With Every Letter: A Novel

by Sarah Sundin

  “Gill, I need to speak to you.” Captain Newman stood at the side of the runway with a stern look on his face.

  Tom frowned. What had he done now? Things had improved. He walked over to his CO. “Yes, sir?”

  From the nose down, Newman looked fierce, but humor played around his brown eyes. “I told you I wouldn’t deliver any more letters.”

  Tom searched his commander’s face, the odd mix of humor and ferocity. His mind turned to mush. “Letters?”

  Newman pulled an envelope from behind his back.

  The stark white jolted Tom’s heart. “A letter?”

  “She addressed this to me. There’s an envelope for you, but most of it’s for me, instructions, requests. Does she know I outrank her?” Newman lifted one eyebrow but failed to look imposing.

  “Requests?” Tom eyed the breathtaking white. What had she written? A kind excuse why she wouldn’t reveal her identity? Or did she sign her name and send her picture?

  “I’ve had it for a few days.”

  Tom’s gaze jerked up to his commander. “A few days?” Did Newman know how he’d suffered the last few days?

  “Her idea. She told me to give you the letter the day we secured Sicily. We just got a telegram. Patton entered Messina at 1000—beat the Brits to the prize. It’s over. Sicily’s secure.”

  “Great news.” Tom held out his hand for the letter. His fingers twitched.

  “Your little nurse pleaded for you to have a forty-eight-hour pass, arranged a plane ride for you. What could I say? You’ve got a pass, starting tomorrow at 0800. Use it well.”

  A pass? A plane ride? That could only mean one thing.

  “She wants to meet me?” Tom’s breath came out in little bursts. He grabbed the letter, ripped it open, and broke out in laughter. “She wants to meet me!”

  August 18, 1943

  Tom wiggled his nose under the blindfold. About fifteen minutes before, Clint Peters had come back to the C-47 cabin and tied a bandanna around Tom’s head. Tight.

  His hands slapped out a nervous beat on his thighs. Smooth khaki cotton greeted his fingers rather than the herringbone twills he’d lived in for almost a year. Deep in the recesses of his barracks bag, he’d located his khaki dress shirt and trousers, and his olive drab service coat and garrison cap. Rinaldi, a barber in the real world, gave him a good cut and shave.

  In a few minutes he’d meet his Annie.

  With the stupid blindfold, Tom couldn’t see his destination, and he couldn’t read Annie’s letter for the hundredth time. She’d meet him at the plane, wearing a civilian dress, welcome him, and invite him to a party. That’s how he’d know who she was.

  She hadn’t written what would happen next, but Tom knew. He’d take her in his arms and kiss her long and hard.

  Or would he? Something hitched in his gut. What if she’d only invited him here to let him down face-to-face, the honorable way? Or what if her fears were founded, and they didn’t share a mutual attraction? Was it enough to love her heart and soul?

  Her letter warned him strongly. She worried that he’d built an unrealistic image in his mind and she’d disappoint him.

  “She’s unattractive,” he said. “Not pretty. Not at all.”

  He contorted his mental image of her, changed dark hair and eyes to pale, padded her figure, stretched her a foot taller than him, gave her black teeth and a hunchback and warts on her nose.

  He groaned. A useless exercise. He wouldn’t know until he saw her.

  The plane wheels bumped onto the runway, and Tom’s heart thumped along in rhythm. In just a minute. Just a minute.

  In the blindfold’s blackness, Tom squeezed his eyes shut even harder. “Lord, if it’s your will for us to be together, let us see each other with your eyes. If it isn’t your will, show us now.”

  The plane shuddered still. The engines whined, then sputtered to a stop.

  Tom ran his sweaty hands up and down his thighs. Clint gave him strict orders not to move until told. Annie went through a lot of work, and Tom wanted to follow her plan. His insides warmed. She planned this out of love for him.

  And out of caution.

  The door to the navigator’s room opened. “You ready?” Clint asked.

  “Absolutely. When can I take this thing off?”

  “When I tell you. Come on, let’s go. I’ve got your bag.”

  “Thanks.” Tom had packed his half-shelter and bedroll, a change of clothes, his toiletry kit, and his swim trunks, at Annie’s intriguing request.

  Clint guided Tom down the aisle and opened the cargo door. Fresh hot air replaced the stuffy heat of the plane, and sunshine lit Tom’s eyelids.

  Clint laughed. “Wow. Wait till you see.”

  “Can I take this thing off yet?” Tom strained against the blindness. The woman he loved stood below him, and his pulse galloped out of control. “I want to see her.”

  “Just you wait.” He chuckled and untied the bandanna.

  Tom stretched his eyes open and blinked away the blur. A riot of colors lay below him like a garden. He blinked again. A garden of women?

  About two dozen ladies stood by the cargo door, each wearing a civilian dress. Reds and pinks and yellows and whites and blues and greens.

  Why were there so many women? Which was Annie?

  Tom scanned the smiling faces. Some he recognized but most he didn’t. “Annie?”

  His gaze landed on Mellie Blake.

  Everything spun within him, as his two conflicting desires collided one last time and merged into one bright hope. Could Mellie be Annie?

  At that moment, Mellie was the only woman there. Her dark eyes rounded, and she held one hand over her heart as if pledging allegiance. She wore a dress as blue as the Mediterranean.

  Tom searched her face, her expression, willed to see under that hand and straight to her heart. Hope rose from his chest and curved up his mouth. “Oh, please,” he whispered.

  Mellie’s eyebrows sprang high.

  What if she wasn’t Annie? What if the real Annie watched his connection with Mellie, her heart breaking?

  Tom jerked his gaze away, spread his hands wide, and smiled at the crowd. “Is anyone going to explain?”

  Clint motioned outside with his thumb. “Out of my plane, Gill.”

  Tom hopped to the ground, into the bewildering garden.

  Kay Jobson sauntered over in a green dress. “Welcome to Termini. We’re having a party tonight. You’ll come, won’t you?”

  The welcome. The invitation. That was his clue, and his face sagged. Kay Jobson was definitely attractive, but definitely not what he wanted in a woman. How could she be Annie?

  But what if she was? What if a sweet soul resided under the brass? Should she be punished for her reputation? He wrestled up a smile. “Nice to meet you, Annie.”

  She laughed. “Honey, last thing I need is another man.”

  Another nurse stepped forward, a tall woman in a pink-flowered Hawaiian dress. She had frizzy blonde hair and buckteeth in a big grin. “Hiya, ducky. Welcome to Termini. Coming to the party, right?”

  Tom smiled with genuine warmth. Her loud dress and greeting didn’t mesh with what he knew of Annie, but her looks did. “It’s an honor to meet you, Annie.”

  She guffawed and then fluffed her hair. “I got the curls, ducky, but Little Orphan Annie’s got red hair. What do you think? Should I go red?”

  Tom stared at her in confusion. What on earth was going on?

  Rose Danilovich stepped forward. “I’m glad you’re here. You’re cordially invited to a beach party tonight.”

  Tom’s gaze darted up to Clint. Rose was Clint’s girl. She couldn’t be Annie.

  “Welcome to Termini.” A curly-haired brunette grasped his arm. “I’m so excited you came.”

  A bombshell of a blonde patted his shoulder. “Hey, you’re kind of cute. Want to be my date tonight?”

  “Welcome to Termini.”

  “Please come to the party.”

  “You
don’t want to miss it. We have a band and everything.”

  Tom turned around slowly, buffeted by welcomes and invitations. One thing was certain. Annie had a sense of humor, and somewhere in this crowd she was enjoying herself. He broke out in laughter. “All right, Annie. Which one are you? Come on. Joke’s over.”

  Mellie’s presence drew him, turned him to her. She was the only one who hadn’t welcomed him. Hadn’t invited him. But she was too beautiful to be Annie.

  She stood apart from the crowd, wide-eyed, chewing those lush lips of hers. The same expression she wore when Quincy asked if Tom wanted to dance with her. Part fear, part . . . longing.

  Hope ballooned inside, and understanding flooded his mind. He tried to step closer to her, but the other women stood in his way, chatting and welcoming and inviting.

  Tom fixed his gaze on her, full of his own fear and longing. “Is it you?”

  Her head moved. Was it a nod? A shake of the head?

  Her chin dipped, and she pointed to her heart.

  Something on her dress glinted in the sun. A pin set with stones of blue and turquoise and gold and green, as exotic and unusual and beautiful as the woman he loved.

  “My Annie.” His voice came out thick and husky. “My Mellie.”

  She sucked in a loud breath, and her chest heaved as if she were going to cry. Just like a woman. His woman.

  Tom whooped for joy, silencing the crowd. “It’s you. Thank God, it’s you!”

  She stepped back, her eyes bigger than ever.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Tom grinned at the women around him. “Let me through. I’ve got some hugging and kissing to do.”

  “Not yet, buster.” The frizzy-haired blonde blocked his way. “We’ve got our orders. She gets a head start.”

  “A head start?” Tom peeked around the blonde.

  Mellie mounted a bicycle and pedaled away.

  “What? Mellie! Where are you going?” Tom called. “You can’t get away from me that easily.”

  “She’ll let you catch her,” Rose said. “But she needs a head start. Trust her on this.”

  Okay, he’d let her have her way. Tom lifted his head. “Listen to me, Annie-Mellie Blake,” he shouted. “Get your head start. But I’ll catch you, and when I do, I’ll kiss the breath out of you. I love you. You hear me? I love you.”

  47

  Mellie heard him, all right. Now she had to coordinate her heart and mind with her ears.

  She pedaled hard down the road that led behind the airfield’s tent complex, her breath choppy. He wasn’t disappointed. He was thrilled. Oh goodness, he was thrilled.

  “He loves me,” she whispered. “He loves me.”

  Everything went according to plan until the last minute. He looked so cute when Clint led him blindfolded to the door, his big hands groping at the air. Then his adorable confusion when he saw the women. Instead of being enticed by the beauties, he’d met Mellie’s gaze and locked on to her. In fact, his reactions to Kay and Goosie and the others proved looks didn’t matter to him. She loved him even more.

  But when she showed him the brooch, her plan disintegrated.

  She expected a strained, polite smile. She planned to lead him away to the private spot she’d chosen to talk things through over a picnic lunch.

  She hadn’t expected his joyful reaction, his proclamation of love as if . . .

  As if she were the one he wanted all along.

  “Oh goodness.” Her chin quivered. She tightened her jaw muscles and pulled in a deep breath to keep from crying.

  Mellie passed the last tent and set off through the olive grove on the new road Tom’s battalion had built.

  Bicycle chains clinked behind her. “Hey there, young lady,” Tom shouted. “I need an explanation.”

  Looking back, Mellie ventured a mysterious smile. “Do you?”

  He stood on the pedals to get more speed, and that marvelous grin lit his face. “You had me convinced you weren’t pretty.”

  “I . . .” She faced front so she wouldn’t crash into an olive tree. Kay was right. Self-pity was less attractive than a monkey mouth.

  “You’re beautiful. Beautiful. You’re like . . . I don’t know. Give me the name of an exotic flower.”

  “An exotic flower?” She frowned. What was he talking about? “Like an orchid?”

  “Yeah.” His grin widened. “You’re like an orchid. The other girls are everyday flowers like daisies and roses, but you’re an orchid. My orchid.”

  Papa called her his orchid too. Mellie’s vision blinked in and out in the dappled light through the grove, and her thoughts joined the rhythm. He thought she was beautiful? But he’d rejected her, over and over.

  “All this time it was you.” His voice grew nearer. “I wasn’t a heel after all.”

  “A heel?”

  “Yeah. I loved Annie, but I couldn’t get Mellie out of my mind. I thought I was falling for two women at once. About drove me crazy.”

  “You did? You were?” She turned onto the road into town and glanced at him. He gave her an exaggerated pout. She’d never even considered that. Why, that must have been difficult for him. “Oh, you poor thing.”

  He cut the corner, fell in beside her, and shot her a wink. “You can make it up to me with a kiss.”

  A laugh bubbled out, but she shook her head, both to deny him and in amazement. “I don’t understand. You were falling for me? But you . . . I’m confused.”

  “Finally, your turn to be confused.”

  She drew a deep breath and navigated a slight curve in the road bordered by low whitewashed walls. How could she get things clarified without sounding pitiful? “All right. If you were falling for me, why didn’t you want to dance with me?”

  “Simple. I loved Annie. I knew if I held Mellie in my arms, I’d fall harder for her . . . you. I didn’t want to jeopardize what I had with Annie.”

  So honor restrained him? Not repulsion? She turned to him, but the soft intensity in his eyes threw her. The bike wobbled. She gripped the handlebars tighter. Maybe having this conversation on the road wasn’t a wise idea.

  “I was right,” he said. “Dancing with you was dangerous. I almost kissed you.”

  “You did?” She cut her gaze to him, then back to the road. So she hadn’t imagined the romance of that moment. “But you—”

  “I was in trouble. I avoided you, but everywhere I went—bam! There you were. Each time, I grew more and more attracted to you. But I loved Annie. All this time, the same woman. Now I see. Now it makes perfect sense.”

  Over the hill before her, waves crashed to the shore, and in her mind, thoughts crashed into each other. He really had avoided her, but for the opposite reason she imagined. Never before had she been so glad to be wrong. “Oh, Tom. I can’t believe this. It’s all so . . . wonderful.” But no word could convey her full wonder.

  “Wouldn’t this be easier if we stopped?”

  She shook her head, got hair in her eyes, and brushed it back. The bike zigzagged, and she gripped the handlebars. “You’ll understand when we get there.”

  He gave her a mischievous grin. “What’s to stop me from veering in front of you and making you stop so I can kiss you?”

  The reality of his love seeped further inside and tugged up a smile. “What if one of us got injured and spent the rest of your leave in the hospital? That should stop you.”

  He grumbled and eased to the left around a hairpin turn. “Bossy woman.”

  “You already knew that.”

  “And I love you for it.”

  His voice rumbled through her, but a sharp turn to the right kept her from observing his expression.

  “How long have you known?” he asked in a quieter voice. “When did you figure out I was Ernest?”

  “The day we met.” She took advantage of a straight leg of road to send him a soft smile. “When you told me you were an engineer in the 908th and wanted to build bridges, I suspected. Your personality fed my suspicions. Then your friend mentio
ned Sesame and I knew.”

  He fell silent as they made another tight turn. Too silent. His brows drew together, and his lips tucked in.

  Had she said something wrong? “Tom?”

  “When you told me you loved me, you already knew who I was. You knew my name.”

  Understanding and relief washed through her, followed by a wave of compassion. She guided her bike around the last turn. “Yes, darling. I’ve loved you—all of you—for months.”

  He raised his eyes to hers. In them, she saw a reflection of the devastated little boy she’d prayed for, but only a reflection, overpowered by the light of the man he now was. And the strength of him stole her breath.

  Tom braked and planted his feet on the ground, his gaze intense. “We’re stopping now.”

  Mellie laughed and pointed to a quaint medieval bridge. “But darling, we’re here. Look.”

  The bridge won Tom’s attention. His eyes brightened, his lips parted, and he pedaled forward.

  An abandoned stone bridge stood to the side of the road, not connected to it. Rather the road went on a hundred feet farther and intersected a larger road with a boring modern vehicular bridge. A dry creek bed ran under both structures, old and new.

  Tom drew even with Mellie, gave her a quick smile, and rode to the far side of the medieval bridge. Ahead of them lay the town of Termini Imerese with Monte San Calogero rising beyond.

  “Wow. Look.” Tom swung off his bike and walked it down the incline to the streambed. “A pointed arch bridge.”

  “I knew you’d like it.” The top of the bridge formed a sharp angle, but a rounded arch carved out the hollow space. Mellie maneuvered her bike down the slope also.

  Tom pulled off his garrison cap and service jacket and dropped both on top of his bike. With his gaze on the structure, he reached one hand to Mellie as if they always held hands.

  Overwhelmed by the moment, she hesitated, then set her hand in his, and his rough, callused fingers closed over hers and connected them.

  He walked forward. “Interesting what they did with the approaches.” He pointed to two ramps that paralleled the streambed and made the bridge look like a giant stone armchair.