“Sure thing. Fixed it myself.”
“I can walk it, you know.”
“Not with that bum leg, you can’t,” the sergeant replied, hitting another rut in the road. The jeep groaned ominously.
Harris prayed that the pile of junk would hold together until he reached Fains. He had appeared at U.S. headquarters late Sunday afternoon trying to bum a ride, and had been referred to the motor pool, where he’d found this hayseed sergeant in charge. The guy talked like Pa Kettle in the movies and drove the jeep as if it could fly. They hit a rock and jolted sideways violently.
“Road ain’t so good,” the sergeant confided generously. “What’s the name of this place you’re going to?”
“Fains-les-Sources.”
The sergeant nodded. “Yeah, we came through it on the way in to Bar-le-Duc.” He pronounced it “barley duke.” He stuck his right hand out to Harris. “Carter Foley. Topeka, Kansas.”
Harris shook it. “Dan Harris, Chicago.”
“Going to see your girl?”
Harris looked at him. “Yeah.”
“She works in town, at the school?”
“That’s right. How did you know?”
“I think I met her.”
He had Harris’ full attention now.
“Don’t get huffy,” the sergeant said, laughing. “I met her because she was asking me about you.”
“What?”
“Well, you know, she was asking about the marines in general. Where they might be, the kind of action they’re seeing. Pretty girl, red hair?”
Harris smiled.
Foley nodded. “I have to admit I tried to make some time, me being a red-blooded all-American boy and all, but she wasn’t interested. Don’t get me wrong. She was real nice about it but definitely not interested.”
“Good,” Harris said. His companion laughed again.
“So,” Foley went on, “when you show up for a ride about a week later, looking like Pappy Boyington in that gyrene outfit, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. I mean, marines are not exactly thick on the ground around here and that girl’s not the type you forget.”
“No, she isn’t.”
“I guess you got promoted, huh?” Foley said.
“Pardon?”
“She told me you were a Captain.”
“Last time she saw me I was.”
“Flyboy, right?”
“That’s right.”
“England?”
“I was based in England earlier on, lately in the Pacific,” Harris replied, trying not to sound weary. Everybody asked the same questions.
“That where you got the leg?”
“Yes.”
“Which campaign?”
“Okinawa.”
Foley nodded. “That must have been some show.” He paused. “I came in on Omaha beach.”
Harris turned. “Yeah?”
Foley shook his head. “Man, I don’t know why I’m alive at this minute and talking to you. Everything went wrong. Rockets firing short, bombers dropping their loads too far inland, troops in the wrong sectors, engineers knocked out, everything. 1,000 dead the first day.”
“I heard about it,” Harris said quietly.
“They did better on the other beaches or I guess we wouldn’t be taking this little drive,” Foley went on. “But I dream about it. A lot. The noise, the smells. The noise was the worst. The guns, the mortars, the planes. The screaming.”
“I know,” Harris said, looking away.
They hit another hole and Harris’ hat flew off.
“Better slap that back on your head if you’re going courtin’,” Foley advised him. He shifted gears and something fell out of the underside of the jeep and clattered to the road.
“Did you put this thing together with Elmer’s glue?” Harris asked, laughing as he replaced his cap.
“Just about,” Foley replied serenely. “We don’t get the top drawer supplies you glamorous flyboys do. You got to be creative in the army.” He skirted an unidentified object lying in their path, saying, “You’re on leave now?”
“Until the end of the month.”
“Then where?”
“Stateside, North Carolina. Flight training.”
“So they’re giving you a break, huh?”
“Looks like it.”
“I guess you deserve it, buddy,” Foley said. He peered ahead through the cloud of dust they were raising. “Village coming up,” he added.
Harris looked around eagerly. Fains seemed remarkably unchanged. He had seen it mostly under cover of darkness, but even in bright sunlight it retained that ageless characteristic of country towns everywhere. He directed Foley to the Duclos house, and then bolted over the side of the jeep when the sergeant stopped.
“Hey, take it easy on that leg,” Foley called after him.
Harris wasn’t listening.
Foley waited.
The house was open and seemed inhabited, but it was empty. Severely disappointed, Harris came back out the front door, glancing at the neighbors’ homes, wondering where Laura was.
Then he caught sight of Foley pointing to the alley alongside him. He turned and there was Laura walking toward the house, holding a bowl and some greens in her hands.
She stopped short when she saw him and dropped what she was carrying.
Harris opened his arms and she ran into them.
“I told you I’d be back,” he said.
Foley watched the scene for a moment, then turned the jeep around and went back to Bar-le-Duc.
Chapter 16
Laura clung to him, breathing in the half familiar yet still intoxicating scent of his skin and hair and clothes. Harris. Alive and well and here with her. She closed her eyes, basking in happiness.
Harris held her off after a long moment and she said, “I’m so glad to see you.”
The inadequacy of the words made them both laugh. He lifted her up and spun her in a circle, saying into her ear, “You grew your hair for me.”
“I grew it for myself,” she retorted, grinning.
He set her down and stepped back saying, “Let me look at you.”
She turned for his inspection, wishing that she were wearing a new dress or at least some makeup.
He applauded lightly. “That’s my girl,” he said.
“Now let me look at you,” Laura said, searching his face, then raking his body with an efficient glance. He was still in his summer khakis and as healthy in appearance as when she’d first met him.
“You seem to be in one piece,” she conceded.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, deciding not to mention his leg. She’d been too excited to notice the limp when he arrived.
“How long do you have?” she asked quickly, already anticipating his departure.
“I’m due back October 1st.”
“Where?” she asked warily.
“North Carolina.”
“And then?”
“North Carolina.”
He watched the import of it sink in and register in her eyes. She put both hands to her mouth.
“You mean?” she said softly.
“That’s right. Noncombat duty. I’m out of it for good.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “Thank God,” she whispered. “Oh, thank God.” Then her expression changed. “That means there’s something wrong with you,” she said, alarmed. “What is it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me. You just said I looked fine.”
“Tell me.”
“Laura...”
“Daniel Patrick Harris, you tell me this instant.”
He sighed. “I have a little problem with my leg.”
Her eyes dropped to his knees. “What?”
“I picked up some shrapnel and it tore the muscle. But I’m on an exercise program and the docs tell me it’ll come back over time.”
“Is that everything?”
“I swear to God, Laura, that’s all.” He folded her into his arms and she rested her
head on his shoulder, relieved.
“I imagined so many horrible things,” she murmured.
“I’m all right,” he said soothingly. “Now do you think we can go into the house? I’ll make love to you on the front lawn if you want but it may upset the neighbors.”
She smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to keep you standing out here, I’m just in a daze.” She led him inside. The instant the door closed behind them he pulled her back into his arms.
His kiss was the same, his mouth warm and pliable with a faint acrid tang of cigarettes. In seconds he was unfastening her dress and muttering, “Let’s go to your bedroom.”
“It’s all right,” Laura replied. “No one will come in.”
“What about Brigitte? And the old man?” he asked.
“They’re gone.”
“Gone?” he said. That stopped him.
Laura stepped back from him, pulling her dress back up over her shoulders. “Dan, Henri is dead.”
Harris looked at her, then took her hands and led her to sit with him on the front room couch.
“What happened?” he said.
Laura told him about the night Brigitte was taken by the vigilantes and how it had led to Henri’s death. He listened without interrupting until she described Brigitte being stripped and shorn and then he said, “That poor kid. Was she all right?”
Laura nodded. “She got over it. But the incident convinced her to go away with Kurt.”
“They went right after that?”
“As soon as Kurt could travel. Father Deslourdes married them and they left the same day. I hope they made it.”
“I wonder what made Henri realize what was happening and come out to help her,” Harris said thoughtfully.
Laura shook her head. “I don’t know.” She looked down at her hands. “I like to think what he did then made up, somewhat, for Alain.”
Harris kissed her forehead.
“You’ve really been through it haven’t you, baby?” he said, pulling her against his shoulder.
“Everyone has,” Laura said wearily. “Everyone.”
“Are you sure Brigitte was pregnant?” he asked.
“She was pretty certain and she’s a nurse.”
“She won’t be the only one if I have anything to say about it,” Harris said, and kissed her mouth lightly.
Laura looked into his eyes, inches from hers. “I beg your pardon?” she said.
“You heard me.” He started fussing with her clothes again, unbuckling her cloth belt.
“What a minute, Captain,” she said, putting her hand over his.
“Major,” he corrected. “Show some respect.”
“Are you a major now?” she said, surprised.
He chuckled. “Listen to that, she’s amazed,” he said. “Don’t worry,” he added in a stage whisper. “All the working parts are still the same.” He took off her belt and began on the hook and eye underneath it.
“I said wait a minute,” Laura repeated.
“Major,” he said.
“All right, Major. What’s this about getting me pregnant?”
“Well, let me explain it to you. First I take off all of your clothes, then I take off all of my clothes, and then...”
“Dan, stop clowning around.”
He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Did I miss something?”
“Something?” he said innocently.
“Like a marriage proposal?”
“Oh, that.” He took her face between his hands. “Will you marry me and live with me on the base at Camp Lejeune?”
“Yes,” she said promptly and threw her arms around his neck.
He held her tightly, silently, as they savored the joy of the moment.
“Now all we need is a little something to make it legal,” he said, drawing back from her. He reached into his pocket and took out a small leather box. “I got this for you in New York.” He dropped it into her lap.
Laura picked it up, her heart thumping madly. “What’s this?”
“It’s a racehorse. What does it look like?” he retorted. “Open it.”
She did so and her eyes widened.
“Oh, Dan, it’s gorgeous,” she breathed, staring.
“I guess you like it, huh?” he said, laughing.
“Of course I like it, I love it. But can you afford it? Can we afford it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that when this war is over we’re both going to be unemployed. We may be cashing this rock in for Wheaties and Wonder Bread.”
“When this war is over I’m going into commercial aviation,” he said. “For a while the doctors thought my leg might prevent me from flying but that scare is past. I’ll get a job, don’t you worry.”
“I’ll have to find someone to take over for me at the school in Bar-le-Duc,” she said.
“What about your friend, the town librarian? She was helping you out, wasn’t she?”
“She’s gone too.”
He eyed her cautiously, hoping he hadn’t brought up another painful subject. “Not dead?” he said in a low tone.
“No.” Laura paused. “Colonel Becker took her with him when he left.”
“Becker? The Commandant?”
“Yes. They were...lovers.”
Harris stared. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “And you never knew?”
“Not until the very end. She tried to kill herself when she thought he was leaving her and that’s how I found out about it.”
“That must have been a shock,” he murmured.
Laura nodded.
“I wonder what will happen to them now,” he said.
“I don’t know. But she wanted to take her chances with him, and she did.”
“And you’re going to take your chances with me,” he said, satisfied.
“At Camp Lejeune?” Laura said, giggling. “I don’t think it’s quite the same thing.”
“You say that because you haven’t seen the housing at the base,” he replied dryly. “I put in for a place for us before I left but they’re overcrowded and it may take a while.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you, Captain? Major. Whatever you are.”
“I was sure of you,” he said seriously. “I knew you’d wait for me no matter how long it took.”
“Oh, Dan,” she said softly, touching his cheek. “I do love you so.”
He kissed her gently, then with gathering intensity, and pulled her down with him on the couch.
* * *
“Is there anything to eat around here?” he asked drowsily, shifting her weight off his bad leg and glancing at his watch.
“Some leftovers from dinner,” she said. “I made a stew for Curel.”
“How is he?”
“Lonely. I met him in the churchyard and he came home with me.” She kissed his damp shoulder. “I was lonely too.”
“Not anymore,” he said.
“Not anymore,” she agreed. “I was coming back from walking him home when you saw me.” She paused. “I just realized that I left the herbs I was bringing home from his garden lying on the ground outside.”
“They’ll keep.” He propped one arm behind his head and the couch creaked dangerously.
“Is this thing going to crash to the floor?” he asked. “We just gave it a workout.”
“Don’t ask me,” Laura said primly. “I’m not the one who weighs one hundred and eighty-seven pounds.”
“I don’t know, Slim,” he said teasingly. “You’re a lot heavier than you look.” He pressed his lips to the side of her neck. “I’m an expert on this subject because I just spent the last half hour wrestling with you.”
“You can’t pick a fight with me now,” she said airily. “I’m just too happy.” She trailed her fingers along his leg, resting them on the twisted ridge of scar tissue disfiguring his thigh. The tough brown hairs around it were blighted and distorted, as if blasted by heat.
“Does this hurt?” she asked.
“It’s an awful scar.”
“That’s just because it’s new. It’ll fade.”
She was reminded of Curel and his remark about the fading of pain.
“Will the limp go too?” she said.
“Doctors won’t say,” he replied. “They tell me the weak muscle in the bad leg causes me to put more weight on the good leg, and that results in the uneven gait.” He felt around on the floor for his pants. “Supposedly if I can build up the muscle again the walk will straighten out.” He shrugged and pulled a pack of Luckies out of his pocket. “Who knows?” he said. “Would you mind being married to a gimp?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Laura said. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, that’s all.”
“I’m very comfortable,” he replied, running his free hand down her naked back. “I like this pillow,” he added, resting his head briefly against her breast.
“You can have it forever,” she said.
He pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit up, inhaling. He made a face. “These things are terrible,” he said.
“Not yours?” she said.
He shook his head. “I bummed them off of your friend Foley.”
She looked blank. “Who?”
“Carter Foley. He dropped me off here, didn’t you see him?”
“I didn’t see anyone but you,” she replied tenderly, sifting a strand of his chestnut brown hair through her fingers. “And I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“He’s the sergeant in charge of the motor pool in Bar-le-Duc. I gather you spoke to him one day when he was fixing a jeep.”
“Oh,” she said, smiling. “Kansas.”
“That’s right. You made quite an impression on him.”
“Did I? I just asked him about the marines. I was trying to get information about you.”
“I think that was the source of his memorable frustration,” Harris replied dryly.
“He was kind of cute, as I recall,” Laura said thoughtfully.
“If you like the type, I guess.”
“Oh, what type is that?” she asked, interested.
“Big, blond, and handsome. It’s been my experience that women generally flee from them in droves.” He exhaled a stream of smoke.
Laura broke down laughing, falling against his chest. “Oh, very true. That type drives them away, all right.” She wound her arms around his waist. “I prefer the darker, more mysterious type myself.”
Clash by Night (A World War II Romantic Drama) Page 37
