A Distant Melody

by Sarah Sundin

  She dabbed at her eyes. “I—I think I understand.”

  “Good. Not that it’ll make a difference. You see, my last letter to you was a lie.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah, a lie.” He paced to the edge of the platform. He had to finish before the train came. “Emily. Yeah, I went out with her a few times. She was actually crazy about me, but I wasn’t crazy about her. She was never my girlfriend.”

  Back around to the station. The motion of his feet pumped out the words. “I couldn’t talk to her like I could talk to you—I mean, Flossie the cow has more brains. And Emily never told me I couldn’t write to you.”

  “What?” Her voice cracked. “Why did you say she said that?”

  “I needed an excuse to stop writing you or else I would have had to tell you the truth.”

  “And what truth is that?” She stood tall, and a breeze ruffled her long green dress.

  Walt groaned and strode toward the tracks. “That I cared for your correspondence too much.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “Of course not. How could you? I’m messing this up.” He kicked a chunk of gravel down to the tracks. “How come it’s easier to tell a lie, even when the truth is the same as one of your lies?”

  “I really don’t understand.”

  He faced her and planted his feet in the at-ease position, except he couldn’t clasp his hands behind his back. “I knew I had to stop writing when I prayed, ‘Lord, why can’t she dump Baxter and fall for me?’”

  Her eyes widened, bigger and greener than ever.

  “It was wrong. You were engaged. Well, I guess you weren’t anymore, but I thought you were. If you married him, I’d be in love with another man’s wife, and that’s against one of the Ten Commandments. Well, so is lying but . . .”

  Allie’s mouth opened, closed, opened. “You don’t mean . . .”

  “I love you.” At last, the blessed, painful truth.

  “You—you—”

  “I love you. I thought dating Emily would help. It didn’t. The more time I spent with her, the more I missed you, the more I loved you. I had to stop writing. Doesn’t make it right, but that’s why I lied.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” Her face crumpled, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Her distress socked him in the gut. “I’m sorry. I should have. I knew you couldn’t feel the same way about me, and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. Stupid pride. And pride is why I didn’t confess earlier. Once you said silence was a truthful solution to a dilemma. Not in my case. I allowed you to believe a lie. Silence isn’t truthful when it perpetuates a lie.”

  Allie mumbled something, then moved her trembling hand from her mouth. “Didn’t you think how your letter would make me feel? I cried myself to sleep that night.”

  “You did?” His insides felt as if they were stuck in Mom’s wringer. He didn’t think she’d miss his friendship that much.

  “That was the night—” She glanced to his stump and back to his face. “I had a horrible dream. You didn’t want my friendship, but you needed me to pray, and I did.”

  A kick to his wrung-out soul. “Good thing one of us obeyed. Listen, Allie, I’m sorry about this. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I hurt you. And what a lousy way this is for a man to tell a woman he loves her.”

  Allie hugged her stomach and looked around the train station, her face wet and agitated. “I daydreamed about this moment. I’d be here at this depot, and I’d wear my Easter hat, and you’d step off the train, and all your friends and family would be there, and I’d hug you and tell you about my broken engagement, and if you seemed pleased, I might whisper in your ear how much I loved you, but only if I felt bold, because I didn’t—I didn’t know you loved me too.”

  Walt stared, his mouth wide open, his eyes wide open, but his ears had to be blocked. He couldn’t have heard what he thought he heard.

  Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t stop them. “It would have been wonderful, so sweet and romantic. If you’d been truthful, that’s what would have happened, instead of this—this—crying and pacing and apologizing and—”

  “Wait. You didn’t say—did I hear right? Did you say you loved me?”

  She met his eyes and blinked. “You read my letter, didn’t you?”

  “That was in the letter?” The air rushed out of his chest.

  Allie groaned and covered her eyes. “Oh no. I thought you knew. Oh no. I thought—but you knew everything else— Baxter, the wedding, my parents.”

  “Betty told me. The letter—I threw it away.” He stepped closer, he had to be closer. “I thought you wrote a bunch of mush like, ‘God makes us stronger in our sufferings,’ and I didn’t want to hear it. You—you love me?”

  She nodded, and she squished up her face with her hand.

  With a surge of joy, he reached for her but stopped himself. “You still love me? Even after you saw my—my arm?”

  Her hand fell away to reveal all her hurt and anger. “Your arm? How shallow do you think I am? You say you love me, but how well do you know me if you can ask such a thing?”

  Oh boy. How much worse could he make this?

  “I don’t care about your arm. I care about you being truthful with me.”

  Walt stared down at her. So much to love—the vulnerability in her eyes, the strength in her chin, the truth in her words. She loved him, but it didn’t matter.

  “Well?” she said.

  “What can I say? I could say I lied because I love you, which is true, but it doesn’t make it right. I could point out evidence that I’ve changed—I did tell you the whole ugly truth after all. But I can’t make excuses. I can only take the consequences and pray you’ll forgive me.”

  Allie’s mouth softened and quivered.

  “I can’t love a man I can’t trust.”

  His chest crushed under the weight of her statement. “I once told my crew, ‘Dishonesty always has a price.’ Boy, a steep price.”

  49

  The blast of a train whistle tore Allie’s gaze from Walt’s resigned anguish. At last, her escape. Walt’s eyes darkened as the train pulled in. “Ironic, isn’t it? I love you and you love me, but what stands between us is bigger than Baxter and Emily combined—trust. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She fumbled inside her pocketbook for her ticket. “I’m glad I found out now before I wasted any more time pining over you.”

  A twitch in his cheek told her she’d struck a nerve. Good. He deserved it for lying to her, lying about her, and stomping on her heart twice now. She stepped around him toward the sanctuary of the train.

  “Good-bye, Allie.”

  The sadness in his voice wrenched her, but she didn’t turn around. “Good-bye,” she said in her coolest tone.

  The conductor punched her ticket and eyed her dress. While elegant at a wedding, the gown looked clownish on a train. Allie held her head high and made her way down the crowded aisle. At least there was room, and since she was the only passenger boarding, they would depart soon.

  “Here, miss.” A corporal stood and offered his seat.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Say, you’re all dressed for dancing. How ’bout you and me—”

  “No, thank you.” She settled in the seat and ventured a glance out the window. Walt stood alone on the platform.

  He sat on a bench, set his cap beside him, and lowered his head. His eyes closed and his lips moved. Was this another deception designed to elicit her forgiveness?

  It wouldn’t succeed. He said it himself—he was a liar, and she couldn’t trust him.

  In a few hours she’d be in San Francisco, away from this selfish man who cared more for his own pride than the feelings of the woman he claimed to love.

  “He loves me.” A low moan rose in her throat. She’d dreamed of hearing those words on his lips, but her dreams always ended with an embrace and a kiss, not with her departure.

 
Allie looked away to the sailor’s cap of the man in front of her. Walt didn’t deserve embraces or kisses. He lied to her. Why, he even lied about her to his friends. Oh dear, that was why Cracker said he’d heard a lot about her.

  She glanced out the window to Walt’s slumped shoulders and bowed head. He didn’t have to tell her that. She never would have known. He chose to tell her, to obey.

  “No.” She slammed back in the seat. He lied about Emily for selfish reasons. He allowed Allie to live in despair for two months when she could have lived in hope—hope that would have been fulfilled if he hadn’t lied.

  A burst of steam, a growl of engines, and Allie looked out the window. Walt sat up straight on the bench, his face distraught, and he shoved the curl off his forehead. Why did he have to do that? Did he know how endearing she found that gesture?

  “But I could never trust what he says.” She’d never deceive him like that. She hugged her stomach over the delicate chiffon dress she’d worn when she danced with Walt and she . . .

  Allie gathered the fabric in her grip. She chose not to tell him about Baxter.

  What did Walt just say? Silence wasn’t truthful when it perpetuated a lie? She allowed him to believe she didn’t have a boyfriend—a lie, and what a hurtful lie.

  “Oh no,” she whispered. Her bare left hand rubbed against the inside of her right arm. When she didn’t tell Walt she broke her engagement, she allowed him to believe she was still engaged—also a lie.

  “Oh, dear Lord, I’m as guilty as he is.” All this spring he must have lived in despair, dreading her marriage, when he could have lived in hope—hope that would have been fulfilled if she hadn’t deceived him.

  The train lurched to a start. Walt stood, put on his cap, raised a heart-wrenching, left-handed salute, and walked away.

  “No!” Allie sprang to her feet. “Stop the train!”

  “Something the matter, miss?” the conductor called behind her.

  “I have to get off this train.”

  “Sorry. Can’t do that. You can get off at Pittsburg.”

  “No, I have to get off now.” She headed down the aisle.

  The corporal grasped her arm and turned to the conductor. “Talking to herself, you know what I mean?”

  Allie leveled a gaze at him. “I assure you, sir, I am perfectly sane. Now please let go.” She tugged her arm free and plunged down the aisle.

  “Hey, lady! Where do you think you’re going?”

  The train lumbered along. Surely she could get off. She excused her way past curious passengers to the end of the car, where the door stood open for a breeze. She grabbed the handrail. Walt was opening the station door.

  “Walt!” she screamed. “Walter Novak!”

  Then she looked down. The wind whipped her hair about her face, and the platform blurred before her eyes. What was she thinking? She couldn’t jump off a moving train! The prudent course of action was to continue to San Francisco and return the next day. After all, her luggage was on board.

  “Lady! Hey, lady, are you crazy?”

  Allie looked over her shoulder. The conductor was almost upon her. Back to the station, where Walt stood, hand on the door, gaping at her. The train gained speed. The end of the platform neared.

  “Oh, dear Lord, help me.”

  The conductor’s hand brushed her sleeve.

  “Walter!” she cried and she jumped and she screamed. The ground rushed up. Her right ankle crumpled. Down she tumbled, over and over, a blur of wood and sky and pain around her.

  “Allie! Allie!”

  Her cheek rested on the rough wood platform. She moaned. Every limb ached.

  “Allie! What on earth?” Walt pounded to a stop and dropped to his knees.

  She rolled to her side and pushed up partway. “I lied to—”

  “Are you okay? Allie, what on earth?” He scanned up and down her body, placed his arm behind her back, and eased her up so she sat on her hip. “Where are you hurt?”

  “Walt, I lied to you.”

  He met her eyes and frowned. “Must have hit your head.” He nudged her forward and ducked around to examine the back of her head.

  She ignored the throbbing pain in her ankle and the soreness in her hip. “Walt, please listen. I lied to you.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m the one who lied. Now, where’s it hurt?”

  “I did. I lied to you.” She reached up and gripped his shoulder. “Remember when we met last year? I didn’t tell you about Baxter.”

  Walt sighed. “Just an oversight.”

  “At first it was. I thought you knew. But when we danced, I realized you were attracted to me and you didn’t know about Baxter, and I chose silence. You’re right. Silence isn’t truthful when it perpetuates a lie.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  She clutched the thick shoulder she’d admired that evening. “Yes, it is. You know why I didn’t say anything? Pride—I didn’t want to make a scene. And selfishness—I wanted to stay in the arms of the most wonderful man I’d ever met, stay where I felt lovely and special for the first time in my life.”

  Walt’s face fell still for a long moment. “Allie, don’t do this.”

  “I let you speak. Now it’s my turn.” She lifted her hand to his cheek, exhilarated by the proximity of the man she loved, by the intensity of her own gaze, by honesty itself. “I also lied when I didn’t tell you I broke my engagement.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Yes, it is. I allowed you to believe something that wasn’t true and I didn’t consider your feelings.”

  “You didn’t know I loved—”

  “It doesn’t matter. If I had told the truth, you never would have lied to me about Emily.”

  His gaze bore down on her. “That’s no excuse.”

  “No, but if I’d told the truth, you wouldn’t have lied. Please forgive me.”

  “Allie . . .” His voice grew thick and husky.

  “Please.” She ran her hand back into his hair. Although short in the back, it felt even more luxurious than she imagined. “Please forgive me.”

  Walt wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pressed her tight. “Of course, I forgive you but—”

  “And I forgive you.” She nestled her face in the hollow at the base of his neck and inhaled soap and aftershave and wool, forgiveness and love and joy.

  “You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t do this.” He held her even tighter. “You’re not thinking straight. I’m a cripple—a cripple, Allie. And I can’t provide for you as you’re used to.”

  “Please don’t say that. Oh, darling, no.” She caught her breath. She’d called him darling, but it was true. “As for providing for me, I walked away from my inheritance. I don’t need money. I only need the Lord. Well, it would be nice to have you too.” She pressed her lips to his neck, just below his ear, where his skin was smooth and warm. A rumble in his throat told her she’d struck a nerve again, but a pleasant one this time.

  “I love you so much, but you’re used to grand pianos and crystal chandeliers.”

  Allie drew back and traced the rainbow of ribbons on Walt’s chest. “A man who can earn these medals will never be impoverished, but even if you were, I—I’d rather have your love in poverty than—than a hundred grand pianos.”

  “But I’m a—”

  “Please, I never want to hear you say you’re a cripple again. You’re intelligent and inventive. You can do anything you put your mind to doing.” She trailed her hand down his right arm.

  He flinched.

  Allie glanced up. “I’m sorry. Does it still hurt?”

  “No.” His forehead creased. “But you don’t want to touch it.”

  She folded her hand around the end of his arm, as if she could infuse her love and mend his brokenness. “Maybe this is why God led me to March Field. I used to be jarred by such things, but no longer. Besides, this represents one of the things I love in you—your willingness to sacrifice.”

  Walt’s struggle
to control his face jarred her far more than his arm. After he gained control, he hiked up one eyebrow and bent one corner of his mouth. “I thought obedience was better than sacrifice.”

  Thank goodness, both his smile and his sense of humor survived after all. “Yes, and I love even more how you’ve done what God asked. What more could I want? Would you rather I didn’t forgive you, so we both could be miserable?”

  Walt squeezed her shoulder and gave her another twitch of a smile. “I’d resigned myself to misery as the price of obedience.”

  “Goodness. Don’t you think it’s time obedience was rewarded?” She worked her hand up into his curls and knocked off his cap. “Oops. Sorry, darling.” His smile creaked into place as if on rusty hinges.

  She smiled then glowered at him. “However, there is one lie I’ll never forgive. The strawberry juice. How could you let me walk around in such an undignified state?”

  He chuckled, a welcome sound. “That’s why it was cute. You’re always so ladylike, and there you were with this red streak.” He nuzzled his nose into her cheek and settled a kiss on the crest of her cheekbone. “Right here.”

  “Oh,” she sighed. She’d never truly recovered from the first time he kissed her cheek, but now—oh, now she would never recover and she didn’t want to, not when his lips drifted down her cheek.

  Her eyes fluttered shut. They were going to kiss—a real kiss, like in the movies, like people in love, and she turned her head to seek his lips.

  Walt pulled back. “Say, you’re not the woman I fell in love with.”

  He didn’t kiss her? She blinked, her eyes out of focus. “Hmm?”

  “You’re not.” His scowl couldn’t hide the twinkle in his hazel eyes. “The woman I fell in love with would never be seen in public like this. Would you look at yourself? One shoe off, one shoe on, dress all torn up.”

  Allie glanced at the gashes in the chiffon over her knees, her hip, and on her sleeves. Oh dear, she did like that dress.

  “The woman I love is too proper to throw herself off a train.”