by Sarah Sundin
Mellie smiled at the photo. “You look like her. Especially around the eyes.”
“She’s a good woman. Hardworking, strong, and godly. And she loves me to pieces.”
Her smile stretched wide, making her eyes crinkle, but she hauled the smile back in. “I’m glad you have each other. She must be proud of you.”
“More than I deserve.” He tucked the photo away.
“Do you like Pittsburgh?”
“Yep. The Pirates, the rivers, the bridges, even the snow. But I like variety. I want to travel, live different places.”
“Me too.” A soft smile. Had she leaned closer? “I even like it here. It’s different, exciting, exotic.”
“Yeah.” Tom’s mouth dried out as he gazed into those different, exciting, exotic eyes.
“The bridges in Pittsburgh—is that what led you into engineering? The other day you said you wanted to build bridges.”
He nodded to break the hold she had on him. “Pittsburgh straddles three rivers, so we need bridges to keep us connected. Worked on some to put myself through engineering school.”
“Where did you go to school?”
Tom couldn’t remember anyone ever asking him so many questions. That was usually his job. “University of Pittsburgh. Where else?” He winked.
She smiled and drank her coffee. “What’s it like?”
“It’s great. Pitt’s got a beautiful campus, high over the city. We’ve got the Cathedral of Learning, over five hundred feet tall. Looks like a skyscraper on the outside—but Gothic-inspired—and the ground floor looks like a real cathedral with stone arches and grottoes everywhere.”
Her smile was so warm and encouraging, he felt four inches taller. He never talked about his life. Except with Annie.
Tom leaned back a bit. He had to watch himself. “So, is Mellie a nickname? I’ve never heard it before.”
Her smile dipped. “Yes. It’s short for Philomela.”
“There’s got to be a story behind that.” He leaned forward again. Now he had to encourage her.
She kept her chin low but raised those dark eyes to him. “It means nightingale. I’ve always loved music, even in the womb. Apparently I kicked in time to music. My father has a gorgeous tenor and he decided I’d be his little nightingale.”
“Good thing you can sing, huh?”
She laughed. “Yes, it is.”
“And you’re a nurse. Well, that fits you perfectly. I like it.”
“You do? But it’s so different.”
“Didn’t I tell you I liked variety?”
“You did.” She gave him a relaxed little smile.
If he could just get her to give him that full smile and convince her to keep it.
“Hey, Gill.” A heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder.
He glanced up into Quincy’s rumpled face. “Hey, Quincy. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a serious shortage of dames. Rationing is the only way to handle it.”
“Rationing?” He looked at Mellie. “She’s a woman, not a sack of sugar.”
“You look sweet to me, angel.”
“Leave her alone, Quince.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be left alone. Maybe she wants to dance. You’re hogging her so the poor thing can’t jitterbug. You like to dance, angel?”
“Sometimes.” Mellie shot Tom a look he couldn’t make out—part fear, part . . . was it longing? As if she wanted to dance with Tom.
That couldn’t happen. He stood on a narrow bridge buffeted by high winds. Dancing with her could push him over the edge, away from Annie.
“She wants to dance. You gonna ask her . . . MacGilliver?” Quincy drew his name out, stretched it on a rack in preparation for execution.
Tom’s stomach crumpled under the burden. He stared at the rapid succession of expressions on Mellie’s face. As understanding as she was, she didn’t deserve to be linked to him, even for the length of a song.
“So, angel, how about it? Wanna cut a rug?”
“All right,” she said and she left.
His shoulders slumped. He’d failed to protect her from Quincy. He’d hurt her feelings. And his heart was in worse shape than before.
25
Mellie loved the song “Deep Purple,” but she wouldn’t anymore. Quincy held her too close, his breath stank of beer, and he kept calling her “angel.” Just because no one else wanted to dance with her, he thought she was easy.
And Tom didn’t want to dance with her. The ache constricted her lungs so she could barely breathe. As a gentleman, he’d rescued her and conversed with her. But as a man, he wasn’t interested.
The other nurses danced too. Rose and Georgie wouldn’t meet her eye, Vera and Alice smirked at her, and Kay gave her a humiliating look of pity. Lieutenant Lambert looked less cross but hardly happy. Mellie had shredded all harmony in her flight.
She’d never felt lower in her life.
Only careful measured breaths kept her together.
She couldn’t even pray. How could she approach God? How dare she ask for forgiveness when she’d wounded others deeply and maliciously?
Tom was smart to reject her.
But it didn’t relieve the pain.
At least she’d followed his advice and asked questions so she didn’t reveal any telling details. Thanks to anonymity, her name was a safe topic.
Anonymity would be more vital now that she knew he didn’t find her attractive. The pained look on his face when Quincy asked if he wanted to dance with her.
Her throat clogged, and her eyes watered.
“You don’t talk much, do you, angel?” Quincy asked.
“No. And please don’t call me that. I’m no angel.”
“Even better,” he said with a growl and pulled her closer.
She resisted. “Please don’t.”
“Loosen up, have some fun. Here we go. ‘Little Brown Jug.’” He shoved her away, holding one hand, then yanked her back into his arms.
The music had changed. “I don’t know how to jitterbug.”
“It’s not hard.” He spun her around.
“I’d rather not.”
“What’s wrong? Pining over lover boy back there? You know who his father is?”
“Yes, I do.” Mellie planted her feet and stared him down. “But I don’t know who your father is. What’s he like? Ever done anything wrong?”
“You’re a strange dame. Forget it. Not worth the effort.” He flung her hands down and marched away.
Mellie stood alone among the dancing couples. No one wanted anything to do with her, not that she blamed them.
She stepped back and bumped into someone. Vera dancing with Captain Maxwell.
Vera shook back her glamorous hair. “Typical Mellie. Out of place as always. Don’t you know you need a partner on the dance floor?”
“I . . . I’m sorry.” Her hour wasn’t up, but she didn’t care. She charged for the tent entrance, pushed aside the flap, and burst into the cool night air. Let Lambert send her home. Let them kick her out of the Army Nurse Corps. She would not stay to be laughed at.
Her vision blurred. Where was the tent they’d put the nurses in for the night? How could she find it in the dark? How could things get any worse?
A triangular flash of light from the tent. Someone left. “Mellie? Where are you going?”
Tom. That was how things could get worse. “I’m turning in.”
His footsteps thumped behind her. “Are you okay? Is it Quincy? Did he try something?”
“No. I just need to go.”
“You still have . . . twenty-two minutes. You should stay.”
“No, thank you.” Her shaky voice sounded like a lovesick schoolgirl’s. Oh goodness, she’d give herself away.
Tom caught up and walked in step with her. “May I explain something?” His voice softened and lowered.
She ventured a glance, thankful any redness in her eyes wouldn’t show in the pale moonlight. “Explain?”
He touched h
er arm, tilted his head, and stopped in his tracks. Mellie stopped too. How could she do anything else?
Tom looked deep into her eyes. A furrow formed on his forehead, and he dropped his gaze to her shoes. Two breaths expanded his chest. “I don’t dance.”
Men never wanted to dance with her—except that snake Quincy—so why did she expect Tom to? How silly of her. At least he was polite enough to make an excuse. Mellie forced a small smile. “That’s all right. A lot of fellows don’t know how to dance.”
“I know how. I just don’t. It’s not fair to the girls.”
“Not fair? What do you mean?” But a thought ballooned, and the pain in her heart wrenched from her situation to his, a fresh, jabbing pain.
His jaw worked from side to side. “People talk. I couldn’t do that to a girl’s reputation.”
“I’m so sorry, Tom. You shouldn’t be judged for your family. That isn’t right.”
He raised his gaze, and his eyebrows bumped into each other. “I should have known you’d be different. From everything you said. But I assumed. I didn’t give you a chance.”
Mellie laughed it off, a nervous twitter. Oh dear, he knew she wanted to dance with him. One more mistake and she might reveal her love. “I understand. It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not all right.” One side of his mouth crept up, and he lifted his hand to her. “Would you please dance with me?”
Oh goodness, no. How could she? How could she bear being held by the man she loved, knowing he’d never love her? Concern for her reputation explained only part of his reaction, not the initial appalled look. Mellie let out a light laugh and headed in the general direction of quarters. “Thank you, but I’m rather tired.”
“Are you afraid of me?” His voice hardened.
Mellie spun around. “No. How could I? How could I be afraid of you?”
Pain she had inflicted etched his face. “Everyone else is.”
“I’m not.”
“So dance with me.” He held out his hand and a challenge.
She glanced at the tent. “I don’t want to go back in there.”
“Then don’t. We can hear the music. We can dance out here. Unless you’re chicken.” Humor returned to his voice.
“I’m not chicken.” But chickenlike flutters consumed her heart.
“Bawk, bawk, bawk.” He grinned and stepped closer.
She had to laugh. “How old are you anyway?”
“Old enough to know a chicken when I see one.” He beckoned. “Come on.”
Mellie gazed into his face, handsome even in the dark, and she stepped forward. What could she do? Mercy compelled her. Friendship drove her. Love stirred her.
“That’s better. I prefer nightingales to chickens.” He took her hand in his and circled his arm around her waist.
Mellie’s hand rested on his shoulder, his muscles hard and defined from manual labor. He was about Papa’s height—just right. And the scent of him flooded through her—coffee and wool and hard work and kindness.
“Here we are, ready to go, but where’s our music?”
“Oh?” Mellie hadn’t noticed. She pulled her gaze from Tom’s shoulder to his face, only inches away, and she drew in her breath. She’d never been that close to a man before. She made herself smile back. “I’ve heard of a cappella singing, but a cappella dancing?”
His laugh rumbled deep like a locomotive, as he said his father’s had. Like that sound, Tom’s laugh offered travel and adventure. What would it be like to spend her life with this man with his ready smile, his deep faith, and his love of variety?
It would be bliss.
But it would never be. Friendship beyond the scrapbook exploded in her face. Romance would never move beyond paper either.
Tinny notes from the record player started up, and Tom led her in a foxtrot. “You’ve got an admirer in there.”
“Me?” But a few bars of music made her laugh. The record played “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.”
The lyrics told of a couple in London sharing a kiss under the stars, and Tom was too close and too real and too attractive. And too quiet.
“You’re a good dancer,” she said. “I’m sorry most girls—”
“Hey, now.” He went into double time and spun her in a circle. “You’ll think I’m one melancholy fellow. I’m not. It does no good to dwell on things that can’t be changed.”
“True.” Once again she needed to heed his advice.
“How about we talk about something that can be changed? Your smile.”
“My what?” Mellie’s jaw went slack.
“You heard me. When you smile, you yank the leash and haul it in like a bad dog.”
A laugh hopped out of her mouth. “Well, it doesn’t behave. My smile cracks my face in half like a coconut.”
“Nonsense. It’s beautiful, and it’s part of who you are. You should never be ashamed of who you are.”
Mellie tapped one finger on his shoulder and gave him the teasing look she gave Papa whenever he delivered a long botanical lecture. “Listen to yourself, Lieutenant.”
He moaned and clapped their clasped hands to his chest. His solid chest. “You wound me. You think I should follow my own advice?”
“Absolutely. Never be ashamed of who you are.” Why was it so much easier to say that about him than about herself?
His eyes—the moonlight obscured the blue but not the pale glow. “I’ll work on that. You’re . . .” He pressed his lips together. “Thank you.”
“I’m a nurse. I like to fix people.”
He laughed and whirled her around. “I’m a civil engineer. I like to build people up.”
“Then we’re well—” Well matched? How could she say such a thing? They might be well matched as friends, but never anything more. “I’m—I’m glad we met.”
“Me too.” He cocked his head and squinted one eye. “Well, milady, the song’s over.” He stepped back and bowed.
She curtseyed. “Thank you for the dance, kind sir.”
He held out his arm. “Let’s get you inside so you won’t get in trouble with your chief.”
She took his arm but didn’t move. “Tom, wait.”
He lifted his eyebrows.
Her heart beat faster than the rhythm for “Bugle Call Rag” in the background. What on earth was she doing? But she had to do it. For him. “Would you like another dance?”
Tom stared at her. Unblinking. Lips parted.
She shrugged. “I like this song. The air is fresh out here. No cigarette smoke, no beer fumes, no one to step on our toes.”
His head dipped in the slowest nod she’d ever seen. “One condition.”
“Condition?”
“You have to smile. All the way.”
Why didn’t he ask her to strip off her uniform and do the hula? She’d feel less exposed.
“Come on.” An irresistible grin. Even more irresistibly, he moved closer. “One smile. One dance.”
One smile to be in his arms again? One smile to convince him of her unattractiveness? He said he liked her smile, but he’d never seen the stark fullness.
“Come on. Smile.” He wagged his head in front of her as if coaxing a baby to laugh.
It worked. She released her smile. She rolled her eyes to let him know how she felt about it and let her smile crack her face in half. The full monkey smile. “Happy?”
“Yep. That was nice. Let’s see if I can make you smile again.” He pulled her into his arms and danced.
“That wasn’t the deal. One smile, one dance. Oh dear. I can’t keep up. I’m no jitterbug.”
“Neither am I. But who’s to know? Just kick your feet around, swing your arm.” Tom burst into a kicking, swinging frenzy. “See, it doesn’t have to be good. It just has to be wild.”
She laughed. He definitely wasn’t good. Why not join in? She tried some kicks and swings.
“There you go.” He twirled her under his arm.
She struggled to coordinate her feet with
him so close, with his arm firm and warm around her waist. “Oh dear. I don’t want to kick you.”
“Good. We’re on the same side. Kick the enemy.”
“How about Quincy? Want me to kick him?” Giggles burst out.
“What’s with the violence? I thought you were a lady.” He spun her so fast her feet left the ground.
Mellie gasped and clung to his shoulder. “Oh my goodness. Dancing’s dangerous.”
“You said it, angel-face.”
Laughter bounced through her, lifting the monkey smile, but for the first time since first grade, she didn’t haul it in.
“That’s it. Now I push you away. Get your feet going any old way.” He held her right hand as if shaking hands. “Now wag your finger at me. Scold me for making you smile.”
She raised one finger and wagged it at him. “Scold me for making you dance again.”
They circled, scolding each other, their feet shuffling over the dirt, laughter swirling around them.
Tom lifted their joined hands. “Twirl under and come back to me.”
She did as he said, and she was back in his arms, the arms of the man who knew her best, the man she knew best, the man she loved. He looked down into her eyes, and his smile seemed warmer, deeper, as if it permeated his whole being.
Her smile grew too, from someplace far inside she could barely remember, a place where she felt understood and appreciated and loved.
The music stopped. Tom rocked gently and didn’t release her from his arms or his gaze. He pulled their clasped hands closer, down to her waist, and his expression softened. Intensified.
Mellie’s breath came out choppy, her cheeks warmed, and her body relaxed into his. This couldn’t be happening, could it?
His gaze meandered over her face, and she could almost feel the caress of it, and it landed on her mouth.
Her monkey mouth.
Tom eased back. “I—I should take you inside. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your chief.”
A heavy molten mass pressed on Mellie’s heart. He liked her as a person, but not as a woman.
She backed out of his arms. “You’re right.” Her voice sounded tinny.
Tom tilted his head toward the tent and they walked back. He didn’t offer his arm this time. “I never asked. What’s going on with your chief? Why’d she force you to come here?”