With Every Letter (25 page)

Mellie spun around. “No. How could I? How could I be afraid of you?”

Pain she had inflicted etched his face. “Everyone else is.”

“I’m not.”

“So dance with me.” He held out his hand and a challenge.

She glanced at the tent. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Then don’t. We can hear the music. We can dance out here. Unless you’re chicken.” Humor returned to his voice.

“I’m not chicken.” But chickenlike flutters consumed her heart.

“Bawk, bawk, bawk.” He grinned and stepped closer.

She had to laugh. “How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough to know a chicken when I see one.” He beckoned. “Come on.”

Mellie gazed into his face, handsome even in the dark, and she stepped forward. What could she do? Mercy compelled her. Friendship drove her. Love stirred her.

“That’s better. I prefer nightingales to chickens.” He took her hand in his and circled his arm around her waist.

Mellie’s hand rested on his shoulder, his muscles hard and defined from manual labor. He was about Papa’s height—just right. And the scent of him flooded through her—coffee and wool and hard work and kindness.

“Here we are, ready to go, but where’s our music?”

“Oh?” Mellie hadn’t noticed. She pulled her gaze from Tom’s shoulder to his face, only inches away, and she drew in her breath. She’d never been that close to a man before. She made herself smile back. “I’ve heard of a cappella singing, but a cappella dancing?”

His laugh rumbled deep like a locomotive, as he said his father’s had. Like that sound, Tom’s laugh offered travel and adventure. What would it be like to spend her life with this man with his ready smile, his deep faith, and his love of variety?

It would be bliss.

But it would never be. Friendship beyond the scrapbook exploded in her face. Romance would never move beyond paper either.

Tinny notes from the record player started up, and Tom led her in a foxtrot. “You’ve got an admirer in there.”

“Me?” But a few bars of music made her laugh. The record played “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.”

The lyrics told of a couple in London sharing a kiss under the stars, and Tom was too close and too real and too attractive. And too quiet.

“You’re a good dancer,” she said. “I’m sorry most girls—”

“Hey, now.” He went into double time and spun her in
a circle. “You’ll think I’m one melancholy fellow. I’m not. It does no good to dwell on things that can’t be changed.”

“True.” Once again she needed to heed his advice.

“How about we talk about something that can be changed? Your smile.”

“My what?” Mellie’s jaw went slack.

“You heard me. When you smile, you yank the leash and haul it in like a bad dog.”

A laugh hopped out of her mouth. “Well, it doesn’t behave. My smile cracks my face in half like a coconut.”

“Nonsense. It’s beautiful, and it’s part of who you are. You should never be ashamed of who you are.”

Mellie tapped one finger on his shoulder and gave him the teasing look she gave Papa whenever he delivered a long botanical lecture. “Listen to yourself, Lieutenant.”

He moaned and clapped their clasped hands to his chest. His solid chest. “You wound me. You think I should follow my own advice?”

“Absolutely. Never be ashamed of who you are.” Why was it so much easier to say that about him than about herself?

His eyes—the moonlight obscured the blue but not the pale glow. “I’ll work on that. You’re . . .” He pressed his lips together. “Thank you.”

“I’m a nurse. I like to fix people.”

He laughed and whirled her around. “I’m a civil engineer. I like to build people up.”

“Then we’re well—” Well matched? How could she say such a thing? They might be well matched as friends, but never anything more. “I’m—I’m glad we met.”

“Me too.” He cocked his head and squinted one eye. “Well, milady, the song’s over.” He stepped back and bowed.

She curtseyed. “Thank you for the dance, kind sir.”

He held out his arm. “Let’s get you inside so you won’t get in trouble with your chief.”

She took his arm but didn’t move. “Tom, wait.”

He lifted his eyebrows.

Her heart beat faster than the rhythm for “Bugle Call Rag” in the background. What on earth was she doing? But she had to do it. For him. “Would you like another dance?”

Tom stared at her. Unblinking. Lips parted.

She shrugged. “I like this song. The air is fresh out here. No cigarette smoke, no beer fumes, no one to step on our toes.”

His head dipped in the slowest nod she’d ever seen. “One condition.”

“Condition?”

“You have to smile. All the way.”

Why didn’t he ask her to strip off her uniform and do the hula? She’d feel less exposed.

“Come on.” An irresistible grin. Even more irresistibly, he moved closer. “One smile. One dance.”

One smile to be in his arms again? One smile to convince him of her unattractiveness? He said he liked her smile, but he’d never seen the stark fullness.

“Come on. Smile.” He wagged his head in front of her as if coaxing a baby to laugh.

It worked. She released her smile. She rolled her eyes to let him know how she felt about it and let her smile crack her face in half. The full monkey smile. “Happy?”

“Yep. That was nice. Let’s see if I can make you smile again.” He pulled her into his arms and danced.

“That wasn’t the deal. One smile, one dance. Oh dear. I can’t keep up. I’m no jitterbug.”

“Neither am I. But who’s to know? Just kick your feet around, swing your arm.” Tom burst into a kicking, swinging frenzy. “See, it doesn’t have to be good. It just has to be wild.”

She laughed. He definitely wasn’t good. Why not join in? She tried some kicks and swings.

“There you go.” He twirled her under his arm.

She struggled to coordinate her feet with him so close, with his arm firm and warm around her waist. “Oh dear. I don’t want to kick you.”

“Good. We’re on the same side. Kick the enemy.”

“How about Quincy? Want me to kick him?” Giggles burst out.

“What’s with the violence? I thought you were a lady.” He spun her so fast her feet left the ground.

Mellie gasped and clung to his shoulder. “Oh my goodness. Dancing’s dangerous.”

“You said it, angel-face.”

Laughter bounced through her, lifting the monkey smile, but for the first time since first grade, she didn’t haul it in.

“That’s it. Now I push you away. Get your feet going any old way.” He held her right hand as if shaking hands. “Now wag your finger at me. Scold me for making you smile.”

She raised one finger and wagged it at him. “Scold me for making you dance again.”

They circled, scolding each other, their feet shuffling over the dirt, laughter swirling around them.

Tom lifted their joined hands. “Twirl under and come back to me.”

She did as he said, and she was back in his arms, the arms of the man who knew her best, the man she knew best, the man she loved. He looked down into her eyes, and his smile seemed warmer, deeper, as if it permeated his whole being.

Her smile grew too, from someplace far inside she could barely remember, a place where she felt understood and appreciated and loved.

The music stopped. Tom rocked gently and didn’t release her from his arms or his gaze. He pulled their clasped hands closer, down to her waist, and his expression softened. Intensified.

Mellie’s breath came out choppy, her cheeks warmed, and her body relaxed into his. This couldn’t be happening, could it?

His gaze meandered over her face, and she could almost feel the caress of it, and it landed on her mouth.

Her monkey mouth.

Tom eased back. “I—I should take you inside. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your chief.”

A heavy molten mass pressed on Mellie’s heart. He liked her as a person, but not as a woman.

She backed out of his arms. “You’re right.” Her voice sounded tinny.

Tom tilted his head toward the tent and they walked back. He didn’t offer his arm this time. “I never asked. What’s going on with your chief? Why’d she force you to come here?”

The chill of the night made her shiver. “The nurses aren’t getting along. She thinks a fun evening will help. She also thinks it’s our duty to improve morale among the men.”

“Well, you ladies increased morale 1,000 percent.” He looked at his watch. “And your hour’s over.”

A dismissal, and for the best. “All right.”

“I’ll get you back in the chief’s graces. What’s her name?” He held the tent flap open for her.

“Lieutenant Lambert.” She ducked inside and breathed a sigh of relief that she’d never mentioned names in her letters.

Tom led her to the table where Lieutenant Lambert sat with a dark-haired man. “Captain Newman, may I have the honor of addressing your guest?”

A chill raced up Mellie’s spine. Captain Newman? The man she addressed her letters to? The man who forwarded Tom’s letters to her? He knew which squadron she served in. He’d recognize her name.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Lieutenant Lambert, this is Lieutenant
MacGilliver, one of my platoon leaders. Gill, Lieutenant Lambert is the chief nurse of the 802nd Air Evac Squadron. She and my wife are dear friends.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Tom saluted her. “Thank you for bringing your nurses tonight. Lieutenant Blake indulged me in several dances outside in the fresh air and has been a delightful companion. You’re blessed to have her in your squadron.”

Lambert gave Mellie a surprised glance, then smiled at Tom. “Thank you.”

“Now, I know the lady’s tired and wishes to retire.” He turned to Mellie and offered his hand. “Thanks for your company, Mellie. I’ve had a wonderful time.”

She shook his hand, his fingers rough and strong. “I have too. Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you to your tent. Let me get Sesame.” He headed for the table.

Captain Newman tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. He knew.

The chill deepened and convulsed her stomach. He couldn’t tell Tom. He just couldn’t.

Lieutenant Lambert looked away and called out to Alice.

Mellie leaned closer to the captain. “He doesn’t know,” she said in a fierce whisper, begging him with her eyes. “Please don’t tell him.”

He frowned and raised one eyebrow. “All right, miss. If you’re certain.”

Tom walked over with the sleepy dog in his arms, a barrier between him and Mellie.

The molten mass oozed into every corner of her heart. She’d never been more certain in her life.

26

Tunisia
April 11, 1943

Tom’s jeep bumped along the road across an arid plain. Camels munched prickly pear cactus, Arabs in long robes herded goats, and giant fields of poppies flamed on rugged hills in the distance. The decimation of war shouted from every village reduced to rubble, every animal carcass, and every palm tree snapped like a matchstick.

Larry drove today, behind the platoon’s trucks crammed with men who scanned the morning sky for strafing German planes. Their vigilance allowed Tom to read Annie’s most recent letter, dated April 6. One thing he’d miss about Youks-les-Bains would be the quick exchange of letters. Her hospital had to be close to an air base. Still it was best if he left and never saw Mellie Blake again.

He was a heel. The heeliest type of heel, who said he loved one woman and flirted with another. For heaven’s sake, he almost kissed her. Never, ever had he wanted to kiss a woman more. Those luscious lips. Only the thought of Annie stopped him at the last minute.

He groaned. His efforts to make Mellie feel better ended up hurting her feelings. She’d been quiet when he walked her back to her tent.

He stroked Sesame, asleep on the seat beside him, and dove into Annie’s letter to remind himself of what he could have lost.

It’s late, but I need to write. I need to get this down, although you’ll despise my heartlessness. You’re the only one I have left to talk to.

Tonight I heard my two friends gossip about me. Oh, Ernest, I’ve often been the target of gossip and mockery, but never from a friend. It hurt more than anything.

In my anger I did something horrid. Each had confided a secret in me, a secret she’d kept from the other. I hesitate to tell you, but I betrayed them and revealed their secrets. I hurt them terribly.

I don’t know if they’ll forgive each other, and I’m certain they’ll never forgive me.

What sort of person am I? I claim mercy as my greatest virtue, but I chose vengeance over mercy.

Ernest, you seem to understand me, but can you understand this? Can you offer any advice? Do you even want to? How can you trust someone who betrayed two of the dearest people in her life?

His sweet, dear Annie. Thank goodness he’d penned a reply yesterday before the convoy departed.

Had he consoled her enough? Reminded her that the greater the intimacy, the greater the chance for hurt, but the greater the reward?

Had he pointed her firmly but kindly to seek forgiveness from the Lord, her friends, and herself? The worst thing she could do would be to retreat into her shell again. Had she experienced enough of the joys of friendship to know it was worth fighting for?

Just as Annie was worth fighting for.

After the thrilling, disastrous evening with Mellie, he’d decided to pursue Annie fully, with all the risk of revelation and rejection. The letter he’d written the next day—had she received it? What would she think?

Larry nudged him. “What’d she say?”

He folded the letter. “Problems with her friends.”

“And she has competition and doesn’t know it.”

Tom winced. He’d run into Larry while walking Mellie back to her tent and later told him too much about the evening.

He squinted toward the sun rising ahead in the east. Stuka dive-bombers liked to attack from the sun so you couldn’t see them until it was too late.

Annie didn’t know his name, but Mellie did. She showed him compassion and understanding and something else. Oh boy, she was something else. So vulnerable, so strong, so attractive, so kissable.