by Sarah Sundin
Back in August, that song played while he sat on the beach at Termini next to Georgie in her pink dress, with her bare arms draped over her knees. Half an hour ago, he’d kissed those bare arms. Now they were wrapped around Captain Chadwick’s scrawny neck.
A heavy weight pressed his chest, and he tapped Lucia’s latest partner on the shoulder. “May I?”
“I guess you’re the guy who brought her.”
“Yep.”
“My Ucce!” Lucia’s big brown eyes sparkled, and she reached for him.
He settled her in place and led her in a gentle dance, her head resting on his shoulder. His tongue felt gigantic in his mouth. The war had introduced Hutch to Georgie, yet kept her out of his arms. The war had orphaned and crippled Lucia, yet placed her in Hutch’s arms.
How could anyone make sense of such insanity?
38
Pomigliano Airfield, Italy
December 25, 1943
A low rumble beneath Georgie vibrated through her backside and feet. That meant the tail landing gear was up.
She opened her eyes and released her breath. Although she’d made progress, takeoffs and landings still bothered her.
When the plane leveled off, she stood. Succumbing to temptation, she glanced out the window. The dark bulk of Vesuvius rose to the south, puffing smoke. Scuttlebutt pointed to an eruption brewing. Almost two thousand years earlier, Vesuvius had killed every living creature in Pompeii. And Pomigliano Airfield lay not much farther north of Vesuvius than Pompeii lay to the south. That fact did nothing to settle her nerves.
Nervous or not, she had a special job.
“Merry Christmas, gentlemen.” She headed down the aisle of the C-47 with her musette bag, ducking Hutch’s darling ornaments, which she had strung between the litter racks. On her way, she handed out tiny packages tied in gauze. “We have a little present for each of you. Wait until I pass them out, then you can open them all at once.”
“Sealed with a kiss?” Private Hodges winked the one blue eye peeking from under a wad of bandages.
She waved him off. “I wouldn’t want to make my boyfriend sad on Christmas.”
Yet she’d done exactly that. She passed out the rest of the packages while uneasiness writhed in her stomach. Why did she go to that stupid dance? Chadwick had acted like a gentleman, if a pompous gentleman, and Bergie would certainly tell Hutch all had been innocent, but she’d longed to be in Hutch’s arms and ached from the sadness in his eyes.
The dance confirmed the gulf between them, and she hated it.
At the front of the plane, she threw a bright smile in place. These men had been wounded in battle or suffered from illness far from home. This could be their worst Christmas ever, but she was determined to give them pleasant memories. “All right, gentlemen. Open your presents.”
The men untied the gauze, and Georgie and Sergeant Ramirez helped those with casts or bandages on their hands.
“Fudge!” someone cried.
“Hey, watch your language. A lady’s present.”
Georgie laughed. “A square of fudge for each of you. I don’t want to ruin your carefully designed hospital diets too much.”
“Ruin to your heart’s content, ma’am.” An ambulatory patient on the right side of the plane popped his piece in his mouth. “Heaven.”
“Mm-hmm.” The man next to him nodded. “A morsel of joy.”
The nurses would be so pleased. Last night they’d worked hard over their little Coleman stoves, making batch after batch for their flights—and for themselves too.
“Speaking of joy . . .” Georgie waved her hand like a choir director. “‘Joy to the world!’”
The men joined in the singing, only a few at first, since most had their mouths full, but then in unison. Sergeant Ramirez had a strong bass voice, and he dipped into the harmony. Soon a chorus overpowered the engine noises and resonated through the plane.
Rose would be pleased. She loved Christmas caroling. If only she could be here.
Georgie blinked back tears, took requests, and caroled her way through her duties.
A sense of fulfillment nudged grief aside. This was why she’d returned overseas. Her lifelong gift to lighten people’s hearts and her new nursing skills combined to ease the pain of the hurting.
If only she could make Hutch feel better.
Her voice faltered, but she dove into “White Christmas.”
She’d had a long talk with Mellie last night. Hutch wouldn’t be content until he became an officer. But was that right? Didn’t the Lord want him to be content where he was, regardless of his circumstances? After all, what if he never got a commission?
She shuddered and launched into “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.” After all this time, all this work, what would he do if he lost his dream?
The C-47 jostled and dropped a few feet.
Georgie let out an embarrassing cry and grabbed onto the litter support rack.
“Just some turbulence.” Sergeant Ramirez took hold of her elbow. He wasn’t much taller than Georgie, but he was built like a tank. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”
She smiled, although her pulse hammered. “Just startled me, that’s all.”
“Yeah.” He returned her smile, but with concern in his eyes. Everyone knew of her disastrous performance in the plane crash.
Georgie set her hands on her hips and assumed an expression of mock outrage. “Turbulence on Christmas Day? What kind of outfit is this? We ought to be ashamed of ourselves. Fine way to treat our holiday guests.”
Ramirez chuckled and headed to the rear of the plane.
Her mock outrage floated away, replaced with anger at herself. She’d been through turbulence before, plenty of times. Why did she let it affect her?
She took Private Hodges’s pulse and recorded it in the flight manifest.
She still had a long way to go.
Pozzuoli, Italy
January 11, 1944
Hutch glanced at the clock and drummed his fingers on his completed examination. Half an hour remained, but he’d already gone over the test twice and knew he’d done well. Numbers were his lifelong friends.
Asking Colonel Currier for the three-day pass had been a smart choice, but he barely made it. The 93rd had closed at Piana di Caiazzo on January 5 in preparation for an upcoming amphibious operation, somewhere higher up the Italian boot. They were staging in the Naples area, a clear sign God wanted him in the Pharmacy Corps.
Hutch arrived in Caivano outside of Naples on Sunday, and the test was in nearby Pozzuoli on Monday and Tuesday. Since he already had approval for a third day, tomorrow he’d see Pompeii with Georgie and her friends, acting as their tour guide to justify the fraternization.
This might be the last time he saw her for a long while. Since July, Georgie had followed him from shore to shore, but would she follow him to the next beach?
Only one other applicant sat in the tiny room, Lt. Pete Cameron from San Francisco. Pete nibbled on his pencil, then scratched down an answer. Nice fellow, Pete. He’d attended Officer Candidate School and now served as an artillery officer in the US 3rd Infantry Division, which was preparing to ship out in the same convoy as the 93rd Evac.
Since he already had a commission, Pete didn’t need this as badly as Hutch did.
Pete closed his exam book, puffed out a breath, and stood.
Hutch got up too and turned in his test. He smiled at Pete. “How’d it go?”
He ran his hand over close-cropped curly blond hair. “Don’t know. I’m rusty. Haven’t practiced in two years, thanks to Uncle Sam. Maybe I should have done what you did.”
“If you did, you’d have to ‘yes, sir’ all day long to men who have the same education as you do and call you ‘boy.’”
Pete shook his head. “Pharmacists get a raw deal in this Army, don’t they?”
“Glad we finally have our own Corps. I’ve been waiting for this.”
The officer administering the exam tucked the tests in a manila
folder and stood. “You and nine hundred others.”
Hutch frowned. “What do you mean, sir?”
“They’ve received nine hundred applications for the Pharmacy Corps, I’m told.”
Pete let out a low whistle. “Lousy odds.”
“Look at the bright side.” Hutch tapped his foot. “Nine hundred men have the same vision. That’ll make the Army take notice. Think what we could do. Nine hundred officers could staff every fixed and mobile hospital, both stateside and overseas.”
Half a smile from Pete. “But only seventy-two of us get a shot at it now.”
“Twelve.” The officer headed for the door.
Hutch’s gut clenched. “Twelve?”
He held open the door. “They’re only commissioning twelve officers at this time.”
“But—but Congress approved seventy-two.”
“The Army decided a gradual implementation would be best. Twelve now, more later.”
Pete whistled again and headed out. “I just wasted two days of my life.”
Two days? Hutch had wasted over three years. He couldn’t move.
“Sergeant?” The officer waved him to the door.
“Yes, sir.” His voice splintered on his wooden tongue, and he forced his feet to move.
Twelve positions? Nine hundred applicants? For the first time in his life, numbers betrayed him.
39
Pompeii, Italy
January 12, 1944
Georgie stood outside Pompeii’s arched gateway and scanned the crowds arriving from the train station. What if Hutch didn’t make it? The invasion force could sail any day, and who knew when she’d see him again.
She rolled the guidebook in her hands.
Was that him? A tall dark-haired man walked alone and with a familiar gait. He wore an enlisted man’s service uniform in a lighter shade of olive drab than the officer’s dress uniform.
Her heart flipped over. She stretched up on tiptoe and waved. “Hutch!”
He raised a hand in greeting. Not the enthusiastic reception she craved.
She dashed down the pathway, weaving among the servicemen, both American and British.
Hutch stopped and gave her a smart salute. “Good day, Lieutenant.”
She rolled her eyes and saluted him back with a grin. He had no choice but to follow protocol. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Barely.” He headed up the pathway, keeping a proper distance from her.
It wasn’t like him to be terse, but she could cheer him up. “I’ve never seen you in dress uniform. You look so handsome.”
His jaw jutted forward. “More like an officer?”
Her step faltered. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
He grimaced and faced her. “I know. That wasn’t fair.”
Georgie’s breath solidified in her lungs. Something was wrong. “Sugar, are you all right?” She reached for him.
“Don’t.” He sidestepped her and glanced over his shoulder. A military policeman stood guard at the gateway. “That MP would love to get his hands on me if I got my hands on you.”
“I’m sorry. I forget sometimes. Are you all right?”
He groaned and marched up the path. “Let’s just get this charade going. I’m supposed to play tour guide for you and your friends, right? The only way I can legally be seen in your presence. Do you have the guidebook?”
Georgie breathed hard, and not from the exertion of catching up with his long-legged pace. “What’s going on?”
He held out his hand as he walked. “The guidebook? I need to convince that MP.”
“Sure.” She slipped it into his hand.
He glanced at the booklet, creased from folding and rolling. “What happened to it?”
“I was kind of nervous waiting for you.” Not as nervous as she felt right now though.
Hutch chewed on his lips and shifted his gaze to her. A host of emotions swarmed in his brown eyes. “It’s fine. Really, it is.”
No. It wasn’t fine. He was facing another invasion, separation from her, the Pharmacy Corps exam, and leaving Lucia. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Is it Lucia? Were you able to take her to the orphanage?”
“Yeah.” He continued up the path, saluted the MP, and handed his dime to the Italian man in the ancient arched gateway. “They let me go with her. It’s a decent place, spartan but clean. The Red Cross will take good care of her and help her write me.”
“That’s good.” Georgie paid her ten cents and pushed through the turnstile. “Does she like it?”
Hutch headed forward, looking straight ahead, and his Adam’s apple rose from his knotted tie to his jaw. “She cried.”
“Oh, sweetie.” More than anything, she wanted to take his hand and snuggle close, but she gripped her shoulder bag instead. “That must have been hard on both of you.”
“Everyone she loves deserts her.”
“You’ll come back for her.”
“Yeah.” He squinted at the ruins. “Where are your friends?”
“Up ahead. We agreed to meet at the Forum.” Time to explore the next issue. “Were you able to take the exam?”
“Yep.” He gripped an imaginary baseball bat and swung. “I hit that ball so far out of the park, they won’t find it till March.”
So why the dark tone? “That’s good.”
He passed neatly spaced columns of an ancient temple and didn’t even glance at them. “Doesn’t matter.”
Despite the chill in the air, Georgie wiped moisture from her palms onto her skirt. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”
“Some bureaucrat decided seventy-two pharmacy officers would strain the system. They’re only commissioning twelve now. You know how many men applied? Nine hundred. That gives me a whopping 1.3 percent chance.”
“Oh my goodness.” No wonder he was in a bad mood. “I’m so sorry. But I know you’ll be one of the twelve.”
He let out a scoffing laugh. “One point three. Might as well be zero.”
“Please don’t get discouraged. I’m sure—”
“Don’t bother.” He opened the guidebook. “Let me get my bearings so I can play my role.”
Georgie’s teeth ground together. He had every right to be angry, but no right to take it out on her. Besides, this was supposed to be a fun, romantic day, and if he didn’t cheer up, he’d ruin it.
“Georgie! Over here!” Mellie waved at her. “You have to see this view. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve seen in my life.”
Maybe her friends’ enthusiasm would be contagious or at least shame Hutch into a better mood. She tossed him a little smile, but he just motioned for her to lead the way.
Georgie joined her three friends in their gray-blue skirt uniforms. “Hutch, you remember my friend Mellie.”
“Lieutenant Blake.” He saluted her.
“Kay and Louise, you haven’t formally met Hutch yet. Hutch, these are my friends Kay Jobson and Louise Cox.”
“Lieutenant Jobson. Lieutenant Cox.” A proper, unsmiling salute.
Kay grinned and extended her hand. “You can call me Kay.”
“No, ma’am. I can’t.” At least he shook her hand.
Louise shook his hand too. “So you’re the antiquities expert. Georgie said you’ll be a great tour guide.”
“I’m no expert, and I’ve never been to Pompeii. But I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure you will.” Georgie gave him a sweet smile. “Where are we now?”
“The Forum.” Mellie laughed. “Even I know that. Would you please turn around and savor that view?”
Georgie did so. A long plaza stretched before her, framed by broken columns of varying heights. The remains of a temple sat at the far end, and beyond that Vesuvius rose, its smoking top concealed in the clouds.
She twisted her purse strap. “Sometimes I wonder if this is a safe place to be stationed.”
“It’s war.” Kay sauntered down the Forum. “Nothing’s safe.”
How embarrassing to be caught wallowing i
n her old fears, and in front of Hutch, who’d helped her rise above them. But he seemed absorbed in the guidebook.
“That’s the Temple of Jupiter.” He pointed straight ahead. “Temple of Apollo’s to our left, Building of Eumachia to our right.”
That was all? Where were the stories, the details, the color? She followed the group down the Forum and threaded through the columns. Hutch remained silent, as dark and forbidding as the volcano itself.
He led the way past the Temple of Jupiter and through an arch, with the ladies scampering to keep up. Why did he have to be a grouch on what could be their last day together in ages?
Kay sidled up and leaned close. “Remind me what you see in him.”
Georgie pressed her lips together. Right now she had a hard time remembering that herself. She let out a long breath. “He’s had some bad news. He’s not usually like this.”
“I’d hope not. He makes Ward look like fun.”
Several feet ahead, Mellie crossed the street on high stepping-stones. “Aren’t these interesting? Hutch, what does it say in the guidebook?”
He continued down the raised sidewalk. “Says they flushed the streets every day.”
“The stepping-stones would keep your feet dry. How clever.” Mellie perched on a stone and peered down at the road. “Look at the chariot ruts in the pavement. My goodness.”
Louise gave her a playful push into the street.
Mellie laughed, then studied the stones. “It looks like the chariots could straddle them. I wish Tom could see this. Such a clever design.”
Georgie followed the ladies across the stones, not easy in a straight skirt and heels. If Tom were here, he’d help Mellie across. He’d be in a good mood, laughing and enjoying himself. But oh no, not Hutch.
He turned right onto another street, approached a building on the left, and motioned for the women to head in first. “The House of the Faun. Ladies?”
Georgie passed through the doorway and raised one eyebrow at him, but he didn’t even meet her eye.
The group stepped into a wide paved courtyard. All around, remains of walls jutted up, their porous volcanic stone exposed.
“Isn’t that charming?” Mellie stood before an empty rectangular pool with a mosaic of diamond-shaped stones on the bottom. In the center stood a small statue of a dancing faun.
