A Distant Melody (39 page)

Next, he opened the letter from George, written in early April, before Bremen, which told of wildflowers blooming on green hills, nursery preparations in the bungalow, and high school kids pulling pranks on history teachers. Hard to believe normal life continued in small towns in America, while insanity reigned over Europe.

He set down the letter. “What’s new at Thurleigh?”

“Reeling from Bremen,” J.P. said. “Recovering from St. Nazaire on the first.”

“Read about that in the
Stars and Stripes
.” Felt disconnected to hear about missions secondhand.

“I flew with another crew,” J.P. said. “Bad visibility. After bombing, the group turned too early for England, headed right over Brest, straight into flak and fighters. Lost three planes. Another two were Category E back in England.”

“Good day for medals, though.” Jack took a green candy and grimaced at the taste.

“Did you read about Snuffy Smith from our group?” J.P. asked. “First mission, flying ball turret with Johnson’s crew.”

“Yeah, it was in the paper.” A rip-roaring fire in the radio room drove the radio operator and two gunners to bail out. Smith fought the fires, tossed burning equipment out through holes in the fuselage, manned the waist guns, and gave first aid to the tail gunner. “Sounds as if they want to give him the Congressional Medal of Honor.”

“If he gets it, you should too,” J.P. said.

“Nah.” At least Snuffy Smith’s story distracted the reporters from Walt. He opened the letter from Grandpa dated April 21.

Dear Walt,

Jack’s telegram arrived yesterday. Your
mother and grandmother are upset but relieved
you’re alive. They’re strong women, and their
faith will see them through.

I’m not worried about you at all. You’re
a clever boy with a full share of Novak
stubbornness. You’ll figure out any task you
put your mind to. I looked over old
Jenny
. I bet
we can rig an extension to the throttle so you
can fly her. Same thing on the gearshift of the
car. The car will have to wait until after the war.
The last tire blew out the other day.

Walt looked up with more hope than he’d felt in weeks. “Grandpa’s figuring out how to modify
Jenny
so I can fly.”

Jack laughed. “Good old Grandpa. The two of you will design all sorts of contraptions.”

“Just might.” He fingered Allie’s envelope, postmarked April 15.

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“Later.” Might be his last letter from her. He wanted to take his time, and he sure didn’t want his brother to watch him read it.

J.P. leaned his elbows on his knees. “From Allie?”

“Yeah.” Walt set his face in a neutral expression.

“Your pretend girlfriend?” Unlike
Flossie
’s crew, Jack was amused by the story.

“That’s the one.” He put the envelope on the table. “Her wedding is sometime in July.” At least her last few letters spared him the details.

J.P.’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You really do love her, don’t you?”

Walt’s jaw flopped open, a lie ready to spill out, especially in front of Jack. He groaned. No more dishonesty. “Yeah, I do.”

“What?” Jack said.

“So it was only half a lie,” J.P. said.

“No such thing.”

Jack backhanded Walt’s knee. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Walt scrunched up his face. “Your brother’s a fool.”

“I know that, but what’s going on?”

He shot Jack a glare. “All right. Might as well tell the whole messy tale. I met her at George and Betty’s wedding, fell for her hard, found out she had a boyfriend, decided to write her anyway. That was a mistake, because I fell in love with her. No, I take that back. It wasn’t a mistake. She’s been a real good friend.”

“Bet her fiancé’s steamed that you love her.”

“Are you kidding? He doesn’t know. Neither does she.”

“You haven’t told her?”

Walt raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you hear? She’s getting married.”

“You’re just going to let it happen?”

“Of course. It’s the honorable thing to do.”

Jack rolled his eyes, got up, and poked around in the candy box. “Come on. Fight for her. Tell her you love her. At least give her a chance to reject you.”

“Try the orange ones. They’re not so nasty.”

“Fight for her.”

“Jack’s got a point,” J.P. said. “What’s the worst that can happen? She marries the other guy, which she’ll do anyway if you don’t act. The best . . . ?”

“You beat your brothers to the altar.” Jack put a pink candy in his mouth. “Boy, is that awful.”

“That’s what Allie would say too.”

Jack spat the candy into the trash, sat on the bed, and bounced a few times. “Come on, Wally. Emily thinks you’re smashing. Maybe Allie will too.”

“Uh-uh. Allie’s smart.” He kicked his brother’s backside as hard as he could with the blanket over his legs. “She’s filthy rich, she’s got a filthy rich fiancé and a mansion to move in to, she doesn’t know I’m a cripple, she doesn’t know about my lies, and I’m not about to tell her.”

“Tell her,” Jack said. “What have you got to lose?”

“You sound like the nurse I had back in the winter when I had pneumonia. She told me the same thing.”

“Smart woman.” Jack scanned the ward. “Is she pretty too?”

“Yes.” Walt balled up an empty envelope and hit Jack smack in the ear. Not bad for a southpaw. “She’s not here. She was at Diddington. Too bad. It’d be fun to watch you strike out with a woman for once.”

“A challenge, huh?” Jack tossed the wad of paper up and down. “Nothing I love more than a challenge, especially a challenging woman. Which brings me back to you. Novaks never turn away from a challenge. Fight for the woman you love.”

“I agree,” J.P. said. “She feels something for you. The lady writes two, three letters a week, and thick ones. Tell her.”

Tell her he loved her? Tell her he lied to his crew about her? Tell her he directly disobeyed the Lord and told one last rankling, festering lie?

No. There was a thin line between honesty and stupidity, and he wasn’t about to cross it.

43

March Army Air Base
Saturday, June 26, 1943

“We’ll sure miss you here,” Regina Romero said.

Allie signed her name on the volunteer check-in list for the last time. “Thank you, but I’ll miss this place more.” She looked forward to her job in the business office of the Citrus Machinery Company, which now manufactured the Water Buffalo amphibious tank, but she’d miss her Red Cross work.

She walked down the hall and said good-bye to doctors, nurses, and patients. After the brutal shock of the loss of her inheritance, she’d forged ahead. Her parents were young and healthy, but someday they’d be gone, and Allie would be homeless and penniless. Women had opportunities now, but who knew how things would change after the war? Allie’s business education told her it was prudent to get a job now, save as much as possible, and establish herself in a career.

“Hi, Miss Miller.”

“Miss Miller, right over here.”

Allie smiled around the ward. How she’d miss these men.

A heavy young nurse with her cap askew approached Allie. “Could you talk to the new fellow first? Whiny, I tell you. Keeps clamoring about how he has to write his girl.” She pointed to a man propped up in bed, a tuft of dark blond hair rising from the bandages around his head. “Lieutenant Hunter. Yeah, that’d help me out, make the ward more peaceful. You know how short staffed we are on Saturdays.”

“I’d be glad to.” Allie patted her arm and pulled up a chair beside Lieutenant Hunter’s bed. “Good morning, Lieutenant. My name is Miss Miller, and I’m with the Red Cross. Would you like me to take a letter for you?”

“Yeah, could you?” He had a straight nose and a square jaw below his bandages. “Dear Maggie—”

She chuckled. “Just a minute. Let me get situated.” She put a piece of airmail stationery on her clipboard. “Now I’m ready. Dear Maggie?”

“Yeah. Maggie, I miss you so much. No letters from you since I left. None from anyone over there. I know mail is slow, and I’ve been transported from hospital to hospital, but two months is a long time without word.

“Had another surgery last week. The doctors sound optimistic, but even with these bandages, I can see what’s happening. The surgeries aren’t working. I’m blind, and they can’t do anything about it.” His mouth clamped into a hard, grim line.

Allie’s heart ached at the masculine determination not to show emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

He jutted his chin out. “That’s why I’m writing, Maggie. We talked about how I’d send for my English rose so she could bloom on American soil. That can’t happen now. I refuse to burden you.”

“Please don’t think that way,” Allie said as she penned the dismal words. “There’s so much—”

He held up one hand. “I don’t want Red Cross perkiness. I want a letter transcribed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do me one favor, Maggie. Stay off the air base. If you have to date a Yank, stay away from the combat crews. You don’t deserve this heartache. I love you, Maggie, and I hate to send this letter, but it’s for the best.”

Allie couldn’t leave it like this. “Just a minute, sir.”

She wrote on the bottom of the page, “An unsolicited postscript: It’s clear how much he loves you. Even if he never sees again, his future needn’t be bleak. You both will be in my prayers.”

“All caught up?” he asked in an impatient tone.

“Yes, sir. Please continue.”

“Maggie, it’s not right to ask more of you, but could you send news on my crew? I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead. Fontaine’s probably okay, but Ruben was unconscious when we landed and a mess from what Wisniewski said.”

“Wisniewski?” she whispered. Fontaine? Ruben? Two months, he’d said. That was the middle of April, when she had her last dream. No, it couldn’t be.

“Yeah. W-I-S-N-I-E-W-S-K-I.”

She already knew how to spell it, and knew the man wasn’t Lieutenant Hunter but Lieutenant Huntington. Somehow she forced her pen over the paper.

“Got it?” he asked. Cracker—it was Cracker. If he only knew how much she knew of him, both good and bad.

“Yes,” she choked out.

“Preach is the man I’m really worried about.”

Terror trampled the hope she’d built up. “Preach?” she said.

“It’s a nickname. The letter?”

“Yes, yes. I—I’m writing.”
Oh, please, Lord. Please let
Walt be all right.

“Preach was in bad shape. Real bad. I don’t know how he landed the plane with only one good arm, but that tells you the kind of man he is. He blacked out after we landed. Wisniewski says it’s a miracle he lived as long as he did, that he got us all home. I just hope he made it.”

Allie’s hand formed the words that confirmed her worst fears—Walt had been gravely injured, maybe even—oh, please, not killed.

“You need her address,” Cracker said. “Sooner this gets out, sooner she can get on with her life.”

Allie wrote it down. Bedford—Walt was in Bedford. Where was he now? Was he even alive? She knew of only one way to find out, but it required breaking a promise. However, this was necessary for Cracker’s peace of mind and hers.

“I—I can obtain information for you. Walter Novak is— was—is a good friend of mine.”

Cracker’s jaw went slack. “You know Preach?”

“Mm-hmm.” She hated how her voice squeaked. “We— we have a mutual friend. I’ll contact her. She’ll know about Walt—maybe Abe and Louis too.”

“Wow. You do know him. I can’t believe it. Listen, I’m sorry you had to find out like this, Miss—Miss . . .”

Tears beaded on her eyelashes. “Miller. Allie Miller.”

“Allie?” Cracker’s jaw hung even lower. “Not the Allie he was always writing to? Not—oh boy, have I heard a lot about you.”

“I need to go now.” The tears threatened to brim over, but she needed to maintain a cheerful façade for the patients. She stood and stumbled around the chair and the beds. Once out the door, she leaned her forehead against the corridor wall.
Please, Lord, let Walt be all right. I don’t care if he loves
another woman. I just want him to live.

“Allie?”

She lifted her head to see Cressie in her gray uniform.

“The last day is hard, isn’t it?”

“It’s not—it’s—” Her throat swelled shut.

“Let’s go talk in Regina’s office.” Cressie put her arm around Allie’s waist and guided her down the corridor. “Was it one of the patients?”

Allie shook her head, afraid to open her mouth and release a torrent of sobs.

Cressie led her into the empty office and shut the door. “Heavens alive. I don’t know how Regina does such a good job in this pigsty.” She hefted piles of papers from two chairs to the floor and motioned for Allie to sit. “Tell me what happened, love.”

The privacy of the office, the warmth of Cressie’s hands around hers, and the concern in her little blue eyes loosed something. “The—the new patient—he was on Walt’s crew— my friend Walt. He—Walt was wounded, and I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, or where he is, and I never told him I broke my engagement, and I never told him I love him, and he should know, even though he loves someone else, he should know. I have to tell him, and now I may never—may never have the chance.”

“Hush. Hush. Oh dear, what a pickle.” Cressie squeezed Allie’s hands. “Now, first we’ve got to find out Walt’s condition.”

“Betty would know.”