A Distant Melody

by Sarah Sundin

“Yes.” She felt taller, stronger, and braver than ever before.

  “Well, the Bible—” The line of his lips undulated like an ocean wave. “The Bible says a wife must submit to her husband.”

  “Yes, it does.” Allie pried Baxter’s hand off her arm and worked the engagement ring off her finger. “That’s why I can’t become your wife.”

  “What?” His cheeks paled.

  She held out the ring. “I won’t submit to a man who asks me to disobey God.”

  “I—I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are.” With peace and resolve, she pressed the ring into his palm and folded his fingers around it. “I’m sorry. I know your house is almost finished, and there will be gossip and scandal and awkwardness, but this is for the best. Why, we don’t even love each other.”

  “How can you—how can you say that?”

  Allie sighed and gazed into his stricken face. J. Baxter Hicks had come so close to fulfilling his dreams, and now she had dashed them. “I’m so sorry. I do care for you, but I don’t love you, and I know you don’t love me.”

  “Love?” Baxter’s eyes narrowed. “Need I remind you? You’re rather plain to be choosy.”

  “You’re a lovely woman, Allegra Miller, and you’re very special,” Walt had said to her on the train platform, his eyes and kiss confirming his words. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

  “How dare you? That’s not true.” The forcefulness of her voice surprised her. “Even if it were, that doesn’t mean I’m unworthy of love. Cressie was never pretty, and her husband adores her. I want a marriage like that, based on love, friendship, and faith. If I can’t, I’d rather not marry at all. Why, Miss Montclair is happy, and I can be too.”

  “This is absolute nonsense. Come on. We’ll discuss this later.”

  Allie followed Baxter to the house, but no discussion was necessary. She looked down at her ring finger. Her hand and her soul shivered in the freedom and delight of nakedness.

  Father folded the newspaper in his lap when Baxter and Allie entered the sitting room. “How was the service?”

  “She won’t be going back,” Baxter said in a low voice.

  “Yes, I will.” She crossed the dining room with a swing in her arms and entered the kitchen. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Well, hello.” She slid the chicken into the oven. “How was church?”

  “I loved it. Baxter hated it.” She draped her coat over a chair and suppressed a bubble of laughter. She’d made a decision that would upend the household, and she wanted to laugh for joy.

  “Oh?” Mother said. “You sound remarkably cheerful about that.”

  “Strange, isn’t it?” Allie washed her hands at the sink, and Mother came to her side to fill a pot with water. Allie looked deep in her mother’s eyes. If only she’d understand. If only she’d still approve. “Please be happy for me.”

  Mother’s forehead crinkled. “I’m very happy for you. You’re marrying a fine man.” She glanced down to Allie’s left hand, to her right, back to her left. “Oh, Allie, your ring. Don’t tell me you lost it. Oh dear, where could it be? Does Baxter know?”

  She sighed. “Yes, he knows. It’s best if we discussed this after dinner.”

  However, Mother took off her apron and dashed through the kitchen door.

  Oh no. Not now. Not like this. Allie hastened to follow her into the sitting room.

  “Baxter, I’m so sorry,” Mother said. “We’ll find that ring if we have to turn the house inside out.”

  “The ring?” Baxter’s shock dissolved into a smile. He fished the ring from his breast pocket. “I have it right here. Don’t worry, Allie, I kept it safe for you.”

  “Thank goodness.” Mother took the ring and brought it to Allie. “You had me worried for nothing.”

  They smiled at her, Baxter with an extra measure of satisfaction.

  Allie had been presented an escape route from parental wrath. She straightened her shoulders, as if throwing off the yoke again. “I gave it to Baxter for a reason, but I’d rather tell you after dinner.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Baxter said, his smile stiff but assured. “Just a little lovers’ spat.”

  She rolled her eyes. A lovers’ spat? They’d have to be in love to have a lovers’ spat.

  “Allie, be careful what you say in an argument. Never say anything you’ll regret later.” Mother took her hand to give her the ring.

  She pulled free. “I’d rather talk about this later.”

  Mother’s face began to lose its color, Father rose to his feet, and Baxter settled back in his chair with a smug smile. Allie glanced to an alpine landscape hanging on the wall. Lord, I need a mountain of your strength now.

  Father stepped next to Mother, his face set. “Allie, put your ring on.”

  He wouldn’t be her defender this time. Her heart sank, and she drew a breath to buoy it. “No, I won’t. We didn’t have an argument, and I’ll never regret what I did. I’ve prayed about this and I know I’ve done the right thing.”

  Baxter lit a cigarette. “She’ll get past this. All brides get cold feet.”

  Allie wrestled back her exasperation. If she lost her temper, they’d think she’d made a rash decision. “My feet have never been warmer. I’ve broken the engagement. I will not marry you.”

  “Allie . . .” Mother turned the garish ring in her fingers.

  Poor Mother. “I’m so sorry. I know how awful this is for all of you. I know how this marriage fulfills your dreams—but I won’t let that happen at my expense.”

  “Your expense?” Baxter blew out a plume of smoke. “The expense of silly schoolgirl fantasies? Go ahead. Explain your reasoning.”

  She searched her parents’ eyes for mercy. “What’s silly about wanting a marriage as happy as yours? I can’t marry a man I don’t love, I can’t marry a man who doesn’t love me, and I certainly can’t marry a man who doesn’t share my faith.”

  “Oh,” Mother gasped. “How can you say such things?”

  Father pointed to Baxter. His arm shook. “Allie, you’ll apologize to Baxter this instant.”

  “I do apologize. I apologize for the hassle, the shame, the disappointment, but I refuse to apologize for my decision.”

  Mother’s lips quivered, and Father’s face reddened. Allie shook her head and turned to go upstairs. She wouldn’t have dinner today, but in all likelihood, no one else would either.

  “Don’t worry, Baxter,” Father said. “She’s a sensible girl. She’ll come around.”

  “I won’t cancel anything,” Mother said. “You’ll be married July 3.”

  Allie sighed. The ordeal was far from over, but the Lord would help her. He’d already helped beyond measure, with all that strength and peace and joy. She glimpsed herself in the mirror in the entryway and halted. She didn’t look almost pretty—she looked pretty, with a slight smile and a gleam in her eyes.

  Allegro and adagio. A swell combination. Her smile lifted in a crescendo, and her heels tapped a pizzicato on the stairs.

  In her room she pulled out stationery and penned a long letter to Walt, relaying the day’s events, including the irony that his blessing on her engagement helped her break it. The letter overflowed with joy.

  When she finished, she reviewed the pages and frowned at the intimacy of the letter. What if Walt felt responsible? What if he thought she harbored inappropriate feelings for him?

  Allie puffed her cheeks full of air. She needed time and prayer to figure out how to tell him in a proper manner.

  Proper? Was it proper that the first person she wanted to tell was Walter Novak?

  33

  Thurleigh

  February 18, 1943

  “Come to the hardstand at 1500.”

  Walt studied the note on his pillow in Cracker’s handwriting. What? Was this like the “meet me on the playground after school” note he’d gotten from Howie Osgood in fifth grade? The note that led to his first black eye? At least Howie’s shiner had been bigger than
Walt’s.

  He sat on his cot and pulled out the letter to Allie he’d started before lunch. He was in no condition for a fight. He’d only been discharged from the hospital that morning and he still felt as if a B-17 had crash-landed on his chest.

  Walt stretched out on his back and read Allie’s letter again. Strange letter—sounded flat. She described her work and activities, but it was like a newspaper account without her usual color and humor. At the end of the letter, she rambled about obedience and sacrifice, and then she asked his opinion and ratcheted up the level of their communication again. She had a spiritual question, and she didn’t ask her fiancé, pastor, or church friends. She asked him.

  Apparently she needed his friendship as much as he needed hers. Good thing he’d decided not to tell her of his love.

  He rolled to his side and pulled out the concordance Dad gave him for a high school graduation present, convinced Walt would be a pastor. The concordance came in handy today. Allie wanted godly instruction, and he was determined to give it to her.

  After a while, he had several passages marked, and he picked up his pen.

  That’s one interesting verse you asked about. Couldn’t you have asked about something simple like John 3:16? No, I take that back. What’s simple about God loving us and sending his Son for us? I’ll give this my best shot, but remember you asked Captain Novak, not Pastor Novak.

  Wow, there’s a lot in the Bible on this topic. We know God is pleased with sacrifice and asks us to make offerings to him, but sometimes sacrifices displease God and he rejects them. You’ve already found 1 Samuel 15:22—strong verse, isn’t it? In Micah 6:6–8, the prophet tells us what the Lord prefers over sacrifice—justice, mercy, and walking humbly with God. Psalm 51:16–17 reads, “For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it. . .The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” Hosea 6:6 is so good, Jesus quotes it twice in Matthew: “For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice; and the knowledge of God more than burnt-offerings.”

  See the theme, Allie? When we’re not following God’s will, our sacrifices aren’t acceptable to him. What God wants most is for us to be broken before him, walk with him, know him, and obey him.

  Am I preaching to you, or are you preaching to me? This sure addresses something I’m going through. I joined the Army Air Force more than willing to sacrifice my life for my country. I sacrificed my opportunity to be squadron commander to keep the crew together. Sacrifice makes me feel good and noble.

  But the Lord wants my obedience. Remember the orange on the train? You didn’t say a lot, but I could tell you were disappointed in me for saying I didn’t like oranges. I’ve always been able to justify my little white lies. But lately God has given me a tough time about honesty and shown me how my lies come from pride. I hate pride. God detests pride. I realized I had to stop telling those ball bearing lies. Worse, I had to confess to my crew a lie I told them—a whopper, I’m afraid. I didn’t feel good and noble. I felt like a louse. I let everyone down and lost the respect I worked so hard to earn. Times like this I really miss Frank. It’s been lonely since I fessed up. I did the right thing, but obedience can be tough.

  Wherever God wants your obedience, Allie, I hope the consequences are light. Even if they aren’t, you must follow God’s will. As always, I’m praying for you.

  Walt signed his name, sat up, and stretched. Still had time to stop by the PX and mail the letter before going to the hardstand to take the consequences of his obedience.

  No, the consequences of his sin.

  “Hey, what’s he doing here?” Al scrambled to his feet and scowled at Walt.

  Cracker stood in front of Al. “Sit on that scrawny backside, Worley. He’s the reason you’re here. Yeah, in more ways than one.”

  Walt clenched the lining of his trouser pockets. The whole crew sat on the hardstand by the hut the ground crew had assembled from broken-down crates to keep warm while they worked.

  Cracker leaned against the wall of the hut. “Glad you came, Preach.”

  Walt studied the men’s unwelcoming faces. J.P. wouldn’t even look at him. “Thanks for the party invitation.”

  “Got anything to say to us?” Cracker had a slight smile on his face, but not a malicious smile. What was he up to?

  “Um, well, yeah. Once again, I’m sorry I lied. I showed you a lack of trust and respect, and I disobeyed God repeatedly. I’m sorry. I won’t lie to you again.”

  Al spat into the grass. “Can’t trust a liar, my mama always says.”

  “Ever tell a lie, Worley?” Cracker asked.

  “Uh—”

  “Of course, you have. Ever lie to Preach?”

  “Uh—”

  “Remember when we tried to import liquor? All of us lied to him except Sanchez, because we didn’t tell him, and Wisniewski, because he wasn’t there.”

  “That—that’s different.”

  “You’re right, that’s different. Our lie almost got us all killed. His lie made us think he had a girlfriend. So what?”

  Walt’s jaw went slack. Cracker was defending him?

  “That’s why I called this meeting.” Cracker set one foot on a crate and leaned his forearms on his knee. “Preach apologized and promised to be straight with us. We shunned him for the three weeks he was in the hospital. That’s more than enough punishment. We’re a crew, and we need to work together.”

  “Go ahead,” Al said. “I’m putting in for a transfer to another crew.”

  “Me too,” Harry said.

  Louis sighed and glanced over his shoulder to the gunners. “Don’t be stupid. Y’all know Preach is one of the best pilots in this outfit.” His voice was heavy though, and he didn’t look at Walt.

  “The best,” Cracker said. “How many scrapes has he gotten us out of? He’s not just a good pilot, but also a good man. His example got me out of the bars and into church services and settled down with Margaret.”

  “That’s irony for you.” Walt still couldn’t believe he wasn’t getting beaten up.

  “Yeah, I noticed,” Cracker said. “But you know what, men? Now I like Preach more. He’s not so perfect; he’s human.”

  “Too human.” Walt lifted half a smile. His nemesis had become his ally. He never would have guessed it.

  “Yeah.” J.P. chucked a pebble into the bushes by the hut. “But I don’t lie to my friends, much less keep on lying to them.”

  “He could have kept lying, you know. We never would have known.” Abe looked up over his shoulder to Walt. “You told us the truth. That takes integrity. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yeah, I did.” Walt sat down cross-legged on the tarmac.

  “Besides,” Cracker said. “We drove him to it.”

  “Huh?” Walt said.

  “We gave you a tough time for being a good man.”

  Walt coughed a stiff, dry cough. “Nope. A sorry excuse for a man.”

  “Won’t argue with you there,” Louis said, but a smile cracked his face.

  “Neither will I.” Cracker grasped the door of the shed. “Which is why I have a mission for the men of Flossie’s Fort. Preach shouldn’t have to make up a girlfriend. Men, our target for today—sorry, I couldn’t find a blue cloth.”

  He flung open the door of the shed. Two pictures were tacked to the inside of the door, joined by a red string. The first picture was a stick figure—had to be Walt, judging by the double bars on the cap. The second showed stick figure Walt with his stick arms around a stick figure girl.

  Walt laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “We thought St. Nazaire was a tough target,” Abe said.

  The way the men laughed told him Cracker had succeeded. Now Walt owed him a Coke. A lot more than a Coke.

  “I won’t lie to you, men,” Cracker said with a wink at Walt. “This is one rugged mission. Weather will be bad, flak will be heavy, and opposition will be intense. But this is our mission—find Walter Novak a real live
woman.”

  February 26, 1943

  “She’s here, Preach,” Louis said.

  “Who?” Walt stuffed his gloves into his pockets and crossed his arms underneath his flight jacket to warm his hands in the fleece lining.

  “The Red Cross girl. She’s sweet on you. I can tell by the way she watches you.”

  Walt rolled his eyes. No one had ever been sweet on him.

  Cracker glanced over the heads of Butterfield’s crew, ahead of them in line for coffee and doughnuts before debriefing. “Say, that’s Emily Fairfax. She’s Margaret’s best friend.” He turned to Walt, his blue eyes wide. “You’re the one she likes? Well, I’ll be. Operation Novak is cleared for takeoff.”

  “You must have had a kink in your oxygen hose today.” Walt stamped his feet for warmth. It had been one of the coldest missions ever, so cold most of the B-24s had aborted. The Liberators didn’t function at a temperature less than forty degrees below zero.

  “Now it all makes sense. Margaret said Emily never bothers with the dances here on base, because the chap she fancies never attends,” Cracker said in a decent British accent.

  “Come on, I’ve never even met the girl.” Walt glanced at her out of the corner of his eye—a brunette with small, close-set eyes.

  “All the pieces are in place. She doesn’t know your name, just likes your face. Can’t imagine why.”

  “See, it can’t be me.” Walt scanned the room. The 306th seemed to have emerged intact today, although the crew saw several Forts fall in other groups.

  “Coming up on the target.” Abe stepped forward in line. “Looks clear, Preach.”

  “Yeah. As clear as Bremen today.” The thick cloud cover over Bremen had forced the Eighth to drop their bombs on Wilhelmshaven instead.

  “Who needs the Luftwaffe?” Louis said. “You’re shooting yourself down.”

  Walt groaned and burrowed his hands deeper under his jacket. Still numb. Emily caught his eye over Butterfield’s shoulder and lifted a shy smile, kind of like Allie’s.