“Wow.” Why had so much tragedy come to the Dohertys and so little to the Novaks?
“But Chuck graduates next year. Then I’ll only have Bert, Anne, and Maggie to support.”
Did they all have that gorgeous red brown hair? Jack studied the way she wore it pinned under her white nurse’s cap. “Now I know the names of all the Doherty children except you. What’s your first name?”
“To you?” She batted her eyelashes. “You can call me Lieutenant.”
He laughed and gave her a heartfelt salute. She had to be the most attractive woman he’d ever met.
She stood and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm. “I know you flyboys are casual with each other, but I prefer military decorum.”
“I can see why. Keeps a professional distance.”
She paused and looked him in the eye. “Yes. That’s important.”
“I understand.” With so many men attracted to her, she needed privacy. Jack kept quiet while she took his blood pressure and pulse. Unlike the other nurses, who checked their wristwatches, Lieutenant Doherty looked over her shoulder to the clock on the wall. When she turned, her white uniform sleeve rode up and revealed a crooked half-moon scar on her wrist where a watch should have been. Jack had a hunch her military decorum would prohibit discussion about that. Better stick with the family.
“So how old is the youngest Doherty?” he asked after she finished.
A warm smile made her even prettier. “Maggie turned eleven in April. I got a letter from her yesterday. I can’t believe how grown-up she sounds. She writes a real nice letter, and her handwriting is lovely. Want to see?”
“Sure.” He smiled at her sisterly pride.
Lieutenant Doherty pulled a letter from her uniform pocket and knelt next to the bed. Jack hoisted himself up on one elbow to see, and to be at her eye level for once.
“Read this paragraph.” She pointed to the middle of the page. “She describes her teacher so well I can almost smell the chalk dust.”
But Jack looked to the top of the page where it read, “Dear Penny.” He tapped the name and gave her a smug smile.
She flinched as if the letter had slapped her across the face.
“Don’t worry,” he said in a low voice. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I don’t go by that name anymore. I hate it.”
“Because of your hair?” It wasn’t a copper shade at all, more like the cherry wood cabinet in the parlor at home in Antioch, but kids still teased.
“No, I just …”
Jack had never seen her flustered before, a trait he found sweet and appealing. He gave her an encouraging smile.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “All right.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she leaned a bit closer. “My name’s Penelope Ruth, but I’ve gone by Ruth since I left home. I much prefer it.”
“Ruth.” He savored the sound of her name and the presence of her face no more than a foot from his. “It fits you.”
“It does?”
Jack nodded, careful to maintain visual contact. “When was the last time you read the book of Ruth in the Bible?”
Her gaze flitted to the letter in her hands. “Oh, a while, I guess.”
“Read it again. She’s fascinating—strong willed, loyal to family, hardworking, and kind. Like another Ruth I know.”
The Ruth he knew met his gaze again, her eyebrows raised. A ring of gold surrounded the pupils in her blue eyes, and Jack suspected a ring of gold surrounded her heart. He wanted to be the man to find it.
June 5, 1943
Ruth slipped Aunt Pauline’s letter into her cape pocket, passed precise military rows of the hospital’s Nissen huts, and rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. How on earth would she manage?
Redgrave Hall stood to the west, but Ruth headed south across the road the ambulances used and entered a lightly wooded meadow and another world. How could one family own so much land? Two hundred acres? Stables, parks, lodges, kennels, even an orangery—imagine that—a greenhouse just for citrus.
If Ruth had resources like that, she wouldn’t be in a fix.
When Congress doubled Army nurse salaries in December, she thought her troubles were over. Even Aunt Pauline couldn’t complain about forty-two dollars a month. Surely that was plenty to feed and clothe eleven-year-old Maggie.
Aunt Pauline, however, never seemed to be satisfied.
Ruth sat on the grass by the lake that cut a stomach-shaped path across Redgrave Park. She hugged her knees to her chest, her dark blue cape tented around her against the gray chill.
Somehow in the past she’d always had a reprieve. Aunt Pauline had made noise in the spring of ’41, but when Harold joined the Navy, Ruth was able to divide her salary in four instead of five. More noise in the spring of ’42, then a small pay raise in June. More noise in the fall, then December’s hefty raise.
But now? Where would the money come from now? Promotions were meager in the Army Nurse Corps. All the nurses were second lieutenants except the chief nurse, a first lieutenant. At twenty-three, Ruth was too young and inexperienced to become a chief nurse.
She’d always solved her own problems, but now she longed for advice, and she kept thinking about Major Novak.
What was it about that man? She thought about him too often. Thank goodness he’d be discharged by the end of the month, and she’d never have to see him again. In the meantime, she could share her problem with him. He might be a pastor, but he wouldn’t say something hackneyed about waiting on the Lord. She couldn’t afford to wait.
Her stomach twisted like the lake before her. How much time did she have? Today’s letter complained about how costly things were nowadays. Aunt Pauline’s grumblings would escalate—what sacrifices she made, she didn’t know how much longer she could manage, could Ruth spare any more? Last would come a chilling statement—what a shame it would be to send Maggie to the orphanage.
Ruth had never tested her beyond the orphanage threat. Would her aunt follow through? How long did Ruth have?
She gripped the edges of her cape. No matter what—no matter what, she wouldn’t let a Doherty go to an orphanage. Ever.
“Good evening, Ruth.”
She looked over her shoulder. May Jensen stood silhouetted against the darkening sky.
“Hi,” Ruth said in an unwelcoming voice.
“I love this spot. Isn’t it beautiful?” May sat down about six feet from Ruth and leaned back against a tree.
“I come here when I want time alone.”
“Don’t mind me. I brought a magazine, the latest
Army Nurse
. Have you read it?”
“No.” She turned to study the gray ripples on the lake, and to shut down conversation so she could consider her problem.
No one else had room for Maggie, so Aunt Pauline had to do. Where on earth could Ruth get the money? She had no product or service or inclination to start a business. Never again.
If only she could hold off Aunt Pauline for one year until Chuck graduated and Ruth could divide his allotment among the other three children.
If only Harold would contribute from his Navy pay. Ruth rested her chin on her knees. That wouldn’t happen. Five dollars here, ten dollars there. And Ellen couldn’t contribute, not with a shiftless husband who couldn’t even support his own family. Besides, Ellen considered Ruth’s financial responsibility a just burden.
“Hmm. That’s interesting.”
Ruth scrunched up her face. Why did some people assume everyone wanted to hear what they were reading?
“Make sure you read this article on flight nursing.”
“Oh?” Ruth had to admit flight nursing fascinated her with its adventure, independence, and responsibility. Of course, air evacuation had more detractors than champions and had been used only on isolated occasions.
May held up the journal. “It tells about the graduation of the first class from the School of Air Evacuation at Bowman Field in Kentucky. Thirty-nine flight nurses. Brig. Gen. David Grant—you know, the Air Surgeon—he was there. He was incensed that no one planned to give them wings, so he pinned his own wings on the honor graduate, ordered wings for all flight nurses.”
“Wow.” Grant had already earned Ruth’s admiration with his advocacy for nurses, from a physician, no less. “With him on board, maybe air evacuation will stand a chance.”
“Wouldn’t that be great? It’s such an advance for nursing.”
Ruth dropped her knees to the side so she could face May. “Can you imagine? A plane full of patients, one nurse, and one medic. If something goes wrong, the nurse gets to solve the problem. No physician to consult.”
“No physician to boss her around.”
“Sounds like a dream.” Ruth and May laughed together, and Ruth’s chest tightened. How had she let herself get drawn into a friendly conversation?
“That’s not the only benefit. Look at this.” May flipped a page and lifted the magazine. “They get to wear trousers and flight suits. Don’t they look cute? All this and flight pay too.”
“Flight pay?”
“Because it’s hazardous duty. Sixty dollars a month.”
“Sixty dollars?” Ruth reached for the magazine. “Could I—could I see that?”
“Sure.” She handed it over. “They wouldn’t take me. I’m too small. But doesn’t it sound fun?”
“Yeah. Lots of fun.” Sixty divided by four would mean fifteen extra dollars per month per child. That would keep Aunt Pauline quiet. Yes, it was hazardous, but she had her ten thousand dollar GI life insurance, which could see each child through high school.
She flipped forward—requirements, requirements. There: five foot two to six feet, 105 to 135 pounds, twenty-one to thirty-six years old, graduate nurse commissioned in the Army Nurse Corps, at least six months in an Army hospital. Yes, she met all those. Next, she’d have to meet Class III requirements on the Form 64 physical exam. That would be tough, but Ruth was healthy and strong. The next requirement was a willingness to be close to combat. Why not? She’d survived Chicago in the Depression. Then the last requirement—the desire to fly.
Desire to fly? She’d never flown before. She was willing to fly, but a desire was different, stronger. Major Novak had it. His eyes lit up when he talked about planes and flying. He made it sound exciting, alluring, and freeing.
Ruth glanced up. To the east, a deep purple tinted the clouds, and on the western horizon orange flame burnt a hole in the overcast. What would it be like to soar above the clouds, among the colors, to be away from the earth with its pressures and trials if only for a few hours?
She clutched the magazine, her hope, her solution. Yes, she had the desire to fly.
June 23, 1943
The wheelchair clattered over the walkway. Jack leaned forward into the wind and shifted onto his right hip to reduce jolts to his wounds. “Faster, Charlie. I want to get airborne.”
“Any faster and we’ll knock those stitches out. I don’t want to draw your nurse’s fire.”
“Lieutenant Doherty? I’ll take her flak any day. She’s something else.”
Charlie huffed and pulled the wheelchair short to avoid hitting a medic. “You’re something else. Poor woman.”
“She can handle herself.” As much as he enjoyed the fresh air and the visit with Charlie, he wanted to keep it short and get back to Ruth’s company. Sure, he respected her wishes and called her Lieutenant Doherty, but he thought of her as Ruth.
“Want to hear about the new base?” Charlie steered the wheelchair past the last Nissen hut and up onto a grassy ridge.
“Sure do. Park here and let me get out of this thing.” Jack ignored Charlie’s offer of help and pushed himself to standing. A wave of dizziness and a jab of pain made him draw a sharp breath. He let it out slowly. The sooner he got moving, the sooner he’d be back in combat, and the sooner he could implement his plan with Ruth. “So how’s Bury St. Edmunds?”
“Fine. I still can’t believe they put us at Earls Colne at first. The runways aren’t long enough for B-17s.”
“Typical Army.” Jack clamped his teeth together and took one step, then another.
Charlie hovered by his side. “Simple to fix. Earls Colne is fine for medium bombers, so we switched places with the B-26 Marauders at Bury. It’s a good base, and the town has everything the men want—shops and pubs and atmosphere, even a ruined abbey.”
“The hospital staff’s favorite place.” Jack grinned and shuffled forward. The town and air base lay about fifteen miles southwest of the hospital. Once he was discharged, he planned to visit his hospitalized men every week, and he might as well visit on Sundays, when he could worship at the hospital with a chaplain he knew. If he ran into Ruth, so be it.
“Got our new CO yesterday.”
Jack whipped around too fast. He winced at the pain and at the mischief in Charlie’s light blue eyes. “How long were you going to wait to tell me?”
“Till now. Col. Frederick Castle.”
“Castle. Hmm. What’s he like?” Jack turned to circle the wheelchair.
Charlie sat on the grass and stretched his stocky legs in front of him. “Shouldn’t you make your own judgment, Skipper?”
“Yeah, but any information will help.”
Charlie shook out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. “Fairly young. Mid-thirties. Hap Arnold’s godson.”
“What?” Jack stared at his friend. “Hap Arnold? The commanding general of the whole U.S. Army Air Force?”
Charlie nodded. “His godson.”
“Wow.” Jack continued his trek. The colonel would be untouchable if he were a problem. On the other hand, if Jack got on Castle’s good side, he’d get on Arnold’s good side.
“West Pointer. Men are thrilled about that.”
“I bet.” Last thing flyboys wanted was spit and polish.
“What they really hate is he’s HQ. Air Chief of Staff for Supply.”
“Let me guess. No combat experience, better with logistics than people.”
“Come on, Novak. Wait and form your own opinion.”
“Don’t worry. You know I’ll give the man a chance.” Jack circled the chair, relishing the feel of moving muscles. “Besides, I can work with anybody. Just have to figure out the best approach with my men.” If Castle proved unpopular, Jack’s job would be more challenging, to enforce policy yet maintain high morale.