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across town and down the hill to Elm and Market Streets—not nearly enough time to stop the ridiculous tremors that started the moment she went upstairs to change out of her paint-and-clay-stained smock. After a hurry-up bath in tepid water, she’d ransacked her wardrobe for something presentable—something Gilbert’s fussy, overbearing mother would approve of. She’d finally chosen her cobalt-blue wool suit with the shawl collar.
    Mama swiveled to glance over her shoulder. “Goodness, Annemarie, I can hear your teeth chattering! You should have worn a warmer coat.”
    “This is my warmest coat.” Annemarie hugged herself and clamped her teeth together to silence the noise.
    “Well, we’re almost there—watch the horse and buggy, Joseph!”
    Papa braked and sounded the horn. “I’ll mind my driving, Ida, and you mind our anxious daughter.”
    “I’m not anxious, Papa.” Annemarie’s mouth twisted. All right, she was quite anxious, truth be told. The thought that within the hour—perhaps in only minutes!—she’d see her beloved Gilbert again had her practically bursting out of her skin.
    For days now she’d been imagining the moment, at least the way she hoped and prayed it would be. Their gazes would collide, a mile-wide grin spreading across Gilbert’s face. Love would shine in his eyes, all thoughts of war forgotten. With one happy kiss she’d rekindle love and hope in her Gilbert’s heart. He’d once again become the boy she remembered, the man she intended to spend the rest of her life loving and laughing with, growing into contented old age at his side.
    They arrived at the depot, and Papa found a parking spot across the street. It was a gloomy day for a homecoming, a cold December wind blowing out of the north beneath lowering gray clouds and ice crystals nipping at bare cheeks and noses. Though when out and about they’d been wearing masks to protect against the Spanish influenza, recent news reports indicated the worst had passed. For this one special day, Mama had said it might be all right to leave the masks in their pockets.
    Not to mention it would be hard to share a much anticipated welcome-home kiss through gauze.
    Inside the Mediterranean-style building, Annemarie and her parents found Mrs. Ballard. She stood near a window with her son Thomas, Gilbert’s younger brother and an assistant manager at the Arlington Hotel. A childhood bout with rheumatic fever had weakened Thomas’s heart and kept him out of the war, and he hadn’t been able to hide his envy of Gilbert. Would he feel any differently, Annemarie wondered, when he saw firsthand what the war had done to his brother?
    Clothed in burgundy brocade and a luxurious fur stole, Mrs. Ballard looked as if she’d dressed for a night at the opera. A broad-brimmed, feather-trimmed hat was secured with a gossamer silk scarf tied beneath her chin. She rushed forward and extended a gloved hand to Annemarie. “I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t arrive in time. The stationmaster says the train is not more than ten minutes away.”
    No sooner had she spoken than Annemarie caught the distant sound of the whistle. Its melancholy tone made her shiver anew. She hurried to the window and peered down the length of railroad tracks. “I hope he hasn’t been traveling alone all this way. Will he go directly to the hospital, do you think?”
    “It will be best to get him there straightaway and out of this frigid weather. I’ve already made sure an ambulance is waiting.”
    Of course. Mrs. Ballard always had everything under control.
    “Besides,” she went on, “we certainly don’t want to risk Gilbert’s being exposed to the influenza.” She glanced around the station with a sniff. “I don’t care what the papers say. People are still getting sick. You have been careful, haven’t you, Annemarie?”
    “Extremely.” Although she could only imagine the exposure risk on a crowded train. Surely, Gilbert would have taken