Sarah Sundin - A Distant Melody (Wings of Glory)

A DISTANT
MELODY

A DISTANT
MELODY

A Novel

SARAH
SUNDIN

2010 by Sarah Sundin

Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com

Ebook edition created 2010

Ebook corrections 12.1.2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN 978-0-8007-3421-3

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

To my long-suffering husband, Dave
I couldnt write about love if I didnt have yours.

Contents

Los Angeles, California
Monday, June 22, 1942

One whole delicious week together. Allie Miller clung to her best friends promise and to the train ticket that would deliver it.

Allie followed an inlaid marble pathway through Union Station and breathed in the glamour of travel and the adventure of her first trip north. Anticipation trilled a song in her heart, but the tune felt thin, a single line of melody with no harmony to make it resonate.

She glanced at her boyfriend, who walked beside her. Im sorry you cant come.

Baxter shrugged, gazed at a knot of soldiers they passed, and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. The war didnt stop just because Betty Jamison decided to get married.

Allie shrank back from the discordant note. Her bridesmaid duty might seem trivial, but she honored it as much as J. Baxter Hicks did his duties as business manager.

They entered the waiting room, which blended Spanish Colonialism and modern streamlining. A wood-beamed ceiling peaked overhead, and iron chandeliers illuminated hundreds of men in Navy white and blue or Army khaki and olive drab. None of the men cast Allie a second glance. Yet when Mother rose partway from her seat and beckoned with a gloved hand, she attracted dozens of stares with her blonde beauty.

Father gave Allie his seat. Your ticket? Is it someplace safe?

In my handbag. She smiled at his protectiveness and settled into the deep leather chair. And yes, Mother, I asked the porter to be careful with my luggage.

Good. Oh, the thought of anything happening to that dress. She clucked her tongue. Such a shame, this silk shortage, but you did a lovely job with my old ball gown. Why, you almost look pretty in that dress.

Allie stiffened but said, Thank you. Mother meant well, and Allie could hardly expect a compliment. Nevertheless, sadness swelled in her chest. Noself-pity was nothing but pride in disguise, and she refused to indulge.

So, Stan, any word on that parts shipment? Baxter and Father strolled away to lean against the wall. The men could pass for father and son with their brown hair and blue eyes, well-tailored suits, and love for Miller Ball Bearings.

Mother picked a piece of lint from the sleeve of Allies tan linen suit. Youve only been home one month since graduation, and off you go, gallivanting across the state.

Allie clutched her purse containing the ticket, purchased with the labor of overcoming Mothers objections. Its only one week, and then Ill be home to stay.

Not for long. Mother directed her large green eyesthe only good trait Allie inheritedtoward Baxter. Youve been dating almost five years. Hell propose soon.

Baxter stood between towering windows, a dark silhouette framed by shafts of light slanting down through the haze of cigarette smoke.

Sourness shriveled Allies mouth, her throat, her stomach. Did all women feel queasy at the thought of proposals? Time for the arranged marriage.

Pardon?

Allie snapped her attention back to her mother. Thats not what I meant to... I meant

Good heavens. You dont think this is arranged, do you? she asked in a hushed voice. Yes, Baxters the only man your father would ever pass his company down to, but your welfare is our highest consideration, and

I know. I know. Tension squeezed Allies voice up half an octave, and she tried to smile away her mothers worries. I know Baxters a gift.

Mothers expression hinted at the approval that eluded Allie. Isnt he? Hes a fine young man and hell make you so happy.

Happy? Baxter Hicks would never fulfill her childhood dreams of love, but he could give her a family, Lord willing, which would be enough to satisfy. Besides, this marriage was best for her parents, for Baxter, and for Allie herself. A dream made a worthy sacrifice.

So why did her heart strain for the missing notes?

Lt. Walter Novak leaned back against the wall at Union Station, one foot propped on his duffel. The coolness of the wall seeped through the wool of his uniform jacket. Felt good.

Almost as good as the mattress the night before at the home of Frank Kilpatrick, his best friend in the 306th Bombardment Group. His last furloughten good nights sleep, thirty good meals, then back to base and off to combat. Finally he would get to use his God-given talents as a pilot and do something worthwhile.

Walt peered inside his lunch bag. Eileen was awfully nice to make him a chicken salad sandwich. After all, she had her husband home for the first time in months, three whooping little boys, and a belly swollen with another Kilpatrick.

Walt pulled out the best part of the mealan orange from the Kilpatricks treelarge and glossy and chockful of sugar. He planted a kiss on the skin, as nubby-smooth as the leather of his flight jacket. Hello, sweetheart. To get this prize, hed used a ladder to bypass dozens of lesser oranges in easy reach. Frank called him pigheaded.

Walt grinned at the memory. Not pigheaded. Persistent. After a year of Army food, he longed for fresh fruit. As boys, he and his two older brothers would sprawl on the grass and eat nectarines until Mom pestered them to save some for jam, and theyd sneak plums just before they were ripe and claim the birds must have nabbed them.

A voice on the loudspeaker mumbled something about the Daylight. Walt plopped the orange in the bag, slung his duffel over his shoulder, and worked his way through the lobby as big as a hangar and swarming with servicemen. At his platform, a billow of steam evaporated to reveal the San Joaquin Daylights black paint with red and orange stripes. Nope, the train wasnt ready for boarding yet.

Walt reined in his excitement, checked in his duffel, and jammed his service cap down over the dumb curl that always flopped onto his forehead. Then he wandered back inside to a newsstand to study the magazines. If he bought Time , hed still have enough money for tipping the porters and for a couple of Cokes on the trip.

A pretty blonde in a blue dress stood in line at the newsstand. Her gaze fixed on the silver wings on Walts chest and the gold second lieutenants bars on his shoulders, and a smile dimpled the corner of her mouth.

Walts throat constricted. Every limb froze in place. He couldnt have spoken even if hed had something to say, which he didnt. That was why he was stuck kissing oranges.

Frank Kilpatrick, who could make friends with a doorknob, didnt understand, but for Walt, women came in two varietiesthose who were taken and those who werent. And those who werent taken scared him more than a stalled engine on takeoff.

The young womans gaze drifted to Walts face. One nostril flicked up, and she looked away. He knew what shed seen the chipmunk cheeks and the Novak nose like an upside-down kite. Yep, unattached women were different. They hunted, scrutinized, judged, and he never measured up.