by Sarah Sundin
“Heavens to Betsy!” Bergie said in a falsetto, inspecting his fingernails. “I just had them done.”
Hutch let out a laugh. He gathered a fistful of short pins and handed them to Bergie. “Set one on the ground by each wall loop.”
“Just like Boy Scouts.”
Pitching a tent alongside his best friend did bring back scouting memories, mostly of extra KP duty as punishment for Bergie’s pranks.
Hutch took a long tent pin and measured off four and a half pin lengths from the wall. Paskun laid alignment ropes between Hutch’s pin and Dom’s at the next corner to mark the placement of the guy ropes.
“How’s Phyllis?”
“Fine.” Hutch pointed to a short tent pin and picked up the ax. “Point it straight down. I’ll drive it in. We hook over the wall loops later.”
“Payback time, huh? Watch out for my precious surgeon’s fingers.”
“It’d be a shame if the ax slipped in the rain.” He pounded the stake into the ground with the butt of the ax.
Bergie set another in position. “Does Phyllis miss her Hutchy-poo?”
Thank goodness she never called him that. “Too much.”
“No such thing, buddy.”
Hutch shook his head and hammered away. Letters from home were supposed to raise your morale, not your blood pressure. How many stateside women were in the same position as Phyllis, with loved ones overseas? The vast majority bucked up and made do. If only Phyllis would do likewise. If only his words reassured her.
Maybe a hand-delivered package from Georgie would help.
But his stomach twisted. Phyllis had always been the jealous sort. What would she think when a female friend of Hutch’s showed up at her apartment door? A cute female friend.
Hutch drove in the last pin on his side. Why worry? Georgie had a way about her, friendly and disarming and engaging. By the end of the visit, those two would be fast friends, and Phyllis would be convinced of Hutch’s love.
Phyllis needed someone like Georgie in her life.
A parallel thought made him scrunch his eyes shut. No, he did not need someone like Georgie. He needed Phyllis. His fiancée. The beautiful willowy blonde who wore his ring and pined for him, because she loved him so much she couldn’t imagine life without him.
“What’s next?” Bergie gave him a strange look.
“Long pins, right outside the alignment ropes, angled at thirty degrees toward the tent.” Hutch stepped behind the rope. “Speaking of women, how are things with your nurse?”
“Lillian’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Sweet and gentle and thoughtful. She’s the one.”
“She seems like a great girl.” Hutch hammered in a tent pin. He knew to stay out of Bergie’s love life. His pal specialized in the three-month romance, and he’d been dating Lillian Farley since he carried her to shore in Sicily. Heading on three months. Poor Lillian.
Bergie swiped rain off his face. “Remember how you always said the day would come when some gal would break through and make me think of forever? Lillian’s the one.”
Hutch paused to gaze into Bergie’s blue eyes. Serious for once. “We’ll talk in November.”
He cuffed him in the arm. “I’ll show you, and I’m looking forward to it.”
“Come on. Let’s finish before Kaz gets back and I’m in trouble.”
“Nonsense. I’d be the one in trouble, but I outrank him. Ha! The man’s blinded by the blazing glare of my rank.”
“Just hold the pin.”
He did so. “Giving me orders, Sarge?”
Hutch’s mouth tightened, and he pounded the stake deep into the ground.
“Relax. You’ll be an officer soon.”
“Dad’s not so sure.”
“Why not? He thinks you’re the hero of your profession.”
More pounding. “Got a letter this morning, right before we left Paestum. More details on the Pharmacy Corps. Turns out Congress only authorized seventy-two officers.”
“Seventy-two? That wouldn’t staff a fraction of Army hospitals.”
“I know.” Hutch wiped his hands on his trousers, but they were just as wet as his hands. “They appeased us, offered a lollipop when we need steak and potatoes.”
“What are you going to do?”
Hutch stood and looked down at his friend. “I’m going to be one of the seventy-two.”
A grin. “If anyone will, you will.”
He stretched the guy ropes toward the long pins and showed Bergie how to loop them over the second notch. A sour feeling ached in his stomach. Dad said it might be harder to get in the Corps since he was overseas. But he’d fight. The Corps was the whole reason he went overseas in the first place.
Hutch inserted the front tent pole through the ring in the roof—still flat on the ground.
“Now’s the fun part.” He lifted the tent entrance, ducked under the damp canvas, and led Bergie to the number one pole. “Okay, Berg. You hold the bottom part in place. I raise it.”
Hutch tilted the pole up about four feet and gained relief from the weight of canvas on his back. Flecks of mud and grass drifted down around him. The rest of the men came inside and partially raised the other three poles. Now they’d wait for Paskun to check the hoods and guy wires at the top of the poles.
“Say, Hutch, I always wondered why you chose pharmacy.”
“Why?” He glanced down to his friend through the dim khaki-colored light. “Don’t you know? Saw what Dad did. Loved it. Wanted to do it too.”
Bergie put on his pensive face. “Sure. But I’m surprised you didn’t go to med school with me. You got me through college, helped me with math, chem, bio.”
Hutch shrugged. “You’re smart enough. You just needed discipline.”
“That’s what I mean. You’re smarter than I am.”
“Don’t ever forget it.”
“All right, men,” Paskun called from outside. “Looks good. Are you ready?”
“Number one ready,” Hutch called.
“Number two ready.”
“Number three ready.”
“Number four ready.”
“Raise!” Paskun shouted.
As one, the four teams hefted their poles to the vertical. Canvas snapped and more grass rained down.
“Bergie, take my spot. Hold the pole.” After he did so, Hutch headed outside and tightened the corner guy ropes to hold the poles steady. Meanwhile, Paskun made sure the four central poles were aligned.
Bergie came out of the tent, brushing grass from his field jacket. “What’s next?”
“Pull the wall loops over the pins. I’ll tighten the guy ropes.” Hutch tugged the first one taut.
Bergie anchored a wall loop and glanced over his shoulder at Hutch. He still wore his pensive face. “I just never understood it. You’re smart enough to be a doctor.”
Hutch’s blood went chilly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that. You could have been a physician.”
He took a couple of deep breaths, but the chill remained. “Why would anyone want to be a pharmacist when he could be a physician?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Exactly what you said.”
Bergie snorted. “I just meant that in retrospect, it seems a shame. If you’d chosen medicine, now you’d have the commission you want so badly.”
Hutch tugged a rope too tight. “But if I had, I’d have to associate with arrogant jerks who think they’re better than everyone else because they have two extra letters after their names.”
“Are you calling me an arrogant jerk?” Fire crackled in Bergie’s voice.
“Not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said.”
Hutch faced his friend and raised one corner of his mouth.
Bergie rolled his eyes to the leaden sky. “All right. I maligned your profession, and you maligned mine. Are we even now?”
“Even.” He offered his hand. “Don’t do it again.”
“Same to you.” Bergie slapped his cold wet hand into Hutch’s cold wet hand.
In the distance, truck engines rumbled. The crowd of locals backed off the road.
Bergie cocked his head. “Ambulances coming. I’d better get to Receiving.”
“I can handle the rest. We’re almost done here. Go save lives.”
Bergie trotted away and tipped Hutch a salute. “You too.”
Hutch erected a pole to hold up the front corner of the tent, while the sourness in his stomach turned to burning pain.
The truce didn’t erase the truth. Deep inside, Bergie didn’t respect his work.
19
Manhattan
October 4, 1943
Apartment 315. Georgie lifted the door knocker and paused.
Hutch said Phyllis worked the swing shift, so Georgie came in the morning to make sure the woman was home. She needed to meet her.
After a quick prayer, she rapped the door knocker and stepped back and gazed at Hutch’s neat square handwriting on the package. This would be her last connection to him. She’d memorized his Army Post Office number without wanting to, but she would never write him.
The door swung open. A tall brunette in a red suit looked Georgie up and down. “Yeah?”
The girl needed a demonstration of good Southern manners. Georgie set her most charming smile in place. “Good morning. Is Phyllis home?”
“Phyllis? She hasn’t lived here in over a year.”
Georgie frowned. How could Hutch be using a year-old address?
“That for her?” The brunette tapped the brown paper. “She comes by every day to pick up mail. She moved up to the fifth floor when she got married.”
“Married? I must have the wrong address, the wrong Phyllis.” She glanced down the hallway. “I was afraid I’d get lost in this big ol’ city, and I guess I did.”
The girl peered at the package. “Nah, that’s right. Phyllis Chilton. Well, it’s Phyllis Richards now.”
Georgie stared, her mouth drifting open, her face tingling. That couldn’t be. How could she be married? She was engaged to Hutch. To poor . . . poor Hutch.
“What’s the matter?” The brunette squinted at the writing again, then up to Georgie with understanding in her brown eyes. “It’s from him. He keeps writing, the poor sap. You know him?”
“We served together in Italy. He—he doesn’t know she’s married.”
“You all right, miss? You want to sit down? Have some coffee?”
Georgie managed a faint smile at the sign of manners. “No, thank you. How long ago did she get married?”
“Let’s see, June of last year.” She leaned against the doorjamb. “Ted was her supervisor at the shipyard, lives here in the building. They started dating about a month after your pal there shipped out. Edwina and I had it out with her. She said Ted made her laugh and forget her troubles. It sure didn’t take long for her to flip blonde head over high heels.”
Georgie traced Hutch’s handwriting on the package, her heart aching for him. “They’ve been married over a year?”
“Baby must be about four months old.”
“Baby?” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Poor Hutch.”
The brunette crossed her arms. “Edwina and I told her to tell the man, but she wouldn’t listen. She read some magazine article saying nothing’s more dangerous on the front lines than when a man gets a Dear John letter. She thinks it’s her patriotic duty to keep up morale.”
To keep up morale? Through lies? How could adding betrayal to heartbreak be good for Hutch’s morale?
The brunette motioned to the package. “Want me to take that? She’ll come by later.”
Tingles transformed to sparks. How dare the woman treat sweet, steady Hutch with such contempt? “You said she lives in the building. I’ll deliver it myself.”
“Apartment 534.” Her voice perked up. “Ooh, I wish I could watch.”
Georgie lifted her chin. “Dear Mrs. Ted Richards is about to get a dose of Southern charm at its most lethal.”
The brunette grinned. “I hope it’s more effective than New York brass.”
“Much more effective.” Georgie strode down the hallway. She took all her heartache for Hutch, her righteous indignation, and her outrage, and stirred them in her heart until they formed the gooiest, sweetest, deadliest syrup.
At Apartment 534, Georgie whacked the door knocker. She could still see Hutch sharing his photograph of Phyllis, the love and pride in his eyes.
Footsteps approached, and the door opened. “Yes?”
Tall like Hutch said. Pretty and blonde like in her photograph. A bit plumper in the face, and she’d cut her hair from shoulder-length to just below her chin.
Her last hope for a case of mistaken identity crumbled, but she bolstered her spirits and flung on a grin. “Phyllis, honey! Oh my goodness! It’s wonderful to see you.”
Alarm flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced with the polite stiff smile of someone who can’t remember the name of a friend.
Good. Georgie hugged her. “You look great. Motherhood suits you. And I love your hair shorter like that. Just darling.” She pulled back and fluffed Phyllis’s hair.
“It—it’s wonderful to see you too.” Her gaze skittered around Georgie’s face, desperate to recognize her.
She sashayed into the apartment, which was tastefully and simply decorated. “So where’s that little sweet baby of yours?”
“The baby? He—he’s napping.”
“Isn’t that a shame? Well, maybe he’ll awake by the time we finish catching up. Oh, we have so much to talk about, don’t we, honey?” Georgie settled into a sage-green sofa and set the package beside her. “Is Ted at work?”
“Uh, yes. He’s at work.” Phyllis lowered herself into an armchair, perched on the edge, and smoothed the skirt of her bottle-green shirtwaist dress. She coordinated nicely with her furniture, although her phony smile made the scene less picturesque.
“And you?” Georgie leaned forward and shone her most winsome smile. “Are you still working at the shipyard?”
“Not since—not since we got married.”
Another lie she’d told Hutch. “I’m so glad you can be a good wife and take care of your husband. It’s what you always wanted.”
“Yes.” Creases formed in her forehead, and she twisted her hands in her lap. “And look at you. A nurse. In the . . . Navy?”
If she hadn’t broken Hutch’s heart, Georgie would have felt sorry for her discomfort. “Army Air Forces. I’m a flight nurse.”
“Flight nurse? How exciting. I read an article about that. And you’ve always . . . well, I’m sure that’s exciting for you. I—I hadn’t heard.”
Georgie tilted her head. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.”
Phyllis’s upper lip twitched. “No, I hadn’t heard.”
“I’m sure you’re surprised.” Georgie crossed the room to the fireplace. “But can you imagine how surprised I am? After everything Hutch has said, and here I find you married with a little ol’ baby. Heavens!” She picked up a framed photograph of a light-haired young man. “Is this Ted? Oh, he’s handsome, isn’t he?”
“Hu—Hutch?”
“John Hutchinson.” Georgie cocked her head and smiled. “Remember him? Your fiancé?”
“You—you know John?”
She pressed her hand to her cheek. “Didn’t I mention that? Silly me. We served together in Sicily and Italy. He sent that package over there with his love.”
Phyllis’s face went ghostly white. “It’s not—”
“You know how much that boy talks about you?” Georgie flapped her hand. “He’s simply crazy about you. He talks about how much he loves you, how much he misses you, how he can’t wait to come home and marry you. Isn’t he in for a big ol’ surprise?”
“You—you don’t understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” Georgie planted her fists on her hips. “Sugar, I don’t know how y’all do things up he
re, but down South where I come from, bigamy is illegal.”
Twin spots of red bloomed on her cheeks. “I’ll tell him when he comes home.”
“Oh no. You’ll tell him now.”
Phyllis gasped. “I couldn’t. I can’t tell him in a letter. That would be tacky.”
“Tacky? Tackier than marrying one man when you’re engaged to another?”
“You don’t understand.” She stood and turned to the window, facing another apartment building. “I was so lonely when John shipped out, so sad and worried. And I was angry at him for not marrying me. Ted asked me out dancing to keep up my spirits, just as friends. We didn’t mean to fall in love. We just did.”
“And it simply slipped your mind to inform Hutch about your change of name, address, and marital status?”
Phyllis swiped away a tear and glared at Georgie over her shoulder. “I’m not completely heartless. I do care about him. That’s why I didn’t tell him.”
Georgie gazed over at the lamp. Ugly fringed thing. “You’re right. When I want to show my boyfriend I care, I lie to him.”
“Don’t you understand?” She wheeled around, a panicky look on her face. “Don’t you know how dangerous a Dear John letter is? I read an article that said soldiers are twice as likely to be wounded after they receive one. I couldn’t do that to him. And letters are the biggest factor in morale. Don’t you know that? John says my letters are the best part of his life. How could I take that away? The one thing that makes him happy? The Army’s stripped him of everything else that brings him joy.”
Georgie stared at the sincerity on the woman’s face. She honestly believed she’d done the right thing. She’d acted out of patriotism and concern.
But none of that excused her actions. Not only had she cheated on Hutch, but she’d lied to him for over a year, teasing him with the dream of one life while happily living another life.
Georgie raised a smile dripping with syrup. “Aren’t you patriotic, writing the boys overseas? Your hubby must be proud of you.”
Her gaze darted to the sofa. “I—he doesn’t know.”
“Hmm.” Georgie crossed her arms. “Well, sugar, you have yourself a decision to make. Today you’ll ’fess up to Hutch or ’fess up to hubby.”