A Memory Between Us (14 page)

Ruth had to smile. “Transparent, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, it was a team effort. See, any man who’d conspire in such a scheme won’t give up. So, what did you and Jack do after we left on our pencil hunt?”

Ruth grumbled. “We saw a movie and ate fish and chips in the abbey ruins. Nothing happened, okay?”

“Until … ?”

Something flared in Ruth’s chest. If she couldn’t freeze out May Jensen, then she’d scare her off with craziness. “Fine. Jack talked me into dancing, and I cried on his shoulder because no one had held me for twelve years, and I bawled like a baby. There. Satisfied?”

May still walked in step. “Oh dear. Men can’t handle women’s tears.”

“No, that’s not it.” The annoyance washed away at the remembrance. “He was sweet. He let me—he encouraged me to cry. He held me. He was kind, tender.”

“Oh?” A note of surprise elevated her voice. “So … ?”

Might as well get this over with. Ruth faced her friend on the path. “He kissed me.”

May’s eyebrows jumped and then settled into a compassionate curve. “You weren’t ready.”

“I’ll never be ready.” Now for the crazy part. “I hate kissing. I can’t stand it.”

May pursed her lips and rearranged her cape. “Maybe you need to be patient with him. Some men—well, I loved Thomas dearly, but he was so tense when—”

Ruth huffed. “That’s not it. He had excellent technique. It’s me. I don’t like anything about it. Nothing. Makes my skin crawl, okay? Do you understand? Do you see why I don’t date? Between my family and kissing and—” What was she saying? And why on earth had she analyzed Jack’s technique?

Instead of running away as she was supposed to, May set her tiny hand on Ruth’s arm. “If Jack is half the man I think he is, he’ll come to understand.”

Yeah. He’d understand enough to leave her alone, which was best for her and her family, yet the sadness soaked thicker and wetter than ever.

15

Tunisia

Friday, August 20, 1943

A donkey with an oxygen mask?

Jack walked closer. Sure enough, Dan Finnegan, Manny Souza, and Paul Klaus restrained a black Arab donkey, while Joe Winchell strapped an oxygen mask on the animal.

Winchell yelped, drew back his hand, and cussed. “She bit me.”

“Don’t blame her,” Jack said.

“Hiya, Novak.” Winchell flipped sandy hair off his forehead. “I could sure use your help.”

Jack’s unbuttoned shirt rippled in the hot, dry wind. He shoved the shirttails back and sank his hands in his pockets. “Don’t tell me you want to take that donkey home.”

“Course I do. Paid good money for my Sahara Sue.” He lengthened a strap on the harness for the mask. “I think that Arab won out in the bartering, but so what?”

“Come on, Winch. A desert donkey in rainy England? Worse, on the mission home in a B-17? What if she bucks under fighter attack?”

Winchell cocked an eyebrow at Jack. “Since when have you become Major Regulation?”

“I’m not.” Jack studied the harness. He saw where Winchell had gone wrong, but he wasn’t about to show him. “But you didn’t think this through.”

“Ah, you can’t think when you’re in love.” Winchell threw his arms around the donkey’s neck. “Look at that face. Just look.”

The donkey brayed, tossed back her head, and flung Winchell into the sand. The other men broke down in laughter, and the donkey trotted, hee-hawing, to the end of her tether.

Winchell got up and dusted the seat of his pants. “I love a girl with spunk and fire.”

Jack’s stomach swirled with acid. “One problem with fire, Winch—you get burned.” He turned and walked away.

“What’s up with Novak?” Finnegan’s hushed voice carried downwind. “Normally he’d be laughing, helping us out.”

Yeah, he would, wouldn’t he? Jack’s shoes kicked up sand. The grains hit his calves below his rolled-up pants.

“Ah, who knows?” Winchell said. “He’s been grumpy the last few days.”

Ever since Monday night. Jack passed a gunner washing his mess kit in a two-gallon bucket. “Don’t forget to scrub with sand. Don’t want to be stuck with dysentery at twenty thousand feet. It’s a long way home.” If they ever got to go home. The weather had been lousy over Europe, and the forecasts didn’t look any better.

The gunner glanced up. “Thanks. That’s what Major Babcock said.”

Babcock—more than one donkey on the field.

There he was, not a hundred feet away, braying to the reporters again. Babcock stood with his hand on the nose of a B-17, buttoned up in khakis. Half a dozen newsmen scribbled his boasts on their notepads.

To hear Babcock tell it, he alone was responsible for the destruction of the Messerschmitt complex, for the loss in production of about two thousand Me 109s, for the loss of only one plane in the 94th Bomb Group. Never stated outright, but implied. Did he honestly think if he’d been in the trailing group, the 100th wouldn’t have lost a whopping nine planes?

Jack grimaced and glanced away to where a dozen airmen stood in line for camel rides. A young American rider hollered like a buckaroo, while the camel plodded along and ground its jaw in a circular motion as if chewing its cud. Did camels have cuds?

The old man leading the camel wore a long tan robe. Looked awfully hot. Other than Babcock, the airmen were as close to naked as possible, with nothing but pants rolled up to the knee. Some threw shirts over sunburned shoulders. Jack wore his only as a token of authority.

He headed for
Sunrise
, lined up with the other Forts gathering sand in the desert sun. The morning of the Regensburg mission, he’d grabbed the first khaki shirt he found, the shirt he’d worn the night before, the shirt Ruth cried on.

Her tears lay heavy on his shoulder, brittle and edged with a salty, white rim. What had he been thinking? Kissing her right after she broke down and poured out her heart? Oh yeah, such a great shoulder to cry on.

Jack shrugged off the shirt and ducked under
Sunrise
’s wing. At least the kiss revealed her bizarre phobia before he invested another couple of months and fell even harder for her.

He stuffed his shirt into his bedroll and pulled out his stationery box and pen. What was her phobia about anyway? Some nurse obsession with hygiene? That cute blonde nurse he’d dated in Australia certainly didn’t share Ruth’s aversion.

Jack set his things on the wing and hiked himself up. What he’d sacrifice in comfort, he’d gain in privacy. He sat crosslegged and composed his thoughts. Somehow he needed to write Walt and congratulate him on his success in love.

Dear Walt,

Heartiest congratulations on your engagement. How did you get her to say yes? Flowers? Bribery? Blackmail?

I can’t wait to meet this Allie of yours. Any woman willing to put up with a lifetime of Novak stubbornness must be amazing. Give her a kiss for me. On the cheek, you numbskull! What kind of a fellow do you think I am?

By the way, I ran into Lieutenant Doherty, and she sends her congratulations.

Jack looked up to the blazing sky. He ran into her? More like he ran over her.

“Ahoy there, Skipper.”

So much for privacy. Jack sighed as Charlie hoisted himself onto the wing.

Charlie sat down and leaned back against the fuselage. “What are you doing?”

“Letters.”

“How can you stand it up here? I’ve spent my day under wings, not on top of them.” A rivulet of sweat ran down Charlie’s pink face.

Jack shrugged. The sun felt good on his bare back.

“How long are you going to pout?”

“Excuse me?”

Charlie stuck a shiny new pencil between his teeth. “Yeah, pout. How long? The great Jack Novak struck out with a girl for the first time ever, and now he pouts.”

Jack glared at him. “I didn’t strike out. I decided not to go to bat.”

“Yeah, that sounds better.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “What’s your point?”

“My point is dozens of men look to you for leadership, and you’re in a sulk. It’s bad for morale. They think you’re down about the mission.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” He capped his pen so it wouldn’t dry out. “First Wing lost thirty-six planes, Fourth Wing lost twentyfour. Sixteen percent losses on both legs. We would’ve lost even more if we hadn’t surprised them with the shuttle. We can’t continue deep penetrations of Germany without fighter escort. We can’t sustain losses like this.”

“Of course not. But since when have you let mission losses keep you down? You always focus on success. You’d be clapping the men on the back and congratulating them on putting Messerschmitt out of business if it weren’t for Ruth.”

Jack closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Yeah, but I’m sick of the pouting. What happened?”

“She told me to leave her alone.”

Charlie laughed. “She probably told you that the day you met. Never stopped you before. Why now?”

Jack rolled the pen between his palms. “I don’t know. The girl—she’s got problems.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Not like hers. Don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“I thought your pastoral task was to figure it out.”

“You don’t understand. She’s completely …” What? Completely opposed to romance? The woman who laughed in his embrace? The woman who enticed him back into her arms? The woman who raised her lips to him? Yeah, she initiated that kiss. Why would a girl who hated kisses ask for one?

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know, Charlie. One minute we’re moving to kiss, and she’s shooting green flares, but as soon as our lips touch, she acts as if I’d slapped her.”

Charlie’s face puckered. “I could give you some pointers.”

“It wasn’t me. She said I was good—really good, in fact. But she doesn’t like kissing. Hates it, she said.”

“Wow.” The laughter drained from Charlie’s face. “Is that why she doesn’t date?”

“Yeah.” His insides coiled. He’d betrayed Ruth’s confidence, hadn’t he?

“I see why you gave up on her.”

“Yep.”

Charlie tipped the pencil up in his mouth. “What good’s a woman who doesn’t like to kiss?”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

“Sure it is. The only reason you gave up is she won’t kiss you.”

“Oh, come on.” Jack squirmed under grilling hotter than the Sahara sun. “What do you expect? Ever had a girlfriend you couldn’t kiss?”

“No, but once you said God led you to her. You wanted to teach her to trust and to love, if I recall. When you told me that, kissing never came up.”

Jack’s chest simmered. What did Charlie know? He hadn’t heard her rant.

“Pride’s your weakness, Skipper. Don’t let it keep you from doing God’s work—”

“That’s enough, Captain.” For once, Jack pulled rank. He gathered his papers and slid off the wing to the ground. “Excuse me, but I have some men to cheer up.”

16

Redgrave Park

Tuesday, August 24, 1943

May frowned at the twilight sky above the Nissen hut that served as the PX. “A good day for flying.”

“Yes, it was.” Ruth fingered the box of airmail stationery she’d bought while May stocked up on candy bars.

“On my break I saw planes coming in.” May chomped down on a Mars Bar.

Ruth had heard May’s report three times already. Each time May became more nervous, which fed Ruth’s worry. “Maybe Charlie will come on Sunday. In fact, I’m sure he will.”

May’s smile held a smudge of chocolate. “I can’t wait to see them.”

Them? No, not Jack. Ruth would never see him again. Even though it was for the best, she couldn’t shake the hollowness, the dampness.

Ruth looped her arm through May’s, but her smile faltered. “Where do you want to go for our walk? The lake? The orangery?”

“The lake.” A male voice hit from her left. “Moon, June, lagoon.”

Ruth’s heart ricocheted about in her chest. Jack and Charlie leaned against the last Nissen hut before the road, about twenty feet away. Praise the Lord, they were alive! Then Ruth dropped her gaze. Why had Jack come?

May screamed and flung herself into Charlie’s arms. “Yes, yes, yes. Everything you asked me—yes.”

Charlie laughed and swung her around. “Ouch! Watch the sunburn.”

“Oh dear.” May stepped back, reached for his crimson cheeks, and stopped herself. “I’m sorry. Look at you.”

“Right now it doesn’t bother me.” He pulled her close. “Are you sure? You’re sure you’re ready?”

“Very much so.”

Despite her turmoil, Ruth’s heart stirred for her friends, and if she watched them, she didn’t have to look at Jack.

“See you later, you two.” Charlie steered May down the road to the right toward Redgrave Hall, and May wiggled her fingers over her shoulder at Ruth.

She gaped at their retreating backs. How could they leave her alone with Jack?

“Well?” His voice rumbled into her ear. “Do I get a hug?”

“What?” She snapped her gaze to him.

“A hug?” He smiled and gestured down the road. “Charlie got one. How about me?”

A lead weight sank in her stomach. He thought he could change her mind. He thought if he was patient and charming and romantic, she’d come to love his kisses.

He walked toward her, his arms and smile spread wide.

Ruth stepped back. “Are you out of your mind? Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Jack sobered and lowered his arms. “Yeah, I heard, but now I’m listening. For the last week, the sun beat on me, Charlie beat on me, and God beat on me. Takes a while to get through this thick skull sometimes.”

An ambulance turned onto the road. Ruth had to step closer to Jack, but she gazed toward the refuge of the Hall. “It’s almost dark. I need to go home.”

“Not yet. We’re going for a walk.” He took her arm and led her across the road toward the lake. While not restrictive, his grip couldn’t be resisted. How could he always do that? How could he make her do what she didn’t want to?

“I don’t want to go for a walk. I want to go home.”