With Every Letter: A Novel

by Sarah Sundin

  The chief nurse’s gaze settled on Vera, then Alice, then Mellie. A dark and inscrutable gaze. “You know why you’re here. Or you think you do. Mellie, you’ve been strangely quiet about this incident. Do you have anything to say?”

  Mellie wrapped her hands around the black shoulder bag containing Tom’s words of encouragement. “No, ma’am. I told the truth. I didn’t do it. What else is there to say?”

  “For heaven’s sake.” Alice’s chest heaved. “Everyone knows you did it.”

  “Popular opinion.” Lambert’s mouth disappeared into a thin line. “Popular opinion is only proof of gossip’s power.”

  Mellie blinked to clear her vision. Had Lambert taken her side?

  Vera brushed her hair off her shoulder. “Maybe, but popular opinion usually reflects the truth. And the truth is, Mellie pulled a childish trick on us. She doesn’t belong here.”

  Lieutenant Lambert smoothed out papers on her desk. “Immediately after the incident, I sent for her replacement, as well as one for Sylvia, since she still suffers from malaria.”

  The confirmation should have sent Mellie reeling, but somehow it straightened her spine. “I think that’s best, ma’am.”

  The chief’s head jerked up. “Pardon?”

  “Vera’s right. I don’t belong. I’ve tried to fit in. I cut my hair and made friends and I’m overcoming my shyness. But I’ll never be able to change enough to please these two. I was raised primarily in the jungle among men and didn’t have friends until I joined this squadron. I can’t cover differences like that with lipstick.”

  “I’ll say,” Vera mumbled.

  Lieutenant Lambert stared at the desktop, and her mouth shifted from side to side. “From the start, I placed the responsibility for the squadron’s harmony on Mellie, but I should have looked to others as well.” Her gaze locked on Vera and Alice.

  A quick thrill of vindication rushed through Mellie’s lungs, but confusion shoved it aside.

  Alice sat back. “Excuse me?”

  The chief picked up a piece of paper. “Does the name Private Judson mean anything to you, Alice?”

  “I should say not. We aren’t allowed to fraternize with enlisted men.”

  “I had an interesting conversation with him yesterday.” The paper crinkled in Lambert’s hands. “He asked if the nurses had more odd jobs for him. ‘More?’ I asked, and he said you paid him five dollars to collect bugs. You wanted them in a little box with holes so they’d stay alive.”

  Mellie’s lips parted. That’s how they did it. She couldn’t imagine either of them touching insects.

  “Nonsense,” Alice said. “Mellie must have put him up—”

  Lambert raised one hand to silence her. “Everyone saw Mellie at breakfast that morning, but not you two. Kay said you skipped breakfast.”

  “We weren’t hungry,” Alice cried. “Mellie had plenty of time. She was alone in the tent when we came back for our gear.”

  “Stop it.” Lambert’s face reddened. “I ran into Georgie and Rose not ten yards from your tent. She wasn’t alone long.”

  “She could have—”

  Vera huffed. “It’s over, Alice. Stop it.”

  Alice glared at her. “Don’t you dare pin this on me. This was your idea.”

  Mellie’s thoughts tumbled into dizziness. Although she couldn’t speak the truth, the Lord brought it into the light. She might—she might be able to stay.

  Vera raised a slight shrug and smile. “We didn’t mean anything. It was just a little prank.”

  “A little prank?” Lieutenant Lambert thumped her hand on the desk and made it rattle. “You connived, you framed her, you lied, you gossiped, and you almost got her sent home. That is not a little prank.”

  Mellie’s breath came faster, in joyful little hops. She could remain a flight nurse and travel and support herself no matter what the future held. She could nurture friendships with Georgie and Rose and Kay. And she might occasionally savor Tom’s company.

  Alice pressed her fist over her mouth and whimpered. Vera stared at the ground in front of her, eyes round and eyebrows drawn together. They would be reprimanded. They would be replaced.

  A wave of compassion swelled in Mellie’s heart, but she wouldn’t let the wave break. Didn’t Micah 6:8 say, “What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God”? They had failed in all three.

  But Mellie’s mind snagged on the word mercy.

  Lieutenant Lambert stood, crossed her arms, and turned to the back of the tent. “I can’t begin to tell you how angry and disappointed I am. And humiliated. You used me like a pawn on your little chessboard, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  Tears flowed down Alice’s blotchy, twitching cheeks.

  “I had high hopes for the two of you.” Lambert tilted up her head and sighed. “Your experience and poise made you naturals. But you treated your fellow nurse worse than you’d treat the enemy.”

  Vera leaned over her knees, her back rising and falling quickly. Her black hair hung like curtains beside her head and swung in rhythm with her hyperventilation.

  Another wave of compassion threatened Mellie, and she shifted her gaze to the chief nurse.

  Lieutenant Lambert’s eyes glistened. “I’ve discussed the situation with Major Guilford. Sylvia should improve soon. I’ll keep her here and Mellie too. Vera and Alice will return stateside.”

  Vera expelled a long, soft moan. “My dad. My dad will kill me.”

  Something twisted inside Mellie. She knew nothing about them beyond the superficialities. Had she ever reached out to them? Deep inside, they had dreams and fears.

  “For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?” She hugged her pocketbook to her stomach. Mercy meant more than compassion for the sick or forgiving friends who hurt you. Mercy meant loving your enemies.

  A strange stirring wound through Mellie’s soul. Mercy meant sacrificing your dreams for the sake of others. For the sake of flight nursing. For the sake of Georgie and Rose and Kay.

  For the sake of Vera and Alice.

  “Lord, help me,” she whispered. The stirring worked through her legs and propelled her to her feet. “Ma’am, please give them a second chance. Let them stay. Send me home instead.”

  “Excuse me?” the chief said.

  Alice gaped at her. Vera raised her head and peered around the wall of dark hair.

  Mellie’s eyes moistened, but she held her chin high. “Give them a second chance, ma’am. You’ve given me second, third, fourth chances. They deserve the same. They’re excellent flight nurses, competent and caring and professional.”

  Lambert cocked her head to the side, and furrows raced up her forehead. “That doesn’t change the fact—”

  “The fact? The fact is, I don’t belong in this squadron. You gave me so many chances, but I still don’t belong. Vera and Alice get along with everyone but me. If I leave this squadron, your problems will be solved. No more squabbling and gossip and nastiness.”

  “It’s not that simple. I can’t trust them.”

  Mellie gazed down at the two stunned nurses through watery vision. “You won’t have problems with them anymore. They’re smart enough to learn their lessons. Give them another chance.”

  Vera shoved back her hair. “Why . . . why would you . . . ?”

  “Because I’m odd.” Mellie raised one eyebrow, but that loosened a teardrop to slither down her cheek.

  “This isn’t your decision to make.” Lambert sat at her desk.

  Mellie stepped closer. “It should be. Please show them mercy. They didn’t do anything illegal. Make them dig latrines or something, but don’t make them leave. Send me. I’ve used up my second chances.”

  Lambert’s gaze wavered.

  Mellie pounced on the opportunity. “Please, ma’am. Send me. It’s best for the squadron, best for the future of flight nursing. Send me to Bowman maybe. I could help with training. A teach
er doesn’t have to be popular. She just has to be good.”

  The chief pursed her mouth and studied Mellie. She nodded.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Mellie spun away and fled the tent.

  The Sicilian sun blazed down and evaporated her tears, leaving prickly tracks on her cheeks. Her dreams, her friendships, everything she’d worked for over the past year—gone.

  Her chest collapsed from the weight of it. If she’d done the right thing, why did she feel so miserable?

  41

  Boccadifalco Airfield

  Palermo, Sicily

  August 2, 1943

  The C-47 banked, and Tom looked out the window to Boccadifalco Airfield. A good solid runway, originally used by the Italian Air Force, and for the past three days by the United States.

  His uniform felt strange after two weeks in pajamas, but his arm felt better. Sore, weak, but ready to work.

  The plane leveled off for landing. The Mediterranean sparkled greenish blue to the north. Palermo was General Patton’s prize, a key port on Sicily’s north shore to funnel in supplies. The Seventh Army surged east toward Messina on the northeastern tip of Sicily, where the busy port cringed, waiting for the kick from Italy’s boot.

  The ground neared, and Tom gripped the canvas edge of his seat. All those months working on airfields, but he’d only flown twice. Fever and morphine wiped out all memory of his first flight except Mellie’s sweet voice singing over him.

  Tom puffed out a breath, and the plane bumped as if to punish him for his unfaithful thoughts. The ride got rougher, and he glanced out the window. “Hey, we landed.”

  The crates behind him didn’t respond.

  The plane taxied for a minute, swung to the side, and stopped. The two engines built to a loud roar then died.

  Clint Peters opened the door in the front of the cabin, a leather map case slung over his shoulder. “How was your flight on Cooper Air?”

  “Sure beats how I arrived in Sicily last time—in a landing craft under artillery barrage.”

  “High compliment. I’ll pass that on to Coop.”

  “Speaking of the man, I need to talk to him.” He needed a courier who was motivated to find Kay Jobson, and Peters had eyes only for his Rose.

  Clint pointed with his thumb toward the cockpit. “Head on in.”

  “Thanks.” He passed through a door into the navigator’s compartment and opened the door to the cockpit. He’d never asked Roger to help before, but his C-47 came alone, and Tom needed this letter to go out today.

  In the cockpit, Roger Cooper and Bill Shelby turned dials and flipped switches.

  “Hey, Coop. Hey, Shell.”

  “Hiya, Gill.” Roger slipped off his headphones from over his pilot’s crush cap. “How was the flight?”

  “Swell. I was conscious this time.”

  A smile cracked Roger’s square face. “If you’d asked, I could have knocked you out.”

  “Excuse me, boys.” Shelby squeezed past Tom. “Gotta find a bush.”

  Roger pulled off his cap and ran his hand through his dark red hair. “Go ahead, peanut bladder.”

  “Better than a peanut brain.”

  “Too bad you got both.”

  Tom grinned, but he didn’t know them well enough to join the fun. “Say, Coop, can I ask a favor?”

  “Sure. What do you want?”

  Tom pulled out the envelope holding his hopes and dreams. “I need a letter delivered to Kay Jobson.”

  Roger stared at the envelope, then gave Tom an incredulous look. “Should have called you the peanut brain. How’d you get mixed up with a dame like her?”

  “It’s not really for her. She’s the go-between, knows the girl I’m writing to.”

  “Leave Kay out of this. Who’s it for? I’ll give it to her.”

  Tom raised half a smile. “Don’t know her name. We’re anonymous pen pals.”

  “Anonymous? Like in The Shop Around the Corner?”

  “That’s how this whole thing started. So, could you give this to Kay?”

  Roger loosened his tie and got up from his seat. “I keep my distance. That girl’s bad news. Can you mail it to her?”

  “Yeah, but it takes so long.” Tom followed the pilot out of the cockpit, his throat constricting. He needed this done now. “How about Mellie Blake? Do you know her?”

  Roger turned and pointed a finger at Tom. “Now, there’s a nice girl.”

  Relief turned up the corners of Tom’s mouth. “Yeah. Could you give it to her? She could give it to Kay.”

  “Sure.” He opened his hand. “Agrigento’s one of our prime stops.”

  “Thanks. Have her tell Kay I’ll be at Termini Airfield.” Tom held out the letter, and Coop plucked it from his fingers. Part of him wanted to grab it back and keep things the way they were, but the other part of him—the new, strong part—released it. Even if it devastated Annie and ended their friendship, he had to do this.

  “Termini. All right.” Roger ambled down the valley of crates in the cabin and tapped the envelope into his palm. “Complicated way of doing things.”

  “It’s going to change.” One way or the other, everything would change.

  Termini Airfield

  Sicily

  Tom climbed out of the back of the two-and-a-half-ton truck and stretched his limbs. Thirty miles over winding coastal roads pocked by bomb craters took a lot out of a man.

  Three other passengers hopped down after him, while a crew from the airfield approached to unload the cargo.

  In the late afternoon sun, Tom took the lay of the land. A good, flat field overlooked the Tyrrhenian Sea to the north, the town of Termini Imerese lay to the east, and farther east a mountain stood sentinel. Olive trees and prickly pear cactus dotted rugged hills to the south.

  All he wanted was to find Larry and Sesame, but first he had to report to Newman. He headed into the city of tents beside the runway, following signs written on scrap wood and stuck into the ground.

  “Go find Mossy. Good boy. Find Mossy.”

  Tom turned to the side. That was Larry. And Sesame trotted in his direction.

  “Sesame! Hey, boy!”

  The dog stopped and cocked his head.

  Tom squatted and spread his arms wide. “It’s me, boy.”

  Sesame chortled and ran to Tom, his legs skittering in all directions. He leaped into Tom’s arms and knocked him on his rear end.

  Tom laughed. “Hey, boy. Calm down.”

  Sesame’s nose and tongue competed with each other, sniffing and licking.

  “I know I smell funny, but so do you.” Tom burrowed his nose in his dog’s short, smooth fur and grinned at the familiarity.

  “Well, look who’s back.” Larry stood over him. He was smiling.

  Tom struggled to his feet as twenty pounds of squirming canine flesh threw off his balance. “Hi, Larry. Thanks for taking care of Sesame. He looks great.”

  “He’s a swell dog.” His expression grew serious. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Me too. Say, thanks for that letter you sent. You don’t know how much I needed it.” Tom’s voice deepened too much, so he coughed to cover up.

  “It needed to be said.” He raised a sharp salute. “I appreciate what you did that day.”

  Tom’s throat thickened. Larry’s respect meant more than anyone else’s. Did he dare hope for friendship again? He shifted Sesame to one side and extended his hand. “Thanks.”

  Larry studied his hand, then grasped it, shook it heartily, and gave Tom a grin he’d missed.

  “About time you showed up, Gill.” Captain Newman’s voice sounded behind him.

  “Sorry, sir.” Tom turned and saluted. “My limousine driver called in sick.”

  Newman smiled. “I’ll walk you to your tent, get you up to speed. Fong, you’re dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir. Excuse me a second.” Larry unsnapped a pouch on Sesame’s belt. “Better deliver this message to Mossy in person. Sesame’s done for the day.”

&
nbsp; “I’ll say.” Tom hugged the dog tighter. He did not want to let go.

  Newman walked at a fast clip down a tent-lined path. “Here’s the situation. Got here a week ago, laid down square mesh track, rolled PBS over it.”

  “Good.” Prefabricated Bituminous Surfacing, jute impregnated with asphalt, came in large rolls, easy to lay, easy to repair, and easy to pack up when the front moved forward.

  “One squadron of the 31st Fighter Group relocated here yesterday, their HQ joined us today. We need to expand the field, get installations in place.”

  Tom’s blood ran faster. Newman wouldn’t brief him if he planned to send him stateside. “I’m ready to work, sir.”

  Newman gave him a cautious look. “I’ll keep things the way they were. Quincy gets the men working, you can handle the paperwork, and I can still use your expertise.”

  “Sir, I’d like—”

  “I switched sergeants around again. Fong will return as your platoon sergeant—special request—Moskovitz will get his squad back, and Giannini will fill Fong’s spot with Reed.”

  All good news, but Tom wanted more. “Sir, I’d like my platoon back.”

  Three men from Ferris’s squad approached.

  “Hey, the Killiver’s back!” Conrad Davis shouted.

  “Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!” Bernie Fitzgerald slapped Davis on the shoulder. “That’s our man.”

  Bill Rinaldi stepped forward, a gleam in his eye. “Say, Gill, I gotta get a picture with you. My old man won’t believe I know such a hotshot.”

  Tom’s heart spiraled down into his stomach.

  “Later, boys.” Newman guided Tom past. “You see what it’s like, Gill? Reporters swarm all over this place. The men think you’re some sort of murderous superhero. You’ll distract them from their work. You can’t get your platoon back. Got to wait for this to blow over. If it ever does.”

  “Yes, sir.” Heat expanded his chest. If any other man had done what Tom did at Ponte Olivo, things would already have blown over. But they didn’t bear the MacGilliver name.

  42

  Over Sicily

  August 5, 1943

  The headlines of the Stars and Stripes blurred to gray in Mellie’s eyes. How could they print such things about Tom? They made him sound like an unfeeling killing machine rather than the kind soul she knew so well.