A Memory Between Us (30 page)

Jack whistled. All of the bombs so close to the Main Point of Impact? Unparalleled accuracy.

Castle shifted the magnifier. “Looks as if we hit every single building in the installation. Many appear destroyed.”

“Thank goodness,” Jack said. “I’d rather not go back.”

The men chuckled their agreement.

Castle straightened up. “This is what daylight bombing is supposed to achieve—precise destruction of strategic targets. Go get your dinner, men. You’ve earned it. We don’t have a mission tomorrow, so we’ll meet at 0900. Major Novak, I’d like a word with you.”

The officers headed out. Babcock gave Jack a sympathetic look, and Jack tamped down his irritation. Why was Babcock convinced Castle wanted a negative word with him?

In fact, Castle smiled. “Thorup told me what a good job you did.”

Jack shrugged. “I’ve been flying all my life.”

Castle nodded and glanced down at the photos of craters and smoke. “I can’t have reckless officers. We have too many lives in our hands, not to mention two-hundred-thousanddollar planes paid for by the American people.”

Jack felt a twinge in his stomach. Did Castle think he was reckless? “I understand, sir.”

Castle lifted his square jaw and looked at Jack. “But a good officer knows when to take risks. Our purpose is not to protect our own lives but to smash Nazi Germany. After Schweinfurt, I was afraid you might become overly cautious, indecisive even, but today you showed the traits of a first-rate officer.”

Jack released a deep breath. “Thank you, sir.”

The CO nodded to the door. “Now, go get some dinner. It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back, sir.”

37

Chicago

Monday, January 24, 1944

Ruth stepped off the El and pulled her cape against the bitter wind. She coughed at the smell. She’d lived in hospital sterility so long she’d forgotten the smoke from the meatpacking plants, the stink from the stockyards, and the stench of poverty.

She tramped across the platform and down the stairs, vigilant for ice. Then she followed the familiar path through gray slush. Her brothers and sisters lived in different neighborhoods now, away from this slum and its rumors. Ruth didn’t have to come here.

On Friday her squadron had graduated from the School of Air Evacuation. Eleanor Roosevelt attended, and Ruth shook her hand—the first lady herself. Then her squadron shipped to Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, for overseas processing. Everyone would get a forty-eight-hour pass to explore New York City, but Ruth took her pass en route and diverted to Chicago for the day.

Ruth attracted stares in her uniform. She passed a group of teenagers on the corner. A black-haired girl laughed, gave one of the boys a playful push, and brushed her body against his. Ruth cast her gaze to the side. That’s what she used to be.

An older woman plodded along, her hair dull under a ratty cap, and she raised hard eyes—she was no older than thirty. Ruth inhaled sharply. That’s what she would have become. She picked up the pace past shops, some familiar and some changed.
Thank you, Lord, for getting me out of here.

Now she knew it was the Lord’s doing, not hers. Ma always said God would provide, and he did. How much more would he have provided if she’d trusted him? She’d been too impatient to wait for him, like Sarah giving Abraham her handmaid, like Jacob stealing his father’s blessing. God still provided in spite of their sin, in spite of hers, but with longreaching consequences and broken relationships.

Ruth turned onto her old street. She’d never see Jack again, and their friendship could never be restored, but his apology had worked its clumsy way into her soul and removed another stone of shame.

Her old tenement. Her gaze climbed the soot-stained red bricks three stories up, then two grubby windows to the right. In a way, she wanted to see the two-room apartment, but she didn’t want to be appalled by the squalor. She wanted to keep her memory filled with the light of Ma’s faith, Pa’s humor, and seven laughing, well-loved children.

Would Pa and Ma be proud of her, of how she cared for the children, of the gold flight nurse’s wings she wore on her new olive drab dress uniform? She imagined they would, but what would please them most was how she was coming under the Lord’s wings.

That window held her. If only she could stay with the happy memories, but that wasn’t why she’d come. She ripped her gaze down and away, and set her feet in the dreaded direction.

In the entrance to the alley, she halted, overcome by the reek of garbage. That never figured into her nightmares. She must have been accustomed to it.

One step. Two steps. Brick walls towered over her. Decrepit staircases crowded about her. Nothing had changed. The line there, the lessons there, the rape there. Shouldn’t the place be crimson with blood and black with shame?

She took a slow breath to prevent hyperventilation.

Bud Lewis loomed over her, his face red with lust and rage, his breath rancid with beer and sausage.
“Time for the kissing whore to become a full-fledged whore.”

White spots prickled her eyes, but she blew them away. “Lord Jesus, I’m in the valley of the shadow of death, but you are with me. I know you are.”

Ruth turned in circles, needing to take it all in. This was her past. Nothing could ever change that, but she would not let it consume her.

Isaiah 54:4 ran through her head. She said it out loud and declared it to her past. “‘Fear not; for thou shalt not be ashamed: neither be thou confounded; for thou shalt not be put to shame: for thou shalt forget the shame of thy youth.’”

The shame of her youth screamed at her from every brick, but Jesus silenced it. “Christ died for me. That’s all I need to know. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.”

She had dreaded this moment for weeks, but God was so powerful. In the very place of her worst sin and deepest pain, his peace billowed through her soul.

Ruth stood in front of the house—a real house on a clean Chicago street lined with snow-draped trees. She checked the address again. Yes, this was where Uncle George and Aunt Gloria lived now. How wonderful for her brother Bert to be raised in such a place. Trees—imagine that.

She drew a deep breath and rang the doorbell. How much had her brothers and sisters changed? She hadn’t seen them since her departure for England in December ’42.

Bert opened the door. “Hi, Penny,” he said in a deep voice. Last year he had been taller than she, but still a boy. Now he was fifteen, and Ruth saw the man he was becoming, tall and handsome with his childhood red hair deepened to auburn. “Bert, oh my goodness.” She ignored his outstretched hand and reached up to hug him.

A blush overpowered his freckles. “Come on in. Chuck, Anne, and Maggie just got out of school, but they’ll be here soon.” He hung up Ruth’s cape and led her into the living room.

“How’s school?” she asked. “Are you still enjoying your sophomore year?”

“Oh yeah.” He sank into the sofa. “I love biology. Wow, it’s so interesting. Uncle George thinks I should be a doctor.”

Ruth lowered herself into an upholstered chair. A doctor? Chuck and Anne didn’t have an academic bent, but Maggie did. Could she put two of them through college, then medical school for Bert? One look at his bright and gentle face, and she knew she had to. “I can’t imagine anyone who’d make a finer physician.”

“That’s Chuck.” Bert sprang for the front door. Only his red ears betrayed his embarrassment.

Ruth stood as the young men approached. Almost eighteen, with brilliant red hair and green eyes, Chuck looked so much like Pa that Ruth’s chest hurt.

“Hiya, Penny.” Chuck pumped her hand up and down. “Say, look at those wings. Those are something, aren’t they? You and Harold have all the fun. What I wouldn’t give to be in San Diego with Harold. The stories he tells—boy, oh boy.”

Ruth frowned. The stories she heard involved oppressive work and frustration that the Navy kept him stateside. Apparently, he painted a partial picture.

“The Navy recruiter said they’d take me now, but Uncle Nolan says if I don’t finish high school, I have to pay you back every cent, so I don’t have a choice, but boy, I can’t wait to have money of my own.” He grinned, oblivious how his statement affected Ruth.

Heaviness settled in her chest. Chuck would spend his entire salary on himself as Harold did, but at least she’d have his portion to divide between Bert, Anne, and Maggie.

“Albert Doherty, what are you thinking, leaving the door cracked in January?” Aunt Pauline entered and shrugged off a dumpy brown coat over a dumpy brown dress.

Bert’s ears flamed red. “I—I’m sorry. I thought it was shut.”

She lifted her gray-streaked head and sniffed the air. “I’m glad George Doherty has money to burn, unlike the rest of us.”

Chuck made a face over his aunt’s head, and Ruth gave her a peck on the cheek. “So good to see you, Aunt Pauline.”

“Penny.”

Ruth peeked around her aunt’s matronly form. “Hi, Maggie.”

“Hi.” Maggie gave her a shy wave.

Ruth gathered her in her arms. The baby girl who once snuggled under her chin now reached that chin. The eleven-year-old wore a beige sweater with shiny elbows over a gray skirt several inches above her knees. Still, she had a glow in her cheeks, burnished brown braids, and new saddle shoes. Money was tight for Uncle Clancy and Aunt Pauline, but Maggie was far from starving.

Aunt Pauline sat in the center of the sofa. “I’m surprised you’re here, Penny. I didn’t realize you had money to squander on train tickets.”

Heat rushed up Ruth’s chest. Those tickets cost her a whole month’s spending money. Meanwhile, her fellow nurses enjoyed fine dinners and Broadway plays. “It’s not squandering money to visit my family for the first time in a year, especially since I don’t know when I’ll return stateside.”

Maggie guided Ruth into a chair and knelt beside her. “Tell me, Penny—”

“Ellen can’t come,” Aunt Pauline said. “Too busy with the babies. You understand.”

“Of course.” Ruth hated the strain in her voice. Her oldest sister had barely spoken to her since she found out about the kissing lessons, but at least her aunt didn’t know the cause of the estrangement.

“Penny, Penny, tell us. Do you know where you’re going?” Maggie lifted anxious eyes. Even as an infant, she’d disliked arguments.

Ruth smiled at her. “We won’t find out until we get on the ship. We’ll go east—Africa or Italy, maybe England.” But she hoped not.

“How exciting.” Maggie’s eyes shone with Ma’s soft light. “I want to be a nurse too. I want to be just like you.”

No, she didn’t. Ruth glanced away. Bert sat in a wing chair, with Chuck perched on the arm, leaving Aunt Pauline alone on the couch. “How’s Uncle Clancy?”

Aunt Pauline clucked her tongue. “He wears himself out in the office, day in, day out, with no appreciation whatsoever. All that hard work for peanuts.”

“I like peanuts,” Maggie said.

Ruth swallowed a laugh and gave a sympathetic murmur.

Maggie tugged on her uniform sleeve. “Don’t you like peanuts? I like them so much better than bacon.”

“Bacon?” Ruth smiled at the childish non sequitur.

“Uncle Clancy says he’s bringing home big wads of bacon with the war on.”

“Maggie!” Aunt Pauline snapped.

“Well, he says that all the time. Though I don’t understand, ’cause I can’t find any bacon in the icebox, and bacon’s rationed.”

“You misunderstood,” Aunt Pauline said. “Now, don’t interrupt.”

A chill stole Ruth’s breath. Could Aunt Pauline be exaggerating their financial difficulties? She wouldn’t lie. She was Ma’s sister, and Ma never spoke a false word in her life.

“Who started the party without me?” Anne stood in the doorway with hands on hips—yes, hips. Then she burst into a grin.

Ruth rose to give her a hug, and a big red bow in Anne’s dark hair poked Ruth in the nose. “Look how you’ve grown.”

“Thank you.” Anne straightened her cardigan, her blue eyes twinkling. She had a figure, and a nice one. Ruth returned to her chair, her throat clamped shut. Thirteen. Anne was thirteen. But she was so young, so innocent.

Across the room, Chuck pulled Bert’s hair into “Dagwood” points on each side. Bert elbowed him and sent him sprawling to the floor. Aunt Pauline scolded, but Ruth smiled. The affection between her brothers and sisters had survived despite her painful, necessary decision to split them up.

Anne flounced to the floor and fingered her little sister’s skirt. “Oh, Maggie, why are you wearing these old things? What happened to all the darling outfits you got for Christmas?”

Maggie groaned. “Aunt Pauline made me wear this to school. I nearly died of embarrassment.”

Ruth stared at the woman on the couch. What was going on?

Aunt Pauline glared at Maggie. “That’s enough, young lady. Money is tight. You’ll wear what you have and be thankful.”

Maggie opened her mouth, then closed it. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ruth’s stomach twisted and sickened. Maggie had plenty of nice clothes purchased with Ruth’s money, but her aunt made her wear outgrown, worn-out things? Why? To deceive Ruth?