With Every Letter (15 page)

“All in God’s time. Now, look. Lady Liberty herself.”

Expressions of awe and wonder flooded the deck of the troop transport as hundreds of airmen and nurses craned their necks to see the immensity of the statue.

Mellie leaned back her head and braced it in one hand to support the weight of her hair.

Liberty faced east, one arm cradling law and justice, the other holding high her torch. She strode forward, out of the broken chains of bondage, her face determined and visionary. She offered hope and freedom to the world, and no adversity of this time or any time to come could restrain her.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving.” Tears meandered down Georgie’s cheeks.

“Don’t you see? This is why we’re leaving.” Mellie pointed to the statue as the ship curved around the island. “Liberty Enlightening the World—that’s her full name. She isn’t facing
America. She faces the world, showing the enslaved nations what freedom looks like, a beacon in the darkness.”

Georgie pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket and patted her face. “We’re not supposed to keep the light to ourselves, are we?”

“No. That’s why we’re going.” For a disorienting moment, it seemed as if Liberty looked down at her, circled her, and imparted a blessing. A shiver started at her hairline and worked over her scalp. These hundreds of men and women were leaving with the blessing of the nation, to protect that nation and restore freedom abroad. “Lord, help us do your work.”

“It’s his work, isn’t it?” The light returned to Georgie’s eyes, as if Liberty’s torch had passed on its fire.

Mellie nodded. “God gave us gifts of mercy and healing. We can’t keep those gifts to ourselves. He wants us to use them for him.”

USS
Lyon
Atlantic Ocean
February 11, 1943

“Don’t peek. Peeking is cheating.” Rose tugged on the knot of the blindfold.

Mellie stubbed her toe on the metal threshold of a bulkhead. She wriggled her nose to scoot the blindfold up a bit. “I thought this was supposed to be a pleasant surprise.”

“It is.” Georgie tugged on Mellie’s elbow and guided her down a corridor. “Just wait.”

“Staircase. Up you go.”

Mellie groped for the cold metal handrails, which were almost vertical. “If you want to kill me, why not throw me overboard and have done with it?”

“Nonsense.” Rose patted her back. “It’s more fun this way.”

Mellie laughed and climbed up. A brisk whirl of air and the rush of waves against the steel hull told her she was almost to the deck. A rotation system allowed everyone a short amount of time topside each day and gave the sailors room to work. Only a storm would keep her in the cramped stateroom shared by twelve nurses.

Georgie’s small hand cupped Mellie’s elbow. “You’re on deck.”

Mellie drew a deep, damp, salty breath. Women were clean creatures, but limited water meant little bathing, and the stateroom stank.

After Rose untied the bandanna, Mellie blinked and looked around. She stood on the fore portion of the ship’s deck under a mushroom-shaped platform for an antiaircraft gun. This was a surprise?

Georgie held up one finger, two, three, and she and Rose sang “Happy Birthday.”

Mellie’s knees felt loose. A birthday surprise? For her? Papa always gave her a nice gift, but he never made a big fuss.

Georgie beamed as if it were her birthday. “Rose, give her the—well, it’s not a cake, but it’ll have to do.”

Rose reached into the musette bag she wore across her chest and pulled out a Hershey bar. “We couldn’t think of a way to get a cake on board without squishing it, but with sugar rationing, a candy bar is just as nice.”

Mellie took the chocolate. “It is. Thank you. We’ll share, see how long we can make it last.”

Georgie and Rose laughed. “Ten seconds?” Rose said.

“Five.” Mellie worked her finger under the wrapper.

“Not yet.” Rose took the chocolate bar and returned it to her bag. “We have to give you your present first.”

“Present?” They’d already given her the best present ever—they’d thought of her.

Georgie stepped to the side. White squares had been chalked onto the wooden deck. “Hopscotch,” she said. “And two playmates.”

The chalk lines wiggled in Mellie’s vision. Her throat felt thick.

Rose pulled a rope out of the musette bag. “Georgie sweet-talked some poor sailor into loaning us some line for a jump rope. Jacks were tough. Metal jacks, rubber ball—you can’t buy either now.”

“Shortages, of course,” Georgie said. “Thank goodness Mama mailed me my old set before we sailed. I’m glad she didn’t donate them to the scrap drive and the rubber drive.”

“What do you want to play first, birthday girl?”

Mellie’s lips undulated like the waves below. “You—you did this for me?”

“Oh, honey.” Georgie whipped out her handkerchief and handed it to Mellie. “Of course we did.”

“It was her idea,” Rose said. “After we saw your scrapbook on Christmas.”

Georgie took Mellie’s hand. “I know this doesn’t restore your childhood, but I hope it helps.”

Mellie dabbed at her face. She hiccupped and covered her mouth so she wouldn’t break out in a full-blown sob. “It does. It does help. Thank you so much.”

“What’s first?” Rose held up a little cloth drawstring bag and a rope. “Jacks, hopscotch, or jump rope?”

Georgie laughed. “To think you never wanted to play those games when we were little. You wanted to run around with Ward, climb trees, and play baseball.”

“Mm-hmm.” Rose lowered her gaze, and her mouth tightened. She poked around in the drawstring bag. “Hopscotch first. We’ll use jacks as markers. Do you know how to play, Mellie?”

“I watched often enough.” A sudden memory burst in—Lupe Rodriguez inviting her to play in second grade. Mellie shyly said no, tired of being hurt. But Lupe was new to school, the daughter of a maid, and she didn’t fit in with the children of Palo Alto’s academic elite. Protecting her own heart, Mellie hadn’t shown mercy to someone who needed it. She sent up a quick prayer for forgiveness.

Georgie slipped a jack into Mellie’s hand. “You go first.”

Mellie swallowed hard through her swollen throat. She tossed the jack and hopped through the course.

“Georgie, you go next,” Rose said. “This was your idea.”

“A fine idea it was.” Georgie fanned her face in her best Southern belle fashion and took her turn.

Rose’s jack landed in the square next to Mellie’s. With one athletic leap, she cleared the hurdle. “Speaking of Ward, any news in today’s letter?”

“Wasn’t that the sweetest thing?” Georgie handed Mellie another jack. “Sending me off with a packet of fourteen letters, one to open each day?”

“Mm-hmm. Any news?” Rose asked.

Mellie threw the jack, but she sneaked a glance at Rose. Her smile seemed flat, her voice high.

Georgie shrugged. “The usual farm news. Planning the spring planting and all.”

“So nothing new.” Rose’s gaze darted to Georgie, hungry, then scooted away.

Mellie’s mouth drifted open. Oh goodness. Rose and Georgie and Ward had been an inseparable trio. In fact, Ward had been closer to Rose than to Georgie until high school. Was Rose . . . ? Could she be . . . ? Mellie felt Rose’s pain as a stab in her own heart.

Rose was in love with Ward.

And she was too good a friend to Georgie to interfere.
Rose complained that the fellows didn’t look because the only fellow she wanted didn’t want her. She snapped at that flyboy because her heart was already taken.

Fresh tears filled Mellie’s eyes.

Georgie attempted to hop over three squares as the ship shifted course, always zigzagging to avoid U-boats, and she fell on her backside. “I should have worn my life jacket a bit lower for padding.”

She and Rose broke out laughing, and Mellie attempted to join them.

Two friends. Two secrets. One person who knew both.

Mellie trembled from the responsibility.

“I lost, so I get to pick next.” Georgie gathered the jacks into the bag. “Jump rope.”

Mellie and Rose took the ends. After a few tries, they coordinated the rhythm.

“One, two, three.” Georgie watched the arcing rope and nodded with the count. She inserted herself neatly and hopped away. “Ready, girls? ‘MacGilliver the Killiver needed gold and silliver, begged from—’”

“No!” Mellie’s hand dropped. The rope wiggled and flopped to the deck.

Georgie stumbled. “What?”

“Not that rhyme. I hate it.”

“Oh.” Georgie’s mouth went as round as her word.

“That’s right,” Rose said. “The little boy in your scrapbook.”

“He’s real.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Georgie scrunched up her mouth. “Please forgive me.”

“Of course.” But Mellie drew back slightly. Georgie and Rose talked openness but kept secrets. They talked kindness but gossiped. They talked mercy but chanted a rhyme that trivialized three deaths and humiliated a child.

“Let’s try again. We know plenty of rhymes.” Rose circled the rope and laughed when it went nowhere. “Come on, Mellie. You need to join in.”

Mellie stared at the rope, a symbol of how they’d overlooked her many faults, swept her into their circle, put up with her odd ways, and thought of her in a deeply touching way. How could she not offer them a fraction of the mercy they’d offered her?

She picked up the rope and smiled, brimming with gratitude. “Let’s play.”

16

Thélepte Airfield
Tunisia
February 17, 1943

Tom parked his jeep and squinted up through the haze. The last of the 81st Fighter Group’s P-39 Airacobras took off and joined the formation over Thélepte.

“They won’t have to go far to find a fight,” Larry Fong said.

“Nope.”

General Erwin Rommel’s Afrika Korps raced north from Gafsa and west through Sbeïtla, converging on Kasserine Pass. Thélepte stood in the way. The U.S. II Corps tried to hold off the German panzers, but the Twelfth Air Force couldn’t take any chances. Thélepte had orders to evacuate by noon and to destroy what they couldn’t ship out.

Tom looped Sesame’s leash through the steering wheel. “Stay here, Ses. Good boy.”

He and Larry got out of the jeep. Sergeant Lehman’s squad laid mines on the main road east of the airfield.

“Hey, Lehman. How’s it going?”

“Swell. Leaving gifts for the Nazis.” Lehman rubbed his jawline, gray with stubble and dust.

“Who’s got the diagram?”

“Diagram?”

“The placement of the mines. So we can find them when we come back.”

Lehman waved his square hand as if swatting a fly. “There won’t be any left. Rommel will find ’em all. We’ll blow the Desert Fox sky-high.”

Tom glanced at Larry, who puffed his cheeks full of air and shook his head. Without a diagram, mine removal would be slow and dangerous work.

“I need that diagram,” Tom said. “Where’s your foreman? Put him on the job.”

“You kidding, Gill? Those tanks will roll up that road any minute. You heard the scouts. The Jerries are bearing down hard on Fériana. That’s only five miles away. I’m mining this road and getting my tail out of here.”

Tom glanced south over the barren plateau toward Fériana. Artillery thumped in the distance, and the dust of combat marred the horizon. His chest felt tight. “A diagram is essential.”

“Sure. I’ll pull one of my men from blowing up tanks so he can draw a picture.”

Tom’s pulse throbbed in his temple. He looked his squad leader in the eye. Quincy would cuss and scream at the man. Reed would issue a cold command. Both officers would get a diagram.

But Tom—what could he do? He had to fight with both arms tied behind his back and his feet hobbled. Breaking those bonds and acting like a normal man would undo a lifetime’s work.

“The Lord always provides a way,” his mom used to say.

Tom gritted his teeth. Where was that way?

“Say, boss,” Larry said. “You’ve got to check on Weiser and Moskovitz. I’ll stay here, put together a diagram as best I can.”

Tom released a sigh and all his tension. He clapped his platoon sergeant on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

Larry gazed down the road. “How long?”

“It’s 1040. The security inspection starts at 1100. Get to the rendezvous site at 1115. We need to be out of here before 1200.”

Larry tipped him a salute. “See you then.”

“Thanks again, buddy.” He returned the salute. He didn’t want to acknowledge Lehman, but years of training forced him to say good-bye with a smile.

Back in the jeep, he rubbed Sesame behind the ears. “At least you obey me.”

Tom drove west parallel to the main runway. That morning, 124 fighter planes had flown off to strafe German troops and tanks. After their missions, they’d land at Tébessa, Le Kouif, and Youks-les-Bains safely behind the front lines. For now. What if Rommel broke free and pushed the Allies back out of North Africa?

Out on the runway, trucks towed eighteen unserviceable planes into place to be blown to smithereens.

“What a waste.” Tom pulled up to the supply dump, where men loaded trucks to the limit. Nothing could be left behind for the Germans to use.