The Sky Above Us

by Sarah Sundin

  Violet went to him, joy chasing away every worry. “You look like a man in need of help.”

  “Desperately.” He set his hands on her waist, pulled her near, and gave her a little kiss. “Much better. Ready for our walk?”

  “A few more minutes. We’re planning the hoedown.”

  Adler ambled to the couch, tipped his cap to Kitty, picked up Violet’s notebook, and flapped it shut. “Looks like you’re done to me.”

  That grin of his. She couldn’t resist smiling back, but . . . “A few more minutes. We were just about to discuss decorations.”

  “No, ma’am. You’re done.” He headed for the door.

  She blocked his path, but he lifted the notebook high.

  Laughter bubbled up, and she tried to grab her notebook. He only had half an inch of height on her, but she couldn’t reach. “If it weren’t for those gorilla arms of yours . . .”

  He wrapped one of those arms around her. “All the better to hold you with, my dear.” He smacked a kiss on her nose, spun away, and strode down the hall, notebook aloft.

  “Have fun, you two,” Kitty called.

  “You’re no help.” Violet wrinkled her nose at her girlfriend, then chased her boyfriend. Despite her teasing, she loved seeing him so happy. “Ad—Captain Paxton, you’re awful.”

  “Awfully in need of a walk.” He tossed the notebook on the desk, grasped Violet by the shoulders, and marched her backward out the office door. “The only thing on your calendar right now is me.”

  That spark in his eyes . . . oh, how she wanted to kiss him. But not in the dining area in front of all the men. “Sweet-talker.”

  They strolled out of the Aeroclub and out of the communal site, then up their favorite lane. A brilliant blue sky arched above, and the trees along the path rustled in a gentle breeze.

  Violet slipped her hand in Adler’s. “Did you fly today?”

  “Sure did. The group flew two missions, and I flew one. I like these tactical fighter-bomber missions.”

  Violet had heard the men refer to the Transportation Plan, designed to demolish roads, bridges, and railroads in Nazi-occupied territory before the invasion.

  “Dropped a couple of bombs on some railroad track, then strafed a bunch of trucks and trains. They don’t count as victories, but it’s important.”

  “Isolating the beaches.”

  He shot her a smile. “Someone’s hanging around with pilots too much.”

  Violet leaned into his shoulder. “Whose fault is that?”

  “All mine.” He looped his arm around her waist. “D-day’s coming soon. No secret there. If we keep this up, Hitler won’t be able to move his tanks or troops into battle.”

  “Don’t your missions show him where we’re landing?”

  “They could. That’s why we bomb and strafe all along the coast. I don’t know where we’re landing either. But I like strafing—anything to keep the Germans away from my brothers and the rest of our boys.”

  The question perched on her tongue, but if he’d heard from home he would have told her. The poor man. A month and a half had passed since he’d mailed the letter. Lord, please let them forgive him.

  Adler’s brow puckered. “I was hoping I could write to my brothers before D-day.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, relishing the masculine roughness.

  “There’s so much I want to say to them. I don’t just need to apologize for that night.” He kicked at a weed growing through the pavement. “But for a lifetime.”

  Violet squeezed his waist. She’d certainly had her squabbles with Alma, Karl, and Nels.

  “Something in me always bristled at being second-born. Daddy said I was like Jacob, born grabbing at my older brother’s heel. Daddy always liked that about me, liked my ambition.”

  “I gather you’re more like him than Wyatt is.”

  “Spitting image.” Adler cracked half a smile, then sobered. “That only fueled my resentment. I loved everything about Paxton Trucking. Everything. Wyatt only liked working on the books, never seemed excited about running the company someday. Seemed to me as if Wyatt despised his birthright, just like Esau.”

  Violet studied his handsome profile in the afternoon sun, his mouth bowed in a slight frown, not the frown of a bitter man but of a man reevaluating his life, a man determined to make things right.

  She snuggled closer. “I love that you want to apologize to your brothers and be reconciled.”

  He stopped and squinted down the lane in both directions, then he grinned and backed her against a tree. “Know what I love?”

  Her breath halted from his sudden change in mood and in reckless hope, but it was too early for him to declare love. And mischief danced over his features. She knew what he loved. “Kisses.”

  “Why, thank you. Right kind of you to offer.” Now his lips did the dancing, caressing hers.

  Sometimes it didn’t seem quite proper, the way he held her, his body pressed to hers from lips to knees. But thick layers of leather and wool separated them, and never once had his hands strayed. And the connection between them felt good and right. Intimate, but respectful.

  Adler eased back from the kiss. “There’s more.”

  More what? More kisses? But his eyebrows pinched together in a serious way.

  He rested one forearm on the trunk above her head. “I love how you’ve been honest with me about your wrestling—about becoming a missionary.”

  “Of course.”

  “No, not of course. You know I’m a sweet-talker. I could—the old Adler would have used that against you and tried to change your mind.”

  Violet ran a finger along his strong jawline. “You promised not to.”

  “You trust me.” Bewilderment swam in his eyes. “Oralee—she loved me, but she didn’t completely trust me. That was wise.”

  She ran her fingers into his hair. “I have the new Adler. You’re a good man.”

  He winced and glanced away.

  “You are.” With one hand to his cheek, she turned his face to hers. “A very good man.”

  His cheek twitched under her thumb. “Not good enough for you.”

  Her love for him ached inside, begging to be voiced, to assure him, but he had to say it first. She wouldn’t steal that from him.

  Instead she infused all that love into her smile. “That’s my decision to make. You’re more than good enough. Far more.”

  Her words felt insufficient, so she kissed him. Maybe someday she could convince him.

  32

  Leiston Army Airfield

  Saturday, May 13, 1944

  Sitting in the squadron pilots’ room, Adler caught Violet’s eye and held up one hand to ask her to wait for him.

  With a warm gaze, she nodded, and then she toted a tray out the door.

  Adler reviewed his encounter report from the day’s mission to make sure it was complete and accurate. Then he signed it and slid it to the squadron intelligence officer.

  He scanned the form. “Looks good. We’ll type it up, check it against the gun camera footage, and turn it in to Fighter Command.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Adler stood and stretched again. He was the last pilot remaining in the room after the debriefing.

  The refreshment table was empty, so he stepped outside where Violet and Tom Griffith were loading a jeep. “Miss Lindstrom, y’all need to take that back to the Aeroclub, right?”

  She brushed her hair off her cheek, revealing a sweet smile. “Griff offered to take it back. Then you and I can still have a walk before dinner.”

  “Thanks, Corporal.”

  “Sure thing, Captain.” Griff hopped into the jeep.

  After he left, Adler took Violet’s hand and led her down to the perimeter track and away from the base.

  “We’ve never gone this way before,” she said.

  “I want to show you something.” His voice clamped at the end, and he coughed to cover. He was taking a big step today.

  Violet gl
anced up, where a few pillow clouds floated in the sky. “You had a long mission.”

  “Longest ever.” His voice loosened at the topic. “And I mean ever. We flew 1470 miles round trip, the longest combat mission by any single-engine aircraft ever.”

  “Oh my goodness.”

  “It’ll be all over the news tomorrow. We flew to Poznan, Poland.”

  “Poland!”

  He grinned at how big her blue eyes could get. “Yes, ma’am. Reckon the sight of American fighters so far east made the Nazis quake in their jackboots.”

  “Fourteen hundred . . . in one day.” Violet shook her pretty head.

  “This is how we did it.” He pointed to a stack of bullet-shaped auxiliary fuel tanks. “Our new drop tanks, made out of a paper-plastic composition. They weigh next to nothing, but each holds 108 gallons.”

  “Incredible. And there’s your Eagle. Such a beautiful plane.”

  “Not as beautiful as my girl.” He winked at her, then checked out his bird. The ground crew must have finished their work, and José Flores had already completed his paintwork. Adler pointed to the fourth swastika on the fuselage below his cockpit. “Paint’s still wet.”

  “Four victories!” She hugged his arm. “One more and you’re an ace.”

  “We’ll see.” With one finger he traced the white lettering for his plane’s name. “I thought being leader meant being first. But Nick—and Jesus—are showing me how to make myself second even when I’m in the lead. Three men follow me, look up to me, and depend on me. I have to teach them, protect them, and encourage them. And I like it. I like it a lot.”

  Violet kissed his cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

  His heart slammed into his chin, but it was time. She’d been his girlfriend for a month now, and he was certain. “Something else to show you.” He led her around the plane’s red-and-yellow nose to the eagle painting on the other side of the fuselage. At Adler’s request, Flores had painted a violet in the eagle’s grasp.

  She covered her mouth. “Oh, Adler.”

  He circled his arm around her waist. “It’s too late to name my bird after my girl but never too late to include you.”

  “I—I’m honored. I love it.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

  Adler cleared his sticky throat. “And I love my Violet.”

  She raised her head, her eyes wide and glistening and wondrous.

  “I love you.” His voice roughened, and he swallowed again. “Very much. I don’t care if it’s too early. I have to say it.”

  With a sudden laugh, she faced him, flung her arms around his neck, and planted a kiss on his lips. “I love you too. I’m madly in love with you.”

  Adler blinked and searched her face, but only joy and love shone out. Yes, love. More than anything, he wanted to sink into history’s longest kiss ever, but not yet.

  “I’ve got more to say.” He backed out of her embrace and unzipped his flight jacket. “I want you to know no one will ever stand between us, even from the past.” With stiff fingers, he unpinned the yellow scrap from inside his breast pocket.

  “All—all right.”

  “This was Oralee’s.” He fingered the smooth cotton, as sunny as Oralee’s smile. “It’s from the dress she wore that day. It tore when she fell.”

  “Sweetheart.” Violet’s voice choked. “You—you keep it close to your heart.”

  “I won’t let her memory come between us.” His fingers tightened on the scrap, the familiar frayed edges, the three white daisies, the sound of Oralee’s scream, silenced. “It’s time to let this go. To let her go.”

  “Oh no, no, no.” Violet slipped the fabric from his grip, tucked it back into his pocket, and fumbled with the safety pin. “You loved her. And your deep love for her—that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. You’re faithful, constant.”

  “Violet . . .” He studied the tears dribbling down her cheeks, the eyelashes darkened and flickering. “You shouldn’t.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve opened your heart again and let me in. That’s more than I ever dreamed.” She fastened the pin, sniffled, and wiped her cheeks with her fingers. “Oh dear.”

  Adler tugged his handkerchief from the pocket in his flight coveralls and dried her cheeks, cradling the back of her head. He didn’t trust his voice, so he pressed her head to his shoulder and held her tight.

  Most men were lucky to have the love of one good woman in their lives. He’d had two.

  Adler slammed his eyes shut, one hand buried in Violet’s soft hair. He wasn’t lucky. He was blessed. The Lord had made him a new man and had given him a new start and even a new love.

  He might never be forgiven by his family and might never be welcomed home. But he wouldn’t be alone. His future lay with Violet, even if he didn’t know which way that future led.

  Adler pulled in a deep breath of fresh spring air, and he kissed Violet’s temple. “Ready for dinner?”

  She laughed. “Dinner?”

  “Man’s got to eat, and so does woman.”

  Her mouth bent in a little smile. “True.”

  “Besides, I want to talk to you, and that’s better done side-by-side than face-to-face. Or this happens.” He kissed her, and the sweetness of her melted the steel of his resolve. “Over and over it’ll happen.”

  He fell into another kiss, wrapping her close, savoring their love.

  She gripped his shoulders and pushed away, chuckling. “I thought you wanted dinner.”

  “You taste better.” He stretched toward her.

  Violet spun out of his embrace and scooped up his hand. “Given the quality of the food in the mess, that isn’t saying much. But we do have to eat.”

  His stomach rumbled, betraying him by agreeing with her. “Fine.” He sounded like a whiny toddler.

  She laughed and led him to the perimeter track. “You said you wanted to talk, so talk.”

  Adler drew in another warm breath to clear his mind. “I’ve worked out two plans.”

  “Plans?”

  He marched toward the control tower, not looking at her. “I did some research, and I came up with two plans I could live with. Now to find out if you can live with them.”

  “Plans for us?” Her voice wavered.

  He couldn’t look at her now. “First idea—the easiest because it’s my original plan.”

  “ACES?”

  “Yes, in Salina, Kansas.”

  Violet stopped.

  He tugged on her hand. “Side by side, young lady. I read up on Salina. Flat and open, perfect for an airfield and warehouses. In fact, the Army Air Forces has an airfield there. It’s pretty much smack-dab in the middle of the country, with access to railroads and roads. An ideal site for a shipping hub. You’d be close to your family. You could teach if you want, or volunteer, and raise our twenty-nine kids.”

  A laugh burst out. “Twenty-nine?”

  He winked at her. “The number’s open for negotiation.”

  “Kansas.” She leaned into his arm. “It sounds wonderful.”

  Adler nudged her away. “Not yet, you don’t. Here’s the second idea. This was harder for me. I can’t see myself preaching. I’m a businessman and a pilot. I love moving freight. So last week I sat down with the chaplain and told him all that.”

  “You did?” She leaned into him again.

  This time he let her stay. “He had an idea. Seems a lot of missionaries are isolated. It’s hard for them to get supplies, hard to get medicines in an emergency. I could buy a plane and radios to communicate with the missionaries. Then I could ship supplies to them, even fly them around. If someone’s sick, I could fly them to a city with a hospital.”

  “What a brilliant idea.”

  “Not mine, but I agree. I can see myself doing it and enjoying it. And you could stay put and teach the local kids about reading, writing, ’rithmetic, and Jesus. While raising our twenty-nine kids, of course.”

  Violet’s gaze darted about, as if she were painting the picture in her
mind. “You’d be away a lot, but you’d be doing such great good. You’d do that for me?”

  He bumped her with his shoulder. “For God.”

  She laughed and ducked her chin. “Of course.”

  “And for you.” He drew her back to his side. “Definitely for you.”

  33

  Leiston, England

  Wednesday, May 17, 1944

  Mr. Banister loaded a large sack of beans into the back of the jeep.

  Violet tried not to stare at the grocer’s truncated fingertips and the mottled pink scars that covered his hands. Perhaps he’d suffered a war injury. “Thank you, Mr. Banister.”

  “You’re welcome.” He headed back into the store for the bacon.

  Violet smiled at Sylvia Haywood as they followed him. “Just wait until you taste American baked beans.”

  Tom Griffith had driven Kitty down to Ipswich to pick up molasses and cornmeal at the Red Cross service club there, so Violet was making the weekly run to Banister’s.

  “Only two weeks until the hoedown.” Sylvia adjusted her hat over her blonde hair. “Jimmy and Margie speak of nothing else. Jimmy keeps trying to talk like that cowboy of yours.”

  “He does have the cutest accent.” Each twang in his deep voice resounded in her heart.

  Mr. Banister slapped two large paper-wrapped bundles onto the counter. “Do you have your ration books?”

  “Yes, sir.” But Sylvia had to help Violet with the books and the money. Pounds and crowns and half-pennies—they made her head spin.

  A young woman with pinned-up brown curls took the cash without a glance or a smile.

  So Violet turned her smile to the grocer. “This is for the big party we’re holding for the children on May 31. Do you have children, Mr. Banister?”

  The cashier speared her with a glare. “They will not attend.”

  Violet sucked in a breath as sharp as the woman’s voice. How could she respond?

  “Hazel.” Mr. Banister frowned at the cashier. Then he handed Violet the stamped ration books. “Thank you for your purchase. I’ll load the bacon for you.”