On Distant Shores (23 page)

Piana di Caiazzo
December 18, 1943

How on earth could he get to Naples? Hutch set the scales back in their case for the night. He needed Kaz’s signature on a three-day pass for the Pharmacy Corps exam, but Kaz had made it clear he wouldn’t do Hutch any more favors.

Hutch hadn’t seen his CO since the accident, but Captain Sobel said his burns weren’t too serious, and he’d be back to duty after Christmas. Perhaps by then, he’d have softened. Or perhaps Hutch could take advantage of his hospitalization and go directly to Colonel Currier. But that might be deemed disrespectful and make things worse in the long run.

“How was the day shift?” Dom sloughed off his mackinaw.

“Busy.” Hutch wiped the back counter with a rag. “Lots of casualties from the Winter Line, trench foot, pneumonia. But Ralph and I kept up. You’re in good shape for tonight.”

“Got a Thermos full of coffee. I’m ready.”

“Great.” The sooner he escaped to quarters, the better. The nurses from the 802nd were coming up to the 93rd tonight for the officers’ Christmas dance, and he wanted to distance himself from the music. The woman he loved would be dancing. But not with him.

He pulled on his mud-splattered mackinaw and lifted the tent flap.

Georgie burst inside, all grins and swishing silk and perfume.

“Georgie.” He stepped back, in desperate need of a shower, a shave, and a clean uniform.

She waved to Dom and set a box on the front counter. “Hi, Dom. Would you please give us five minutes alone? We’d appreciate it.”

“Sure thing.” He winked, grabbed his jacket, and stepped outside.

Hutch cleared his throat. “This isn’t a—”

“Nonsense. Let’s get you out of this dirty thing.” She unbuttoned his mackinaw. So beautiful with her curls pinned up, plenty of red lipstick, and that intoxicating perfume. “Lillian’s standing guard outside. Bergie intercepted Chad and will keep him busy as long as he can.”

“Chad.” He pulled off his jacket.

“Captain Chadwick.” She slipped off her raincoat, revealing a deep blue dress that brought out her eye color. “Don’t you worry. He might be pompous, but he’s a gentleman, and Bergie will keep him in line. He’s not as bad as you think. He rides. His family has horses at their country place in Connecticut.”

Of course they did. Hutch stiffened.

“Oh, sugar.” She sighed and took his hands. “You know my heart belongs to you.”

“I know.” Why was he ruining one of their few moments together with a bad mood? He drew a deep breath and kissed both her pretty little hands. “You look beautiful. Really beautiful.”

Georgie dissolved into a smile. “You do too.”

He chuckled. “Hardly. And I stink.”

She wrapped her bare arms around his neck, pressed close, and burrowed her nose under his chin. “You smell wonderful to me.”

His eyes flopped shut, and his head spun. With Georgie in his arms, he felt like a real man again. He pressed his lips to the warm skin of her arm, then gathered her near for a long kiss, her dress silky to his touch. If only he could spend the rest of the evening like this, holding her, dancing with her, hearing her lilting voice.

She pulled back and rubbed her thumb over his lips. “That color looks better on me than on you.”

“I disagree. I’m going to steal every molecule of that lipstick.” He gave his best attempt at a rakish grin and bent down for another kiss.

She stopped him with a firm hand to his chest. “As much as I’d love that, we don’t have much time, and I want to give you your Christmas present.”

He grimaced. “I gave mine to Bergie to give you.”

“I know.” She darted away and pulled the wrapped present from the pocket of her raincoat. “Let’s open them together.”

How could he not love her? All dressed up, she looked like a Hollywood glamour girl, but the light in her eyes reminded him of a six-year-old under the Christmas tree. “All right,” he said. “You go first because you’ll burst if you don’t.”

“I will.” She ripped open the brown paper. “I’m the baby. I always go first.”

“Of course you do.” He frowned at his meager offering. “It’s not much. I couldn’t go shopping.”

“Oh! This is so much better than something from a store.” Georgie held up a tin star ornament he’d made, then an angel, a bell, a nightingale. “Look! These are darling. There must be a dozen, all different, all beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

“I do. I’ll hang them in our tent, and it’ll be so cute and festive.” She wrapped them in the paper, then pointed to a leather case on the counter. “Now open yours.”

“That’s for me?” Looked expensive, whatever it was.

“Sure is.” She clasped her hands together in front of her chest and lifted her shoulders. “Hurry. I can’t wait to see your expression.”

He’d rather look at hers, which was too cute for his meager words.

She waved him to the case. “Hurry.”

“All right.” He flipped open brass clasps and lifted the lid. A telescope, new and shiny. “How . . . where . . . ?”

“The most wonderful little store in Naples. He had all sorts of things.”

Hutch stared at it. If he ever got to Naples, he couldn’t afford something so nice, not on his sergeant’s salary, not with almost every penny going into savings so he could open his own store after the war.

Georgie chattered about the charming shopkeeper and all he’d said about the telescope, incorrectly—but sweetly—filtered through Georgie’s lay vocabulary.

He fingered the eyepiece. What kind of man was he? His gift to Georgie looked pathetic. He should have given her jewelry or something, but he was trapped in the hospital complex and couldn’t afford anything expensive anyway.

She laid her hand on his forearm. “You don’t like it?”

He glanced down to her eyes, swimming in hurt. “Of course I like it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He wrangled up a smile. “It’s real nice. Better than the one I had before.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows drew together. “I wanted to make you happy.”

“You did. I just—I wish I had something nicer for you.”

“Oh, baby!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his chin. “Your gift is perfect. I know those ornaments took you hours to make, and they’re beautiful. I’ll treasure them always.”

“I hope so.” He held her tight. While making the ornaments, he’d imagined decorating Christmas trees with Georgie together through the years, holding up curly-haired tots to hang the star high, reminiscing about how they met, enduring the teasing of teenage children, and someday lifting their withered hands to trace the shapes against the glow of colored lights.

“Hutch! Georgie!”

He sprang back. Lillian poked her head inside the tent and beckoned to Georgie. “Hurry. They’re coming.”

“Bye, sweetie. I love you.” Georgie planted one last kiss on his lips and dashed for the entrance, tugging on her raincoat.

“I love you too.” His arms felt cold and empty.

Dom stepped back inside the tent. He pointed to his cheek and waggled his eyebrows. “Lipstick.”

Hutch rubbed his cheek, hating to remove the touch of the woman he loved. He threw on his mackinaw and peeked outside. About fifty feet away, illuminated by tents glowing from electric light, two women in long gowns strolled away from him. Two officers approached in full dress uniform.

Bergie took Lillian’s hand.

Chadwick swept a low, dramatic bow to Georgie. “Milady, your beauty has utterly captivated me. I am rendered helpless by the power of your enchantment.”

Hutch’s stomach felt sour. What was it
he
had said to her? “You look beautiful. Really beautiful.” As pathetic as his gift.

“That’s very kind of you.” Georgie sounded polite but unmoved. Good.

Chadwick kissed her hand. Hey, Hutch had kissed it only moments before!

The jerk stepped close. “May I have the supreme honor of escorting you this evening? Although I’m afraid you’ll be my undoing.”

Georgie, bless her, stepped back. “We certainly wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Hutch grinned. He’d thank her later.

“Please.” Chad held her hand to his chest. “I’m a perfect gentleman and promise to behave myself.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Bergie spoke in a loud voice, probably for Hutch’s benefit. “Lillian and I will stick close and keep him honest.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Chad tucked her hand under his arm. “A lady’s honor is a precious treasure.”

Georgie tilted her head. “As long as you behave as well as you speak, you may escort me.”

For one brief moment, Hutch hoped Chad wouldn’t behave so Georgie would slap him good and hard.

The foursome headed to the officers’ club, where engineers had laid a wooden dance floor. Hutch stepped outside and watched. He should be part of that group. He should be with his best friend and his girl, off for a fun evening.

Georgie glanced over her shoulder at him.

He could feel the remorse in her gaze. But it wasn’t her fault. He raised a hand in farewell and walked hard in the other direction.

The enlisted men wouldn’t get a dance. Nope, they’d get a turkey dinner with all the fixings, sure they would. And an officer in a Santa hat would pass out candy. Happened every single year. But no dance. No women in long dresses. No chance to twirl his girlfriend around the dance floor in public.

The sourness in his stomach turned into gnawing pain.
He popped a sodium bicarb tablet in his mouth. How could he concentrate on writing letters when the music reminded him that Georgie danced in another man’s arms, the arms of his nemesis at that?

Maybe she’d be better off with Chad. He could adore her in the flowery words she deserved. He could give her the horses and land she deserved. He could be seen with her in public, for heaven’s sake.

Hutch stopped and glanced up to the pitch-black sky. This wasn’t doing him any good, and it wasn’t fair to Georgie. He needed to take his mind off the whole stinking situation.

He charged down the pathway and into Lucia’s ward. The little girl sat up in bed with a blanket over her shrunken legs. The casts had come off earlier in the week, and the staff had fashioned crutches and braces for her, but she couldn’t stand yet. Bergie held out hope, but then he always did.

Lucia grinned. “Signor Ucce! Look!” She stretched out a string of paper dolls.

“Pretty. Did the nurses make that for you?” He sat on her cot.

“Yeah.” She’d already picked up some slang. She waved her hand in the air. “Pretty
musico
.”

The strains of “Moonlight Serenade” drifted through the canvas. Medics worked the ward tonight and older, married physicians, freeing the nurses and single doctors to go to the dance. Dozens of patients stretched out on cots or sat in wheelchairs. None of them could go to the dance either.

Well, why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t they have their own dance? Hutch stood, took Lucia’s hand, and swept a bow even lower and grander than Chadwick’s.
“Balle con mi, per favore?”

“Yeah! Yeah!” She bounced on her cot and held out her arms.

He picked her up, set her on his hip, and took her hand in the dancing position. Down the aisle they danced, swinging and swaying, her giggles sweeter than the music.

The song finished, but Lucia shook her head. “No. Again, again-a.”

A medic tapped Hutch on the shoulder. “May I cut in?”

He had no choice, so he passed on his tiny partner. A set of vigorous chords announced “Sing, Sing, Sing.”

The medic broke into a jitterbug, hard and fast. Lucia’s braids whipped around, and her giggles broke up as her jaws banged together.

The patients sat up now, all who could, and they clapped, sang, snapped fingers to the beat. One man drummed on the rim of his cot, another mimed blowing a trombone, and another conducted the band as if he were Benny Goodman himself.

When the band switched to “Brazil,” Lucia was passed to an ambulatory patient who rumbaed her down the aisle.

Hutch stood back, his heart warm. The little girl’s cheeks glowed, and her laughter blessed every man on the ward.

The music changed again, to the plaintive notes of “The Story of a Starry Night.”

Back in August, that song played while he sat on the beach at Termini next to Georgie in her pink dress, with her bare arms draped over her knees. Half an hour ago, he’d kissed those bare arms. Now they were wrapped around Captain Chadwick’s scrawny neck.

A heavy weight pressed his chest, and he tapped Lucia’s latest partner on the shoulder. “May I?”

“I guess you’re the guy who brought her.”

“Yep.”

“My Ucce!” Lucia’s big brown eyes sparkled, and she reached for him.

He settled her in place and led her in a gentle dance, her head resting on his shoulder. His tongue felt gigantic in his mouth. The war had introduced Hutch to Georgie, yet kept her out of his arms. The war had orphaned and crippled Lucia, yet placed her in Hutch’s arms.

How could anyone make sense of such insanity?

Pomigliano Airfield, Italy
December 25, 1943

A low rumble beneath Georgie vibrated through her backside and feet. That meant the tail landing gear was up.

She opened her eyes and released her breath. Although she’d made progress, takeoffs and landings still bothered her.

When the plane leveled off, she stood. Succumbing to temptation, she glanced out the window. The dark bulk of Vesuvius rose to the south, puffing smoke. Scuttlebutt pointed to an eruption brewing. Almost two thousand years earlier, Vesuvius had killed every living creature in Pompeii. And Pomigliano Airfield lay not much farther north of Vesuvius than Pompeii lay to the south. That fact did nothing to settle her nerves.

Nervous or not, she had a special job.

“Merry Christmas, gentlemen.” She headed down the aisle of the C-47 with her musette bag, ducking Hutch’s darling ornaments, which she had strung between the litter racks. On her way, she handed out tiny packages tied in gauze. “We have a little present for each of you. Wait until I pass them out, then you can open them all at once.”

“Sealed with a kiss?” Private Hodges winked the one blue eye peeking from under a wad of bandages.

She waved him off. “I wouldn’t want to make my boyfriend sad on Christmas.”

Yet she’d done exactly that. She passed out the rest of the packages while uneasiness writhed in her stomach. Why did she go to that stupid dance? Chadwick had acted like a gentleman, if a pompous gentleman, and Bergie would certainly tell Hutch all had been innocent, but she’d longed to be in Hutch’s arms and ached from the sadness in his eyes.

The dance confirmed the gulf between them, and she hated it.

At the front of the plane, she threw a bright smile in place. These men had been wounded in battle or suffered from illness far from home. This could be their worst Christmas ever, but she was determined to give them pleasant memories. “All right, gentlemen. Open your presents.”

The men untied the gauze, and Georgie and Sergeant Ramirez helped those with casts or bandages on their hands.

“Fudge!” someone cried.

“Hey, watch your language. A lady’s present.”

Georgie laughed. “A square of fudge for each of you. I don’t want to ruin your carefully designed hospital diets too much.”

“Ruin to your heart’s content, ma’am.” An ambulatory patient on the right side of the plane popped his piece in his mouth. “Heaven.”

“Mm-hmm.” The man next to him nodded. “A morsel of joy.”

The nurses would be so pleased. Last night they’d worked hard over their little Coleman stoves, making batch after batch for their flights—and for themselves too.

“Speaking of joy . . .” Georgie waved her hand like a choir director. “‘Joy to the world!’”

The men joined in the singing, only a few at first, since most had their mouths full, but then in unison. Sergeant Ramirez had a strong bass voice, and he dipped into the harmony. Soon a chorus overpowered the engine noises and resonated through the plane.

Rose would be pleased. She loved Christmas caroling. If only she could be here.

Georgie blinked back tears, took requests, and caroled her way through her duties.

A sense of fulfillment nudged grief aside. This was why she’d returned overseas. Her lifelong gift to lighten people’s hearts and her new nursing skills combined to ease the pain of the hurting.

If only she could make Hutch feel better.

Her voice faltered, but she dove into “White Christmas.”

She’d had a long talk with Mellie last night. Hutch wouldn’t be content until he became an officer. But was that right? Didn’t the Lord want him to be content where he was, regardless of his circumstances? After all, what if he never got a commission?

She shuddered and launched into “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.” After all this time, all this work, what would he do if he lost his dream?

The C-47 jostled and dropped a few feet.

Georgie let out an embarrassing cry and grabbed onto the litter support rack.

“Just some turbulence.” Sergeant Ramirez took hold of her elbow. He wasn’t much taller than Georgie, but he was built like a tank. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

She smiled, although her pulse hammered. “Just startled me, that’s all.”

“Yeah.” He returned her smile, but with concern in his eyes. Everyone knew of her disastrous performance in the plane crash.

Georgie set her hands on her hips and assumed an expression of mock outrage. “Turbulence on Christmas Day? What kind of outfit is this? We ought to be ashamed of ourselves. Fine way to treat our holiday guests.”

Ramirez chuckled and headed to the rear of the plane.

Her mock outrage floated away, replaced with anger at herself. She’d been through turbulence before, plenty of times. Why did she let it affect her?

She took Private Hodges’s pulse and recorded it in the flight manifest.

She still had a long way to go.

Pozzuoli, Italy
January 11, 1944

Hutch glanced at the clock and drummed his fingers on his completed examination. Half an hour remained, but he’d already gone over the test twice and knew he’d done well. Numbers were his lifelong friends.

Asking Colonel Currier for the three-day pass had been a smart choice, but he barely made it. The 93rd had closed at Piana di Caiazzo on January 5 in preparation for an upcoming amphibious operation, somewhere higher up the Italian boot. They were staging in the Naples area, a clear sign God wanted him in the Pharmacy Corps.

Hutch arrived in Caivano outside of Naples on Sunday, and the test was in nearby Pozzuoli on Monday and Tuesday. Since he already had approval for a third day, tomorrow he’d see Pompeii with Georgie and her friends, acting as their tour guide to justify the fraternization.

This might be the last time he saw her for a long while. Since July, Georgie had followed him from shore to shore, but would she follow him to the next beach?

Only one other applicant sat in the tiny room, Lt. Pete Cameron from San Francisco. Pete nibbled on his pencil, then scratched down an answer. Nice fellow, Pete. He’d attended Officer Candidate School and now served as an artillery officer in the US 3rd Infantry Division, which was preparing to ship out in the same convoy as the 93rd Evac.

Since he already had a commission, Pete didn’t need this as badly as Hutch did.

Pete closed his exam book, puffed out a breath, and stood.

Hutch got up too and turned in his test. He smiled at Pete. “How’d it go?”

He ran his hand over close-cropped curly blond hair. “Don’t know. I’m rusty. Haven’t practiced in two years, thanks to Uncle Sam. Maybe I should have done what you did.”

“If you did, you’d have to ‘yes, sir’ all day long to men who have the same education as you do and call you ‘boy.’”

Pete shook his head. “Pharmacists get a raw deal in this Army, don’t they?”

“Glad we finally have our own Corps. I’ve been waiting for this.”

The officer administering the exam tucked the tests in a manila folder and stood. “You and nine hundred others.”

Hutch frowned. “What do you mean, sir?”

“They’ve received nine hundred applications for the Pharmacy Corps, I’m told.”

Pete let out a low whistle. “Lousy odds.”

“Look at the bright side.” Hutch tapped his foot. “Nine hundred men have the same vision. That’ll make the Army take notice. Think what we could do. Nine hundred officers could staff every fixed and mobile hospital, both stateside and overseas.”

Half a smile from Pete. “But only seventy-two of us get a shot at it now.”

“Twelve.” The officer headed for the door.

Hutch’s gut clenched. “Twelve?”

He held open the door. “They’re only commissioning twelve officers at this time.”

“But—but Congress approved seventy-two.”

“The Army decided a gradual implementation would be best. Twelve now, more later.”

Pete whistled again and headed out. “I just wasted two days of my life.”

Two days? Hutch had wasted over three years. He couldn’t move.

“Sergeant?” The officer waved him to the door.

“Yes, sir.” His voice splintered on his wooden tongue, and he forced his feet to move.

Twelve positions? Nine hundred applicants? For the first time in his life, numbers betrayed him.