Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington (24 page)

Rosalie longed to trust her newfound Savior. She craved His guidance, His love. But prying her fingers off of her own life, and trusting herself to God, pained her. “I’m so used to only having myself to rely on, Birdie. I like being the one to rivet on my own.”

“Yeah,” Birdie conceded. “It’s hard—impossible really—to let go of that on your own. The good news is, sweets, you don’t have to. Even the letting go is by His grace alone.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Because it’s the truth of God’s Word.” Birdie nodded determinedly. “Plus, think of it this way, if nothing else, maybe dozens, or hundreds, or who knows how many ladies will sign up to work at the plant to be just like ‘Seattle’s Own Rosie the Riveter.’”

Rosalie’s shoulders slumped. She was grateful for her friend’s honesty, but it wasn’t easy to hear. “You had to pull the old
think of others more than yourself
thing on me, didn’t ya?”

Birdie’s eyebrows arched up. “Works every time.”

Rosalie didn’t have to be convinced anymore. She knew having Kenny write the articles would be a good decision. She also knew she needed to fill Birdie in on everything.

“There’s, uh, something else I didn’t tell you about, Bird. Kenny said if he does a good job on my story, his boss will give him another really important assignment that could help people.” Rosalie cringed, building a case against herself.

“Really?” Birdie shot her hands to her hips. “Is that all? What else didn’t you tell me?”

“If he doesn’t do the stories about me, he’ll be fired.” Rosalie hid her face in her hand.

Birdie gasped. “Rosalie! Why haven’t you said yes already?”

Rosalie marched toward the soldiers. “I know. I know,” she said, assuming Birdie’d catch up. “I’ll let him write about little ol’ me.” And as she accepted her assignment to become “Rosie the Riveter,” a burst of new joy lit in her heart. One that hadn’t been there before. Joy in knowing that, no matter what plastering her name—and life story—all over Seattle’s papers would bring, Christ was guiding her steps.

She grinned to herself.
And spending time with Kenny might not be so bad, either.

“There you are,” the pert young soldier in a wheelchair chimed as Rosalie traipsed toward him. “Where’ve you been all my life?”

“Allan, psst!” A nurse with ebony hair and olive skin nipped her fingers against her thumb, reprimanding the GI. “Leave the girl alone.” The nurse’s eyes softened as she smiled at Rosalie and Birdie. “He’s been like this ever since Bremerton. He’s asked me out on a date at least a dozen times.” The wrinkles around the woman’s eyes deepened as she laughed.

“No problem.” Rosalie patted Allan’s back. “We know how fresh these kids can be.”

“Fresh? Me?” Allan feigned.

Birdie tapped down his hat, pushing it over his eyes. “Yeah you, Cassanova.” Then Birdie looked around. “Seems to me our escorts aren’t going to be around for a few minutes. Care to stroll the deck?”

Allan nodded. “I’ll race you, sweetie.” He turned the metal rim on his wheels, rolling into the sunshine.

“Hey, wait up!” Birdie called, quickening her pace.

Rosalie chuckled, then glanced at the other two men and immediately sobered. Both older than average GIs, one guy’s hat rested against his broad chest, and his graying hair blended with the ferry’s metal walls.

The other’s pale blue eyes zeroed in on his clenched hands. Sweat spilt over the deep rivers of his forehead, and his bottom lip was clamped beneath his teeth. A thick wrap of bandages coiled around the man’s thigh, and a small red splotch stained the middle.

The name on his uniform read C
ARLSON
.

The nurse must have seen the blood seeping through the bandage the same time as Rosalie. Without hesitation, she turned and grabbed a white metal first aid kit from under a red-cushioned chair, positioned by the ferry’s window.

“I thought we got that bleeding stopped.” The nurse’s voice was tense.

The gray-haired man’s attention was focused on Carlson, and he patted his friend’s shoulder, the uniform’s fabric beneath his hand bearing sergeant’s stripes.

“Thank you, Andrew. Thank you for being here,” Carlson mumbled.

The lines around the gray-haired man—Andrew’s—intense eyes constricted as, without words, he comforted his friend.

The bloodstain on Carlson’s leg grew, nearing the edges of the white bandage wrappings, staining his pants.

The nurse hurried to Carlson, carrying a heap of folded cloth compresses. “Here, this should stop the bleeding.” Placing them on top of the other bandages, she pressed down firmly with her hand.

Carlson winced as her hand connected with his leg, and a low moan escaped from his lips. Then he grasped onto Andrew’s arm.

With her other hand, the nurse felt Carlson’s cheek. Her lips pursed slightly, and her eyes filled with worry.

It wasn’t until Rosalie leaned down in front of the two men that she noticed Andrew’s left pant leg tucked under his knee, where his limb ended. He slipped his hand from Carlson’s shoulder and grabbed the man’s hand. “Hang on, friend. Mary Ann’s waiting for you. Won’t be long now.”

For the first time, the man’s eyes peered up and pushed his lips into a tight smile. “And Lucy,” he choked out. “And—” He couldn’t finish but winced and clutched the other man’s hand.

“When we get you downstairs, we’ll give you something for the pain, okay, darlin’?” the nurse said.

“And Tim,” Andrew continued. “You’ll see Tim as soon as he gets back from serving his country, a hero like his dad. Mary Ann’ll give you his letters, though, as soon as you see her. ”

“Letters,” Carlson rasped.

Rosalie didn’t know if it was from loss of blood or perhaps infection, but Carlson’s face was a pale gray, and his eyes struggled to stay open.

The nurse left to hurry into a small room and returned with a blanket, covering him. “Where are those marines to take him down?”

Kneeling next to Andrew, Rosalie reached across, covering the two men’s fists with her hand. “It’ll get harder before it gets easier,” she whispered. “You’ll be carried downstairs, and I know it won’t be comfortable, but I’ll pray that God will give you strength.”

Lord, ease Carlson’s pain,
Rosalie prayed,
and help Andrew comfort his friend.

Thankfulness for the magnitude of these men’s sacrifice—for her and the millions who counted on them—surged through her. She longed to break the dam welling up in her heart and flood them with her fathomless gratitude. But how? No words said it all. No action spoke enough. She patted Carlson’s hand and continued her silent prayer.

Finally footsteps pounded up the stairs beneath the railing and two marines appeared.

“Okay, who’s goin’ first?” one of them boomed.

The nurse stood and put her hand on Carlson’s back. “This gentleman.”

The marines moved to him, then paused as they saw his pain—and his rank. They eyed each other and then, with a respectful formality, advanced to him. “Sir, just put your arms around our shoulders; we’ll have you downstairs to the medic double-time.”

Cautiously, and far slower than “double-time,” they lifted him from his chair.

“I’m right after you, my friend,” Andrew called, shifting his wheelchair toward the steps. “Think of Mary Ann. I’ll be right there.” Andrew waved a thin arm, and when he smiled, Rosalie noticed how gaunt his cheeks appeared.

The marines carried the man down the stairs, his stifled moans echoing through the large steel vessel. The nurse followed with the wheelchair.

“A good man.” Andrew gazed at Rosalie, shaking his head. “A squadron commander. He took that shrapnel in his thigh saving a kid from a grenade. He wouldn’t let the doctors take his leg, though—even though it would have been the better choice. I just hope his stubbornness doesn’t cost him his life.”

“I’m sure your friend will be all right,” Rosalie said, even though she didn’t completely believe her words. “Do you two go way back?”

Birdie was still by the deck’s railing, enjoying the sun and talking to the younger guy, Allan.

“No,” Andrew answered. “Just met him on the train. Told me all about his life before the pain kicked in. But we’re all brothers, you know.” He threw her a grin as his eyes sized her up.

Rosalie sent a smile back. “That was real kind of you to comfort him when you’ve got your own—” She glimpsed his leg and paused, realizing her words could hurt. She eyed him, hoping he saw the apology in her eyes.

“My own injury?” The man palmed the air as if comforting her. “I only wish I could’ve carried him down those stairs. A prayer and a bit of time, that’s easy to give. What he really needs is the Lord’s mercy and grace.”

Yet even as Andrew said the words, Rosalie saw him shifting in his seat. Sweat beaded up around his shirt collar, and his cheeks flushed. He rubbed his knee just above where his leg ended and forced a smile. Rosalie realized he was in pain too. Yet in his desire to help his friend, Andrew hadn’t focused on himself.

Rosalie scanned the man’s face. Peace filled his blue eyes, and a cross was pinned to his collar. “You’re a chaplain?”

“Willing to serve the Lord anywhere He calls me. It’s the end of my military career, though.” He pointed to his stump. “Maybe I’ll get my own little parish here. Doesn’t matter. I will be glad to see my family, though.”

Rosalie looked over her shoulder and noticed the marines still weren’t coming, and she knew from her work at the USO that the one thing soldiers appreciated the most was someone to talk to. Someone to listen. She scooted a red-cushioned chair next to him. “Tell me about them. Do you have children?”

“Two girls and a boy—all grown, of course. My son lives here in Seattle.”

As Rosalie listened, she noticed the name on his shirt for the first time. It had been hidden behind his hat resting on his chest. It read D
AVENPORT
.

Rosalie racked her brain, trying to remember if Kenny had said anything about his dad being a chaplain. Yet the more she thought about it, she didn’t know if he had mentioned his dad at all. Not that he ever had a chance. She was too focused on her own needs, worries, and frets to ask.

Rosalie shot a glance to Birdie, waiting to point out the man’s nametag. But she was already walking down the steps with Allan and the two marines Rosalie didn’t notice arrive. Rosalie switched her gaze back to the chaplain, who still talked about his son in Seattle.

“I’m mighty proud of that boy. Ever since he was a little boy, he paid attention to things. Took note of the world around him.”

“Your son’s not Kenny, is he?” she blurted. “Kenny Davenport?” She pointed to the nametag on his jacket. “I noticed your name.”

The chaplain’s eyes gaped open, and he peered at her. A grin spread his lips. Tears touched his eyes. “That’s my boy. He’s a reporter—”

“Oh my!” Rosalie’s heartbeat rocketed like a missile. She pictured Kenny’s face at their reunion. The joy of meeting his father. The sadness of seeing him broken, weak—not the man he was before the war.

“I know him, Reverend Davenport. He’s just down the street.” Tears blurred her vision. She wiped the tears away, and as she studied the older man’s face, she wondered why she hadn’t recognized him sooner. Kenny had the same jawline, the same nose, the same thoughtfulness in his eyes as his father.

“You know my Kenny?” Love radiated in his eyes—a father’s love and pride over his beloved son. Seeing it caused an ache to rise in Rosalie. She’d never experienced that type of love before.

She bit her lip and realized she shouldn’t expect it with her own father, but she did understand it better than she ever had before. Now she had a new, adopted father in God. Would His eyes gleam with a similar adoring look if she could see them now?

“Yes, I know your Kenny,” she answered his question. “Not well, really, but I’m getting to know him. He’s a great dancer, your son.” She winked.

Andrew rolled closer to her and patted her arm. “Make sure he treats you like a lady, okay?”

“Oh, he does, sir. He does. Not that we’re an item or anything, but…never mind. Does he know you’re here? That you were coming? I left him at his office just a few minutes ago. I’m sure he would’ve said something, if he knew.”

“I sent a telegram, but you never know when those things will arrive.” He looked down at his empty pant leg. “I’m not even sure if my family knows the extent of my injuries. From all the letters I’ve received from my dear wife, and from Kenny, they don’t mention it, and I wonder if my letters ever made it to them.” A twinkle lit his eye. “Kenny writes me every day, you know. He continues on the same piece of paper and mails it at the end of the week. I’ve kept every one. And I’m sure if I weren’t to arrive home right now, his upcoming letters might even mention you.”

An excited determination flushed Rosalie’s cheeks. “He’ll want to see you.” She stood and looked to the stairs. “I’ll go get him. I can run.” She swung around the railing and dashed down the first steps.

“Hold up there, sweetheart! Come back before you go running off.”

Rosalie paused her steps, then turned back. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I know he’ll want to see you.”