by Sarah Sundin
For almost a year she’d believed a lie, that she could receive God’s love.
But her mind swam with the year’s memories. Hadn’t she indeed felt his life inside? Hadn’t she basked in his love—unearned, undeserved, cleansing, transforming? Hadn’t he changed her?
Kay’s hands squeezed her ears, her temples, as if she could squeeze out the truth. Yes, she’d been changed. Yes, she’d been loved.
“But why, Lord? If you love me, why?” Her voice trickled out.
It was too much—Roger’s rejection, her family’s voices, the singing, the humiliation, the frustration, the blocked goals. “It’s all too much.”
Her Army Nurse Corps pumps formed russet wedges on the maroon carpet, new shoes to replace the Oxfords that had fallen apart during the evasion and escape.
It’s too much. It’s all too much. Hadn’t Alice Olson spoken those very words in the wine cellar? The dirt, the cold, the hunger, the illness, the danger, the constant worry—all too much. And Kay had comforted her and helped her through.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach. Was her current situation any worse? Did it really matter that Roger didn’t love her, or even that her own family didn’t love her? Couldn’t God’s love be enough now, just as it was back in the evasion?
Kay raised her head and smoothed her hair, her mind still churning. But the singing—she couldn’t bear it. And the chief nurse program—she’d worked so hard for it.
She pushed away from the wall and wobbled for a moment. Then she set her feet back on their path, past rooms 507, 509.
Room 511, painted on the door in stark black on white. The brass door knocker glinted in the muted light. This door led to the future she longed for, the position, the chance to lead . . . to home.
Kay reached in her purse and pulled out the envelope with Don’s invitation. It would be so easy. She could take everything she wanted.
Once Roger had told her that if God gave her the chief nurse job, it wasn’t because she’d done something good, but because he loved her and wanted what was best for her. And if he didn’t give her the job?
Kay slid the envelope under the door and walked back to the elevator, her heart straining. If God chose not to release her from this tour, not to let her become a chief nurse, then that was best for her.
She simply couldn’t imagine why.
47
Chicago, Illinois
March 13, 1945
The Marine Dining Room of Chicago’s Edgewater Beach Hotel. Roger stood inside the doorway and scanned the rows of tables on red-carpeted tiers surrounding the stage. How many evenings had he and Lou spent in this room, watching the bands and the dancers, dreaming of making the big time?
Now it was his turn.
A sense of awe at the enormity of God’s gift stilled his feet. How could it be that an Iowa farm boy had an audition with Hank Veerman and his orchestra? Only by God’s mighty hand.
“Thanks, Lord,” he whispered and strode forward, determined to prove his heavenly Father right and his earthly father wrong. Even if he failed, he’d do his best.
Roger crossed the hardwood dance floor. On the stage, a dozen band members lounged and chatted, while the clarinet player laid down a swinging little riff.
“Well, lookie here. It’s the big war hero.” A portly man tooted “Reveille” on his trumpet.
Roger raised a hand in greeting. “Afternoon, fellas.”
The clarinet player rested his licorice stick across his knees. “Two months in hiding with six delicious dolls? If I’d known the Army offered gigs like that, I’d have enlisted.”
The piano player kept tickling the ivories. “As if they’d take a bum like you.”
The clarinetist adjusted thick glasses that must have landed him on the 4-F list—unfit for military service. “Ah, the Army—”
“Who’s talking about the Army? The dames wouldn’t take you.”
Roger joined the laughter. Nothing like the camaraderie of a band.
“Lieutenant Cooper?” An almost-familiar voice sounded behind him.
He turned to an almost-familiar face. “Major—Mister Veerman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Pleasure’s mine. My brother raved about you in his letter.” The bandleader shook Roger’s hand. Shorter and younger than the major, but the family resemblance was strong.
“Thanks for the audition, sir.” He swallowed a comment about being rusty. Veerman would find out soon enough, and the major said he’d warned his brother.
“Let’s see if you drum as well as you fly.” Veerman motioned to the drum set. “Drumsticks are in the trap set.”
Roger reached into his waist-length “Ike” service jacket. “Brought my own.”
“Lucky sticks?”
“No, just special.” He stroked the olive wood, carved by Enrico and varnished by Roger yesterday in the Cooper barn. He’d considered bringing Kavi’s dhol drum but decided it might be too exotic.
The bandleader clapped his hands. “All right, you lunkheads. Let’s give flyboy here a chance to show what he’s made of. Mary Jean? Where is that dame?”
“Right here, boss. Just enjoying the scenery.” A blonde sashayed from the corner of the room, her red-flowered dress swinging past shapely legs, skimming an even shapelier figure. She climbed the steps to the stage by Roger. “Well, hello there, Red,” she purred. “I hope you stay on. I love a man in uniform.”
“Yeah?” the trumpeter said. “If that’s so, why do you work so hard to get ’em out of uniform?”
The boys in the band howled in laughter, and Roger pretended to rearrange the items on the trap set tray to his left.
“Ah, shut up, Pinky,” Mary Jean said.
“All right, boys. Enough. First song is ‘Let’s Get Lost.’ Lieutenant, all the music is on the stand before you.”
“Thank you, sir.” He didn’t need it for this number. He knew the song well, romantic and painful. He’d danced with Kay to this song at Tom and Mellie’s wedding, where he’d wanted to get lost with Kay.
He shoved away the memory to concentrate on his work.
Veerman raised his baton, and Roger opened with a soft, swishing beat. He was rusty, no doubt about it, but with leisurely songs like this, he’d do fine.
His technique might be rough, but he still knew when to switch it up, when to build, when to add a flourish, when to fade away. He kept his eye on the bandleader, the singer, the soloists, the music, learning the ways of this band.
Veerman led them through four more songs, only one with any swing to it. That was the way of things. When Roger left the States, the sound was big and boisterous. But in the summer of ’42, the musicians’ union called a strike, forbidding its members from making recordings. Desperate for business, the record companies had their singers perform a cappella.
The public’s taste followed, and after the harshness of war, gentle songs suited them. They wanted crooners. They wanted Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. The band had become mere background music.
Not as much fun as a rousing swing song, but it would pay the bills.
“That’ll do for now, boys. Take a break.” Veerman set down his baton and waved Roger over. “Let’s have a seat.”
Roger followed the bandleader to a small round table with a compass rose pattern on top. He sat in a black curved-back chair, and his right leg jiggled.
Veerman offered Roger a cigarette, then lit one for himself. “My brother said you’d be rusty.”
“Yes, sir.” To his surprise, he didn’t feel disappointed. The audition itself was a gift, and he’d done his best.
“If that’s how you sound rusty, I’m looking forward to hearing you polished.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be able to practice on the bond tour. Perhaps I could audition again—”
Veerman held up one hand. “I like what I heard. I want to sign you on as a backup drummer after the Army discharges you.”
Roger’s leg stopped jiggling. He couldn’t breathe. He had
a spot? In the Veerman band? A band that played all the great clubs and hotels across the nation?
“Don’t look so surprised. As I said, I like what I heard. Too many fellows want to show off with flashy skills, but you know how to read a band, how to support the musicians and the singer and not overpower them. I like that.”
“Thank—” He coughed to clear the croak from his voice. “Thank you, sir.”
“More importantly, I trust my brother.” He puffed out a curl of smoke. “He said you’re reliable and hardworking, a man to count on. I could use that around here. You’d be a good influence on these clods.”
Roger rolled his drumsticks back and forth on the table under his palm. Reliable? Hardworking? A man to count on? A good influence?
Major Veerman said that about him. A man who’d worked with him for a year and knew him well.
The sticks rolled smoothly on the table, polished with care by Enrico. He could still see the boy’s eyes light up when he grasped the quadratic equation. He could see Enrico looking to him for guidance, see his crew and the nurses. They’d all relied on him, and he hadn’t failed them.
He hadn’t failed. In fact, he succeeded.
Back and forth the sticks rolled, back and forth his mind rolled, settling into peace. The audition was a gift, a great gift. But the Lord had offered an even greater gift and far more subtle.
He’d offered a choice between two good dreams. For some reason, the Lord believed in Roger even when Roger didn’t believe in himself.
His jaw felt tight, and his eyes watered, from the cigarette smoke, he told himself.
“Well . . . ?” Veerman tapped his cigarette in the ashtray.
The drumsticks came to a rest. “Thank you, sir. I’ve dreamed of this opportunity since high school.”
“You’re welcome. Glad I could make your dreams come true.”
With one finger, Roger stroked along the grain of the stick. “Sir, have you ever had a dream change on you? When you discovered something new about yourself, perhaps?”
Veerman settled back in his seat and puffed on his cigarette. “Come to think of it, I have. I wanted to be a trumpet player, then discovered I wanted to lead a band.”
Roger tucked his drumsticks inside his jacket. “You know what I want, sir? I want to be a math teacher. I always did but never thought I was the kind of man who could be counted on, the kind of man people would trust with their kids. Now I know I am. And that’s what I want.”
Veerman’s blue eyes didn’t register shock or amusement, only understanding.
“You know what else I want? I want to get married, buy a little house, a yellow house, maybe have some kids.” He’d never voiced all of this before, and it felt good. More than good, it felt real.
The bandleader sighed, stood, and shook Roger’s hand. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed you won’t sign with me, but you’d better follow that dream.”
“Yes, sir.” A surge of joy and determination raised a grin. “I plan on it.”
If only he could convince a certain redhead to join him.
48
Tulsa, Oklahoma
Keeping busy wasn’t difficult. Kay found a bookstore, had lunch in a diner, saw a movie, and visited the hospital where she’d trained in nursing school. To her delight, her former chief nurse remembered her—and well.
But twilight cast shadows on Tulsa’s streets, and Kay needed to return to the Mayo.
A long gown in the window of a dress shop caught her eyes, and she paused. A medium shade of green, but muted, like the leaf of a rose. Short sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and the fabric gathered into a diamond-shaped panel at the waist. Kay could tell it would give her curves where she was lacking.
It looked to be her size, she had the money, and she wanted to replace the gown that had burned in the wreckage of Roger’s C-47.
She closed her eyes against the assault of memories—Roger holding her in his arms as they danced, watching startled as she shoved away the dress in the crashed plane, lifting her off her feet in the hospital, carrying her around the corner, kissing her with abandon.
Kay clenched her jaw. The store was closed, but tomorrow she would buy the dress and form new memories.
Besides, she would need to get away from the hotel and Don Sellers. Now she had two men to avoid on the bond tour. Only Mellie and Georgie’s friendship and the Lord’s love would see her through.
Meanwhile, ten long days remained before her friends would return.
Kay strode down the street to the hotel. “Just you and me, Lord.”
Two-story-tall classical columns flanked the hotel entrance, and the doorman held open the door for her.
“Thank you.” Kay crossed the lobby at a swift pace, chin down, feet flashing on the black-and-white marble. She planned to order room service and avoid the PR officer.
A gentleman stepped in front of her, wearing olive drab trousers.
Don.
Kay sighed and looked up to him with a benign smile.
He studied her with those light brown eyes, his expression unreadable—amusement, annoyance, regret, concern? “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ve been out.”
He pulled the envelope from his trouser pocket. “I found this under my door this morning. Apparently I missed your knock last night. You must think me rude.”
“I didn’t knock. I decided not to join you.”
His eye twitched. He gazed down, sighed, and took her hand. “I apologize, Kay. I came on too strong. Why don’t I take you out to dinner tonight and we can get to know each other better?”
With a sweet smile, Kay freed her hand and rested it on her shoulder bag. “No, thank you. I already know you as well as I care to.”
“Pardon?”
“You said I was your kind of woman, but you’re mistaken, because you’re not my kind of man.”
Don’s face reddened, and his mouth pressed into a knife edge, severing her last chance.
Kay tilted her head. “Let me guess. Suddenly you’re no longer able to get me out of the bond tour and into the chief nurse program.”
“Looks that way.”
She patted her chest and heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’m so glad I found that out before I gave you my body.”
His eyes flashed golden fire. “Enjoy singing on stage, Lieutenant. I’ll make sure you get a solo.”
As he marched away, Kay raised her face to the art deco chandelier and breathed a prayer. In an instant, the answer brought up a giggle. All she had to do was sing—one note—and Barkley would chase her right off the stage.
March 19, 1945
A day in the spring sunshine at the Tulsa Zoo had perked up Kay’s spirits after a week of solitude. Bears and monkeys and birds and alligators—finally she’d had someone to talk to, even if they bellowed, howled, squawked, or snapped back at her.
She crossed the lobby of the Mayo Hotel, anticipating an evening of listening to the radio and reading the new issue of Vogue. At the registration desk, an Army officer thanked an employee for his key, an officer so familiar Kay’s heart leapt.
“Mike!”
He spun to face her and grinned. “Kay!”
She closed the gap and hugged him. What was she doing? She’d never hugged him before. She pulled back, straightened her garrison cap, and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m so happy to see a familiar face. How was Florida?”
“Warm.” Like his smile against a new tan. “It was great seeing my family and friends. They spoiled me rotten.”
“I’m glad.” She looked him up and down. Like all of them, he’d put some healthy pounds back on. “You’re early. It’s Monday. You don’t have to be here until Friday.”
“I know.” His gaze skittered away. “Um, how was your furlough?”
Kay groaned. “Let’s put it this way—I longed for the wine cellar. At least there I had company.”
“That’s what I thought. That’s why I . . . Say, have you had dinner
?”
“I had a hot dog at the zoo.”
“I already ate too. Just thought—well, after our evasion, I never turn down a chance to eat.”
Kay smiled. “I do have overwhelming urges to sneak food into my purse.”
Mike laughed, then he took off his service cap and ran his hand through his straight brown hair. “Say, you don’t suppose . . . would you like to . . . if you’d like, we could sit down and talk.”
His halting ways formed a delightful contrast to Don Sellers’s suave self-assurance. “I’d like that. Today I was reduced to having a long conversation with an alligator.”
Mike flashed a smile and gestured to tables and armchairs around the lobby. Kay picked a low round table in a quiet corner and settled into an upholstered chair.
Next to her, Mike leaned his elbows on his knees and fiddled with his hat, his lips tucked in. “I need to be truthful. I don’t know how to say this, but you’re the reason I came back early. I was worried about you all by yourself.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
He wrinkled his nose. “That’s not entirely truthful. I wanted to—well, I wanted some time with you before everyone else arrived.”
“Oh.” So he’d finally worked up the nerve.
Mike turned his hat in his hands. “It’s no secret that I’m—well, I think you’re swell.”
A soft smile rose. No, it wasn’t a secret, and he had a touchingly awkward way of confessing it.
“It’s also no secret—it’s none of my business, but I know something went wrong between you and Coop.”
Kay winced.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t apologize. As you said, it’s no secret.”
“I know both of you are hurting, and I hate it. And I don’t want to be a vulture swooping down.”
“I know.”
He sat up straight and looked her in the eye. “I just want to ask if I have a chance with you in the future. If I don’t, fine. Tell me straight. I can take it. But if I have even the slightest chance—well, I’ll wait.”
Kay gazed into his earnest blue eyes. Why couldn’t she have fallen for Mike instead of Roger? Mike knew what he wanted and aimed for it, but he was also willing to wait without pushing.