On Distant Shores (26 page)

Outside Naples, Italy
February 14, 1944

Miss Carpino, the Red Cross worker, held open the orphanage door and motioned in the flight nurses with their boxes full of goodies. “It’s so kind of you to come. The children are excited to have a party.”

Mellie hefted up her box and smiled at Georgie. “Great idea.”

“Thank you.” Throwing a party for orphans seemed a more noble use of her skills than her usual birthday parties for the nurses.

Spartan but clean, just as Hutch described the orphanage. What would he think about her visit? Would he be grateful she’d thought of Lucia or would he think she’d disrespectfully usurped his place in the child’s life? The way he’d been acting before they broke up, who knew? Sometimes she was glad to be rid of him, and sometimes the pain of missing him ripped her up inside.

The Red Cross girl led them into a dining hall with two long tables and benches. Several dozen dark-haired boys and girls sat at the tables, supervised by two nuns in long black habits.

“Buongiorno.”
Georgie grinned and waved.

“Buongiorno.”
The children wiggled in their seats. If the nuns hadn’t been present, Georgie had a hunch the nurses would have been mobbed.

The Red Cross girl, an American with Italian heritage, made an introduction in Italian, complete with swooping airplane hand motions.

Georgie scanned the orphans until she found Lucia at the end of the far table with crutches propped next to her. She wore a shabby brown dress, and Georgie’s next sewing idea zipped into her mind. Why, all the children looked like they could use a new dress or shirt or sweater. If Georgie had her way, no hands in the 802nd MAETS would be idle for some time to come.

The Red Cross girl turned to the six nurses. “Go ahead and introduce yourselves. ‘
Mi chiamo
’ means ‘my name is,’ and ‘
tenante
’ means ‘lieutenant.’”

The ladies went down the line ending with “
Tenante
Taylor.”

“Signorina Giorgiana?”
Even from across the room, the light in Lucia’s eyes shone.

A nun gave the girl a soft reprimand, and Lucia responded in excited Italian. At the mention of “
Signor Ucce
,” Georgie’s heart jolted.

Before Lucia could get in trouble for talking back, Georgie approached the nun. “It’s all right, Sister. I know her.”

The Red Cross girl translated, and the nun nodded to Georgie and stepped back.

Lucia stretched out her hand. “
Signorina! Signorina!
Signor Ucce ask you come?”

“No.” Georgie squatted by the table and took Lucia’s hand, smiling over her pain. How could she tell the girl Hutch hadn’t asked or told her anything for a month? A month and two
days. “But he would come himself if he could. I know he’d like you to have a party. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” She turned a grin toward the Red Cross girl. “Signorina Carpino teach me English.”

“Good. Let me get the party started, and I’ll come back to talk to you.”

The nurses passed out a square of fudge for each child. After they finished, Mellie, Kay, and Louise took the more active children outside to play baseball.

Grief stole the breath from Georgie’s lungs. Rose would have organized the baseball game if she were here. She would have loved this outing.

But Rose wasn’t here. And the purpose of the party was to cheer up the children, so she pulled herself tall and helped Vera and Alice set up paper and paint and scissors for the quieter children and those who couldn’t walk.

She gave Alice a smile. “Thanks again for giving up your paint set. I know you planned to capture the landscape.”

“I can get more sent from home.” A fall of blonde hair concealed her expression. “These children don’t have a—a home.”

Most of the children seemed chipper, but one little girl sat alone, rocking back and forth, a red roof tile clutched to her chest. And a boy around nine painted a picture of a house—with a swastika-bearing tank barreling into it. These children had seen things no child should see.

“
Signorina! Tenante
Taylor. See me walk.” Leaning heavily on her crutches, Lucia edged forward with short uneasy steps.

Georgie resisted the impulse to help. “You’re doing so well.”

“Signor Ucce like?” She plopped onto a bench at the art table.

“I know he would.” Georgie slid a piece of paper in front of her. “Do you—do you write to him?”

“
Si.
Today I paint him.”

“He’ll like that.”

Lucia lifted wide eyes and a grin. “Please read me.”

A smile tickled Georgie’s lips. “What do you mean?”

She dug in the frayed pocket of her dress and pulled out a wrinkled letter folded in half. “Please read me. Signor Ucce. I no read well.”

Pain crushed her chest. When he wrote this letter, he certainly didn’t intend for Georgie to read it. Yet how could she resist Lucia’s plea? And how could she avert her eyes from the open window to Hutch’s world?

She flattened the letter on the table.

Dear Lucia,

How are you, little star? I miss you very much, but I know the nuns take good care of you. I hope you are happy and making lots of friends.

The hospital is busy. All the doctors and nurses miss you, but we’re glad you have a roof over your head and a soft bed and lots of good food.

Our hospital is right on the shore. If it’s quiet at night, I can hear the waves from my tent. When I have time off, I like to sit on the sand and watch the funny little birds hop up to the water, then skitter away when a wave comes in.

Someday this would be a nice place for little girls to build sand castles and play in the water. Have you ever been to the shore? I know you’d like it. Did you know there are stars in
the ocean too? They’re called starfish, and they walk on little tube feet that tickle your hand if you touch them.

Keep learning to read and write like a good girl so you can write to me all by yourself. I like your letters very much. Please tell me what you’ve learned and all about your new friends.

Now, let’s sing together, my little star: “Twinkle, twinkle . . .”

Georgie’s voice broke, but she pulled herself together for Lucia’s sake and sang with the child.

“Thank you. Thank you.” She tugged on Georgie’s sleeve. “Please write me.”

Heavens, no. He couldn’t receive a letter in her handwriting. “Signorina Carpino—”

“No. She is nice but she is busy always. Please?”

That wouldn’t do. She waved to Vera. “Could you help me please? This is Lucia, and she wants a letter transcribed. I can’t do it. Please don’t make me explain.”

Vera raised one perfect eyebrow, but then smiled at Lucia. “Of course. I’d love to write a letter for you, Lucia.”

“Thank you.” Lucia flipped one black braid over her shoulder. “Dear Signor Ucce.”

“Oo-chay?”

“U-C-C-E.”
Georgie’s voice caught, and she turned to show a boy how to rinse the paintbrush before switching colors.

Hutch was at Anzio for certain. Somehow receiving secondhand news deepened the sense of distance, of separation, of loss.

Her eyes stung. The letter showed her everything good and
lovable about Hutch. Had she made the wrong decision to break up with him? Had she been too hard on him? What if he needed her comfort and encouragement and cheer?

Her sudden laugh amused the little boy with the paintbrush.

No, the last time she’d seen him, Hutch had rejected every attempt to cheer him. She needed to stop questioning her decisions.

Howling laughter rose from outside, and Georgie glanced out the window. Kay and Louise doubled over laughing. A group of boys kicked the baseball around with fancy moves, and the bat lay on the ground. Mellie played along. Apparently they preferred soccer to baseball.

Georgie smiled and circled the table, saying, “
Bella, bella
” for each painting.

One boy gazed longingly out the window. He had no feet. He’d never play soccer again.

Georgie swallowed the lump of pity and sat next to him. “Here. Let me show you something fun.” She folded a piece of paper into eighths like a pie, then snipped out little triangles and squares from the edges.

He watched skeptically until Georgie unfolded it. “See. A snowflake.”

Interest flickered in his dark eyes, and Georgie handed him the scissors and a piece of paper. “Your turn.”

For the next hour, she helped with art projects and then assisted with the cleanup.

When it was time to leave, she hugged Lucia. The little girl wouldn’t let go of her waist or her heart. Had it really been only a few weeks since she hoped to form a family with Hutch and Lucia? Now that would never happen, and until Hutch found someone else to marry, he wouldn’t be allowed to adopt and Lucia would stay in this orphanage.

She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and forced out the necessary prayer.
Lord, please let Hutch find the right woman to be his wife and this child’s mother.

Lucia pulled back and wiped away a tear. “Please write me?”

Georgie’s smile quivered. “I will.”

“Come back?”

“Lord willing, we will.” And with a pile of pretty dresses and neat shirts and warm sweaters. Mama could send her more cloth and yarn and notions.

“Promise?” Pain lurked deep in those big brown eyes.

Georgie knelt beside the bench and took her hands. “Sugar, I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. But I promise to write, and I do want to visit again very, very much.”

Lucia nodded and shut her eyes. She’d lost so much, poor sweet thing—her family, her home, the strength in her legs, and even Hutch.

“You be good for the nuns now, you hear?” She squeezed the girl’s hands.

“
Si
. Yes. I promise.”

“Good girl.” After she pried herself free, she joined the other nurses outside under a cloudy sky.

Mellie slipped her arm through Georgie’s as they walked down the road to the train station. “Was it hard to see Lucia?”

“She asked me to read a letter from Hutch.”

“Oh dear. Do you want to talk about it?”

She sighed. “I learned he’s at Anzio as I suspected. But he didn’t say anything I wanted to hear, like how he’s really doing.”

Walking on Mellie’s other side, Kay wrinkled her nose. “Are you still pining for him? Don’t. Tall, dark, and handsome does not make up for grouchy.”

She reined in her irritation. “I’m not pining for him.”

“Good. A cute thing like you can find a new man like this.” Kay snapped her fingers. “What about that doctor from the dance? Chadwick, wasn’t it? A looker, and he sure had his eye on you.”

Drips from last night’s rain fell from an umbrella pine, and Georgie dodged them. “He’s not my type.”

“Oh, and he’s at Anzio too, isn’t he? Too bad they won’t let us fly in there. If you’re not interested, I am. I don’t have a physician on my roster.”

A different man every day of the week, with an out-of-character exception for Sundays. “Why so many men?”

“It’s fun.” She shook back her strawberry blonde hair. “You’ve heard about sailors having a different girl in every port? Well, I have a different man in every airport.”

“But why do you
need
so many?”

Mellie’s fingers dug into Georgie’s arm, but Georgie ignored her. She’d been too caught up in her own life’s drama to focus on Kay as her project. That needed to change.

Kay’s chin elevated. “It’s not a need. It’s just fun, no commitment. The boys know that from the start. Any man gets too serious and he’s gone.”

Mellie’s grip intensified, and Georgie dropped the subject, but only for now.

What was fun about a lack of commitment?

Of course, commitment hadn’t worked that well for Georgie. She’d ended a relationship destined for marriage, and then an even better relationship that seemed destined for an even better marriage.

The ladies entered the railroad depot and stood in line for tickets.

Now Georgie was unattached, and for the longest time in her life.

As much as she hated the void, she couldn’t fill it yet. Not
until she evicted the notion that only Sgt. John Hutchinson belonged there.

93rd Evacuation Hospital, Nettuno
February 18, 1944

Hutch wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stand straight again. He headed for his lunch at the mess doing the “Anzio Shuffle,” hunched in a duckwalk to avoid decapitation by enemy shells. He lived in his helmet, even sleeping with it balanced over his head.

Dozens of personnel at the four American hospitals had been killed or wounded. The US Fifth Army had made noise about evacuating the nurses, but when the women protested, the Army backed down.

They might change their minds this week.

The sound of metal scraping on metal pricked Hutch’s ear. Incoming shell. He raced for the nearest foxhole and leaped in. He landed with a splash, and chilly water soaked his trousers and feet.

He grimaced. The water table on the Anzio beachhead lay only a few feet below ground this time of year, so the hospital couldn’t dig in for protection.

The shell landed to the west and shook the ground, but it missed the hospital.