by Sarah Sundin
It didn’t seem proper, the way he prayed, and yet something about that prayer stirred calm into her soul.
Finally he said amen, and he leaned his head back against the wall. His smile—such peace. How was it possible?
Questions jumbled in her stomach. Everything British in her said to keep her mouth shut, but something pried it open. “I don’t understand.”
“Hmm?”
“You—you’ve lost so much, yet you pray as if the Lord listened, as if he cared.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes, then he closed them and nodded slowly. He said nothing.
Dorothy folded her arms over her middle, her jaw tight and her eyes prickling. No one—no one could answer that question.
“When you were a little girl,” Wyatt said, his eyes still closed, “did your parents give you everything you asked for?”
“Of course not, but it’s hardly the same.”
“Did you understand why they refused?”
“No, but—”
“Hear me out.” He settled his gaze on her. “Now that you’re grown up, do you understand? You couldn’t have all the toys, or you’d be spoiled rotten. You couldn’t eat nothing but candy, or you wouldn’t grow right. You couldn’t play in the street, or you could get killed.”
All around, Londoners prepared their pillows and blankets, hunkering down for another long night of death and destruction. “I fail to see how losing my mum and brothers was good for me.”
“I don’t know either. But I do know God is good, and he loves you, and his heart is breaking for you and your daddy.”
“You sound like the rector.” Her voice quivered too much.
“You go to church?” A simple question without surprise or judgment.
“Not since Mum was killed.”
“You should go back.”
“I’d rather not.”
Wyatt fell silent, thank goodness, because she refused to give in to the indignity of tears. How much longer would the raid last? How long until she could check on Papa and escape from Wyatt?
“Seems both of us are avoiding contact with loved ones.”
“Pardon?”
One corner of his mouth flicked up. “You told me to write home, but I don’t want to. And I told you to go to church, but you don’t want to. Seems we’re both avoiding those who love us.”
A major difference, but she managed a slight smile.
“How about we cut a deal?” He poked his thumb to his chest. “I’ll write my parents if you go to church.”
Her mouth flopped open, quite unladylike, and she closed it. He really needed to write home. His parents had to be worried, and he missed them so. But church?
Wyatt’s gaze didn’t flinch. He seemed to think she needed church as much as he needed his parents. She didn’t. However, sitting through one service would be a small price to pay.
“Very good, Lieutenant. I’ll cut that deal.”
He shook her hand and grinned as if he’d won the greater victory. Oh, but the victory was hers.
12
Wyatt could hardly keep up with Dorothy as she darted around the broken glass on the sidewalk. Kensington had been hit, and orange-red fires pulsed in the distance. The worst he’d seen.
Dorothy rounded a corner and halted. “Oh, thank goodness.”
The Fairfax home stood, and Dorothy ran up the steps and flung open the door. “Papa?”
Wyatt followed, breathing hard, his eyes straining in the darkness.
Dorothy turned on a lamp, but the parlor and hallway were empty.
“He must be in the shelter,” Wyatt said.
“No, he’s in his room.”
Unlikely when his daughter was out in a major air raid. “I’ll check out back.” He headed down the hall and out the back door. No damage in the yard, and he pushed open the door to the shelter. Dark. Empty.
Had Mr. Fairfax gone to a public shelter? Wyatt went back inside. The skittering of tiny toenails on the wooden floor greeted him. “Charlie?”
A paw on his shin, and Wyatt scooped up the pup. “There you are, little buddy. Where’s your master?”
“Fast asleep in bed.” Dorothy’s voice was barely audible as she came downstairs.
Wyatt met her near the front door. “I’m surprised he didn’t wait up for you.”
“I’m not.” Her voice was stoic, but the dim light didn’t conceal the hurt.
He wanted to say her father must love her, but why would she believe him?
Dorothy took Charlie and burrowed her face in his black fur. “Would your father wait up for you?”
It hurt to say yes, but he couldn’t lie. “Yeah.”
“Then write home.”
“I will.”
She glanced upstairs. “I’ll make up a room for you.”
“Uh, no. Thanks, but no. I’ve got to get back to quarters. I’m already in trouble, but they’ll let me off because of the air raid. Can I call for a taxi?”
“I’ll ring one for you. It may take a while due to the air raid.”
“Thanks.” While she made the call, Wyatt wandered into the parlor. A desk drew him.
Write home.
He’d promised. Besides, Dorothy had a point. What if something happened to Wyatt during Operation Neptune? In an air raid? His family would be notified of his death and they’d receive his savings and his life insurance—but they’d never hear how sorry he was.
“They answered on the first ring. A taxi will be here in ten minutes.”
In ten minutes he could get a good start. “May I have a piece of stationery, maybe two?”
Dorothy’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean to start now, do you? It’s after two o’clock.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a box. “Exactly two sheets left.”
“May I have the empty box? Then I can write in the cab.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” Wyatt sat at the desk and pulled his pen from the breast pocket of his shirt. How could he do this? What could he say?
He prayed for the right words, for wisdom, for his parents’ hearts to soften.
Then he opened his eyes. Dorothy sat curled up in an armchair, peeking through the blackout curtains. Charlie sat beside Wyatt’s chair, staring at him with a stern expression.
“I promised to write, Charlie, and I will.”
Charlie didn’t leave his post, so Wyatt gritted his teeth and plunged in headlong.
Dear Daddy and Mama,
I can’t imagine how you feel receiving this letter, but I had to write it. A friend reminded me tonight that life is short and family is dear. These are dangerous times, and for me they’ll get more dangerous. I’m serving as a naval officer in that city overseas I always wanted to visit. When you hear of a big operation in this part of the world, I’ll be at sea in the thick of it. If something should happen to me, I want to make sure you’ve heard everything in this letter.
I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am for my actions that night. Although Oralee’s death was an accident, my rivalry with Adler was a contributing factor. I understand why he blames me. Please know I grieve for Oralee, for Adler’s loss, and for the future they should have had together.
While my role in her death was unintentional, I claim no such thing in stealing Clay’s savings. I feared for my life, and in my panic I betrayed my brother. I’d never thought myself capable of such sin, but I was, and I’m truly sorry. I only meant to borrow it. I planned to repay him before classes started, but I made a foolish business investment and lost every penny.
That’s when I joined the Navy. Since then I’ve scrimped and saved to repay Clay, plus interest and a penalty. I’m only $350 from my goal. I didn’t plan to write home until I could enclose the complete check—didn’t dare to—but the war and my friend intervened.
Wyatt leaned back and ran his hand through his hair.
Dorothy rested her head on the window, the golden
lamplight illuminating her sad, beautiful face. “It’s difficult for you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I need to do this.”
She gazed outside. “The taxi’s here.”
Wyatt gathered his things, said good-bye, and headed into the cold night. In the taxi, he told the driver his address and settled back.
The cabby pulled away from the curb. “Might take a while, guv’nor, with all the bomb damage. Haven’t seen naught like it since ’41. If I were a young lad like you, I’d give those old Nasties a taste of the red, white, and blue, I would.”
“I reckon you would.” Wyatt pulled out his letter. He could barely make out his words in the flickering orange light, but he forged ahead.
Like the Prodigal Son, I come to you broken and contrite and empty-handed, saying, “I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.” The Lord has forgiven my sins, but I can only hope you’ll forgive me, and I fear Adler and Clay’s forgiveness may be too much to ask. Please don’t tell them where I am, but do tell them how sorry I am. In a few months, after my debt is paid, I’ll write them as well.
I also can’t begin to tell you how much I miss you, but losing my family is part of my punishment. Daddy, I miss your strength and wisdom. Mama, I miss your chile rellenos and tamales, but mostly I miss you. I hear your encouraging, chiding, loving voice in my head, but I wish I could hear it in my ears.
The taxi stopped, and the driver leaned out the window.
Wyatt gasped. Smoke and flame poured out of a building ahead of them, and firemen directed great streams of water at the inferno.
An Air Raid Precautions volunteer with a tin helmet and a white ARP armband waved them off. “You’ll have to go another way, bloke.”
“Sorry, guv’nor,” the cabby called to Wyatt over his shoulder, and he drove in reverse.
“That’s all right,” Wyatt stammered. He slammed his eyes shut and prayed for the people inside, those who’d escaped, the firemen, and the ARP volunteers. A bomb like that could hit his quarters someday. That’s why he had to finish the letter.
You should also know how much I miss my brothers. I love them, and I’m torn up without them. Adler must be done with college and helping with the business. I’m sorry I didn’t stay home to help as I’d promised, but he’ll do a better job than I would have. He’s a gifted and able businessman, and I know he’s making you proud.
Clay must be almost done with his bachelor’s degree. He’s a born healer, so I’m glad his pre-med schooling will exempt him from the draft. I apologize for the financial burden I heaped on you. The money will be there soon and will pay for medical school.
After all I’ve done, I don’t deserve to be doing well, but I am. Navy life agrees with me, and I’m glad I can serve our country. Ironically, my faith has grown. Coming face to face with just how wretched a sinner I am has humbled me and made me acutely grateful for Christ’s sacrifice.
One night’s actions, both unintentional and intentional, have brought nothing but heartbreak and chaos to our family. Even if forgiven, I’ll always regret what I did. You created a strong and loving family, and I upended it. I don’t know if you will ever welcome me home again, but please accept my apologies and know I will love you forever with all my heart.
Outside the taxi window, fires flickered in windows, buildings crumbled, and water sprayed.
So much destruction. So much loss. So needless.
Wyatt’s letter pulsed in the fiery light.
He’d mail it first thing in the morning.
13
Saturday, February 19, 1944
Dorothy came downstairs to the smell of roasted potatoes and the sound of the BBC on the wireless. The announcer spoke of the air raid in broad terms, censored so the Germans wouldn’t know the Luftwaffe’s effectiveness.
If only Dorothy could turn it off.
She’d hoped those days were behind them, but last night’s raid appeared to be as large as at the peak of the Blitz. How many had died? How many had lost their homes? Their loved ones?
Papa sat at the dining room table with his newspaper. He didn’t look up.
“Good morning, Papa.”
He turned a page. “You finally came home.”
She stiffened at his tone. “The Luftwaffe delayed me. I sheltered in the Tube and came home straightaway after the all clear.”
“I heard a man’s voice. Was it Eaton? When did he leave?”
Was he insinuating she’d lost her moral standards? While she lowered herself to her chair, she forced her temper to behave. “It was Wyatt. I ran into him at the All-Services Club. He escorted me home, insisted I take shelter, and left ten minutes after he arrived, the time it took a taxi to arrive.”
Papa looked at her for the first time, his expression open and pleased. “I’m glad you’re finally seeing Wyatt’s merit.”
Dorothy scooped potatoes onto her plate and swallowed her impatience. “It isn’t like that. I’m interested in Lawrence, not Wyatt, and that won’t change.”
The newspaper rose back into position.
“Oh, Papa, be reasonable. You know I’m like Mum. I need excitement, and Lawrence is exciting.”
The paper lowered, and Papa’s gaze pierced.
She gave him a gentle smile. “How could I be happy with a quiet, steady chap like Wyatt? I’d be bored and restless.”
Something impossibly sad passed through her father’s eyes.
Oh bother. How could she be so callous? Mum had craved excitement, but she’d married quiet, steady Papa. She’d been bored. Restless. Contemptuous. Poor Papa had never been able to please her except when he took her to Paris or Edinburgh.
Edinburgh! That was how she could make it up to him.
She grinned at her father. “I have the most glorious idea. London is dreadful now with the air raids, and I have leave coming to me. Why don’t you and I take a little holiday next weekend to Edinburgh?”
“Edin—no.” He slapped the newspaper together, not in his usual sharp, measured folds.
“It’d be good for us. Such happy mem—”
“No. I have no desire to go there again.” He stood and sniffed. “Dark, dirty, contemptible place. I daresay you’d not find it as charming as you remember.”
“But—”
“I’ll hear no more of it.” He marched out of the dining room and up to his study.
Dorothy sighed at his full plate. What had she been thinking? Revisiting memories only made Papa more melancholy.
She poked at her potatoes. But memories were all she had. Normandy, Edinburgh, Paris. When Mum was at her happiest and most delightful. The only times the family felt whole.
A swelling in her throat, and she pressed her hand over her mouth. The only times Dorothy had felt loved.
Western Naval Task Force Headquarters
19 Grosvenor Square, London
Monday, February 21, 1944
Wyatt laid the report on Commander Marino’s desk, his portion of next week’s Naval Outline Plan to supplement the Initial Joint Plan for Operation Neptune.
The commander motioned Wyatt and Geier to chairs in front of his desk, and he flipped through the report, puffing on his cigarette.
Framed pictures of the commander’s wife and two daughters sat on his desk, overseeing neat stacks of papers.
“Looks good.” Marino set down the report. “Anything important to note?”
“No, sir.” Geier crossed his ankle over his knee.
Wyatt stared at his colleague. Not true at all.
The commander narrowed dark eyes at Geier. “You must have found something new.”
“Yes, sir,” Wyatt said.
“Nothing really important.” Geier shrugged. “It’s all in the report.”
It was all important. Wyatt had to contradict Geier, not out of spite but for the sake of the mission. He opened his mouth.
“Our work is cruc
ial.” Commander Marino ground his cigarette in the ashtray. “I was at Salerno in Italy. We didn’t bombard in the American sector before the invasion, we didn’t secure the beaches right away, and the Germans almost drove us into the sea. And now at Anzio. Are you following the situation? We bombarded well and secured the beaches, but then we didn’t send reinforcements and went to the defensive instead of driving inland. Now the Germans are counterattacking, and it’s bad.”
Wyatt’s face tingled. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t you see?” Marino leveled a hard gaze at them. “Eisenhower refuses to repeat those mistakes. We have to secure the beaches on D-day, flood Normandy with reinforcements, and drive inland. In order to do that, the Navy absolutely must knock out those guns and strongpoints, but first we have to know where they are. It is all important.”
Wyatt’s mouth soured from the venom directed at him as well as at Geier.
“I repeat—anything important to report?”
“Yes, sir.” Wyatt stood and opened the report to the first diagram. “Here at the D-1 draw at Vierville, a lot of construction—and destruction. They razed three villas here.” He tapped the spot on the map.
“Hardly surprising,” Geier said with a chuckle. “We knew they’d fortify that position. It’s a beach exit.”
“But we’re getting specific coordinates.” Wyatt turned a page. “And here between the E-1 and E-3 draws, a lot of activity about half a mile inland. Could be they’re bringing in a new company or sending one out. Hard to say yet. Also a sudden appearance of shrubbery here by the bluff, camouflaging something, most likely. I’m no infantryman, but the slope of the bluff is shallower here. Maybe Rommel’s thinking we’ll drive up in this location to encircle the draw at Les Moulins. We should keep an eye on it.”
Geier sighed. “As I said, it’s all in the report, sir. I didn’t want to waste your time repeating what we’d written.”
Marino leaned back in his chair. “It’s not a waste of time if I asked you to do it.”
Wyatt returned to his seat. First time he’d heard the commander upbraid Geier, but he didn’t feel the temptation to gloat. Maybe now Geier would do his share of the work so he’d know the material too.
