On Distant Shores

by Sarah Sundin

  Mellie led Tom and Georgie away from the crowd to the center of the piazza. Long, ornate three-storied buildings anchored three sides of the piazza, but the west side featured a church with a low dome and a semicircle of colonnades reaching out in an embrace.

  Mellie turned serious dark eyes to Georgie. “Why haven’t you told your parents about Hutch?”

  Georgie rolled her purse strap in her fingers. “It’s so soon. I’m afraid they’ll think I broke up with Ward because of Hutch, which isn’t true and wouldn’t be fair to Hutch. It’ll be hard enough for my family to accept any man who isn’t Ward.”

  “You two were together a long time, weren’t you?” Tom asked in a low voice.

  “Nine years, and my parents have all but adopted him. And here comes poor, sweet Hutch with his Yankee accent. I want my family to adore Hutch, but I don’t know if they ever will. At this point, I just hope they’ll be civil.”

  Mellie looped her free arm through Georgie’s. “I can’t imagine your family being anything but civil. And it won’t take long for them to see how good he is for you. They’re reasonable people. They’ll come around.”

  “I hope so. I’ll tell them when he gets his commission. He’s taking his test for the Pharmacy Corps next month.” If he could figure out a way to get to Naples for the exam.

  “Then they won’t be upset with you for breaking the fraternization rules.”

  “That too.” Georgie shielded her eyes from the sun glinting off marble columns. “And it buys time. Hutch won’t hear back until February at the earliest, so my letter wouldn’t arrive until March. That’ll make over four months since I broke up with Ward.”

  “No, grazie,” Tom said to a shoe shine boy and lifted his well-shined shoe as proof. “What’s Hutch think of it?”

  “Hutch would get a shoe shine.”

  Tom laughed. “I meant about not telling your parents.”

  “I know. He agrees. He’s waiting to tell his family for similar reasons.”

  “Come along, folks,” Captain Maxwell said. “The ladies want to do some shopping.”

  Georgie certainly did. Maybe the perfect present would erase the melancholy she read in Hutch’s last letter. If only she could give him a commission for Christmas.

  Off the piazza, the road narrowed and the sun seemed to disappear. Three-storied buildings rose on each side, crowned by iron balconies festooned with laundry and flower boxes. Bombs had sawed some of the buildings in half and reduced others to rubble.

  Before the Italian surrender, Naples suffered from Allied bombing. After the surrender, the city suffered from Nazi fury.

  The store windows on Via Roma held none of life’s necessities but an odd assortment of luxuries.

  “Interesting things in here.” Grant led Kay into a small shop.

  Georgie stepped into the dim, musty-smelling store. Ramshackle cases displayed all sorts of goods, from watches to clocks to binoculars.

  “Hello! Hello!” The shopkeeper waved them inside, a balding man in his sixties with a scruffy gray mustache. “Ah, so many beautiful American girls.”

  “You have excellent eyesight,” Grant said. “And very good English.”

  “Ten years in New Jersey. Came back here in ’35 to care for my mother. Should have brought her to America instead.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Georgie scanned the cases. Would Hutch like a new watch? A pair of binoculars? Would that be a good substitute for his beloved telescope?

  Tom fingered a wristwatch and showed it to Mellie. “What do you think? For my mom?”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “I have more.” The shopkeeper pulled out a long narrow box and opened it. “I still have many beautiful watches because I am smart. When the Neapolitans rose up against the Tedeschi late in September, the Nazis struck back. So I buried the best merchandise in my basement, left the cheapest things in the cases, then smashed up my own store, broke my windows.”

  “Oh my!” Georgie tried to lean on the case, but it didn’t have any glass.

  “Si. When the Tedeschi came, they thought they’d already looted my store and left it alone. Now the Americans come, and I make good money, take care of my whole family.”

  On a high shelf over the shopkeeper’s head, a telescope was set up.

  Georgie gasped. “Sir, is that telescope for sale? May I see it?”

  “Si. It is very nice.” He scrambled onto a stool, brought down the telescope, and presented it to Georgie.

  It looked smaller than Hutch’s, but newer. The shopkeeper talked about magnification levels and refraction and the wonders of a telescope made in Italia, the homeland of Galileo himself.

  All Georgie understood was restoring joy to Hutch’s face, returning a relaxing diversion to his life. “I’ll take it.” She hadn’t looked at the price and she didn’t care.

  “For Hutch?” Kay said.

  Georgie winced. She spoke his name so openly. “Yes.”

  “You can give it to him at the dance up at the 93rd next Saturday.”

  “Yes and no.” She counted out liras for the jubilant shopkeeper. “I can give it to him, but not at the dance. He can’t go, poor thing. Just for officers.”

  Kay ran a finger along the smooth leather telescope case. “Meet him behind the tent and dance your heart out.”

  If only they could. She’d never danced with Hutch. “I don’t dare get him in any more trouble.”

  Kay set one hand on her hip. “I need to give you lessons in sneaking around.”

  Georgie gave her a strained smile and took her change from the shopkeeper. The thrill of a secret romance dissolved in the reality of inconvenience.

  37

  Piana di Caiazzo

  December 18, 1943

  How on earth could he get to Naples? Hutch set the scales back in their case for the night. He needed Kaz’s signature on a three-day pass for the Pharmacy Corps exam, but Kaz had made it clear he wouldn’t do Hutch any more favors.

  Hutch hadn’t seen his CO since the accident, but Captain Sobel said his burns weren’t too serious, and he’d be back to duty after Christmas. Perhaps by then, he’d have softened. Or perhaps Hutch could take advantage of his hospitalization and go directly to Colonel Currier. But that might be deemed disrespectful and make things worse in the long run.

  “How was the day shift?” Dom sloughed off his mackinaw.

  “Busy.” Hutch wiped the back counter with a rag. “Lots of casualties from the Winter Line, trench foot, pneumonia. But Ralph and I kept up. You’re in good shape for tonight.”

  “Got a Thermos full of coffee. I’m ready.”

  “Great.” The sooner he escaped to quarters, the better. The nurses from the 802nd were coming up to the 93rd tonight for the officers’ Christmas dance, and he wanted to distance himself from the music. The woman he loved would be dancing. But not with him.

  He pulled on his mud-splattered mackinaw and lifted the tent flap.

  Georgie burst inside, all grins and swishing silk and perfume.

  “Georgie.” He stepped back, in desperate need of a shower, a shave, and a clean uniform.

  She waved to Dom and set a box on the front counter. “Hi, Dom. Would you please give us five minutes alone? We’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing.” He winked, grabbed his jacket, and stepped outside.

  Hutch cleared his throat. “This isn’t a—”

  “Nonsense. Let’s get you out of this dirty thing.” She unbuttoned his mackinaw. So beautiful with her curls pinned up, plenty of red lipstick, and that intoxicating perfume. “Lillian’s standing guard outside. Bergie intercepted Chad and will keep him busy as long as he can.”

  “Chad.” He pulled off his jacket.

  “Captain Chadwick.” She slipped off her raincoat, revealing a deep blue dress that brought out her eye color. “Don’t you worry. He might be pompous, but he’s a gentleman, and Bergie will keep him in line. He’s not as bad as you think. He rides. His family has horses at their country pla
ce in Connecticut.”

  Of course they did. Hutch stiffened.

  “Oh, sugar.” She sighed and took his hands. “You know my heart belongs to you.”

  “I know.” Why was he ruining one of their few moments together with a bad mood? He drew a deep breath and kissed both her pretty little hands. “You look beautiful. Really beautiful.”

  Georgie dissolved into a smile. “You do too.”

  He chuckled. “Hardly. And I stink.”

  She wrapped her bare arms around his neck, pressed close, and burrowed her nose under his chin. “You smell wonderful to me.”

  His eyes flopped shut, and his head spun. With Georgie in his arms, he felt like a real man again. He pressed his lips to the warm skin of her arm, then gathered her near for a long kiss, her dress silky to his touch. If only he could spend the rest of the evening like this, holding her, dancing with her, hearing her lilting voice.

  She pulled back and rubbed her thumb over his lips. “That color looks better on me than on you.”

  “I disagree. I’m going to steal every molecule of that lipstick.” He gave his best attempt at a rakish grin and bent down for another kiss.

  She stopped him with a firm hand to his chest. “As much as I’d love that, we don’t have much time, and I want to give you your Christmas present.”

  He grimaced. “I gave mine to Bergie to give you.”

  “I know.” She darted away and pulled the wrapped present from the pocket of her raincoat. “Let’s open them together.”

  How could he not love her? All dressed up, she looked like a Hollywood glamour girl, but the light in her eyes reminded him of a six-year-old under the Christmas tree. “All right,” he said. “You go first because you’ll burst if you don’t.”

  “I will.” She ripped open the brown paper. “I’m the baby. I always go first.”

  “Of course you do.” He frowned at his meager offering. “It’s not much. I couldn’t go shopping.”

  “Oh! This is so much better than something from a store.” Georgie held up a tin star ornament he’d made, then an angel, a bell, a nightingale. “Look! These are darling. There must be a dozen, all different, all beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  “I do. I’ll hang them in our tent, and it’ll be so cute and festive.” She wrapped them in the paper, then pointed to a leather case on the counter. “Now open yours.”

  “That’s for me?” Looked expensive, whatever it was.

  “Sure is.” She clasped her hands together in front of her chest and lifted her shoulders. “Hurry. I can’t wait to see your expression.”

  He’d rather look at hers, which was too cute for his meager words.

  She waved him to the case. “Hurry.”

  “All right.” He flipped open brass clasps and lifted the lid. A telescope, new and shiny. “How . . . where . . . ?”

  “The most wonderful little store in Naples. He had all sorts of things.”

  Hutch stared at it. If he ever got to Naples, he couldn’t afford something so nice, not on his sergeant’s salary, not with almost every penny going into savings so he could open his own store after the war.

  Georgie chattered about the charming shopkeeper and all he’d said about the telescope, incorrectly—but sweetly—filtered through Georgie’s lay vocabulary.

  He fingered the eyepiece. What kind of man was he? His gift to Georgie looked pathetic. He should have given her jewelry or something, but he was trapped in the hospital complex and couldn’t afford anything expensive anyway.

  She laid her hand on his forearm. “You don’t like it?”

  He glanced down to her eyes, swimming in hurt. “Of course I like it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.” He wrangled up a smile. “It’s real nice. Better than the one I had before.”

  “Really?” Her eyebrows drew together. “I wanted to make you happy.”

  “You did. I just—I wish I had something nicer for you.”

  “Oh, baby!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his chin. “Your gift is perfect. I know those ornaments took you hours to make, and they’re beautiful. I’ll treasure them always.”

  “I hope so.” He held her tight. While making the ornaments, he’d imagined decorating Christmas trees with Georgie together through the years, holding up curly-haired tots to hang the star high, reminiscing about how they met, enduring the teasing of teenage children, and someday lifting their withered hands to trace the shapes against the glow of colored lights.

  “Hutch! Georgie!”

  He sprang back. Lillian poked her head inside the tent and beckoned to Georgie. “Hurry. They’re coming.”

  “Bye, sweetie. I love you.” Georgie planted one last kiss on his lips and dashed for the entrance, tugging on her raincoat.

  “I love you too.” His arms felt cold and empty.

  Dom stepped back inside the tent. He pointed to his cheek and waggled his eyebrows. “Lipstick.”

  Hutch rubbed his cheek, hating to remove the touch of the woman he loved. He threw on his mackinaw and peeked outside. About fifty feet away, illuminated by tents glowing from electric light, two women in long gowns strolled away from him. Two officers approached in full dress uniform.

  Bergie took Lillian’s hand.

  Chadwick swept a low, dramatic bow to Georgie. “Milady, your beauty has utterly captivated me. I am rendered helpless by the power of your enchantment.”

  Hutch’s stomach felt sour. What was it he had said to her? “You look beautiful. Really beautiful.” As pathetic as his gift.

  “That’s very kind of you.” Georgie sounded polite but unmoved. Good.

  Chadwick kissed her hand. Hey, Hutch had kissed it only moments before!

  The jerk stepped close. “May I have the supreme honor of escorting you this evening? Although I’m afraid you’ll be my undoing.”

  Georgie, bless her, stepped back. “We certainly wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  Hutch grinned. He’d thank her later.

  “Please.” Chad held her hand to his chest. “I’m a perfect gentleman and promise to behave myself.”

  “I’ll make sure of it.” Bergie spoke in a loud voice, probably for Hutch’s benefit. “Lillian and I will stick close and keep him honest.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Chad tucked her hand under his arm. “A lady’s honor is a precious treasure.”

  Georgie tilted her head. “As long as you behave as well as you speak, you may escort me.”

  For one brief moment, Hutch hoped Chad wouldn’t behave so Georgie would slap him good and hard.

  The foursome headed to the officers’ club, where engineers had laid a wooden dance floor. Hutch stepped outside and watched. He should be part of that group. He should be with his best friend and his girl, off for a fun evening.

  Georgie glanced over her shoulder at him.

  He could feel the remorse in her gaze. But it wasn’t her fault. He raised a hand in farewell and walked hard in the other direction.

  The enlisted men wouldn’t get a dance. Nope, they’d get a turkey dinner with all the fixings, sure they would. And an officer in a Santa hat would pass out candy. Happened every single year. But no dance. No women in long dresses. No chance to twirl his girlfriend around the dance floor in public.

  The sourness in his stomach turned into gnawing pain. He popped a sodium bicarb tablet in his mouth. How could he concentrate on writing letters when the music reminded him that Georgie danced in another man’s arms, the arms of his nemesis at that?

  Maybe she’d be better off with Chad. He could adore her in the flowery words she deserved. He could give her the horses and land she deserved. He could be seen with her in public, for heaven’s sake.

  Hutch stopped and glanced up to the pitch-black sky. This wasn’t doing him any good, and it wasn’t fair to Georgie. He needed to take his mind off the whole stinking situation.

  He charged down the pathway and
into Lucia’s ward. The little girl sat up in bed with a blanket over her shrunken legs. The casts had come off earlier in the week, and the staff had fashioned crutches and braces for her, but she couldn’t stand yet. Bergie held out hope, but then he always did.

  Lucia grinned. “Signor Ucce! Look!” She stretched out a string of paper dolls.

  “Pretty. Did the nurses make that for you?” He sat on her cot.

  “Yeah.” She’d already picked up some slang. She waved her hand in the air. “Pretty musico.”

  The strains of “Moonlight Serenade” drifted through the canvas. Medics worked the ward tonight and older, married physicians, freeing the nurses and single doctors to go to the dance. Dozens of patients stretched out on cots or sat in wheelchairs. None of them could go to the dance either.

  Well, why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t they have their own dance? Hutch stood, took Lucia’s hand, and swept a bow even lower and grander than Chadwick’s. “Balle con mi, per favore?”

  “Yeah! Yeah!” She bounced on her cot and held out her arms.

  He picked her up, set her on his hip, and took her hand in the dancing position. Down the aisle they danced, swinging and swaying, her giggles sweeter than the music.

  The song finished, but Lucia shook her head. “No. Again, again-a.”

  A medic tapped Hutch on the shoulder. “May I cut in?”

  He had no choice, so he passed on his tiny partner. A set of vigorous chords announced “Sing, Sing, Sing.”

  The medic broke into a jitterbug, hard and fast. Lucia’s braids whipped around, and her giggles broke up as her jaws banged together.

  The patients sat up now, all who could, and they clapped, sang, snapped fingers to the beat. One man drummed on the rim of his cot, another mimed blowing a trombone, and another conducted the band as if he were Benny Goodman himself.

  When the band switched to “Brazil,” Lucia was passed to an ambulatory patient who rumbaed her down the aisle.

  Hutch stood back, his heart warm. The little girl’s cheeks glowed, and her laughter blessed every man on the ward.

  The music changed again, to the plaintive notes of “The Story of a Starry Night.”