With Every Letter: A Novel

by Sarah Sundin

  A shout rang out. The merchant dashed from the stall, waved his arms at the dog, and kicked at him. The dog ran off with impressive speed.

  Tom sighed. Dogs listened and understood and didn’t care about your name.

  “You like dogs, huh?” Larry said. “Never had one.”

  “Never? They’re the best. I had a beagle named Rufus when I was little. Best friend ever.” Tom shoveled couscous into his mouth. Rufus had absorbed buckets of tears when his father was arrested, tried, and executed. He had to stay in California with an uncle when Tom and his mother moved back to Pennsylvania. Couldn’t take him on the train, Mom said. He got a new dog in Pittsburgh, a spaniel named Molly. He loved Molly, but she could never replace Rufus.

  Love didn’t work that way.

  “My sister wanted a cat,” Larry said. “She’d sneak them into the apartment, and Mom would shoo them out. Mom keeps canaries.”

  Tom laughed. “That would be a disaster.”

  Larry’s dark eyes glittered. “It was. Cat knocked over a cage once. The bird swooped around, the cat jumped at it. Mom chased the cat with her kitchen knife. I never laughed so hard in my life.”

  Tom grinned and took another spoonful. He had a strange sensation of someone standing behind him. Breath on his neck.

  He tensed and turned, his spoon in front of him.

  The little dog stood on the wall behind him, cocked his head to one side, and snatched the food from Tom’s spoon.

  “Why, you little thief.” Tom laughed and extended his hand slowly. The dog consented, and Tom scratched him behind the ears. “Should expect that on the Barbary Coast—Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.”

  “Barbary Coast was pirates,” Larry said. “Ali Baba was in Arabia. You need to read more.”

  “I read plenty.” The fur felt great to Tom’s fingers, and the dog leaned into Tom’s hand. The mutt needed a friend, a provider. And a bath. Tom offered him another chunk of lamb. “Here, boy. Open, sesame.”

  The dog gobbled the meat and made a funny chortling sound.

  Tom laughed. “Is that your name? Is Sesame your name?”

  “Come on, Gill. Don’t name it.”

  Tom rubbed Sesame behind the ears. If he could give his platoon something to rally around, something to instill identity and pride, the men would work because they wanted to.

  “He needs a name. He needs a home.” Tom flashed Larry a grin. “And our platoon needs a mascot.”

  9

  Bowman Field

  November 23, 1942

  Mellie shivered. If she could move around, the damp, chill wind blowing over the airfield would be more bearable, but she stood at attention with all the nurses assigned to the 349th Air Evacuation Group. For the last time.

  Her week of grace concluded today, but whenever Lieutenant Lambert came around, Mellie seemed to be alone. Would her efforts be in vain? She shivered again.

  Standing next to her, Rose nudged her. “What’s the matter, California girl? Too cold for you?”

  “So much colder in Virginia, huh?” Mellie whispered, although the visiting brass were still inside the C-47, watching a demonstration.

  “We get snow. We’re hardy folk.” Georgie had a smile in her voice.

  “You?” Rose laughed. “You’re ride-a-horse hardy, not camp-in-the-Yukon hardy.”

  “Six months in Alaska,” Georgie said. “I’m hardy.”

  “Six months huddled by the stove, you mean.”

  “No, you’re mean.”

  Mellie chuckled. She felt more like a referee than a participant in this friendship. Rose and Georgie’s relationship dated to early childhood, complete with the teasing, squabbles, and love of a lifetime together. Mellie would never share what they did, but she was grateful to be included.

  She’d written more letters to Ernest the engineer, describing her blossoming friendship. Too many letters, perhaps. Would he see her as desperate and run away? Or would he be pleased at her efforts, pleased that he’d encouraged her? And would he help her learn how to make friends?

  Rose and Georgie had helped. They’d gently told her the other girls thought she was conceited because she never smiled. So Mellie experimented with a partial smile and prayed it would be enough. Every day, she reminded herself to greet people and make small talk, same as she would with patients on the ward. Overcoming shyness was hard work.

  And Lieutenant Lambert hadn’t even noticed. Mellie’s dream of serving as an adventurous pioneer flying mercy to the battlefield evaporated, leaving her emptier than before the dream came. The Bible was true: “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.”

  “Ssh!” The hiss started with the women closest to the cargo door and worked its way down the line. The nurses stood taller and straighter.

  A man descended the ladder and pulled his service jacket down over his paunch—Colonel Casey of Troop Carrier Command. He offered a hand to help Lieutenant Lambert, Vera, and Kay down the ladder. Lieutenant Lambert had chosen Vera and Kay to conduct the demonstration as the most experienced of the nurses.

  Vera flashed Colonel Casey her winning smile, with a touch of a flirtatious chin dip.

  Mellie wrinkled her nose. The purpose of this demonstration was to convince the brass of the importance of medical air evacuation and of the nurses’ capability. Flirting could help their cause—or shatter it.

  Casey grinned and sucked in his stomach. Flirting worked with him.

  Colonel Alberts of the Medical Corps emerged from the plane and then General Schmidt from Army Air Force Headquarters in Washington. Tall and dashing, Schmidt fit the role of an aviator.

  Vera and Kay returned to the ranks of nurses, and the three visitors approached a podium. The chief nurses and flight surgeons stood to the side.

  General Schmidt tapped the microphone. “Thank you, ladies, for an informative demonstration. We will take it into consideration when we make our decision.”

  Mellie frowned. That didn’t sound promising.

  The general launched into a speech about the demands on the Army Air Forces and the many commands vying for scarce personnel and supplies.

  While the general spoke, Colonel Casey smiled at the ranks with his gut cinched in. The Air Evacuation Group needed his planes, facilities, and personnel. Did he smile because he was on their side or because dozens of curvy figures stood before him?

  Colonel Alberts glanced at his watch. The Medical Corps controlled health care in the Army, but physicians ran the Corps, and some held nurses in low regard. Would they cede decision-making power to a nurse, even for the length of a flight?

  General Schmidt, for all his dash, fixated on supplies and manpower. When he reminded the women of the dangers of flight and combat, Mellie’s breath drained out of her. The Army would return the nurses to the safe little hospitals where they belonged. The dream would die for all these women.

  He wrapped up his speech and stepped down from the podium. No one replied.

  Everyone shook hands, the visit over, the cause lost.

  Why didn’t anyone speak up? Sick and wounded soldiers deserved the best possible care. Wasn’t that worth the sacrifice of resources? This was the time for bold speech.

  Mellie glanced around. No one stepped forward. No one was willing to risk a reputation or career.

  Her breathing stopped. What about her?

  Her favorite Bible verse, Micah 6:8, said, “What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” Was she willing to sacrifice for the sake of justice and mercy?

  Why not her? After years as the only female on Papa’s expeditions, she knew how to stand up to men. And public speaking bothered her less than personal conversation.

  Of all the women, she had the least to lose since she’d be leaving anyway. She’d formed the flimsiest of friendships with Georgie and Rose, but Vera, Alice, and Kay hadn’t warmed in the slightest.

  Speaking up would assure her dismissal, but the hope of air evacuation for all tho
se wounded soldiers meant more to her than her job.

  If she had to leave, she might as well leave with a bang.

  Mellie stepped out of rank and marched forward several paces.

  “What are you doing?” Rose said in a harsh whisper.

  “Excuse me, sirs!” She stood tall, her hands relaxed at her sides, although her heart flopped around in her chest.

  Colonel Casey turned to her, eyebrows raised. Colonel Alberts and General Schmidt remained in conversation.

  A buzz of whispers ran through the nurses, and the other members of the brass faced her.

  “Excuse me, General Schmidt, sir. May I have permission to speak?” Her training in military etiquette was inadequate, and she’d probably broken countless rules.

  The general gave her a quizzical look, then turned to the chief nurses and flight surgeons. Lieutenant Lambert whispered something then gave Mellie an incredulous look. Captain Maxwell glowered across the tarmac at her.

  She drew a deep breath and focused on General Schmidt.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Permission granted, Lieutenant . . . ?”

  “Lt. Philomela Blake, sir, and I have something to say.”

  “So I see.” One corner of his mouth tipped. “Proceed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Mellie swallowed hard. “We’re so glad you came today. As you can see, air evacuation would be an efficient use of scarce resources. Since cargo planes carry supplies or troops in only one direction, it makes sense to carry the wounded on the return flight, relieving pressure on ambulance services.”

  The general cocked an eyebrow at her.

  Second thoughts trembled inside, but she pressed on and offered a small smile. “Since manpower is short, it also makes sense to give the wounded prompt medical care so they can return to service as quickly as possible. What could be speedier than air evacuation?”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  Mellie whipped her gaze to her right. Kay Jobson stood beside her, smiling at the general.

  “Lieutenant Blake is right,” Kay said. “In a few hours, a plane can cross a mountain range while an ambulance would take days. Swamps, jungles? Not a problem in the air. And a plane can cross oceans without worrying about U-boats.”

  Mellie shook off the shock of Kay helping her. She had more points to make. “Won’t the men on the front feel better if their wounded buddies are whisked to safety under the care of a trained, professional nurse?”

  “Absolutely,” Kay said. “Knowing the same care awaits them if they need it. High morale . . .” Her lovely eyes scanned the cluster of men. “High morale is a scarce commodity indeed.”

  General Schmidt nodded, his forehead knit together under his service cap.

  Mellie chomped back a chuckle. The ladies spoke his language. One more serious point to make. “Thank you, sir, for your concern about our safety. But remember, the women of Britain have courageously endured months of bombings. Surely we’ll be just as brave as our British sisters. Wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

  How could he disagree with such a statement? “Well, of course. Of course, young lady.”

  Kay took another step forward. “We’re eager to serve, sir. Not one of us is scared of flying or combat. Many of us are trained stewardesses. We’re here because we love to fly, we care about our servicemen, and we love our country.”

  If only they had a flag to wave.

  The general surveyed the rows of nurses. “Ladies, do you agree with your colleagues?”

  A warm murmur built behind Mellie. “Yes, sir.”

  Mellie met Kay’s gaze. Kay gave her the quickest wink and faced the brass. Perhaps Kay had warmed to her after all. The thought turned up the corners of Mellie’s mouth.

  General Schmidt lifted a salute. “Thank you, ladies. If nothing else, you’re courageous—and persuasive. I’ll take this into consideration.”

  Mellie saluted back. “One more thing, sir.”

  “One more thing?”

  “We want to wear trousers.”

  Someone gasped behind Mellie.

  “Trousers?” the general said. “Isn’t that rather unladylike?”

  “It’s practical, sir. You watched the demonstration. We squat and climb and lean over to perform our duties. If we wore trousers, we could concentrate on our work, not our modesty.”

  “I agree, sir,” Kay said. “If one more soldier looks up my skirt—I don’t care how sick he is—I’ll smack him.” She lifted a sweet smile. “Sir.”

  Stifled giggles swept the ranks.

  The general turned to the chief nurses. “Trousers? Do you endorse this?”

  Lieutenant Lambert clasped her hands in front of her. “Well, sir, trousers would be warmer than skirts. And it would be easier for the women to put on a parachute harness in case of emergency.”

  “We’ll take that into consideration as well.”

  More salutes, more handshakes, and the brass departed.

  Mellie turned to Kay. “You said you’d shock me someday. You just did. Thank you for standing up for me.”

  “Standing up for my job. Besides, I didn’t want you to have all the fun.” Half a smile, and she left to join Vera and Alice, who hugged her.

  “Goodness sake, Mellie.” Georgie grabbed her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “You were so brave, so bold.”

  “Someone had to say it. Why not me?”

  Rose shook her head and grinned. “We didn’t know you had it in you. My, oh my.”

  Lieutenant Lambert strode toward Mellie. “Lieutenant Blake, may I have a word with you?”

  “Pray for me,” Mellie whispered.

  “We will,” Rose and Georgie said.

  The chief nurse motioned to Mellie, and they fell in step. “You surprised me today, Lieutenant.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I feel strongly about the benefits of air evacuation.”

  “I noticed. I meant I was surprised to hear you speak up at all.”

  “I grew up with men. I can handle men—in a professional setting, at least. Women, on the other hand . . . well, I don’t always understand them.”

  The chief nurse laughed. “Do we understand ourselves most of the time?”

  Mellie let herself smile. “Perhaps not.”

  “Your week is up.”

  “I know.” A soft sigh escaped and blended into the wind.

  The chief gave her a compassionate look. “You’ve made changes, and I see you’ve made some friends.”

  So she’d noticed after all. “I’m trying, ma’am.”

  Lieutenant Lambert gazed across the tarmac and held back her brown hair against the wind. “Captain Maxwell is not happy. He says you could have endangered our cause today. A lot of men don’t like outspoken women.”

  Mellie crossed her arms across the dark blue wool of her service jacket. “I’m sorry. I tried to be polite and diplomatic, but—”

  “You were. You did a great job. That little speech helped.” Lieutenant Lambert stopped and flipped up a smile. “And I like outspoken women.”

  Words slipped around Mellie’s mouth but couldn’t gain their footing. Did that mean she’d get a second chance?

  Lieutenant Lambert patted Mellie’s arm. “Don’t worry about Maxwell. I’ll take care of him. You just keep up the effort with the other women, okay?”

  The adventure of friendship and air evacuation outshone the forest. “I will.”

  10

  Constantine, Algeria

  December 6, 1942

  “Come on, boy. Not much farther.” Tom led Sesame through the crowded depot and outside, where the dog bolted for the first bush. Though he weighed only twenty pounds, he was strong and fast, and Tom gripped the leash he’d fashioned from leather belts from the souk.

  He breathed in air untainted by cigarette smoke, body odor, and the other strong smells of the train. In front of him stood a statue of the Roman emperor Constantine, whom the city was named after. Beyond that lay Tom’s objective.

  “Hey, Sesame. Want a wa
lk?” While the men of the battalion disembarked from the train, Tom used his pup as an excuse to explore what caught his eye at the end of the four-hundred-mile train ride. He crossed the road in front of the station to a low stone wall.

  “Wow.” A gorge plunged beneath him, all rugged red rock, with scrubby bushes and palm trees at the bottom. On the far side of the gorge, the city’s buildings grew, their walls extending straight up from the face of the canyon.

  And a bridge. His pulse quickened. A good, old-fashioned stone arch bridge stood to his right, and a beautiful one.

  Larry had told him there were Roman ruins in Constantine, even an old viaduct. Unlikely Tom would have a chance to see that. He was here to build an airfield, not to sightsee. He etched the bridge’s massive curves into his memory and turned back to the station, a yellow building with a tile roof and arched windows.

  “Come here, Ses.” The dog trotted back from the end of his leash, and Tom petted the smooth ridge of his back, unfurling the tail. It sprang back into its coiled position. “Okay, boy. Back to work.”

  At the tracks, the men of the 908th unloaded heavy equipment and vehicles from flatbed train cars. Tom hooked Sesame’s leash to his belt loop, gathered his platoon, and assigned his men to trucks and jeeps for the ride to the construction site, about thirty miles southwest of Constantine, near a village called Telergma.

  A week before, the Allied advance in Tunisia had stalled at Djedeïda, only fifteen miles from Tunis. The Germans held the coastal plains with great airfields, while the Allies were stuck in the mountains and had only three muddy airfields within two hundred miles of the front.

  The Luftwaffe’s air superiority made the Allies stop to regroup, and now the Germans had launched a counteroffensive.

  The Allies needed more airfields, drier and closer to the front.

  Tom headed to his jeep. He was building a bridge of a different sort, to connect bombers to their targets and fighter planes to the troops and ships they needed to protect. For now, it would do.

  Captain Newman joined Tom’s jeep driver, Hank Carter, in the front seat, while Tom sat in the back with Sesame and the men’s musette bags. The larger barracks bags would follow in the trucks.