In Perfect Time (30 page)

“Oh . . .” Alice groaned. “What horrible timing.”

Roger scrambled down the hill and crouched beside them. “Are you okay?”

“Broken arm, I think.” Kay gave him a wan smile.

“Man alive. Does it hurt a lot?”

Alice nodded, and tears puddled in her eyes.

Roger tilted his head, beckoning Kay over to the side. He leaned in close. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but we have to cover ten miles tonight. It’s already nine, and the moon sets at one. The farther we can go while the moon’s up, the better.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ll put it in a sling and give her some morphine. She should be able to walk. We can splint it when we stop for the day.”

“All right.” He glanced up the hill where the rest of the group huddled, watching. “That’ll have to do.”

Kay and Roger helped Alice up the hill. Mellie and Georgie rummaged in the barracks bag with the medical supplies and found gauze and pins and morphine. The ladies helped Alice out of her coat and jacket, bound her arm to her chest with gauze, and pulled her jacket and coat around her shoulders.

Vera stashed the bottle of morphine back in the bag. “We can’t go on. We need to go back and reschedule.”

“Can’t do that,” Roger said. “The OSS, the Twelfth Air Force, the partisans—you know how hard they worked to set this up, how long it took. We might not get another chance.”

Vera’s eyes flashed. “She can’t go on. It’s heartless to make her.”

Kay stood in front of Alice and grasped her good shoulder. If worse came to worse, she’d stay behind with her. “Be honest. Can you do this?”

A look of determination filled Alice’s eyes, a look Kay had never seen before. “I can and I will. We’re all in this together, and I refuse to hold anyone back.”

Louise patted the mule’s neck. “We can take turns riding the royal steed.”

“And we’ll all help you.” Georgie slung Alice’s musette bag over her shoulder. “We’re the nightingale sisters, remember?”

Kay’s eyes watered. The nickname had applied originally to Georgie and Rose and Mellie, and then to Kay and Louise, but never before to Vera or Alice.

“Come along.” Mellie headed up the path. “We nightingales need to be in our nests before sunrise.”

The group continued on their way, with Vera and Georgie flanking Alice.

Roger fell in beside Kay. “Good job, kid. Unity.”

“Unity.” Despite their differences, despite their history, despite the hardships of this ordeal, they were indeed unified. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can. You’re an excellent leader. You work with each person’s strengths and weaknesses, bring out the best in them.”

Kay pulled her scarf over her mouth. That was what leadership was about, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about control but about helping people work together for a common good, and she liked it. Whether or not she ever became a chief nurse, she could use this skill.

She walked along the snowy path on the wooded hills by Roger’s side, in companionable silence, occasionally bumping up against him.

Although cold nipped at her face and her feet, warmth snuggled inside her.

36

December 25, 1944

Behind Roger, the whole company hummed “O Come, All Ye Faithful” as they marched through the predawn gray. He didn’t stop them. Their voices weren’t any louder than the crunch of their shoes in the snow and brush, and the songs raised morale.

Directly behind him, Kay did not sing. He smiled at her. “Not singing?”

She laughed. “Of course not.”

He knew why, thanks to one of their late-night talks. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s not the point. Pettas is off-key, and no one cares. I just don’t want to. Every time I try, too many memories come back. I’d rather focus on who I am now, on my heavenly Father rather than my earthly one.”

Nothing remained of the brassy glamour girl. Her nose was red, she wore no makeup, she’d lost too much weight, and a greasy strand of hair poked from under the kerchief and scarf and hood. She’d never looked more beautiful to him.

Roger returned his attention to the path so he wouldn’t trip and make a fool of himself.

In front of him, Enrico pointed. “There it is. I see Marco and Captain Anselmo.”

Excitement surged inside, and Roger charged forward, grasped Anselmo’s hand, and pumped it. “You made it. Are we really pulling this off?”

“Looks good so far. The partisans have secured the area, and lookouts are stationed around the perimeter. Now we wait. The plane’s supposed to arrive at 0805, right after sunrise.”

Roger could barely see his watch in the dim light—0748. No time to spare.

“How’s everyone?” Anselmo peered around to the group. “I heard one of the girls broke her arm.”

“Yeah. Alice did, and they think she’ll need surgery. It doesn’t look right. And Louise gets weaker every day. We need to get them out of here.”

Anselmo scratched his dark mustache. “Here’s the plan. The field lies east to west. We have colored panels laid out on the snow in a straight line to signal the plane. The pilot will approach from the east along the north side of the field. If all is clear when he comes in sight, I’ll lay out the final panels to complete the
T
pattern. When the pilot receives the signal, he’ll circle the field and land from the east. You’ll meet him at the southwest corner. Then he turns, takes off, and hightails it out of here.”

“We should get in position.”

“I agree. Speed is vital.”

The group headed to the rendezvous point in high spirits. Roger had to shush them when “Joy to the World” got too joyful, but he couldn’t stop grinning. He’d done it. He’d helped get them out of this mess.

The more he thought about it, the less he blamed himself for the crash landing. He would have flown that day, regardless. No one had ordered him. The other two pilots flew, and they’d arrived safely in Rome, according to Anselmo. Every decision he’d made had been the right decision based on the information he had. And he’d made a solid landing. Everyone survived.

Now he’d helped lead them out. He was sure to earn a recommendation for the Hank Veerman band.

They turned along the southern edge of the field, behind the trees. A glow rose from the east and spilled golden light on the snow. Anselmo motioned for them to stop, and the group clumped together, softly singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”

Kay met his eyes and winked at him.

He winked back, but his heart seized. Soon he’d have to say good-bye to her forever. How could he do that? Over the past six weeks, Kay had become . . . well, almost as if she were the other side of his brain. They worked well together, perfect partners.

Like husband and wife.

Roger spun away and gripped a tree trunk for balance. He couldn’t allow himself to think that way. Marriage required more than love, more than partnership. Kay needed a home and stability, and he couldn’t give it to her. Besides, he’d promised Mike he’d back off and give him a chance with Kay. He’d keep his word.

“Listen,” Mike said.

The group hushed, and Roger strained his ears. Sure enough, engines throbbed to the northeast. But was it the rescue party, enemy aircraft, or something else?

He listened harder, and the rhythm spoke to him, a rhythm he knew well. “That’s a C-47.”

“Something else too.” Whitaker narrowed his eyes.

“They sent an escort,” Anselmo said.

An escort? Fighter planes? Roger thumped Anselmo on the back and laughed. “Best Christmas present ever. Thanks, Santa.”

The OSS man tipped half a smile. “It isn’t over yet.”

Roger wanted to grab the orange cloth under the man’s arm and spread it out himself.

Something rustled in the brush to the east. A partisan jogged toward them, gesturing wildly. He and Anselmo conferred in Italian, in strident tones.

“What’s going on?” Roger asked.

Anselmo’s lips set in a hard line. “Two members of the Brigate Nere stopped one of the lookouts. They’re not buying the partisan’s story. They sent out a radio message. A German patrol’s coming.”

Roger’s breath rushed out. “We have to move fast.”

“No. We have to call it off.”

“What? But—”

“No.” Anselmo crossed his arms and fixed a firm gaze on Roger. “If you were flying a C-47, making a drop behind enemy lines, and you failed to get a signal, what would you do?”

“I wouldn’t make the drop.”

“Why not?”

He groaned and looked away to the fresh layer of snow that wouldn’t be marred by airplane tires, to the orange
I
that wouldn’t become a
T
. “Because if I did, I’d alert the Nazis to the partisans’ position. A lot of people could die.”

“People like Enrico.”

Roger’s eyelids flopped shut. He couldn’t let anything happen to that kid.

“It’s my decision anyway. I outrank you.” Anselmo clapped his hand on Roger’s shoulder, then addressed the rest of the group. “I’m sorry, but we have to call off the mission. The Brigate Nere called in a German patrol. We can’t endanger the partisans.”

Some of the ladies gasped. Pettas and Whitaker cussed.

Roger ached inside. If only he could do something, anything to restore the hope and joy they’d just lost.

The engine sounds grew louder, and the plane came in sight. The familiar lines of the C-47 screamed home and comfort and a good meal and a soft bed. He wanted to reach up and pluck the plane from the sky, force it to whisk these people to safety, all of them, the partisans too. He’d pile them all in.

“Look,” Mellie said in a low, sad voice. “They sent P-47 Thunderbolts.”

Georgie leaned her head on Mellie’s shoulder. “They really wanted to help us.”

And they couldn’t. Roger punched a tree, grimaced, and shook out the pain in his hand. How much longer until they could arrange another rescue attempt? They’d have to start from scratch. And now they’d have to go on the run again with the sick and injured and weak.

The group stood in silence and watched the planes fly by, east to west, toward the Mediterranean, toward Naples. Without them.

Tears glistened on the ladies’ cheeks. All but Kay. She put her arms around Alice and Vera and murmured soothing words.

Roger stepped forward. “I’m so sorry, ladies.”

Vera gave him a calm gaze. “Don’t be. These people have endangered themselves enough already.”

They’d be endangering themselves again. The Americans needed to find someplace to hide for the day.

Roger stared at the sunlight, bright on the snow. He’d been looking forward to becoming a daylight creature again. “Where can we go?”

“We have a spot about a mile to the west.” Anselmo motioned for Marco to run onto the field and gather the orange panels. “We need to move fast.”

After Enrico helped Louise back on the mule, everyone shouldered their bags. A few sniffles, a gulped sob, and they followed Anselmo two by two, shoulder to shoulder.

It was Christmas Day.

Roger gazed up to the bright sky. Almost two thousand years earlier, a weary twosome had bedded down in a filthy stable, no room in the inn. “Guess you know how we feel, Lord.”

37

December 31, 1944

In the corner of the dank cellar, Vera pulled her blanket around her shoulders. “This is the worst New Year’s Eve ever.”

Kay leaned against the cold brick wall. The last rays of sunlight slanted through narrow windows close to the ceiling. Roger sat cross-legged on a stack of crates by the far window, keeping watch on the village street outside, his back to the ladies, drumming on his knees.

To think, a year ago she and Grant Klein danced the night away at the Orange Club in Naples. She’d worn her long grassy green gown, her hair curled and rolled and pinned just right, her face powdered and rouged, her lips painted red.

Now she sat in a damp cellar, where little rat feet scurried among the boxes and crates. She wore a stinking uniform with ragged trouser hems and holes in the knees. Her stomach cramped with hunger and dysentery. Yet she was happier than she’d been on the dance floor.

Forgiveness from God, friendship with these ladies and with Roger, and even the growing experience of the evasion—all gave her a sense of peace and rightness.

Still, the glum mood in the cellar needed to be vanquished. Low spirits made for slow feet, and they had twelve miles to
cover tonight. Once again they moved every night, not only to throw off the enemy but to reduce the burden on the villages where they stayed.

Kay sat up straighter and draped her blanket over her knees. “All right, 1945 will be here in a few hours. Let’s fantasize. Where do you think you’ll be a year from now? The war will be over, I’m sure of it, at least in Europe. Who wants to go first?”

“I’ll play.” Georgie tucked a well-worn novel into her musette bag. “I’ll return to Virginia, where they’ll throw a parade in my honor in Charlottesville. And Hutch will commit some stupendous act of heroism and be promoted to a general, and we’ll get married. He’ll open a pharmacy in Charlottesville, and we’ll buy a house outside town with plenty of land for my horse Hammie, and we’ll adopt Hutch’s little friend Lucia from the orphanage in Naples.”

Kay grinned. “That’s quite a year.”

“Best ever. How about you, Mellie?”

She leaned her head back against the wall and gazed at the ceiling. “The Americans will liberate my papa from Santo Tomas, and he’ll come home. He’ll love Tom, I know it. Tom will get an engineering job and build bridges all over the world. He’ll have plenty of work in Europe with the war damage. And maybe . . . well, we’d like to start a family.”

Mellie’s embarrassed little smile made everyone laugh.

“Your turn, Louise.” Mellie nudged her friend.

Louise lay on the floor, covered with several blankets. “I just want to—I want to get better.”

“You will,” Georgie said. “And then?”

“Then I want to go home to Colorado, to the ranch. Maybe I can talk Rudy into giving up the big city for the country. I sure hope so. I miss him.”

“Well, I don’t miss Gordon.” Alice adjusted the gauze that bound the splint to her swollen, crooked arm. “I’m tired of
how he plays around with anyone in a skirt. I’m breaking up with him first thing. Then I’m done with nursing. I’m going to study art. That’s what I love.”