“Now it’s my turn with surprises.” Bradley held up an envelope.
“What’s that?” She reached for it, and he whipped it away from her grasp, then handed it to her with a smile, the ocean breeze ruffling his dark hair.
Trudy opened the envelope. “Plane tickets? Where are we going?” Their first stop would be Los Angeles. She didn’t page through the tickets after that.
“Washington, with a detour by Texas first. I know you’ve been missing your family.” He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him as they looked out at the crashing waves.
“That I have. I enjoy reading their letters, but I would love to visit before I can’t travel anymore.” A mother. She was going to be a mother.
He nodded. “That’s what I thought. And I know just the place we can stay when we get there.”
Trudy smiled up at her husband. “Our Sunday house will do just fine.”
LYNETTE SOWELL
Lynette Sowell is an award-winning author with New England roots, but she makes her home in Central Texas with her husband and a herd of five cats. When she’s not writing, she edits medical reports and chases down stories for the local newspaper.
A Light in the Night
by Janelle Burnham Schneider
Dedication
With love and gratitude to three very special nurses, who I am honored to call friends—
Catherine, Diane, and Cathy.
And to Mark, for all you do to help bring my stories into being.
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.
Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.”
HEBREWS 12:1–2 NIV
Author’s Note
The Atlantic Ferry Command is a little-known part of World War II. This was the means by which men and matériel were transported from North America to England to aid on the European front. Goose Bay was only one of several locations involved in this endeavor. First the Canadians carved an airfield and supporting military base out of the wilderness of Labrador, then the Americans made their own space. Though the focus at the bases was the flights made by the Royal Air Force of England, the Royal Canadian Air Force, and the U.S. Army and Air Force, thousands of support personnel also contributed.
In A Light in the Night, I’ve chosen to highlight the efforts of the nurses who were posted at Goose Bay. Though this base was far from the front, medical services were still needed for routine ailments, as well as for the injuries sustained during the many crash landings and other accidents that occurred.
We owe just as much to those who served on this little-known base as to those who fought overseas. Without the Atlantic Ferry Command and other supporting organizations, those overseas would have had no resources for their struggle against the Axis powers.
On a personal note, this story is particularly special to me for two reasons. First, the romance between Ian and Elisabeth mirrors some of the experiences in the courtship between my husband and me. My husband, Mark, was an engineer with the Canadian Forces and, as such, spent much time away from home. From the earliest days of our romance, the moon has remained our joint symbol of our love for one another.
Second, just as I was beginning to write this story, a small hero passed from this life into the Father’s arms. Grifin Alexander Rochat was born to a dear friend of mine and experienced a heart transplant at just three weeks of age. Though he fought valiantly to remain with us, his body couldn’t continue the struggle. He had a true warrior’s spirit. His parents and his older brother have continued to display incredible courage as they adjust to their loss.
Experiences like war and like Grifin’s death sometimes cause us to ask how a God of love can permit such heartache. I have no answers. All I know is that God is faithful in all His ways, and He carries us through the storms of grief.
The cloud of witnesses to which the writer of Hebrews refers has a whole new meaning for me. I find great comfort in knowing Grifin is watching with all those who have gone before and waiting for us to join him. May we, too, be found faithful.
Janelle
Chapter 1
Accompanied by chattering coworkers, Elisabeth Baker tugged her parka hood securely over her auburn hair as she stepped outside the doors of the nurses’ quarters. Here in Goose Bay, Labrador, winter’s chill could freeze exposed skin in a matter of minutes. The fur around the edge of her hood shielded her face from the wind as they walked to the officers’ mess.
The walk did nothing to decrease her dislike for what lay ahead. She didn’t enjoy these weekly “social evenings.” She preferred to watch, to observe unnoticed from the sidelines. That wasn’t possible here. A collection of young men always hovered around the nurses, wanting to chat or even wanting to dance. Her adopted father would tell her it was a good “stretching” experience.
She felt the affectionate smile tug at her lips while the cold stung her cheeks. Just the thought of Papa Johan, as she called him, brought a sense of security and courage. He and Mama Glorie had always understood her shyness yet encouraged her to step beyond it. Mama would remind her of her duty. Somehow, when Mama used the word, it didn’t sound like drudgery. It sounded like honor, part of the honor of being a nurse, following in Mama Glorie’s footsteps and those of their nursing ancestors.
The sounds of the festivities could be heard long before Elisabeth reached the swaths of light pouring from the windows. Piano music seemed to float above the roar of conversation mingled with laughter. As she and her friends passed through the doorway, welcome warmth embraced them. The sheer volume of conversation made her think briefly of retreat. Instead, her gaze searched out other nurses while she unzipped her parka and hung it by its hood on one of the many wooden pegs that bristled from the wall.
The room was large and open. The rectangular tables that usually filled it had been stacked and pushed together along the long wall across from the main doors, to open up the floor area for dancing. One of the soldiers sat at the beat-up-looking upright piano in the corner to Elisabeth’s right, providing better-quality music than often graced these gatherings. Urns of hot water for tea and fragrant coffee sat on a couple of tables against the wall to her left, along with bowls of fruit juice punch and plates of cookies. Just above the tables, a large opening allowed a view of the large kitchen area, staffed tonight by two soldiers who kept the refreshments supplied.
In the far corner, beside the refreshment tables, Elisabeth spotted the group of nurses. She threaded her way toward them, through clusters of conversing men. While her small stature made it impossible to see over the shoulders of the crowd, it also enabled her to slip through unobtrusively. By the time she reached the corner where she had seen the other women, they’d already been claimed for dances.
Dancing hadn’t been part of her life before she was stationed here. Though many of her Christian friends viewed dancing as immoral, Elisabeth’s reasons for not dancing were more personal. She simply didn’t want a stranger holding her that close. Even though dancing was one of the few recreational options here at this remote post, she still couldn’t bring herself to participate. Nevertheless, she enjoyed watching others have fun. These Friday evening socials enabled them all to put aside for a few hours the grim reality of their daily lives.
The approach of a tall, blond-haired soldier in a Canadian uniform made her palms suddenly feel clammy. She hated being invited to dance. While some accepted her gentle refusal, others became insistent. When she tried explaining that she didn’t know how to dance, they offered to teach her. The situation always made her feel put on the spot. Even though her job as a nurse required that she know how to assert herself when necessary, her confidence always deserted her in social settings.
“May I bring you a cup of tea?” His bass voice penetrated through the noise around them.
Having bra
ced herself to refuse a dancing request, she was caught off balance by his less-threatening inquiry. “S–sure,” she stuttered in reply. “Uh, that would be nice.”
His deep-set gray eyes softened with his smile. He gave no verbal reply, making Elisabeth feel as if he didn’t fault her for her social awkwardness and perhaps even understood it. She almost laughed aloud at the thought. His blue uniform and the gold wings below his left shoulder told her he was a pilot. Pilots were known for their confidence. What would she say to him when he came back? She hoped the other nurses would return soon to carry the conversational burden.
“Do you take sugar?”
Again, his deep-voiced question made her stumble mentally. “Um, well, sometimes.”
He extended the cup toward her. “In that case, this shouldn’t be too offensive. I dumped a spoonful of sugar in just to be safe.” His twinkling eyes invited her to share his amusement.
She felt her tension ease enough to make her smile genuine. She raised the volume of her voice to be heard. “A nurse can’t be too picky about her refreshments. We learn to take whatever is available.”
“Contrary to common belief, pilots are the same. One has to take whatever food and drink might be offered at a refueling stop or go hungry.” He leaned back against the wall, his knees slightly bent as if he were used to relaxing without benefit of chairs. He inclined his head toward her, giving the impression he wanted to be sure to hear whatever she wanted to say next.
But nothing clever came to mind. She enjoyed the warmth of the tea as it slipped down her throat, but it wasn’t worth commenting on. She could hardly tell him she felt surprised to be enjoying his company. The piano player moved easily from a familiar wartime tune to a melody Elisabeth hadn’t heard before. She tilted her head, letting herself absorb the music and sensing that this tune would replay in her mind for days to come. She noticed the pilot smiling at her just before he spoke.
“Is the song a favorite of yours?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never heard it before. It sounds like the words would be wonderful.”
“They are. Would you like to go see if they’re written on the sheet music he’s using?”
Nerves assaulted her again. This corner felt comfortable, unnoticed. If she followed him across the room to the piano, she would be seen. But his eyes communicated quiet encouragement as he silently extended his hand, as if inviting her to trust him. The music drew her as nothing else could have. She took a step toward him. He pushed away from the wall, grasped her elbow gently, and began to maneuver them through the crowd.
At the dancing area, her steps hesitated. The open area lay between them and piano. Crossing it meant making herself conspicuous, but gentle pressure on her elbow steadied her. Her tall companion guided her along the edge of the crowd, seeming to take care not to draw her into the dancing area. Once they reached the piano, she stood just behind and to one side of the man seated there. Her companion took up a position between her and the rest of the room. The musician slowed the tempo, clearly drawing the song to a close.
The soldier quickly reached into his pocket for a quarter and made a circling gesture with his hand, asking the musician to play the song again. The man grinned and segued from ending notes back into the introduction. Elisabeth couldn’t help but smile. She felt almost as if she were back home, singing beside the piano with Mama Glorie while Papa Johan accompanied them, adding his bass to their higher voices.
Now as she read the words on the sheet music, the pilot’s strong, deep voice began singing along in perfect pitch.
Early in childhood, she’d learned to harmonize with her parents. Since the pilot was carrying the melody of this song, she quietly found a simple, high soprano harmony to add to the refrain.
“No matter where I go you’ll be with me in my soul.
Though we have to part for now in our hearts we’re never far.
When I see the sun, I’ll feel your smile.
When I look at the moon, I’ll think of you.”
Their voices blended so perfectly that her gaze sought his in pure surprise. They maintained eye contact throughout the refrain, then Elisabeth had to turn back to the sheet music for the words to the next verse, which they sang in unison. The din in the room slowly faded to a listening silence. Elisabeth didn’t realize they’d become the focus of attention until the second verse. She hated the tremble in her voice. Her singing partner shifted slightly closer to her and put a reassuring hand at the small of her back. Somehow it steadied her. The pianist must have felt the mood in the room as well, because he didn’t end the song but took them through the refrain two more times. As the final notes of music hovered in the air, applause swept through the room. Elisabeth felt a blush heat her face. When the clapping subsided, she offered a smile and inclined her head graciously. No matter how much she disliked being on display, she could do no less than acknowledge the appreciation.
To her immense relief, she felt the pilot’s hand at her elbow, guiding her toward the exit. She reached for her coat, and he took it from her fingers to hold while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. As she zipped it and slipped the hood into place, he shrugged into his own coat.
The cold struck her face like so many invisible needles as they stepped into the starlit night. He guided her around the edge of the building, where they were sheltered from the blast of the wind.
The cold felt tolerable here, even welcome after the heat of being on display. She couldn’t believe she’d followed this man into the seclusion of the dark outdoors, but his presence felt more sheltering than the noise and crowd indoors.
After a few moments of silence, he commented, “Now that we can hear each other clearly, introductions might be in order. I’m Ian MacDonald.”
She had to tilt her head back to look up into his face. “I’m Elisabeth Baker.”
“Too bad we already have jobs.” Even in the darkness of the northern evening, she could see the humor in his eyes. “I think we could go on the road as a singing team.”
“Not me.” She shook her hooded head. “I like to sing, but only in private.”
“I guessed as much.” He reassured her with a smile that seemed to come from his heart. “You were very courageous in there.”
“Courageous?” Conviction made her voice more forceful than usual. “That was just manners. It would have been rude to turn my back on the appreciation they were showing. No, courage is what I see every day at work when young men struggle to recover from injuries they shouldn’t have in the first place.”
“I haven’t thought much about the hospital, to be honest. Is it busy?”
“It seems like we always have at least half the beds filled with routine afflictions—flu, pneumonia, frostbite, and various injuries.”
“I guess this far from the front, you wouldn’t see many battle wounds.”
“For which I’m grateful,” she responded fervently. “It’s bad enough seeing the casualties from crash landings. You’d know as well as anyone about the number of planes that miss the runway, or slide off the end, or otherwise end up in a heap. One of these days, someone is going to get killed.” She could hear the emotion in her own voice and fell silent. She was here to serve, not give commentary.
“Any part of war is risky, even being part of the supply line,” Ian remonstrated softly. “We all know that’s part of the package.”
“It still doesn’t make it right.”
“Do you also see that it’s necessary?”
The gentleness in his voice made her want to confide her distress. Their purpose here haunted her day and night. She’d come because it was part of her responsibility with the Red Cross. In no way, however, did it make her a believer in the “cause.” But this wasn’t the time for her to voice those thoughts. Instead, she deliberately shifted the subject. “I’d rather hear about your family.”
He looked off into the distance with tenderness in his expression. “My mom, Sarah, is a widow from the Great War. My dad was
killed toward the end. She supported us by working in a bakery. I have younger twin sisters, Megan and Millicent. Megan’s fiancé is an infantryman overseas. How about your family?”
“I’m an only child, adopted. My adoptive dad, Papa Johan, is a veteran of the Great War and has worked ever since as a politician. My adoptive mother, Mama Glorie, was an army nurse in the Great War and still works as a nurse.”
“Is that why you became an army nurse?”
“Actually, I’m not real army. I trained under the Red Cross. But when America joined the war, all qualified Red Cross nurses were automatically enlisted in the U. S. Army Nurse Corps. It’s not my choice, but it is my duty.”
“Which brings me back to my original question. Don’t you see that our being here is necessary?”
Apparently this man could be stubborn as well as charming. “I know our governments think it’s necessary. My belief is that war is never necessary. If people want peace badly enough, they can always find a way.”
The pilot turned to face her directly. “May I tell you how I see it?”
She nodded again.
“We didn’t seek out this war—not Canada, not the United States, not Britain. Britain was forced to defend itself, and Canada’s loyalty to Britain made her a part of it as well. The U.S. suffered an unprovoked attack by Japan, and she had no choice but to become part of the conflict. We’re in it because we have to be, not because we want to be.”
The intensity of her feelings forced her to speak. “I’m not questioning our involvement but rather the war itself. It’s so senseless. How many people are losing their lives, or their health, because of the Axis’ determination to control the world? What’s the point of it all?” Her voice broke. Silently, she berated herself for even opening the conversation. Why bare her heart like this when she knew he’d never understand?
A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection Page 52