alone.

Pulling on a thick wool sweater, she slipped out of the tiny bedroom they'd rented at a local pension and crept down the narrow stairway. Aromas of baking bread, sizzling ham, and buttery eggs wafted from the kitchen, but Joanna had no taste for food. As she stepped through the front door, a brisk breeze whipped strands of hair across her cheeks. She tugged the sweater tighter around her and picked up her pace. Not for the first time she wondered if coming here had been a mistake.

She hadn't been out of the house five minutes before footsteps thumped the hard-packed dirt road behind her.

"You did not wait for me, ma chère."

Véronique's breathless reprimand halted Joanna's steps. She turned with a guilty smile. "You were sleeping so peacefully. I hated to wake you."

Catching up, Véronique linked her arm through Joanna's. "I told you I would be with you today. We go together, oui?"

"Oui. Et merci." Utterly useless to argue with a friend as determined as Véronique. Drawing a bolstering breath, Joanna resumed her purposeful march.

The rolling expanse of the Champagne, pockmarked by grenades and artillery shells, stretched in all directions. Pale sprigs of sprouting winter grass barely concealed the scorched earth. The ruins of stone barns and farmhouses stood like tilting obelisks marking this place of death and devastation.

Joanna and Véronique kept to the road, avoiding the detritus of battle—shell casings, rusting mess kits, rotting boot leathers, sad reminders of the lives lost here. Ahead, the land sloped gently toward Blanc Mont Ridge, where a ragged copse of trees reached skyward. A dusting of autumn-hued leaves adorned skeletal branches but failed to disguise the blackened, disfigured trunks. How long would it take for time and nature to erase the ugliness of war?

Joanna's gaze followed the arcing tree line until she spied the remains of a trench. She stopped suddenly and pressed a hand to her stomach. With her other hand she gripped Véronique's. Three tiny words nearly choked her: "There it is."

Véronique pressed her temple to Joanna's and released a mournful sigh. Together they stood in the road, silence shrouding them, while Joanna envisioned the battle that had raged here one year ago—the cannon fire, machine guns, grenades, and flamethrowers. The screams of the wounded. The pain, the sacrifice, the unflinching patriotism in the face of certain death.

A former "Hello Girl" with the Army Signal Corps, Joanna had come to France seeking adventure. She never expected to fall in love with a soldier, much less envisioned standing only meters away from the spot where he'd died.

Véronique tucked Joanna beneath her arm. "Now you have seen it. We should go back."

"I can't. Not yet." Joanna edged away, the gaping wound of the trench beckoning her.

"You must not leave the road," Véronique warned. "There could still be explosives—"

"I don't care." A fatalistic sense of bravado heated Joanna's chest. Striding toward the trench, she pictured Walter vaulting over the lip in what would be his final charge at the enemy. Did he hear the whistle of the artillery shell rushing toward him? Did he know the moment of impact, count his last breaths, feel his lifeblood draining into the earth?

"Joanna. You must stop." Firm hands clamped her wrists, and Véronique's pleading gaze pinned her to the spot.

The effect was like a cold slap to the face, wrenching Joanna back to the present. She blinked several times and forced her paralyzed lungs to take in air. A tremor snaked down her limbs, but she refused to cry. Tears wouldn't bring Walter back.

Clarity returning, she straightened and attempted a reassuring smile. "I'm all right now. It's just ... harder than I expected."

"And why?" Véronique's eyes held both sympathy and reproach. "Because your sweetheart was killed here. You have never allowed yourself to fully grieve."

"I had a job to do." Once again, Joanna's glance drifted toward the ridge. She stifled a moan. "We all did."

Gently but firmly, Véronique nudged Joanna toward the road. "Perhaps, but one day you will pay the price for holding your grief inside."

Their return to the village of Saint-Étienne seemed endless. By the time they reached the pension, Joanna's steps had grown leaden, her chin drooping ever closer to her chest.

"Ah, you have returned!" Speaking in French, Monsieur Leveque, their rotund innkeeper, met them at the door. "Rather early for long walks, is it not? You must be perishing from hunger. Madame has kept breakfast warm for you, though I daresay the eggs will be hard as stones."

Out of politeness, Joanna followed Véronique to their seats at the rustic trestle table in the dining room and allowed Madame Leveque to serve her an ample portion of eggs and ham. Monsieur had exaggerated, though, for the eggs melted in her mouth like rich cream. No doubt the couple had taken extra pains to treat their only guests well. Not only had the war decimated France's economy, but many villages near the front had been reduced to rubble and now struggled to rebuild. Damage to the Leveques' pension had been significant, evidenced by plaster patches in the ceilings and walls as well as the cracked, mismatched pottery on which Madame Leveque served her delicious meals. When Joanna paid her bill upon their departure, she intended to add a sizable gratuity.

Two cups of coffee later, and with her plate mopped clean with a thick slab of Madame Leveque's crusty bread, Joanna felt a measure of optimism return. She was a survivor, after all—an adventurer—the qualities Walter had admired most. Tears were a waste of time. To continue living life to the fullest would be the best way to honor his memory.

She patted her abdomen as she eased her chair away from the table. "Merci beaucoup, Madame. C'était délicieux—better than the best restaurants in Paris."

The gray-haired matron clapped her hands together. "You will tell your friends, oui? Send them to Saint-Étienne for a lovely stay in the countryside?"

"But of course!" Véronique crumpled her napkin and rose. "Your hospitality is unsurpassed."

On their way upstairs to freshen up, Joanna whispered, "You don't think all those compliments will go to their heads, do you?"

"What of it? We have spread a little joy into their lives." In their room, Véronique plopped onto the bed, her feet dangling over the side. Her mouth stretched open in a gaping yawn. "A long walk, a big breakfast, and I am ready to sleep again!"

Joanna chuckled as she shrugged out of her sweater. "Shall I wake you in time for lunch?"

"Please do." Véronique kicked off her shoes. "Pull the shades, will...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Abingdon Press
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2014
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1426753721
• ISBN 13: 9781426753725
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 320
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Buchpark GmbH; gpsr@buchpark.de; ; Krügerweg 1; Trebbin; Brandenburg; 14959; Deutschland