With Every Letter (10 page)

The chief nurse laughed. “Do we understand ourselves most of the time?”

Mellie let herself smile. “Perhaps not.”

“Your week is up.”

“I know.” A soft sigh escaped and blended into the wind.

The chief gave her a compassionate look. “You’ve made changes, and I see you’ve made some friends.”

So she’d noticed after all. “I’m trying, ma’am.”

Lieutenant Lambert gazed across the tarmac and held back her brown hair against the wind. “Captain Maxwell is not happy. He says you could have endangered our cause today. A lot of men don’t like outspoken women.”

Mellie crossed her arms across the dark blue wool of her service jacket. “I’m sorry. I tried to be polite and diplomatic, but—”

“You were. You did a great job. That little speech helped.” Lieutenant Lambert stopped and flipped up a smile. “And I like outspoken women.”

Words slipped around Mellie’s mouth but couldn’t gain their footing. Did that mean she’d get a second chance?

Lieutenant Lambert patted Mellie’s arm. “Don’t worry about Maxwell. I’ll take care of him. You just keep up the effort with the other women, okay?”

The adventure of friendship and air evacuation outshone the forest. “I will.”

10

Constantine, Algeria
December 6, 1942

“Come on, boy. Not much farther.” Tom led Sesame through the crowded depot and outside, where the dog bolted for the first bush. Though he weighed only twenty pounds, he was strong and fast, and Tom gripped the leash he’d fashioned from leather belts from the
souk
.

He breathed in air untainted by cigarette smoke, body odor, and the other strong smells of the train. In front of him stood a statue of the Roman emperor Constantine, whom the city was named after. Beyond that lay Tom’s objective.

“Hey, Sesame. Want a walk?” While the men of the battalion disembarked from the train, Tom used his pup as an excuse to explore what caught his eye at the end of the four-hundred-mile train ride. He crossed the road in front of the station to a low stone wall.

“Wow.” A gorge plunged beneath him, all rugged red rock, with scrubby bushes and palm trees at the bottom. On the far side of the gorge, the city’s buildings grew, their walls extending straight up from the face of the canyon.

And a bridge. His pulse quickened. A good, old-fashioned stone arch bridge stood to his right, and a beautiful one.

Larry had told him there were Roman ruins in Constantine, even an old viaduct. Unlikely Tom would have a chance to see that. He was here to build an airfield, not to sightsee. He etched the bridge’s massive curves into his memory and turned back to the station, a yellow building with a tile roof and arched windows.

“Come here, Ses.” The dog trotted back from the end of his leash, and Tom petted the smooth ridge of his back, unfurling the tail. It sprang back into its coiled position. “Okay, boy. Back to work.”

At the tracks, the men of the 908th unloaded heavy equipment and vehicles from flatbed train cars. Tom hooked Sesame’s leash to his belt loop, gathered his platoon, and assigned his men to trucks and jeeps for the ride to the construction site, about thirty miles southwest of Constantine, near a village called Telergma.

A week before, the Allied advance in Tunisia had stalled at Djedeïda, only fifteen miles from Tunis. The Germans held the coastal plains with great airfields, while the Allies were stuck in the mountains and had only three muddy airfields within two hundred miles of the front.

The Luftwaffe’s air superiority made the Allies stop to regroup, and now the Germans had launched a counteroffensive.

The Allies needed more airfields, drier and closer to the front.

Tom headed to his jeep. He was building a bridge of a different sort, to connect bombers to their targets and fighter planes to the troops and ships they needed to protect. For now, it would do.

Captain Newman joined Tom’s jeep driver, Hank Carter, in the front seat, while Tom sat in the back with Sesame and the men’s musette bags. The larger barracks bags would follow in the trucks.

As the convoy lumbered out of Constantine, Hank studied the sky as much as the road. German Stuka dive-bombers menaced the front, but the Luftwaffe wouldn’t venture toward Telergma until they realized an airfield was being built.

Sesame poked his head over the side of the jeep, and the wind buffeted his ears. Soon he lay down with his head in Tom’s lap, and Tom pulled out the latest letter from his mother to read again. To pray over again. The last section made his stomach squirm.

Thank you for telling me of your anonymous correspondence. However, I do feel you’d be better off with a journal. A few things cause me concern. What if you get accustomed to being open with this woman and forget to maintain the cheerfulness that serves you so well? What if you become attached to her—or she to you—and reveal your identities? What if she rejects you? I’m afraid you’ll set yourself up for a broken heart, and perhaps her as well.

You’re a wonderful young man, Tom, and someday a godly young woman will see that. In the meantime, please don’t settle for what looks like the easy road but could be the road to heartbreak.

Yep, his stomach still squirmed. He didn’t worry about himself, but he’d never thought about breaking Annie’s heart. She said she wasn’t looking for romance, but what if they did fall for each other? He could handle unrequited love. He’d
done it before. But what about her? What if she insisted on revealing their identities? He couldn’t risk linking his name and his true self. It would be over.

Who was he kidding? It hadn’t even started. Most of the men had received responses. Maybe his first letter had been too secretive and raised alarms for her. Or maybe the deluge of shipboard letters made her think he was deranged.

He smiled and stroked his dog’s sleeping head. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.

Up in the front seat, Captain Newman let out a loud groan. “I don’t know why on earth I let my wife talk me into this.”

“Into what, sir?”

“This stupid
Shop Around the Corner
thing. These blasted letters.” He held up a handful of envelopes. “Sort them out. Figure out which letters go to which man. Then package up the letters for the girls. I feel like I’m running a matchmaking service, not a battalion.”

Tom sent him a grin. “Sorry, sir.”

“Yeah, you and your pile of letters. At least she doesn’t write as much as you do. Only two here.”

Tom’s heart turned over. “Two?”

“Yeah.” He flipped through his map case and handed back two envelopes with “Gill” scrawled on them in masculine script. “Last time I let my wife have her way.”

“Yeah.” His voice felt stiff, his fingers like chunks of wood. Annie had written him back. Two letters. That meant she wanted to correspond. With him.

He jammed a finger under the lip of the first envelope and worked it open, then the second. One was written November 7, the other November 16. She wouldn’t have received his shipboard letters yet. He unfolded the first letter. In the top right corner, she had drawn a cardinal sitting on a maple branch.

Dear Ernest,

Since you didn’t suggest a nickname for yourself, this is what I chose. If you’ve read
The Importance of Being Earnest
, you know it’s about a man who takes a name that isn’t his own, and a comedy of mistaken identities follows. I also think Ernest is a fine, solid name. If you prefer something else, let me know. I’m fine with Annie.

I was surprised to receive a reply, but pleased. I can’t imagine why you were intrigued by my letter, unless it was truly one lonely soul responding to another. That’s why I replied as well.

Each of us has a barrier to friendship. Despite your barrier, you’ve managed to attract friends on at least a superficial level. This interests me. I hope our correspondence will help me learn to make friends too. Is that selfish of me? Perhaps our letters will also help you deepen your friendships. We can certainly pray about it.

So what shall I talk about? My odd upbringing? My social inadequacies? My meditations on Scripture? Sweet stories of my father? Friendship is unfamiliar to me, and I don’t know how to proceed. But I have to start somewhere.

Last week I transferred to a new unit, which offers wonderful opportunities and challenges. However, a new base always means a few weeks of settling in. The nicest girls try to include me, I respond in an awkward manner, they give up, and then I retreat to my usual solitude. In the meantime, whenever possible, I stroll in the forested hills and enjoy the soft fall of rain and the song of the cardinal in the maples.

As for you, please tell me anything you’d like within the constraints of anonymity and military censorship.

Not knowing what else to say, I’ll sign “my” name.

Annie

Tom’s throat felt thick, like it did when he had a cold. “Thank you, Lord,” he whispered.

She was hesitant and warm and vulnerable and honest. And she needed him as he needed her.

He wanted to shout over the ocean so she’d get his answer immediately. Yes, write about anything at all, but write and write and write.

He proceeded to the second letter. No drawing this time.

Dear Ernest,

I hesitate to write you again. My reply couldn’t have reached you yet, and I haven’t received any further letters from you. Since you’re overseas, the process could take a month or more.

I need advice, and you’re the only one I can think to ask.

Even if you have only superficial friends, you present yourself in such a way that others accept your company, even seek it. I need to learn this. My job depends on it. My new chief nurse told me if I don’t make friends with the nurses, I won’t be able to stay. This job fulfills my dreams to travel and be independent and blaze new paths, and I’m heartbroken.

Two of the nurses reached out to me at the beginning, until my awkwardness pushed them away. Today, after the chief nurse gave me a one-week deadline, I reached out to them. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. It was extremely uncomfortable, but they’re kind souls and sat with me at dinner. I think it went well, although I have nothing to compare it to.

I know I need to trust in the Lord, but honestly, Ernest, this terrifies me. Whenever I’ve opened up to others in the past, it’s always ended in rejection.

If you have any advice, I’ll take it.

Here I’ve gone on for a page about myself and not asked you a single question. Do you see why I need advice about making friends?

Please forgive me. How are you? I don’t know if you’ve joined the most recent large invasion, and I know you can’t tell me, but I’m praying extra hard in case you have. I hope you’ll reply. I’d love to hear your stories and dreams and thoughts.

My prayers are with you.

Annie

Tom’s chest felt lighter, as if all the air over Africa had entered and lifted him up, filling him with enticing strangeness. A true friendship lay before him in all its uncertainty and promise. For the first time since his father’s death, he could be genuine with another person. Best of all, this friendship wouldn’t be one-sided. She’d asked for his advice, and that made him feel bigger and stronger.

Mom had made her point. He’d be careful with Annie’s heart and make sure she knew their friendship could never grow beyond anonymity. But this was too good a gift, and all good gifts came from the Lord. How could he turn away God’s graciousness?

He returned the letters to their envelopes, settled back in his seat, and rubbed Sesame’s ears.
Sesame and Annie
—
thank you, Lord
.

The convoy wound its way through a village and turned south to a raised plain. Tom leaned forward in his seat. “Is this it?”

“Yep,” Captain Newman said. “Telergma.”

When the jeep stopped, Tom climbed out and unleashed Sesame. The dog was a good little hunter and always returned.

A cool wind brushed his cheeks. He squatted down and crumbled soil in his fingers. More sand content than clay, not unexpected so close to the Sahara Desert. The Twelfth Air Force had done well selecting the site. The high ground
and sandy soil would drain well. The open land had good approaches for aircraft.

Tom strolled along as trucks and jeeps parked and men unloaded. Few trees or bushes to remove. Of course that meant less lumber for building and fuel for campfires. He kicked at a boulder. That would have to go, but he didn’t see too many obstacles.

The runway would run east to west, aligned with the prevailing wind. Buildings and control tower to the north. He could see it in his mind. Tonight he’d set down plans with the other officers.

Tom turned his face to the pale sun. “Then I’ve got a letter to write.”

11

Bowman Field
December 11, 1942

Captain Maxwell distributed cardboard boxes to the eight tables in the classroom, ending with Mellie’s flight of six nurses. He set a box in front of Vera Viviani and flashed her a grin. “This is the only one you get, ladies. Plasma is a precious resource. Treat it with care.”

“Of course, sir.” Vera glanced through her long lashes. “I treat everything with care.”

“I’m sure you do. You ladies are fine examples of—” His gaze landed on Mellie. His smile twitched.

Although her heart folded in two, Mellie turned to the box and patted it. “Let’s get started.”