“No arguing. I love you, and I won’t let you get away.”
“You weren’t listening, darling.” She stroked the contours of his face. “I said yes.”
“You said yes?”
“I said yes.”
“Yes, you’ll go to Ohio, or yes, you’ll marry me?”
“Both.” She brushed a kiss over his lips, stiff from confusion. “I am deeply in love with you, Raymond Novak, and I have been for a long time.”
His eyelids fluttered. “You have? Since when?”
She looped her arms around his neck and laid a series of kisses along his cheekbone. “Since you plucked blossoms from my hair last year, since you rescued me after the bike accident when I was ten, since you played checkers with me when I had polio—it’s hard to tell. For all I know, you smiled at me when I was a baby, and it started then.”
“Wow. I can’t . . . I can’t believe it.”
“Hmm. Sounds like you need some convincing.” She pulled him down for a long, deep kiss. “Now do you believe me?”
He raised that sloppy grin she loved. “A few more like that and you might convince me.”
She laughed, and he joined her, and he kissed her, and their kisses and laughter knit together like a silver scarf, swirling around them and binding them together.
Ray burrowed in her neck. “When do you want to get married?”
His kisses made her too warm and woozy. “Soon.”
“Today then. Tomorrow if you insist on a long engagement.”
She laughed, but the eager rumble in his voice kicked up her heart rate. “I know a preacher. Maybe he’s available.”
He chuckled, his face in her hair. Her hair would be a mess, but who cared? “I have some influence with him. Maybe I can talk him out of those long engagements he endorses.”
“Then again, what about Jay-Jay? Maybe we should wait a little while to give him time.”
“Yeah, you’re right. And I need to put some meat on my bones. You don’t want to marry a scarecrow.”
“I’m not.” She worked her fingers through his soft black hair. “I’m marrying Sir Raymond, my hero and the love of my life.”
He swallowed hard, his eyes smoky. “I never thought I’d say this, but it was all worth it.”
Helen snuggled close and breathed in the scent of him. The pain of the past year didn’t evaporate in the warmth of his love—and she didn’t want it to, because it made that love possible. “Yes, it was worth it.”
48
Antioch
Saturday, September 8, 1945
Dad set his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to be a pastor?”
Ray chuckled and ladled two cups of Mom’s wedding punch, one for him and one for his bride. “All my life.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want.”
Grandpa Novak picked an apple out of a bowl on the dining room table. “Heavens alive, John. First you want all your sons to be pastors, now you want none—”
“I want him to do what he wants to do.”
“I want to be a pastor.” Ray gave his dad a dark glare. “Don’t stand in my way. Especially not on my wedding day.”
Dad laughed and clapped Ray on the back. “Go find your wife.”
“My wife.” He savored the words, headed into the living room—and stopped short.
“I’m a jet. Can’t catch me.” Jay-Jay ran in front of him, arms spread wide. Little Judy Anello and Susie Wayne trailed behind in echelon.
“Whoa, there.” Ray smiled at his stepson. His son. He couldn’t have been prouder if the three-and-a-half-year-old were his own. Ray was glad God had called him to a church in Martinez, less than twenty miles away, so Jay-Jay could grow up near family.
The Army Air Force uniform sat comfortably on his shoulders, but he wouldn’t miss it after his discharge. Now that the Japanese had surrendered, his discharge would come any day.
“Too bad you can’t stay longer. You just got back from Ohio.” Betty Anello scowled at Allie Novak seated on the living room couch beside her.
Allie bounced Frankie on her lap on his little fat legs. “Boeing wants Walt in Seattle.”
“And we needed to spend the last few days in Riverside.” Walt slung his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Finally got to meet Allie’s friends. Cressie and Daisy—what characters.”
“I got to meet Eileen Kilpatrick too.”
Ray nodded to Walt. “Your friend Frank’s widow, right?”
“Right. She’s doing well. She worked the assembly line at Lockheed Vega, fell in love with her foreman. They’re getting married next month.”
Betty put her new baby girl to her shoulder. “I love these happy endings. Even with Allie’s parents.”
Allie and Walt exchanged a smile. “I don’t know if I’d call that happy,” Allie said. “But it was improvement.”
Walt made a funny face at his son. “You don’t need an olive branch when you have the cutest baby in the world.”
Ray smiled. “Who could slam a door in that little face?”
“Not even my parents.” Allie wiped drool off Frankie’s chin. “Our reception was chilly, but we were received. It was a good start.”
Laughter from the parlor drew him. “Excuse me,” Ray said. “I want to find my wife.”
“Your wife?” Walt said. “Really? She’s your wife? You’ve only said that phrase a thousand times today.”
Ray winked at his brother. “The day is young and my
wife
is waiting.” He carried the cups of punch into the parlor.
Jack sat at the piano playing “Till the End of Time,” and Ruth sat on the bench beside him in her wedding dress. Since both Helen and Ruth wanted small weddings, they’d chosen a double service to limit the fuss.
“Say, Ray,” Jack said. “Sure you don’t want to stay in the military, come to the desert with me, and test jets?”
Ray rested his elbow on the ink spot on the piano that earned him a spanking but saved his life. “Sure you don’t want to stay in the ministry and write sermons with me?”
Jack laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
Ruth leaned on her new husband’s shoulder, now adorned by silver eagles. “I’ll have my work cut out keeping you in line . . . Colonel.”
“That’s for sure. Still can’t believe they promoted me even though I never got to fly a B-29 in combat.”
Ray clucked his tongue. “Stupid surrender—ended the war and spoiled your fun.”
“Oh, I’ll have plenty of fun at Muroc Army Air Base.”
“The Mojave Desert. I’m so excited. You think there’ll be cowboys and Indians there?” Ruth’s youngest sister, Maggie, a leggy girl of thirteen, danced with Jay-Jay. Since Ruth’s other siblings were in the service or in Chicago, only Maggie represented the Doherty family.
“Flyboys, not cowboys,” Ruth said.
“Too bad.” Maggie couldn’t stop talking about leaving Chicago to live with Jack and Ruth. She hugged Jay-Jay. “Can we take him with us? He’s so cute.”
“Sorry. He’s coming with me,” Ray said. But the adoring look on Jay-Jay’s face said he’d rather be in the California high desert with Maggie. “Don’t get any ideas, young man. Two weddings in one day are enough.”
Jack laughed. “Say, he can double up with Charlie and May in December.”
“Nope. I refuse to consent until he turns five.” Ray glanced around. “Speaking of weddings, anyone seen my wife?”
Ruth grinned. “Checked the kitchen?”
“Mom and Grandma banished her. It’s been tough.” Ray wandered out of the parlor. Despite the teasing, Helen had developed a beautiful balance between Martha busyness and Mary-like faith. His new church had a moribund ladies’ group, but not for long. Helen would spark them to life.
Dr. Jamison’s deep voice rumbled from down the hall, and Ray followed it into Dad’s study. “Too bad your friend Esther couldn’t be here. Wanted to meet her.”
“I know. But her latest letter brought good news. The Navy reduced the men’s sentences to two to three years, with one year already served. We think they’ll be quietly released soon, now that the war’s over.” In the study, Helen sat in Dad’s leather armchair, lovelier than ever in a cream suit and with his ring on her finger.
Ray’s throat felt thick. He’d given up his dream of wife and children and ministry, and now the fullness of that dream spread before him, richer and more vibrant since it was lost and then restored.
“Darling!” Her face lit up. “There you are.”
Could his smile get any bigger, any goofier? Probably not. “Brought you some punch.”
Punch dribbled down the armrest, and Helen sprang to her feet. “Oops! Where’s your handkerchief?”
“My fault. Distracted by my bride.” He set the cups on Dad’s desk, pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped up the spill. “Why not use your hankie?”
“Never.” She clapped her hand over her breast pocket, which contained the square of parachute cloth Ray had hoped to use as a white flag, now hemmed and embroidered with their initials and wedding date.
Ray sat in the armchair and pulled Helen down to his lap. “Special?”
“Very.” She stroked the gold “Caterpillar Club” pin on his service jacket for “hitting the silk” in combat.
She gazed down at him with such dreamy eyes he wanted to kiss the breath out of her and haul her upstairs.
Mrs. Jamison stood. “Come along, Henry. Let’s give the newlyweds some privacy.”
Dr. Jamison took Helen’s hand and glared at Ray. “Treat her well,” he said with a growl.
“I’ll love her with my life, sir.”
His face relaxed. “I know you will, son.” Then he entrusted his daughter’s hand to Ray, her heart and her life.
Helen’s strength showed in the set of her chin, Ray’s to enjoy, and her vulnerability showed in her glistening eyes, Ray’s to protect.
He brought her hand to his heart. “With all my life.”
Acknowledgments
The more I write, the more I realize a novel is a group project. For some reason, mine is the name on the cover, but many others belong there as well.
My husband, Dave, keeps the business side of the household running, and his love inspires me to keep writing. Our children, Stephen, Anna, and Matthew, have adapted to the oddity of having an author in the house—leftovers, late school pickups, and friends’ mothers asking for autographs—how embarrassing! Love you guys.
Special thanks go to my parents, Ronald and Nancy Stewart, and to my sister, Martha Groeber, for a lifetime of encouragement and love. And writing this novel made me appreciate all the more my wonderful, godly in-laws, Carl and Diane Sundin.
For growth in writing, I’m indebted to the faculty of Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference, and the membership of American Christian Fiction Writers, Christian Authors Network, and Diablo Valley Christian Writers Group (Kathleen Casey, Ron Clelland, Carol Green, Cynthia Herrmann, Rebekah and Ruth Kronk, Susan Lawson, Marilynn Lindahl, Georgia Sue Massie, Paula Nunley, Evelyn Sanders, and Linda Wright). My deepest thanks to my stellar critique partners—Judy Gann, Bonnie Leon, Marci Seither, Ann Shorey, and Marcy Weydemuller. And special thanks to Marcy, my sounding board with full slap-me-upside-the-head privileges.
I am deeply grateful for help in research. The staff of the Antioch Public Library has helped with research questions and has patiently explained—more than once—how to use the microfiche machine to read the Antioch
Ledger
. Many thanks to Rick Acker and Nicklas Akers for help with the military legal system. Any errors are mine alone. And I apologize for maligning your noble profession. Special thanks to Sam Allen for lending his military aviation expertise and skilled eye for reviewing this manuscript. I also want to recognize the Collings Foundation and the Experimental Aircraft Association. Without the opportunity to walk through their restored B-17s, my stories would have been poorer.
El Campanil Theatre is featured on this book cover. You can learn about the theater’s restoration and programs at www.elcampaniltheatre.com.
Prayer—my oxygen tubing. Thank you to my friends from church and small group for holding me up.
It still gives me a thrill to use the phrases “my agent” and “my editor,” and I couldn’t have asked for better ones. Rachel Kent at Books & Such Literary Agency guides me in writing and career development, and I’ll always be grateful to Vicki Crumpton at Revell for taking a chance on an unknown writer and for her insightful editing. The team at Revell makes the publication process a joy. Thanks to the wonderful people in editorial, marketing, publicity, cover art, and sales for supporting a debut author so well.
Highest thanks go to the Lord, who teaches me to push back fear and to forge ahead in his strength. May you also find courage in his presence.
Thank you, dear reader, for joining me and the Novak brothers on this journey. Please visit my website at
www.sarahsundin.com
to leave a message, sign up for my quarterly newsletter, see a diagram of a B-17, or read tips for book clubs. I’d love to hear from you!
Discussion Questions