The White Knight by Gilbert Morris

that dealt with the subject of the juggernaut called Germany that threatened to envelop the world. There was nothing like that. Hollywood was in a tizzy over the soon-to-be-released film called Gone With the Wind, based on a novel by a woman named Margaret Mitchell. Out of curiosity Luke had read the book while he had been in Spain and found it to be completely ridiculous. A step back in time glamorizing a time that was never glamorous, as far as he was concerned, and turning its back on the real war to fantasize about the clash that had taken place decades ago.
    Luke got to his feet and slipped into some new clothing he had bought, including a pair of gray slacks, a dark blue polo shirt with an emblem over the pocket, and a pair of white deck shoes. He went downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Luana rolling out some dough, humming to herself. She didn’t hear him come in, and he reached around her to steal a piece of dough.
    She jumped and declared, “You scared me!”
    â€œThat’s good dough, Luana.”
    â€œYou stay out of my cooking. You hear me?”
    â€œWhat are you making?”
    â€œThat’s none of your business.”
    â€œOh, come on, Luana. The poor old soldier all beat up from the war has come home. The least you can do is be nice to me for a change.”
    Luana had been adamantly opposed to Luke’s leaving Arkansas to go fight. She had never understood the war in Spain and for some unfathomable reason had decided that the war was over the sinking of a battleship. Luke had tried to explain that she was thinking of the Spanish-American War,but nothing convinced Luana. She was a stubborn woman, but he knew she cared for him.
    â€œI’m hungry. What’s for breakfast? Is there any of that pie left?” Luke asked as he started for the refrigerator.
    â€œYou stay out of that pie. I’m keepin’ your breakfast warm in the oven. You go sit in the dining room and I’ll bring it right there.”
    Luke ignored her and opened the refrigerator. “Ah, there it is.” He pulled it out, grabbed a plate out of the cupboard, and cut a large slice of pie.
    â€œYou’re gonna spoil your breakfast, and I made pancakes just for you.”
    Luke put a bite of the pie in his mouth. “But I might die of a heart attack on my way to the dining room,” he mumbled around the pie. “Just think, for all eternity I’d be wishing I’d eaten that pie.”
    â€œYou ain’t supposed to be talking like that about heaven.”
    â€œDo you think there’s apple pie in heaven?”
    Luana glared at him but then broke out in a chuckle. “You are bad, Mr. Luke!”
    â€œNo I’m not. I’m good, and this is the best apple pie I’ve ever had in my life.”
    â€œThat war didn’t make you no better!”
    â€œYou’re a hard woman, Luana.”
    â€œYou gonna find out hard if you don’t stay out of my cookin’.”
    Luke carried the rest of his pie to the dining room to enjoy after his breakfast. Luana brought him a plate with three large pancakes and another plate with sausage and then sat down to chat with him while he ate. For as long as he could remember she had been there for him. She must have been a teenager when she came to work for the Winslow family, and she had been as responsible for his upbringing as his parents were—sometimes even more, he thought.
    â€œI prayed for you every day while you was gone to that old war,” she told him.
    â€œI knew you would be. Probably the reason I came back alive was your prayers.”
    â€œI ain’t got no doubt about that. I had my whole church praying for you too.” Luana went to a Pentecostal church and sang in the choir every Sunday. She didn’t always sing exactly in tune, but she did sing loud, which seemed to be a common attribute for members of her church choir.
    â€œDid you ever think you’d get kilt while you was