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TOMMY WAS GLAD when a few days after enlisting, he received his order to ship out. He was sorry he didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to his father or mother, but running was what Tommy needed to do. Leave behind the misery that was his life was what Tommy had to do. Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, Tommy set off for England to fight alongside the thousands of men of the First Canadian Infantry Division.
To say Tommy’s decision to enlist to fight in the escalating war in Europe was a rational or patriotic one would be a lie. Tommy’s decision to enlist was an emotional one, which came to him when Peter Thompson handed him the stack of unopened letters.
The moment Peter set those letters in Tommy’s hands, it drove a reality he’d refused to accept home. Peter was going to do everything in his power to ensure he’d never be a part of Francesca’s life. The bottomless well of hope, which had kept Tommy believing there was still a chance for him and Francesca, hit bottom. The following day, an inconsolable Tommy picked up the forms from the recruitment office.
War, Tommy decided, was the perfect distraction for his broken heart and the unbearable ache of loss. If he died along the way, so be it.
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“WHAT DOES FRANKIE DO OUT ON the terrace at sundown every day?” William asked Lily as both stood at the kitchen window, watching her.
“She says she needs to look up at the stars.”
William sipped coffee contemplatively. “Why?”
“She says she’s connecting.”
William drank the last of his coffee, and walking to the refrigerator reached into the freezer for the tub of chocolate ice cream. “Would you like a scoop?”
Lily nodded. “Can you make a bowl for Frankie, Professor? I’ll take it out to her.”
“Sure. Grab the scooper and three spoons from the drawer behind you.” William reached into the cupboard for bowls. “Do you know what it is she reads every night while she’s connecting?”
“She tells me everything, except for what’s in that letter, and I haven’t pressed her. Some things are your own. You know. I think this is one of those things for her. I know Frankie often cries after reading it, and there’s nothing I can do for her. It breaks my heart, Professor Thompson. Tears it in two.”
“Me too.” William felt a heaviness in his chest.
William wondered if Peter cared how much his daughter was hurting. Several times, William tried to discuss Francesca’s depressed state with his brother only to be dismissed and told it was teenage angst, and she’d get over it soon enough.
Peter had always been driven, self-centered, cold-hearted, an uncaring brother, but growing up, William idolized his older brother and overlooked his character flaws because who was perfect. As they got older and Willian got wiser, they drifted apart. It was why there were thousands of miles between them. Family sometimes worked best when kept arm’s length. But now, seeing the pain and hurt in the niece he’d come to love as his own, William couldn’t tolerate Peter’s callousness toward Francesca. Francesca was hurting, and William suspected it was for Tommy Scott, the man Peter determined to keep her from seeing.
“As her best friend, you must know more than I do.” William scooped ice cream into bowls. “Aside from you, does Frankie have any friends, a boyfriend?
“She has no interest in making friends or meeting people. I’ve tried to get her to socialize, but she’d rather lock herself in her bedroom and study. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Lily added when her reply caused William to lift a brow.
William walked back to the window to peel concerned eyes on his niece. He regretted now agreeing to intercept Tommy’s letters for Peter. He wished he’d never kept them from Francesca, but William believed Peter when he’d told him Tommy was an ex-convict, bad news, and keeping Francesca shielded from him was what had to be done.
William wished he’d gone with his gut and cast doubt on his brother’s portrayal of Tommy. A man who writes weekly and continues to do so without receiving a response is a man in love. He’s looking to build something that mattered with the woman he loved. He’s not a low-life criminal with disregard for law and humanity as Peter made him out to be, William, conclude.
Anger darkened William’s eyes, and there and then, he decided to do what he should have done months ago.
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AS THE DAYS WORE ON, TOMMY’S squad spent their day’s training for the day the orders to spearhead the Allied attack came. The training was arduous, the days long and tiring for the men. Nights were the worst. It was when the loneliness and homesickness set in. Not for Tommy. He kept busy. Focused on anything other than Francesca not only helped Tommy escape the pain and heartache but turned him into the consummate soldier.
Tommy volunteered for any patrol mission going. Trying to avoid sleep—sleeping resulted in dreams of Francesca—Tommy took on night patrol duty for weeks on end. Often, Tommy had to restrain himself from being too quick with the trigger when thoughts of Peter Thompson entered his mind.
Fighting on the frontline was what Tommy signed up for, the distraction he needed, and when the orders to engage in combat were delayed for months, his disappointment was huge. Until the orders came, Tommy spent his time training and guarding England against a possible German invasion.
While the men in his squad spent their downtime fraternizing at the mess hall or the pub, Tommy spent it reading the books Francesca wanted him to or staring up at the stars, hoping she was doing the same. Keeping to himself drove the men to distance themselves from Recluse-Tommy, and that was fine with him.
Putting distance between him and the men who on their downtime only talked of home, family, wives, and girlfriends to fill the boredom was what he wanted. Tommy didn’t want to talk about home. He had nothing to say, and the only photograph he carried with him was of a woman he loved and lost.
Tommy’s sadness, pain, and despair rolled into indifference, the type that makes a man overlook his wellbeing. Whether he was injured or met with a bullet was of no concern to Tommy. His disregard for his welfare drove him to take risks that gave rise to outperform every man on his squad, and soon enough, the promotions started rolling in. Not that moving up the ranks was his objective. Tommy was there to forget and put the past behind.
Letters from home—mainly from Mrs. Scott since his father wasn’t much of a writer—came often. They were mostly about the goings-on at the garden center. With the shortage of men back home, Mrs. Scott was now working alongside her husband to keep the garden center running. Tommy felt a heaviness in his chest at the thought he’d let them down. He should have been running the business while they enjoyed a well-deserved retirement.
Mrs. Scott often joked in her letters Tommy hadn’t yet become a big brother, but that he shouldn’t give up hope. Her love for his father came through in all her letters. Tommy was happy to know his father was loved and well cared for. He deserved to be happy.
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AFTER GOING THROUGH FRANCESCA’S PERSONAL BELONGINGS while she was at school and finding Tommy’s letter under her pillow, William dialed Mrs. Scott’s telephone number. Guilt, the overwhelming weight of it smothered him. The words in that letter spoke of a man in love, not of a criminal out to take advantage of a naïve, young girl as Peter led him to believe.
When William Thompson called Mrs. Scott to offer to fly Tommy to California to surprise Francesca and was told he’d enlisted to fight overseas, he lapsed into momentary silence. Men with broken hearts did foolish things, but William couldn’t help but shoulder some of the responsibility for Tommy’s reckless decision to enlist. Had he gone with his gut feeling and passed the letters to Francesca instead of doing what Peter asked, Tommy wouldn’t be in Europe, William concluded.
William looked out to the terrace where Francesca stared up at the canopy of stars sprayed against a black-blue sky. He had to correct this. William couldn’t stand to see Francesca hurting anymore. Francesca was a wonderful, intelligent, caring woman who deserved happiness, to be making memories at this young age, not shedding tears. How Peter could do this to his only daughter and to what purpose, because if William knew Peter, there was a bigger scheme in play, only proved his brother’s callousness.
“He’s been gone three years now.” Mrs. Scott dried soapy hands on the apron at her waist.
“I’m sorry to hear, Mrs. Scott. Is he ... well?”
“He’s fine. Luckily, he hasn’t seen combat—yet. He nearly got shipped off to participate in the Dieppe raid, but his commander kept him back to train the men left behind. Tommy’s somewhere in England right now. Has been for the better part of his deployment, but you and I know it’s only a matter of time before he gets his orders to go into active theater. God help him.”
William heard the anxiety in her voice. The regret and remorse were like two vicious, heavy blows to his gut. “I don’t suppose you know where in England he’s stationed.”
“He can’t tell us, but I have a mailing address if that’s what you’re after.”
“It is. Do you suppose Tommy would oppose me filling Frankie in on his whereabouts?”
“He would, but not me. The boy needs to hear from Frankie. He needs to know she’s thinking of him. It may save his life, Professor.”
William smothered the quick pang of guilt. “Yes. You may be right about that, Mrs. Scott.”
“Professor, you know your brother isn’t going to be as agreeable to Frankie...”
“You leave my brother to me, Mrs. Scott,” William finished, letting raw temper carry him out. “I’m sorry, it’s just that Frankie has been miserable since she got here. I may be a Professor of law at a high ranked school, but I’m a man, and it’s taking me this long to figure out what she’s suffering from is a broken heart.”
“Unfortunately, men react differently to heartache. Tommy’s broken heart, I believe, is what made him enlist. Frankie and Tommy, Professor Thompson, are meant to be together. The love they share for one another is rare and special.”
“Agreed,” William said, reaching for pen and paper to jot Tommy’s address.
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WILLIAM INDICATED THE SOFA AND FRANCESCA sat down. “I want to talk to you.”
Francesca set Bear, the lively Yorkshire terrier William gave her on her last birthday to cheer her up, on her lap. “What about, Uncle Will? Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, darling.” William poured himself a brandy before joining Francesca on the sofa. “I spoke with Mrs. Scott last night.”
“You did? Why? Is she all right? Is Mr. Scott?”
“Both are fine.” William ran a hand over Bear’s head and got himself a grunt of pleasure. “You know I love you like a daughter.”
“I know that, Uncle Will.” Bear settled his head on Francesca’s lap and, in seconds, fell asleep. “He’s had a tiring day.”
“Yes, chewing my shoe all morning will do that.” When Francesca smiled, it warmed William’s heart. He rarely saw her smile. “I never had children of my own because, well, as an educator, I inherit hundreds every year, and to me, that’s enough. So I’m not sure how to deal with...”
“Just spit it out, Uncle Will.” The worry line between Francesca’s eyebrows grew deeper.
“All right. You tell me if I’m crossing a line or wording anything wrongly.” Odd, there could be so much emotion swirling in him, William thought, and he swilled most of his brandy, hoping to infuse the courage he needed. “I want to talk to you about Tommy Scott.” With a jolt, Francesca sat up straight, and when she started to speak, William held a hand up to hold her off. “I thought you’d want to know he’s overseas, Frankie. He’s gone to Europe with the First Canadian Infantry Division.”
Realization dawned slowly. When it did, Francesca stiffened. “Infantry? He’s in the military?”
“He enlisted shortly after you arrived here.” William swilled more brandy.
“He’s gone to fight in the war? Is he all right, Uncle Will?” Emotion choked her voice.
“He’s fine, darling. He’s somewhere in England right now. Has been for the better part of his deployment, but as I understand it, his squad is waiting on orders to go into active theater.” The truth and nothing but was what Francesca deserved.
“Oh, God. Does that mean he’s going into battle?”
“I’m afraid so, darling.” William’s throat dry as sand, he walked to the bar for a refill.
“Tommy’s going to fight, with bullets and bombs exploding all around him.” Francesca’s raised voice stunned with shock, she startled Bear, and he lifted his head, swayed it from side to side studying an agitated Francesca.
“Yes, darling. I’m sorry.” William picked up his glass, drank deeply.
“Are you sure?” Francesca asked, refusing to accept what she was being told.
“It’s just a matter of time.” William gave her hand a squeeze hoping to dim the fear in Francesca’s eyes.
Nervous energy searing, Francesca rose to pace the room. She’d heard the reported atrocities taking place in Europe on the radio reports, seen it on the newsreels at the theater. Never in a million years did she think Tommy was in the middle of it. Tommy—the man she knew—couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone kill men. Francesca stiffened at the thought.
“Why, why would he do that, Uncle Will? Why would he risk his life that way?”
William swilled more brandy. “Sit down, darling.” Francesca’s anxiety all too real, when she sat down Bear laid his head in her lap, aiming adoring eyes at her. “Because that’s the difference between men and women. You sit out on the terrace looking up at the stars hoping to see him in them while crying your tears of pain. A broken man unleashes his pain by ramming their fist into a wall or, in this case, going to war.”
“It’s my fault. For leaving him, isn’t it?”
William was glad when Francesca dismissed the star comment, which he’d inadvertently let slip out. “No, it wasn’t your fault.” It was Peter’s and his for going along with him.
“Oh, Tommy.” Francesca fell into William’s arms. She felt so small for the anger she’d carried for Tommy for deserting her, for blaming him for her pain, her heartache. “I don’t want him to die, Uncle Will.”
William could hear the dread in Francesca’s voice. His eyes were dry, but his heart wept for her. “He won’t.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Uncle Will.” Francesca pushed away from him, but William pulled her back into the chain of his arms.
“I’m sorry to upset you, but I thought you’d want to know. I thought maybe you’d like to write him,” William said, brushing her hair from her face as a confused Bear looked on.
“I would. There’s so much I need to say to him.” Tears ripped through the words.
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THE ORDER CAME AT THE END of June. Tommy and his men were to participate in Operation Husky, an Allied invasion of the south-east shores of Sicily. The aim, to take the island of Sicily from the axis power was to be led by an amphibious attack, along with airborne and naval support, followed by a six-week land campaign, which fell to the First Canadian Infantry.
Unlike the rest of the men in his squadron, there was no fear, no apprehension of going into war in Tommy. Fighting was what he’d signed up for, and with nothing in his life to look forward to, Tommy couldn’t wait.
On Tommy’s walk through the camp, out to his place of solitude where he spent his downtime, he walked past men sharing cigarettes discussing what was to come. For some, it was the first time in active theatre, and the fear of war touching them felt too real. The tension in the air was palpable. Many of the men wrote letters—what they perceived as their last—to loved ones or drafted their wills. There wouldn’t be much sleep to be had tonight, Tommy thought.
None of the tension, the nerve-wracking what-was-to-come thoughts crossed Tommy’s mind. This was what he’d signed up for, and focusing on the what-ifs was a futile exercise for Tommy. War was an unpredictable business, at best.
Tommy sat on the grass-covered ground and leaned against the beech tree. Firing up a cigarette, he slid one arm behind his head and set eyes to the sky. The night was ripe with heat. To the north, Messerschmitt fly-bys lit the sky with fire. Closer to camp, a melodic nightingale sang out in chorus with blackbirds. Above, the moon was sliced in half, its glow sharp in a dark sky glowing with stars. Looking up to them, Tommy thought he could see Francesca’s face and his mind filled with thoughts of her. She was rooted in him, and as hard as he tried to push her out of his mind, he couldn’t. After some time, Tommy resigned to the fact he’d carry Francesca forever in his heart and mind.
The memory of the first night they made love flooded him, and a smile creased his lips. Francesca had never been with a man before him. But the passion that flowed from her was one he’d never felt until her. The sensations Tommy had shared with her were extraordinary; the feeling of her warm body pressed to him fiery. He thought he could taste her just then, smell the subtle hint of the soap on her skin, the musky scent of her shampoo. Tommy heard Francesca’s breathy voice moaning his name as he drove her to fly. He felt the fierce pull of desire for her flood his body.
Tommy hadn’t been with a woman after Francesca. Not that he hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to indulge. War and the possibility of impending death made women much more willing to share their bed and bodies. But none of them were Francesca, and he couldn’t bring himself to slide into bed with them.
“I figured I’d find you here.” Pimpled face Mike fell to the grass beside Tommy. “What do you do here, sarge?”
“I watch the stars,” Tommy said to the only person in the camp he considered a friend.
Mike, a seventeen-year-old who’d enlisted for the romance of war, had a shock of blonde hair. His eyes were as innocent as they were blue. Mike kept mostly to himself, didn’t ask many questions, and didn’t pass judgment. It was why Tommy liked him and took him under his wing to watch over and protect.
Mike tilted his face up to the sky, tried to see what Tommy saw. “They look like dots of light to me.”
Tommy breathed in smoke, making the tip of the cigarette glow red in the darkness. “There’s so much more there, Mike. There are dreams, memories, and secrets. Those stars see everything.” Tommy expelled a thin white cloud of smoke, watched it swirl upward.
Mike took a closer look. “Yeah, I still get nothing,” he said, taking the cigarette Tommy offered and drawing in smoke. “You know you’re the only man on the squad that isn’t freaking out about tonight’s announcement.”
“Why bother freaking out over something you have no control over.”
Mike sighed out, smoke. “You’re a strange fuck, Tommy. It’s as if you don’t give a shit about yourself, of your life. We’re about to go into combat, and you’re as cool as ice.”
“That’s me, the iceman.” Tommy took the cigarette back from Mike before he smoked it down to the filter. “Did you come out here to give me a philosophical talk?”
“Oh shit. I almost forgot. I got a letter for you from back home. I couldn’t find you earlier, so I held it for you. It smells nice, like a dame.” Mike rose to his five-nine and reached into his pants pocket.
“It’s probably from my mom.” Tommy stubbed the cigarette out, reached for the letter, but Mike pulled it back.
“Nu-huh. Your mom’s envelopes have never smelled this good, and wouldn’t it be disturbing if they did? It smells of Chanel.” Mike’s comment caused Tommy to lift a brow. “What? The summers I worked at a department store, the Chanel girl used to spray that stuff everywhere. Must be a classy dame. Chanel’s pricey.” Mike took one last whiff before handing Tommy the envelope. “I gotta get some shut-eye, or I won’t make it through training tomorrow. See you later.”
“See ya.” Tommy breathed in the envelope’s scent. The kid was right, definitely Chanel. He knew only one woman who wore it religiously.
Under the faint spill of moonlight, Tommy read the face of the envelope and felt something catch in his throat. The delicate flowing script was Francesca’s.
