“I will, Pop. I will.” Marc gave his father another quick hug before shifting his attention to his grandfather. Kade Rawlings had served the town as a deputy, then sheriff, before becoming a judge. Still robust and energetic, even as he neared his seventies, Gramps was someone Marc greatly admired.
“Well, kid, I sure wish you’d reconsider and stay home,” Kade said as he pulled Marc into a hug. Although the two of them were close in size and height, something about Kade still seemed larger than life.
“I know, Gramps, but I have to do this.” Marc didn’t want to get into an argument with his grandpa, defending his decision, moments before he had to leave.
“Then give ’em heck and come home safe,” Kade said. He grinned and thumped him on the back before he moved away and settled his arm around Caterina, drawing her close as she mopped at a steady stream of tears.
During all his family goodbyes, Amy had waited off to the side, standing near her mother.
Now, all Marc wanted to do was hold her close and never let her go. He watched as she laughed at something Reece said and felt the warmth of her smile fill him with its radiance, even though it wasn’t directed at him.
“All aboard!” echoed across the platform and passengers hurried to climb up the steps onto the train.
With time running out, he rushed over to Amy and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t forget me while I’m gone,” he said, once again burying his face in her hair and breathing in the scent.
“Never. I could never, ever forget you, Marc. You’ll always and forever be in my thoughts and in my heart.”
“Be well, my beautiful Bella, and know wherever I am, I love you and I’m thinking of you.” He kissed her, not the kiss of passion they’d shared earlier behind the carport, but one of gentle promises. When he raised his head, he took the little night sky scene she’d painted for him from his pocket and held it on his palm. “Every night I’ll look at this and dream of you.”
“I’ll dream of you, too, Marc. I’ll keep right on doing it until you’re home again, here with me.”
The conductor called a final warning to board.
Marc grabbed his bag and the basket of food from his grandmother, accepted a box of pastries from Amy’s mother, and gave Amy one last, hasty, desperate kiss.
The train started to chug forward as he jumped onto a step and stood there for a moment, waving to his family.
Amy’s gaze fused to his and he smiled. “I love you, Amy Madsen!” he yelled, loud enough for his voice to carry above the ringing rattles and belching bellows of the train.
Several people in the crowd on the platform laughed and cheered as Amy’s face turned beet red. She looked mortified and pleased all at the same time as she waved to him.
Marc was still grinning as he went inside the train car and took a seat next to Reece.
“You ready to do this?” Reece asked as Marc stowed his things and leaned back, settling in for the long journey ahead.
He turned to look at Amy’s brother-in-law and shook his head. “No, I’m not ready, but it’s what we have to do.”
“Yep,” Reece agreed, then fell silent as the train began chugging away from Pendleton.
Marc fingered the metal disc from Amy, wondering how many nights he’d look up at the sky and wish he was with her before he could hold her once again.
Chapter Two
May 4, 1942
Dear Marc,
I know you just left this morning, but I miss you so much I can hardly stand it, stand the thought of you being so very far away for the remainder of this horrible, terrible war. But enough of that.
Delaney Danvers came to see me today. Usually a visit from my best friend buoys my spirits, but not today. I’m so concerned about her. Since she married Klayne Campbell in that secret wedding ceremony back in February, she’s not been herself, even worse lately. She’s been so worried about him, and his lack of letters only makes the matter worse. Please promise you’ll write to me whenever you can.
Anyway, Delaney seemed to need cheering up and I could have used a little dose of happiness myself, so we decided to go see the new Bob Hope film. On our way there, we stopped and purchased more war bonds, then went on to the movie. When the newsreel started before the film, Delaney dropped the popcorn and turned as white as a sheet. The newsreel showed a group of pilots taking off from a Naval carrier with a headline about the yanks bombing Tokyo. She pointed at the screen, gasped, and raced out of the theater. Turns out, one of the men on the screen was Klayne. Can you believe it? All this time, she’s been wondering where he is, and he was one of those brave raiders who bombed Tokyo.
We went to Pendleton Airfield to see if they could share any details about Klayne, if he was alive or if he was one of those who were lost in the mission, but no one would tell us a blasted thing! According to the men we spoke with, there is no record of Klayne being married in their files so they treat Delaney like some lovesick ninny instead of his wife. It was infuriating and frustrating. Defeated, we finally gave up. I sure hope Delaney receives word from Klayne soon. It breaks my heart to see her so upset and worried, but I’m sure I’d be the same way if I had no idea where you were, how you were.
By the way, in spite of the momentary embarrassment it caused when you shouted your undying devotion to me from the train, I was glad to hear it, Marc. I love you so much and I’ll go right on loving you, faithfully awaiting your return.
Look up at the night sky and picture me sitting there beside you, looking up at it, too.
Always yours,
Amy
May 8, 1942
Dear Amy,
Just dropping a quick note to let you know I made it to Camp Elliott. I sat with Reece until we reached Portland and both had to change trains since he was headed to Fort Lewis and I needed to come south. I hope he’s doing well and adjusting to life in basic training.
The ride down to San Diego was uneventful and mostly pleasant, although the train was packed to the gills. At one point, there were so many people in our car, several wives, at least I assume they were wives, had to sit on the laps of their husbands. Can’t say I would have minded that at all if you’d been along, Bella.
As it was, there were about forty of us who arrived at the recruitment center together and were processed.
We were welcomed with a Marine Corp meal (which is not nearly as delicious as anything Nonna, my aunts, you, or your mother can make), but it was good and filling. A doctor looked us all over, gave everyone inoculations, and some of the boys even had dental work done. Thank goodness I inherited strong, healthy teeth from Gramps and Pops.
I was issued dog tags, given an identification card, record books, and got my service number. No longer am I Pendleton Police Officer Marc Rawlings. I’m now just a number and a “boot” which is what new recruits are called.
Although you know I keep my hair cut short for work, they gave us all what they call haircuts. It reminded me of going out to shear the sheep at Nash’s Folly the way they practically shaved us all bald. We also received our clothing, gear, and weapons.
Even though I’ve only been here a few days, they’ve got us hopping with training which is why I didn’t write sooner. I feel better suited than most to our new surroundings since I learned a lot of what we are being taught now in my police training (not to mention training from my family).
Some of the boys in my unit struggle to adjust to authority and fail to remember to call our bull-faced drill sergeant “sir” anytime we speak to him. “Sir, yes, sir, I’ll happily remake my bed for the thirty-eighth time this morning, sir. Yes, sir.” Well, maybe not exactly like that, but you get the idea. I think some of these boys have never had to do anything for themselves in their whole life. The sarge had a dozen of them close to tears when he kept making them remake their beds. You’ve never seen such a mess of tangled blankets and sheets. I’m sure glad Pop taught us how to make a bed properly, among so many other things that are coming in quite handy to know now.
>
So far, the sarge hasn’t hollered at me, too much, but some of those boys’ knees begin knocking and they quiver in fear every time he sets in to barking orders which starts at 0400 hours (four in the morning) and doesn’t let up until late in the evening.
Don’t worry about me, though, beautiful. I’m doing fine, getting plenty to eat, and getting to know some nice fellas.
I’m holding that little night sky medallion you gave me in my hand right now and sitting outside as I finish writing this, looking up at the stars and thinking of you.
Love you, my sweet Bella.
Yours forever,
Marc
May 30, 1942
My dearest Marc,
Thank you for your last letter. I laughed as I read about you and David convincing some of those “city boys” that pigs could fly. They must be every bit as gullible as you claim them to be.
I’m so glad you and David Nichols have become friends. Isn’t it funny that he grew up on a ranch just a few hours away from us, yet you’d never met until you both ended up in there in boot camp at the same time? Life has a funny way of putting people together, doesn’t it?
Just like when you finally decided to notice me. (I can see you rolling your eyes and saying it was me who ignored you, but you were, after all, just a gangly, ridiculous boy until you came back from your police training all grown up.) Still, I’m so glad you walked into the bakery that day and ordered a cider, and were so sweet when I almost spilled it all over your lap. I was so humiliated, but you laughed and made light of it, immediately putting me at ease. You’re so good at that, you know, making people feel comfortable.
Poor Delaney still has not heard a word about Klayne. All the hired hands at the ranch, except for Butch and Duffy, have either enlisted or been drafted. She’s had to hire a bunch of high school kids, including three girls, to help them this summer. Dill fell out of the barn on a piece of equipment and broke both his legs. He’s still in the hospital, but it appears he will make a full recovery, but it will take a long time. I just don’t know how much more Delaney can take. If you think about it, send up a prayer or two for the Danvers family.
Helen had a letter from Reece yesterday. His experience in basic training is quite similar to yours. He’s reconnected with a fellow he was friends with in college and sounds quite happy to renew the friendship. Mom is testing out new recipes using less sugar and more honey. Dad is always more than willing to test the results.
I hope you enjoy the cookies I included with this letter. They are made with all honey. I hope they still taste good when they reach you…
June 2, 1942
Dear Marc,
You may have heard this story from your family already, but in case their letters haven’t reached you yet, I had to write and tell you what Rory and Rogan have done.
Apparently, they overheard your grandfather and uncle Lars talking about all the stills that used to be around town during the prohibition years and how they had to hunt them down and destroy them when they both worked as deputies.
Those two little rascals decided to try and make their own liquor! Can you imagine? They gathered a bunch of overripe fruit from your grandmother’s restaurant, and set it to fermenting with yeast in a big bucket out behind your parent’s carport. The little devils (your mother’s words, not mine), stole a whole jar of honey from Sarah’s kitchen to add to their brew.
One night the house was unusually quiet so your folks and Ruby started searching for the boys only to find them as drunk as anything out in the backyard. Your mother was fit to be tied. Ruby has told everyone the twins are bound for a life of crime and debauchery. Although your dad punished them with more chores and a few swats to their backsides, I think he was secretly quite amused by it all. And your grandfather can’t seem to stop laughing if he gets started telling the story…
June 26, 1942
Dear Bella,
Oh, my mercy! I wish I could have been there to see the boys in all their drunken glory. I bet Mom is still so aggravated with them, flames shoot from her eyes every time she thinks about them making booze, drinking it, and stealing the honey.
I don’t think Ruby is correct in her assessment of the future awaiting Rory and Rogan. From all the stories I’ve heard through the years, Pop and Uncle Ben were ten times worse and you know my father grew up to be quite a respectable guy.
I shared that story with the gang here and we all enjoyed several chuckles. A few of them want to know if Rory and Rogan will send them their recipe. My guess is that the twins will think twice about doing something like that again. Mom has said it many times before, but they’ll be old and gray before they ever get all their chores finished from consistently being in trouble.
They might be ornery, but boy, aren’t they fun?
We’ve been doing training every waking moment, or so it seems. I can put together and take apart a gun so fast, in the dark mind you, even Gramps would be impressed. We’ve been training in all kinds of combat, including hand-to-hand. My size is quite convenient for that particular exercise. Being well over six-feet and burly just like Gramps sure comes in handy, although several of the guys tease me about making a really big target for the enemy. We’ve also been doing a lot of practice in boats, which makes me wonder what’s ahead for us, but I couldn’t tell you even if I knew…
July 4, 1942
Happy Fourth of July, Marc!
I was so sad your leave was cancelled, but I understand. I hope you can at least do something fun today to celebrate our country’s independence. The stores are all draped with festive red, white, and blue bunting and flags are flying high. I went with the folks and Helen to see the parade today.
Rory and Rogan had a little wagon they pulled in the parade that was full of puppies. Since your parents don’t have a dog, I have no idea where they got them, but they were really cute. I’m assuming the mass of ribbons clumsily fastened around the necks of the puppies came from Ruby’s stash and most likely resulted in more trouble for your little brothers.
I miss you so much, Marc, and am looking outside at the moon, thinking of you and wishing you were here to sit with me on the grass at the park as we watch the fireworks…
July 4, 1942
Sweet Bella,
I’m sitting here tonight, missing you so badly it’s all I can do not to jump ship and swim back to shore.
We’ve been given our orders and are somewhere in the Pacific, although I can’t tell you where.
The navy is hosting us, which isn’t all bad. We’ve had plenty of good grub and my bunk is located in a part of the ship that’s mostly quiet and smooth sailing. Thankfully, Davey is my bunkmate, so that makes things better than they could be. There is one guy who snores so loudly, the first time we heard it, we thought a bear had raced into our tent, set on eating us all. He’s on the other end of the ship, tormenting his bunkmates with the unearthly racket.
We’re still training every day, although I can’t really tell you any details, but it’s more about intelligence and that kind of stuff.
From here on out, I have no idea how often I’ll be able to write. Even if you don’t hear from me for a while, never stop believing in me, in our love, and the depths to which I’ll fight to get back to you.
I love you with all my heart, Amy, and then some. I’m looking up at the night sky as I write this. The moon is huge and shimmering across the water. I wish you could see it. Wish you were here with your head tucked against my shoulder and your hand holding mine and the decadent scent of you enveloping me in your warmth.
Be safe and well, and keep on smiling because there is nothing in the world quite as bright and wonderful as your smile.
With all my love, always,
Marc
July 20, 1942
Dearest Marc,
I received your letter saying you are heading into battle. I’m lifting you up in my prayers and holding you close in my heart. Be safe, be careful, and don’t you dare get yourself killed out ther
e, wherever you are. You promised to come back and marry me and I’m holding you to it…
August 23, 1942
My dear wife-to-be,
Your last batch of letters finally caught up to me. It was so good to hear from you.
We’ve been in battle now. It’s far worse than they tell you to expect, train you to handle, but what we are doing is a worthwhile endeavor. Those we are battling are not human, at least they don’t seem like it. Cavedwellers were far more civilized. We think of the enemy as tenacious, unrelenting animals solely focused on killing as many of us as possible, even if it means blowing up themselves in the process.
I thought I’d seen and experienced a lot as a police officer, but nothing prepared me for the horrors of war.
I’m writing this from a foxhole full of mud. I don’t think it will ever stop raining here. There are trees everywhere. Sickly-colored grass stretches from the beach to the infernal jungle behind me. As much as I hate the jungle, a body can find food there. We were cut off from our supplies for a while and forced to fend for ourselves, but we’re doing better now. I drank so much coconut milk, I never want to taste anything with coconut in it again. And you can share that with Nonna. I used to love the coconut balls she makes for Christmas, but I am going to pass on them from here on out.
Between the scorching heat, suffocating humidity, rain, the hordes of insects, and a fungus that grows on everything, including our feet and even in our ears, I wouldn’t recommend this place as a great destination to visit. Some of the men call it a land time forgot and it’s easy to see why. It’s as though time stopped here centuries ago. If it wasn’t for the airfield and our equipment, I could easily picture dinosaurs roaming around.
Please don’t worry about me, though. Fighter planes have arrived with some supplies. Our cheers were so loud I’m surprised the enemy didn’t bombard us due to all the racket we made. Those planes hitting the runway were one of the best things I’ve seen in a while. We are thoroughly tired of eating rice, which is the primary staple of our diet, but we’ll be okay. I’d pay a month’s wages for a big bathtub full of steaming water. However, cleaning off in the river is better than wearing all this dirt, sweat, and grime!
Gift of Faith Page 2
