The Soldier's Bride Read Free Page B

He gasped for breath and moved toward the icebox.
    “Wait.” Rhonda put a hand on his arm and pushed him into a chair situated directly in front of the music box. She leaned over the ballerina and turned the brass key until the melody began again and the ballerina finished her pirouette and started another.
    He watched her spinning to the tune emanating from the music box and shook his head. “Why?”
    “Because it’s time for us to heal.” Rhonda sank into the chair next to him. “I traded the cradle to a woman who lost her husband in the war. She has a baby boy who’ll never know his father. She smiled at me anyway, Leland, and said she needed to give this music box away so she could keep on living.” Rhonda motioned to the music box. “We still have a chance to live. I don’t want to give up on that.”
    The table in front of him was polished with a satin finish, and the grain of the wood was hardly noticeable, lost in the deep mahogany. Leland rubbed his finger along the edge of wood he had sanded and shaped so carefully, the same way he’d shaped Jessie’s cradle. The music played on, and the melody climbed higher to sweeter notes that reminded him of Rhonda’s lullabies. He sucked in a breath, fighting the tightness in his chest. The chair scraped along the floor as he pushed it from the table and stumbled toward the icebox.
    “It was an accident. Drinking won’t change that. Jessie’s gone.”
    His hands closed around the beer bottle squeezing nearly hard enough to break the bottle and crush the shards of glass into his hands—the same hands that would never hold his little girl again. He choked, this time on a great ball of tears rising up his throat. Woolen socks made it easy to shuffle down the hall, and he leaned against the door frame for a moment, his chest heaving with sobs.
    After prying the top from his beer, he drank and swallowed his tears then sank into a heap on the floor. Grimy fingers rubbed the jagged edge of the bottle cap and flipped it into the air. It bounced along the hardwood floor—ping, ping, ping—in perfect time with the music box as the notes reached for the sweet strains of a lullaby again. Leland held his breath, listening to the tinny music, and stared at the mound of brown glass in the corner. The bottles rested against each other like a graveyard of lost hopes and dreams.
    The screen door slammed and a whoosh of air rushed down the hallway. It lifted dark strands from Leland’s head like little fingers once did when his baby girl rode on his shoulders through the woods. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wall and listened to the music dance with the wind. The smell of lavender overtook the scent of liquor, and the sound of small feet pattered against the floor.

Chapter 3 ~ Singing
May 1944 ~ Leland
    Rhonda reached around the back of the music box to turn the crank.
    “I don’t wanna hear no more music today,” Leland muttered.
    She continued winding as if she hadn’t heard him. When the music began playing, she looked at him, her blue eyes piercing his drunken stupor. “I spoke with the Giffords today. They were asking about their chairs. I didn’t know how to tell them you’re still staring at the same pile of wood you were four months ago.”
    He shrugged and peeled the label on the beer bottle.
    “You’re not the only one who’s hurting!” She grabbed his beer and threw it against the wall. The glass sprinkled over the floor, its tones discordant with the melody playing.
    “Did you know the day she died Jessie got into your shoe polish and smeared it all over my good rug? Black shoe polish, Leland, and I was so mad. I spanked her and yelled at her and asked her why she was always making a mess of everything. I told her she was three years old now—old enough to know better.”
    He straightened up and his eyes were clear with understanding. “Don’t.”
    She stood and paced in front of him. “You should’ve seen her face. She looked