On Distant Shores

by Sarah Sundin

  But she couldn’t. They had to return to Pomigliano by nightfall, only thirty miles, but on a rutted road clogged with trucks and jeeps and troops and mules.

  What had he written? Her finger slipped under the lip of the envelope, but she yanked the naughty digit back out. She couldn’t read this in front of Maxwell. She’d turn into a blubbering idiot, and he’d know the relationship involved more than oranges.

  What if Hutch did still love her? What did it matter anyway? Love alone wasn’t enough.

  But what if Bergie was correct? What if Hutch had found contentment? Were the answers in this letter?

  She lifted up on one hip and sat on the envelope. Away with temptation.

  Maxwell honked the horn at the truck in front of them. Even though the Cassino front had been in a stalemate for three months, activity teemed on the road. The units constantly switched position as if a change in scenery would change the results. The flow of supplies in one direction and sick and wounded in the other never stopped.

  The truck rumbled forward and spewed a black cloud of exhaust in Georgie’s face.

  She coughed and swatted the exhaust away, and Maxwell hit the accelerator.

  The jeep lunged forward, then pitched down at a crazy angle.

  Georgie yelped and caught herself on the dashboard.

  Captain Maxwell cussed and climbed out of the jeep. Georgie climbed out too, grabbing the letter so it wouldn’t blow away.

  The jeep’s left front end rested in a deep pothole. The truck must have straddled it, but in the blindness of the exhaust cloud, the little jeep fell right in.

  “Blew the tire.” He kicked at the ground.

  “Oh dear. Do you need help changing it?”

  “Hardly a job for a woman.”

  “Have it your way.” Georgie sauntered over to an olive tree about thirty feet off the road. No need to tell him Daddy had made her change tires since she was twelve. Even in the Taylor family, pampering only went so far.

  “Need some help, sir?” Half a dozen soldiers piled out of the truck behind them.

  “Yes. Thanks, boys.”

  While they shoved the vehicle out of the pothole and off the road, Georgie made herself comfortable on a rock under the olive tree.

  She drew in a big breath and opened the envelope. His handwriting was so . . . Hutch-like. Square and neat in orderly rows, with a lift to the taller letters that appealed to her for a reason she couldn’t place.

  Dear Georgie,

  I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me, but it’s time. After three months of literal and spiritual bombardment, I’ve made changes in my life, and I want to thank you for the role you played.

  Please know this is not an attempt to woo you back. I don’t mean to say hello again, but to say good-bye in a better way.

  First, let me tell you what’s happened lately. A few weeks ago, I found out I did not get into the Pharmacy Corps. I reacted in bitter rage.

  That evening, the Lord brought me to the painful realization that my goal had become my idol. The handkerchief you embroidered helped show me. In my quest for acceptance from man, I’d forgotten I had God’s love. Nothing else matters.

  The Lord is forgiving, and with his help, I’ve found contentment where I am. I’m determined to do my best work and respect others, whether or not they respect me.

  Second, thanks for having the courage to tell me I was racing in the wrong direction. Once I told you it’s important to have someone in your life who helps you grow and who’s hard on you when you need it. You did that for me, and ironically I rejected it. But now I appreciate what you did.

  Please forgive me for allowing my obsession, bitterness, and pride to destroy our friendship.

  Third, thank you for taking Lucia under your wing. She writes fondly of your visits to the orphanage, the parties, and the new dress you made her. I can’t be there, but I’m thankful you are.

  Another reason for this letter is to encourage you. You used to doubt your ability to make decisions, but you made excellent decisions in regards to me. You acted in kindness and strength and truth. Even your decision at Pompeii was right. Please don’t ever doubt your strength in the Lord.

  Again, this is not an attempt to win you back. I only want to express my gratitude and bolster you. Even in your absence, you helped me.

  With kind regards, Hutch

  Georgie groped in her pocket for a handkerchief like the blubbering idiot she was.

  Now she knew two things for certain—his peace was genuine, and she loved him more desperately than ever.

  But now she doubted her earlier assessment that he still loved her. He didn’t want to woo her back. He wanted to say a better good-bye. She’d made the right decision at Pompeii. Those did not sound like the statements of a man in love.

  She blotted her face dry and hiccupped.

  For goodness’ sake, now wasn’t the time to be a crybaby. Now was the time to meld her old and her new talents.

  She knit together an idea in her mind.

  53

  Casanova

  April 24, 1944

  Hutch scraped his spatula across the top of the wooden capsule mold, making sure each capsule half had an equivalent amount of the aspirin, phenacetin, and caffeine mixture. The hospital hadn’t opened for patients yet, but Captain Chadwick had ordered APC capsules for his own headaches. Hutch smiled. Chadwick might not like Hutch, but at least he trusted him now.

  Dom hadn’t returned from lunch, and Hutch savored the quiet. He nestled the top halves of the capsules in place, then tapped them out of the mold onto a towel. Each capsule received a quick roll on a moistened piece of gauze to seal it shut, then Hutch gently rolled the batch in the towel to remove fingerprints and traces of powder. Into the amber vial they went, and he affixed the label square in the middle. Nice.

  “Hello, Hutch.”

  He almost dropped the bottle. “Geor—Lieutenant Taylor.”

  “What did I tell you? Call me Georgie.” She grinned and set a paper bag on the counter. “I brought you two surprises.”

  With great concentration, he set down the bottle of APC capsules. What was she doing here acting as if nothing had changed between them? “Surprises?”

  “This is the first. Come see.” She beckoned him over.

  He urged leaden feet forward, although his heart twisted in pain as her sweet face drew nearer, lit up as he remembered.

  He peered inside the bag. “Oranges. Thanks.”

  “I figured you might be running low.”

  “I’m out.” His voice sounded dull, as if he didn’t want to see her. He smiled, although it did a stupid twitchy thing.

  “Not many at Anzio, I imagine.” She leaned crossed arms on the counter. “I worried about you up there. Was it as bad as they say?”

  “Yeah.” He rotated the bag of oranges on the counter. He sounded like an idiot. Whatever was going on, he needed to play along. Perhaps she wanted to be friends again, and that would—well, that would be enough. “How are things in your squadron?”

  “Hectic.” She tossed a glance up and to the side, completely adorable. “They’re treating me like royalty all because my plane took a dip in the Mediterranean.”

  Hutch’s mouth dropped open. “The evac flight that ditched? Was that you?” The article in the Stars and Stripes hadn’t named names.

  She pointed to the red, white, and blue ribbon of the Bronze Star on her jacket. “I prayed and didn’t waver. Your gift helped.”

  “My gift?”

  “The tin punch with the nightingale over the waves.”

  He’d forgotten about that. “You still have it?”

  “I’m thankful I had it that day. Even in your absence, you helped me.” She held his gaze, her eyes serious and grateful.

  His tongue dried out. Her words . . . that was a line from his letter. He should know; he wrote five drafts before he got it right.

  One side of her mouth puckered in concern. “I’m sorry you’re not in t
he Pharmacy Corps.”

  He chuckled and took the bag of oranges to the back counter. “I’m not.”

  “Seriously? You mean it?”

  She thought it was only bravado, so he gave her his most content smile. “Last week I turned down a genuine second chance to join the Corps.”

  Georgie gasped and leaned forward. “What? But why? That’s what you wanted.”

  “I don’t want it anymore.” He stashed the bag of oranges in an empty crate next to the counter. “I have satisfying work here with people I like. And humility is good for me. The last thing I want is a commission.”

  Her silence drew his gaze. Her expression glowed with . . . admiration? Adoration?

  Hutch’s heart slammed into his throat. Could it be possible? Could he ever gain back her love? More importantly, was that what God wanted? Because Hutch wanted it deep down at the cellular level.

  “I’m confounded, John Hutchinson.” She gave him a teasing look.

  “Con—confounded?” He hadn’t said one intelligent sentence since she arrived.

  “I said I brought two surprises, and you haven’t even asked about the second one.”

  He’d lost count after one. “I’m—well, what is it?”

  “Not what. Who. Honestly, I’m quite perturbed at you.” She leaned out the doorway. “All right, Lillian.”

  Lillian was a surprise? Hutch stepped from behind the counter.

  Georgie and Lillian held back the tent flaps on either side, and a little girl hobbled through the door on a single crutch.

  “Lucia!”

  “My Ucce!” She bounced up and down on her braced legs. Her crutch fell to the ground.

  “La mia Lucia.” He scooped her up and pressed her to his chest. “La mia bella Lucia.”

  She hugged his neck so tight he could barely breathe, but he didn’t mind at all. She felt heavier, less skinny.

  After he blinked away the moisture in his eyes, he met Georgie’s gaze and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  She dabbed a handkerchief at her cheeks and mouthed, “You’re welcome.”

  He pulled back to look at Lucia. “The nuns feed you well. You’re nice and fat.”

  “Si.” She giggled and pointed into her mouth. “I lost a tooth.”

  “How do you expect to eat food if you keep losing your teeth? Where did you put it? We need to screw it back in.”

  “Silly Ucce. I get new one.”

  “You do? Well, I’ll be. What’ll they come up with next?”

  She pulled on the collar of her dress—dark blue with little white dots. “Like my new dress? Signorina Giorgiana make it. My ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ dress.”

  It did kind of look like the night sky. Wasn’t that just like Georgie to think of the perfect gift? His heart full, he sent her a smile. “It’s beautiful.”

  Lucia bounced on his hip. “Now go sure?”

  “Go sure?”

  She frowned and tapped her temple. “The water. The sand. The starfish. The sure.”

  “The shore,” Georgie said.

  In his letters he’d mentioned taking her to the shore someday, but someday wasn’t today. “I’m sorry, little star. I have to work today. And there’s a war on. The shore will have to wait.”

  “No, it won’t.” Georgie smiled and fiddled with her fingers. “One of the advantages of being the heroine of the day is you can ask for things and people give them to you. Colonel Currier gave you the rest of the day off, and I came up here in a jeep. You can use it. There’s a nice beach only ten miles from here.”

  He stared at her. “You did that for me?”

  “And Lucia.”

  Something was wrong. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” Georgie’s cheeks turned pink.

  “If I take the jeep, what—how will you . . . ?”

  Her cheeks went red, and she fluttered her hand toward Lillian. “I can visit with my friends here. I haven’t seen them for ages. Lillian’s tent is almost empty, and she’s letting me and Lucia stay the night, so you can take as long as you wish.”

  When Hutch mixed ointments, some were stubborn. He’d mix and mix, and it seemed they’d never combine. The substances were just too different. Then in one beautiful moment, the ingredients snapped together into a smooth mixture.

  Hutch’s thoughts snapped together just as smoothly. Georgie had designed the perfect plan. She’d made it possible for Hutch and Lucia to go to the shore alone. But he knew as strongly as he knew his pharmacopoeia that Georgie hoped to join them.

  “Lucia?” His voice rasped, and he swallowed to wet his throat. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if Signorina Georgie came with us?”

  “Si! Si!”

  “Oh! Goodness.” Georgie pressed her hand over her chest. “I wasn’t fishing for an invitation.”

  Lillian crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at Hutch. “No, but she brought her sundress and sandals.”

  “Lillian!” Georgie stamped her foot.

  “Bye now. You drop by my tent to change when you’re ready.” Lillian wiggled her fingers in a wave and ducked out of the tent.

  Hutch fought back a laugh, both at Georgie’s embarrassment and from his own joy. She definitely wanted to come, and this rang of romance, not just friendship.

  “Honestly, Hutch, I didn’t—”

  “I know.” He set Lucia down and handed her the crutch. “I have to wait until Dom comes back. It’ll be soon. I should clean up my mess too.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Her voice sounded tiny.

  “The weather’s nice for a change. At least seventy degrees and clear.” He returned to the back counter, grabbed a rag, and brushed up a bit of spilled APC powder. “Should be a clear evening too. Perfect for stargazing.”

  Her feet shifted on the dirt floor. “I suppose it would be.”

  He returned the box of capsule shells under the counter, and warmth expanded his chest. “I have a new telescope. Fine piece. Saved lives at Anzio.”

  “What?”

  He winked at her. “Earned me the Bronze Star too. Pinned on by Gen. Mark Clark himself. I could tell you about it today if you’d like.”

  “I’d like that.” She’d never looked so shy in all the time he’d known her. “I—I brought a picnic. No steak this time.”

  If he could have her love again, he’d be happy with K rations. “I don’t need steak.”

  Her cheeks flamed, brighter than ever. “That’s not what I . . .”

  Their secret code. For heaven’s sake. His own cheeks warmed, and he laughed. “That wasn’t what I meant either.”

  She laughed too, and Lucia joined in, not knowing the joke of course, and that made Hutch and Georgie laugh even harder.

  He waved them out the door. “Go get ready and I’ll finish up in here, grab my telescope.”

  Georgie took Lucia’s hand. “Meet you here in half an hour?”

  “Yes.” It would be the longest half hour of his life.

  54

  “Presto! Presto!” Lucia sat on the blanket, and her legs wiggled in front of her.

  Georgie wrestled with a buckle on the braces. “Sweetie, I could work more presto if you held still-o.”

  Beside her on the blanket, Hutch laughed and rolled up his trousers above his knees. “You heard her, Lucia. You have to obey. She’s an officer.”

  “I don’t want to be an officer today. That’s why I wore my sundress.” Her face heated. Again. She wiggled off the first leg brace. Goodness, everything she said sounded forward.

  “But you are an officer. And a fine one,” he said, his voice husky.

  Oh, the expression on his face. The affection, the strength, the respect. She wanted to bottle it up to store in her musette bag so she could bask in it whenever she wanted.

  He broke the gaze and shrugged off his shirt.

  How was she supposed to concentrate with him walking around bare-chested? She frowned at the last leg brace and fumbled with the straps. “You don’t have to take off your stripes on my
account.”

  He chuckled and scratched his lower back. “I don’t mind the stripes. I mind the fabric. It’s so warm today. Feels great.”

  Lucia wiggled her leg. “The water, per favore.”

  “Si, signorina.” Georgie slipped off the second brace. “Can you walk without the braces?”

  “A little. I stronger.”

  Hutch growled.

  Georgie stared at him, but Lucia giggled.

  He got to his feet, growled louder, and leaned over the child, hands raised. “The big hairy bear is going to steal Lucia and dump her in the ocean.”

  She shrieked with laughter. He swung her up and ran down to the water. Sand flew behind his bare feet, and Lucia’s braids bounced every which way.

  Georgie stood, brushed sand from her skirt, and followed. He would make a wonderful daddy. Each moment she loved him more. And he still loved her. She could see it in his eyes even if they hadn’t spoken the words.

  On the drive from the hospital, they’d discussed their Bronze Star experiences and everything else that had happened in the last three months. But not their relationship. Not their feelings. They circled the topic from a wary distance.

  At the waterline, the turquoise sea washed up onto creamy sand, and Hutch crouched next to Lucia, holding her by the waist while she stabbed at a spent wave with her toe. Georgie’s chest ached at the beauty of the scene, and even more so when Hutch glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her.

  “Could you take my place with Lucia for a second?”

  “Sure.” She stepped closer, the sand changing from dry and warm to moist and cool.

  Dozens of pale scars covered his back. “Your back! Oh, Hutch!”

  He craned his head over his shoulder. “I suppose it looks bad.”

  “You said you took a little shrapnel.”

  “I did.” He measured an inch between thumb and forefinger. “Each piece was little.”

  “You poor thing.” She clasped her hands so she wouldn’t try to caress away those scars. “That must have hurt.”

  He transferred Lucia’s hand to Georgie. “The itching now is worse than the pain then.”