With Every Letter (24 page)

“Exactly. With those dames, I’ll get one dance, not even a kiss. I don’t stand a chance. But with her, a few dances, a little sweet talk. She’ll be grateful. You know what dames are like when they’re grateful.”

The pilot laughed. “You’re in like Flynn.”

“Betcha five bucks I’m the only man in this outfit gets action tonight.” Quincy stood and set down his bottle.

Tom found himself on his feet. He strode across the tent, a few paces behind the other platoon leader.

Quincy pulled up beside Mellie. She inched to the side and glanced at her watch.

“This song,” Quincy said. “‘And the Angels Sing.’ They’re playing it for you, angel-face.”

Tom closed the gap. “Say, Mellie, there you are.”

She looked up, startled, and her lips parted. “Oh. Tom. Hi.”

Quincy loomed closer, and Mellie glanced at the big oaf.

“Good to see you,” Tom said. “How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you for a while.”

Mellie’s gaze bounced between the men. Her eyes widened, and then she turned a bright smile to Tom. “I’m fine. It’s good to see you too.”

“Why don’t we catch up? Want some coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Let’s get you some.” Tom held out his arm for Mellie, and he nodded to Quincy. “See you later.”

Quincy’s lip curled, he spread out empty hands, and he mouthed a curse.

Tom would pay later, but it was worth it. He led Mellie across the tent to the makeshift bar. Her little hand rested in the crook of his elbow, the warmth seeping through the olive drab wool of his shirt.

“What was that about?” she said in a low voice. “Is he bad news?”

“I’ll say. Pearl Harbor bad news. Crash of the stock market bad news. Pirates losing to the Cubs bad news.”

She laughed, a trill of a birdsong. Then she turned a serious face to Tom. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He dipped his cup into the five-gallon bucket of brewed coffee and wiped it with his handkerchief. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She stared into the cup. “Listen, I appreciate what you did, but you don’t have to stick around. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Fair? Where was the take-charge nurse he’d met a few weeks before? “I’ll tell you what isn’t fair—your chief making you stay.”

Her gaze popped up to him. “You saw that?”

“How long is she making you stay?”

A flicker of a smile. “An hour.”

“How long do you have left?”

“Um . . .” A glance at her wrist. “Fifty-four minutes.”

Tom motioned to the table he’d sat at earlier. “I’m not the best-looking fellow in the room, but I can introduce you to someone.”

Mellie’s mouth sagged open. “I—I don’t want to meet anyone.”

“You’ll want to meet this fellow.” He took her arm—stiff as pierced steel planking—and led her to the table, where Sesame lay behind his stool. Tom squatted. “Isn’t he the handsomest fellow?”

Mellie laughed and knelt beside Tom. “Oh, he is. Is this—what’s his name?”

“Sesame. He’s my dog.”

At the sound of his name, Sesame opened his brown eyes, lifted his head, and thumped his coiled tail.

Mellie smiled, reached out a tentative hand, and rubbed Sesame behind the ears. “How cute.”

“He’s the best.” Tom stood and pulled out a camp stool for Mellie. Fifty-two minutes to go. What was he doing? This woman intrigued him too much. He wasn’t being fair to Annie.

Mellie took her seat and turned worried eyes to Tom. “I have to apologize. For what I said when we met. About your father. I had no right to make assumptions.”

Tom raised half a smile. “Don’t apologize. Sure, I was shocked, but not the way you think. You see . . .” He scanned the table. Nothing to pick up and fiddle with. Instead he leaned his elbows on the table. “You see, everyone thinks my father was a monster. You’re the first person I’ve met who realizes he was human.”

“Of course.”

Tom kneaded the muscles around his elbow, sore from today’s job. “They expect me to hate him. But he was my dad. I loved him. I wanted to be like him.” He let out a little laugh. “Now that’s my worst fear.”

Mellie frowned at the cup. “I know we just met, but I can’t imagine that happening.”

“Thanks.” His voice came out too thick. He had to change the subject and fast. “Where are you from?”

She gave him a blank look as if she didn’t know the answer. “Um . . . California. And you—you’re from California too, aren’t you?”

“When I was little, but we moved to Pittsburgh. My mom’s family lives there. She thought they’d help, but they didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“Oh dear. That’s horrible.”

“Yeah, but some of her friends stood by her. They found her a job and a little house to rent, so we were okay.”

“What’s she like, your mother?” Mellie sipped some coffee, her gaze on Tom.

“She’s the best.” He grinned, pulled out his wallet, and slipped out a snapshot.

Mellie smiled at the photo. “You look like her. Especially around the eyes.”

“She’s a good woman. Hardworking, strong, and godly. And she loves me to pieces.”

Her smile stretched wide, making her eyes crinkle, but she hauled the smile back in. “I’m glad you have each other. She must be proud of you.”

“More than I deserve.” He tucked the photo away.

“Do you like Pittsburgh?”

“Yep. The Pirates, the rivers, the bridges, even the snow. But I like variety. I want to travel, live different places.”

“Me too.” A soft smile. Had she leaned closer? “I even like it here. It’s different, exciting, exotic.”

“Yeah.” Tom’s mouth dried out as he gazed into those different, exciting, exotic eyes.

“The bridges in Pittsburgh—is that what led you into engineering? The other day you said you wanted to build bridges.”

He nodded to break the hold she had on him. “Pittsburgh straddles three rivers, so we need bridges to keep us connected. Worked on some to put myself through engineering school.”

“Where did you go to school?”

Tom couldn’t remember anyone ever asking him so many questions. That was usually his job. “University of Pittsburgh. Where else?” He winked.

She smiled and drank her coffee. “What’s it like?”

“It’s great. Pitt’s got a beautiful campus, high over the city. We’ve got the Cathedral of Learning, over five hundred feet tall. Looks like a skyscraper on the outside—but Gothic-inspired—and the ground floor looks like a real cathedral with stone arches and grottoes everywhere.”

Her smile was so warm and encouraging, he felt four inches taller. He never talked about his life. Except with Annie.

Tom leaned back a bit. He had to watch himself. “So, is Mellie a nickname? I’ve never heard it before.”

Her smile dipped. “Yes. It’s short for Philomela.”

“There’s got to be a story behind that.” He leaned forward again. Now he had to encourage her.

She kept her chin low but raised those dark eyes to him. “It means nightingale. I’ve always loved music, even in the womb. Apparently I kicked in time to music. My father has a gorgeous tenor and he decided I’d be his little nightingale.”

“Good thing you can sing, huh?”

She laughed. “Yes, it is.”

“And you’re a nurse. Well, that fits you perfectly. I like it.”

“You do? But it’s so different.”

“Didn’t I tell you I liked variety?”

“You did.” She gave him a relaxed little smile.

If he could just get her to give him that full smile and convince her to keep it.

“Hey, Gill.” A heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder.

He glanced up into Quincy’s rumpled face. “Hey, Quincy. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a serious shortage of dames. Rationing is the only way to handle it.”

“Rationing?” He looked at Mellie. “She’s a woman, not a sack of sugar.”

“You look sweet to me, angel.”

“Leave her alone, Quince.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be left alone. Maybe she wants to dance. You’re hogging her so the poor thing can’t jitterbug. You like to dance, angel?”

“Sometimes.” Mellie shot Tom a look he couldn’t make
out—part fear, part . . . was it longing? As if she wanted to dance with Tom.

That couldn’t happen. He stood on a narrow bridge buffeted by high winds. Dancing with her could push him over the edge, away from Annie.

“She wants to dance. You gonna ask her . . . MacGilliver?” Quincy drew his name out, stretched it on a rack in preparation for execution.

Tom’s stomach crumpled under the burden. He stared at the rapid succession of expressions on Mellie’s face. As understanding as she was, she didn’t deserve to be linked to him, even for the length of a song.

“So, angel, how about it? Wanna cut a rug?”

“All right,” she said and she left.

His shoulders slumped. He’d failed to protect her from Quincy. He’d hurt her feelings. And his heart was in worse shape than before.

25

Mellie loved the song “Deep Purple,” but she wouldn’t anymore. Quincy held her too close, his breath stank of beer, and he kept calling her “angel.” Just because no one else wanted to dance with her, he thought she was easy.

And Tom didn’t want to dance with her. The ache constricted her lungs so she could barely breathe. As a gentleman, he’d rescued her and conversed with her. But as a man, he wasn’t interested.

The other nurses danced too. Rose and Georgie wouldn’t meet her eye, Vera and Alice smirked at her, and Kay gave her a humiliating look of pity. Lieutenant Lambert looked less cross but hardly happy. Mellie had shredded all harmony in her flight.

She’d never felt lower in her life.

Only careful measured breaths kept her together.

She couldn’t even pray. How could she approach God? How dare she ask for forgiveness when she’d wounded others deeply and maliciously?

Tom was smart to reject her.

But it didn’t relieve the pain.

At least she’d followed his advice and asked questions so
she didn’t reveal any telling details. Thanks to anonymity, her name was a safe topic.

Anonymity would be more vital now that she knew he didn’t find her attractive. The pained look on his face when Quincy asked if he wanted to dance with her.

Her throat clogged, and her eyes watered.

“You don’t talk much, do you, angel?” Quincy asked.

“No. And please don’t call me that. I’m no angel.”

“Even better,” he said with a growl and pulled her closer.

She resisted. “Please don’t.”

“Loosen up, have some fun. Here we go. ‘Little Brown Jug.’” He shoved her away, holding one hand, then yanked her back into his arms.

The music had changed. “I don’t know how to jitterbug.”

“It’s not hard.” He spun her around.

“I’d rather not.”

“What’s wrong? Pining over lover boy back there? You know who his father is?”

“Yes, I do.” Mellie planted her feet and stared him down. “But I don’t know who your father is. What’s he like? Ever done anything wrong?”

“You’re a strange dame. Forget it. Not worth the effort.” He flung her hands down and marched away.

Mellie stood alone among the dancing couples. No one wanted anything to do with her, not that she blamed them.

She stepped back and bumped into someone. Vera dancing with Captain Maxwell.

Vera shook back her glamorous hair. “Typical Mellie. Out of place as always. Don’t you know you need a partner on the dance floor?”

“I . . . I’m sorry.” Her hour wasn’t up, but she didn’t care. She charged for the tent entrance, pushed aside the flap, and burst into the cool night air. Let Lambert send her home. Let
them kick her out of the Army Nurse Corps. She would not stay to be laughed at.

Her vision blurred. Where was the tent they’d put the nurses in for the night? How could she find it in the dark? How could things get any worse?

A triangular flash of light from the tent. Someone left. “Mellie? Where are you going?”

Tom. That was how things could get worse. “I’m turning in.”

His footsteps thumped behind her. “Are you okay? Is it Quincy? Did he try something?”

“No. I just need to go.”

“You still have . . . twenty-two minutes. You should stay.”

“No, thank you.” Her shaky voice sounded like a lovesick schoolgirl’s. Oh goodness, she’d give herself away.

Tom caught up and walked in step with her. “May I explain something?” His voice softened and lowered.

She ventured a glance, thankful any redness in her eyes wouldn’t show in the pale moonlight. “Explain?”

He touched her arm, tilted his head, and stopped in his tracks. Mellie stopped too. How could she do anything else?

Tom looked deep into her eyes. A furrow formed on his forehead, and he dropped his gaze to her shoes. Two breaths expanded his chest. “I don’t dance.”

Men never wanted to dance with her—except that snake Quincy—so why did she expect Tom to? How silly of her. At least he was polite enough to make an excuse. Mellie forced a small smile. “That’s all right. A lot of fellows don’t know how to dance.”

“I know how. I just don’t. It’s not fair to the girls.”

“Not fair? What do you mean?” But a thought ballooned, and the pain in her heart wrenched from her situation to his, a fresh, jabbing pain.

His jaw worked from side to side. “People talk. I couldn’t do that to a girl’s reputation.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom. You shouldn’t be judged for your family. That isn’t right.”

He raised his gaze, and his eyebrows bumped into each other. “I should have known you’d be different. From everything you said. But I assumed. I didn’t give you a chance.”

Mellie laughed it off, a nervous twitter. Oh dear, he knew she wanted to dance with him. One more mistake and she might reveal her love. “I understand. It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not all right.” One side of his mouth crept up, and he lifted his hand to her. “Would you please dance with me?”

Oh goodness, no. How could she? How could she bear being held by the man she loved, knowing he’d never love her? Concern for her reputation explained only part of his reaction, not the initial appalled look. Mellie let out a light laugh and headed in the general direction of quarters. “Thank you, but I’m rather tired.”

“Are you afraid of me?” His voice hardened.