Kitty's War

by Barbara Whitaker

  She looked up at him. “I know that, but…” She looked away again. “But he’s my big brother. He always looked out for me. When I saw him in that hospital, it was like he had been crushed, destroyed. Like he wasn’t even there. Like he was this invalid I needed to take care of instead of him taking care of me.”

  “He’s hurt. Someone will have to take care of him…for a while. It was good you could go see him, be there for him.” Ted realized there was no one who would come to the hospital to see him if he were injured, no one he could count on to be there for him.

  He jerked his mind away from such thoughts. He made himself focus on Kitty. She needed him. She was the one hurting.

  The walls were closing in, the air thick with emotions. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  They stepped out into a steady rain.

  “I thought we’d go for a walk, but not in this.” He looked down at her. “Back to the hotel?”

  When she nodded her agreement, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave the signal. They both leapt from the shelter of the doorway and ran for it.

  By the time they reached the hotel, they were both soaking wet. Fortunately, the proprietor had a roaring fire going in the little sitting room off the lobby. Like moths to a flame, the bright fire drew them to it.

  Ted took his uniform jacket off and draped it across a chair to dry out. He thought she would do the same. Instead she’d removed her little hat and fussed with her hair. The dampness had it curling out of its pins. She fingered the loose strands back into the tight roll at her nape and reinserted a pin.

  “Your hair. That’s how I knew it was you.”

  She turned to face him, a hairpin held between her teeth, her hands busy capturing stray curls. Her wrinkled brow asked the unspoken question.

  He stepped closer, grasped her waist, and pulled her toward him. Holding her close, he backed up until he reached a huge wing-backed chair. He sank into it and pulled her down to sit on his knees. Her face reflected her surprise at his actions. She removed the pins from her mouth and stared at him.

  “In the pub that day, your hair formed this halo around your head,” he told her. “Just the way it did on the beach.”

  “My hair is awful, especially when it gets wet.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and gazed into his eyes.

  “No, it’s not.” He reached up and pulled out a pin she had just replaced.

  “Don’t.” Her hand flew up to stop him.

  “Let it down.” It came out more of an order than a request, and she frowned in response. He switched to his most enticing voice and pleaded. “Please.”

  She sat there on his knees, all prim and straight, and stared at him. His throat tightened around the panic rising within him. Had he gone too far? Would she slap his face and leave? Her face was unreadable.

  She turned away and watched the flames wrapping themselves around the burning logs. Slowly she raised one hand, then the other. Pins came loose, and her hair tumbled free.

  His body relaxed as each curl escaped its bonds. “You should wear it down all the time.”

  “Not in the Army.” She reached over and laid the pins on a nearby table. “I really ought to get it cut, but…” She ran her fingers up the side of her head and out through the ends of the wild mane.

  Fascinated, he watched her sensual movements. He wondered if freeing her hair freed her inhibitions. “No. Don’t cut it. Don’t ever cut it.”

  “Do you know how much trouble it is trying to keep it up and neat?”

  “No.” His thoughts centered on running his fingers through the soft cloud, crushing it in his fist, and watching it bounce back when he released it.

  She gave him an odd look. “I didn’t even think about my hair that day.” She paused as memories danced across her face. “I was too busy trying to get you out of the water, up on the sand so the tide wouldn’t take you back out.”

  “I thought you were an angel.” Her spell had him again, held him as if suspended in midair.

  “You must have been delirious.”

  “Yeah…I guess.” He watched her lips move as she spoke. Soft, full lips.

  “Sam, my brother-in-law, wouldn’t let me come back out to the beach after I went for help. He made me stay behind and call the doctor…and the sheriff.” She stopped talking and looked him in the eye. “That’s why I didn’t come back, not because I didn’t want to.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh at her concern. “It didn’t matter. You saved me.” And you’ve been with me ever since. He didn’t say the words to her, couldn’t. But they were true. She’d been there, watching over him, everywhere he’d been, since that magical, miraculous day.

  He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t resist, which pleased him. With her head resting on his shoulder, he pressed his face into her sweet-smelling hair.

  It occurred to him she had no idea how beautiful she was or how seductive. Had her brother held her in his arms like this, when she was a child? Did that explain why she so easily accepted his comfort? Was she so innocent that she didn’t feel the sexual undertones?

  He fought the desire racing through him. He wouldn’t take advantage of her, not when she was so vulnerable. He’d made that promise the minute he’d hung up the phone, and he wouldn’t break it now. He owed her that much. He owed Milton that much.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  She was safe in his arms. Just as she had always been safe with Milton.

  Ted had held her in his arms like a brother. Then he’d left her at her door. He didn’t push her, didn’t try to maneuver her into some other agenda. He offered comfort, a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, and assurances that life would go on. That was what she needed.

  But part of her wanted more, much more. Not now, not with the images of Milton’s battered body so fresh, so painful. But someday.

  She couldn’t think. Her mind drifted, unable to focus, not on Ted, not on Milton. Just undressing took an enormous amount of energy. Through her clouded thoughts, she recognized exhaustion, bone deep, as if she’d marched for miles. She crawled into the soft bed and fell into oblivion.

  When she awoke, the strange place startled her. She sat up in bed and saw her things, her uniform, her shoes, her bag, and remembered she was in Norwich. To meet Ted. She’d slept through the night, with no nightmares, no tossing, for the first time since she’d gotten the letter about Milton. Both refreshed and famished, she dressed hurriedly.

  She was still pinning her hair up, when someone knocked.

  Ted stood in the hallway carrying a large, black umbrella. “Good morning.” He grinned, “At lease technically it’s still morning.”

  Her hand automatically went up to her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  She turned back toward the dresser so she could finish her hair. He followed her into the room and shut the door.

  “Would you care to join me for breakfast?” His invitation may have been formal, but when she glanced at him, the smile in his eyes revealed his true, joking nature.

  “Yes. I’m starving.”

  He stepped closer and started pulling pins from her hair.

  “What?”

  “Leave it down. I like it better that way.” She frowned. “Don’t worry; there are no WAC officers to chew you out.”

  “Well, okay,” she reluctantly agreed. She pulled out the rest of the pins and ran her fingers through the curls.

  They ventured out in search of breakfast, although the restaurants were now serving lunch. The umbrella protected them from the steady rain.

  “I can’t complain about the weather,” he quipped. “If it weren’t so bad, I’d be flying.”

  “How is it?” she asked. “Back flying bombers?”

  From the look on his face, he hadn’t intended to talk about it. She waited for his response so long she wondered if he would answer her question.

  “Pretty much the same, only worse.” He forced a laugh, the
n turned and caught her gaze. “I miss my friends. My crew. Right now I’m flying as a relief navigator, so every time it’s with a different bunch of guys.” They stopped to check the traffic before darting across the watery street. “Some are okay. Some are…well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to fly with them all the time.”

  They’d reached the small restaurant. He opened the door for her and then turned to take down the dripping umbrella before following her inside.

  The place was crowded with military personnel, mostly airmen. He pointed toward a table where three men appeared to be leaving.

  Once they settled and ordered, her thoughts returned to what he said about flying.

  “It must be frightening. Flying so high, being up there so long.”

  “Flying’s the best part. I love it. If there weren’t fighters trying to shoot us down, or flack bursting all around us, or pilots who can’t stay in formation, it would be a joy.”

  She loved his joking, his light-heartedness, but she sensed it covered something deeper. Was it fear?

  “How many more missions do you have to fly?”

  His jaw clinched, and she watched a frown crease his brow. She knew she shouldn’t ask, but something compelled her to plunge deeper.

  “I heard before the invasion they increased the requirement to thirty. Do you have many more to fly?” she asked.

  “Then the brass upped it to thirty-five.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as his fist pounded the table. “Those bastards. They’re determined to kill us all.” He gritted out the words, struggled to contain the anger coloring his face.

  She said nothing. Watched him struggle for control. He sucked in a deep breath and clenched both his fists as if he wanted desperately to hit something. She’d never seen him so upset.

  His eyes flashed to catch hers. “Every mission we lose a few more,” he muttered.

  She nodded, trying to be understanding, yet not knowing what to say.

  He looked away. He pushed his fists into his lap.

  The waitress appeared carrying a tray. They silently watched as she placed the plates in front of each of them. Both stared at the unappetizing fare.

  “I’m sorry.” He paused as he picked up his fork. “Six more.” He spat the words and then shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

  “That’s not many.” She tried to sound positive. Doing the math in her head, she figured he’d flown twenty-nine missions.

  He laughed, but it wasn’t genuine. “Yeah, but one is too many if it’s your last.”

  “You’ll make it,” she instinctively assured him. “I know you will.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled at her, and this time he meant it. “Maybe I’ll be lucky. Like Milton.”

  His comment stung, but he was right. Milton was alive. He would go home. She forced herself to return his smile. War wasn’t at all what she’d expected it to be. It caused more pain than she could have imagined just a few months ago.

  Despite the rain, they walked along the streets, less crowded due to the dampness. Ted got her to talk about her family. As she did, the distance of both time and space gave her a perspective she’d never had before. She realized they were people with faults and fears, strengths and weaknesses.

  As she explained to Ted how her grandfather had died and left her grandmother to raise their three daughters alone, she saw how it affected her own family and her aunts’ families. Kitty’s mother had won the prize when she married a well-to-do businessman. Then she’d worked hard to achieve a high social status in the community. She expected her daughters to do the same—marry well and take their place in society.

  Kitty’s aunts had married, but neither as well as her mother. One married a farmer who’d gotten deeply in debt during the depression. Her other aunt struggled to survive and raise her children after the tragic death of her husband soon after the Great War.

  That’s why her mother had pushed her daughters to make a good marriage, to pick someone who would be successful.

  “Mother was always trying to fix Milton up with a girl from a good family.” She smiled at the memory of her brother’s response. “Somehow he managed to avoid any entanglements without breaking Mother’s heart.” She paused. “I always admired him for that, for not hurting her feelings. Something I never could manage. Even though I didn’t intend to hurt her or make her mad. I just couldn’t help it.”

  “She tried to fix you up?”

  “Oh, heavens yes. And you wouldn’t believe the ones she picked for me.”

  “Were they that bad?”

  “Horrible.” She laughed. “Well, maybe not. Most of them are in uniform now. I’ve probably danced with boys just like them and enjoyed myself.”

  Ted smiled. “Yes, it’s amazing what a uniform will do.” His tone was light, but there was something serious lurking beneath the surface.

  She looked at him and tried to imagine him without a uniform. He’d be handsome no matter what he wore. “On that ship, you were a merchant marine?”

  “Yes,” he responded and cocked his head as if trying to figure out where she was going with her question.

  “But you didn’t join the Navy.”

  He expelled a breath, as if relieved, and looked away. “I didn’t want to have another ship sunk under me.”

  “Did it bother you when you came over to England? The ocean, I mean.”

  He laughed then, a big hearty laugh. “No. Because I flew.”

  Astonished she repeated, “You flew?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “In a bomber?”

  “Yes. How do you think all those planes got here?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it.”

  His arm slipped around her waist, and he hugged her. A friendly, brotherly hug. And in that instant. she knew she wanted more. She didn’t want him to take Milton’s place. She wanted something very different from Ted.

  Did he sense it too? The change. The tension in her body. The longing.

  Their gazes met and locked. They were close, beneath the umbrella, a curtain of rain surrounding them in a sort of blanket or cocoon. He leaned down and she stretched to meet him.

  Their lips touched, ever so lightly. Once, then again. He tugged her closer, and her arms wrapped around his muscled warmth.

  ****

  He held her in his arms, knowing he had to stop. He couldn’t do this to her, not now, not when she was so vulnerable. He forced himself to push her away. Drawing a deep breath, he linked his arm with hers and looked around. A theater marquee caught his eye.

  “How ’bout we see a movie? Get out of this rain.”

  “Okay.” Her quiet agreement held a hint of uncertainty.

  He pulled her toward the theater.

  “The first feature’s already started,” the ticket girl warned them.

  “That’s okay,” Ted told her as he paid for the tickets. “We just want to get out of the rain for a while.”

  He led Kitty inside the lobby. “You want something?” He gestured toward the small concession stand.

  “No.” She shook her head.

  He hung the umbrella on a rack in the lobby and placed his hand on her back to direct her toward the theater. They stepped through the curtains and stood for a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  “Over here,” he whispered as he pointed toward an empty row near the back and underneath the balcony. There weren’t many people in the theater. A few couples scattered around. A group of soldiers half-way up. Some girls a couple of rows behind them.

  The film was American, a western with Joel McCrea as the famous frontiersman, Buffalo Bill. The colorful scenery provided a much needed distraction from the dreary weather outside.

  Kitty sat in silence watching the movie. Ted wondered what she was thinking. About the action on the screen or about the kiss they’d shared. He had to figure out what he was doing. How to contain his raging desire. He had no future, and Kitty deserved a future.
She deserved a man who could give her a life, a good life. And that wasn’t him.

  The last increase in missions had erased all hope he would survive this war. Before that, before he got to know Kitty, he hadn’t minded. He’d thought it was just what was supposed to happen to him. His life was just one of the many that would be sacrificed to win this war. But now, now that she sat so close, now that she wanted to be with him, wanted him to comfort her, he desperately wanted to find a way to survive.

  Trouble was—there was no way. There was only now. And if he followed his feelings he would only hurt her.

  Gunfire on the screen made her flinch. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him, ever so slightly.

  They watched the exciting, final scenes of the movie, with the inevitable happy ending. She smiled and he was glad the movie had been something to distract her.

  He leaned over. “Good to see you smile. You must like westerns.”

  “I like happy endings,” she told him.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  The black and white intro to the newsreel flashed on the screen.

  “What’s on next?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. Another western, I think.” A soldier passed by going to the lobby. “Do you want anything to drink?” Ted asked.

  “No.” She shook her head. “But you go ahead and get something if you want.”

  He thought about stepping out for a smoke but decided he’d rather stay here with Kitty.

  The newsreel announcer barked news of the invasion force in Normandy. Images of fighting men, artillery, fighters streaking through the sky filled the screen. Stirring music accentuated the announcer’s words.

  Anguish showed in Kitty’s face. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. He knew she was imagining Milton wounded on the battlefield amidst all that horror.

  He squeezed her shoulders, and she looked up at him with such pain that his throat contracted and he could not speak. The screen shifted to news from the Pacific front. Gigantic battleships, planes landing on carrier decks. Tears spilled down her cheeks. He couldn’t stand it.