31
Leiston Army Airfield
Monday, May 1, 1944
Violet turned a page in her hoedown notebook. “May 31, less than a month away. I can’t wait.”
Sitting next to her on the couch in the library, Kitty checked her clipboard. “I’m making progress on the food. I’ve ordered the beans and bacon through Banister’s Grocery in Leiston, and Red Cross Headquarters is trying to procure cornmeal and molasses.”
Violet made notes. “The theater building is booked, the men are asking around to see if anyone is a square dance caller, the Buzz Boys are practicing, and Floyd Milligan—I mean, Floyd Miller—agreed to play his harmonica. The Special Services Officer submitted a request for one of his movies.”
Kitty nibbled on the end of her pencil. “Make sure we have an alternate movie.”
“In case they can’t find one?”
“In case . . . well, Floyd’s a pilot.” Her brown eyes stretched wide. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Violet sketched a border around the page. “No, you’re right. It’s a dangerous job. Your . . . your brother.”
“Mm-hmm.” Kitty’s voice sounded strangled. She rarely talked about her pilot brother, but she never dated any of the pilots either.
Violet made a note to ask for a second film. The death of Willard Riggs had pressed the dangers home—and shaken her.
Never once had she thought a kind thought about the man. And worse, she’d never spoken a kind word to him. A good missionary would have been more concerned with his soul than his behavior. Now he was gone.
“Violet?” Kitty clasped her hand. “Adler seems indestructible.”
She forced a smile. All these vigorous young men did, but over a third of the original pilots had been shot down.
Her gaze darted to the clock. The late afternoon was the hardest, wondering if he’d flown, if he’d survived.
“I told you to have a fling.” Kitty raised half a smile. “I didn’t tell you to fall madly in love.”
“I’m not . . .”
Kitty gave her a comical look.
“All right, maybe a little,” Violet whispered. But it was too early, and Adler hadn’t said anything yet. She turned a page. “Decorations. We have money in the budget.”
“I hope so.”
“What?”
Kitty’s mouth scooted to one side. “Rosalind told me we lost another sack of sugar.”
“But Millie’s gone!”
“I know, but since then the girls have gotten lazy with the logs. I’m not sure if it was theft or just poor accounting. We need to return to keeping strict logs and locking the cabinets. In the meantime, I see no need to tell Mr. Tate.”
Violet stroked the nubby brown upholstery. She didn’t want that nightmare to recur.
“Howdy, ladies.” Adler stood in the library door in his flight jacket and khaki trousers, holding a slip of paper and scratching his head. “This here note on the office door says, ‘The Red Cross director and staff assistant are in the library if you need help.’”
Violet went to him, joy chasing away every worry. “You look like a man in need of help.”
“Desperately.” He set his hands on her waist, pulled her near, and gave her a little kiss. “Much better. Ready for our walk?”
“A few more minutes. We’re planning the hoedown.”
Adler ambled to the couch, tipped his cap to Kitty, picked up Violet’s notebook, and flapped it shut. “Looks like you’re done to me.”
That grin of his. She couldn’t resist smiling back, but . . . “A few more minutes. We were just about to discuss decorations.”
“No, ma’am. You’re done.” He headed for the door.
She blocked his path, but he lifted the notebook high.
Laughter bubbled up, and she tried to grab her notebook. He only had half an inch of height on her, but she couldn’t reach. “If it weren’t for those gorilla arms of yours . . .”
He wrapped one of those arms around her. “All the better to hold you with, my dear.” He smacked a kiss on her nose, spun away, and strode down the hall, notebook aloft.
“Have fun, you two,” Kitty called.
“You’re no help.” Violet wrinkled her nose at her girlfriend, then chased her boyfriend. Despite her teasing, she loved seeing him so happy. “Ad—Captain Paxton, you’re awful.”
“Awfully in need of a walk.” He tossed the notebook on the desk, grasped Violet by the shoulders, and marched her backward out the office door. “The only thing on your calendar right now is me.”
That spark in his eyes . . . oh, how she wanted to kiss him. But not in the dining area in front of all the men. “Sweet-talker.”
They strolled out of the Aeroclub and out of the communal site, then up their favorite lane. A brilliant blue sky arched above, and the trees along the path rustled in a gentle breeze.
Violet slipped her hand in Adler’s. “Did you fly today?”
“Sure did. The group flew two missions, and I flew one. I like these tactical fighter-bomber missions.”
Violet had heard the men refer to the Transportation Plan, designed to demolish roads, bridges, and railroads in Nazi-occupied territory before the invasion.
“Dropped a couple of bombs on some railroad track, then strafed a bunch of trucks and trains. They don’t count as victories, but it’s important.”
“Isolating the beaches.”
He shot her a smile. “Someone’s hanging around with pilots too much.”
Violet leaned into his shoulder. “Whose fault is that?”
“All mine.” He looped his arm around her waist. “D-day’s coming soon. No secret there. If we keep this up, Hitler won’t be able to move his tanks or troops into battle.”
“Don’t your missions show him where we’re landing?”
“They could. That’s why we bomb and strafe all along the coast. I don’t know where we’re landing either. But I like strafing—anything to keep the Germans away from my brothers and the rest of our boys.”
The question perched on her tongue, but if he’d heard from home he would have told her. The poor man. A month and a half had passed since he’d mailed the letter. Lord, please let them forgive him.
Adler’s brow puckered. “I was hoping I could write to my brothers before D-day.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, relishing the masculine roughness.
“There’s so much I want to say to them. I don’t just need to apologize for that night.” He kicked at a weed growing through the pavement. “But for a lifetime.”
Violet squeezed his waist. She’d certainly had her squabbles with Alma, Karl, and Nels.
“Something in me always bristled at being second-born. Daddy said I was like Jacob, born grabbing at my older brother’s heel. Daddy always liked that about me, liked my ambition.”
“I gather you’re more like him than Wyatt is.”
“Spitting image.” Adler cracked half a smile, then sobered. “That only fueled my resentment. I loved everything about Paxton Trucking. Everything. Wyatt only liked working on the books, never seemed excited about running the company someday. Seemed to me as if Wyatt despised his birthright, just like Esau.”
Violet studied his handsome profile in the afternoon sun, his mouth bowed in a slight frown, not the frown of a bitter man but of a man reevaluating his life, a man determined to make things right.
She snuggled closer. “I love that you want to apologize to your brothers and be reconciled.”
He stopped and squinted down the lane in both directions, then he grinned and backed her against a tree. “Know what I love?”
Her breath halted from his sudden change in mood and in reckless hope, but it was too early for him to declare love. And mischief danced over his features. She knew what he loved. “Kisses.”
“Why, thank you. Right kind of you to offer.” Now his lips did the dancing, caressing hers.
Sometimes it didn’t seem quite proper, the way he held her, his body pressed to hers from lips to knees. But thick layers of leather and wool separated them, and never once had his hands strayed. And the connection between them felt good and right. Intimate, but respectful.
Adler eased back from the kiss. “There’s more.”
More what? More kisses? But his eyebrows pinched together in a serious way.
He rested one forearm on the trunk above her head. “I love how you’ve been honest with me about your wrestling—about becoming a missionary.”
“Of course.”
“No, not of course. You know I’m a sweet-talker. I could—the old Adler would have used that against you and tried to change your mind.”
Violet ran a finger along his strong jawline. “You promised not to.”
“You trust me.” Bewilderment swam in his eyes. “Oralee—she loved me, but she didn’t completely trust me. That was wise.”
She ran her fingers into his hair. “I have the new Adler. You’re a good man.”
He winced and glanced away.
“You are.” With one hand to his cheek, she turned his face to hers. “A very good man.”
His cheek twitched under her thumb. “Not good enough for you.”
Her love for him ached inside, begging to be voiced, to assure him, but he had to say it first. She wouldn’t steal that from him.
Instead she infused all that love into her smile. “That’s my decision to make. You’re more than good enough. Far more.”
Her words felt insufficient, so she kissed him. Maybe someday she could convince him.