Blue Skies Tomorrow (17 page)

“Oh Lord.” She pressed her handkerchief over her face. “Lord, the truth hurts so much.” But the lie hurt too, in a different way, like a slow-acting poison.

She slipped to her knees, her cheek pressed to the rough painted wall, and the truth heaved through her like labor contractions. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the pain. No matter what she did, how hard she tried, how well she performed, Jim beat her.

He beat her. He beat her. He beat her.

Helen clutched her head and collapsed over her knees to shield herself, but the memories assaulted her mind as Jim had assaulted her body.

“Lord, help me. I can’t bear it.”

A whisper. The softest whisper in her ear. He knew. Jesus knew what she had endured. He’d endured it too. He was beaten and scarred. He understood.

For the first time, she yielded to his comfort. Jesus didn’t take away her tears, he received them. He didn’t take away the memories, he shared them. He didn’t take away the hurts, he felt them. Somehow, with the Lord, she could bear it.

“Ten o’clock?” Betty set her hands on her hips. “Hasn’t Vic heard familiarity breeds contempt?”

Helen scrunched her eyes shut and tried to rub the heaviness off her eyeballs. She was spent, dried out, every drop of moisture wrung from her soul. “He thinks the more hours I spend with him, the sooner I’ll fall in love.”

“Typical Llewellyn arrogance.”

“Not tonight, Betts. I just want to pick up Jay-Jay and get some sleep.” She stepped around her sister and into the house.

“Are you hungry? Do you want some dinner?”

“No, thanks. Vic had trays sent up from the mess, the gentleman.” She passed her brother-in-law in his armchair. “Hi, George.”

He flipped over a sheet of stationery on his lap. “Hiya, Helen.”

She entered the nursery, where Jay-Jay lay on a makeshift bed, his rump in the air, his mouth in a soft circle. Sweet pain thumped behind Helen’s breastbone, as it always did when she watched her baby sleep.

Such a tiny person, dependent on her alone. Had she made the right decision to go to work? She needed to provide a home for him so she could learn to discipline him away from his grandparents’ spoiling. But in the process she spent so much time away. Was she helping or hurting?

“He looks innocent now,” Betty said. “And yet . . .”

Sure, Betty could be smug. Judy’s first birthday wasn’t until next week. Jay-Jay hadn’t thrown a tantrum at that age either.

Helen stooped and lifted her son. His sleepy muscles twitched until he snuggled against her. She stood slowly so she wouldn’t fall.

Betty tucked Jay-Jay’s blue blanket under his shoulders. “He sure has a temper.”

Yes, he did. Helen shivered and hugged her son closer. Boys emulated their fathers. This was why she’d constructed her façade in the first place, so Jay-Jay would emulate the Jim she designed, not the real Jim.

But what if he carried his father’s nature deep inside? What if she couldn’t discipline it out of him?

Helen pressed her cheek against the soft little face on her shoulder.
Lord, please don’t let him turn out like his father.

65th General Hospital; Botesdale, Suffolk
Saturday, June 24, 1944

Ray strode around the lake that snaked across Redgrave Park, the old manor the hospital camped on. If only he could dive in and swim off his anger. Ray had been assigned to the 94th Bomb Group, Jack’s group. Jack had interfered, and he’d keep interfering and give Ray some safe ground job.

If that weren’t enough, fresh anger pulsed hot inside—anger at himself.

On the train he’d read a letter from George Anello. According to George, Helen looked worse than after Jim died, distraught and frazzled.

Ray thought he’d done her a favor in leaving, but had he? His love sparked the fire that devastated her life, and he didn’t even stick around to help sweep up the ashes.

What could he do? All he could offer was a letter, but would she want to hear from him?

He picked up a pebble and chucked it across the lake. As a minister, as a man who loved her, as the only person who knew about Jim, he had a duty. Tonight he’d write her. “Lord, tell me what to say.”

The park spread around him, lush green rolling land. Jack’s nurse said he and some friends had come down by the lake. Patients strolled among the trees in the sunshine, chatting and smoking. Under an ancient oak, a wheelchair stood empty, and a patient sat on a blanket necking with a redhead in a light blue suit.

Jack. Sure didn’t take him long to get over Ruth.

“Ray? Is that you?” Jack’s best friend, Maj. Charlie de Groot, jogged up behind him, holding the hand of a petite blonde in a uniform the same gray-blue as Jack’s girl wore. “Glad I caught you. Why don’t you give the skipper a bit more time?”

“Time? Looks as if he’s making pretty good time.”

The blonde laughed. “Over a year in the making.”

A year? Of course. The blonde’s uniform bore a caduceus and golden wings. She was a flight nurse . . . and so was Ruth. So Jack had glued things back together after all.

Charlie put his arm around her shoulder. “May, this is Jack’s older and better brother. Ray, this is my girlfriend, Lt. May Jensen.”

Ray saluted her. “Older, yes. Better, no.”

“Definitely more humble.” May’s smile glowed against porcelain skin.

“Say, looks like they took a break,” Charlie said.

They headed for the tree, where Jack gathered Ruth close for another kiss. But Ray couldn’t wait. He had to be back at the CCRC by 1700 hours, and he needed to confront Jack. Now.

“Hi, Jack.”

Jack looked up and lifted an enormous grin. “Hey! Hi, everyone. Guess what? We’re getting married.”

May squealed and knelt on the blanket to hug Ruth. Ray and Charlie shook Jack’s hand and sat cross-legged on the brown Army blanket. Jack introduced his fiancée, Lt. Ruth Doherty, an auburn-haired beauty with a Chicago accent.

For the second time in as many months, Ray felt the ugly nip of jealousy. Both his brothers would beat him to the altar. But jealousy destroyed all it touched, and Ray refused to indulge. He put on a smile. “So, little brother, you found some more glue.”

Ruth rearranged a sling over a cast in a protective, don’t-ask-how-I-broke-my-arm sort of way. “We decided to build with something more permanent than glue.”

Ray gave her an appreciative nod. At least his future sister-in-law wasn’t empty-headed like that girl Jack had dated in seminary.

“So, Skipper, regret that transfer to the Pacific?” Charlie plucked a blade of grass and stuck it between his teeth.

“You bet. First thing Monday, I’ll contact Colonel Dougher and cancel it.” He squeezed Ruth’s shoulder. “You’re engaged to the new air executive of the 94th Bombardment Group.”

Ray hated to add tension to a joyful day, but he needed to bring this up now. He leaned forward, his hands clasped, his elbows pressed into his knees. “We’ll be spending lots of time together then.”

Jack swung a grin to him. “You got your assignment.”

“Your doing?” His voice came out tight.

“Dead right. Dougher will treat you well.”

Ray gave his brother a steady, firm gaze. “Promise me one thing—no special treatment. I expect to fly the dangerous missions, same as the other pilots.”

Jack’s smile froze. “You realize we’ll assign you where you’ll serve best.”

Ray pictured himself swimming leisurely laps in that cold lake. “If I wanted a noncombat position, I would have stayed stateside. I came here for one reason—to fly a combat tour.”

“But you have skills and talents—”

“If I weren’t your brother, what would you do? If you didn’t know me?”

“But I do know you, and you’ll do best—”

“I’m a qualified pilot. I’ve flown with the Army Air Force for four years, over a year and a half in a B-17, far more than those teenagers you send up every day without question. And I requested combat. Don’t stop me.”

Charlie stretched stocky legs in front of him. “Watch it, Jack. You’re a changed man. Don’t start manipulating again.”

Jack closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t mean to manipulate. Really.”

“So don’t,” Ray said. “I’d rather not talk to the CO about this.”

Jack groaned and rolled his gaze away. “I won’t interfere.”

“Good.” Ruth lifted her cast with a scribbled engagement ring on it. “I’d hate to return this, but I only agreed to marry the new, improved Jack Novak.”

Laughter circled the group. Ray set his hands on the blanket behind him, leaned back, and gazed up through the branches. He’d won that battle.

But that was a battle of words, his forte, and required only a bit more backbone than his usual negotiations. What would he do when bullets came his way?

Ray chuckled. He couldn’t believe he’d fought for the right to fight.

17

Antioch
Friday, June 30, 1944

Vic opened the car door for Helen. “Why don’t you freshen up? Then we can get dinner, celebrate your first paycheck—and our engagement.”

The only thing Helen wanted to celebrate was getting home at a decent hour. She raised a sweet smile. “Good night. See you Monday.”

She headed up the walkway to the Carlisle home. In her last letter, Mama said the only way to deal with such persistence was to be firm and never encourage him.

Mama gave the same advice about dealing with Jay-Jay’s temper—be firm and never give in, the way she’d dealt with Helen’s tantrums. Helen had learned to control her temper. Jim hadn’t.

Mr. Carlisle sat in his armchair with the
Ledger
, its headlines declaring, “Progress on Saipan” and “Asparagus Season at an End.” He lowered the paper and smiled at Helen. “How was your day?”

“Great. Got my first paycheck. Not much, but a start.” She headed for the kitchen and Jay-Jay’s sweet giggles. On the days Helen worked, Mrs. Carlisle now picked up Jay-Jay at Betty’s after the dress shop closed.

“Well?” Mr. Carlisle said.

“Well, what?”

He held out his hand. “The paycheck.”

Her fingers curled around the precious piece of paper. “I’ll open an account on Tuesday.”

“You have Jim’s account.”

A chill crept down Helen’s arms. “But he willed it to you. My name isn’t on it. I can’t even write a check.”

“Yes, of course. A man should manage his family’s finances.”

“I can handle my own account.”

He set the newspaper on the end table and gave her a soft smile. “How would it look if the daughter-in-law of a bank director was reduced to handling her own finances? As if I couldn’t take care of you.”

“But I—”

“Why would you need it anyway? I’ve always given you a generous allowance.”

“Yes, but I need to buy household goods so I can get my own place.”

Mr. Carlisle walked over with the tall, lean frame he’d passed to Jim. “I’ll set aside a portion of your paycheck for that after you’ve settled your debt.”

Her breath caught. “Debt?”

“You burned down my house. It’ll cost a thousand dollars to rebuild. And I can’t use Jim’s money. There’s just enough to support the two of you until Jay-Jay turns eighteen. See? This is why I need to make the financial decisions.”

“Didn’t the house insurance—”

“Insurance? Insurance is a scam that preys on men who don’t trust God to provide.”

Helen’s face grew as cold as her arms. Yes, the Lord would provide—with her paycheck.

Mr. Carlisle plucked the check from her icicle fingers, and she turned to the kitchen. Vic paid her fifty dollars a month. How long would it take to pay off that debt? How long until she could get a place of her own? Almost two years. The thought suffocated her.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Carlisle stood at the stove, and Jay-Jay sat behind her, swatting her calves with a wooden spoon. She winced at each stroke but said nothing.

Helen gasped and dragged her son back. “Jay-Jay! Don’t hit your grandmother.”

He screamed in protest.

“He’s fine.” Mrs. Carlisle gave a limp smile. “He was playing drums, and I ran out of pans. It’s my fault.”

“Your fault? He’s the one hitting.” Helen snatched the spoon from her son.