27

Leiston Army Airfield
Tuesday, April 11, 1944

Sylvia Haywood poured oil into the donut-making machine. “Thank you for letting us keep the cabinets unlocked now. It’s much more convenient.”

“Only when you, as a supervisor, are in the kitchen.” Violet scanned the log. Everything looked fine.

“I still can’t believe Millie—” Sylvia wiped her hands on a rag. “I’ve known her since she was in nappies.”

“I can’t believe it either.” At least Mr. Tate had, and he’d praised Violet and Kitty. But that praise didn’t ease the pain of Millie’s betrayal.

“Poor Griff. The lad’s heartbroken.”

“I know.” Violet had feared she’d lose her close connection to the base motor pool. Many Aeroclub directors struggled to obtain jeeps and trucks. “It was sweet of him to offer to still help us. He said he refused to punish us for Millie’s crimes.”

“Good. I’d hate to lug donuts around by pushcart again.”

“Me too.” Violet headed out into the dining area. This evening the Aeroclub was buzzing. The Yoxford Boys had earned a whopping twenty-three victories over Germany that day.

Less than a week since she and Adler had parted ways, and the sense of disconnection tugged at her.

All looked well in the dining area, so she headed down the hallway to check on the recreation rooms.

A man stepped out of the library and almost bumped into her.

“There you are.” Adler. He raised a casual smile as if nothing had happened between them. “Do you have time to talk?”

She gaped at him, suddenly tired of the pushing and pulling. “I’m working.”

He sobered. “Half an hour. Fifteen minutes.”

“I only need a few seconds to say what’s on my mind.” She kept her voice cool and polite, surprised at the conviction solidifying in her heart. “Every time we get close, you push me away. I—I’m done.”

His cheek twitched, his eyes sad then apologetic then hardening with conviction equal to hers. “I won’t do that ever again. Fifteen minutes. Please?”

She slammed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t be swayed.

“Only a few fellows in the library. We could talk there.”

One fellow would be too many. A walk would be private, but too romantic. “The office.”

She marched around the corner, into the office, and sat behind the desk.

Adler shut the door and sat across from her. Unromantic, down to the desk between them.

Violet remained silent and expressionless. He was the one who wanted to talk.

Only he didn’t. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the cap in his grip. His blond hair was neatly slicked, and his jaw was tinged pink as if he’d just shaved—in the evening? He wore his dress uniform rather than his flight jacket, the tailored waist-length wool jacket accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and trimness of his torso.

Had he dressed up for her?

His jaw worked, and his distress weakened her resolve.

Violet shifted to make her chair creak and remind him his fifteen minutes was ticking.

Adler’s chest puffed out, and he looked her full in the eye. “I came here to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

Her breath caught.

He held up one hand. “Before you answer, we need to talk about two big things. Before that, you need to know I’m done running. I won’t run from pain, and I won’t run from joy.”

Was that why he’d run from her? A fear of joy? Her heart stretched to him, so she dragged her gaze to Elsa on her desk, the little elephant’s wood and essence springing from African soil. “It could never work. You’re a businessman. I want to be a missionary.”

“That’s one of the two big things to discuss. You see, I’m not like most of the men here. They like to date around. But Oralee and I were together seven years. I’m not interested in a little . . .” He waved one hand around.

“Fling?” A pinprick of guilt.

“Yeah. That’s fine for fellows who don’t know what they’re looking for. But I do.”

He was looking for . . . her? Violet wrapped her arms around her stomach to hold herself together, to bind up that crumbling conviction.

Adler pointed one finger back and forth between them. “If this is going to work, God has to change one of our minds. I’m willing. Are you?”

Violet’s mind spun in new and wonderful directions. “You’re willing to be a missionary?”

He mashed his lips together and jerked his head to the side. “I don’t want to, but I asked God to make me willing if that’s what he wants.”

He would do that for her? For the Lord?

Adler tossed his cap onto the desk. “Nick and I had leave in London this weekend. I told him I was too big a sinner to be a missionary. He said the Apostle Paul called himself the chief of sinners, and he was the greatest missionary in history. If God could work with Paul, he can work with me.”

Violet’s jaw quivered at the sacrifice he was willing to make, and she covered her mouth. “Oh, Adler.”

He raised that finger again. “This would have to go both ways. You’d have to be willing to let God change your mind too. It’s only fair.”

Could she ask God such a thing? To make her willing to abandon the mission field? But if the Lord asked, she couldn’t argue with him. She lowered her hand. “All right.”

His eyebrows lifted, and his mouth parted. Then he leaned both arms on the desk and leveled a strong gaze at her. “We’d both have to promise to ask God to change one of our minds. We’d both have to promise to be willing to be the one with the changed mind. And we’d both have to promise not to try to change the other’s mind.”

Her vision blurred, and she groped across the desk for his hand. “I promise, I promise, I promise.”

Adler gathered her hand in his, bowed his head, and groaned. “Not yet. One more big thing. The biggest. Should have done this one first.” A quick kiss to her hand, then he dropped it and leaned back, his expression stark.

“What—what’s the matter?”

“I promised God, promised Nick, promised myself I’d be completely honest with you. Before you make a decision, you need to know what I’ve done. My sins.” His voice cracked.

Her hand felt cold and empty, tingling from his kiss. “You already told me. You—you tried to kill your brother.”

Adler dropped his head into his hands. “There’s more. There’s so much more.”

His distress shredded her insides. “You don’t have to say anything more.”

“I do.” His fingers mussed up his neat combing. “You know what I did to Wyatt, but you don’t know what I did to Clay. He—he stopped me from killing Wyatt, tackled me, pinned me down. He saved Wyatt’s life—and mine too. I would have gone to the electric chair. I was so angry at him for spoiling my revenge. So angry.” His voice shuddered, his shoulders.

Violet had to be closer to him, had to stop him from doing this to himself. She got up, perched on the edge of the desk beside him, and laid her hand on his shoulder.

He shook her off. “You don’t know. You don’t know.”

Yet she did. He had a temper. He’d taken it out on Riggs, on Wyatt, and on Clay. Now he was taking it out on himself, and he needed to stop.

“I have to tell you.” A moan hunched his shoulders. “You need to know.”

Something writhed inside her. If it made her think less of him, she didn’t want to know. And if it increased his anguish, she couldn’t allow it.

Violet leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her face in that mussed-up hair. “I know everything I need to know about you.”

“No. No.” He squirmed in her embrace.

“I do. I know all that is in your past. It isn’t who you are today. You asked God to forgive you, and he did.”

Adler groaned. “Yes, but—”

“Then it’s forgiven.” She kissed his hair, breathing deep the clean scent of shampoo. “If God has forgiven your sins, don’t dredge them back up.”

“But you need to know.”

“What more do I need to know about you?” She stroked his soft hair, his warm, tense neck. “I know you’re a fine man, brave and strong and chivalrous and kind.”

His neck muscles relaxed under her caress, but then he shook his head. “But this . . . Violet—”

“But this is tearing you up. Please stop.” She nuzzled another kiss in his hair. “Oh, Adler. Nothing you could say could change how I feel about you. Nothing.”

He quieted, and she kissed his bowed head, stroked the nape of his neck, and prayed over him. Prayed he’d accept God’s forgiveness. Prayed for the Lord’s peace to flood his soul.

After several minutes his shoulders lifted and fell, and he straightened up, forcing her to sit up too. “So, will you be my girlfriend?”

She’d never met a man who could change moods faster than Adler Paxton. She smoothed his hair and smiled. “I think I already am.”

A smile broke out, slow and breathtaking as the dawn. He set his hands on her waist and guided her down to his lap.

Violet hadn’t sat on a man’s lap since she’d outgrown her father’s knees. “I’ll squish you.”

“Nonsense. This is nice.”

It was, and her cheeks warmed. His legs made a sturdy seat, his arms settled around her waist in the sweetest way, and his handsome face was so near she couldn’t think straight.

She rearranged her arm so it draped along his shoulder and her hand rested on his epaulette with its two silver bars.

Two? “Adler? I thought you were a lieutenant.”

A chuckle puffed warm and minty on her cheek. “I was until about an hour ago. Nick gave me his captain’s bars when he was promoted to major.”

“Oh my goodness.” She grinned at him. “What good news.”

Adler’s smile fell. “It’s not all good news. We flew a long mission today.”

“I heard. Twenty-three victories.”

“And three losses. One was Morty Shapiro, my squadron commander.”

“Oh no.”

“I saw his chute. He should be all right. A POW, but he’ll survive.”

“Oh dear.”

Adler squeezed her waist and gave her a reassuring smile. “Colonel Graham made Nick the new squadron commander. He’s the right man.”

“I agree. Good for him.” She fingered the shiny silver bars. “And you?”

“Nick should have made Riggs the flight leader. He’s an ace. But it turns out Shapiro—well, I’d won him over. He liked how I’d changed, how I stuck with Nick no matter what. He and Nick had been talking about promoting me.” Adler wore the same modest smile he wore when he hit home runs.

“I’m so proud of you.” She stroked his smooth, square jaw. He’d changed indeed, and his humility and determination moved her. “You’ll do a great job.”

He lifted a slight shrug. “Riggs is furious. He doesn’t like Nick much, and now Nick’s his commander. And I’m in charge of his flight. A double insult.”

“Nonsense. You earned it, and you’re the better man for the job.”

One eye narrowed in a thoughtful way. “Reckon that’s what Jesus meant when he said the last would be first.”

Violet chuckled. “Not quite, but your hard work and strong character did pay off. You’ll be an excellent leader.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Very nice,” he murmured. “But this would be nicer.”

He tilted up his face and captured her lips with his.

She never wanted to be released. He didn’t hesitate or hunger this time, but every motion spoke of assurance. Savoring, lingering, appreciating. Nice didn’t even begin to describe it.

The door creaked. A feminine gasp.

Violet sprang up straight.

Kitty stood in the doorway, gaping. Then she laughed and clapped her hands. “Hooray!” She spun away and shut the door behind her.

“Oh dear.” Violet tried to stand.

Adler didn’t let her, and he grinned. “She wants us together?”

Her cheeks flamed. “She . . . she wanted us to have a fling.”

“A fling?” His laugh tumbled out of his mouth and into her heart. “Reckon she’ll be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

Adler set his hand behind her head and spread kisses over her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. “Darlin’, this is so much more than a fling.”