A Distant Melody (33 page)

But how? If he just stopped writing, she’d worry something had happened to him. He had to tell her he was stopping. But why? Was he supposed to tell her the real reason?

That’s too much to ask, Lord. Let me keep a little dignity.

There had to be some other reason to give Allie, some excuse. Walt looked down at the young woman, the excuse in his arms. He’d barely have to stretch the truth. Allie wouldn’t pity him, and Walt would save face.

One last ball bearing lie.

36

Riverside
April 3, 1943

The new Easter hat would be perfect. Soft cream, with a sage green ribbon and a spray of miniature lilies, it complemented Allie’s crepe dress with the lily appliqué. She’d also wear Walt’s lily cross.

Allie glanced out the sewing room window to the Victory Garden below, where tomato, corn, and pea plants folded in the fading light. Would Walt come home to see spring flowers or the summer fruit he loved? He’d come home soon. The mission list tucked under the model of
Flossie’s Fort
grew faster than the tomato seedlings.

She leaned over the cutting table and marked blue chalk lines across the sleeves of a white blouse. The elbows had worn thin, and she was converting it to a summer blouse.

With censorship, could Walt tell her the date of his homecoming? She couldn’t ask Betty, since she’d promised not to tell her of their correspondence, but somehow she’d find out and be there, even though travel was discouraged for civilians.

Allie cut through the fabric with her best shears. She’d tell her parents how Betty needed help setting up the nursery and how lonely Louise Morgan was in San Francisco. Both statements were true, and they needn’t know about Walt.

She pinned a tissue pattern piece to the cast-off fabric to create cuffs for short, gathered sleeves. She’d meet Walt at the train station where he’d kissed her cheek and told her she was lovely and special. All his family and friends would be there, and she’d stand to the back of the crowd. The hat would keep her inconspicuous. She’d peek around the brim, watch him, and love him.

Allie cut around the pattern piece. When she stood before him, she’d study his reaction. He’d be pleased to see her, but how pleased? Their friendship had deepened as the letters increased in frequency, length, and intimacy, but could he return her love?

She sat at the sewing machine and threaded it with light pink thread to distinguish the gathering threads from the white stitching threads. Today she’d allow herself to dream.

When she tilted up her hat at the train station, perhaps Walt’s confusion would burst into joy, and he’d hug her so tight she’d melt, and she’d burrow a kiss in the warm, rough stubble on his cheek. He’d remember she was engaged, release her, look around in embarrassment, and politely ask where Baxter was.

Allie smiled. “I broke my engagement. I don’t love Baxter. I love you.”

She gasped when she heard those words out loud. Oh, she could never tell him—not like that.

She ran pink basting stitches around the hem of a sleeve. Better to tell him only that she’d broken her engagement. Walt would understand. He’d be happy for her, proud of her as Cressie and Daisy were.

They wouldn’t have time to talk at the depot, but they’d be swept apart by family and friends, swept away to the Novak home. Throughout the evening he’d gaze at her over the crowd, and she’d try to go to him but be waylaid by well-meaning friends. Eventually he’d find her and lead her outside to walk under the stars.

They would discuss how meaningful their friendship had become. She’d reach into a tree for an orange and tell him all the things she loved about him, and maybe she’d let too much slip, and he’d be delighted, and all their emotions would tumble out, and he’d gather her into his arms and kiss her, really kiss her, like in the movies, like people in love.

“You said you were coming up here to sew.”

Allie jumped and turned to see Father lean against the doorjamb. “I—I was—I am.” She groped for the fabric on the sewing machine. How long had she been daydreaming and staring into space?

He flipped on the light. “In the dark?”

“I—I have enough light by the window.” She knew her cheeks were a brilliant shade of pink.

“Every evening you come upstairs after dinner or go out. How long are you going to hide from your family?”

Allie turned in her chair to face him. “Until everyone accepts my decision.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Then I’d rather be alone.”

Father stepped into the room, his lips a narrow line. “What kind of gratitude is this? I always gave you everything you wanted, even sent you to college over your mother’s objections. Maybe I let you have your way too often. I know I shouldn’t have let you go to that wedding last summer. That’s when this began. You were always such a sensible, loyal daughter, but now this. This is how you thank me?”

She gripped the white fabric, and her throat swelled. Mother’s love was limited by her disappointment in Allie’s looks, but Father always stood up for her, took pride in her, and gave her a love to rest on. “I’m sorry, but I can’t marry Baxter.”

“You will. The wedding is three months from today, and you will be there.”

“I—I won’t.” She couldn’t suppress the quiver in her voice. “I love you, and I hate to disappoint you, I really do, but I can’t marry a man I don’t love.”

Father’s eyes darkened to a terrible indigo. “Whom do you love?”

“Excuse me?” The blood flushed from her face.

He picked up a pincushion from the cutting table and studied it. “Things aren’t going well over there.”

“Over where?” she asked, but she knew the answer.

“They lose almost 10 percent of their planes on each mission. Who could survive twenty-five missions?”

The coldness slapped Allie in the face and made her father’s image waver in her eyes. “What an awful thing to say, and I don’t like what you’re insinuating. Nothing is going on.”

“I’m not blind. I wasn’t fooled when he asked Baxter’s permission to write you. I should have spoken up, but I mistakenly trusted you. I see what’s happening. I see how you light up when his letters come, how they get thicker and more frequent.”

“It—it’s not what you think. We’re friends, but nothing more.” She could dream of his love, but it was nothing but a dream.

“I won’t let you hand over my company to that man—or anyone but Baxter.”

That was the problem. She would inherit the company, and if she married . . .

“Baxter Hicks is the only man I trust to run my company. He’s earned the right to own it through his hard work, skill, and loyalty.”

“I understand. I do. I agree he should run the company, but I refuse to marry him.”

“You don’t understand. I will not give my company to anyone but Baxter.” Father slammed the pincushion onto the table.

In shock, Allie watched him storm from the room. She’d never seen her father, her defender, so angry. Would he deprive her of the company? Could he?

She rubbed her forehead and closed up the Singer for the night. Her father’s point was clear. She couldn’t have both Walt and Miller Ball Bearings. What a strange choice—a man whose love she could only fantasize about, a man in constant mortal danger thousands of miles away—or the company she had always expected to own, never with anticipation, but with assurance of lifelong security and position.

For the first time, she saw the dark side of her daydreams. Her parents would never accept Walt, never love him as they loved Baxter. Beyond the fantasy, what could her future hold with Walt?

She sat at the table and rested her forehead in her hands. Never had she imagined a future much different from her present. Privilege and luxury meant nothing—she could learn to live a more modest life. But how could she bear a life without her parents’ favor?

Allie shivered. She loved Walt, but did she love him that much?

37

Thurleigh
April 17, 1943

Walt sipped his coffee and grimaced at the gritty brew. He had to choke down a cup to stay awake for the briefing.

“How’s the grub?” Cracker set his tray across from Walt, and the rest of the crew joined him at the table.

“Eggs are good. Coffee’s bad.”

J.P.’s upper lip curled enough to show he didn’t trust Walt’s word even about the food.

Walt sighed. As a boy, he’d spend hours constructing a tower of blocks, and then knock it down with a sweep of his hand. Trust, also, took a whole lot longer to build than to destroy.

“Say, Preach, I hear you’ve got a big date tonight,” Abe said.

“Um, yeah.” His stomach contracted around the scrambled eggs he’d swallowed. Why did tonight’s date make him more nervous than today’s mission?

Louis pulled a bottle of Tabasco sauce from his pocket and sprinkled some on his eggs. “Where are you taking her?”

“Movie in town, I guess.”

“She’ll like that,” Cracker said. “Chance to show off her American officer.”

Walt spooned some oatmeal in his mouth and grunted. He never thought a girl would want to show him off, and now it bugged him. People called her Walt’s girl, she’d given him an unmistakable “kiss me” look when he took her home last Saturday, and it all bothered him. However, he only had three more missions to fly. The whole thing would fall apart when he went home. In the meantime he should enjoy the attention, but he couldn’t get Allie off his mind.

Her letters were still coming. Not much longer. Surely she’d read his last, stupid lie by now. That thought was bitterer than the coffee.

Riverside

Allie savored the cool night air. It was time to go in, but she hadn’t enjoyed an evening on the porch with her family in ages, and she didn’t want it to end.

Baxter was home with a cold, and she had ventured outside, determined to flee at the first mention of weddings. She’d been spared. They discussed the meeting in Tunisia of U.S. troops from the west and British troops from the east. Before long, the Axis would be driven from North Africa. Mother and Allie talked about how the recent rationing of fresh meat, butter, cheese, and canned goods affected menu planning, and Father added his opinion of Roosevelt’s freeze on wages and prices.

“I think I shall retire,” Mother said as she always did around ten o’clock.

“Me too.” Allie gave her parents an appreciative smile and led the way into the house. She had two letters from Walt, but she kept a casual demeanor when she picked up her mail, as she had ever since Father confronted her.

She’d decided her future needn’t be bleak. When Walt came home, he could be stationed anywhere in the country, so their relationship would be based primarily on letters for the duration. Perhaps Walt could come to love her, and perhaps her parents could come to accept him. If God performed one miracle, why couldn’t he perform two?

Once upstairs, Allie changed into her nightgown and nestled into her bed with a pile of down pillows behind her back.

The letters were rather old, one from March 19, the other from March 21. She propped the letters on her knees and smiled. They wrote every other day now. Would they make the leap to daily letters?

He would have received a few letters written after she’d broken up with Baxter in February. Would he notice a change in tone? Would he notice she no longer mentioned Baxter or wedding plans?

Allie opened the first letter:

Dear Allie,

What a great day. Why not start with the
letter I got from you? Whatever step of obedience
you took, it must have been good, because you
sound happier than you have for some time. I’m
glad you chose to obey God.

We flew an outstanding mission today. Best
bombing we’ve ever done. Believe everything
you read in the papers.

Now for some news—my brother Jack is here.
His group is coming to our part of the world, and
his squadron will train at our base. It’s great to
see him. I received plenty of news from home and
letters so fresh you could smell the ink.

We stayed up late talking, and it’s almost
tomorrow. I’m writing by flashlight, or
torch
as
they call it here.