by Sarah Sundin
“Say, Elroy . . .” Roger pointed with his thumb to Mellie.
“Sure. I’ll chaperone.”
Kay’s heart went into happy palpitations. Time alone with Roger. “Thanks, Mike.”
He blushed and smiled. Poor Mike had a bad crush on Kay, but he seemed to know her heart swayed toward Roger alone.
The past few weeks in France had been wonderful—seeing Roger at meals, in flight, in church, and best of all, the musical evenings by the lagoon. She loved to sit by him as he drummed, marveling at his intensity, joy, and energy.
“How are things going, fish-face?”
“Fish-face!” She backhanded Roger in the arm and marched down the walkway along the docks and toward the ocean.
His laughter caught up to her, and then his footsteps, and then his glorious, mischievous grin. “What’s the matter? Got your pretty new uniform all dirty?”
She resisted the impulse to glance down at her new olive drab uniform with its smart waist-length jacket, knee-length skirt, and khaki shirt and tie. She’d only prove him right. “I’m not a fussy kind of dame, remember?”
“True.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather flight jacket. “How are things going? You got the whole gang here today, thanks to lousy flying weather.”
Kay glanced up to the thick overcast, glad she had her umbrella and coat. “The worst thing about being a flight nurse is we only get days off when the weather’s bad.”
“Lots of that lately. At this rate, I’ll never get my thousand hours.”
“You’re close, aren’t you?” The words felt heavier than the clouds.
“Depending on the weather, one or two months. But you know how it is. Bert Marino’s already logged his hours, and they still haven’t sent him home. I’m here as long as the brass wants.”
Kay bit back the word good on her tongue. “Then you’ll go stateside, fly there?”
“Yeah, and I think Veerman will give me a recommendation for his brother’s band. Who’d have guessed it?”
“I would. You’re a first-rate pilot.”
His brown eyes turned to her, grateful but hesitant. “Thanks.”
With most men, she’d wrap her arms around his waist and burrow a kiss onto that square jaw. But with Roger, she resigned herself to hugging the overcoat draped over her arm.
He stepped around a stack of crates by the dock. “’Course, even if I get an audition, even if I pass the audition, I wouldn’t be able to join the band till after the war. At least when I’m based stateside, I’ll be able to practice, get back up to speed.”
“That’ll be good.” Where would he be stationed? Unlikely he’d be anywhere near the School of Air Evacuation.
“And you.” He tapped the umbrella hanging over her arm. He always had to touch something, although he never touched her. “Bet you’ll be back in Italy soon.”
“I’ve heard the rumors.” With the Seventh Army so far north, flying the wounded to Italy wasted time and fuel. It made more sense for the Medical Air Evacuation Squadrons based in England to take over. “I wish I had more time here. I’d hoped to impress Lambert with a unified flight when I returned to Rome, but I’m no closer now than before.”
“I can see.” He gazed behind him, where the rest of the nurses lagged. “What’s the big deal? You work together, don’t you? Why does Lambert care if you’re not all best friends?”
“We don’t always work together. That’s the problem.” She sighed and gazed over the Liberty cargo ships to Notre-Dame de la Garde on the hill across the port. “They don’t like each other, and nothing I do or say makes a difference.”
“You need a real good crisis to bring you together.”
Kay nudged him with her shoulder. “Wish bad things on us, why don’t you?”
“All right.” He stopped and raised his hands over her head like an old-time prophet. “May you be cursed with a shortage of lipstick and face powder.”
“Oh, you’re funny. How about I call down a breaking of the drumsticks?”
Roger clutched his chest. Sure enough, two drumsticks clicked together inside his jacket. “Hey, I’m not the one who needs a crisis. You are.”
She gave him a saucy tilt of her head and strolled away. “No, I need a pilot who isn’t a smart aleck.”
“Boring.” He fell in beside her. “Why would you want that?”
She didn’t. She wanted him. She wanted him as more than a friend, wanted his thick arms around her, wanted his lips on hers, wanted to know if his hair was silky or coarse. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want just any man, but this man.
But this man didn’t date, a cruel situation. With his past she understood why he didn’t want to date only for fun, but what did he have against marriage? And here he was making her think of marriage.
Kay stepped in front of him, so he had to stop and look down at her. She gave him her best mock glare. “You are a pest.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he said in a Western accent, tipping the bill of his service cap. “Makes me right proud.”
Made her want to pull him down into a kiss so long and luscious he’d propose on the spot.
“Kay! Kay! Look what we found,” Georgie called.
She tore her gaze from Roger and peeked around his solid form. “What?”
The three nurses dashed up. Georgie flourished a piece of lace. “Isn’t this perfect for Mellie’s wedding? We were wondering what to use for a veil. Didn’t you see the stall? Right down there. We didn’t have to look twice, didn’t even barter, just bought it on the spot.”
“It’s beautiful.” Kay fingered the creamy lace, which would be gorgeous with Mellie’s darker complexion.
The four ladies huddled together, but Roger and Mike dropped back and faced the docks, pointing at the cargo ships and cranes and such. Inside, Kay winced, but on the outside, she gushed over the fabric.
Georgie draped the lace over Mellie’s black hair. “I’m almost done with the dress. It isn’t easy working with odds and ends, but it’ll be done in time.”
Mellie sighed, her eyes dreamy, and she patted the impromptu veil. “Next time Tom can get a forty-eight-hour leave, but he’s so busy building and repairing airfields. And who knows if I’ll still be in France when he gets his leave?”
“No worrying allowed.” Louise fluffed out the lace around Mellie’s shoulders. “You’ll be a bride by the end of 1944.”
“Thank you.” Mellie pulled off the veil, folded it, and wrapped it up with brown paper.
Kay glanced ahead, where Vera’s group stood by one of the two forts flanking the harbor entrance. “We should catch up.”
The ladies continued on their way, with Roger and Mike trailing behind. Too far behind.
Louise sidled up to Georgie. “How was your Remain Overnight in Luxeuil? Awfully close to the 93rd Evacuation Hospital in Plombières, isn’t it?”
“You know it is.” Georgie colored prettily. “Hutch and I had a real nice visit. He took me stargazing.”
Kay propped her umbrella on her shoulder. “Why do I have a feeling you weren’t gazing at stars?”
Georgie clucked her tongue. “Were too! I have proof.”
“Proof?” the ladies asked in unison.
She pressed her fingers to her breastbone. “Well . . . he showed me the constellation Lyra and pointed out something in his telescope. He asked, ‘What do you see?’ I had to peer hard because it was fuzzy, then I said, ‘It looks like a ring.’ ‘It’s the Ring Nebula,’ he said. Then he asked . . . he asked if I was seeing rings. And he gave me this.” She reached under her collar and pulled on a gold chain.
A ring with a cluster of little diamonds dangled from the chain.
Kay gasped, and Mellie and Louise squealed.
“You’re engaged?” Louise cried.
“Shh!” Georgie pressed a finger to her lips. “You know we have to keep it a secret, and we can’t get married until after the war unless God miraculously bestows an officer’s commiss
ion on him, but he wanted to ask and make it official.”
Mellie squeezed Georgie’s shoulders. “You’re officially happy, that’s for sure.”
“I’m officially ecstatic.” Georgie rolled her eyes heavenward. “Now we just have to work on Kay.”
“Me?” Her chest contracted, and she stopped in her tracks.
“Yes, you.” Louise grabbed Kay’s arm and pulled her forward. “How are things with Roger?”
Her face tingled as all the blood drained. She had never told anyone about her crush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The three nurses laughed harder than they had at the Abbott and Costello movie at the airfield the week before. Kay did a quick check over her shoulder. Thank goodness Roger and Mike walked almost a hundred feet behind them, and the mistral wind from the north would blow the ladies’ conversation away from the men.
“Come on, Kay.” Georgie’s face shone with laughter. “Everyone knows you two are crazy about each other. When we’re down at the lagoon, it’s like he’s playing just for you, and you’re gaga over him.”
Kay swung back her hair and picked up her pace. Fort Saint-Jean loomed before her, guarding the harbor with massive stone walls. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Has he asked you out yet?” Louise asked.
“He won’t. He isn’t interested.”
“Does he know you’re interested?” Mellie’s voice came out gentle and compassionate.
Kay wrinkled her nose. A crack rumbled through her stone wall. “I’m not—”
“Don’t lie.” Georgie scooted up and looped her arm around Kay’s. “You glow when he’s around. I’ve never seen you like this before.”
Way too many emotions churned in Kay’s chest. The impulse to lie and save face swam to the top, but what good would it do? They already knew the truth. She breathed out all the emotions until only honesty remained. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
“All right, ladies. Time to do some thinking.” Georgie led the way up the hill to the north. The Germans had razed this section of Marseille almost two years earlier to flush out French partisans, leaving only a few churches and historic buildings.
In the past Kay had a wide repertoire of flirtatious ways, but now her options had been razed too. “How can I let him know I’m interested? He didn’t like me at all when I was a flirt. If I so much as bat my eyelashes at him, he’ll run for the Alps.”
“Hmm.” Georgie scrunched up her mouth, then nodded. “You need to titrate to effect.”
Kay laughed at the nursing reference. “Titrate?”
“Think about it. You have a patient in pain, but he has a head injury so you’re worried about sedation. You give him a tiny dose of morphine, monitor him. How’s the pain? Is he feeling woozy? You give him a little more, monitor again. Then you stop when he’s feeling fine but before he falls unconscious.”
Kay leveled her gaze at her friend. “So you want me to flirt with Roger until I knock him out.”
“Yes!” Georgie thrust a finger high. “Knock him out.”
Kay had to smile even as she shook her head. Flirtation titration. It might work.
At the top of the rise stood an ancient little church of pink limestone. Mellie looked at a map. “Eglise Saint Laurent, from the twelfth century. My goodness. Isn’t it darling?”
“It is.” Kay pressed her hand to the cool, rough stone that had stood for eight hundred years. How many people had come here through the centuries, praying for guidance? How many couples had been wed?
Kay added a prayer for guidance with the man she loved. Lord, you knew I loved him before I knew it myself. Show me what to do. I don’t know how much longer we have together here in France, if we’ll see each other when we return to Italy, and what about when we both go stateside?
Kay shuddered, and her fingers pressed into the stone. I should ask if you even want us together, shouldn’t I? If you do, please help me.
“Those are called raindrops, kid.” His voice, right behind her.
She opened her eyes. Yes, raindrops glistened on her hand and made dark spots on the olive drab of her new uniform sleeve. She faced him, looking up into his sparkling brown eyes.
“And this is an umbrella.” He lifted it off her arm and opened it over her head. “Unlike the stupid menfolk who didn’t bring umbrellas, you don’t have to get wet.”
Titrate to effect. Kay smiled, not coy, just sweet. “We could share.”
His forehead rippled, then relaxed. “Sure.”
She stepped close to his side so the umbrella arched over both their heads, and they strolled up the road. Rain tapped out a sweet melody.
25
Istres/Le Tubé Airfield
October 18, 1944
Major Veerman leaned over the briefing map spread on the table. “Weather’s dicey. I won’t make any man fly who doesn’t want to.”
Roger crossed his arms. The route was treacherous, flying low under the clouds over mountainous terrain. Although they didn’t have radio navigational aids, Roger could fly to Luxeuil and back blindfolded. He knew every landmark—each hilltop castle, each bend in the river, each crossroads town. “I’ll go, sir.”
Grant Klein snorted. “You just want to run up your hours and get out of here.”
“Who doesn’t?” Shell asked.
Roger turned to Klein. “I want to go because our boys are up there in the Vosges Mountains in the rain and mud, getting shot up by the Germans, and they’re low on ammo and gasoline and food and medical supplies.”
Veerman clapped Roger on the back. “Thanks, Cooper. Knew I could count on you.”
Probably the first time in his life Roger had heard that, and it felt good.
He collected the forms he’d need for the flight, stashed them in his kit bag, and headed out of the house.
Half a dozen children waited outside, climbing the cyclone fencing, their thin little shoes stuck in the holes. “Monsieur Ro-zhay!” they called.
“Hiya, kids.” He grinned and joined them on the street.
The fence jangled as a dozen feet pulled free and jumped to the ground. The children hung on his arms and legs and chattered in French embellished with American slang words. He made exaggerated grunting noises and lumbered down the street, shedding giggling children with each step.
The languages changed, the clothing and customs, but all around the world, kids were kids.
The ringleader, a ten-year-old boy named Philippe, tugged on Roger’s sleeve. “Drum, sil vous plait?”
“Non. Désolé. Today I fly.” He stuck his arms out like an airplane and made a puttering sound.
Half a dozen frowns, half a dozen droopy heads.
Roger squatted down and ripped six pages from the back of his logbook. With his hours almost up, he wouldn’t need those pages anyway. “I’m a pilot.” He pulled aside his jacket collar and pointed to the silver wings over his breast pocket. “Pilot.”
“Oui, pilote.” Angelique, Philippe’s little sister, moved her hands like on a steering wheel.
Roger handed each child a piece of paper. “Angelique is pilote too. Philippe is pilote. Paper airplane.” He folded the last piece of paper.
“Oui, oui.” Philippe folded his paper without watching Roger and called out instructions to his friends.
Roger handed his paper airplane to the tiniest child. “For you, Jean-Paul.”
“Merci, Monsieur Ro-zhay.”
“Merci! Bon voyage!” The children smiled and waved.
Roger waved back and jogged to the end of the side street, where the men from his squadron waited in the open back of an Army truck. As soon as he climbed in and sat, the truck rumbled down the street.
Roger unwrapped a stick of gum and stuck it in his mouth. “Guess we’re all braving the weather today.” Since two squadrons of the 64th Troop Carrier Group had been sent back to Italy, the two remaining squadrons shouldered more work. In lousy weather.
“Not Klein.
” Bert Marino slouched back on the bench. “Man’s a big fat chicken.”
Murmurs of agreement circled the truck, but Roger refused to join in. Klein had been a strutting rooster back when they flew in North Africa and Sicily. But when he crashed into Roger’s parked plane and killed Clint Peters and Rose Danilovich, the rooster turned chicken.
Roger propped his elbows behind him on the side of the truck. Before the crash, Klein had been the top pilot and walked around with Kay Jobson on his arm. Now Roger had passed him as a pilot. He had Kay’s heart as well.
His hands balled up. Despite his intentions, it had happened. Kay had fallen for him. He saw it in her eyes and heard it in her voice. He’d fallen hard for her too.
The truck turned onto the road to the airfield, away from the lagoon. How could he turn down her invitations? Music, fun, friends. Their conversations ranged from playful joking to serious discussions. The more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her.
Their friendship had sliced deep through his defenses, and now the breach had widened into love. How long until she realized she’d broken through and came storming in?
The truck lurched to a stop on the airfield, and Roger climbed out with the other men. He walked to his plane at a fast clip, leaving Elroy behind so he could think things through.
What would happen if Kay stormed his heart? Disaster.
He could ruin her like he’d ruined his girlfriend in high school. He couldn’t even resist Kay’s invitations for sightseeing excursions and evenings by the lagoon. How could he resist if he held her in his arms? He’d never had any self-control.
He’d have to marry her right away, but that would turn a short-term disaster into a lifelong disaster. Veerman was sure to give him the recommendation, and with practice, he stood a chance of passing an audition—if not with the Veerman band, then some other. He’d be on the road, city to city, hotel to hotel. Sure, it’d be fun for a year or two. Until kids came along. He couldn’t haul a family around. What about school? Church? Kids needed stability. Wives needed stability. So husbands needed to have a stable job, like a farmer.
Or a teacher?
Roger stopped by his plane and examined its familiar lines and the unfamiliar idea. He’d never allowed himself to examine it for long, always shoved it aside.