5

Valle dei Templi, Agrigento, Sicily
July 24, 1943

“Can you believe this is 2,500 years old?” Georgie’s gaze climbed the columns of the Temple of Hera. The roof was long gone, but columns still soared skyward. “I never thought we’d see Greek ruins in Sicily.”

“Mm-hmm.” Mellie Blake looked down the sun-baked slope to the Mediterranean.

Georgie and Rose exchanged a worried glance. Only depression could dull Mellie’s interest in sightseeing.

That morning, Vera and Alice framed Mellie and made it look as if she’d pulled a nasty prank on them. To top it off, Lieutenant Lambert believed Vera and Alice’s side of the story.

Rose hooked her arm through Mellie’s. “Don’t worry. We believe you.”

Georgie cringed. They came on this trip to take Mellie’s mind off her troubles, not to focus on them.

Mellie lifted a feeble smile. “I know.”

If they were on the subject, they might as well talk it all the way through. Georgie took Mellie’s other arm and led the ladies along the ridge toward the next of the seven temples. “I don’t understand why they’d do such a thing.”

“They’re just mean,” Rose said.

Georgie shook her head and found the path through the olive trees. “They’re nurses and good ones. They care. There has to be a reason, but I can’t imagine what it could be. What do they have against you?”

Mellie’s chin lifted, and pain flickered through her exotic dark eyes. “I refuse to gossip.”

“It’s not gossip if you’re defending yourself.”

“In this case, it would be. Can we talk about something else?”

“You want to talk about Tom?” Rose asked in a gentle voice. A week before, Mellie had evacuated her pen pal to Tunisia with a raging fever. He still hadn’t figured out her identity, and Mellie refused to tell him.

Mellie gazed into the distance as if nothing lay before her. “I wish I knew how he was doing.”

Georgie patted her arm. “They have us flying so often, you’re sure to get a chance to go to Tunisia. You said he’s at the hospital right by the airfield in Mateur.”

“True.” Some light returned to her eyes. “I’m praying hard for him.”

“We are too, honey.”

“Yes, we are,” Rose said.

“You two are the best of friends. I’m so glad I met you.” Her pace picked up. “You and Tom have been good for me. You know a relationship is strong when it makes you grow.”

Georgie and Rose murmured their agreement. Georgie had seen that with Clint and Rose as well. And with her and Ward . . .

She frowned and ducked around an olive tree, its leaves fragrant and dusty. Ward helped her grow, didn’t he?

“Oh my,” Mellie said. “Would you look at that?”

Farther along the ridgeline stood a temple, completely intact, the Temple of Concordia.

Rose shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun. “Why do they call it the Valley of Temples when it’s along a ridge?”

“The Ridge of Temples.” Georgie cocked her head to one side. “Not very poetic.”

“It would be if you said it in Italian.”

Georgie smiled at the perk in Mellie’s voice.

Before long they stood in front of the Temple of Concordia. Triangular pediments crowned elegant Doric columns with their simple capitals. Hutch would enjoy the Valle dei Templi with his knowledge of constellations and Greek mythology.

A ripple of sadness. She probably wouldn’t see the quiet pharmacist again. Although the British were bogged down on the east coast of Sicily, the Americans had cleared the entire western half of the island and seized Palermo on the north coast. Today the 802nd had transferred forty miles north to Agrigento. Who knew where the 93rd Evac would go?

Still, Georgie treasured their short friendship. Hutch had made her uncomfortable when he implied she didn’t make her own decisions, but he had a point. Perhaps she needed to change and grow. What if something happened to Ward? To her parents? Where would she turn?

She studied the classic lines of the Greek temple. Concordia meant peace, and Georgie needed to grow to find it.

A bowl of Atabrine tablets sat on a table in the doorway to the officers’ mess tent.

Georgie picked out her daily dose, and the clerk checked off her name.

She stepped away and stared at the little yellow pill. What if she didn’t take it? What if she left a gap in her mosquito netting? A rip-roaring case of malaria could get her sent home.

Heart pounding, she slipped the tablet in her trouser pocket. She didn’t belong here. Lieutenant Lambert would welcome the excuse to replace Georgie with a competent nurse.

A medical discharge, and Georgie could marry Ward and settle down on his farm and raise lots of apples and tomatoes and babies. She could still help the war effort at home. With her energy and enthusiasm, she could raise money, gather scrap, and improve morale.

She belonged in Virginia.

Georgie settled on a camp stool next to Rose and Mellie, and gave them a cheery greeting, although the Atabrine tablet sat heavy and hot in her pocket.

“Mail came.” Rose passed Georgie a square V-mail envelope.

Georgie sighed and opened the letter from Ward. V-mail was patriotic but not terribly romantic. His single sheet of paper was photographed stateside, the film was shipped overseas, and the letter was printed one-quarter size and delivered. The V-mail system freed precious shipping space for troops, weapons, and supplies, but Ward wasn’t required to use it. Why couldn’t he send a long letter like Tom sent Mellie?

She smiled and peered at the tiny handwriting. For Ward, V-mail was a long letter.

Dear Georgie,

How are you? All is well here. I have a bumper crop of tomatoes, and prices are solid.

I wish you could be here to see the harvest, but I’m looking forward to showing you the farm soon. You’ll like it.

How much longer until you come home? I want to marry you more than ever. It’s hard to run both the farm and a house. I had to hire Pearline Gibbs to clean and cook for me. Don’t worry though. You alone have my heart.

Myrtle Ferguson came home on furlough last week after training with the WAVES. You wouldn’t recognize her, she’s gotten so hard and headstrong. That’s what the military does to girls, and it isn’t natural.

Every night I pray that won’t happen to you. I don’t want you to change one whit. I want my Georgie back same as she’s always been.

Around the tent, nurses laughed and chatted. Nothing hard or headstrong about them. While strong and confident, they remained compassionate and feminine.

Georgie alone lacked strength.

Ward didn’t want her to change one whit. But what if she needed to change? Everyone did. Only the Lord was perfect.

Hutch was right. She needed to learn to make her own decisions.

Although she longed for the comforts of home and family, comfort wouldn’t help her grow. Perhaps she needed discomfort, a little dirt and danger in her life.

Only one question mattered. What was God’s will? Did he want her home with Ward? Or did he want her in Sicily with her friends?

Georgie rested her hand in her lap, on the hard lump of Atabrine. Her plan to get a medical discharge was unethical, and worse—she was trying to manipulate God’s will to match hers.

She slipped the tablet out of her pocket and into her mouth. If the Lord wanted her to go home, he’d make a way.