A Distant Melody (42 page)

He stared. He blinked. She was still there in that green dress with the big white flower, the lily. Was she—yeah, she wore the cross he sent her. She looked prettier than he remembered, prettier than her pictures. Something new glowed in her smile. That’s right. She was about to be a bride.

“What are you doing here?”

Allie’s eyebrows lifted. “I—I’m visiting Betty. I arrived yesterday, but I’ll only stay a week or so.”

He thought he’d never see her again, and there she was, right in front of him. “But why are you
here
?”

She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Well . . .”

Walt’s stomach soured, and he turned to his window. “Oh yeah, the pity visit.”

“No. No, I—I have something to tell you, and yes, of course I wanted to see you, to make sure you were all right. Why, when I heard what happened . . .”

Outside the window, fog shackled the trees. “Betty told you.”

“Actually, I found out from Cracker.”

He snapped his gaze back to Allie. “Cracker?”

“I was as surprised as you. He’s a patient at March Field. I transcribed a letter for him the other day. That—that’s how I found out you’d been injured.”

“Cracker? You saw Cracker? How is he?”

“He still—he still can’t see, and he’s pessimistic about ever seeing again. He was also worried sick about you and Abe and Louis. He—he didn’t know if you were dead or alive.” Her voice broke. “I—well, I had to call Betty.”

Walt scrunched his eyes shut. He was such an idiot. If he hadn’t lied, he could have told her what happened so she wouldn’t worry. Some friend he was.

“I know I promised I wouldn’t tell Betty of our correspondence, but I had to know how you were, and so did Cracker.”

Walt formed his hand into a fist and rapped his knee. Yet another lie. He made her miserable for no reason.

“I’m sorry, but I had no choice.”

He swung his head heavily from side to side, unable to meet her eye. “That’s not the problem.”

“Oh.”

Silence separated them, a chasm carved by his lying lips. Now he could tell her the truth and throw off the last weight of his sin. Sure, the chasm would deepen, but he’d already destroyed the friendship. Might as well do it right—with the truth.

He pressed his hand hard over his eyes. If only he had more time to think this through.

“If that’s not the problem, what is?”

He let his hand fall, looked up at Allie, and loved her more than ever. The glow was gone, but strength showed in the set of her chin and the directness of her gaze. She was going to be another man’s wife, and he had to tell her how much he loved her.

“This isn’t proper,” he whispered.

“That’s right. Your girlfriend.” Her eyelashes blurred brown over green. “If it isn’t proper for us to write, it certainly isn’t proper for me to be here.”

Walt chewed over words in his mouth. None of them worked. None came out.

“Oh dear. I have to. I have to do this.” Allie clamped her lips together, popped open her purse, and pulled out an envelope. “This—this is for you.”

“Huh?” He was the one with things to say. Why was she giving him a letter? He reached for it. For an instant, his hand was only an inch from hers. He set the envelope in his lap and worked a clumsy finger under the seal.

“No, wait.”

Walt looked up.

Her eyes got big and pleading. “Please wait until after I leave. You—you’ll still be in my prayers.” Allegra spun away so fast, she lived up to her name.

“Allie, no. Wait.” He stood, tripped on his untied shoelace, and caught himself on the edge of the bed. He got up in time to see the woman he loved dash out the door. How could he catch her with one shoe off, one shoe on? How could he catch her when it took fifteen minutes to tie his stinking shoelaces?

He plopped on the bed, wrenched off his shoe—

“Novak, if you throw another shoe at me, I swear I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

Walt glared at the officer across the way and slammed his shoe to the floor. Everything had gone wrong. He hadn’t told a lie, but he hadn’t told the truth, and now she was gone.

Allie’s letter lay on the floor, the nice, thick kind he loved to receive from her. He opened the envelope and pulled out several pages covered with her pretty handwriting.

Dear Walt,

I have so many things to tell you. Some may
encourage you, many will surprise you, and
some may bother you. Please bear with me.

First, please accept my condolences on your
injuries.

Walt groaned and dropped the letter in his lap. Why was he reading this?

She meant well. Of course, she did. But what could she offer him? He’d heard all the platitudes. Maybe she’d quote some uplifting Bible verses, but he’d heard them all. Then she’d say she wished him the best, more about praying for him, maybe something nauseating about how she and Baxter would name a child after him.

Walt strode down the aisle and dropped the letter in the trash can.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

45

San Francisco
Friday, July 2, 1943

“You have a lovely flat, Louise.” Allie settled on the couch and gazed out the bay window to the tall, lush trees of Golden Gate Park across the street.

“It’s awfully small, much smaller than you’re used to in Riverside.” Louise Morgan sat beside her and nodded to the miniature kitchen.

“So much larger than we had in Grace Scripps Clark Hall.”

Louise laughed. “We had so much fun there, didn’t we? I don’t have a mosaic courtyard where we can lounge in the sun and pretend to study, or a piano to sing around, but we could still have fun. Please tell me you’ll stay.”

“Please tell me you’ll have me—and soon.”

Louise’s brown eyes magnified to unnatural proportions behind her glasses. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be perfect.” Betty was more than hospitable, but everything in Antioch reminded Allie of Walt.

Louise sprang to her feet and pulled Allie to standing. “If you’re moving in tomorrow, you need to pack. We can chat later. I can’t wait to hear the whole story about Baxter. I’m glad you broke up. Such a cold fish.”

Allie smiled. Louise had always been quiet, but with her husband in North Africa, she seemed hungry for company.

Louise opened the front door. “Tomorrow you’ll wear a coat.”

“I can’t believe I need a coat in July.” Allie shivered when she stepped out into the damp air. Fog swirled above the tops of the trees in the park. “It must be thirty degrees cooler here than in the rest of California.”

“It’s like this all summer.” Louise gave her a hug. “Run along, now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Allie trotted down the steps to Lincoln Avenue. She had a steep climb to the blue and gold Muni train, which would take her downtown. Then she’d take an orange, black, and gray Key System train to Oakland, where she’d catch a bus to Antioch.

The day had revived her. She’d submitted job applications at a dozen companies eager to hire her, she had an apartment, and Louise had invited her to church.

Allie pulled her peach linen jacket tight about her. A new setting was exactly what she needed to recover from the loss of her home and parents.

Getting over Walt would take far less time, thanks to the previous day’s visit. Although she understood his depression, he had no right to be gruff. Why, he was positively rude, and that was before he received the letter.

She turned the corner and climbed uphill to the Muni line.

Allie thought she’d regret telling Walt she loved him because she’d embarrass them both. Now she regretted it only because in very short time it would no longer be true.

Letterman General Hospital

Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Miller
request the honor of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Allegra Marie
to
Mr. Joseph Baxter Hicks

Cruel. After Walt made such a mess of Allie’s visit, he didn’t need a reminder that she was marrying another man, and a fop at that.

What was a woman who preferred down-to-earth
Allie
to frilly
Allegra
doing with a man who preferred stuffy
Baxter
to good old
Joe
? Was Baxter even a Christian? Not once had she mentioned his faith, and she attended Groveside alone. Maybe she valued money more than God after all.

Yep, she did. The wedding was at St. Timothy’s. Might be fun to show up for the fancy society wedding, see how pretentious she really was.

Nope. Couldn’t go. The wedding was July 3—tomorrow. He didn’t even have time to RSVP. Bet they’d get their highfalutin noses out of joint about that.

Walt glanced out the window at the same tired scenery. Tomorrow she’d be married. He could put her behind him and get on with his life. He’d work harder at his therapy so he could get his medical discharge, go to Seattle, and take the engineering position with Boeing his CO had arranged. Then he could contribute to the war effort again.

He stood and lifted his arms for a stretch. Tomorrow would be a new start for him.

He swung his arms behind him, grasped what remained of his right arm, and stretched his chest. A new start for Allie too. He needed to stop grumbling about her marriage and pray for God to bless it.

“Wait a second.” Walt frowned and checked the invitation. Yes, it said July 3. What was Allie doing in northern California two days before her wedding? That was cutting it close, considering how hard it was for civilians to travel. And wouldn’t she have all those fussy last minute arrangements?

He stared at the spot where she’d stood only the day before.

“I arrived yesterday, but I’ll only stay a week or so.”

He shook his head hard. Must have heard wrong. No, her voice came through clearly in his head. He stared at the invitation—“Saturday, the third of July.” He’d read right and he’d heard right. But that meant . . .

No, he couldn’t allow himself to think that.

But what if it were true?

Walt glanced around the room, the double line of beds, the tan walls, the men he never bothered to talk to. The only explanation was that the wedding was postponed or cancelled. But she would have said something.

He groaned. How could she have said anything when his grumpiness and thoughtless words drove her away?

“The letter!” He whipped toward the door, the trash can.
“So many things to tell you? Many will surprise you?”

Walt ran down the ward. Why on earth hadn’t he read that letter? He slid to his knees, dumped the trash, and spread it in front of him. “Please, Lord, let it be here.”

“Told you Novak was a nut case,” someone said.

“Flak-happy, I tell you.”

Walt ignored them and flipped through the trash. Nothing. He sat back on his heels and heaved a sigh. What did he expect? They emptied the trash every night.

He gathered up the garbage. What had Allie written? He passed the sidelong glances and whispers, and sat on his bed to study the envelope for the invitation. It was addressed in feminine handwriting, probably Mrs. Miller’s, because it wasn’t Allie’s. Forwarding marks covered the surface, but he could still read the postmark from June 1. Would Allie postpone the wedding less than a month in advance, after the invitations were mailed? Not Allie. Too messy, too scatterbrained, too improper.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t mentioned wedding plans in her last letter. Or had it been longer? He got up, opened his duffel, and pulled out the stationery box where he stored Allie’s letters.

For the rest of the afternoon, he read her letters. He could see her changes over the year, could see her strengthening determination to follow God’s will, her increasing independence, and her growth in friendship and service.

Walt set down the last letter and rubbed his eyes. Swell. Just what he needed, to fall deeper in love with her.

Something else clarified. She went through three distinct phases over the year. At first her letters were cheerful—scared to defy her parents but excited about the changes in her life. Then right after Christmas something changed. That was when she got engaged. That was when her letters got flat. That was when she rambled about obedience and sacrifice.

Didn’t make sense. She was engaged. Wasn’t she supposed to be happy? Why hadn’t he picked up on it before? Maybe because it didn’t last long.

There. Walt jabbed a letter with his finger. Yeah, he remembered this. February 20. She’d gone a week between letters, and then suddenly her mood improved, happier and more assured than ever.

What was going on with the wedding? He skimmed through the last two months of letters—twice, because he couldn’t believe it. Not one word about Baxter. Not one word about the wedding.

Walt’s heart thumped harder than an unbalanced propeller. No Baxter, no wedding. It was cancelled in February by Allie, not by Baxter. Otherwise she would have been depressed when they broke up.