Love Starts with Elle(81)

“No, I don’t. There’s plenty of room for you in my world.”

As if caught in some cosmic paradox, Elle’s cell rang mid-diatribe. Jeremiah glared.

“It’s the first time all night.” Elle fished it from her bag. “Hello?”

“Elle Garvey? It’s Mitzy Canon.”





TWENTY-FIVE

June 1, 1942, Umnak Island, Aleutians





The camp slept in an eerie silence as Chet stepped outside his tent into the dull, gray light of the Aleutian summer morning, zipping up his mackinaw. Ducking into the chilly and constant breeze, he trekked toward the tarmac where the new P-40s were tethered.

A group of new recruits to the 11th Pursuit Squadron slept huddled under the belly of the planes with no hope in sight for better quarters. Umnak was a new, ill-supplied post.

Coming to the end of the steel-mat runway, Chet scanned the barren, desolate horizon. Not a tree or shrub to engage his line of sight. Just gray.

The words of Kelly’s latest letter surfaced in his thoughts. He’d memorized every word, every curlicue, dotted i and crossed t of her elegant script. He thought he was a hero until she wrote of her own bravery. Though she’d never call it courage. Only facing her fears.

The lover part of him wanted to climb atop a P-40 and shout it to the fog-laden mountains, “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Knowing he was bringing a kid into the world, knowing the strength of his future wife changed his heart and how he planned to fight the war.

He’d make it home alive. He’d see the sunrise over the ocean, watch the moon gliding over the marsh grass.

“Out for an early constitution, Captain?” Lieutenant Cimowsky nudged him with a cup of black coffee. “It tastes like cow pies smell back home, but it’s hot and will give you a morning jolt.”

Chet hooked his finger through the handle. “Just what I ordered.”

Cimowsky tipped his face to the fog. “Do you think the sun’s up there? Somewhere?”

“Sun? What’s a sun?”

Cimowsky laughed, spewing a little spray of coffee. “The big yellow ball we used to wake up to back in the lower forty-eight.”

Chet sighed.“It’s been too long. Too long.”

Cimowsky motioned with his mug. “Eerie, isn’t it. Like something’s not right. A silence deeper than the quiet.”

Chet’s gut churned. “Yep, something is up. Can’t see it, but I feel it.”

Cimowsky tapped Chet’s arm. “Let’s grab some chow.”

“Be there in a second.” Chet took Kelly’s letter from his inside pocket. It was wrinkled from his constant refolding.





Darling,

I hope this letter finds you well. I miss you so much. With our baby growing every day, I cannot help but think of you and pray for God to keep you. Are your ears burning? I talked to Him about you a hundred times a day.

Mama and I spoke to Daddy about our situation. He was upset, disappointed, and I cried until my stomach ached. Then he came around to me, Chet, kissed me, prayed for me, for you and our baby.

I asked if I could speak to the congregation. Why let the gossips have one up on me. If I confess and repent, what can they do to me? I’ll trust my reputation to my Savior.

Daddy refused, but I think Mama and Jesus convinced him. So this Sunday I stood up and said what I’d done.





Chet’s belly lurched at the image of Kelly standing alone, exposing her sin. As if she were the only one among them.

“I’m pregnant,” I said. “Yes, I sinned, let my passions take over, but I love my man, and he loves me. We’ll make it right.

But before God and you, I repent.”

Oh, darling, I trembled like a pup during a storm. Judge Brown sat right on the front row with the most sour look of condemnation. Mrs. Parsons shamed me out loud and demanded Daddy put me out of fellowship.

Then, of all things, Carwood Nixon stood up in the back row and said, “I’ve been having an affair for the last six months.”

And his wife sat smack next to him.

Art Samson stood next. “I’m drinking away the family fortunes.”

Ginger Levine got up saying she couldn’t stop gossiping and knew she’d hurt so many people by spreading stories.

We had a revival meeting right then and there, folks weeping at the altar, asking God and each other for forgiveness.

Everyone had forgotten what I’d confessed. Afterward, the love was so thick in the room I could taste it.

I think our child is going to do great things. Not even born and look what he started.





Chet folded the letter and tucked it away. Kelly Carrington, his brave girl. “God,” he whispered,“if You can see fit to forgive Kelly and all those folks, maybe You can see fit to forgive me.”

On the trailing breath of Chet’s prayer, a private busted out the hanger along the tarmac.

“Japs! Japs!” He pulled on his gear and dove into a bunker.

Chet’s gaze shot to the gray soup over head. He saw nothing, but heard the hum of the enemy. Tossing his coffee to the ground, he raced toward his aircraft as Rufe float planes cut through the clouds and descended over the base.





A car door slammed. Heath lifted his head, listening, half his brain stuck in the scene he’d just rewritten. Did he like the revival interlude? Too preachy? Maybe, but certainly authentic for the forties healing-and-revival era.