Anchor In The Storm Part 49

The startled look broadened to outright concern. Then she ducked her chin and marched down the stairs. "Tell the doctor to decrease the dose of your pain meds. I told you I don't want it."

His smile built in strength, and he followed her. She wouldn't bristle if she didn't care. "Now, now, you just said you love it. So I'll tell you what. When they let me out of here, I'll take the train down to Key West and buy you the matching earrings and necklace."

She wheeled around and glared up at him. "I don't want you to spend money on me. I never did."

"I know, but I want to. I want to buy you the biggest house, the best yacht, the most glamorous wardrobe, the-"

"Are you making fun of me? What is wrong with you?" Her voice shook in a way he'd never heard before, and she stomped down the stairs.

Second time this week a woman had spoken those words to him. "What's wrong with me? I'm deeply in love with you. I love you so much I'm willing to sacrifice the modest life I desire."

"I don't want to be rich. I never did."

"I know you don't, and neither do I. But I trust G.o.d to help me even if I become the richest man in the world. And when I trust G.o.d, I can trust myself and I can trust you. For richer, for poorer."

"Please stop." She opened her purse and pulled out a handkerchief.

The pause allowed him to gain on her, to study her. "You're crying?"

"Yes." That syllable rose like a wall.

Arch planned to scale it. "You said you never cry."

She wiped her eyes and continued on her way. "I didn't. I started last month, and I can't seem to stop."

"Because of me?"

"Not just you. Everything. Now, please let me leave and let me keep my last shred of dignity."

Arch's steps descended, but his hopes ascended. If he'd made her cry, she really did care. "I'll let you leave if that's what you want."

"It is."

"But I won't stop pursuing you."

Lillian stopped at the door, her hand on the k.n.o.b, her gaze fixed on Arch.

He went down the last flight. "I'll be in Boston. I'll visit you every day and tell you how much I love you until you agree to go out with me or until you convince me you don't love me anymore."

"I don't-" Her eyes flew open, and her mouth slammed shut.

He couldn't contain his grin. "You still love me."

She wrestled the door open. "I didn't say that."

He laughed. "So you do love me."

"You had a concussion. Your brains are addled." Out the door she went, onto the back lawn. She gazed around.

He came alongside her on the green gra.s.s under a warm sunny sky. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"I-I-to my hotel. Where am I?"

"You went out the back door. Why don't you stay for dinner? We're having a barbecue right here on this lawn. No fireworks with the dim-out, but you can see the East River and the city skyline. I'd like you to meet my friends, the men I'll work with in Boston."

Lillian looked at him with reddened eyes. "What medications are you taking?"

He laughed. "I haven't taken anything for a week. This is the real me."

Her gaze wavered.

He grasped her elbow. "Please stay, Lillian."

Her face crumpled, and she swayed. "Oh, Arch. I do-I do love you."

"So stay." He folded her in his arms, and a contented sigh flowed out. "I can say my apologies to you. I owe you a boatload. Then we can kiss and take a walk and kiss and eat hot dogs and kiss."

"You already said that."

"I plan to do a lot of it."

Her shoulders bounced-in laughter or tears? "I-I've never kissed a man in pajamas."

"If I'd known you were coming, I would have dressed for the occasion."

Her hands felt warm on his back through the thin cotton. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too. Now, would you like your bracelet back?"

"Oh, I would." She stepped back and wiped her eyes. "I hate crying. It's so messy."

"You've never looked prettier." The mottled cheeks and moist eyes showed her love. He wrapped the bracelet around her wrist and attempted to fasten it. "This isn't easy with the shakes. I've realized G.o.d might not take away my combat fatigue-but he'll help me live with it."

"He will. And he's already using your condition for good. You'll help others, I know it."

His cheeks heated at her praise, and he finally fastened the clasp. "Not easy with one eye either."

"You're doing well." She smiled up at him with admiration. "So well."

Arch set his hands on her slender waist and drew her close. "I may have lost an eye, but I've never seen more clearly."

"Oh . . ." Her pupils widened, and her eyelids drooped slightly, an irresistible invitation.

Since he planned to spend the rest of his life kissing her, why not take his time today? Slowly, trying to judge the distance and not dislodge her hat, he lowered his lips to her brow.

"My girl," he murmured. "My brave, warmhearted girl."

"My boy." Her kiss warmed the tip of his chin. "You . . . you smell so good."

He chuckled and trailed kisses down her temple. "So do you."

Lillian slid her hands up his chest, around his neck, into his hair, and she tugged him lower.

How could he resist such eagerness? He sought her lips, found them, captured them, savored them. Never again would he give in to his suspicions. Never again would he allow her to shut him out. Never again would he let her go.

"Oh, Arch." She laid her cheek on his shoulder. "I'm glad you'll be in Boston."

"Think you can get used to seeing me in a civilian suit? And . . . and a gla.s.s eye?"

She pulled back. "May I see?"

His stomach muscles tightened. "I don't have it yet. It's-"

"I know. May I?"

He hesitated, but didn't she deserve to see? Didn't he trust her to love him as he was? He shoved the bandage up to his forehead.

Lillian studied his face. Sympathy softened her eyes, but no fear or disgust warped her features. Then the corners of her mouth turned up. "There. I'm used to it."

He couldn't speak around the thickness in his throat, and he fumbled with the bandage.

"You don't have to put it on for my sake," she said. "Unless you need it to prevent infection, or if it feels strange."

What felt strange was having her look unflinchingly at his disfigurement. He hauled in a breath and tugged off the bandage. "Being here, going through this, seeing the challenges the other patients face-well, now I understand better what you face."

"I'm sure you do." She planted a kiss on his left cheek, right below his missing eye. "Oh, I'm so excited about your new job and what you're doing for these men."

"I am too." The breeze cooled his face, but her enthusiasm warmed his insides. While he'd miss being in the Navy-the spare living, the camaraderie, and the direct contribution to the war effort-this new venture energized him. "Something good came out of this injury."

"Two good things, I hope." A tilt of her head, a gaze through her lashes, a hand weaving into his hair-snaring him forever.

He was trapped, and he couldn't be happier. "And many more good things to come."

Dear Reader,

Thank you for sailing with Arch and Lillian. I want to a.s.sure you that the drug ring in this story is purely fictional and not based on historical incidents. However, the treatment of combat fatigue (now known as post-traumatic stress disorder) at the time is accurate. Great strides were made during World War II, as physicians and commanders slowly came to see it as a medical condition rather than cowardice or "weak nerves," but treatment remained difficult.

The USS Ettinger is a fictional s.h.i.+p, but the situations she faced were typical. When Germany sent her U-boats to American waters for Operation Paukenschlag ("Drumbeat"), the United States was not prepared. Blackouts were considered but not ordered, due to cities complaining about decreased business. Too few escort vessels were available to form effective convoys, and too few aircraft were available for air patrol. Infighting among the various commands didn't help. In the first six months of 1942, one hundred merchant s.h.i.+ps were sunk in the Eastern Sea Frontier (off the US East Coast), killing thousands of merchant marines and pa.s.sengers. The merchant marines and the officers and sailors of the US Navy and Coast Guard showed outstanding bravery and determination.

The sinkings of the Norness and the Traveller follow the historical record, although the survivors of the Norness were actually rescued by the destroyer USS Ellyson. The incident in chapter 25 is loosely based on the sinking of U-85 by the destroyer USS Roper.

All characters are fictional other than Dr. Harold Ockenga, pastor of Park Street Church, restaurant owner Mr. Okagi, pharmacists Albert and Jim Hart in Vermilion, and historical figures.

If you're on Pinterest, please visit my board for Anchor in the Storm (www.pinterest.com/sarahsundin) to see pictures of Boston, destroyers, Lillian's dresses, and other inspiration for the story.

Please join me for the third novel in the Waves of Freedom series. The last thing no-nonsense officer Lt. Dan Avery wants to see on his radar is fun-loving Quintessa Beaumont-even if she has joined the WAVES.

1.

Boston, Ma.s.sachusetts

Thursday, July 30, 1942

A touch of kindness and enthusiasm could transform a person's spirit, and Quintessa Beaumont delighted in partic.i.p.ating in the process.

"This is lovely on you, Mrs. Finnegan." Quintessa lined a box with tissue paper on the counter at Filene's.

Her customer giggled and tucked a gray curl behind her ear. "Listen to me. I sound like a schoolgirl. All because of a blouse."

"Not just any blouse. The perfect blouse for you." Quintessa laid the floral fabric in neat folds in the box. At first, Mrs. Finnegan had struck her as drab and tired and dowdy. Shame on her for thinking that way-so shallow. But as Quintessa had a.s.sisted the older lady in her search, she'd sensed a sweet dreaminess. Mrs. Finnegan deserved a blouse that reflected who she was inside, something to make her happy and confident. Quintessa had found it.

She settled the lid on the box and handed it to Mrs. Finnegan. "Thank you for your purchase. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure was mine. You certainly have a gift, Miss Beaumont." Mrs. Finnegan strolled down the aisle with a new bounce in her step.

Quintessa returned to the sales floor. No customers, so she straightened racks of summer blouses, which needed to be sold soon to make room for autumn merchandise.

Filene's fifth floor boasted fas.h.i.+onable women's apparel, all designed to meet the War Production Board's standards to limit use of fabric. For the past ten months, Quintessa had rotated among Filene's various shops, learning the business and the wares. When her year in training was complete, she could finally put her business degree to use in the offices.

A few ladies browsed the racks. With so many women working now due to the war, business was slow on weekday mornings.

A figure in white caught her eye-a naval officer with a familiar determined gait. Quintessa's heart lurched. Dan Avery? What was her roommate's oldest brother doing here?

She smoothed her blonde curls but stopped herself. Why bother? The man was already married-to the United States Navy.

Although his stride didn't waver, he gazed from side to side like a lost child, frowning and squinting. Then he spotted Quintessa, and the frown and squint disappeared.