by Kris Tualla
“God bless you dear,” Mary said before walking to the airplane’s door and disappearing from sight.
Kyle let a few more passengers go by before she stepped into the aisle. As she followed the line toward the exit, she reminded herself to be thankful for the blindingly white day.
At least we can drive on clear roads.
Kyle felt the blast of icy wind before she reached the stairs that led down to the tarmac. She slid her hands into her leather gloves and wrapped her scarf around her neck. Sunny as the day was, it was still well below freezing outside, and the wind intensified the chill.
She gripped the collar of her woolen coat closed and, with one hand holding her uniform’s hat in place, began her careful descent to the ground. The tarmac was cleared of snow and ice so she was able to walk quickly to the terminal door without fear of slipping.
The sun reflecting off the surrounding snow was so bright that she wished she had the green ski goggles with her. Once inside the stuffy terminal it took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darker interior.
Kyle swept the crowd with a glance, looking for Erik. When she didn’t see him, she looked more carefully.
What’ll I do if he’s not here?
Not panic yet, for starters. She decided to follow the other passengers to where the bags were being delivered, thinking he might be waiting for her there.
When she rounded the next corner, she stopped.
There stood Erik with an armful of red roses and a grin that split his face in half. “Hello, Kyle.”
Kyle ran forward and threw her arms around him, crushing the roses and pinning his arms to his sides. “I’m so glad to see you!”
When she loosened her hold, he leaned forward and kissed her. Disappointed that it was more perfunctory than passionate, Kyle slammed down the comparisons with Tor’s kisses and smiled.
“How are you?” was the first thing she thought to say.
Erik held the flowers away from his chest. “Better than my roses, I’m glad to say.”
Kyle looked at the expensive offering, horrified at the damage she’d done. “We’ll get them trimmed and in water,” she said confidently. “I’m sure they’ll be beautiful the whole time I’m here.”
Erik looked resigned. “Let’s get your suitcase.”
“Duffel.” Kyle tucked her arm through Erik’s and started walking toward baggage claim.
“What?”
“It’s my duffel bag,” she clarified. “Not a suitcase.”
Erik frowned. “Why would you pack in a duffel bag?”
Kyle was confused by the question. “Because that’s what I was issued. What else would I use?”
Erik stopped walking. He turned to look at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Are you wearing your uniform?”
Kyle unwound the dull green scarf from her neck, unbuttoned the calf-length double-breasted brown wool coat, and pulled it open to reveal her short olive-drab jacket, pleated trousers in the same color, and beige blouse.
“Is that a man’s tie?” Erik looked horrified.
“No. It’s a WAC tie,” Kyle said evenly. “I’m not a man.”
“Why are you dressed like that?”
“Because I’m a soldier on leave. It’s what we do.”
Erik stared at her. “Are you going to be dressed like that the whole time?”
“No, of course not. Only on my way from camp and on my way back.” Kyle peered hard at Erik. “Does my uniform bother you?”
He huffed through his nose and resumed walking. Kyle had to trot forward a few steps to catch up. Determined not to start a fight before their three-hour car ride from Fargo to Viking she slipped her arm through his again.
“I just wasn’t expecting to meet a soldier here,” he grumbled. “I was expecting to meet my girl.”
Kyle clenched her jaw for a moment before she answered. “I am your girl, Erik.”
He sighed. “I just wish you looked like it.”
Chapter
Seventeen
January 27, 1944
Kyle woke up at six in the morning without setting an alarm. She turned over and snuggled under the blankets to try and go back to sleep. It had been months since she had the luxury of sleeping late and she intended to take advantage of the opportunity while she was here.
Walking into the bedroom that she’d slept in all her life was unsettling. It felt like a stranger’s room. Kyle wasn’t prepared for that.
Have I changed that much?
Erik seemed to think so.
Steering their conversation in the car away from Tor had proven impossible.
“He is my job, Erik,” Kyle said multiple times. “And if it makes you feel any better, I’m teaching him English so I’m working myself out of that job.”
“That does make me feel better,” he admitted. “How long will it take?”
“I don’t know. But he’s an intelligent man”—I’m sorry, Erik, but he is—“so hopefully he picks it up quickly.”
Erik grunted. “Then what?”
“The talk among the officers is that the Tenth’s mobilization will take place this year, so the fighting will be next winter.”
Erik glanced at her hopefully. “Does that mean that you’ll be home by Christmas?”
“I can probably be on leave next Christmas,” she clarified. “But my enlistment doesn’t end until June of nineteen-forty-five.”
“Even if your job ends?” Erik scowled. “What will you do?”
“I’ll be assigned to another unit.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle said honestly. “I could even be moved to another camp somewhere.”
When Erik drove up to her parents’ house she did feel a surge of warmth and familiarity. But she realized that she thought of it as her parents’ home—not hers. She told herself that was because she was between homes at the moment: her parents’ house, her barracks at Camp Hale, and Erik’s house.
Erik’s house is my future home.
Kyle stretched under the blankets and turned over again. Her mind was awake but her body was in strict disagreement. She closed her eyes even though the room was still dark, in an effort to convince her brain to be quiet.
She had three days ahead of her to reconnect with Erik and rekindle their spark. And three days to explain to her parents exactly what she was doing in Colorado. That seemed like more than enough time for both.
I wonder how Tor is doing.
*****
Tor finished his seventh practice run on the slalom course, exhilarated by the excitement of tomorrow’s competition. Every fiber of his body zinged with the long-familiar movements and strained to go faster.
Snow thrown up by the skiers in front of him hit his face and made him feel alive. The skin below his goggles tightened with sunburn and windburn. His thighs ached with exertion.
There was no feeling like it.
“That was a good run, Hansen,” Pfeifer complimented in German. “Are you saving anything for tomorrow?”
“Yep.” Tor grinned as he unfastened his skis from his Army boots. “I’m just warming up.”
He rested his skis and poles on his shoulder and walked to the bus that would take the soldiers back to their hotel. Inside, he stowed his equipment on the rack above the passengers then dropped into the seat in front of Tokle.
“How’s it going for you?” he asked in Norsk. Remembering which man he spoke which language to was becoming tiring.
I’ll be glad when I can speak English openly.
“Good… But downhill really isn’t my strong point.” Torger made an unconcerned gesture. “Next month we’re going to the Steamboat Springs Carnival, and there’ll be ski jumping there.”
Tor grinned. “We already have another competition set up?”
“We do. And another in April. At Pike’s Peak.”
The heavens have opened up.
As the bus wound its way to the hotel, Tor realized he had been thinking he
would tell Kyle about the two additional competitions when he got there.
Then he remembered she wasn’t there.
Yesterday and today were the first days since arriving in Colorado that she wasn’t by his side and he felt the lack in his core. He was a little off-balance somehow. Not physically, but emotionally. His anchor was gone.
He wondered if she missed him in any way.
Probably not.
She was at her childhood home and with her family, a place that wouldn’t make her think of him. Plus, she was presumably spending time with her fiancé. Erik.
If he was in Arendal, would he be thinking of her?
Yes.
Damn it.
What sort of magic had the Second Lieutenant worked on him? And why was he disappointed that she wasn’t waiting at the hotel for him so he could tell her his news?
Am I falling in love with her?
That was the ultimate dead end. On the way here he heard the men discussing the division’s deployment. The consensus was that the summer would be spent doing mountain climbing and ordnance training. In the fall, they would brush up on their skiing before being sent to Italy to fight.
“Gone before Christmas,” one man said.
I can’t fall in love with Kyle.
And she was engaged to Erik. There was no future for the two of them together.
Tor stared out the window, his mood completely quashed.
January 28, 1944
Kyle sat at Erik’s kitchen table peeling potatoes while Erik talked about last year’s crops and what he was planting in which fields in the spring. Earlier today she trudged through the frigid northern Minnesota air across crisp snow to the barn and helped him milk the cows.
By lightening his workload, Kyle gave Erik the chance to just sit with her in his kitchen and talk while they made supper together.
He smiled at her. “This is the Kyle I know.”
She looked askance at the bowl of peeled potatoes. “The one who’s good with a peeler?”
“The one who’s comfortable in my kitchen. The one who milks cows.” He blushed a little. “The one I can talk to.”
“You can always talk to me,” Kyle scolded. She stood and crossed to the stove where a large pot of water was heating.
As she sliced the potatoes into the pot Erik said, “I haven’t felt that way lately. Not since you left.”
“Why not?” Kyle looked over her shoulder. “What’s stopped you?”
Erik’s mouth twisted. “I’m scared, I guess.”
“Scared? For me?” Kyle turned her attention back to the potatoes. “I’m perfectly safe, Erik. I’m not going to actual war.”
“It’s not that…” Erik’s voice trailed off.
“Then what is it?”
When he didn’t answer Kyle dropped the last of the potatoes into the hot water and turned around.
“What are you afraid of?”
Erik looked embarrassed. “I’m not sure how to say it, but there’s been a lot of talk since the war started about how men—and women too, I guess—aren’t willing to go back to their hometowns now that they’ve seen the world.”
Kyle opened her mouth to disagree but stopped herself.
Erik had a valid point.
“It does change a person’s perspective of the world,” she admitted.
“See?” Erik pushed back his mop of dark hair. “And you’re there with literally thousands of men from all kinds of interesting places.”
“It’s the army, Erik,” Kyle reminded him. “Not a social club.”
“Do you expect me to believe that the soldiers and the WACs aren’t dating each other?” Erik shook his head. “If you do, then you’re a fool.”
Kyle sat back down at the table. “Of course. Some of the women are dating some of the men. That’s only natural. But those women aren’t engaged.”
“Out of sight, out of mind,” he countered. “And that goes for men and women.”
“I thought absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Kyle challenged.
Erik stared at her. “Is your heart fonder of me than when you left?”
Kyle recoiled. “That depends. I’m out of your sight. Am I out of your mind?”
Erik stood and walked to the oven without answering. He opened the door and peered at the roast inside for a moment. Then he closed to door and faced her again.
“I have never been unfaithful to you, Kyle.”
His statement punched her in the gut as Tor’s face appeared in her head. “I never thought you were. Why would you say that?”
His brow twitched. “I thought that’s what you meant.”
“No. I only meant that clichés aren’t the best way to judge things. Because there’s one for every side of an argument.”
“Oh. Okay.” He pushed his hair back again. “Do you still love me?”
She swallowed her doubts. “Yes. Do you still love me?”
“Yes.”
Their eyes locked and she asked, “Then why are we fighting so much?”
His expression hardened. “Because you decided to enlist instead of planning a wedding.”
January 29, 1944
Yesterday the Camp Hale ski team won four out of the five giant slalom events, with Tor and Torger each scoring one of the victories. The day’s top honors unsurprisingly went to the Austrian, Corporal Friedl Pfeifer, Camp Hale’s international champion.
The second day of competition was dedicated to downhill racing—Tor’s favorite. He and Torger paced at the bottom of the mountain, waiting for their chance to ride to the top. As it was yesterday, Kyle’s handkerchief was tucked inside his shirt over his heart,
“How about a side bet?” Tor suggested.
Torger laughed. “No chance, Hansen. I got lucky in the slalom, but there’s no way I can beat you in the long course downhill.”
“Pfeifer will beat me, I think,” Tor said. “He’s had more practice in the last five years than I have.”
“Maybe.”
Tor looked at his countryman, surprised. “You think I have a chance to beat him?”
Torger shrugged. “There’s always a chance.”
Tor chuckled. “I’d make a bet with you, but I don’t know if I’d bet for myself or against!”
“National pride would make me bet that the Norseman would beat the Austrian. But if you bet on the Austrian, then you’d lose on purpose.” Torger grinned. “It’s a fool’s wager.”
“It’s not.” Tor smiled evilly and his tone was intentionally menacing. “Because I would never ever lose on purpose.”
*****
Tor stood at the top of the course on the same mountain as yesterday and adjusted his green Army goggles. He had already checked the bindings on his skis. The straps of his poles were wrapped around his wrists.
He settled into position and waited for the crack of the starting pistol at the bottom.
Pop.
He was off.
The snow was icy and ridged by yesterday’s slalom competitions—corn snow as it was called. Melted and refrozen on top. Tor used an entire stick of the yellow wax formulated for these conditions when he prepared his skis this morning.
Times overall would be slowed by the rougher course, but at least it was the same for every man.
Tor’s knees flexed as his skis bounced down the slope. The skill required to keep up his speed challenged and invigorated him. His concentration was so keen that he was surprised when he suddenly crossed the finish line.
Skidding to a stop, he lifted his goggles and squinted at the leader board, waiting for his time to be posted. When it was, he beamed.
He was in first place.
January 30, 1944
In the end, Tor took second in the long course downhill race behind Friedl Pfeifer. The team did so well overall that they went out to celebrate that night.
“Here’s to one night when the war does not exist,” Pfeifer toasted. “And to the best men I have ever skied with.”
“Hear!
Hear!” the rest shouted.
In the company of his co-athletes Tor drank more than he usually did, and found himself struggling between his three languages—two he knew and one he wasn’t supposed to.
He finally stopped talking altogether and simply enjoyed the camaraderie of the group of first-rate skiers who understood and shared his passion.
Getting on the bus this morning was not nearly so pleasant. His head pounded and his stomach decided breakfast wasn’t such a good idea. Thankfully, there were so few men on the bus that he could stretch his legs across the aisle and lay down.
Judging by the drawn looks of his teammates’ faces, they planned to do the same. In spite of their triumphs, their raucous celebration ensured that the day’s ride back to camp was going to be a quiet one.
*****
Kyle kissed Erik goodbye outside the Fargo airport. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, it was a friendly kiss. Their deeply passionate exchanges had been shared the night before.
As a result, she was leaving Viking with renewed resolve to focus on her relationship with Erik. In spite of her misgivings about living the rest of her life in the small town, she knew it was her destiny. She had to come to terms with that and make the best of it.
That meant no more kissing Captain Hansen.
Kyle would miss that aspect of their friendship, but it was always meant to be a temporary working relationship, not a social relationship. She knew she had to push Tor in his English lessons so that she could be released as his translator and assigned to do a different task in a different location.
Then all of her problems with Erik would disappear and her life would be peaceful again.
Lacking the excitement of the gorgeous Norwegian’s attention, true. But peaceful and back on track.
That solidly resolved, Kyle wiped a tear from her cheek as she walked into the airport terminal alone.
Chapter
Eighteen
