by Sarah Sundin
Walt peered at the headline: “Local hero convalescing.” Reporters—he was absolutely sick of reporters.
“Isn’t that nice?” Mom said with the wide smile she’d worn since he came home. This situation was beyond her soothing mothering, beyond Dad’s buck-up-and-make-the-most-of-it fathering, beyond Ray’s eager pastoring. Ironically, Jack, who didn’t know what to say, made him feel better than the rest of the family combined. Walt didn’t blame them. They’d braced themselves for death, not for maiming.
“Any word from Jack?” On the 94th Bomb Group’s first mission, Jack’s left thigh and backside had been filled with flak.
Ray straddled a wooden chair. “I got a letter yesterday. He’s doing well, wants to get out of the hospital. And you know Jack—he’s set his sights on one of the nurses.” He said this without smiling.
“Sounds like Jack.”
“He says she knows you, took care of you when you had pneumonia.”
“Lieutenant Doherty? The redhead? Boy, does he have his work cut out for him.”
“Yeah, he said you warned him, as if a warning ever stopped him.” Something sad flickered in Ray’s gray eyes. “He should listen to warnings. Wish I had.”
Walt frowned. How could he expect Ray to make him feel better when he was reeling from a broken heart?
“Before I forget,” Mom said, “I brought more of Grandma’s strawberries.”
“Thanks,” he said, unable to muster a smile. He’d lost an arm, Jack lay in a hospital bed, Ray had been dumped by the woman he loved, and fruit was supposed to help? Nothing tasted good anymore, not even strawberries.
“How are you, dear?” Mom’s forehead wrinkled with pity.
“No change. Arm didn’t grow back.”
Mom’s mouth twitched.
Walt sighed. She didn’t deserve his cynicism. “Sorry.”
“We—we ran into your doctor on the way in. He said you’re ready for a short trip home.”
“Yeah.” He looked out the window. As much as he hated the hospital, he didn’t want to go home and face a town full of pity. “Maybe later.”
“Your mother’s ready for you to come home,” Dad said.
“Well, I’m not, okay?”
“Walter Jacob Novak!”
He squeezed his eyes shut. How could he explain without hurting Mom’s feelings more? “I—well—”
“If your mother wants—”
“Dad, leave him alone,” Ray said.
Walt opened his eyes in surprise.
Ray ran a hand through his straight black hair. “You know, ever since—well, I have some days when I want to be with family and other days when I just want everyone to leave me alone. I think Walt’s having one of those days.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it exactly.” He gave his oldest brother a grateful look. “I know you’re here because you want to help but . . .”
“I know.” Ray stood and extended his hand—his left hand—for Walt to shake. “Sometimes doing nothing is the best kind of help.”
The Key System train clattered over the lower level of the Bay Bridge. Allie tried to concentrate on the visions of the San Francisco Bay flashing between the steel girders, but she had other matters on her mind. Within the hour she’d face the man she loved. No fantasy or letter could prepare her. Her body weighed heavy from Tuesday’s poor sleep in Union Station’s lobby, yesterday’s crowded train ride, and a late night talk with Betty.
Allie rested her temple against the cool window glass and watched the wooded mound of Treasure Island pass by. She refused to dwell on one thing Betty said, that Walt hadn’t mentioned Emily. Betty also said he was depressed. Allie understood. He’d lost his arm, he wasn’t able to do what he did best, and he was ripped from the woman he loved. He didn’t mention Emily because he didn’t want to talk about her.
In the past Walt might have told Allie in a long letter. Not anymore.
She swallowed hard. She was tired of crying. She would not cry today, especially before she saw Walt.
She folded her hands on top of her handbag with the letter inside. She hesitated to bring it, afraid she’d use it as a crutch to avoid speaking the words. At the last moment she stashed it inside. What if the ward was crowded? What if he had visitors? Whether oral or written, she had a message to deliver and a day to seize.
Walt flopped one shoelace across the shoe, then crossed the other lace on top and tucked it under. He anchored one lace with his stump and tugged the other. At least the stump no longer hurt and the stitches were out. He kept the sleeve pinned up so he wouldn’t have to see. Grotesque, useless.
He formed a loop and braced it with his stump while he looped the other lace. His shoes looked ridiculous with the striped pajamas and blue bathrobe, but he had to get out. He had to get away from the stench of cigarette smoke and disinfectant. He had to get out into the sunshine before the fog rolled in and reminded him of England, where men were flying and dying, and Walt couldn’t do a thing to help.
The first loop slipped loose. A low growl rumbled in his throat. He started again. Last thing he wanted was to ask for help from one of the Red Cross ladies in their gray uniforms like Allie Miller wore. Some time this month she’d be Allie Hicks.
The loop popped free. For the first time in his life, Walt wished he were a swearing man. How could he hold down a job when it took fifteen minutes to tie his stupid shoes?
Walt glanced outside, where fog crept over the treetops. Too late. He yanked off a shoe and hurled it across the room.
Butterflies flitted in Allie’s stomach as she walked the unfamiliar corridor. No, not butterflies, but a swarm of locusts, chewing, jumping, gnawing.
Allie paused at the door to the ward. She shouldn’t be there. She should leave.
Outside the door she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. No, she had to see him. She had to tell him she loved him. She promised herself, she promised Cressie, and she promised the Lord.
“May I help you, miss?”
Allie opened her eyes to see a brunette in a white nurse’s uniform. “I’m here to see Capt. Walter Novak.”
The nurse tilted her head to the door. “Right in here, but let me warn you. He’s in a foul temper.”
Allie gave her a stiff smile. How inappropriate. Regina would never allow such talk about patients. Nevertheless, the comment stirred the locusts into a frenzy.
“Are you waiting for me to announce you?” the nurse asked.
Allie blinked at her sarcasm. “No, of course not.”
She ducked in the door and stopped. Twelve beds lined the walls. Men lounged in bed or stood chatting and smoking. Which one was Walt?
At Betty’s wedding, Allie said she’d recognize him in fifty years, but now? Why, it had only been one year. How could she love a man she didn’t even recognize?
“Hiya, doll.” A man with bushy brown hair passed Allie and winked.
She gave him the thinnest of smiles. Then she saw Walt.
By the last bed on the left, he sat in a chair at a window with his back to her. The right sleeve of his bathrobe was pinned up over the stump of his arm. Fresh sorrow coursed through her. How little she knew of his suffering.
Allie forced her feet down the room, surprised she hadn’t bent the frame of her handbag in her grasp. A shaft of sunlight pierced the fog and illuminated tiny, adorable curls at the nape of his neck. He wore only one shoe, with laces lying limp on the floor.
She drew a deep breath. “Walter Novak?” she said in a tinny voice.
He didn’t turn from the window, but he let out an interminable sigh. “Listen, lady, I’m not doing any more interviews. I know you’re a fine writer, and you’d do my story justice, and your editor sent you all the way here, but I’m sick of interviews. No more. Besides, taking a few bullets through my arm doesn’t make me a hero.”
Despite the cold tone, the sound of his voice was a warm tune to her ear. “Perhaps not, but landing a heavy bomber when you’re close to death makes you a her
o in my eyes.”
He whipped sideways in his chair to face her, fire in his eyes. “Listen, I’m not doing any—” The fire extinguished. “Allie?”
She raised a soft smile. “Hello, Walt.”
He stared. He blinked. She was still there in that green dress with the big white flower, the lily. Was she—yeah, she wore the cross he sent her. She looked prettier than he remembered, prettier than her pictures. Something new glowed in her smile. That’s right. She was about to be a bride.
“What are you doing here?”
Allie’s eyebrows lifted. “I—I’m visiting Betty. I arrived yesterday, but I’ll only stay a week or so.”
He thought he’d never see her again, and there she was, right in front of him. “But why are you here?”
She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Well . . .”
Walt’s stomach soured, and he turned to his window. “Oh yeah, the pity visit.”
“No. No, I—I have something to tell you, and yes, of course I wanted to see you, to make sure you were all right. Why, when I heard what happened . . .”
Outside the window, fog shackled the trees. “Betty told you.”
“Actually, I found out from Cracker.”
He snapped his gaze back to Allie. “Cracker?”
“I was as surprised as you. He’s a patient at March Field. I transcribed a letter for him the other day. That—that’s how I found out you’d been injured.”
“Cracker? You saw Cracker? How is he?”
“He still—he still can’t see, and he’s pessimistic about ever seeing again. He was also worried sick about you and Abe and Louis. He—he didn’t know if you were dead or alive.” Her voice broke. “I—well, I had to call Betty.”
Walt scrunched his eyes shut. He was such an idiot. If he hadn’t lied, he could have told her what happened so she wouldn’t worry. Some friend he was.
“I know I promised I wouldn’t tell Betty of our correspondence, but I had to know how you were, and so did Cracker.”
Walt formed his hand into a fist and rapped his knee. Yet another lie. He made her miserable for no reason.
“I’m sorry, but I had no choice.”
He swung his head heavily from side to side, unable to meet her eye. “That’s not the problem.”
“Oh.”
Silence separated them, a chasm carved by his lying lips. Now he could tell her the truth and throw off the last weight of his sin. Sure, the chasm would deepen, but he’d already destroyed the friendship. Might as well do it right—with the truth.
He pressed his hand hard over his eyes. If only he had more time to think this through.
“If that’s not the problem, what is?”
He let his hand fall, looked up at Allie, and loved her more than ever. The glow was gone, but strength showed in the set of her chin and the directness of her gaze. She was going to be another man’s wife, and he had to tell her how much he loved her.
“This isn’t proper,” he whispered.
“That’s right. Your girlfriend.” Her eyelashes blurred brown over green. “If it isn’t proper for us to write, it certainly isn’t proper for me to be here.”
Walt chewed over words in his mouth. None of them worked. None came out.
“Oh dear. I have to. I have to do this.” Allie clamped her lips together, popped open her purse, and pulled out an envelope. “This—this is for you.”
“Huh?” He was the one with things to say. Why was she giving him a letter? He reached for it. For an instant, his hand was only an inch from hers. He set the envelope in his lap and worked a clumsy finger under the seal.
“No, wait.”
Walt looked up.
Her eyes got big and pleading. “Please wait until after I leave. You—you’ll still be in my prayers.” Allegra spun away so fast, she lived up to her name.
“Allie, no. Wait.” He stood, tripped on his untied shoelace, and caught himself on the edge of the bed. He got up in time to see the woman he loved dash out the door. How could he catch her with one shoe off, one shoe on? How could he catch her when it took fifteen minutes to tie his stinking shoelaces?
He plopped on the bed, wrenched off his shoe—
“Novak, if you throw another shoe at me, I swear I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
Walt glared at the officer across the way and slammed his shoe to the floor. Everything had gone wrong. He hadn’t told a lie, but he hadn’t told the truth, and now she was gone.
Allie’s letter lay on the floor, the nice, thick kind he loved to receive from her. He opened the envelope and pulled out several pages covered with her pretty handwriting.
Dear Walt,
I have so many things to tell you. Some may encourage you, many will surprise you, and some may bother you. Please bear with me.
First, please accept my condolences on your injuries.
Walt groaned and dropped the letter in his lap. Why was he reading this?
She meant well. Of course, she did. But what could she offer him? He’d heard all the platitudes. Maybe she’d quote some uplifting Bible verses, but he’d heard them all. Then she’d say she wished him the best, more about praying for him, maybe something nauseating about how she and Baxter would name a child after him.
Walt strode down the aisle and dropped the letter in the trash can.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
45
San Francisco
Friday, July 2, 1943
“You have a lovely flat, Louise.” Allie settled on the couch and gazed out the bay window to the tall, lush trees of Golden Gate Park across the street.
“It’s awfully small, much smaller than you’re used to in Riverside.” Louise Morgan sat beside her and nodded to the miniature kitchen.
“So much larger than we had in Grace Scripps Clark Hall.”
Louise laughed. “We had so much fun there, didn’t we? I don’t have a mosaic courtyard where we can lounge in the sun and pretend to study, or a piano to sing around, but we could still have fun. Please tell me you’ll stay.”
“Please tell me you’ll have me—and soon.”
Louise’s brown eyes magnified to unnatural proportions behind her glasses. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow would be perfect.” Betty was more than hospitable, but everything in Antioch reminded Allie of Walt.
Louise sprang to her feet and pulled Allie to standing. “If you’re moving in tomorrow, you need to pack. We can chat later. I can’t wait to hear the whole story about Baxter. I’m glad you broke up. Such a cold fish.”
Allie smiled. Louise had always been quiet, but with her husband in North Africa, she seemed hungry for company.
Louise opened the front door. “Tomorrow you’ll wear a coat.”
“I can’t believe I need a coat in July.” Allie shivered when she stepped out into the damp air. Fog swirled above the tops of the trees in the park. “It must be thirty degrees cooler here than in the rest of California.”
“It’s like this all summer.” Louise gave her a hug. “Run along, now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Allie trotted down the steps to Lincoln Avenue. She had a steep climb to the blue and gold Muni train, which would take her downtown. Then she’d take an orange, black, and gray Key System train to Oakland, where she’d catch a bus to Antioch.
The day had revived her. She’d submitted job applications at a dozen companies eager to hire her, she had an apartment, and Louise had invited her to church.
Allie pulled her peach linen jacket tight about her. A new setting was exactly what she needed to recover from the loss of her home and parents.
Getting over Walt would take far less time, thanks to the previous day’s visit. Although she understood his depression, he had no right to be gruff. Why, he was positively rude, and that was before he received the letter.
She turned the corner and climbed uphill to the Muni line.
Allie thought she’d regret telling Walt she loved him because she’d embarrass them both. Now
she regretted it only because in very short time it would no longer be true.
Letterman General Hospital
Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Miller
request the honor of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Allegra Marie
to
Mr. Joseph Baxter Hicks
Cruel. After Walt made such a mess of Allie’s visit, he didn’t need a reminder that she was marrying another man, and a fop at that.
What was a woman who preferred down-to-earth Allie to frilly Allegra doing with a man who preferred stuffy Baxter to good old Joe? Was Baxter even a Christian? Not once had she mentioned his faith, and she attended Groveside alone. Maybe she valued money more than God after all.
Yep, she did. The wedding was at St. Timothy’s. Might be fun to show up for the fancy society wedding, see how pretentious she really was.
Nope. Couldn’t go. The wedding was July 3—tomorrow. He didn’t even have time to RSVP. Bet they’d get their highfalutin noses out of joint about that.
Walt glanced out the window at the same tired scenery. Tomorrow she’d be married. He could put her behind him and get on with his life. He’d work harder at his therapy so he could get his medical discharge, go to Seattle, and take the engineering position with Boeing his CO had arranged. Then he could contribute to the war effort again.
He stood and lifted his arms for a stretch. Tomorrow would be a new start for him.
He swung his arms behind him, grasped what remained of his right arm, and stretched his chest. A new start for Allie too. He needed to stop grumbling about her marriage and pray for God to bless it.
“Wait a second.” Walt frowned and checked the invitation. Yes, it said July 3. What was Allie doing in northern California two days before her wedding? That was cutting it close, considering how hard it was for civilians to travel. And wouldn’t she have all those fussy last minute arrangements?