by Sarah Sundin
The men’s uniforms and gear lay in order on their cots for their final inspection at Camp Forrest. Tomorrow evening, the 2nd Ranger Battalion would board a train for the Scouts and Raiders School in Fort Pierce, Florida, to train in amphibious assault. Clay’s fingers curled in anticipation.
Lieutenant Taylor strode down the aisle. “Listen up, men. Major Rudder has issued twenty-four-hour passes.”
Someone whooped, but Clay didn’t even stir.
“Those can be revoked. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” Clay shouted with the rest of his platoon.
“Report back at 0800 tomorrow. Everyone is dismissed except Paxton. Paxton, come here.”
What? He hadn’t whooped. Clay marched down the aisle, past G. M.’s sympathetic gaze, past his buddies packing and making plans involving liquor and women.
He stood at attention before the lieutenant, but his gut squirmed. Lately he’d fought hard. What had gone wrong?
“At ease.”
Clay clasped his hands at the small of his back.
Cool gray eyes assessed him. “This is your last chance to change your mind about becoming a medic. You have a wife to think about. Being a medic would be safer.”
Would it? Medics went into combat with the infantry. He’d even heard of enemy snipers aiming for the red crosses on medics’ helmets. “Sir, my wife supports my decision. Besides, Major Rudder has a wife, and children to boot. He’s not a medic.”
“We could really use you.”
They could assign him to that duty, and yet they hadn’t. “Sir, if I haven’t failed in my training, please don’t ask me again.”
Taylor sighed. “A waste of a fine mind.”
Clay tapped his wristwatch and lifted half a smile. “If it’s fine with you, sir, I’d like to say good-bye to my wife.”
Lieutenant Taylor chuckled. “Dismissed.”
Clay hustled back to his cot to pack. Finally, he’d silenced that threat to his dream.
TULLAHOMA
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1943
Rain pelted the umbrella Clay held over Leah’s head. Dawn lightened the sidewalk as he hurried her from the King Hotel to her boardinghouse. “We’re set. Our paperwork is complete, and you have my parents’ address and my APO address. The Army Post Office can find me anywhere.”
“All set.” Leah’s voice sounded small, or was it merely lost in the rain?
Over the past month of marriage, she’d become like a sister. “I know you don’t want to show too soon, but eat a nutritious diet. And I know you want to help with the finances, but listen when your doctor tells you to quit your job, you hear?”
She gave him a teasing smile. “Yes, Dr. Paxton.”
He chuckled. With her, he was free to talk about medical matters. With her, he was free to talk about anything. He’d miss that.
Since his letters would be censored by Lieutenant Taylor and hers might not be private, they wouldn’t discuss her pregnancy until she made her announcement when she was four months along—three months along if Clay had been the actual father.
Clay turned up the walkway to her boardinghouse. A golden glow came from a few windows in the two-story white home. Under the eaves, he shook out the umbrella and set it to dry on the porch.
Leah smiled at him in her khaki raincoat and the hat she’d worn at the wedding. “Well, you’re off to have adventures in exciting new places.”
“I am.” He glanced pointedly at her flat abdomen. “You’ll have some adventures too.”
She lowered her chin. “My adventures will be much quieter than yours.”
What should he say? A simple good-bye didn’t seem adequate, but a drawn-out departure didn’t seem fitting.
Leah turned up her face to him with the barest smile.
Something shifted inside him. He’d never see her again.
He’d never see that smile again or those eyes. In the book of Genesis, Leah was described as “tender eyed.” The phrase conveyed weakness, but the Leah standing before him wasn’t weak. Vulnerable, but not weak. And tender. Very tender.
He was staring. Clay cleared his throat. “Reckon I ought to get back to camp before Sergeant Lombardi turns me into pumpkin pie.”
Her smile deepened. “Good-bye, Clay. I’ll write often, and I’ll pray even more often.”
“Thank you. I will too. Good-bye.”
All he could think about was the wedding kiss, the awkwardness and sweetness. If he kissed her now, it wouldn’t be awkward. It would be an appropriate farewell. It would be sweet.
And it wouldn’t be wise. Neither one of them could afford a stronger attachment.
Instead he held out his arms and gave her a sheepish smile. A husband would embrace a wife, and a brother would embrace a sister.
She took a half step, and he closed the gap and wrapped his arms around her. My, she was tiny, only up to his chin and not much to her.
Her arms inched around his back. “Be careful, Clay. I know you have an important job, but please be careful.”
“You be careful too. Don’t go anywhere alone, night or day, especially on base.”
A shaky laugh fluttered against his raincoat. “I don’t think that’s entirely possible.”
His fingers curled around the belt of her coat. If only he could stay and keep her safe forever.
A sigh escaped. He’d done what he could. He’d leave her in the Lord’s capable hands.
Clay planted a quick kiss on her cheek. Not quick enough. He still noticed the softness, the smoothness, and the scent of hotel soap.
He stepped back. “It was an honor knowing you, Leah Paxton.”
She ducked her chin and turned for the door. “And . . . and you too.”
Clay turned up the collar of his raincoat, pulled the bill of his service cap lower, and headed into the rain. He had a dream to fulfill, and he had to do that alone.
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1943
Leah let excess batter drip off the chicken drumsticks.
Rita Sue Bellamy nudged her. “Slather it on nice and thick. You’re in the South now.”
Leah dunked the drumsticks. “So many eggs.”
“They aren’t rationed, and we have chickens out back.”
Would she ever become accustomed to plenty? Leah plopped the heavy-laden drumsticks into the sizzling oil in Rita Sue’s cast-iron pan.
The Bellamy children bustled around the kitchen, lit by an electric lamp to counteract the gloom of the rainy day. Nine-year-old Joey cut out biscuits, seven-year-old Luella shucked peas, and six-year-old Sally set silverware on the dining room table.
Rita Sue adjusted the ties on her apron. “You did fine work cutting up that chicken.”
“Everyone helped in the orphanage, and I help Mrs. Perry in the boardinghouse.”
“When Clay comes home, he’ll be pleased to find a good cook waiting for him.”
Leah dipped chicken wings in the batter. “I hope so.” But he’d never come home, and she’d never cook for him. Clay’s premonition of his own death strained within her, but she’d promised not to tell anyone.
Where was he now? Had he arrived in Florida? That was so far away.
She could still feel his arms around her, engulfing her in security.
“I think those wings are ready.”
Leah almost dropped them. “Oh.”
Rita Sue patted her shoulder. “Don’t give in to fear, sugar.”
“I won’t.” She didn’t have to look far to find the good. “I’m proud of him. He told me how well the Rangers did in North Africa and Sicily, and now he’ll do his part.”
“Excuse me, Mama.” Joey held the biscuit pan.
Rita Sue opened the oven door. “Here you go, baby boy.”
“Mama . . .” Joey slid the pan into the oven.
“I won’t be able to call you that much longer.” She tousled his curly blond hair.
“You shouldn’t call me that now.” Joey laughed and wiggled free.
Rita Sue frowned towa
rd the dining room. “Girls!”
Leah followed her gaze to where the two little girls bickered by the table.
“She’s bossing me!” Sally called.
Luella stamped her foot. “She isn’t doing it right.”
“Luella, let her be and bring me those peas.”
The girl stuck her tongue out at her sister and stomped into the kitchen. “She always gets her way ’cause she’s the baby.”
Rita Sue turned to Leah, rolled her eyes, and stuck out her tongue.
Leah smothered a laugh. She wanted to soak in every detail of family life. In only seven months, she’d create a home for baby Helen. How could she be a good mother when she barely remembered her own?
After Rita Sue put the peas on to boil, she pushed aside the white ruffled curtains over the sink. “Oh, that sweet husband of mine. I thought he was reading.”
Leah peeked through the window and the pouring rain. In the backyard, Mercer hammered in the doorway of a little house with tar paper on the walls.
Rita Sue opened the back door. Rain angled through, and she shut it a bit. “Mercer, put down that hammer and get out of the rain, you hear? It’s the Sabbath day.”
“Ah, it’s not work if I enjoy it,” he shouted back.
“Come wash up. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.” Rita Sue shut the door, wiped her hands on her apron, and grinned at Leah. “Fifteen minutes, but he doesn’t have to know that.”
Leah smiled and turned over the drumsticks. “What’s he fixing?”
“He’s building a rental house.” Rita Sue pulled platters and bowls from the cupboard. “Mercer works in the bank all week, so he likes to work with his hands when he can. We have plenty of space out back, and there’s a serious housing shortage in town.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“The house is turning out cute—one bedroom, a kitchen and bath, perfect for . . .” A smile spread across her face, and she planted a hand on her hip. “Perfect for you.”
“Me?”
“You can’t stay in the boardinghouse much longer.”
Leah gave her a warning look. Rita Sue had promised not to tell even her family about the pregnancy. “In a few months I’ll ask Mrs. Perry for a private room.”
“Trust me.” Rita Sue lowered her voice. “You’ll want space and privacy.”
Leah carried the pan of peas to the sink, tipped the lid just inside the rim, and drained pale green water. She’d never had privacy in her life.
“It’s perfect. It’ll be ready in a month or two, and we’ll only ask seven dollars a week.”
Seven. Leah poured the peas into a serving bowl. After the baby was born, Clay’s allotment would rise, but she’d lose her library earnings. “I . . . I’ll ask Clay.”
Rita Sue piled fried chicken on a platter. “Wouldn’t it be fun to be neighbors?”
“It would.” But Leah wanted to find a cheaper option.
Mercer walked into the kitchen. “Where’s this fine chicken dinner you promised?”
Rita Sue passed him with the platter and smacked a kiss on his lips. “Coming right up. Children! Dinner’s ready!”
Leah took off her apron, brought out the peas, and sat across from Rita Sue.
At the head of the table, Mercer said grace, then loaded plates. “So, you kids go back to school on Tuesday.”
“Hurray!” Joey said. “Mrs. Carruthers lets the kids act out the Battle of Chattanooga.”
Luella made a face. “I don’t want to go back.”
Sally pulled on Leah’s sleeve. “I get to start first gwade.”
“How exciting,” Leah said.
“What are you going to do with all your free time, darlin’?” Mercer winked at his wife.
She laughed. “Finally clean the last of the mud pie off my kitchen floor.”
The girls giggled.
“And may I have the truck on Tuesday, Mercer?” Rita Sue passed a plate to Luella.
“Sure. Picking up more books?”
“Books?” Leah asked.
“For the Victory Book Campaign.” Rita Sue laid her napkin in her lap. “The Red Cross collects the books in bins around town and brings them to the library. They sort them and send them to Nashville. Then the VBC sends the books to our servicemen in training camps and overseas.”
It was such an important program. “May I help? I’m free in the morning.”
Rita Sue’s face brightened. “I’d love that. Why, we’ll make a volunteer of you yet.”
Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Oh, to be on the giving side of charity for once.
15
SCOUTS AND RAIDERS SCHOOL, FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 1943
“Go! Go! Go!” Sgt. Tommy Lombardi yelled.
Clay ran into the surf pushing a black rubber raft with six other Rangers.
“Faster!” Gene shouted in front of Clay, on the left side of the raft. “Gotta beat that breaker.”
On the right side, Ernie McKillop stumbled.
Frank Lyons shoved McKillop aside, sending him face first into the water.
Bob Holman cussed at Lyons, and both men lost hold.
“Watch out!” Clay fought the raft.
The wave raced toward them, and Clay braced himself, thigh deep in the ocean. The wave broke against his head and shoulders, and he hopped along to keep his footing.
The raft broached, and Clay and the others washed like flotsam onto the white sand.
Their Navy instructor sneered at them, hands on hips. “Bunch of landlubbers.”
Clay dragged the raft onto the beach, then collapsed onto his backside.
Holman marched up to Lyons. “That was cold, even for you.”
Not even a spark in Lyons’s dark eyes. “He was in the way.”
Lombardi held up both hands. “You have to work together. This isn’t the assault phase of the exercise. If a man goes down, wait and try again.”
Clay shook his head at Lyons and snugged his billed fatigue cap lower to keep the hot sun out of his eyes. Even if a man went down in combat, you didn’t shove him out of the way.
The blue Atlantic spread before him, tinged pink from a jellyfish invasion.
The day before, the 2nd Ranger Battalion had arrived at the Scouts and Raiders School and had set up camp at the joint Army and Navy facility. Today they’d started training. They were supposed to complete the thirteen-day course in eight days, but not at their current rate.
No one knew where the Rangers would be sent, but they had to be versatile, whether for commando raids or as the spearhead of an invasion force. That meant they had to know how to make amphibious assaults.
Clay swatted away nibbling sandflies and got to his feet. “Come on, y’all. This time we’ll get it.”
The Rangers assembled around the raft, shaped like a fat bullet.
Sergeant Lombardi held on to the stern. “Go on G. M.’s orders.”
Clay helped maneuver the raft. “That’s right, y’all. Listen to G. M. He grew up playing on the Hollywood beaches.”
“Santa Monica.” Gene’s blue eyes almost disappeared in his sunburnt face. “Hollywood doesn’t have a beach, numbskull.”
“Same thing.” Clay grinned at his buddy.
Gene studied the Atlantic. “Now! Go!”
Clay plunged into the foamy edge of the ocean. The raft rode up a swell then down the far side.
“Get in,” Gene shouted.
Gene and McKillop hopped in from opposite sides, then Clay and Lyons, then Ruby and Holman, with Lombardi climbing in at the rear.
Clay straddled the tubular rim, grabbed the paddle, and dug into the warm water. The raft climbed another swell, tipped with white, and down they slid on the other side.
Gene whooped. “We made it. Head for the buoy.”
“That’s it, fellows,” Lombardi said. “You’ve got to be as close as brothers.”
Clay gritted his teeth and sliced the water with his paddle. Nothing close about the Paxton bro
thers. Wyatt and Adler still found ways to hurt him, even in their absence.
A letter from Daddy and Mama had arrived the day he left Camp Forrest. They’d received Clay and Leah’s wedding portrait and were enthralled with their daughter-in-law. And they longed for the older sons’ return so the family could be whole again.
They would welcome Wyatt and Adler just like that? They’d ignore theft and fornication and betrayal and how the men had ruined Clay’s life?
Wyatt and Adler had never even apologized. Not one word in over two years, and they were forgiven, no questions asked. That felt like yet another betrayal.
Rubenstein yelped and rubbed at his leg.
McKillop cussed. “Stupid jellyfish.”
Sure enough, stinging rose on Clay’s left leg, and his muscles jerked in response. The tiny pink jellyfish worked their way up trouser legs and stung like crazy. “When we get back to shore, rub your legs with sand to get the nettles out.”
“Yes, doc,” the men said in unison.
Clay winced. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? He didn’t want the boys to know he’d almost gone to college. He just wanted to fit in. And he didn’t want the questions.
The Rangers navigated around the buoy and aimed for shore. The stinging increased, dozens of tiny pinging, burning pains all over his lower leg.
Stung as much as his parents’ words. They forgave so lightly, so easily.
Clay squinted into the sun and frowned at the flat green Florida shore. He thought he’d forgiven his brothers, but what did it really mean to forgive?
Was he supposed to forget everything they’d done? Was he supposed to say it didn’t matter that they’d stolen his future? To say he didn’t mind?
But it did matter and he did mind.
Clay dug the paddle into the water, over and over. How? How am I supposed to forgive, Lord? What do you want me to do?
Couldn’t talk to the fellows about it. Last thing he wanted was pity.
Leah.
His paddling paused, and he reminded himself to keep pace.
He had to write her anyway so everyone would think they were madly in love. He’d planned to write short letters about his activities and the scenery. Nothing personal.