A Distant Melody (8 page)

“Nice view,” he said. He snapped his gaze out the window and grimaced. Swell, he got caught ogling her legs.

“Hmm?” She bent down and looked outside to the treetops along the street below. “Oh. Oh yes.” She didn’t sound convinced.

Walt motioned to the window. “I like trees. Green.” Like her eyes when she smiled at him. Was it always so stuffy in here? He tossed his garrison cap onto a table and rolled up his sleeves. Why was he tongue-tied? The day before was incredible. He couldn’t believe they’d talked about kissing. Wow, they talked about kissing, and she sure looked open to the prospect.

Allie looped the end of the streamer until it looked like some kind of flower. “I can’t believe this week’s halfway over.” She held out her hand for tape, sighed, and twisted up her mouth.

“You okay, Allie?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Her smile wobbled. “I’m trying not to think about going home. Oh, you must think I’m horrible. I love my parents, I really do, and my home, and Riverside, and—”

“I know. No friends, no fun, no work, not even a good church.”

She stared at him for a moment, then returned to her bow. “I wish things were different.”

“Make them different.”

She cast him a glance over her shoulder.

“I know you’re shy, but you can do it. Visit a new church, check out the Red Cross.” What was it about this woman that brought out his bold side?

She fluffed the bow. “It’s not that simple. I mean, you—you understand me. I can’t believe how well you understand me, but you don’t know my parents.”

“No, but you should have heard my dad when I told him I wasn’t called to be a pastor. Yeah, it was tough, but I prayed and did God’s will, and God gave me strength. You want to serve God. He’ll honor that. Pray about it, and remember, I’ll pray for you too.”

“Thank you.” Her bow done, she sat on a rung. “You need prayers far more than I do. I’m going home. You’re going off to war.” The puckers in her forehead told him she was concerned about him—and embarrassed to call attention to her own problems.

Walt hooked his thumbs through the roll of tape, as if it were a bomber’s control wheel. “A while back, my brother Jack wrote that he’d rather face a whole squadron of Zeros than confront our father.”

Allie’s smile smoothed away those forehead puckers.

He eased the roll of tape back, ready for takeoff. “How about an even exchange of prayers?”

“Sounds wonderful,” she said with a soft, long gaze.

Yeah, this plane was taking off. Everything was here— friendship, understanding, attraction, and the good stuff— their common faith. She’d pray for him. While he was off bombing the enemy and getting shot at, this lovely young lady would pray for him.

“We . . . we should get back to work.” She glanced to the other women and stepped off the ladder. “Would you please bring over the next streamer while I set up over there?”

He balked at the thought of flitting about with a streamer. Might as well tie a pink bow on his head. “Uh-uh. I’ll carry the ladder. You get the streamer.” He put his hand to her lower back to guide her toward the octopus.

Walt carried the ladder to the next corner, pulled the object from his pocket, and set it on the top rung. He glanced at Allie. She sure looked better with the streamer than he would have.

She climbed the ladder and hesitated when she saw Walt’s gift. “What’s this?”

“Remember that driftwood I found yesterday?”

“You made this?” She sat on a middle rung and tucked the streamer under her leg. “Oh, Walter, what a sweet little cow.”

“Carving’s a hobby of mine. Usually do planes.”

“When did you have time?” She traced her finger down the cow’s back, where Walt’s fingers had been only moments before.

“Last night. After we all saw
Yankee Doodle Dandy
. Couldn’t sleep.” How could he with all those memories— rowing, flopping around in the mud, sitting real close in the movie, playing more piano duets, getting cozier with each song?

“You say I surprise you.” She stroked the cow’s nose. “Now you’ve surprised me. This is so well done.”

“Well done? I wouldn’t say that to a cow.”

Allie laughed and covered small wooden ears. “Sorry, Flossie.” Then she held it out to him.

“No, it’s for you.”

“For me?” A smile lit up her face. Why on earth did she think she was homely?

“Yeah. So you’ll remember this week.”

“Why, thank you, Walt. Would you like to come home with me, Flossie?” She kissed the cow on top of its head and tucked it in her skirt pocket.

How about a kiss for the man who made her? He raked the hair off his forehead.

She reached over and plucked the curl down again. “I don’t know why you always push your hair back. It’s cute like that. Quite the dashing pilot.”

Cute? Dashing? Boy, if the others weren’t around, he’d haul her down and give her that first real kiss right then.

Allie blushed, as if she’d read his thoughts.

“Taking a break?” Betty walked over and scowled at Allie. “Stop your chatter and get to work.”

Allie burst out in a grin. “You’ve waited four years to say that.”

“Absolutely.” Betty patted Allie’s hand. “I never thought I’d say it to you and Walt. To think I worried about you, since I couldn’t be with you much this week. I never thought the shyest people I know would get along so well. Why, you two have been inseparable.”

Walt tore off a strip of tape. If he had his way, they’d be inseparable for life.

7

“Are you scared, Betty?” Dorothy asked.

Betty wound a blonde lock around a curler. “I’m marrying the sweetest man in the world, and we both love God, so how could I be scared? And I have my best friends to keep me company tonight in case I forget.”

On the edge of Betty’s bed, Allie placed a red stripe of polish down her last fingernail. Why did Betty think it was so important to marry someone who shared her beliefs? Couldn’t a Christian wife’s influence bring her husband to faith in the Lord? Baxter’s salvation would be worth the sacrifice of her silly romantic dreams.

Dorothy sat next to Allie, her hair already set. “Are you excited about marrying Baxter?”

She screwed the cap on the bottle of polish and let out a noncommittal mumble.

Betty clucked her tongue. “You won’t get anything out of her, Dorothy. She never talks about Baxter.”

Dorothy’s gaze bored into the side of Allie’s face. “You know, I’ve barely heard you mention him.”

“I’m a private person.” Allie waved her left hand to dry the polish. She frowned. Come to think of it, she hadn’t mentioned him much to Walt either.

“You have a baffling relationship.” Betty glanced at Allie in the mirror of her dressing table and rolled another lock. “You kept Baxter’s picture on your desk in our dorm room but you never pined over it. You didn’t go crazy over the mail. When he visited, you weren’t ruffled before he came, or giddy when he was there, or mopey when he left. Goodness, you know what I’m like. I always wanted to be as calm as you were.”

Allie managed to return Betty’s reflected smile. She always wanted to be in love as Betty was.

“I don’t agree. I think feeling giddy is half the fun,” Dorothy said.

Allie seized the opportunity. “Are you giddy with Art?”

“Art?” She sniffed. “Arthur Wayne is nothing but potential. Oh, he moons over me, all right, but he won’t act.”

“Could you do something?” Allie was stunned to hear herself ask such a thing.

Betty and Dorothy laughed together. “You should see,” Betty said. “When she flirts with him, Art scurries for cover like a cockroach fleeing the light.”

“Then he pouts when I date other men.” Dorothy crossed her legs and rearranged her bathrobe. “But honestly, how long am I supposed to wait for him? I don’t care what Walter Novak says. Ooh, I’m still seething over what he said last summer.”

Betty whipped around. “Allie, you wouldn’t believe what he said—Walter Novak, of all people.”

Allie’s hand paused midwave. She didn’t care for Betty’s tone of voice.

“Wait till you hear this.” Dorothy crossed her arms. “Walt had the nerve to tell me I dated Reg Tucker just to make Art jealous, that I was playing games, being deceptive. Deceptive? Pot calling the kettle black.”

Allie’s gaze darted between her friends. Although she had to admit these ladies knew Walt better than she did, she longed to defend him.

“Come on, Allie.” Betty rose from the dressing table and sat on the bed next to Dorothy. “I know Walt’s your new pal, but I told you he stretches the truth sometimes. Oh, his heart’s in the right place. He doesn’t do it to hurt people.”

Allie stood and retrieved the cold cream from her cosmetics case, her stomach in an unpleasant flutter.

“He sure hurt people last summer,” Dorothy said. “He told me Art was dating Jeannie Llewellyn, which wasn’t true. He thought he’d make me jealous, but he just made me mad. Art and Walt and I didn’t speak to each other for weeks.”

“Oh dear.” Allie sat at the dressing table and unscrewed the jar of cold cream with her right hand, which was already dry. Now she truly understood the tension between Walt and Dorothy.

“In Walt’s defense,” Betty said, “he wanted to help. Sometimes he tells tales when he thinks it helps, sometimes to get his friends out of trouble, other times to save face. He’s a pastor’s son with two perfect brothers. He can’t stand to be seen in a bad light.”

Allie frowned and dipped her fingers in the sleek white cream. “I don’t know. He’s told me unflattering stories.”

Betty’s eyes glinted in the soft electric light. “Did he mention the barn?”

Allie saw her own eyes grow round in the mirror.

Betty squealed. “He did? Oh, tell us.”

“Please?” Dorothy said. “You have to.”

Allie paused, torn between loyalty to her old friend and her new. “I can’t. I know how I’d feel if Walt repeated the story I told him.”

“Oh?” Betty sat up taller. “What story? Something you haven’t told me?”

“Well, yes.”

“You can tell me. I’m your best friend.”

Allie’s heart wrenched at the hurt in Betty’s voice, but if she divulged Baxter’s ten pecks, Betty would pry out the horrid truth that they didn’t love each other. She smoothed the cream in cool circles on her cheeks and gave Betty a weak smile. “I’m sorry. Telling the story once was painful, twice would be unbearable.”

“Oh.” Betty’s nostrils drew up, her mouth drew up, and her chin drew up.

Allie sighed and massaged the last dollop of cream into her forehead, all too familiar with Betty’s countenance. Betty wouldn’t speak to her for days unless she revealed Walt’s secret or her own.

Dorothy put her arm around Betty’s shoulder. “Don’t get in a snit.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not in a snit.”

“Yes, you are,” Allie said and laughed when Dorothy echoed her.

Betty’s chin rose even higher. “What exactly is a snit anyway?”

“Just like that.” Allie crossed the room, sat next to her friend, and poked her in the ribs. “Snit, snit, snit.”

Betty’s laugh sputtered out, and she poked Allie back.

Thump!

They jumped and turned to the window. “What was that?” Betty asked.

Clunk!

Betty scrambled to the window, peeked under the blackout curtain, and gasped. “It’s George. And Art and Walt.”

Strange musical notes filtered through the window.

“‘Moonlight Serenade,’” Allie said. “How romantic. Open the window.”

“Oh no.” Betty dashed for the bed and plopped between her friends. “I’m in my bathrobe, my curlers. I can’t let George see me like this.”

Of the three, only Allie didn’t wear curlers and didn’t have a romantic interest in the backyard. Then she hesitated at the thought of Walt seeing her in her bathrobe.

She stood up. Once and for all, she needed to banish these silly fantasies. She rolled up the blackout curtain and raised the sash, careful with her fresh manicure.

The song stopped. “Hello, Allie,” three masculine voices called up to her.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” She rested her elbows on the windowsill. In defiance of blackout regulations, someone flicked on the porch light and illuminated George with a ukulele, Art with a kazoo, and Walt cross-legged on the grass behind a toy piano.

“Where’s Betty?” George asked.

“Hiding. She and Dorothy are in curlers.” A pillow thumped her backside, and she laughed.

“Where are your curlers?”

Allie lifted a lock. “Natural curl. Sometime blessing, sometime curse.”

“Always a blessing.” Walt ran a tinny scale and grinned up at her. The single curl rested on his forehead, undisturbed.

Her face grew hot. Why had she touched him that morning? He had to think she was a horrible, unfaithful flirt. Why, she’d never flirted before in her life.

“You look lovely this evening, Miss Miller,” Walt said with a wink.

She took a moment to recover from the wink and the compliment. Then she laughed. As always, he was teasing. She had never been lovely in her life, much less this evening. “And you look quite dashing, Lieutenant Novak. I think it’s the grand piano.”

“Must be.” He played a few bars. “Should I bring it on our first date?”

A date? Allie’s chest constricted. But of course, he was only teasing. He knew about Baxter, didn’t he? “A date is somewhat of a . . . well, a moot question, isn’t it?”

“Ah yes.” He clapped a hand over his chest. “Ripped asunder by war’s cruel hand.”

Her laugh tumbled out. Yes, he was joking. “Betty says you’re shy, but you’re positively flirting.”

“Hey!” George said. “I’m the one who’s supposed to flirt. Where’s my bride? I want my bride.”

“Just sing, darling,” Betty called out. “I’m listening.”

Allie ducked back into the room. “Betty, you have to see. They’re adorable. And this—this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment.”

Betty chewed on her lips.

“I know,” Dorothy said. “Let’s cover our curlers.”

Betty and Dorothy draped towels over their heads and clasped them under their chins, and the three ladies squeezed together on the windowsill. The ukulele twanged, the kazoo whined, the piano tinkled, and George and Walt sang deep and rough.