by Sarah Sundin
“Two for Westin,” Adler said. Thank goodness Nick was still ahead. “Some fine shooting.”
“How about you, yellow two?” A taunt twisted Riggs’s voice. “Gun barrels still taped up nice and neat?”
“Enough,” Nick said, his voice low and weary. “Everyone did his job.”
They certainly had. The rat race cleared up as quickly as it had started. P-51s speckled the sky, and a thin line of B-24 Liberators headed west in the distance.
“Yellow flight, let’s escort those birds home,” Nick said.
Adler entered a smooth, wide turn with the men of his flight. His shirt felt clammy under his leather jacket, and his breath huffed into the oxygen mask from the exertion of the battle, of maneuvering the controls. He never noticed it in the thick of things, only after the fact.
They’d have to wait until they returned to Leiston to find out how the group had done. How many victories. How many losses. From Adler’s limited perspective, the battle had been lopsided in favor of the Americans.
And he still had only one victory. His gut twisted one direction, then the other. Guilt for how he’d obtained that victory. Frustration that he hadn’t scored since.
He squirmed to undo the twisting. He’d done his job, just as Nick said.
Then a smile built. Nick had gotten two more victories, bringing his total to three. Soon he’d be a double ace, first in the Pacific and now in Europe. Adler had played a role by keeping the ace safe. Being second wasn’t always bad.
Maybe that was what Jesus meant when he said the last would be first. Making peace with his role, embracing the purpose, seeing the good in it.
Steeliness formed out of that peace. Adler was a wingman. Well then, he’d be the best wingman ever.
19
Leiston Army Airfield
Saturday, March 11, 1944
Kitty searched the cabinet. “We’re out of tea already?”
“I tell you, Miss Kelly, our Yanks have learned to fancy tea.” Millie Clark carried a tray out to a jeep.
Had they? Violet exchanged a glance with Kitty. She never seemed to serve much tea.
Mr. Tate insisted food expenses were higher at Leiston than at other Aeroclubs. If there was a thief, how could Violet figure out who it was?
“Miss Lindstrom?” Millie came back inside and played with a strand of her light brown hair. “Do you think . . . after I make this delivery to the hangar, might I stay at the dance?”
Violet smiled at her. “Tom Griffith?”
She chewed on one bright red lip. “Yes, ma’am.”
The girl might be only sixteen, but Griff was only nineteen. And he was sweet. After he saw Millie spill an urn of coffee while making a delivery by pushcart, he’d helped the Red Cross procure jeeps from the base motor pool. “Of course, you may. This is our last run. We don’t have anything else to do until the parties are over.”
“Oh, thank you.” Millie hopped in place. “I can’t wait. And I promise, Griff and I will bring everything back.”
Kitty carried a tray out the side door. “Come on, Millie, let’s take these to the enlisted men. I plan to do some dancing too. We all should.” She tossed a wink to Violet.
Violet had no such plans, and she waved off Kitty and Millie.
Rosalind Weaver held a tray of donuts. “To the officers?”
“Yes.” Violet took a box of sugar and milk to the other jeep and climbed into the driver’s seat beside Rosalind. She drove slowly, the not-quite-full moon shedding light on the blacked-out road. “I’m sorry you have to work late tonight.”
“I don’t mind.” Rosalind held back her ginger hair. “It’s a special day for the boys.”
“It is.” The men of the 357th were celebrating one month of combat and fifty-nine victories. Just three days earlier, they’d shot down twenty enemy fighters over Berlin without losing a single P-51. The men were elated.
“I—I’m so thankful for this job.” Rosalind’s brow furrowed. “My husband’s pension is barely enough to live on, even with little Charlie and I staying with my mum. And when the war’s over, the men will come home and take back their jobs.”
“Oh dear.” Violet turned left. In addition, the Red Cross would leave. What would widows like Rosalind do if they couldn’t find work? “I wish—”
“Everything’s tickety-boo.” Rosalind sent her a smile. “I’m saving what I earn here so I can take a secretarial class after the war. We’ll make do.”
“I know you will. You’re smart and hardworking.”
“Oh, go on with you.” Rosalind flapped a hand at her.
Violet parked the jeep in front of the hangar and smoothed her hair.
Lord . . . She didn’t know whether to pray that she’d see Adler or that she wouldn’t. With the heavy pace of missions, she missed him. But she didn’t want her crush to get even crushier.
Violet and Rosalind carried the food through the hangar doors into a swirl of light and music. The new base band, the Buzz Boys, blasted out “Stompin’ at the Savoy.” The hangar was packed with several hundred officers and local women, dancing and talking and laughing. Finding Adler would be impossible anyway.
The crowd parted for Violet and Rosalind, and men plucked donuts from the tray as she passed. She laughed and pretended to scold them.
Violet set her tray on top of an empty one on the table.
“Well, hello there. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you.” An officer bowed to Rosalind. He was one of Adler’s friends, with curly black hair and a mischievous smile. “I’m Tony Rosario.”
Rosalind gave him a nervous nod and rearranged trays on the table. “I’m Rosalind Weaver.”
“Rosalind, huh? Ever go by Rosie?”
Violet edged to the side to replenish the sugar, keeping Rosalind in sight.
“No, just Rosalind.”
“Thank goodness, because I do go by Rosie.” He leaned his hip against the table. “When we get married, it’d be confusing if we both had the same nickname.”
Rosalind’s hazel eyes flew open. “I—I have a little boy at home.”
The pilot snapped to standing. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’d never—believe me, I’m not the kind of man to flirt with a married woman.”
Violet’s heart softened. What a gentleman.
“It’s all right, Lieutenant.” Rosalind held up one hand. “You did nothing wrong. My husband was killed at El Alamein.”
Tony’s head slumped forward. “I—I’m sorry, ma’am. This war—it’s so hard on women.”
“I’d say it’s dreadfully hard on men.” Rosalind turned back to the donuts.
“If it’s not too much to ask, ma’am . . . may I have this dance?”
Rosalind didn’t look up, and her shoulders tensed.
“Excuse me, sir. We’ll be just a second.” Violet smiled at the lieutenant, grabbed Rosalind’s arm, and pulled her out of earshot. “If you don’t want to dance, you can blame me and say you’re working tonight. But if you want to, you have my permission.”
Rosalind sneaked a glance over her shoulder at the pilot. “He’s very kind, but I’m supposed to be helping you.”
“Nonsense. Part of your job is to be a hostess. Dancing is allowed, even encouraged.”
“Thank you.” A smile twitched around, and Rosalind turned back to Tony.
Violet couldn’t help but laugh. If those two did end up married, the woman would be Rosalind Rosario.
“Did you mean that?” A deep and familiar voice toyed with her insides.
She faced Adler. “Hi there.”
He had a strange look on his face—serious and almost hesitant. “Did you mean what you said about dancing being part of your job? If so, I’d like to ask you to dance.”
Violet couldn’t imagine a worse idea. He was already too attractive standing two feet away in his smart olive drab dress uniform. But to be in his arms? She gestured to the table. “The empty trays—I have to take them to the Aeroclub.” Although not until the end of t
he evening.
One blink, and his face stiffened. “That’s okay. I understand.”
Realization slapped her. “How long has it been . . . since you last danced?”
He looked out over the dance floor. His lips parted, then closed. His eyes fluttered shut.
“Not since . . . ?” She squeezed out the words.
He shook his head.
Everything inside ached for him. The poor man had been mourning Oralee for three years. To ask another woman to dance was an enormous step.
She clutched his arm. “Adler? I’d be honored.”
His gaze slid back to her, he nodded, and he led her to the dance floor.
The band played “Deep Purple.” Violet winced at the romantic tune, but Adler’s healing was too important.
In an open spot, Adler turned without looking at her and took her into his arms.
Violet forced herself to breathe evenly, as if she wasn’t falling apart inside. He was so close, and his hand was so strong, his arm perfect around her waist, his shoulder firm beneath her hand, his cheek tantalizingly near, and warmth filled the gap between them.
She prayed for him as they danced, as the notes of “Deep Purple” floated around her. Such a heartbreaking song, all about true love, long lost.
This had to be difficult for Adler. He loved Oralee so, missed her so. He was all alone in this world, and Violet found herself closing the gap.
But she eased back. She couldn’t heal him. Only God could, and she mustn’t interfere with the process.
The band shifted keys and played “Blue Moon,” one of Violet’s favorites.
Adler widened the space without letting go, and he met her gaze. “They’re working their way through the rainbow. First purple, now blue.”
Violet smiled. He looked relaxed and content, not anguished. “What’s next? ‘Green Eyes’?”
That grin of his was lethal at close range. “Then ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas.’”
She let out a mock sigh. “Fine. Leave me with orange.”
He chuckled, then glanced toward the refreshment table. “Listen, I wouldn’t mind another dance, but I won’t keep you from your work.”
The perfect escape, but how could she resist “Blue Moon”? “It seems silly to make two more runs to the Aeroclub. I can take everything back after the party is over.”
“Good.” Adler gathered her closer again. “I’d forgotten how much I liked dancing.”
“Me too.”
“You?” He pulled back to look her in the eye.
“When you’re six feet tall, it’s hard to find dance partners.”
“I’d think . . .” He shrugged and turned her in a circle. “Well, I’m different.”
In many wonderful ways. “And Dennis wasn’t much of a dancer.”
“Dennis?” Those eyes met hers again, as blue as that moon.
“My former fiancé. I haven’t told you about him, have I?”
His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “You were engaged too?”
“In college. We both wanted to be missionaries. Then his roommate’s father offered him a job, and he took it. Only a few months before graduation, before our wedding.”
“He broke your engagement?” Adler’s mouth thinned.
“No, I did. He’d changed and drifted away from the mission society. All he could talk about was his friend’s money and car and how nice they were. Then he accepted the job offer. I couldn’t marry someone who no longer shared my dream.”
Adler’s hand tightened around hers, and he glanced away. “Yeah, I reckon not.”
“I—to tell the truth, what really broke my heart was not being able to serve overseas.”
“No great love then?”
“No.” She swallowed the embarrassment. She’d hoped they’d fall in love, but they hadn’t. “We were friends and worked well together, but we were never in love.”
“But y’all—y’all wanted to walk the same path in life.” There was an odd note in his voice.
She saw a question in his eyes. What was more important? The path or love? And she saw a deeper question underneath.
She hated the answer. With Dennis, she’d been willing to sacrifice love for the path. But she couldn’t sacrifice the path for love. She wouldn’t.
Not even for a man like Adler.
Before tonight, her feelings for him seemed like a silly crush, but not now. Not with him so near, touching her, breathing the same air, looking at her the way he was.
She tore her gaze away over his shoulder. “We did want the same path. Until we didn’t.”
The beat of the music changed and quickened—“Jumpin’ at the Woodside.”
“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” Adler broke into an energetic swing dance.
Violet laughed and followed his moves, swinging away from him, to him, spinning under his arm and into his arms, right against his chest, no gap, no distance.
Then he spun her away again, joy in his eyes, new and delightful, summoning even more joy inside her.
For tonight, she’d let herself have fun in his company, in his arms, in the dream. Tomorrow, she’d wake up.
Unless . . . Oh, Lord, please change his heart.
20
Leiston Army Airfield
Monday, March 13, 1944
Bill Beckenbauer screwed the cowling panel in place over Texas Eagle’s Merlin engine. “What kind of idiot used faulty engine mount bolts?”
Standing beside Beck, Adler poked a little screw-like Dzus fastener through a hole in the panel, twisted it until it engaged with the coil under the panel, then gave it a turn with a screwdriver. “Don’t look at me. This was after my time in Inglewood.”
Recently, all four bolts had failed on a 354th Fighter Group Mustang. The engine assembly had broken away in flight, and the pilot had been killed. Now the Army Air Force had grounded all P-51s to replace the engine mount bolts.
Thank goodness Beck had given in to Adler’s sweet talk and let him assist. Reminded Adler of his youth helping the truckers and of his year at North American. Felt good to change from slick officer’s duds into grease-stained coveralls and a mechanic’s ball cap.
Adler filled his pocket with more fasteners. “You ever want to do more than this?”
“More? Than being crew chief? Nah.” He held out his hand for a refill. “My fool brother keeps trying to put me in charge of some big repair depot, but I don’t want it. Paperwork and requisitions and nonsense. Nope, give me one plane, one pilot.”
Adler gave the mechanic a handful of Dzus fasteners. In the distance, a few Merlins puttered as ground crews put them through their paces. A couple of seagulls squawked at each other as they flew overhead. A chilly wind ruffled the hem of his coveralls. And a question burned its way out. “Ever bother you, being second to your brother?”
Beck looked back over his shoulder, a streak of grease down his nose and one graying eyebrow cocked at Adler. “Second? You have crazy notions, kid.”
Adler’s mouth hung open due to the foot jammed in it.
Beck fitted another cowling panel in place. “My brother never could have gotten in the air without me, and neither can you.”
“I know that, sir. I know that full well.” Adler screwed the top corner of the panel into place. But the question still smoldered. All his life the quest to be first had driven him, both to good and to evil. Why did that urge still churn? He controlled it in combat, but he still wanted to make ace.
“I wanted to be a pilot.”
“Hmm?” Adler said.
“In the Great War.” Beck studied his screwdriver, the wooden handle smooth and dark with age. “I washed out, but I stayed in the Air Service. I wanted to serve my country, I wanted to be close to planes, and I wanted to be with my brother. That’s why I became Johnny’s mechanic. Discovered I had a knack. Johnny never once turned back with mechanical problems.”
“Neither have I, sir.”
“Don’t you forget it, kid. When it comes do
wn to it, both Johnny and I do something we’re good at, something we love. And”—he pointed the screwdriver at Adler—“not once has anyone ever shot at me.”
Adler laughed. “There’s something to be said for that.”
Beck circled around the nose.
Adler followed with the bucket of Dzus fasteners, then helped Beck replace a panel on the other side of the fuselage.
“Do you have a brother?” Beck asked.
“Two of them.”
“From your tone of voice, you don’t get along.”
Adler pulled a fastener from his pocket. “We used to. As fine as brothers do, I reckon.”
“Used to? This have anything to do with why you don’t want your name in the paper?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have come out here after all. “I can’t go home again, and I’d rather they didn’t know where I was.”
“What on earth did you do?”
Adler’s shoulders squirmed. “Let’s just say I hurt everyone in my family and then some.”
Beck whistled and shook his head. “Ever tell them you’re sorry?”
For the second time in a short span, someone asked a question he hadn’t considered in almost three years. For the second time that afternoon, Adler’s mouth hung open.
With firm twists, Beck fastened the panel shut. “I don’t know how they do things in Texas. But where I come from, if you do something wrong, you own up to it and apologize.”
That sliced even deeper than Violet’s suggestion. Because Beck was absolutely right.
Beck leaned to the side, looked past Adler, and waved. “Well, hello there.”
A jeep parked in front of Eagle’s nose, and Violet Lindstrom stepped out.
Boy, did she look pretty in her gray-blue skirt and jacket and cap. Not as pretty as she’d looked in his arms though, with her cheeks flushed from dancing. Holding her so close, he could see gold and green radiating in the blue of her eyes.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” She leaned into the backseat of the jeep and bustled about. “We heard what you were doing today, how hard you’re working to get the planes back in the air, not even taking breaks. So we’re bringing out snacks—coffee, sandwiches, and donuts.”