The Sky Above Us

by Sarah Sundin

  49

  Kensington, London

  Saturday, June 24, 1944

  Adler ambled down the London street pretending he was sightseeing and not procrastinating. Four-story buildings in white and brick stood shoulder to shoulder, neat and classy, the neighborhood’s perfection marred only by vacant lots from bomb damage during the Blitz and Little Blitz.

  “Come on.” Violet tugged his hand. “No dillydallying.”

  The woman knew him too well. “Thanks for coming as my bodyguard.”

  Violet squeezed his hand. “Wyatt sounds eager to see you. I seriously doubt he intends to harm you.”

  “I should have sent camels.”

  She snapped her gaze to him and laughed. “Camels?”

  “Remember when Jacob returned from exile, and he feared for his life? Jacob sent Esau a herd of goats and camels to appease him.”

  She laughed and nudged his shoulder. “Wyatt’s a naval officer. What would he do with camels?”

  The image did make him smile.

  Violet inspected the notes in her hand. “This is the street.”

  Adler rounded the corner onto a side street.

  Down a block or so, a man in navy blue stood on the sidewalk.

  Wyatt.

  Adler’s feet glued to the pavement.

  “Adler!” Wyatt waved and ran down the street, Esau running to the brother who had wronged him. “Adler! Adler!”

  “Run to him,” Violet said.

  Adler pried one foot free, then the other, and he walked, then jogged, then broke into a full run. “Wyatt!”

  They slammed into each other, laughing, half-hugging, half-wrestling.

  “You big lug.” Wyatt pulled back and gripped Adler’s shoulders. “Take a couple of shots at you? Why on earth would I want to do that?”

  Adler grasped his brother’s shoulders as well. The naval officer’s dress blues looked good on him. Same warm smile, same gray-blue eyes, a bit more defined in the face. A scar slashed across his left cheek. From when Adler threw a rock at him.

  He winced. “That scar. That’s a good reason right there.”

  “Are you kidding?” Wyatt rubbed it and smiled. “I ought to thank you. Dorothy says it makes me look exciting.”

  “Dorothy?”

  “My girlfriend, Dorothy Fairfax. This is her home. Let’s go inside. I want you to meet her and her father.”

  “Just a second.” Adler turned around.

  Violet stood right behind him, her eyes glistening.

  “You brought the Red Cross?” Wyatt’s voice rose in disbelief.

  “It’s a joy to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” She shook his hand. “I’m Violet Lindstrom.”

  “You’re the one who set up the meeting.” Wyatt wore a strange flat smile.

  He thought Adler really had brought a bodyguard, and Adler chuckled. “Violet’s my girlfriend. She runs the Aeroclub at my air base.”

  “Oh.” Wyatt’s smile unfroze. “Nice to meet you too. Well, come on.”

  He led them down a few houses. “Dorothy’s a ‘Wren,’ an officer in the Women’s Royal Naval Service. We met at naval headquarters in London working on D-day plans.”

  So he’d been safe on land, thank goodness. “I’m glad you were here that day.”

  “Hardly. I was on a destroyer bombarding Omaha Beach.”

  Those destroyers had come dangerously close to shore supporting the troops. “Maybe those were your shells flying over my head.”

  Wyatt laughed and clapped him on the back. “My aim is better than that. I hit gun batteries, not aircraft.”

  “And I was on the ground. I crash-landed behind Omaha and fought with the infantry. Y’all made an awful racket. Interfered with my beauty sleep.”

  “Well, I’ll be. If I’d known you were there, I’d have lobbed a few more projectiles your way.” Wyatt winked at him.

  “Now, boys,” Violet said in a teasing tone.

  Wyatt climbed the steps to a house. “Can’t tell you how good it is to see you again.”

  “Same here. Never . . . never thought I would.”

  Wyatt gave him a compassionate look and opened the door.

  A middle-aged gentleman and a pretty redhead in a navy blue uniform stood inside—the people he’d seen with Wyatt on Easter.

  Wyatt took off his officer’s cap. “Dorothy, Mr. Fairfax, this is my brother, Capt. Adler Paxton, and his girlfriend . . .”

  Poor Wyatt had never been good with names. “Violet Lindstrom.”

  “It is such a pleasure to meet you.” Dorothy shook Adler’s hand, tears in her bright blue eyes. “I’ve dreamed of this moment as long as I’ve known Wyatt.”

  More handshakes and greetings, then Dorothy ushered them into the sitting room, filled with luxurious dark woods and upholstered chairs.

  A black Scottish terrier sat by the coffee table, eyeing Adler warily.

  Wyatt scooped up the pooch. “This is Bonnie Prince Charlie, a member of His Majesty’s Royal Highlanders and the scourge of the Nazi squirrels in Kensington Gardens.”

  Violet shook his little paw. “At least there’s one war hero in the room.”

  Dorothy laughed. “I think you and I shall get along famously. Please have a seat and help yourself to the biscuits. Would you like some tea?”

  Biscuits? Oh yeah, cookies. Adler sat on a small sofa with Violet at his side, while Wyatt and Mr. Fairfax sat in armchairs.

  Dorothy poured tea into china cups with blue and pink flowers on them. “As hostess, I’m establishing one rule for today. You are not allowed to apologize to each other.”

  Adler shot Wyatt a look, but his older brother looked confused too. “But that’s why I came.”

  “Nonsense.” Dorothy set down the teapot and sat between her father and boyfriend. “You wrote Wyatt a lovely letter apologizing and begging forgiveness. And Wyatt, you wrote a terribly long and terribly maudlin letter cataloging every unpleasant thought, word, or action committed against your brother in the past twenty-five years. Am I right?”

  Wyatt gave her a sheepish smile. “Maybe.”

  “Of course I’m right. So there’s nothing left to say on the matter.” She gave a firm nod.

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” Violet picked out a shortbread cookie. “Just enjoy each other’s company.”

  The old Adler was more than willing to sweep the past three years under the Fairfaxes’ Oriental rug, but the new man had something to say. “I appreciate that, Miss Fairfax—”

  “Dorothy. Please.”

  “Dorothy.” He cradled the delicate cup in his hands. “But there’s something I didn’t put in my letter.”

  “It’s all right,” Wyatt said.

  “No, it isn’t. My anger drove you to run away. That cut you off from Daddy and Mama and Clay as well. For three years! I realized that recently, and I feel awful about it.”

  Wyatt’s face lengthened. He turned to Dorothy, who mirrored his expression. Wyatt pressed his lips together. “Daddy and Mama didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “You know why I ran away, but not why I stayed away.”

  “Because of me.”

  Wyatt fiddled with his black necktie. “I knew you’d calm down eventually. I stayed away because of what I did to Clay.”

  To Clay? Was that what he’d meant about ‘sins against Clay’? “What happened?”

  “After Oralee . . .” He took a deep breath.

  Dorothy patted his arm. “Go ahead, darling.”

  “I ran home,” he said, his voice rough. “Daddy and Mama told me to leave town for a few days, let you cool down. Then they went to fetch Dr. Hill and the sheriff. After they left, I realized I had only fifteen cents in my pocket, not enough for a train ticket. I searched the entire house for cash. Then I got to Clay’s room.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’d just withdrawn his college money from the savings and loan. I didn’t stop to calculate how much I needed. I just grabbed the en
velope and ran. I went to Charleston to stay with a buddy. I meant to send back the balance, but I let my friend talk me into investing in his company. It went belly-up and I lost every penny. I’ve spent the last three years saving up to pay him back. It’s all done now. I sent a check right before D-day.”

  “Every penny, plus interest.” Dorothy hugged Wyatt’s arm and smiled at Adler. “You know your brother.”

  He thought he did. Wyatt, a thief?

  “Paying him back doesn’t undo what I did. Clay didn’t go to college because of me.”

  That’s what Daddy meant about Clay having financial troubles. But it wasn’t really Wyatt’s fault. Adler’s rage caused Wyatt to panic and steal. “Oh no.”

  “God’s forgiven me, and so have our parents, but I don’t know if Clay ever will.”

  Then a force like a full salvo of shells hit Adler in the chest, and he gasped from the pain. “Oh no. Clay was betrayed by both of us.”

  “You? What did you do?”

  Adler hung his head. “Daddy and Mama didn’t tell you either.”

  Violet stroked his arm. “Tell him, sweetheart.”

  Adler dragged his heavy gaze up to Mr. Fairfax and Dorothy. “I beg your pardon. I don’t want to burden y’all with the Paxton family’s darkest secrets.”

  “The Fairfax family has a few dark secrets of its own,” Dorothy said with a rueful smile.

  “And if it concerns me,” Wyatt said, “it concerns them.”

  Adler drank in one last strengthening, encouraging look from the woman he loved, the woman who loved him in spite of all he’d done.

  Then he told the story. All of it. The failed attempt to steal the truck. Ellen and the whiskey. Clay finding them. Daddy and Mama and the shotgun. Timmy’s birth. Ellen’s death. Adler’s deep regret.

  When he finished, Wyatt rubbed his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide and stark. “He—he has good reason to hate us both.”

  Their gazes locked. For Adler’s whole life, his relationship with Wyatt had been frayed by competition and jealousy. But now unity coursed between them—brother to brother, man to man, sinner to sinner—bound by mutual regret and mutual love for the little brother they’d both betrayed.

  “I wrote to him same time as I wrote you,” Wyatt said. “I haven’t heard back.”

  “Same here. Daddy said he’s an Army Ranger. Reckon he fought on D-day.”

  “They . . . they took heavy casualties.”

  “I’ve made inquiries with the Red Cross,” Violet said softly. “We’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”

  “Thank you,” Wyatt said.

  Silence fell in the room, dark and weighty.

  Mr. Fairfax harrumphed and straightened his suit jacket, a touch of amusement in his eyes. “I’m afraid you Yanks are unaware that, to the English, discussing unpleasant subjects over tea is most improper.”

  Wyatt raised his teacup. “That’s why we drink coffee.”

  Dorothy giggled and covered her mouth. Then Wyatt chuckled, and Adler and Violet joined him.

  To laugh with his brother again, after all they’d gone through—what a gift.

  “My dear Mr. Fairfax,” Wyatt said in a fake English accent. “Would you please be so kind as to inform my brother as to proper subjects to discuss over tea?”

  “Business.” He took a sip of tea. “Business is always an excellent topic.”

  “Papa is a businessman,” Dorothy said.

  Mr. Fairfax addressed Adler. “I understand you have a keen interest in commerce.”

  “I do.” And now was as good a time as any to ask. “Wyatt, I want to ask if I could work for Paxton Trucking after the war.”

  Wyatt raised one eyebrow. “That’s Daddy’s decision, not mine.”

  “The company will be yours someday. If you don’t feel comfortable working with me, I understand. You don’t have to answer right away. But it’s your decision.”

  “Actually, it isn’t.” He took another cookie from the plate. “I already wrote home about this. I’m an accountant. I have no interest in running the company.”

  “He’s received another offer of employment,” Mr. Fairfax said. “From me.”

  “We have a few bureaucratic hurdles, but if we can jump them, I’ll stay here.” Wyatt gathered Dorothy’s hand in his.

  Adler pulled himself together. “Congratulations. Wow. Living in London.”

  “I love it here.”

  Adler had a hunch the appeal ran past the city to the adoring redhead beside him. “Wow.”

  “The company’s yours,” Wyatt said with a huge grin. “You’re the best man to run it, and you and I and Daddy have known it all along, even if we never said it.”

  Adler knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t close it. He’d always wanted to run the company. That desire had fueled his jealousy and resentment and competition with his brother. That desire had destroyed too many lives. “I—I don’t deserve it. I shouldn’t have it.”

  Violet looped her arm through his. “That’s why you’re ready. You’ve learned to be the best wingman, so now you’re the best type of leader and the right man to run that company. Because now you put others first.”

  Adler slammed his eyes shut, wrestling with God again, trying to throw the gift back into his arms. He didn’t deserve this woman. He didn’t deserve a future with her, in the position he’d always wanted, in the town he’d never wanted to leave.

  Once again, God was winning the wrestling match, and Adler silently thanked him.

  For most of his life, he thought he’d deserved all of it. God had waited to give it to him until Adler knew he deserved none of it.

  50

  Westminster, London

  Saturday, June 24, 1944

  The sun sat low in the west, warming the trees in the Victoria Tower Gardens with a golden glow and flinging glitter along the Thames. The pale gray spires of the Houses of Parliament peeked above the trees, bright against the clear sky.

  Violet leaned into Adler’s shoulder as they strolled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a more wonderful day.”

  “I have that effect on you.”

  She laughed at his roguish smile. “No, silly. Seeing you and Wyatt reunited.”

  They’d stayed at the Fairfax home through lunch and tea and dinner. The brothers told funny stories from their boyhood and war stories from their manhood. They were so different, yet shared the same strength and integrity and good humor.

  “It was . . . more than I expected. Better than expected.” Adler gazed into the distance.

  “I know.” She watched him in silence. He was absorbing the fullness of forgiveness and reconciliation more quickly than she’d thought he would.

  Adler flashed a sudden smile at her. “I like Dorothy. She’s a bundle of energy, just what Wyatt needs.”

  “They’re darling together.”

  “I reckon she’ll end up part of the family someday.” Backing Violet up against the stone embankment beside the Thames, he wrapped his arms around her waist underneath her unbuttoned overcoat. “I reckon you will too.”

  Violet’s breath hitched, and she dissected the pensive look in his blue eyes. They talked about their future as if it were certain, but he hadn’t proposed.

  He kissed her nose. “The way you keep talking about raising my son, I’d better ask you to be my wife pretty soon.”

  “Or your nanny.”

  He chuckled, his tea-scented breath puffing over her lips. “Wife. If I had a ring, I’d ask you right now.”

  And she’d say yes. Pure contentment raised a smile and lowered her eyelids, then she felt the gentle pressure of his forehead against hers.

  “What would you say?” he murmured.

  “Maybe it’s my turn to be the mysterious one.”

  “As if you could. You’re transparent, darlin’, always have been. Besides, Timmy’s too cute. I know you can’t wait to be his mama.”

  She stroked his solid, wool-clad back. “You’re awfully c
ute too.”

  “Cute enough to marry?”

  She slid away from between the cold stone wall and the warm Adler wall and sashayed down the path, casting her most mysterious smile over her shoulder.

  He grinned and jogged to catch up with her. “Not without a ring, huh?”

  “You make me sound mercenary.”

  “Not the woman who wanted to live in a hut.” He captured her hand in his, but his brow puckered. “Are you absolutely sure about not becoming a mission—”

  “Yes. I told you. I wanted that for the wrong reasons.”

  “It’s never wrong to love God and want to serve him.”

  “True.” In her overcoat pocket, she found Elsa’s familiar wooden form. “That’s why I don’t regret following that path. And God’s brought such good out of it. If I hadn’t wanted to be a missionary, I would have married someone straight out of high school. I wouldn’t have gone to college, I wouldn’t have become a teacher, and I wouldn’t have joined the Red Cross and learned all the lessons I’ve learned over here. And I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “Well then, I’m glad you misheard the Lord.”

  She laughed and bumped up against his side.

  “As long as you’re sure.” Atypical uncertainty lowered his voice.

  “Positive. My mission field is in Texas at your side.”

  “At your side. I like the sound of that.” He hooked his arm around her waist.

  “It’s hardly original. At his side—the Red Cross motto.”

  “My motto too.”

  Violet pulled Elsa from her pocket. The little elephant’s wood was worn smooth from years of loving. Two spots of white marked where Violet’s youngest brother, Nels, had snapped off the tusks. Elsa had provided much comfort and inspiration.

  “It’s time Elsa found a new home.” Violet set her on a bench that was raised on a stone platform so people could see the Thames over the embankment. “Maybe another little girl will find her and be inspired.”

  “Violet, no.” Adler circled the bench, sat, and picked up Elsa. “She represents your dream.”

  “Not anymore.” She strolled in front of the man she loved. “I have new dreams.”

  Adler poked his hand inside his Ike jacket. “Just because we have new dreams doesn’t mean we forget our old ones.”