A Very Lusty Christmas (24 page)

“Sir?” Gerald addressed Colonel Hamilton, who nodded and waved his hand.

He and Patrick both accompanied the crew that went out in search of debris, and the remains of Captain Roland Barnesdale. Gerald couldn’t profess to having known the man well, but that hardly mattered. They’d been comrades-in-arms, and everyone felt the loss keenly.

Colonel Hamilton petitioned his commanders to call a halt to training missions, at least until the cause of the mishap could be pinpointed.

It didn’t surprise either Gerald or Patrick that the top brass refused.

The mood on base had turned somber, to say the least. They worked to collect what was left of the plane. Unfortunately, very little of her pilot was found. The one piece of good luck was that there had been no collateral damage to civilians. Unfortunately, word of the accident was already spreading, because civilians had witnessed the plane’s explosion.

Lieutenant Peters had been located, safe and sound, and his interview with Hamilton and the other field commanders became a crucial first look into what had gone wrong.

Gerald took his students up the next day, and everyone was tense, wondering whose bird would be the next one to foul up. He kept his thoughts to himself, not fully relaxing until he saw Patrick’s plane land safely at the end of the day.

Because he and his brother had both done more than a little tinkering with the engine of their own plane before the war, he decided to spend a bit of his off time in the hangars, looking over the shoulders of the mechanics who were hard at work. He tried not to make a nuisance of himself.

One bright moment was when he came upon the line chief, his head bent over a bird, with a young airman beside him and one just on the other side of the Pratt & Whitney R-985 AN-1 engine.

It took him a moment to understand the reason the scene called to him was because the two young airmen were the same two Oklahoma farm boys he’d had to wash out of flight training his first week on base.

Just a week before, one of the brothers had approached him. “Sir, if I might have a word?”

Gerald had granted permission, wondering if the young man was going to fight for his place on the flight line after nearly two months.

That hadn’t been the airman’s purpose at all.

“My grandmother asked me to inquire something of you, sir.”

The young man looked so embarrassed, that Gerald had wanted to smile. Apparently Airman Smith had a grandmother much like his own.

“What did your grandmother want to know, son?”

“She was wondering, sir, if you were any relation to a Caleb and Joshua Benedict. They were brothers—twins, Granny said—and had been acquainted with my grandfather—her husband.”

Something twigged at the back of Gerald’s mind. Then he had it and he laughed. “Was your grandfather named Peter? Was he the son of an Apache chief?”

“Yes, sir, he was.”

Gerald confirmed the family connection without going into detail, and the young airman seemed pleased to be able to report the matter to his grandmother.

Now, Gerald focused on the young men as he headed toward them.

“I’m telling you, Master Sergeant, this bird just doesn’t smell right.”

When Gerald approached, all three men snapped to attention and saluted. He returned their salute, and then said, “Don’t mind me, men. I’m just being nosy. Whose bird is this?”

“Pendergast’s,” the master sergeant said. “He said it was running a lot hotter than it should—not smoking like yours or on fire like poor Barnesdale’s—but I’m checking every bird, personally, where there’s a suspicion, or signs of overheating. Airman A. Smith here says it doesn’t smell right.” The sergeant shook his head. “Hell, kid, I’ve tried everything else. What is it you think doesn’t smell right?”

Airman A. Smith, younger brother of Airman C. Smith, who was also present and was the man who’d spoken to Gerald earlier, focused his attention on the engine.

“It’s in the fuel, I think, Chief Master Sergeant. I’ve been thinking about this, and reading up some on the specifications for these birds. They’re supposed to be getting a fairly high-octane gas.”

“Yeah, we call it avgas.”

“Right. But I swear, what I smell is gasoline with a lot of kerosene in it. I recognize it, because at home on the farm, we would cut our gasoline with kerosene, to save money. Now, kerosene will burn hotter, and some engines don’t mind that, but these birds, sir? I think they
really
don’t like the mixed fuel at all.”

“Huh.” Chief Master Sergeant Thomas scratched his head. He looked over at Gerald. “What do you think, Major?”

“Has anyone checked the fuel we put in these birds? Where does it come from, anyway?”

“No to the first question, sir, and to answer your second question, we have a couple of suppliers. One is a refinery from just outside of town—a smaller outfit, my understanding is. The other is one of the big national companies.” The sergeant shrugged. “The rest of the country is on rations, and a lot of the supply we have goes overseas. We get our gas where we can.”

“Is there a way we can check the fuel in the tanks for purity?”

“Yes, sir,” the chief master sergeant said after a moment. “I believe there is.”

* * * *

“Have you spoken to either one of them?” Miranda set the pot of hot tea on the table. Kate had set out the cups from the cupboard, and brought over the pitcher of milk and the sugar bowl. The lunch dishes were done, and the two residents whose turn it had been to help had just ambled off, intent on a game or two of poker.

Kate was grateful her friend had waited until the two of them were alone to ask. Of course, all the residents knew by now that there’d been trouble the day before at Goodfellow Field. Since they also knew the brothers Benedict, and that both men were flight instructors there, they’d been concerned.

Yesterday was sheer hell
. Word had traveled quickly that there’d been an accident, and that one of the training planes had crashed. Kate had heard the news from Rose Benedict, who’d come over to relieve her—affording Kate the opportunity to go to the Big House and wait with the family for news.

It had been hours before Jeremy Jessop-Kendall had been able to discover the name of the unfortunate man who’d died.

Kate still felt a little bit ashamed that her first reaction had been
relief
. Her heart ached for the family and friends of Captain Barnesdale, and for the rest of the men stationed at Goodfellow. She knew that many of them would be dealing not only with the loss of a comrade, but the knowledge that it could have happened to any one of them.

Accidents happened. Although her men hadn’t said, she had the sense that there’d been more than the normal number of mishaps in the last few months. She recalled all too clearly the fear she’d tasted weeks before when Gerald had talked of his own close call.

Miranda’s question still echoed in her thoughts. “No,” Kate said. “I don’t really expect to hear from them until they show up sometime Friday evening. They’ve got a forty-eight-hour leave coming up. What about you? Have you heard anything from
your
men?”

Miranda sighed. She poured tea out for them both, and took a moment to put a bit of milk in her cup. “No, unfortunately. Mail is dreadfully slow when they’re at sea. I’ve sent dozens of letters, of course. All of them addressed to Martin.”

Kate knew that the tradition that had begun with the grandparents continued on for their children, and now their children’s children. A woman couldn’t legally have two husbands, of course. So the oldest brother became the legal husband. Miranda had described the family ceremony that had been held after the actual marriage one.

“We made a pact before they shipped out,” Miranda said, “that they were to understand that all the letters might be addressed to Martin but they would be meant for them both.”

“I’m sorry that you have to be separated from them. And especially, because you are, I’m very grateful to you for making it possible for me to spend time with Gerald and Patrick when they come home on leave.”

Miranda waved that away. “I have no doubt you’d do the same for me, if our positions were reversed.”

“Yes, I would. In a heartbeat,” Kate said.

“That was very tense last night while we waited to hear. It got me to thinking how—well, how fragile life can be.”

“Yes, I was thinking the same thing.” Because it felt good to do so, Kate reached over and put her hand on Miranda’s. “It also made me realize how much worry Mattie, Chelsea, and Rose live with every day. They all have more than one son in harm’s way.”

Miranda sighed. “It’s hard enough, knowing my men are in danger. I can’t imagine how it would feel to have a son in peril—or daughter, for I know there are nurses serving overseas, too.”

“There are, yes. “ Kate shook her head, grateful that none of the nurses who’d become her friends had as yet been sent there. “Jacob, James, and Rose have four of their five sons overseas,” Kate said. “William and Peter—Gerald and Patrick’s brothers—are serving, as well.”

“Mom and the dads have four of their five sons serving too,” Miranda said. “I haven’t even met Douglas or Warren. They were in England, and unable to attend our wedding. That’s a lot of family members we’re all holding vigil and saying prayers for—and we haven’t even mentioned any of the Parker-Joneses.”

Kate shook her head. She’d only met a few Parkers, Joneses, and Parker-Joneses. But the high ratio of men serving certainly explained why so many in the community pitched in and helped to run the Convalescent Home.

“Mother and Aunt Mattie and Auntie Rose and the grandmothers have been talking about Christmas. They’ve already started making plans. No one knows who’s going to make it home this year—or even who’s going to
stay
home.”

Kate hadn’t given the celebration much thought. This would be the first time, ever, she wasn’t home for Christmas. Part of her was a little bit homesick at the thought. She did miss her parents, for all that she and her mother were at odds, more often than not anymore.

“It’s not even Thanksgiving, yet,” Kate said. And this year, despite the war, she knew she had a lot to be thankful for.

Miranda smiled. “I think one of the things that makes this family—heck, this town—work, is the fact that the women of Lusty don’t let much dampen the
spirit
of family.” She leaned forward. “This will be the second Christmas that Amanda is without either of her husbands. And I think that it’s for her, mainly, that Sarah and Mom and the others want to make it special.”

Kate understood the sentiment. While they’d been waiting for news, yesterday evening, Kate had been struck by something she thought was simply amazing. The women of the family—the women of Lusty—had come together, a single, strong, loving unit. She’d seen it before, but yesterday she’d been the recipient of that loving concern. They’d poured her tea, and sat close. They’d talked to her about mundane things, but had reached out, both spiritually and physically, and made sure that she felt a part of them, and not alone.

“Even though I’m likely not going to see my husbands,” Miranda said, “I want to do everything I can to make this Christmas special for the family. I’ll do it
for
Martin and Nick.”

“I’ll help you,” Kate said. “Let’s see what we can do to make it special for everyone here.”

“I can tell, just looking at you, that you have something in mind.”

Kate thought of the months she’d already passed here in this Central Texas town, and the years to come that she planned to spend here. Years that would be filled with love, and laughter and living—at least they would or there’d be hell to pay, she thought.

And she thought about the men, the wounded warriors who’d been sent to her—a few of whom had already gone home, making room for others who would soon arrive.

In the midst of war, and in the darkest of times, there must always be things to be held up, to be thankful for, to celebrate. In these times, family needed to remain family, and whether they sat down together to break bread, or were huddled in foxholes on the other side of the world—or even had passed on to the next life—family
was
still family.

Family, love, connections—these were the enduring values, the heart of life itself. These were the reason for everything, and they were the answer to every question.

And this was not true just for their families—hers and Miranda’s—but for
every
family.

“Yes,” Kate said. “I do have an idea or two. Let’s see if we can make them happen.”

Neil Brown tried to quell his nerves. When he’d looked up from his desk to encounter two soldiers—MPs—he’d genuinely been confused. When they had ordered him to accompany them to Goodfellow Field, he’d complied, of course. He kept a confused but cooperative demeanor about him, and had taken his seat in the back of the jeep. The fact that he sat between the two strapping young men gave him pause.

The fact that neither of the young men smiled, or talked to him, or even met his gaze began to gnaw at him.

He supposed that Colonel Hamilton had discovered that he’d substituted cheaper ingredients for some of the more expensive components in the fuel.
Hell
. He’d likely have to pay back some of the money he’d already banked. Damn it, he was so close to having all he needed.