Love Starts with Elle(69)
She jerked her head up. “Heath? What does he have to do with anything?”
“Just helping you sort things out.”
“No, you’re complicating the matter. What makes you think . . . Daddy, Heath is a friend. Period.” What time is it? Eight thirty? The morning had barely started and she felt beat by the day.
“Elle, you’ve been praying, spending time with the Lord. You’ve changed. I see it in your eyes and countenance.”
“Fine, Daddy, but how does that help me answer Jeremiah?” Elle needed to stand instead of sit. She walked to the window and twisted open the wood-slat blinds. The rain had thickened. “He could’ve left Dallas without ever coming here, gone straight to Tallahassee, and I’d have never known. But he didn’t. He came back for me.”
“Tell me, this church business, how has it affected Jeremiah?”
“He’s bitter, confused.”
“You want to marry a man struggling with his identity and faith? Elle, consider how blessed you were to have escaped the troubles in Dallas.”
“I know, Daddy, believe me. But maybe it was just a timing issue. Maybe I let all my hopes go and now God is giving them back to me. Are hard times a reason to say no to the love of a good man?” The rain cleansed the city of the grime collected during the hot, dry July. Elle felt a part of the washing.
Daddy stood beside her. “If you have to decide in a rush or because some biological or romance alarm clock is going off, then you’re probably going to make the wrong decision. But if over time you and Jeremiah still find it right, I’ll support you.”
She tipped her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“But if I were you, I’d go home, look in the mirror, and figure out why every time I heard the name Heath McCord the light in my eyes could illuminate a stormy night.”
“Captain McCord, you’re looking well this morning.” Colonel Norman Sillin grabbed a chair for himself and sat down, not bothering to unbundle his winter garb.
Chet struggled to sit upright in the company of his commanding officer. But the cast on his arm and leg rendered him practically immovable.“Colonel, sir, anxious to get back on duty.”
“Not with those things.” The colonel pointed to his casts. “Even a hotshot like you needs two good legs and arms. Guess you heard a band of Eskimos coming off a fishing excursion rescued you.”
“It’s what I hear, sir.”
The duty nurse came around, pushing the mail cart. She was dark and petite, not at all like Kelly, who was tall with long waves of strawberry hair. But something in the nurse’s smile made him crave his girl back home.“Letter for the captain.”
“Thank you.”
The return address was Kelly’s. Chet tucked the envelope by his side, returning his attention to his commanding officer.
“The doc says you’re going to be out for a few months.”
“Not my prognosis.”
“We can use you to train new recruits, but we’ll get you back in the air as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“The medical staff claims you were mumbling about Japanese subs when they doctored your leg.”
Maybe it was the crash, or his imagination, but Chet could’ve sworn a whiff of Kelly’s perfume drifted under his nose. “Yes, sir, I fired on an I-Class sub in the Gulf of Alaska, about a hundred and fifty miles off shore.”
Colonel Sillin jotted in a small notebook. “Looks like they’re closer than we realized. Meanwhile, we’re working on getting replacement squadrons up here. Jack Chennault and his neophyte flyboys, some with less than eight hours of flight time, left Washington yesterday.” The colonel stood. “On the way here, his little lambs got lost and scattered all over God’s white Alaska.”
Chet grinned. The ore in the Alaskan soil rendered instruments useless half the time. “Do we know where they are?”
The colonel slipped his notebook into an inside pocket. “They don’t even know where they are. Can’t even begin to know where to launch search parties. It’s Chennault’s problem.”
“You know what they say: never send a boy to do a man’s job.”
“Now you tell me.” The colonel smiled, stowed his chair away, and turned for the door. “Get some rest. Read that perfumed letter from home.”
“Yes, sir.” Chet shifted against the featherless pillows, small blips of pain moving across his body—arm, leg, head.
He started the letter by savoring Kelly’s handwriting. It’s how he’d first met her. He worked at Lipsitz Department Store and she signed for packages her mama ordered. Chet brought the white envelope to his nose for a long inhale before tearing it open.
The fragrance stirred memories of their last night together. He didn’t regret their passion, though he regretted the pain of compromising Kelly. But he’d told her if she wanted to stop, he would.
The preacher’s daughter was one of the truly good girls. One who spoke of Jesus like a friend. She’d been crazy to take up with the likes of him. But he loved her in a way that made him ache.Enough to love her God if need be.
The letter brought its own healing balm, like a cool bath after a long day working his daddy’s lowcountry fields. He flew for her, for the life he wanted with her.