A Memory Between Us (6 page)

Jack clasped his hands overhead and stretched his arms high. Felt good. “How’s Babcock handling my squadron?”

Charlie laughed, and the cigarette wiggled in his mouth. “You can’t stand having someone else in your position, can you?”

“As long as he knows it’s temporary.”

More laughter. “Temporary in our squadron, but Castle will give him another, guaranteed. Of the four squadron commanders, we’ve already lost two, plus you in the hospital. And Babcock’s kept up morale even though the 94th has lost sixteen planes on nine missions.”

Jack swung his arms behind him for a stretch. “He’s that good?”

“Yeah.” Amusement crinkled Charlie’s round face. “He’s a good pilot and a born leader. You know his dad’s in the House of Representatives.”

Jack grumbled and plodded around Charlie’s feet. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Ever hear of ‘Baby-Face’ Babcock?”

“Hothead from Indiana?”

“Illinois.”

“‘Baby-Face’ Babcock? He looks nothing like him.” How could a pastor from the California backwaters compete for a promotion with a Washington politician? “A politician. Oh boy.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get your squadron back. Besides, he’s good but not as good as you.”

Jack smiled. As always, the bombardier had perfect aim. “Taking lessons from the politician?”

“Got to survive this war somehow.”

“And I’ve got to get back in.” Jack lowered himself into the wheelchair. “And for that I need good nursing care. Get me home, Skipper.”

“Hey, that’s my line.” Charlie nudged the chair over the crest of the ridge and let it pick up speed downhill. Jack whooped as they raced down the walkway to Ward Seven.

When they returned, Ruth and Lieutenant Jensen stood chatting over a clipboard at the far end of the hut. Ruth must have just gotten back from her break. Now he could introduce Charlie to Lieutenant Jensen. Jack eased himself to his feet, caught her eye, and waved her over. Her gaze bounced from him to Charlie and back, and she held up one hand. Later. That meant never.

“Boy, the nurses here are a skittish bunch,” Jack said.

“I have that effect on women.” Charlie shook Jack’s hand in parting.

After Charlie left, Jack grunted his way into bed and leaned back against the tubular metal headboard. He gritted himself against the discomfort, but he liked to watch Ruth work. He chuckled. A patient falling for a nurse had to be the oldest cliché in the book.

Since he’d told her of his plan to visit on Sundays, her behavior had changed. Sure, she’d come by soon and perform her routine, but in a crisp manner. Then she’d chat with the other patients, everyone but him. Hours would pass until he could coax her into conversation.

Maybe she’d figured out he’d fallen for her. But why would that bother her? Crushes never fazed her. Or maybe she was falling for him.

Jack grinned and pulled a book from his bedside table to make himself look busy. Yeah, that would faze her, she who never dated.

“You’re in a good mood, Major.” Ruth stood at the foot of his bed, clipboard clutched to her chest.

Sure would be nice to hear her call him Jack. He put his book back on the table. “Had a nice visit with Charlie, and Dr. Hoffman says I’ll be released next week.”

“You must be glad.”

“Wish it had been earlier so I could have seen Walt before he went home, but yeah, I’m glad. How about you? Gonna miss me?” He dropped her a wink.

“Immensely,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Over on your stomach, please. Time to change your dressings.”

Ruth’s silence during the exam intrigued Jack, but he wasn’t about to let her ignore him. Soon the scissors snipped, and she was done.

Jack hitched himself up to sitting. “You won’t have a chance to miss me. You go to church services here, so I’ll see you on Sundays if I’m not flying.”

“That’s true.” She stared at the clipboard, and her eyelids fluttered.

“What do you do on Sunday afternoons?”

Ruth’s gaze pinned him to the wall. “I do not date, Major.”

He laughed. “Whoa. I’m not asking you out. I know better.” This woman called for an indirect, creative, strategic approach, and he’d found an accomplice in Lt. May Jensen.

“Good,” Ruth said with a sigh. “I count on you to be more sensible than the others.”

Not more sensible, just more subtle. “Sorry. My question came out wrong. I wanted to ask what you do for fun. You don’t date and you never talk about friends.”

“Fun?” Ruth tilted her head and shrugged. “I read. I go for walks. I run errands in town every other Monday. I see a movie if I have money left over.”

Yeah, he had her flustered again. “Alone,” he said.

She set her jaw. “Yes, alone. I see no need to defend myself.”

If he wasn’t careful, he’d crash on takeoff. He sighed, shifted his legs to the side, and motioned for her to sit down. “I don’t mean to attack you. Nothing wrong with doing things alone. Now, come on. Sit down.”

“I have work to do.”

Jack looked at her from under his brows. She’d finished her rounds and had time to spare. He patted the side of the bed. “Come, my child. Sit and talk to Pastor Novak.”

A smile squirmed about her lips. “Going to counsel me?”

Jack groaned. “If you saw my seminary grades, you wouldn’t ask.”

She sat, but on the empty cot to his right. “So you’re an exceptional pilot but a mediocre pastor?”

“Uh-uh.” He wagged a finger at her. “We’re talking about you.”

“About why I’m so odd?” Her eyes sparkled. “Haven’t you figured it out? The men love me, the women hate me, and yes, I see the correlation.”

He laughed. “Lieutenant Jensen doesn’t hate you.”

“She’s odd herself.”

“Sounds like a good friend for you, but you reject her.” Jack laced his fingers behind his neck and leaned back against the cold metal bed frame. “And you’re an attractive woman, but you don’t date.”

“Never have.”

“Never? You’ve never had a boyfriend?”

She whisked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I had boyfriends in junior high, but not—not since eighth grade.”

Jack’s jaw dangled, but he couldn’t get himself to close it.

Ruth sat up taller. “I’m devoted to my work and my family. Dating would interfere. Besides, if I married, I couldn’t take care of my family. So why bother dating?”

Jack considered several answers—how falling in love enriched your life, how a caring husband would support her family, how he could show her how wonderful it was—but her question was rhetorical. There had to be more, some jerk who’d broken her heart, but until she trusted him, he had to take her story as it stood.

“Your family’s blessed to have you. I’m sure your hard work will be rewarded someday.” Jack let his gaze linger until she looked away.

Yes, Lt. Ruth Doherty was a challenge, but Jack loved a challenge.

7

Sunday, July 4, 1943

Ruth sat on her cot in dress blues for Sunday services, and her little black leather Bible fell open to the book of Ruth. Again.

Since Major Novak suggested the book, she had read it daily. Something about the story touched her as nothing in the Bible ever had. This Ruth suffered loss, clung to family, and lived as an outsider, yet God provided Boaz to care for her, Boaz to keep the men in line.

Major Novak kept the men in line.

She shook the memory from her head and concentrated on verse 12 of chapter 2, where Boaz said to Ruth, “The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust.”

The refuge of safety and comfort beckoned, but to enter that refuge required trust, and although Ma always said God was trustworthy, Ruth knew better. God hadn’t helped Ma keep the Doherty money jar full or provided the tuition for nursing school. Ruth had.

“Ready for church?”

May Jensen’s voice startled Ruth, and she flapped her Bible shut. “Oh. Not yet.” The invitation to walk together lurked in the air, and Ruth needed to swat it down. “Go on ahead.”

“All right. I’ll save you a seat.”

Now how could Ruth avoid sitting with May? She sighed and opened her Bible again. Although she had memorized the verse, she felt compelled to see it in print, to see the promised reward for hard work.

“I’m sure your hard work will be rewarded some day,” Major Novak had said.

Ruth groaned. He was not her Boaz. She didn’t have a Boaz.

She stood to check the stockings on a line stretched between antique wall sconces. Nope, still damp, like everything in England. Like Ruth. She had to be damp in the head to let a patient get to her.

The major had been discharged a week before, but she kept glancing at his bed, now occupied by a whiny bombardier with a mild case of frostbite, and kept remembering Major Novak’s humor and intelligence and chivalry. Today he was coming to church. Why couldn’t he be a good little patient and disappear when discharged?

Ruth fingered her khaki rayon slip on the line, which also felt damp. What was wrong with her? Dashing pilots were as common in the area as mud, bicycles, and chipped beef on toast.

Why did she waste time thinking about him anyway? Even if he were an ordinary man, dating was impossible. But he was better than ordinary. He was a pastor, for crying out loud. A pastor with Ten-Penny Doherty?

A laugh ripped out. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but the room was empty.

Ruth grabbed her Bible and strode down the hallway. Major or no major, she would always attend Sunday services, as she’d promised Ma before her death. In church she heard the hymns Ma used to hum. In church she heard the Scriptures Ma used to quote. In church she could see Ma’s face lit up even in the depths of adversity.

Ruth opened the grand front door, and the sunshine made her eyes water. Ma had peace and joy because she loved the Lord and the Lord loved her. Ma was good, but Ruth was—

“God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

Ma’s favorite verse. Ruth huffed. Not her. No matter how many times she prayed for forgiveness, her sin and punishment hung thick and black over her. God didn’t love her. He’d never shown—

“Christ died for you. S’all you need to know.”

She groaned and quickened her pace down the walkway. Major Novak, May Jensen, the Lord God—why couldn’t they leave her alone?

No such luck.

As soon as she entered the Nissen hut chapel, May pounced on her, took her arm, and dragged her down the aisle. “Jack saved seats for us.”

“Jack?”

“Major Novak.”

She knew that, but since when did May call him by his first name? May led her to the spot Ruth usually occupied, and Major Novak stood and flashed a grin. How did she get distracted from her goal of avoiding her roommate and her former patient? How, how, how?

The major was handsome enough in pajamas, but in full dress uniform—well, it just wasn’t fair. The khaki shirt and tie, the olive drab jacket and trousers, the gold major’s leaves on the shoulders, the silver wings and row of medals on the chest—they made any man look good, but this man didn’t need any help.

Worse, she sensed a shift, a disturbing shift in position. In the hospital she’d stood over him, but here he stood over her, and the reversal of power cramped her throat.

She lifted her chin to open her airway. “Good morning, Major. Good to see you dressed.”

He laughed and gestured to the row of chairs. “Ladies?”

Ruth darted in first. She’d sit next to May if she had to, but she would not sit next to that man.

He gave them a sheepish smile. “Pardon me if I avoid sitting as long as possible.”

“Oh, Ruth, look at this.” May patted a pale blue cushion on the seat beside her.

The major winced and nudged the cushion with his knee. “Grandma made it. Must have plucked every goose and duck on the farm. I can almost hear the squawking, see Grandpa stomping around yelling at Grandma, ‘What in tarnation do you think you’re doing, Nellie?’”

Ruth laughed, and the major’s smile made her long for the talks they’d had on the ward. He begged for her stories of the dark and dirty Chicago slums, which he called exciting. She preferred his tales of three little boys in the grass and river and open sky.

May patted the cushion. “Service is starting.”

Major Novak frowned and eased himself down. Then he whispered in May’s ear, and Ruth noticed a sour twisting in her chest.

She put it out of her head and envisioned her parents to her left instead of a nurse and a pilot, placed her brothers and sisters in a line to her right, felt baby Maggie on her lap, and let the hymns and Scriptures and sermon transport her to when life was secure, people were whole, and God was kind.

For the closing hymn, the chaplain announced number 269.

“Under His Wings.”

Jolted her back to the present, to reality, to a God who hounded her.

Ruth’s voice came out thin and croaking. Few people seemed familiar with the tune, but Ruth knew she’d never be able to get it out of her mind.

Under His wings I am safely abiding,
Though the night deepens and tempests are wild,
Still I can trust Him; I know He will keep me,
He has redeemed me, and I am His child.

Under His wings, under His wings,
Who from His love can sever?
Under His wings my soul shall abide,
Safely abide forever.

Under His wings, what a refuge in sorrow!
How the heart yearningly turns to His rest!
Often when earth has no balm for my healing,
There I find comfort, and there I am blessed.

Why did God taunt her? He wouldn’t give her that kind of love and security. She didn’t deserve it. He’d made it very clear that day in the alley.

She clapped the hymnal shut and set it on the chair, but when she turned, Major Novak blocked her escape.

“Just a minute, Lieutenant. I have something to ask you.”

Ruth struggled to focus. “Oh?”

“What are your plans this afternoon?”

Plans? Oh no, he’d caught her off guard. He knew she had every other Sunday off. What provided the best excuse? Letters? Laundry? What?