A Memory Between Us (43 page)

Ray murmured.

“That’s what it’s like with Ruth. Too many crashes, too many cracks, too much glue. Can’t fly.”

Sunday, June 11, 1944

Jack propped the box of stationery against his thighs. This letter was tough enough to write, even tougher with his leg in traction.

He wrote “Dear Dad” and paused. Over two months of procrastination, and he still didn’t know how to say he’d dashed his father’s dreams.

Jack puffed his cheeks full of air and set pen to paper.

After much thought and prayer, as well as consideration of your feelings, I have decided to stay in the military. God gave me abilities as a leader, which I assumed he intended to use in the ministry, as he has used your abilities. However, being a pastor requires God’s calling and spiritual gifts, which he has not given me.

This is not a matter of obedience or perseverance or maturity, but of God’s will, and he has made it clear he never meant for me to be a pastor. All my striving, all my work can never lead to success without God’s blessing. As Psalm 127 says, “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.” This year I learned the hard way that when I aim for a goal the Lord never intended me to achieve, it leads to disaster.

Jack rested his head on the metal headboard. The ministry, a promotion, Ruth Doherty’s heart—all goals he was never meant to achieve. How much damage had he caused with his prideful striving?

“Fear not, oh Skipper, for I come to release you from your cruel bondage.”

Charlie. Jack smiled up at his friend.

“Time for a walk.” Charlie pushed a wheelchair to the bedside, while the nurse, Lieutenant Taylor, twittered away and unfastened straps on his leg.

“Thanks, buddy.” When he went to the Pacific, he’d sure miss Charlie. Ray’s arrival complicated his transfer as well. Not only would he enjoy his brother’s company, but Jack could find Ray a noncombat position. Sending Ray into battle would be detrimental, not just for Ray but for the Eighth Air Force.

“There you go, young man. Snug as a bug in a rug.” Lieutenant Perky tucked too many blankets over Jack’s lap.

He sent a tortured look over her shoulder to Charlie, who turned away with the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. “Fresh air, Charlie. And fast.”

“Sure thing.” He grasped the handles of the wheelchair and raced off, while the nurse prattled on about safe driving.

“Boy, oh boy, oh boy,” Jack said when they got outside. “She’s like a happy little chipmunk nibbling away at me all day.”

Charlie laughed. “Makes you appreciate …”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, it does.”

They reached the main road and a dilemma. Redgrave Hall lay to the right, the park and lake straight ahead. Memories drenched every spot. Jack pointed to a grassy ridge. “Let’s go up there.”

Charlie wheeled him up and sat beside him in the grass. “This place has grown.”

“Yeah. The 12th Evac is preparing to go to France. The 65th General is a lot bigger.”

Charlie nodded and stared ahead. “Sure you want to go to the Pacific?”

“Positive.” He’d told Charlie the balsa wood analogy the other day. Would he have to repeat it?

“Too bad.” Charlie plucked a blade of grass and set it between his teeth. “Heard there’ll be some changes at Bury.”

“I know. Colonel Dougher came by yesterday. He offered me air exec.”

“Offered? You—you turned him down?”

Jack looked down into his friend’s eyes, as blue as that sky and as big as those clouds. “I told him I’d consider it, but only to be polite.”

“But that’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“That’s why I can’t take it.”

Charlie’s round cheeks twitched. “Listen, I know I’ve given you a tough time about pride and ambition, but you’d make a great air exec. The best.”

“How was your trip to Prestwick?”

Charlie sighed, then sighed again, deeper and heavier. “That’s why I came today.”

“Hmm? How’s May?”

Charlie chewed on the grass between his lips and studied Jack’s face. “Concerned.”

Jack held his breath. Concerned? Why?

“Ruth’s okay, more or less, but they’re still sorting out what happened.”

“What happened? What do you mean, what happened?”

Charlie plucked more grass. “A few days ago, D-Day, actually, she flew back from Newfoundland with her technician. No witnesses. Her word against his.”

Jack gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. If that man laid one finger on her …

“Her story.” Charlie spoke slowly, as if weighing each word. “She says she discovered Burns was stealing government supplies and selling them. She says he offered her money to keep quiet, and when she refused …”

“He what? What, Charlie? Tell me.”

“He—she says he attacked her, broke her arm, and then he tried to—to have his way with her.”

Kicked Jack in the chest. She couldn’t survive that. She couldn’t.

“She says she knocked him out with some medicine and tied him up.”

“She can’t—she can’t survive this.”

“She’s okay, Jack. I saw her. She really is. She’s calm, rational, composed.”

“On the outside,” he whispered. On the outside she was strong. She always was. But on the inside she was dying, shutting everyone out, shutting God out.

“The problem is …” Charlie stared at the grass between his knees. “Burns says she framed him, drugged him, set the scene to fit her story.”

“Baloney.” He whacked the armrest. “They know he’s lying, don’t they?”

“They’re investigating, but it doesn’t look good. Burns is well respected at Prestwick, but Ruth … ?”

“Only ’cause of him, ’cause of his lies.” If only, if only …

If only what? What could Jack have done to stop this?

He leaned forward and ran his hands into his hair. Ruth’s family took advantage of her, her CO didn’t believe her, her partner tried to violate her, and Jack—he showed love by putting his needs above hers.

He gathered his hair in his fists.
Lord, please don’t let her down.

61

Prestwick

Monday, June 19, 1944

Ruth clutched May’s arm. “Don’t they say orphans always turn out badly?”

“Only those who don’t know us.”

White-capped MPs flanked Ruth as she walked down the road to Headquarters, and everyone she passed gave her the same look—she’d turned out badly. Who could blame them? She faced serious charges, and rumors flew thicker than the fleets of planes coming into Prestwick.

Everyone believed Burnsey. They believed him as soon as she opened the cargo door at Meeks and he cried for help—Burnsey! They took his testimony first, and then hers sounded ludicrous. Perhaps she was too cool and peaceful, but who was she to fake hysteria and tears?

Ruth stopped and stared at the brick building.

“I’ll be right outside waiting for you,” May said. “Praying.”

“Thank you.” Her vision blurred. May was the only person who believed her. Of course, May wished Ruth had confided in her the last few months, but she held no grudges.

“Don’t worry, honey. The truth will prevail.”

Ruth’s chin quivered. The truth might not prevail, but God would. Even if she were discharged or imprisoned, somehow the Lord would take care of her family.

One of the MPs held the door open, and the other led Ruth inside and into an office. Colonel Farley, commanding officer at Prestwick, stood behind his desk, and Ruth snapped him a salute. Beside the desk stood Major Young, CO of the 815th MAETS, and a civilian police officer Ruth hadn’t seen before. Why was a civilian present?

“Lieutenant Doherty, this is Captain Murdoch of the Prestwick police.”

He bowed his bald head with such a kind, fatherly smile that Ruth’s chin trembled again. Why was he there? Maybe because the Lord knew she needed a friendly face.

“At ease.” Colonel Farley gestured to a chair. “Please take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.” She sat across from the desk and rested her cast on her good arm to relieve the pressure of the sling on her shoulder.

Colonel Farley pointed his eagle gaze at her.

Ruth was not a mouse. She refused to lower her eyes. Her testimony was accurate and complete. She would not playact. She would not plead.

The colonel laid his hands on two stacks of papers on his desk. “I have before me two contradictory sets of charges—the charges preferred against Staff Sgt. William Burns and those preferred against you.”

“Yes, sir.” Her throat tightened. She’d already seen the charges she faced—assault with intent to do bodily harm, willful damage of military property, and conduct unbecoming an officer.

“Under Article 70 of the Articles of War, I can conduct a hearing to determine whether to refer these charges for court martial.”

Court martial. The words prickled behind Ruth’s eyes.

Colonel Farley tapped a pen on the smaller of the two stacks. “One of you is lying.”

“Sir, I would never—”

He held up one hand. “I’ve examined the evidence and depositions. The physical evidence is inconclusive. Signs of a struggle, both sets of fingerprints on the interphone jack, a puncture wound in Sergeant Burns’s jugular vein, cuts and bruises consistent with both accounts.” A tic formed in his eye. The man was probably more comfortable with theft, insubordination, and drunken brawls.

“We have numerous recorded complaints from you regarding Sergeant Burns, which support either story. However, Lt. Agnes MacKinnon of the 12th Evacuation Hospital and Lt. Vera Benson of the 2nd Evac testified that you registered no complaints and worked well with the men in your wards.”

A tiny light of truth, but it warmed her.

Colonel Farley lifted his salt-and-pepper head and looked her in the eye. “Only one set of charges yielded conclusive evidence—the charges against Sergeant Burns for unlawful disposition of military property and for fraud. A comparison of the invoices at La Guardia, with what should be carbon copies here at Prestwick, showed significant discrepancies.”

Ruth wrapped her hand around the elbow of her cast. The light grew. At least Burnsey could be convicted of something. And maybe they would take that into consideration in the court-martial. Didn’t it call his testimony into question? Didn’t it prove he had motive?

Colonel Farley turned to the civilian. “This brings us to Captain Murdoch’s investigation.”

“Aye, that it does.” Captain Murdoch nodded his smooth head to Ruth. “I want to thank you. Your brave testimony allowed us to solve a case of assault on a lass in town.”

Ruth struggled with his brogue. “Assault?”

“Aye.” His lips twisted.

No one could say it. No one could say the loathsome word. Ruth understood. It had taken her eight years to even form the word in her head.

“Colonel Farley and I worked together on this investigation, so when he notified me of your case, we brought the victim up to the base. She identified Sergeant Burns as her assailant.”

“Another?” Ruth pressed her good arm over her stomach. The poor woman—the pain and humiliation and helplessness she went through.

“Aye, but thanks to you there will be no more.” Captain Murdoch smiled at Ruth.

She held her breath. Colonel Farley smiled as well. At her. “Does this—does this mean—”

“We will investigate multiple charges against Staff Sgt. William Burns and will dismiss all charges against you.”

“Dismiss? Against me? I’m clear? Thank you.” Ruth pressed her hand over her mouth, and wet droplets formed on her eyelashes. “I’m free? I’m really free?”

“Aye, that you are, lass.” The brogue came from Colonel Farley this time, and not a bad imitation.

Ruth gave a strange hiccup of a laugh. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.” She wouldn’t go to prison. She wouldn’t lose her job. Bert could be a doctor, Anne could stay under firm but loving hands, and Maggie—oh, Maggie could be anything she wanted to be.

Tonight Ruth would write Aunt Pauline and lay down the law. Ruth would start a college fund, and if her aunt protested, Ruth would look for another home for Maggie—and Maggie’s fifty-seven dollars a month.

Oh, but her job. Lieutenant Shepard had taken Burnsey’s side. How could Ruth work with someone who didn’t trust her?

She turned to her commanding officer. “Major Young, I’d like to request a transfer to another squadron.”

The major twisted a pen in his hands. “That won’t be necessary. Lieutenant Shepard’s being sent back to Bowman.”

Ruth’s jaw hung slack. Never once had she hoped the chief would be disciplined. Enlightened, yes, but not disciplined. And what shame she would face. If her wounded pride ever surrendered to the truth, she’d see she had failed to protect a nurse in her charge because a charming criminal duped her.

Soon the colonel dismissed Ruth without MP guard. She rushed out of the building to surprise May with a grin and a hug. “It’s over. It’s over. I’m free.”

“Oh my goodness. I knew it. I knew they’d believe you.”

Ruth laughed and squeezed her friend. “Not really, but I don’t care. They believed the evidence, and I’m free, and Burnsey isn’t. That’s all that matters.”