In Perfect Time (20 page)

23

Ambérieu Airfield, France
September 9, 1944

With six litter patients on board the C-47, Kay knelt in the cargo doorway to admit the ambulatory patients. Some walked on their own, some hobbled on crutches, and some were assisted by medics.

The first man climbed the ladder with a crooked grin on his freckled face. “Morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning.” Kay checked his emergency medical tag against her flight manifest. Pvt. Elwood Scott lost most of his right hand to a German bullet in the fighting for Meximeux.

“Shame to go home when we’re knocking on Hitler’s front door. I wanted to be the man to carry Old Glory into Berlin.”

Kay smiled into his eager blue eyes. “But look how far you came. All the way up to the Swiss border.” The American and French armies had driven so far, so fast, the US mobile hospitals had to leapfrog each other to keep up.

The 802nd and 807th flew the sick and wounded to Istres, and then to Rome or Naples, sometimes directly from the front to Italy.

“Look.” Private Scott held up the bandaged stump of his
hand. “Got me a swell war wound to show off. I’m left-handed, so it don’t matter.”

If only all patients had Scott’s cheerful attitude. Kay ushered him inside and addressed her next patient, whose dark eyes peered from a mask of gauze bandages. “How are you this morning?”

“Read the tag.” He flicked the piece of pasteboard pinned to his bathrobe.

The chill of his voice felt like a slap, but she smiled and read the tag. Oh bother, how could she forget? Pvt. Leonard Hayes, multiple facial injuries from a grenade burst—and he’d lost his hearing. The physician said he was touchy about it, not that he could be blamed.

Kay wrestled a notepad from her trouser pocket and scribbled a note on it: “I’m nurse Lt. Jobson. Just ask if you need food, water, medicine—anything.”

He read the note and thrust it back at her. “I don’t need this. I can talk fine.”

All right then. So if she talked to him, he was annoyed. If she wrote a note, he was annoyed. What about pantomime? The poor man might explode. Nevertheless, she smiled and beckoned him up the ladder.

Kay checked in the remaining ten patients. Their attitudes varied as widely as their injuries. Some were relieved to be done with the war, some depressed, some drained, some stoic, and some bore up with grace.

On the 150-mile flight to Istres, Kay’s goal was to make each man a bit happier than when he boarded. Except Private Scott, perhaps. The man was plenty happy already.

Kay straightened to standing, rolled her shoulders, and kicked out kinks in her legs.

Five other C-47s were loading patients at Ambérieu today, the first evac flights out of the brand-new airfield. About a hundred feet away, Roger inspected his plane with a clipboard in hand.

Kay’s heart did an odd lurch. Something about his relaxed but powerful gait, the tilt of his head, the way he held his pen.

She’d never fallen for a man like this. Why, she’d never let herself fall for a man at all. Men had come in handy for fun and amusement and the sheer physical pleasure of a good kiss. Other than that, they were objects to control. By dating half a dozen men at a time and cutting them off when they got too serious, she’d avoided entanglement.

Now she was entangled. In a one-sided way.

Kay sighed and turned back into the stuffy plane before Roger could catch her mooning over him. If only she were on his plane, but Georgie had the privilege today.

Perhaps now things would change. Georgie and Mellie talked about God orchestrating events, and being stationed with Roger Cooper sure felt like heavenly orchestration.

They’d be together not just on flights but in day-to-day life. Last night while Kay lay falling asleep, the sound of his deep voice drifted across the road to her, muffled by distance but undeniably his. Oh, the intimacy of it.

Kay smiled and made sure her patients were secured for the flight. Surely the Lord wouldn’t mind a little help with his orchestration.

Istres/Le Tubé Airfield

“Everything looks good.” Roger gave the wheel chock an extra kick. After two round-trip flights between Ambérieu and Istres, he was finished, with plenty of day remaining, and he planned to spend it drumming. He’d find a spot down by the lagoon, the one called Étang de l’Olivier, and drum to the beat of the
cigales
, the French cicadas.

“Hi, Kay!” Mike Elroy said. “Hi, Georgie.”

Roger’s head jerked up. The two nurses strolled down the runway, straight to him.

“Hi, fellas!” Kay waved. “Do you have the rest of the day off too?”

“Yeah. Swell, isn’t it?” Roger’s plans evaporated in the warmth of her smile.

“It is.” Georgie tipped her head to the side. “You gentlemen are cordially invited to a musical evening.”

Roger crossed his arms. “Why do I have a feeling I’m meant to be entertainment rather than a guest?”

“Because you are.” Kay winked at him. “Bernie has his clarinet, Marino has a harmonica, and Mellie and Georgie have voices to die for.”

“I’m not a bad singer either.” Elroy’s round face reddened.

“Good,” Kay said. “We can use a strong manly voice, and Coop sings like a little girl.”

He barked out a laugh. “Says who?”

“Just bring the drum, flyboy.”

Elroy stepped forward. “Where? When?”

Georgie pointed to the east. “We thought we’d go down by the lake so we don’t bother the locals, right after dinner.”

“Sounds great.” Roger’s original plan, but better, with more instruments, with singing . . . with Kay Jobson watching him, admiring him, snuggling close in the moonlight.

Oh boy, he was in big fat trouble.

“See you then.” The girls walked away.

“Wait up, ladies. I’m going that way.” Mike jogged to catch up. “Coming, Coop?”

“Nah, I’ve got to turn in my forms.” Roger darkened one of the numbers on his clipboard to look busy. He headed down the runway toward the tent used for HQ, and he pulled his latest letter from Lou out of the inside pocket of his flight jacket.

Lou had married a British girl from a village near his fighter
base. He’d finished his combat tour and married her once he got assigned to a desk job and knew he wouldn’t be shot down in flames by the Luftwaffe.

Roger read over the part in the middle, the part he couldn’t grasp.

I’m
glad
you
decided
to
trust
this
gal,
Kay.
She
went
through
the
same
transformation
you
did.
You
both
grabbed
onto
Jesus
and
let
him
thoroughly
change
you.

I’d
like
to
see
you
trust
yourself
too.
You
were
smart
to
avoid
women
in
the
past,
but
you’ve
grown.
You’re
stronger
and
wiser,
and
the
Lord
will
help
you
handle
temptation.

Maybe
I’m
wrong—I’ve
never
met
Kay
or
seen
the
two
of
you
together—but
it
sounds
like
the
Lord’s
given
you
a
gift.

Roger folded the letter and stuffed it back inside his jacket. Marriage must have addled Lou’s mind.

A gift? A gift of love, of a good woman in his life, of marriage and family?

The Lord knew better than to waste a gift like that on him. God had already given him a girl, and Roger had ruined her. God had already given him a baby, and the baby was dead.

Roger’s throat thickened, and he picked up his pace, his shoes slapping the asphalt. The Lord loved Kay too much to let Roger ruin her, and Roger . . . he cared too much too.

“Hey! Cooper!” Grant Klein’s voice pummeled him from behind.

What now? Roger’s shoulders sagged, and he turned around. “Yeah?”

The pilot marched up to Roger, his tie knotted perfectly. “You told me nothing was going on with you and Kay.”

“That’s right.” He’d make sure of it.

“Liar.”

His eyes flopped shut. “I’m a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

“More lies.” Klein poked Roger in the chest. “Every time I turn around, I see you two together. I see the way you look at each other. Everyone knows you’re sleeping together.”

A dozen arguments and wisecracks pinged through his head, and he snatched the closest one. “What’s the matter, Klein? Jealous ’cause she wouldn’t sleep with you?”

Klein’s face darkened to a shade the locals would be proud to see in one of their wines. His hand rolled into a fist. “Why you—I ought to—”

“Just a joke.” Roger stepped back and flung up both hands, clipboard in his grip. Smashing that pretty-boy face might feel good for a moment, but a fight on his record would destroy his big band dreams. “I haven’t laid a hand on the dame.”

“What’s going on here?”

Roger spun to his left and lowered his hands.

Major Veerman strode to them. “Lieutenant Klein, do you have a reason to pick a fight with Lieutenant Cooper?”

Klein’s black eyebrows shot up, and he tugged his flight jacket straight. “I wasn’t picking a fight, sir. Unlike some people, I follow regulations.”

Since when was it against regulations to talk to a girl? Roger mashed his tongue between his molars to keep the words inside.

Veerman’s gaze darted back and forth between the men and then settled on Klein. “No woman is worth it.”

“Sir! That wasn’t—”

“Enough. You’re dismissed, Klein. Go cool off.”

Klein fiddled with the hem of his jacket, and his face twitched. “Yes, sir.”

Every bit of control Roger possessed went into freezing his facial muscles. For once, Klein had been caught acting like a ninny, and for once, Roger hadn’t given in to his baser instincts.

Except the one comment. But boy, did it feel good.

Roger slipped his paperwork off the clipboard. “My forms, sir.”

“Thank you.” He studied Roger. “I appreciate how you kept your temper there.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Well . . .”

“Well, I know Klein can be a jerk. Remember, he used to dismiss you as a lazy goof-off, but you’ve changed. Now you’re one of my best pilots, and he’s jealous. And jealous men don’t always act rationally.”

“Yeah.” Roger chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Now he has more to be jealous about. A girl?”

Roger grimaced. “Only in his imagination. I’m just friends with her.”

Veerman leaned closer as if ferreting out the truth. “Let me repeat what I said to Klein. No woman is worth it.”

“Yes, sir.” But Veerman was wrong. Kay Jobson was worth it.

24

Marseille, France
October 5, 1944

The woman waved a fish in Kay’s face, then slapped it down in the water-filled tray, sending up briny droplets.

Kay yelped and sprang back. So did the other five nurses, and then they broke down laughing. “Awful squeamish for nurses, aren’t we?” Kay said.

“If it were blood, you wouldn’t even have blinked.” From behind, Roger handed her a handkerchief.

“Thanks.” She wiped a drop from her cheek.

On Marseille’s waterfront, at the foot of the Vieux Port, fishmongers sold their wares from table-height wooden trays. All the fishmongers were women, their hair tied back under dark scarves.

Mellie bartered in French, and Kay’s mouth watered at the thought of fresh fish for dinner. Knowing Mellie, she’d buy a bushel for their French host family as well.

Louise Cox tapped Mellie on the shoulder. “Maybe we should buy the fish at the end of the day so we don’t have to carry it around with us.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell her.” Mellie returned to her French, pointing at her wristwatch.

Meanwhile, Vera, Alice, and Captain Maxwell drifted away from the group and headed along the waterfront.

Bother. Kay wanted to keep the group together. She should catch up, but she disliked being alone with the three of them. Captain Maxwell was a married man, and although Vera and Alice insisted friendliness was perfectly acceptable, Kay didn’t want people to get the wrong idea about her. She might have been a flirt, but she’d never been a home wrecker.