A Distant Melody

by Sarah Sundin

  Allie frowned. After all, he didn’t pay attention to Betty’s stories.

  “He knows,” Dorothy said. “He talks to you, right?”

  Betty laughed. “Poor Walter. He can only talk to a girl if she’s taken.”

  8

  Saturday, June 27, 1942

  Walt stood in precise at-ease posture. If only his mind were at ease.

  The paralysis was back.

  As soon as Allie glided down the aisle of Riverview Community Church in that long green dress, every muscle froze. When she gave him her soft smile, he forced his mouth into some stiff position that probably didn’t even look like a smile. Now only his neck muscles worked, but he couldn’t control them. He should watch his father bless his friend’s marriage, but Allie drew him like a pretty little magnet.

  How was he supposed to dance with her if he couldn’t move?

  Allie’s eyes turned to him. Walt whipped his head front, as if intent on Dad’s words. Second time he’d been caught watching her.

  Why now? Why was he freezing up now when he knew she was interested in him? No doubt after her flirting at the serenade, her dreamy look when he sang to her, and the look on her face when he said good night, as if she wanted him to scale the wall and kiss her right then. Last night he could have, but now?

  Her waist looked even tinier in that dress, her hair curled so softly, and she had such a sweet expression. Boy, did he want to kiss her tonight.

  Allie gave him a curious look. He snapped his head front so fast his neck hurt. Swell. She knew he was watching her. She knew something was wrong.

  He frowned. He was too focused on the kiss. Just had to dance with her, talk with her. Conversation had been easy all week but now seemed as unlikely as Flossie flying.

  If only she didn’t look so nice—light as a glider.

  Allie glanced at him. Caught again!

  Before he could turn away, he thought he saw her tongue flick out, quick as a lizard. He blinked a few times. He wasn’t seeing right.

  She crossed her eyes.

  One of the most ladylike creatures he had ever met was making faces at him in front of the wedding guests. A smile cracked the ice on his face. Allie knew he was nervous and wanted to make him comfortable. No one had ever understood him so well.

  He dropped her a wink, packed full of affection. She smiled and faced front.

  Walt flexed his hands and his toes. Yep, he could move. He could talk to her and laugh with her and dance with her. As for that kiss, well, he’d wait and see.

  The knife pressed a valley in the snowy frosting and sank into the cake. Allie slid the cake server under the piece and transferred it to the plate in Helen Carlisle’s hand.

  “Almost done.” Helen’s gaze circled the room. “Dorothy has the beverage table under control, and the band is warming up. If the baby can wait ten more minutes for his bottle, everything will be set.”

  Allie smiled. For sisters, Betty and Helen couldn’t be more different. Betty hated details, and Helen thrived on them. “I think half of Antioch is here. I’m amazed you obtained enough sugar for the cake.”

  “Well, when the grocer’s son gets married . . .” Helen laughed and gathered two empty plates. “But of course, it was honest. We all chipped in our rations.”

  “Speaking of rations.” Jim Carlisle approached the table with a squalling blue bundle. “Jay-Jay wants his milk ration. Your mom’s busy, and mine—can’t find her.”

  Helen glanced at the cake. “I’m almost done.”

  “I can finish,” Allie said.

  “But—”

  Jim thrust the baby into Helen’s arms.

  She sighed and popped the bottle into her son’s open mouth. After a few wails, Jay-Jay settled down with a whimper. Helen smiled at Allie. “Babies are adorable, but they sure ruin schedules.”

  Allie waved away the little family. Serving cake alone was manageable but awkward. The next few slices weren’t centered on the plates, and one slice toppled in a crumbly heap. She pushed it aside to be her piece later.

  “Hi, Allie.”

  The masculine voice behind her was right on cue—if anything, a trifle late. She had been alone almost five minutes. She smiled at Walt over her shoulder and turned back to the cake. “Come to help?”

  “Nah. I came to brief you on our mission for tonight.”

  “Our mission?”

  “You see those vessels—the USS Carlisle and the USS Wayne?” He leaned over her left shoulder and pointed to Dorothy at the beverage table and Art across the room. “Admiral Anello informed me of our solemn duty to engage the vessels on an intercept course.”

  While she was glad he had overcome his odd shyness during the ceremony, his proximity and boldness rattled her. She pulled herself together and set a cake slice on a plate. “Funny to hear a naval analogy from the mouth of an airman.”

  “Worked better with ships than planes.” The puffs of his chuckle made Allie’s hair and stomach flutter.

  “Wait a minute.” She set down the knife and faced him. He was so close and so handsome in full dress uniform, she took a step back out of necessity. “Haven’t you meddled enough with Art and Dorothy?”

  Walt’s cheeks sagged. “She told you?”

  “I know your intentions were honorable, even if your methods weren’t.”

  He studied her for a moment, as if to ascertain the sincerity of her forgiveness. “I learned my lesson. This is George’s plan.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back. “What’s the plan, Captain Novak? Time’s a-wasting. The vessels are drifting apart.”

  “Captain Novak—I like that.” He grinned, then sobered. “But you won’t like the admiral’s plan. I told him about our deal not to dance, and he pulled rank on me. Seems if we sit out, Art and Dorothy will also sit out to keep us company.”

  “But if we dance . . .” A shiver ran up her spine, but was it apprehension or anticipation? “If we dance, they’ll dance, and Betty thinks this evening of dancing will accomplish what countless other evenings of dancing have failed to accomplish.”

  Walt’s smile bent his eyes into adorable half-moons. “For a newcomer, you’ve sure got everyone pegged. So, Sailor, can the admiral count on you?”

  Something new and coy glimmered inside. “Actually, this sailor has a problem. I can’t fraternize with an officer.”

  He stared at her, one eyebrow cocked. “Uh-oh. Fraternization is vital to the mission. How about a field promotion— Lieutenant Miller?”

  She gave him a salute, energized by the glimmer. “Reporting for duty.”

  He grinned, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the dance floor.

  “Walter, wait.” She glanced over her shoulder at the cake and tried to ignore the warmth of his hand around hers.

  “Oh yeah.” He whirled back, a frown on his face. “I promised myself I’d do this right. No one’s ever asked you to dance, and here I go, hauling you off. Won’t do. Would you—um, do me the honor of dancing with me?”

  For one brief moment, Allie wished Baxter away, wished Walt into her life forever and ever. What a disloyal thought, and besides, Walt was only being polite.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I have to . . . the cake.” She tugged her hand free and returned to the table, afraid she was too shaky to handle a knife.

  “Allie.” A hand manicured with bright red polish reached across the table and grasped her arm. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages.”

  She looked up to see Louise Morgan from Scripps, her brown eyes enormous behind her glasses. “Oh, Louise, I hoped you’d come.”

  “How could I miss it? San Francisco’s not so far.” She glanced to Walt, once again by Allie’s side.

  She struggled to remember the proper order of introduction. “Louise, I’d like you to meet Walter Novak, George’s friend. Walt, this is Louise Morgan, my dear friend from Scripps College.”

  After they exchanged handshakes, Walt turned to Allie, lower
lip protruding. “I’m not your dear friend?”

  “Of course, you are.” She fought down an urge to push that darling lip back in place and faced Louise. “Where’s Larry?”

  Louise pointed to an Army officer at the beverage table. “Getting what passes for coffee. Doesn’t he look great in uniform?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Walt placed his hand in the small of Allie’s back. “While you finish, I’ll brief Art on the mission.”

  She nodded, smiled, and hoped her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt.

  After he left, Louise picked up an empty cake plate. “So, where’s Baxter?”

  “Baxter? Oh, he had a deadline at work and couldn’t come.”

  Louise held out a plate for the slice Allie lifted. “I thought you’d broken up.”

  She dropped the cake onto the tablecloth. “No. No. Why would you think that?”

  Louise glanced across the room to where Walt conferred with Art. “Walt seems attentive. Does Baxter know he has a rival?”

  “Rival? Walt? Nonsense. He wouldn’t try to steal another man’s girlfriend.” Allie hurriedly scraped the mess onto a plate. “I—I think Betty asked him to watch over me this week.”

  Louise brushed crumbs into her open hand. “Watch over you? Well, he’s definitely watching you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you during the wedding.”

  Oh no. Someone else noticed. She rubbed at a spot of frosting on the tablecloth with a napkin, aware she was making the stain worse.

  “That pilot has a little crush on you.”

  “Nonsense.” Her hand went in circles, but her mind fixed on an impossible truth. A crush would explain his attentiveness and also his awkwardness during the ceremony—he’d be embarrassed to have a crush on a woman who was spoken for.

  “I think it’s sweet he has a crush on you.”

  “Don’t be silly. No one’s ever had a crush on me.”

  “No one? What about Baxter?”

  “Baxter?” Allie divided the last bit of cake. “That’s different. We’ve been together so long.” Yet four and a half years with Baxter Hicks had never generated a fraction of the emotions she’d experienced in one week with Walter Novak.

  Walter Novak, who crossed the room, his gaze and smile locked on Allie. Walter Novak, who took her hand, led her away from Louise and the cake and Allie’s own good reason, and drew her into his strong arms.

  Walter Novak, who looked at her as if she were lovely and special.

  All her life Allie had longed for the look in his hazel eyes, but she never guessed how splendid it was to truly feel lovely and special. His attraction sank deep in her soul, exhilarating and dangerous and enriching.

  “Our primary objective is accomplished.”

  Allie blinked. “Hmm?”

  Walt nodded to Art and Dorothy on the dance floor not far away. “As for the secondary objective, that’s not in our hands.”

  She managed a smile but couldn’t form any words. Maybe she could speak if she didn’t look in his eyes. She studied his uniform instead—the olive drab wool, the gold lieutenant’s bars on his shoulder straps, the U.S. pins on the collars, the Army Air Force insignia on the lapels, and the silver wings over his left breast pocket.

  The knot on his khaki tie bobbed. “So far no broken toes. But the night is young. You may get your Purple Heart yet.”

  She steeled herself to raise her eyes to him. “I doubt that. Despite what you say, you’re a good dancer.” No one would ever call him a great dancer, since he used only basic steps, but he led with gentle authority.

  “And look, I didn’t roll my eyes. In fact, I asked you.”

  “I know. Thank you.” How could she ever forget?

  The band began to play “A String of Pearls.” Walt stumbled into the new rhythm, much lazier than Glenn Miller’s orchestra played it. At least the minimal talent of the band ensured the tempo wouldn’t outpace Walt’s dancing ability.

  “Allie,” he said slowly. “Say, that’s a nickname, isn’t it?”

  Oh, not this. She glanced to where George and Betty danced in wedded bliss.

  He laughed. “Ball bearings all over again. Come on, tell me the truth or tell me a lie, but you have to talk. You’re trapped.” He squeezed her waist, as if she needed a reminder.

  She sighed. “You’ll never guess.”

  “But you’ll make me, won’t you? Let’s see. Alice? Alma? Alberta?”

  “No, I mean you couldn’t possibly guess, because it’s unusual, and I might as well tell you since Betty knows, but I never use it, and even my mother never uses it, and she chose it.”

  “You talk fast when you’re nervous, you know that?”

  “Fast.” She looked at the shoulder she’d admired all week, now alive under her hand. “I suppose I can’t help it. My name’s Allegra.”

  “Allegra? Hmm. Your mom’s musical too?”

  “Yes, and I’m afraid she was a bit silly when she was younger.”

  “No more than my mom. My real name is Adagio.”

  Allie lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve been warned about your tales.”

  “Come on, play along. See, when we get married, we’ll have a symphony of children.” The mischief in his eyes neutralized the effect of his mention of marriage.

  “A symphony?”

  “Yep. First child, a girl, takes after her mother. We’ll call her Allegretta.”

  As always, she enjoyed his sense of humor. “Then a son named Andante.”

  “You got it. Next comes Pianissimo.”

  “Quiet with this musical brood?” She shook her head. “Fortissimo is more appropriate.”

  “Yeah. Four kids. Pretty loud.” He squinted at the streamer-draped ceiling. “Next comes the climax, our daughter Crescenda.”

  “Crescenda?” Allie laughed, even as she admired the dark stubble under Walt’s jaw. “I thought Allegra was ridiculous.” “Nah.” He lowered his chin and smiled at her. “Is the next kid Finis?”

  “Goodness, I hope so. Six children is an exhausting thought for an only child.”

  “How many kids do you want?”

  “More than one. One’s too lonely.” She gazed into his eyes and realized she and Baxter had never discussed children. “I always thought four would be perfect.”

  “Four it is.” Walt’s smile glowed with promise.

  Promise? Impossible. He’d never come between her and Baxter—unless he didn’t know about Baxter. Oh dear, what if he didn’t know? She hadn’t talked much about Baxter, and Walt hadn’t asked about him either. Guilt and dread gripped her stomach. She needed to mention her boyfriend, but how?

  Allie swallowed hard. “I’m surprised I’ve never had this conversation before.”

  “Kind of obvious with a name like Allegra.”

  He’d misunderstood. Allie pondered how to direct the conversation.

  “With a last name like Miller, you should be glad to have an unusual first name. What if your name were Mary?”

  “That’s what Mother thought. Her name’s Mary. She also thought Allegra was an enchanting name, suitable for the beauty her daughter should have been. Her great disappointment is having a plain daughter.” She clamped her lips together. Once again, her familiarity with Walt led her to divulge too much.

  Something fierce flashed in his eyes. “I can’t believe people say you’re plain. It’s not true.”

  “Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said that. I hope you don’t think I’m searching for a compliment.”

  “You?” The ferocity dissolved into amusement. “Uh-uh. I’ve seen how you react to compliments. Besides, I’m no good with compliments, no good with words at all. But you’re not plain. Your face . . . well, your face is memorable. If I walked into a room fifty years from now, I’d recognize you.”

  “Even with gray hair and wrinkles?”

  “Sure. Your eyes won’t change. And, well, anyone who says you’re plain should be hung by their thumbs. A woman can’t be plain if she
has beautiful eyes.”

  He thought she had beautiful eyes. Allie almost forgot the dance step.

  Walt’s eyes narrowed as he examined hers. “Not just the color, which is . . . well, amazing. Something else. Ray’s good with words; he could figure it out. Your eyes are bright, quick.” He broke into a grin. “They’re allegro. Yeah, that’s it. But your smile is adagio, slow and quiet. Together—well, it’s a swell combination.”

  She dragged her gaze down to her red fingernails on Walt’s thick shoulder. “I thought you weren’t good with compliments.”

  “I’m not. I’m also tongue-tied with women unless they’re taken.” His arm slipped further around her waist and drew her closer. “You, dear Allie, are the exception to the rule.”

  Red and olive drab mixed before her eyes in a strange blend. The exception? He thought she wasn’t taken. That meant— “What about me? Would you recognize me in fifty years?”

  “What? Oh, I—oh, I don’t know.” Allie’s line of thought both fascinated and frightened her, and she used every grain of will to concentrate on his question and look in his face. Would she recognize him? How could she not? “Yes. Your eyes.”

  “What do you see in my eyes?” He struck what he must have thought was a distinguished pose, chin high and turned to the side.

  His expression was so comical, she laughed and pressed her hand to his cheek. “You have to look at me, silly.”

  Touching him was a mistake. His eyes shone even brighter. “Okay, I’m looking at you. What do you see?” His voice was as rugged as the stubble under Allie’s fingers.

  She managed to lower her hand to his shoulder. She couldn’t voice what she saw in his eyes—the potential for all she longed for but could never have, not with Walt, not with anyone ever, because of loyalty and expectations and propriety.

  He cleared his throat. “See a fellow with nothing but planes on his mind?”

  “No, of course not.” Fondness for him welled up inside. “I see intelligence and courage. I see a kind, understanding heart. I see . . . always I see your good humor.”

  He made a face. “Ah, you always talk up the men in your life.”

  “No. You know I don’t feel comfortable with many people.” Here was an opportunity to mention Baxter, but it would be a lie. On the rare occasions she was alone with him, the silence was deathly.