“What was that about?” Captain Maxwell turned the jeep onto the road south toward Naples.
Georgie fingered the letter and recovered her breath. “That’s—Sergeant Hutchinson. He’s the pharmacist. He was thanking me. I used to bring him supplies—oranges and things. For compounding medicines.”
Maxwell grunted. “He had more than gratitude on his mind. Don’t let him get the wrong idea. He’s an enlisted man.”
“I know that, sir.” She turned to watch the scenery and to hide her expression. She hadn’t been prepared to see Hutch, for the rush of emotion, the intensity of his eyes, the richness of his voice—it overwhelmed her. How could he communicate so much with a simple gaze? Remorse, peace, and the heartbreaking message that all was over between them.
Was it only the longing of her imagination or did she sense he still loved her regardless? If only she’d had more time. If only she could have formed words and questions. If only she could go back.
But she couldn’t. They had to return to Pomigliano by nightfall, only thirty miles, but on a rutted road clogged with trucks and jeeps and troops and mules.
What had he written? Her finger slipped under the lip of the envelope, but she yanked the naughty digit back out. She couldn’t read this in front of Maxwell. She’d turn into a blubbering idiot, and he’d know the relationship involved more than oranges.
What if Hutch did still love her? What did it matter anyway? Love alone wasn’t enough.
But what if Bergie was correct? What if Hutch had found contentment? Were the answers in this letter?
She lifted up on one hip and sat on the envelope. Away with temptation.
Maxwell honked the horn at the truck in front of them. Even though the Cassino front had been in a stalemate for three months, activity teemed on the road. The units constantly switched position as if a change in scenery would change the results. The flow of supplies in one direction and sick and wounded in the other never stopped.
The truck rumbled forward and spewed a black cloud of exhaust in Georgie’s face.
She coughed and swatted the exhaust away, and Maxwell hit the accelerator.
The jeep lunged forward, then pitched down at a crazy angle.
Georgie yelped and caught herself on the dashboard.
Captain Maxwell cussed and climbed out of the jeep. Georgie climbed out too, grabbing the letter so it wouldn’t blow away.
The jeep’s left front end rested in a deep pothole. The truck must have straddled it, but in the blindness of the exhaust cloud, the little jeep fell right in.
“Blew the tire.” He kicked at the ground.
“Oh dear. Do you need help changing it?”
“Hardly a job for a woman.”
“Have it your way.” Georgie sauntered over to an olive tree about thirty feet off the road. No need to tell him Daddy had made her change tires since she was twelve. Even in the Taylor family, pampering only went so far.
“Need some help, sir?” Half a dozen soldiers piled out of the truck behind them.
“Yes. Thanks, boys.”
While they shoved the vehicle out of the pothole and off the road, Georgie made herself comfortable on a rock under the olive tree.
She drew in a big breath and opened the envelope. His handwriting was so . . . Hutch-like. Square and neat in orderly rows, with a lift to the taller letters that appealed to her for a reason she couldn’t place.
Dear Georgie,
I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me, but it’s time. After three months of literal and spiritual bombardment, I’ve made changes in my life, and I want to thank you for the role you played.
Please know this is not an attempt to woo you back. I don’t mean to say hello again, but to say good-bye in a better way.
First, let me tell you what’s happened lately. A few weeks ago, I found out I did not get into the Pharmacy Corps. I reacted in bitter rage.
That evening, the Lord brought me to the painful realization that my goal had become my idol. The handkerchief you embroidered helped show me. In my quest for acceptance from man, I’d forgotten I had God’s love. Nothing else matters.
The Lord is forgiving, and with his help, I’ve found contentment where I am. I’m determined to do my best work and respect others, whether or not they respect me.
Second, thanks for having the courage to tell me I was racing in the wrong direction. Once I told you it’s important to have someone in your life who helps you grow and who’s hard on you when you need it. You did that for me, and ironically I rejected it. But now I appreciate what you did.
Please forgive me for allowing my obsession, bitterness, and pride to destroy our friendship.
Third, thank you for taking Lucia under your wing. She writes fondly of your visits to the orphanage, the parties, and the new dress you made her. I can’t be there, but I’m thankful you are.
Another reason for this letter is to encourage you. You used to doubt your ability to make decisions, but you made excellent decisions in regards to me. You acted in kindness and strength and truth. Even your decision at Pompeii was right. Please don’t ever doubt your strength in the Lord.
Again, this is not an attempt to win you back. I only want to express my gratitude and bolster you. Even in your absence, you helped me.
With kind regards, Hutch
Georgie groped in her pocket for a handkerchief like the blubbering idiot she was.
Now she knew two things for certain—his peace was genuine, and she loved him more desperately than ever.
But now she doubted her earlier assessment that he still loved her. He didn’t want to woo her back. He wanted to say a better good-bye. She’d made the right decision at Pompeii. Those did not sound like the statements of a man in love.
She blotted her face dry and hiccupped.
For goodness’ sake, now wasn’t the time to be a crybaby. Now was the time to meld her old and her new talents.
She knit together an idea in her mind.