Her Blue-Eyed Lieutenant (Soldiers 0f Swing Book 3)

by Linda Ellen

  Instantly concerned, Julie stopped and put a hand on the woman’s arm. “What do you mean? Gary? I…I mean Lieutenant Tucker?” she added, clearing her throat and glancing around.

  The older woman chuckled and shook her head, smiling fondly at Julie. “Honey, everybody in the plant knows you’re wild-eyed about him, like a lot of the younger ones.” At Julie’s expression, she added, “The difference is, I’ve watched him when he’s here, since you signed on, and I think he’s a bit smitten with you as well.” With a wink, she went on, “But Gladys was at the lockers and said she saw him come slamming in the door like gangbusters and took the stairs like a house a’ fire. Just wondered if you knew what’s going on…”

  Julie, her eyes wide with concern, shook her head and looked toward the other end of the plant, although at that distance she couldn’t have even seen Gary if he’d been standing there. “I have no clue,” she murmured, and the other woman shrugged and went on past.

  Gary came slamming in? He rushed upstairs? To see his father? What in the world…something must be wrong…

  Without realizing it, her feet started moving that way as concern for Gary as well as Dad Tucker took over.

  By the time she made it to the other end of the building, hearing bits and pieces and scattered words over the noise of the machines, all anyone knew was that Gary was upset about something. None of them had ever seen their former boss angry before, and it was fueling the rumor mill like coal oil.

  Approaching two women talking near the time clock—one young the other much older, and possibly mother and daughter from their similar looks and coloring—Julie came right out and asked, “What’s happening?”

  They both turned to her, all a flutter, “Oh honey, somethin’s up,” the younger of the two blurted, smacking her chewing gum to beat the band as she rushed on, the words pouring out like water over Niagara Falls. “And whatever it is, it must be big. I heard Junior crashed his way into his dad’s office and started yellin’. Yellin’! But Mabel, if she heard anything, she ain’t singin’. Then fifteen minutes later, he came down again, and he was still steamin’. Didn’t say a word, just plowed out the door. Beats the Bolshevik outta me, I tell ya,” she finished, shaking her head in wonder, and then starting up again with the gum chomping.

  Without further ado, Julie headed for the stairs and the “upper sanctuary” that she hadn’t visited since her first day on the job. Co-workers and protocol forgotten; all that mattered was Gary.

  She reached Mr. Tucker’s outer office and spied Mabel, his secretary, sitting at her desk, just staring at the closed door to the executive office with the backs of her fingers pressed against her lips, obviously deep in thought. Seeing Julie come in, she cleared her throat and raised her hands to her head to smooth her already perfect bun.

  “Can I help you, Miss Banks?”

  Julie paused, moistening dry lips, and looked from the door to Mabel and back. “M…may I see Mr. Tucker?”

  The woman opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. With a nod, she motioned toward the door, uncharacteristically allowing it. However, she added as an afterthought, “Knock and see if he’ll answer you.”

  Julie cautiously approached the massive, dark oak door, raised a hand, and knocked gently. When there was no answer, she tried again. Finally hearing a faint grunt from inside, she opened the door a few inches and looked in.

  Dad Tucker was sitting at his desk, his forehead resting on the heel of one hand. Julie realized Mabel had come up behind her and was looking over her shoulder. She whispered in Julie’s ear, “He’s been sitting there like that since Gareth, Jr. left.”

  Julie couldn’t stand it. Mustering a bit of boldness, she opened the door enough to slip through, and felt Mabel close it behind her. Approaching the desk, she stopped a few feet away and said softly, “Mr. Tucker?”

  She watched as he startled just a bit and looked over at her, meeting her eyes. What she saw in his shocked her—pain and heartache. She’d never seen him like this before; he was always so calm and in control of his world. Now, he looked as if he’d aged ten years and his eyes were red and moist.

  She stepped closer and swallowed nervously. “Sir, is…is something wrong? Is Gary all right?”

  The old man looked away, pressed his lips together and took in a shuddering breath. Then meeting her gaze again, he murmured, “My son hates me, and he has good reason.”

  Shocked, Julie’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head to deny such a statement. She knew Gary loved his father. But Mr. Tucker held up a hand before she could speak. “Miss Banks…I know you and my son are close. Very close. He told me he considers you his best friend and that you understand him better than anyone…better even than I. Please. Go find him.”

  Julie blinked, and blinked again. “Find him?” But, even as she said the words, she knew she had to. Somehow, deep down, she knew Gary was not only angry, he was hurting, and he needed her.

  With a nod, she turned to flee the office, but stopped and looked back. “Are you…going to be all right, sir?”

  He managed a feeble smile. “Don’t worry about me, young lady. Just find Gareth.”

  She gave another nod and exited the office, not hearing Mr. Tucker as he closed his eyes and whispered, “Father in Heaven, lead the girl to my son. Let him be all right. Help him not to hate me. And…if I’ve done wrong with this interference…please forgive me. You know that I just…I know I’m not strong enough to stand by and watch my son die. It’s just…somehow I know in my heart…if he flew B-17’s, he would be killed on his first mission. Please…help.”

  Dropping his head into his hands, he continued the prayer silently.

  Julie ran down the stairs, rushed to her locker to snatch off her snood and grab her things, not stopping until she was out the door, completely ignoring her puzzled co-workers’ queries of, “Where’s the fire?” as she dashed by.

  Once outside, she clapped a hand on top of her head and practically skidded to a stop, realizing she didn’t have a clue where Gary would have gone, or why he had done any of this. What in the world would he have gotten so furious at his father about? Wracking her brain to try and think of where to look, she didn’t notice a familiar face nearby, watching.

  After a few moments, a voice called, “Miss Julie? Can I take’a you somewhere?”

  She turned seeing a cab a few doors down, and inside was the welcome, smiling face of Angelo.

  Running to the taxi, she leaned in the open window. “Angelo, I have to find Gary…Lieutenant Tucker. He’s gone…he…he left the plant a while ago very upset and his father is worried about him.” Looking the man in the eye, something made her ask, “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

  The cabbie reached up to tilt his Yankee’s cap back and scratched his head with one finger.

  “Hmm…” he mumbled, thinking. Then, his eyes widened and he met her stare. “I think I just’a might, Miss Julie. Come on, get in. We’ll go and’a find Mr. Gary,” he added, his Italian accent thickening with his excitement.

  She climbed into the back and he put the old Dodge in gear and gunned the motor, taking off with a lurch which sent her flopping back against the seat. Glancing back over his shoulder, he said, “I used to’a take Mr. Gary to a place he liked a lot, whenever he wanted to be alone. I’d bet’a this week’s fares that’s where he is. Hold on, little gal, we’ll be there shortly.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Angelo turned into Iroquois Park and took the road to the left, up to the overlook. Julie shut her eyes and prayed Gary was there. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in a bad way and she had to get to him.

  As the taxi rounded the last curve, the overlook came into view. Julie hadn’t been to the scenic site since that momentous afternoon when the entire family secretly watched Gene ask Viv to marry him.

  Now, she looked around anxiously, but didn’t see Gary anywhere. Angelo let the cab roll to a stop and turned to face her. As she held a d
ollar bill out to him, he shook his head. “No fare. You just’a go, look around, and ‘a find him. I got’a me a feeling he’s ‘a here somewhere.” She started to argue, but he held up a hand. “I’m on’a my lunch hour,” he argued, eyes twinkling. “I’ll’a be back in a little while. But…if’a you need help, there’s one ‘a them polizia telephones on a pole half way back down’a the road.”

  “There is?”

  He gave a nod. “Yep. It’s hidden back in’a the brush. Look for a circle painted on’a the pavement.”

  Answering with a nod, she murmured, “Thank you, Angelo,” before opening her door and stepping out. She thought it a bit odd that he would just go off and leave her like that, but reasoned he must be right about Gary being close by. Come to think of it…she could feel that he was near. The taxi backed up and she watched as the cabbie smiled and moved his hand in a sweeping motion, encouraging her to start looking.

  Turning in a full circle, she felt drawn to walk to the edge of the paved sixty-foot diameter observation area, and climbed up on the low rock wall, letting her eyes scan the incline below. It wasn’t a sheer cliff, but rather a 368 feet high vista, a panorama of some of the city’s finest natural landscapes on a descending hill that meandered down. She could literally see for miles, from east, to north, to west. The bright blue summer sky loomed overhead, while acres upon acres of trees and greenery of every hue spread out below. On the horizon she could see clear to Indiana and the hills of Floyd’s Knobs.

  If her reason for being there hadn’t been so serious, Julie could have better enjoyed the wonder of the picturesque scene. Cars on ribbons of road far below made no sound; all she could hear was the wind in the trees, and the birds singing. A stillness that was palatable. Oblivious to nature’s beauty before her, however, she turned her head to the left, searching, and then to the right. Gary, where are you?

  Just then, movement caught her attention about a hundred yards to the right and she focused, realizing there was a man in uniform, sitting at the base of a tree. Gary! She couldn’t see his face, but she knew it was him.

  Hurrying to the side of the rock wall, she climbed carefully over and dropped down to the hiking path directly below to begin the trek toward the brooding, despondent lieutenant.

  Gary stared out at the amazing vista, and for the first time he was unappreciative of its magnificence. The serenity of the place had never before failed to quiet his spirit. And boy, if he’d ever needed help with that, it was now. He felt near the bursting point, like a tire with over twenty pounds too much air and more being pumped in.

  After he had blasted full force from his father’s office and out of the plant, he had caught the first taxi that happened by and barked an order for the driver to just, “Drive.” For miles, he had sat slumped in the back, stewing and unresponsive to the cabbie’s attempts at small talk until the man finally gave up and drove in silence.

  All during basic training, the instructors had drilled into the recruits’ heads that orders were orders, and not to be questioned. No matter if they disagreed with them, or thought they “knew better”, being in the army meant following orders—period. Blind obedience. That went for officers as well as the non-coms and enlisted men, because there was always someone above you in the chain of command. Now, his orders were something he wanted to fight against and resist with every ounce of strength he possessed, but he knew he couldn’t.

  The rage he had felt when he’d first barged into his father’s office had dissipated somewhat, so that now he only felt frustration—and guilt. Like the mooring ropes from the Idlewild had been wound around his body, lashing his arms against his sides and leaving him unable to break free, all he could do was sit and simmer.

  When he had seen the entrance to the park, he had instructed the driver to let him out there, and he had hiked all the way to the top, hoping he would burn off some of the aggression. When he had stepped up on the wall to look out over his favorite view, eager for it to infuse within his troubled spirit the same balm it had before, he had gulped in the fresh clean air and waited for his pulse to begin to slow. It had, but just a mite.

  Now, as he sat against a tree striving to feel at one with nature, he wondered why he couldn’t get a handle on his emotions. All it took was allowing his mind to replay a few seconds of the confrontation with his dad and the anger flared right back up again. Why can’t my father stay out of my life? I’m a grown man, not a child to be controlled and manipulated. There’s a war on, for cripes’ sake!

  But then, remembering the vile words he had yelled at his only parent, the guilt would slog over him like thick, heavy mud until he felt suffocated by it. How could he have done that? He’d never disrespected his father in such a way before—he’d been raised to behave better than that. Hadn’t all those weeks of reining himself back from exploding in retaliation against Bigelow and the injustice of his torture taught him anything?

  Grumbling a few off-color words, he ground his teeth together and leaned over to rip a clump of grass out of the ground. Then he sat there staring out over the glorious view, and slowly shredded the blades, hating that he felt like a naughty child in need of a spanking. Was he a child, or a man? No—he was a soldier, a lieutenant in the Army of the United States. A hardened military man. Perhaps all those years of being under the thumb of Gareth Tucker, Sr., the tough-as-nails businessman, had piled up such a load of frustration that this had just been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Analyzing himself, he realized that every time he was with his father, they always reverted to their respective roles of father/son, older/younger, and Gary hated how that made him feel…somehow less of a man. Resentment burned in his chest.

  So lost in thought was he, that his senses didn’t even pick up on a person approaching until he heard a soft, familiar voice say, “Gary?”

  He whipped his head to the left and was surprised—and pleased—to see Julie standing about ten feet away, holding onto a tree and bracing herself against sliding down the hill.

  “Julie? What’re you doing here?”

  She ignored the question and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, although he knew his countenance just then reflected his internal angst. Reaching out for her, he waited while she worked her way to him on the steep slope, placed her hand in his, and lowered herself down to his side.

  They sat for a moment staring into one another’s eyes, and then he mumbled, “I’m glad you’re here,” before gathering her into a close hug. He felt her latch on tight as if she had no intention of pulling back anytime soon. Closing his eyes, he felt himself start to calm down, and it amazed him just how much of an affect this girl had on him—she was indeed a part of his heart.

  After a few minutes, he whispered again, “I’m glad you’re here, Julie.”

  She nodded and more minutes passed before Julie finally released him and leaned away slightly, her eyes scanning his face.

  “Tell me what happened?” she asked softly. “I know you and your father had a fight, but that’s all I know.”

  He smirked and turned his head toward the view. “That’s putting it mildly.” Then he shut his eyes and shook his head. “Oh Julie, I’ve never felt so…angry in all my life. Rage erupted inside me like a volcano when I opened that envelope. I lit out of the hotel and stormed over to the office to have it out with him. I…” he stopped and shot her a look of shame. “I hurled profanities at my father. I’ve never even raised my voice to him before without him giving me a tongue-lashing for it—much less cuss him out. I don’t know what’s making me feel worse—that, or what he did.”

  “What envelope, Gary? What did he do?”

  He breathed in through his nose and let it out slowly, the muscles in his cheek bunching as he gnashed his teeth. Finally, he swallowed and ground out, “Thanks to Gareth B. Tucker, Sr., I’m not going to fly B-17’s. He finagled a way to butt into my life, hi-jack my plans, and get my orders changed to pilot trainer at Bowman Field. He—” he
stopped himself and sent a glare her way. “Just as he’s done my whole life, he’s orchestrated a way to make me toe the line and do his bidding.”

  Julie, obviously stunned, shook her head and reached to grasp his hand. “But…how? Does your dad really have that kind of pull with the Army?”

  One side of Gary’s mouth curled into a sarcastic smirk again and he sneered, “Apparently.”

  She held tight to his hand and turned her head to stare out at the lovely but currently unappreciated panorama, pondering. He gazed at her charming features. Knowing she knew how badly he wanted to fly the huge bombers, as they had talked about it many times in their letters and since he’d been home on leave, he could feel her empathy and compassion. He couldn’t know that she was praying for the right words to say.

  Finally, she swiveled toward him and seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “I know you’re disappointed, Gary, but…he loves you. Maybe more than average fathers love their sons, I don’t know. Even though you’re not his birth son, it doesn’t diminish his love and concern for you.” He moved his head toward the vista again and she paused to peruse his profile, trying to ascertain his thoughts; the only movement on his face was the muscle ticking in his cheek. She continued delicately, “I saw him in his office. He looked…broken. He told me you hate him and he doesn’t blame you. But Gary—please try not to hate him. It will only fill you with bitterness and misery. And maybe…maybe God allowed this to happen for a reason…”

  Thoughts and emotions swirled in Gary’s brain—anger, frustration, shame at his own words, and then anger and frustration again—on and on, like a revolving door.

  Finally, Julie reached for his other hand and held both firmly. Her voice came again tenderly, “Do you want to pray about it?” He could only answer with a shrug. To be truthful, he felt a little ticked at God, too.

  She bowed her head and began, her voice just above a whisper, “Dear Lord…I’m not sure how to pray about this, but I ask You to comfort Gary and take away this anger toward his dad. Help him to know Your will in this. Open his eyes, Father…” She went on a few more sentences before she finished, and after a few moments, Gary opened his eyes and realized that somewhere during the prayer, he had begun to feel different. Amazingly, some of the angst had melted away with her words. Or, maybe God helped…