With Every Letter: A Novel

by Sarah Sundin

  If only she had conversation to keep her occupied, but Sergeant Early dozed in the seat beside her, and the plane carried litters, blankets, and splints. Air evacuation drained these vital supplies from the front. When sea shipping wasn’t available, they had to be returned by air, one planeload for every ten evac flights.

  Down by her feet, her musette bag drew her gaze, and Mellie’s stomach and heart went into twin palpitations. She flipped the page of the North African edition of the servicemen’s newspaper.

  The Soviets had defeated the Germans at the Battle of Kursk and had them on the run. The Americans had invaded New Georgia in the Solomon Islands, slowly gaining lands from the Japanese. The U.S. Eighth Air Force had finished a Blitz Week of heavy bombing against German industrial targets. And Lt. Ruth Gardiner, a flight nurse with the 805th MAETS, had been killed in a plane crash in Alaska, the first American nurse killed in a combat theater in World War II.

  Mellie sighed. The 805th had arrived at Bowman Field right before the 802nd left. Mellie hadn’t met any of the nurses, but everyone felt the loss keenly.

  Bowman Field now offered a formal six-week program at the newly designated School of Air Evacuation. Mellie would see it firsthand and soon.

  “That’ll be good.” If she said it often enough, she’d believe it.

  The C-47 tilted into a wide right turn in preparation for landing.

  Mellie stared at her bag and then shoved away the newspaper. She’d have no peace until she read Tom’s letter. She’d put it off all day since Roger Cooper handed it to her in Agrigento. Tom’s letters had become more romantic and more adamant that they should reveal their identities. Her arguments held no sway with him.

  She unstrapped the bag, opened the envelope, and unfolded the letter.

  A photo and a piece of newsprint fluttered into her lap. Tom’s service portrait and the Stars and Stripes article about the Ponte Olivo incident. Mellie gasped.

  Tom’s photo . . .

  Oh, he had the most inviting smile, the most pleasant face. She’d never seen him in dress uniform before, and he sure looked handsome. She pressed the likeness to her lips, the closest she would ever come to kissing him.

  And the clipping. The article included Tom’s name and picture.

  He was revealing his identity to her, and her fingers went numb. Somehow she focused on the letter.

  My beloved,

  This is the last letter I’ll address to Annie.

  “What?” Mellie’s vision clouded over. Oh goodness, it was over. It was already over. She blinked hard and returned to the letter.

  From now on, any letters must be addressed to our real names. It’s time, my love. I know this letter will devastate you. You don’t believe I’ll love the real you, but please give me a chance. I’m taking a big chance too. My name has the destructive power of dynamite.

  I need to formally introduce myself. My name is Thomas MacGilliver Jr. I go by Tom. The men in my unit call me Gill. It sounds like an affectionate nickname, but it’s really a way to avoid my full name.

  Now you know. Even though you spent a great deal of your life abroad, I’m sure you’ve heard my father’s story and probably jumped rope to the rhyme, never dreaming someday you’d write to his son.

  As you can see from the news clipping, my father’s reputation will never leave me. You’ve heard my version of the story, but this is what the rest of the world sees. You need to know exactly what you’re getting into.

  Annie, can you see my heart splattered all over the page? I’m trying to convince you to reveal yourself, knowing my name could drive you away forever.

  Mellie fumbled in her trousers pocket for her handkerchief. Her dear, brave Tom. He hadn’t written anything she didn’t already know, but it took great courage to tell her.

  With a quivering hand, she turned to the second page.

  For some reason, I want to laugh. I want to burst into the deep, joyful laughter of freedom. Whatever you decide, I’ve done it. For the first time in my life, someone knows the real me, inside and out.

  Everyone knows the outside me—the killer name and friendly personality. I’ve shown you the inside me. Not even my mother knows my heart as you do. In this letter I’ve bridged the two sides. No matter what, I claim this victory.

  I’m asking the world of you—to trust the son of a notorious criminal. But I must do this. If our relationship is to grow, I must know your identity, and someday we must meet. I want to know you better. I want to see your smile and hear your laugh and feel your hair in my fingers.

  Given my name, what I’m about to say will terrify you, but I’ll say it anyway. I want more. I want a genuine relationship with a real woman I can hold and kiss and maybe someday marry. I can’t marry a letter.

  I’ve failed to persuade you, so now I’ll force things to a head. If you reveal your identity, I will continue to write. If not, I won’t.

  I don’t know where in the theater you’re stationed, and I can’t tell you where I am due to censorship, but Kay knows where I am. If you’re nearby and willing, I want to meet you. If not, respond with your name, address, and picture. Yes, your picture.

  I’ve never asked more of another person. I’m asking you to overlook my heritage. I’m asking you to trust me to love you no matter what you look like. I’m asking you to open yourself to the possibility of real love.

  But please, darling, take this step.

  No matter what you decide, I’ll treasure the memory of our friendship. You prodded me to openness, strength, and freedom. I will love you for that always.

  With my undying love, Tom

  Mellie choked back a sob, covered her mouth with a trembling hand, and shot a glance at Early. No, he was still asleep.

  If she didn’t reveal herself, she’d lose their correspondence—Tom’s warmth and humor, his understanding and insight, his friendship and love.

  But if she did reveal herself, it would be even worse—the slow, agonizing death of rejection. So kind and polite, he’d let her down gradually, but he would let her down.

  Either way, she’d lose him forever. Either way, her heart and his would be shattered.

  The greatest mercy for both of them was the quick dagger, the sudden shock, and the immediate transition to healing.

  Mellie hugged Tom’s letter close to her heart. She couldn’t bear to inflict pain on him, but this was for the best in the long run. “Lord, give me the right words. And be with him, help him through this.”

  Wheels bumped along the ground, and Mellie jerked her head up. They’d landed? Early roused, then snorted and settled back to sleep.

  Mellie pressed her palms to hot, wet cheeks. How could she pull herself together? She dried her face with a handkerchief and drew deep breaths that hitched on her swollen throat.

  The 802nd had left Agrigento that morning for a new, unspecified field. The three teams that had flown today’s evac mission to Tunisia had taken their gear with them.

  Mellie gazed out the window. Craggy amber hills studded with olive trees in one direction, a smooth slope to the Mediterranean in the other. Beautiful like all of Sicily, but she wouldn’t be here long.

  Would leaving ease her heartache? It might. But Tom wouldn’t have that luxury.

  Clint Peters swung open the door to the cabin. “Hi there. How was the flight? Rise and shine, Sarge.”

  “Just fine.” She wrangled up a smile and shook Early’s shoulder.

  The sergeant grunted, stretched, and groped for his belongings. He might be rising, but he wouldn’t shine for at least an hour.

  Clint looked out the window. “Say, I wonder if the others are here yet.”

  Rose and Georgie hadn’t flown a mission today but had traveled by air with the rest of the squadron. “We’ll find out. Where are we?”

  “Benvenuto a casa,” he said in an exaggerated Italian accent. “Termini Imerese.”

  “Termini.” Appropriate. A terminus, the end of the line for her flight nursing career. Or terminal, l
ike her relationship with Tom.

  “On the north side of the triangle, about thirty miles east of Palermo and a hundred miles west of Messina.” Clint charged down the aisle. “Come on. I need to find my girl.”

  Mellie lifted a sad, soft smile. At least Rose had a happy ending.

  Roger Cooper ducked through the door to the cabin. “Funny thing, Mellie. That letter I gave you is back where it started. Gill could have waited and handed it to you or Kay in person.”

  Mellie’s breath rushed in. “He’s here?”

  “Yeah.” He raised one eyebrow.

  Oh goodness, if she weren’t careful, she’d give herself away. She forced out a laugh and headed down the aisle. “Kay will be glad to hear that.”

  “They’re not an item, are they?” Disdain tinged his voice.

  “No, the letters. It’ll be easier.” Her cheeks warmed from her own babbling and from the painful truth that only one more letter would be passed.

  Clint helped her to the ground, and Early hopped down after her. She gazed around the airfield, not sure if she wanted to see Tom or not. One last time to look into his eyes—would it make it easier or harder?

  “Clint! Clint!”

  “There’s my girl.” He jogged to Rose, swung her in a circle, set her down, and kissed her.

  “Clint,” she said in half a dozen syllables. “Not in front of everyone.”

  “Everyone had better get used to it. I don’t plan to stop.” He leaned in for another kiss.

  Rose ducked her head to the side and shot Mellie a sheepish look.

  Mellie smiled at her and headed across the airfield, a strange surface, black like tarmac but squishy.

  Georgie greeted her with a wave. “I’m glad you’re back. Rose and Clint will be sharing a romantic meal of C rations.”

  “Mess isn’t open yet?”

  “They’re working on it.” Georgie’s face looked puffy, and red rimmed her blue eyes.

  Mellie’s heart flipped from her own concerns to Georgie’s. A year ago, she wouldn’t have known what to say and would have been too shy to speak up. “Have you been crying? What’s wrong? Bad news from home? From Ward?”

  Georgie gave her head a little shake and walked toward rows of khaki tents like sand dunes in the desert. “Nothing like that.”

  Mellie fell in beside her friend. “Well, what is it?”

  A sigh collapsed Georgie’s chest. “I overheard Lambert talking to Guilford. The replacement nurses arrived in Oran. They’ll be here in a few days.”

  “Oh.” She glanced back to the olive drab C-47s, representing all she’d worked for the past year. Would she make any more flights?

  “It’s not right.” Georgie’s voice shook.

  Mellie would only have a few more days with her friends, and then she’d return to Kentucky. Georgie and Rose would write, maybe even Kay, but it wouldn’t be the same. However, a peaceful feeling told her she’d make new friends.

  “I can’t believe you aren’t fighting this.” Georgie faced her with fire in her eyes—an unusual look for her. “It isn’t fair.”

  Word of Vera and Alice’s prank and Mellie’s decision had spread with no help from Mellie. “It was my choice.”

  “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yes, it does. Don’t you see? I’m that square peg aiming for the round hole, twisting and turning and not fitting. It’s best for the squadron if I leave.”

  “Best for the squadron?” Georgie leaned closer and stared into Mellie’s eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

  A solid nod. “I know it for a fact.”

  43

  Termini Airfield

  August 7, 1943

  Out on the airstrip Captain Newman spoke to Company B’s three platoon leaders. Since Tom already knew the status at Termini, his gaze slipped over his CO’s shoulder. In the distance, washed in peach-colored early morning light, men carried litters to C-47s.

  He let out a silent groan and returned his attention to his CO. He hadn’t seen Mellie at Termini and he’d probably never see her again. Yesterday, when he asked Kay Jobson whether Annie had written—she hadn’t, which fed his worry—Kay told him Mellie was going home and why. Anger simmered inside him at the cruelty and injustice. He didn’t quite understand Mellie’s decision, but it had a noble ring to it, and he admired her all the more.

  Tom puffed out a breath and nodded at Newman’s words. Part of him would be glad to see his little temptation leave, but part of him wanted her to stay. What if Annie couldn’t come to grips with his identity? What if she never wrestled up the courage to show her face? What if he lost his chance with the intriguing flight nurse while Annie dithered?

  His stomach wadded up into a little ball. What if he was the biggest heel in the world?

  “In summary,” Newman said, “runway and access road are complete, so are the electrical grid and water system. Just need to shore up the dumps for supplies, ammo, and gasoline. One detachment will stay behind for maintenance, and the rest of us will head to the next airfield when it’s secured.”

  “That could be awhile,” Lieutenant Reed grumbled.

  The Americans had taken Troina in the north, and the British had finally taken Catania on the east coast, but both armies had to battle around the rugged base of Mount Etna to the flatlands near Messina where good airfields could be built.

  Newman shielded his eyes from the rising sun. “We’ll be ready when it’s time.”

  “Not me,” Quincy said.

  “Excuse me?” The CO turned back, his eyebrows lifted.

  “How can I get any work done in the middle of a circus? Not only do I got two platoons to lead, but the reporters won’t leave my men alone. They want the scoop on him.” He jerked his chin toward Tom. “They call us the Killiver Battalion.”

  Tom grimaced. He’d heard that too.

  “It won’t last forever,” Newman said. “They’ll lose interest.”

  “How can they when the Killiver won’t stay away from the field like he’s supposed to?”

  The tone of the morning light changed, from soft and peachy to harsh and hot. Tom wet his lips. “I have paperwork. I need the data. You don’t bring it to me, so I go get it.”

  Quincy hitched his carbine strap higher on his shoulder. “Captain, you told him to stay away from the men, from the field.”

  Newman huffed out a sigh. “Gill, I did tell you that.”

  “But he doesn’t. When he’s around, the boys don’t work. They fuss over him like he’s a Hollywood star.”

  “Yeah,” Reed said. “I’ve seen it.”

  Hot air pressed around him and stole his breath. Without the data, he couldn’t complete the paperwork, the only reason for his presence. Quincy could snuff out his career. “I need the numbers, sir.”

  “Why’s he even around?” Quincy flung one hand into the air. “His three months are over.”

  “He does a good job,” Newman said in a low voice. “He’s a skilled engineer.”

  “But he distracts the men.” Quincy raised one stubby finger. “All they talk about is the killer.”

  Tom’s hand clenched around his web pistol belt. “You should be glad, Quince.”

  A scoffing laugh. “What?”

  “You used to call me a pansy because I didn’t shoot.” Tom kept his voice firm and low. “This time I shot. You should be glad.”

  “That’s another thing.” Quincy stepped up to him. “I think you snapped. Pansy to killer. You’re unstable.”

  Tom hardened his stance. Heat pulsed through his body, seeking an outlet. “I’m not unstable. I did what any of you would’ve done—or should’ve done. I acted. I protected my men. Can I help it if I’m a better shot than you are?”

  “You’re unstable.” Quincy bored his gaze deep into Tom’s eyes and soul. “You used to smile all the time like an idiot. Now you don’t.”

  “That’s not unstable. That’s normal. Everyone gets scared and angry and sad. Guess what? Me too. I
’m not going to plaster on a smile all the time just to prove I’m not my dad.”

  “With a dad like yours . . .” Quincy turned to Reed and let out a laugh.

  “Come on. Your dad ever done anything you’re ashamed of? Does he have a hard time keeping a job? Maybe he smells bad or tells stupid jokes. Does he drink too much? Gamble too much? Cheat on your mom?” He stepped right in front of Quincy, a man so mean he must have learned it from someone. “Did he beat you?”

  Quincy’s gaze jerked away, then returned, darker than ever. “My dad ain’t a murderer.”

  “I’m not either.”

  “You’re just getting started. Someday you’ll go berserk and shoot us all in our sleep.”

  “That’s enough,” Newman said. “Gill won’t go on a rampage.”

  Tom sucked in a breath. No, but he’d always be his father’s son.

  The heat of his anger sizzled out on the cold stone slab of truth. Things would never change. People would either fear his name or be overly fascinated by it. For the rest of his life, his father’s reputation would color Tom’s every action.

  Quincy shot Tom a snide glance, then turned to Newman. “Sir, you have to do something. He distracts the men, he attracts those lousy reporters, he gave our battalion a bad name, and he might even be dangerous.”

  With his anger gone, Tom felt strangely disconnected. His career could be smashed. He’d probably never find love. Yet all around him, the land shimmered in the heat of a new day, fresh with possibilities.

  God made all things new. He was a new creation.

  Only Annie believed it. And Tom. But he wouldn’t let that stop him anymore. He’d act like a new man whether they liked it or not.

  He marched up to his CO. “You told me if I gained the men’s respect, you’d give me back my platoon. They respect me now, maybe too much. I want my platoon back.”

  Newman retracted his chin. “Pardon?”