Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington (23 page)

She applied a palm on her forehead. “I don’t feel any lumps.” She drew in a breath and exhaled. “It’s my ankle that’s painin’ me.”

“Do you want me to check it?”

She nodded, blue eyes pleading as Kenny cautiously removed her white pump.

After a moment of rotating the ankle and gently stroking the sore area, Kenny replaced the shoe. “I think it’ll be okay. Just twisted.”

The young Southern belle wiped her eyes with manicured fingers, then smoothed her tousled hair. “Are you sure? I’d hate to miss work.”

Kenny grasped her elbow, helping her to stand. “Well, I’m not a medic or anything, but my sister broke her ankle once, and it got swollen and bruised real fast.”

Clinging to Kenny’s hand, Lanie struggled to put pressure on the sore foot. “Oh,” she moaned. “It does hurt somethin’ fierce, but I think you’re right. It’s not broken.”

“Yeah, when my sister fractured hers, she howled like an alley cat. It swelled really fast too. You should be back to riveting in no time.” Kenny assisted her to the glass-paned door.

“What were you doing here, anyway?” he asked as he opened it for her.

“Well, my uncle’s a big cheese at the paper here.” She twisted a strand of hair. “He’s part of the reason I moved to Seattle.”

“Really? I had no idea you were related to anybody here.”

“Yeah, Uncle Jimmy—”

Kenny tilted closer. “Jim Bixby?”

Lanie squealed. “You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s my boss.”

She clapped her hands. “Wonderful. You must be grateful to work with such an accomplished journalist.” She grabbed his forearm and flashed a smile. “I better get back so I can be ready for work. Today, I’m rivetin’ my first real airplane. Hey, did you know I’m gonna be on the radio tonight?”

This girl shot one surprise off after another. “You are? Singing?”

“Yessiree, boy. I’m in the Flying Fortress Quartet. That sweet man of mine, Nick, encouraged me to try out, and I made it.” She giggled. “I do like that fella, you know.”

“Nick seems happy to be getting to know you.”

She giggled again, then offered Kenny her left hand, up toward his face, as if she wanted him to kiss it like in the pictures.

Kenny awkwardly grasped her smooth fingers, pressed his lips to the back of her hand, and then his eyes focused on something that made him jump back as if it were a pin-pulled hand grenade.

A simple solitaire diamond engagement ring. Nick’s grandmother’s.

“Lanie, are you and Nick—?”

Without answering, she tossed her hair behind her and limped out the door into the sunny morning.

“Wait.” He rushed after her, craving an answer, but stopped short of the door. He was already late for work. He’d have to wait till he got home to talk to Nick.
He wouldn’t ask a girl to marry him without telling me first.

This morning, when Nick shuffled to the washroom and back, his best friend and roommate hadn’t mentioned anything about popping the question, not even hinted. Then again, Nick didn’t communicate much more than a grunt anytime before eleven a.m.

Kenny gripped the glossy railing and skipped steps up the stairs. He hoped Nick wouldn’t act so rash.
I mean, he barely knows the girl.

Yet Nick didn’t always weigh his options before he acted. Kenny paused at the top and gazed out the window, worry for his friend’s future gripping him.
Lord, draw Nick to You. Give life to his dead heart, and Lanie’s too. Give me wise words. Amen.

The newsroom bustled with clacking typewriters and men’s voices as Kenny moved to his desk. Before he sat down, he spied a Western Union telegram envelope planted on his blotter. His stomach lurched. Had to be about Dad. He reached for it, but before he could open it, Mr. Bixby burst into the room.

“Davenport, Lewis, Dupont, Williams. In my office. Now.”

“Yes, Chief,” Kenny said, pausing to glance at the sender’s name:
A
NDREW
L. D
AVENPORT
.

Dad.

“Davenport, you fond of making us wait?”

“Coming, sir.” Kenny set the telegram down and hurried to the meeting.

Rosalie’s gaze trailed Kenny until he disappeared inside the towering
Tribune
building.

I have to give him an answer soon
, she thought.
But no matter how dreamy he is, I still don’t know if I can handle a series of stories.

She looked at her watch. They still had three hours before it was time to catch the bus. Even though she’d hardly slept, excited energy pulsed through Rosalie. She felt good enough to dish up food for a hundred more guys, or maybe greet a passel of soldiers returning from distant lands.

“Well, Birdie.” Rosalie shooed away her confused thoughts and patted her friend’s back. “You wanna take a little ramble? I heard the
Kalakala
’s coming in this morning.” She pointed to her watch. “There’s still time.”

Birdie clapped. “
Soitenly
. I keep telling Myrna I’ll help greet the boys coming home.” She swiveled south, toward the Colman Ferry Terminal. “Oh look, I see it.”

A cargo ship lumbered through the bay, heading to Pier 70, and to the south of it, Rosalie spied the
MV Kalakala
—Washington State’s world-famous art deco ferry. Its smooth, chrome nose gleamed against the crisp sapphire sky as it cut through the dancing breakers. Puget Sound’s “work horse”—she had no doubt—was delivering wearied GIs returning from the Puget Sound Navy Yard on the peninsula.

“Yeah, we better hurry.”

They strode along the sidewalk next to Elliot Bay. Passing the huge piers, Rosalie spied the cargo ship slogging to the dock. Its wake pulsed closer until it finally broke on the rocky shoreline.

Rosalie noticed the corner of Birdie’s mouth creep up. An impish glint grew in her eyes, and she opened her mouth. “You gonna grill me now?” Rosalie asked.

Birdie’s hand flew to her mouth. “What do you mean?”

“I know you. You’re going to interrogate me about Kenny. I can read you like a
Little Abner
comic.”

“The way you’re talking about ‘interrogating,’ sounds more like
Dick Tracy
. Are you saying I’m a snoop?”

“Nah, not really.” Rosalie widened her grin so Birdie could see she was only teasing. “But I know your Cheshire cat curiosity torments you.”

Birdie’s dainty chin poked out. “Well, since you brought it up. You do seem to like him, and I know he likes you. He said so!”

Rosalie shoulders rose at the joyful memory of his words. “He did, didn’t he?”

“Look at you, sweets. You’re over the moon.”

“He’s a really nice guy.” Rosalie glanced at the splashing water in the bay below. A school of jellyfish blobbed their iridescent bodies through the dark blue depths. “But what’s eating me are the articles. He wants to write a series about me, Birdie. That would mean more attention, more people asking for”—she rubbed her stomach, trying to squelch the nausea—“autographs.” She pressed a hand to her cheek. “Why me, Bird?”

“Well, sweets, you did break the national record. That’s a pretty big to-do, don’t you think?”

“
We
did. Not just me.”

“No, Rosalie—Rosie the Riveter—I was just the bucker. You’re the one who actually shot those rivets.”

“Thanks, Birdie.” Rosalie breathed in the salty air. “But I’m
not
Rosie the Riveter. And I’d really rather not have a whole slew of newspaper articles written about me.”

They approached the Colman Ferry Terminal, where the
Kalakala
would dock. “Here it comes.” Rosalie pointed to the streamlined ferry almost reaching the dock.

They jogged up to the platform and stood against a railing to watch the dock workers secure the ship. Once secure, a gaggle of USO gals skittered past them carrying baskets filled with gift bundles for the GIs. Some of the guys who returned—like Nick—were wounded too badly to be sent back. Others were just envoys headed for a new post.

Myrna, a redhead Rosalie knew from the USO Club, stopped when she spotted them. “Hiya, Birdie! Rosalie!”

“Hi, Myrna!” Rosalie waved.

“Or should I say, Rosie the Riveter?” Myrna laughed, edging up next to her. “When are we gonna read more about your romance?” She sighed and patted her own cheek woefully.

Rosalie’s stomach grew queasy again. And the pier seemed to rock under her feet as if she were the one on the ship. “I, uh, don’t know. Probably never—about the romance at least.” She wanted to throw herself over the dock but compelled herself to chuckle instead. “Do you need some help?”

“Now you’re talkin’. C’mon.”

Myrna led Rosalie and Birdie across the wooden planks to where the car deck of the
Kalakala
would soon open and unleash a brigade of military men.

Myrna linked arms with Rosalie. “I just loved that article. What a swoony reporter. At least in the photograph.” She patted Rosalie’s arm, then faced Birdie. “Don’t you think so?”

“I do.” Birdie’s big smile, verging on a mocking laugh, painted her face.

“Just get a loada you, famous girl. You met Lana Turner! Anyway, why don’t you two go inside to help the boys in the wheelchairs? We’ve got it covered out here.”

“Sure.”
Anything to escape this conversation
.

Myrna pointed to a flight of stairs, climbing up to the passenger entrance. “The guys in wheelchairs are up there on the passenger deck.”

Rosalie followed Myrna’s gaze, her eyes looking for a ramp, but she didn’t see one.

“Okay.” Rosalie nodded. “So, how do we, uh—”

“Get them down the stairs?” The light breeze tossed Myrna’s hair around her face. She used her hand to push red waves back from her cheeks. “A couple of beefcake soldiers will come and carry them down the inside stairs to the car deck. Then you can wheel them off.”

“Sounds good!” Birdie bounced up the stairs, and Rosalie followed.

“So, back to Kenny.” Birdie insisted on reviving the subject of her prospective love life as they entered the ship. “You’re not off the hook yet, sister.” Birdie stuck her hands in her pockets and tilted her head back. “Remember, I’m Dick Tracy.” She squinted mysteriously.

“Oh, brother.”

Rosalie took in the
Kalakala
’s interior curving yet geometrical design as they crossed the shiny floor. The men in wheelchairs and a nurse waited next to a railing at the far end of the observation deck. “There they are.”

“Oh yeah, I see ’em.” Birdie eyed Rosalie and slowed her pace. “C’mon, Rosalie, listen. I want to tell you something. Put the article and all that
revolting
publicity aside. Are you carrying a torch for Mr. Kenny Davenport?” She pinched two fingers together, leaving a little gap between them. “Maybe a little?”

Rosalie placed a hand to her chest as Kenny’s blue eyes and welcoming smile streamed into her mind’s eye. “I do like him,” she said with a sigh. “I just wish he wasn’t a reporter.”

“Sweets, I understand you’re scared, but how do you feel? He was super chivalrous to you yesterday, rescuing the fair maiden from the collapsing castle.”

“More like a screeching polecat than a tittering princess.”

“Aw, you weren’t screeching. Just a little, uh,
concerned
.”

“
Pathetic,
Bird, that’s what I was. But it’s okay. I really didn’t mind that he helped me down.” She snickered. “Kinda liked it.”

Birdie slapped Rosalie’s arm. “I knew you were sweet on him. Here’s what I think.”

Before Birdie could bestow her wisdom, a young soldier in the wheelchair whistled. “Here comes our escorts, boys.”

Rosalie waved. “Just a minute, fellas.” She tugged Birdie’s arm, halting her and pulling her behind one of the arched beams. “Tell me, Birdie. I’ve only been a Christian a week. You’ve known the Lord nearly your whole life. I’ve been mulling over this all night. Praying. I need your advice.”

Birdie held Rosalie’s hand. “It seems pretty simple, Rose. If you like him, these articles seem like a perfect way to get to know him. God’s giving you this easy-as-pie opportunity to spend time with a kind, smart, funny, Christian fella—how often do you meet someone like that? And then you can explore your friendship without putting your heart at risk. At least at first. You don’t even have to date him. Just let him interview you, follow you around, and then you can decide what he’s really like.” Birdie took in a breath and released it with a
hmm
. “Seems clear to me.”

Seemed clear to Rosalie too, but her heart still gloomed like Seattle in January. “It’s a fine plan, Birdie, but you forgot something.” She grasped Birdie’s shoulders. “I don’t want to be in the papers.”

“Oh, sweets, you’ve got this all wrong. Remember, God calls us to put others before ourselves.” She gently pushed down Rosalie’s arms, holding them to her sides. “It’s kind of like being at the plant, Rosalie. When we first started, we didn’t think we could make it through the first day, remember?”

“Yeah, I was scared I’d miss a rivet and cause one of our bombers to crash over the Pacific.”

“Right. And now you’re afraid your heart will crash.”

“In spiraling flames!”

“But what if this is the mission God has for you right now? He might use the articles to help someone. Or maybe He has a gift for you on the other end of this. But you won’t know until you roll up your sleeves and accept the assignment.” Birdie tucked a stray curl behind Rosalie’s ear. “And it’s even better than that. God’s not like the boss who gives you an assignment and then leaves you to do it all by yourself. He’s a loving father, who walks you through each step. And if you miss one—forget to pray or lose your way—He’s still there, loving you, calling you His child. It’s amazing.”