A Distant Melody (10 page)

She sighed. “You’ll never guess.”

“But you’ll make me, won’t you? Let’s see. Alice? Alma? Alberta?”

“No, I mean you couldn’t possibly guess, because it’s unusual, and I might as well tell you since Betty knows, but I never use it, and even my mother never uses it, and she chose it.”

“You talk fast when you’re nervous, you know that?”

“Fast.” She looked at the shoulder she’d admired all week, now alive under her hand. “I suppose I can’t help it. My name’s Allegra.”

“Allegra? Hmm. Your mom’s musical too?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid she was a bit silly when she was younger.”

“No more than my mom. My real name is Adagio.”

Allie lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve been warned about your tales.”

“Come on, play along. See, when we get married, we’ll have a symphony of children.” The mischief in his eyes neutralized the effect of his mention of marriage.

“A symphony?”

“Yep. First child, a girl, takes after her mother. We’ll call her Allegretta.”

As always, she enjoyed his sense of humor. “Then a son named Andante.”

“You got it. Next comes Pianissimo.”

“Quiet with this musical brood?” She shook her head. “Fortissimo is more appropriate.”

“Yeah. Four kids. Pretty loud.” He squinted at the streamer-draped ceiling. “Next comes the climax, our daughter Crescenda.”

“Crescenda?” Allie laughed, even as she admired the dark stubble under Walt’s jaw. “I thought Allegra was ridiculous.” “Nah.” He lowered his chin and smiled at her. “Is the next kid Finis?”

“Goodness, I hope so. Six children is an exhausting thought for an only child.”

“How many kids do you want?”

“More than one. One’s too lonely.” She gazed into his eyes and realized she and Baxter had never discussed children. “I always thought four would be perfect.”

“Four it is.” Walt’s smile glowed with promise.

Promise? Impossible. He’d never come between her and Baxter—unless he didn’t know about Baxter. Oh dear, what if he didn’t know? She hadn’t talked much about Baxter, and Walt hadn’t asked about him either. Guilt and dread gripped her stomach. She needed to mention her boyfriend, but how?

Allie swallowed hard. “I’m surprised I’ve never had this conversation before.”

“Kind of obvious with a name like Allegra.”

He’d misunderstood. Allie pondered how to direct the conversation.

“With a last name like Miller, you should be glad to have an unusual first name. What if your name were Mary?”

“That’s what Mother thought. Her name’s Mary. She also thought Allegra was an enchanting name, suitable for the beauty her daughter should have been. Her great disappointment is having a plain daughter.” She clamped her lips together. Once again, her familiarity with Walt led her to divulge too much.

Something fierce flashed in his eyes. “I can’t believe people say you’re plain. It’s not true.”

“Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said that. I hope you don’t think I’m searching for a compliment.”

“You?” The ferocity dissolved into amusement. “Uh-uh. I’ve seen how you react to compliments. Besides, I’m no good with compliments, no good with words at all. But you’re not plain. Your face . . . well, your face is memorable. If I walked into a room fifty years from now, I’d recognize you.”

“Even with gray hair and wrinkles?”

“Sure. Your eyes won’t change. And, well, anyone who says you’re plain should be hung by their thumbs. A woman can’t be plain if she has beautiful eyes.”

He thought she had beautiful eyes. Allie almost forgot the dance step.

Walt’s eyes narrowed as he examined hers. “Not just the color, which is . . . well, amazing. Something else. Ray’s good with words; he could figure it out. Your eyes are bright, quick.” He broke into a grin. “They’re allegro. Yeah, that’s it. But your smile is adagio, slow and quiet. Together—well, it’s a swell combination.”

She dragged her gaze down to her red fingernails on Walt’s thick shoulder. “I thought you weren’t good with compliments.”

“I’m not. I’m also tongue-tied with women unless they’re taken.” His arm slipped further around her waist and drew her closer. “You, dear Allie, are the exception to the rule.”

Red and olive drab mixed before her eyes in a strange blend. The exception? He thought she wasn’t taken. That meant— “What about me? Would you recognize me in fifty years?”

“What? Oh, I—oh, I don’t know.” Allie’s line of thought both fascinated and frightened her, and she used every grain of will to concentrate on his question and look in his face. Would she recognize him? How could she not? “Yes. Your eyes.”

“What do you see in my eyes?” He struck what he must have thought was a distinguished pose, chin high and turned to the side.

His expression was so comical, she laughed and pressed her hand to his cheek. “You have to look at me, silly.”

Touching him was a mistake. His eyes shone even brighter. “Okay, I’m looking at you. What do you see?” His voice was as rugged as the stubble under Allie’s fingers.

She managed to lower her hand to his shoulder. She couldn’t voice what she saw in his eyes—the potential for all she longed for but could never have, not with Walt, not with anyone ever, because of loyalty and expectations and propriety.

He cleared his throat. “See a fellow with nothing but planes on his mind?”

“No, of course not.” Fondness for him welled up inside. “I see intelligence and courage. I see a kind, understanding heart. I see . . . always I see your good humor.”

He made a face. “Ah, you always talk up the men in your life.”

“No. You know I don’t feel comfortable with many people.” Here was an opportunity to mention Baxter, but it would be a lie. On the rare occasions she was alone with him, the silence was deathly.

Walt leaned closer, until their cheeks almost brushed. “I’m glad I’m the exception.”

Allie breathed in his heady fragrance of soap, wool, and aftershave. She couldn’t tell him about Baxter now. What if he made a scene and tarnished Betty’s wedding? What if he pouted and everyone talked? Silence was the only truthful solution to this dilemma.

And deep inside, she couldn’t bear to destroy the moment, precious and yearned for and never to be repeated. Even though romance with Walt was impossible, all her life she’d have this moment in her memory of feeling beautiful, appreciated, and vibrant.

A moment to cherish.

9

Sunday, June 28, 1942

Walt scooped steamy scrambled eggs onto his fork. Never had his appetite been so robust.

He could still smell Allie’s flowery perfume, feel that soft fabric, see her dreamy expression. And he’d still be tasting her kiss if that Dorothy Carlisle hadn’t interfered.

“Why would you walk her home, Walt? I’m right across
the street.”
He stabbed a chunk of egg. Yeah, Dorothy was still paying him back for last summer’s mess.

No matter. He still had today. After church, George and Betty were leaving on their wedding trip. The rest of the gang didn’t have plans, but someone would come up with something, and Walt would get Allie alone for that kiss.

Mom placed another pancake on his plate. “No more for you, young man. Your grandmother will be heartbroken if you don’t save room for her chicken.”

“Grandmother?”

Mom scraped the griddle. “Don’t you remember? We’re spending the day at the farm.”

“Today? Why does it have to be today?”

“Don’t use that tone with your mother.” Dad set the
Antioch
Ledger
on the table. “You’ve spent the whole week with your friends, and you leave Tuesday. One small day with your family isn’t asking too much.”

Even though his father was right, Walt grumbled. He knew it was childish, but this one small day was vital to his future.

Mom rinsed the pan in the sink. “Perhaps you could invite one of your friends. Maybe that nice Allie Miller.”

What a great idea. Sunday dinner with his family—showed he was serious about her, showed he was a gentleman. But the farm was also chockful of romantic nooks and crannies. “Yeah. She might like that.”

“Invite her after church.” Mom cast Dad a glance over her shoulder.

Pride stirred in Walt’s chest. Mom recognized what was happening with Allie. That validated it. Strange—George hadn’t said anything. Usually the fellows were quick to tease each other. Must be too caught up in their own romances to notice Walt’s.

Oh well. They’d notice soon enough.

“No, Walt. You’ve hogged her all week.” Dorothy hooked her arm through Allie’s. “Today’s her last full day here, and my family has a big dinner planned.”

Walt stared at Dorothy and restrained his anger and disappointment. He’d be at the farm for dinner and supper and long after—without Allie.

“Goodness,” Allie said with a nervous laugh. “I never thought I’d see the day when two people would fight over my company.”

He sighed. “No fighting. I know you have to go to the Carlisles.”

She nodded, her smile sad but grateful. “Thank you for the lovely invitation. I’d say another day but . . .”

“I know. No more days.” He had to cheer her up when he didn’t feel cheerful himself. “But I’m taking you to the train depot tomorrow.”

“Since when?” Dorothy asked.

He gave her a smug smile. “Makes sense. Dad’s clergy. He’ll get unlimited gas when rationing starts next month. You won’t. Save it up.”

Monday, June 29, 1942

Walt walked up the path to the Jamison house and tugged his uniform jacket straight. Allie smiled at him from the porch. She wore a suit about the same shade of red as Dad’s leather chair.

“Hi, there. Ready to go?”

She motioned to the door with a gloved hand. “Almost.” The door swung open. Dorothy and Mrs. Jamison came out, and Mrs. Jamison handed a basket to Allie. “Here’s your lunch and some of the strawberry jam we made.”

“How sweet.” Allie hugged her hostess. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right for that transfer at Tracy?” “Yes, I’m sure. Thank you.”

“All right, let’s go.” Walt loaded the suitcase and hatbox in the trunk, and then he opened the door and waited for Allie to be seated. Dorothy harrumphed and opened the back door.

He stared at her. “You’re going too?”

“Of course. What kind of friend do you think I am?”

He clenched his hand on the door rim and suppressed a groan. She had a right to go, but it wrecked his plans. He had things to say to Allie, things he couldn’t say in front of Dorothy.

Allie peeked up at him. “Did you forget something, or are you watching out for cows?”

He smiled. “Yeah, with you in the car, I’ll have to keep my eyes open. Say, want me to put that basket in the trunk?”

“Would you, please?”

When he wedged the basket beside the luggage, an idea formed in his head. Yeah, it was sneaky, but this was his last opportunity to be alone with her. He might not get another furlough before he shipped out, and it could be years until he came home.

Walt sat behind the wheel and smiled at Allie. “Back home again, huh?”

“Yes.” Her eyes darkened.

That was stupid—reminding her about home, where she had nothing to look forward to. He pulled away from the curb. “Well, you made lots of friends this week you can write to. Say, I need your address.”

“Oh. Oh yes.”

Walt dictated his address, and Allie wrote down hers. He wanted to read it right away and memorize it, but he tucked it in his left breast pocket.

At the depot he opened the trunk, removed the lunch bundle from the basket, and set it aside. He opened the car doors for the ladies and handed Allie the basket. “I thought Mrs. Jamison packed a lunch. Just jam in here.”

Dorothy poked around inside. “Oh dear.”

“It’s all right,” Allie said. “I can buy something at one of the stops.”

“And lose your seat? That won’t do.” Walt pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Listen, Dorothy, run to the coffee shop and get her a sandwich while I take care of her luggage.”

“Sure.” She took Walt’s dollar and dashed across the street.

He chuckled as he hoisted the suitcase from the trunk. That worked well. Perhaps the train would be full of servicemen, and Allie would have to wait another day. After all, military personnel took precedence over civilians. However, he couldn’t count on it. He had to make the most of the few minutes he’d bought.