The Land Beneath Us

by Sarah Sundin

  “No, no, no.” Clay dropped to his knees and took her free hand in his. “It isn’t charity. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  She peeked over the top of her hand. “A favor?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right now, my only purpose in life is to die.”

  She winced.

  “It is.” He squeezed her narrow hand. “I’m training hard so I can go into battle and die saving my buddies. But this—marrying you would give my life an even better purpose. Knowing that I helped you and your little one, that I provided for you . . . well, that would make me the happiest man in the world.”

  The fight left her shoulders and her cheeks, and she slid her hand from her eyes to her mouth. Her brown eyes teemed with questions, with a desire to believe.

  Clay pressed his hand to his chest and smiled. “Come on, Miss Jones, have a heart. Here I am, down on my knees, begging you to make me happy and marry me. Would you, please? Would you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Clay Paxton?”

  Leah fell silent for far too long, but then she slowly nodded. “Yes. Please.”

  “Thank you.” He planted a kiss on the back of her hand. He hadn’t felt so good in over two years.

  11

  CAMP FORREST

  SATURDAY, AUGUST 7, 1943

  Darlene Bishop adjusted the short veil over Leah’s face and frowned. “I don’t understand you. A month ago, you didn’t even want a date, and now you’re marrying a man you hardly know.”

  Seated in the chaplain’s office in Camp Forrest’s main chapel, Leah fingered the smooth fabric of the cream-colored suit the girls in the boardinghouse had given her as a wedding present. “I’ve never known a finer man.”

  “You’ve never known any man.”

  “Now, now.” Rita Sue Bellamy handed Leah a bouquet of creamy roses. “I think it’s romantic. Clay saved her life and visited her almost every day in the hospital. It’s no surprise to me or to anyone on the ward.”

  “Thank you.” Leah inhaled the heady floral fragrance. Only Clay, Rita Sue, and her doctors and nurses knew she’d been violated during the attack, and only they knew about her pregnancy. That was how it needed to stay so that everyone would believe Clay was the father.

  A soldier peeked into the office. “Excuse me. Are you ready, Miss Jones?”

  “I am.” Today she’d lose the name of Jones, which always reminded her she was unwanted and unloved. Clay didn’t love her, but he cared for her and he did want to marry her.

  Leah stood slowly, still a bit weak and lightheaded.

  “I’ll go sit with my family.” Rita Sue pressed a kiss to Leah’s veiled cheek. “You look ravishing.”

  Leah didn’t know what to do with the compliment or the affection. “Thank you.”

  After Rita Sue left, Darlene stepped close, her brow furrowed beneath her flower-strewn hat. “Are you sure, sugar? It isn’t too late to back out.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You know Latins can be hot tempered, don’t you?”

  “Oh, not Clay.”

  Then Darlene giggled. “Of course, you’re also getting a Latin lover. That might make it all worthwhile.”

  Leah felt ill, and not from the tiny life growing inside. Why did people assume things about Clay just because his skin was brown? More than one of the nurses had thought Clay was the rapist for that reason.

  “It’s time,” the chaplain’s assistant said.

  It was indeed. Leah and Darlene followed him into the foyer.

  In a second, Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” resounded from the organ on the balcony overhead. Leah tightened her grip on her bouquet. This was happening to her. To her?

  The chaplain’s assistant beckoned, and Darlene sashayed down the aisle.

  Behind her bouquet, Leah pressed her hand to her belly. By marrying Clay, Leah could give her baby a home with her own mother and the name of a good father. For you, little girl.

  Somehow she knew the baby was a girl. If a boy was born, she’d love him as dearly, but she was a girl and her name was Helen. The name meant light, because this child was light shining from Leah’s darkest days.

  The chaplain’s assistant nodded to her.

  Leah drew a deep breath. If only her father were there, offering his arm with his brown eyes twinkling. If only her mother were waiting in the sanctuary, dabbing at tears. If only Callie and Polly were her bridesmaids instead of Darlene, her twin sisters in matching floral dresses.

  “Miss Jones?”

  Leah blinked at the chaplain’s assistant and stepped into the doorway alone.

  She peered through the filmy veil. The sanctuary was so large, with dozens of wooden benches under the peaked roof. Everyone stood and looked at her.

  To her right stood a dozen Rangers in olive drab dress uniform, a few with girlfriends or wives. To her left stood the Bellamy family and the four other girls from the boardinghouse.

  And Clay stood at the altar, grinning at her.

  The chaplain’s assistant cleared his throat.

  Oh yes, she was supposed to walk down the aisle.

  She did so, past rows and rows of empty pews. The attention unnerved her, so she focused on Clay, beside the chaplain and Gene Mayer.

  Clay stood straight and solid in his olive drab jacket, trousers, and service cap, with his khaki tie knotted at the collar of his olive drab shirt. He was such a nice-looking man. He was handsome too, but she preferred nice looking to handsome.

  Anyone would think Clay smiled out of love, but he smiled from the joy of giving.

  Despite what he said, this was charity, but Leah would accept it with gratitude as she’d accepted it all her life. At the orphanage, they said God provided for every need.

  If only God didn’t always choose to provide for her through charity.

  At the altar, she took Clay’s offered arm and faced the chaplain. Leah hadn’t held a lot of arms, but Clay’s was thick and hard with strength she wanted to bend toward. Those arms had fought off the wolf, bandaged her wounds, and carried her to the hospital.

  The chaplain greeted Clay and Leah and the congregation. He also had a nice face, long and narrow with gray-blue eyes that curved when he smiled, which was often.

  He spoke from 1 Corinthians 13 about charity. In the King James Version, charity meant love, and the Lord’s sense of humor warmed Leah inside.

  In this chapel, everyone but Clay, Leah, and Rita Sue thought this marriage was based on romantic love. Instead it was based on biblical charitable love.

  Since her parents died, she hadn’t had anyone to love. She loved her sisters, but in a nebulous way, only remembering them as babies. She’d been fond of Miss Tilletson at the school library and of her friends. But true love? She hadn’t given it or received it.

  Now she had a baby to love. She glanced up out of the corner of her eye at Clay’s strong profile. She had Clay to love too.

  Not romantic love, but the kind of love in 1 Corinthians—long-suffering, kind, not seeking her own way, not easily provoked, not thinking evil of the other—“Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth.”

  “Please face each other and repeat your vows.”

  Leah handed Darlene her bouquet.

  Clay wrapped his hands around Leah’s. His eyes were so warm, and he smelled good this close, of coffee and aftershave.

  He spoke his vows with assurance, even though many of the words didn’t apply to them. They’d never have and hold each other as married couples did, but he would provide for her and give her a name and a future.

  “Till death do us part.” Clay’s mouth twitched, as if that part of the vow amused him.

  It didn’t amuse her. He’d only married her because he believed he wasn’t long for this earth. For his sake, she wanted to believe him. But also for his sake, she hoped he was very wrong.

  Leah repeated her vows after the chaplain, her voice thready.

  They exchanged rings. Hers was more delicate, bu
t the rings matched, marking them as belonging to each other.

  Her heart seized. She hadn’t belonged to anyone since she was four.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  The kiss. Why hadn’t the chaplain skipped that part? Clay shouldn’t have to kiss a woman he didn’t love. On the other hand, a kiss would support the charade that they did love each other.

  Clay lifted her veil over her hat. He wore a flat smile, his eyebrows drew together, and he leaned close, so all she smelled was coffee. “I want to do this right,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Because of the wolf. But the wolf had never kissed her. “You won’t hurt me.”

  A slight lift of his eyebrows, as if asking her permission, and she nodded, just a tick of a nod, not breathing, not blinking, not believing.

  Clay tilted his head. Was she supposed to do the same? She didn’t know what to do.

  Then Clay’s lips settled on hers, and her lips knew what to do, molding to his as warmth and light bloomed inside. Oh, this was what the poets wrote about! The novelists and the composers and the lyricists writing for generations upon generations. Now Leah knew too.

  Clay pulled away, breaking the connection. He gave her a jerky little smile and faced their beaming friends.

  Leah turned too, clutching Clay’s arm. She hadn’t anticipated the joy and she hadn’t anticipated the danger—the danger of falling for a man destined to die.

  12

  Clay scraped the last bit of fluffy white frosting off his plate. “Thank you for organizing this reception.”

  “You know our motto—the Red Cross is at your side. In this case, it was pure joy.” Mrs. Bellamy sipped a cup of coffee. “President Roosevelt was most obliging, putting an end to coffee rationing last week.”

  A little blonde girl hid behind Mrs. Bellamy, peeking at Clay with a mischievous smile.

  Clay returned it full force. He missed Mama’s big Ramirez clan and all the little cousins. “The cake is delicious.”

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Bellamy giggled. “You should have heard the ladies at church grumble when I asked them to give up their sugar rations for yet another wedding here at Camp Forrest. Then I told them Leah was an orphan and didn’t have a mama to bake for her. Well, you should have seen those sugar crocks fly open.”

  “Thank them from me. Leah hasn’t had a lot of nice things in life.” He glanced behind him. The Rangers flirted with the boardinghouse girls, especially with Darlene, who worked at the PX nearest the Rangers’ barracks.

  Leah sat at a table chatting with Gene and his girlfriend—no, his wife, Betty Jo.

  Good to see that Leah was sitting down and had cleaned her plate. She looked pretty in that creamy suit and hat, with her hair pinned up in rolls and curls and things. Real grown up.

  “She’s a sweet girl,” Mrs. Bellamy said.

  “She sure is.” He felt tiny arms around his knees. The little girl sat on his foot and grinned up at him, a yellow bow around her ringlets.

  “Sally Bellamy!” her mother said.

  “I don’t mind.” Clay lifted his leg with the giggling child attached. “I need my daily calisthenics.”

  Mrs. Bellamy sipped her coffee and smiled at her daughter and then at Clay. “You take good care of Miss Leah, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s why I married her.”

  “Mm-hmm. It’s time for you to spirit your bride away.”

  His bride? Yes, Leah. She was laughing at something Betty Jo said, color in her cheeks again, thank goodness.

  Mrs. Bellamy whisked Sally onto her hip. “Private Paxton has to leave now, sugar pie.”

  “Bye, Pwivate Paxton.” Sally pressed a hand to her forehead in a salute.

  Clay snapped up his best salute for her. “Good day, Miss Bellamy. And Mrs. Bellamy, thank you again for everything you’ve done.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The Red Cross had even secured dinner and room reservations at the swanky King Hotel in Tullahoma. Clay would sleep on the floor, but he wanted to give folks every reason to believe that he was the father of Leah’s child.

  Clay crossed the room and offered Leah his hand. “Ready to leave, Mrs. Paxton?”

  She looked pleasantly surprised, and she laid her hand in his. “I am.”

  G. M. stood and cupped his hand around his mouth. “All right, everyone. Time to send off the newlyweds.”

  Darlene handed Leah a suitcase and winked at her. “Don’t come home too soon, you hear?”

  Leah dipped her head as if studying the suitcase handle.

  Clay had better get her out before double entendres started flying. He led Leah to the door, picked up his haversack, and faced the guests. “Thanks for everything, y’all.”

  G. M. clinked his fork on his coffee cup and whooped. The clinking and whooping spread around the room.

  Oh no.

  “That means you’ve got to kiss her, Pax,” Gene called.

  Not a good idea. But he looped his arm around Leah’s waist.

  She stiffened, then relaxed.

  Clay aimed a grin at his buddies. “I’m fixing to do a lot of that, but not in front of y’all.” Then he swung Leah right out the door.

  “Sorry about that. Here, let me take your suitcase.” He released her and led her from the reception room out through the chapel.

  Thank goodness he’d dodged that bullet. The kiss during the wedding ceremony had about done him in. She’d looked paralyzed when he lifted her veil, and he’d thought he’d kiss wooden lips.

  Boy, was he wrong. She’d kissed him back, and the sweetness of it . . .

  Granted, he hadn’t kissed a girl for over two years, but he couldn’t remember any kiss so sweet. He couldn’t let it happen again. The last thing he needed was to fall for Leah. When he went into battle, he didn’t want anything to hold him back.

  “We have plenty of time to call my folks before we head into town for our portraits and dinner.” Clay opened the chapel door. “Would you like me to hail a cab? The telephone center is about three blocks away.”

  “I can walk.” Leah frowned at her suitcase. “But you shouldn’t have to carry my things as well as yours.”

  He laughed and headed down the street. She certainly wasn’t a princess. “Nonsense. I’m used to twenty-five-mile marches with full combat gear. This is nothing.”

  “Still—”

  “I mean this is nothing.” He held up her suitcase between thumb and forefinger. “I thought girls packed heavy.”

  “I don’t know why.” Leah shrugged. “What do you need? A change of clothes, a comb, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. Darlene told me the hotel will provide towels and soap. Isn’t that nice of them?”

  “You’ve never stayed in a hotel, have you?”

  “No. I’m so excited.” Her face shone. “I’ve never eaten dinner in a restaurant either. Darlene and I had sandwiches in a café after I received my first paycheck, but a real dinner? I can’t wait.”

  She really did need someone to take care of her.

  Leah twisted her wedding ring as she walked.

  “The ring—does it fit all right?”

  “It fits perfectly.” She stretched her hand before her. “I’ve always wanted a piece of jewelry, and look how pretty it is.”

  Her first piece of jewelry, and he’d only bought her a plain gold band? “I should have gotten you something nicer.”

  “Nicer? What could be nicer?” She twisted her hand in the sun. “The simplicity allows you to admire the beauty of the gold.”

  Some of the Rangers had ribbed him about getting married. “Kiss your paycheck good-bye,” they’d said.

  They didn’t know Leah Jones.

  Leah Paxton.

  Clay climbed the steps to the telephone center, identical to every other building at Camp Forrest. “I like calling home on Saturday evenings when the fellows are out on the town—no lines. This is early for me. Hope my folks are home.”


  “Yes.” Her voice sounded as small as when she’d said her vows, probably nervous.

  He couldn’t blame her when his stomach was turning this way and that.

  The lady at the front desk directed them to an open booth. Clay motioned for Leah to take the seat. Then he set down the luggage, removed his stifling wool jacket, and had the operator put him through to Kerrville, Texas.

  As the connections went through, Clay leaned back against the doorjamb. Daddy and Mama would be shocked, since he’d never mentioned dating anyone. At least he’d told them about rescuing Leah.

  “Hello?” Daddy’s voice, deep and gruff.

  “Hiya, Daddy. Hope you don’t mind me calling early.”

  “Never. Lupe, it’s Clay.”

  Clay heard his mama in the background, saying, “So early?” He could picture his parents scooting two chairs under the phone on the kitchen wall, holding the receiver between them.

  “Hola, mijo. How are you?”

  “Fine. Listen, we only have five minutes, and I have big news for y’all.”

  “Oh?” Mama said.

  Clay sank his hand into his trouser pocket. “Remember me telling you about Leah Jones?”

  “That poor girl,” Mama said. “Everyone from church is praying for her. How is she?”

  “She’s out of the hospital. But she isn’t Leah Jones anymore. She’s Leah Paxton.”

  In the silence, Clay held his breath, staring at the opposite doorjamb, avoiding Leah’s gaze.

  “Did we hear right?” Daddy said. “Leah Paxton?”

  “You may be getting older, Daddy, but your hearing’s just fine. Leah and I got married about two hours ago. She’s sitting here with me.”

  “Married?” he said. “How well do you know this girl?”

  “Well enough to know she’s the one.” Clay clenched his hand in his pocket so the strain wouldn’t show in his voice.

  “You had a wedding? Without us?” Mama sounded hurt. “Oh, Clay, we would have come.”

  No time for that in these circumstances. “Sorry, Mama, but my battalion is leaving soon. I didn’t want to wait.”

  “Wyatt and Adler are gone.” Mama’s voice quivered. “Every day we pray they come home, but right now you’re the only son we have, and this may be the only wedding . . .”