On Distant Shores (24 page)

Pompeii, Italy
January 12, 1944

Georgie stood outside Pompeii’s arched gateway and scanned the crowds arriving from the train station. What if Hutch didn’t make it? The invasion force could sail any day, and who knew when she’d see him again.

She rolled the guidebook in her hands.

Was that him? A tall dark-haired man walked alone and with a familiar gait. He wore an enlisted man’s service uniform in a lighter shade of olive drab than the officer’s dress uniform.

Her heart flipped over. She stretched up on tiptoe and waved. “Hutch!”

He raised a hand in greeting. Not the enthusiastic reception she craved.

She dashed down the pathway, weaving among the servicemen, both American and British.

Hutch stopped and gave her a smart salute. “Good day, Lieutenant.”

She rolled her eyes and saluted him back with a grin. He had no choice but to follow protocol. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Barely.” He headed up the pathway, keeping a proper distance from her.

It wasn’t like him to be terse, but she could cheer him up. “I’ve never seen you in dress uniform. You look so handsome.”

His jaw jutted forward. “More like an officer?”

Her step faltered. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

He grimaced and faced her. “I know. That wasn’t fair.”

Georgie’s breath solidified in her lungs. Something was wrong. “Sugar, are you all right?” She reached for him.

“Don’t.” He sidestepped her and glanced over his shoulder. A military policeman stood guard at the gateway. “That MP would love to get his hands on me if I got my hands on you.”

“I’m sorry. I forget sometimes. Are you all right?”

He groaned and marched up the path. “Let’s just get this charade going. I’m supposed to play tour guide for you and your friends, right? The only way I can legally be seen in your presence. Do you have the guidebook?”

Georgie breathed hard, and not from the exertion of catching up with his long-legged pace. “What’s going on?”

He held out his hand as he walked. “The guidebook? I need to convince that MP.”

“Sure.” She slipped it into his hand.

He glanced at the booklet, creased from folding and rolling. “What happened to it?”

“I was kind of nervous waiting for you.” Not as nervous as she felt right now though.

Hutch chewed on his lips and shifted his gaze to her. A host of emotions swarmed in his brown eyes. “It’s fine. Really, it is.”

No. It wasn’t fine. He was facing another invasion, separation from her, the Pharmacy Corps exam, and leaving Lucia. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Is it Lucia? Were you able to take her to the orphanage?”

“Yeah.” He continued up the path, saluted the MP, and
handed his dime to the Italian man in the ancient arched gateway. “They let me go with her. It’s a decent place, spartan but clean. The Red Cross will take good care of her and help her write me.”

“That’s good.” Georgie paid her ten cents and pushed through the turnstile. “Does she like it?”

Hutch headed forward, looking straight ahead, and his Adam’s apple rose from his knotted tie to his jaw. “She cried.”

“Oh, sweetie.” More than anything, she wanted to take his hand and snuggle close, but she gripped her shoulder bag instead. “That must have been hard on both of you.”

“Everyone she loves deserts her.”

“You’ll come back for her.”

“Yeah.” He squinted at the ruins. “Where are your friends?”

“Up ahead. We agreed to meet at the Forum.” Time to explore the next issue. “Were you able to take the exam?”

“Yep.” He gripped an imaginary baseball bat and swung. “I hit that ball so far out of the park, they won’t find it till March.”

So why the dark tone? “That’s good.”

He passed neatly spaced columns of an ancient temple and didn’t even glance at them. “Doesn’t matter.”

Despite the chill in the air, Georgie wiped moisture from her palms onto her skirt. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”

“Some bureaucrat decided seventy-two pharmacy officers would strain the system. They’re only commissioning twelve now. You know how many men applied? Nine hundred. That gives me a whopping 1.3 percent chance.”

“Oh my goodness.” No wonder he was in a bad mood. “I’m so sorry. But I know you’ll be one of the twelve.”

He let out a scoffing laugh. “One point three. Might as well be zero.”

“Please don’t get discouraged. I’m sure—”

“Don’t bother.” He opened the guidebook. “Let me get my bearings so I can play my role.”

Georgie’s teeth ground together. He had every right to be angry, but no right to take it out on her. Besides, this was supposed to be a fun, romantic day, and if he didn’t cheer up, he’d ruin it.

“Georgie! Over here!” Mellie waved at her. “You have to see this view. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve seen in my life.”

Maybe her friends’ enthusiasm would be contagious or at least shame Hutch into a better mood. She tossed him a little smile, but he just motioned for her to lead the way.

Georgie joined her three friends in their gray-blue skirt uniforms. “Hutch, you remember my friend Mellie.”

“Lieutenant Blake.” He saluted her.

“Kay and Louise, you haven’t formally met Hutch yet. Hutch, these are my friends Kay Jobson and Louise Cox.”

“Lieutenant Jobson. Lieutenant Cox.” A proper, unsmiling salute.

Kay grinned and extended her hand. “You can call me Kay.”

“No, ma’am. I can’t.” At least he shook her hand.

Louise shook his hand too. “So you’re the antiquities expert. Georgie said you’ll be a great tour guide.”

“I’m no expert, and I’ve never been to Pompeii. But I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will.” Georgie gave him a sweet smile. “Where are we now?”

“The Forum.” Mellie laughed. “Even I know that. Would you please turn around and savor that view?”

Georgie did so. A long plaza stretched before her, framed by broken columns of varying heights. The remains of a temple sat at the far end, and beyond that Vesuvius rose, its smoking top concealed in the clouds.

She twisted her purse strap. “Sometimes I wonder if this is a safe place to be stationed.”

“It’s war.” Kay sauntered down the Forum. “Nothing’s safe.”

How embarrassing to be caught wallowing in her old fears, and in front of Hutch, who’d helped her rise above them. But he seemed absorbed in the guidebook.

“That’s the Temple of Jupiter.” He pointed straight ahead. “Temple of Apollo’s to our left, Building of Eumachia to our right.”

That was all? Where were the stories, the details, the color? She followed the group down the Forum and threaded through the columns. Hutch remained silent, as dark and forbidding as the volcano itself.

He led the way past the Temple of Jupiter and through an arch, with the ladies scampering to keep up. Why did he have to be a grouch on what could be their last day together in ages?

Kay sidled up and leaned close. “Remind me what you see in him.”

Georgie pressed her lips together. Right now she had a hard time remembering that herself. She let out a long breath. “He’s had some bad news. He’s not usually like this.”

“I’d hope not. He makes Ward look like fun.”

Several feet ahead, Mellie crossed the street on high stepping-stones. “Aren’t these interesting? Hutch, what does it say in the guidebook?”

He continued down the raised sidewalk. “Says they flushed the streets every day.”

“The stepping-stones would keep your feet dry. How clever.” Mellie perched on a stone and peered down at the road. “Look at the chariot ruts in the pavement. My goodness.”

Louise gave her a playful push into the street.

Mellie laughed, then studied the stones. “It looks like the
chariots could straddle them. I wish Tom could see this. Such a clever design.”

Georgie followed the ladies across the stones, not easy in a straight skirt and heels. If Tom were here, he’d help Mellie across. He’d be in a good mood, laughing and enjoying himself. But oh no, not Hutch.

He turned right onto another street, approached a building on the left, and motioned for the women to head in first. “The House of the Faun. Ladies?”

Georgie passed through the doorway and raised one eyebrow at him, but he didn’t even meet her eye.

The group stepped into a wide paved courtyard. All around, remains of walls jutted up, their porous volcanic stone exposed.

“Isn’t that charming?” Mellie stood before an empty rectangular pool with a mosaic of diamond-shaped stones on the bottom. In the center stood a small statue of a dancing faun.

At least one man in the building looked happy.

The nurses explored the vestibules, but Hutch remained at the entrance. Fine. Even if he wanted to ruin his own day, he wouldn’t ruin hers. Georgie stayed with the women and tried to enjoy herself, but how could she when her boyfriend embarrassed her in front of her friends?

Mellie headed for the entrance. “What’s next, Hutch?”

“More houses.” He led them down the street and into the remains of another home.

Louise exclaimed. “Just look at those paintings.”

Vibrant frescoes of classical figures in rusty red, ocher yellow, and milky blue covered three walls of a little side room.

“Astounding,” Mellie said. “The same ash that killed thousands preserved this art for millennia.”

“What’s this painting about?” Kay asked.

“Don’t know.” Hutch didn’t even look in the guidebook.

The ladies exchanged a glance that curled Georgie’s toes—
surprise at his chilly tone and sympathy for Georgie. That was enough.

“Excuse me, ladies.” She gave them a fake smile, gripped Hutch’s elbow, and led him out onto the street paved with stones as white as her anger.

She crossed her arms. “Why’d you even come today? This was supposed to be a fun outing, but you’re ruining it for everyone.”

His brow furrowed under his service cap. “Let me get this straight. I found out all my work these past three years is probably in vain. The goal I’ve worked for is being stolen from me. And you’re annoyed because your tourist excursion doesn’t meet your expectations?”

She sniffed. He made her sound selfish, which wasn’t true. “You could at least try to be pleasant. You didn’t even look happy to see me.”

He glanced away, sank his hands in his trouser pockets, and tapped his foot on the paving stone.

Her lower lip pushed out. “You aren’t happy to see me.”

“What?” He turned back, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. “How am I supposed to show I’m happy? I’m not allowed to fraternize with you, to hold your hand, even to call you by your first name, Lieutenant Taylor.”

“You could at least smile.”

“Smile? You want me to play happy when I’ve had a lousy week and things might not get better for the rest of this stinking war?”

She adjusted her stance on the uneven stone. “What if they don’t get better? Are you ever going to let it go? Are you going to sacrifice your peace of mind for your goal?”

“What? Do you want me to give up?” His upper lip curled. “I thought you supported me, thought you understood, considering what you went through.”

“What I went through?”

“With Ward. Isn’t that why you broke up with him? Because he didn’t support your dreams, your goal?”

Georgie’s sweaty fingers slipped over the purse strap. “What’s that have to do—”

“You’re doing the same thing.” He knifed his hand through the air. “The Corps is my dream, my goal. I thought you supported that.”

“I—I—”

“Why do you want me to give up? I need to fight for my goal.”

Georgie gave her head a firm shake. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me? The Corps is best for me. Finally getting a little respect for once.”

She studied his furious face. “This has become more than a dream. It’s an obsession. And you’re getting bitter.”

“Obsessed and bitter.” He shifted his mouth to one side and nodded a few times. “Thank goodness an officer’s around to tell me what’s what.”

“Oh, that’s real nice, Hutch.” She whirled around and marched down the street. “I don’t want to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“Fine. Don’t talk to me at all. The last thing I need is more disrespect.”

“Why don’t you go home and mope in private?”

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?”

“Maybe it should be.” She pivoted to face him. “I’m sick of your foul mood.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m sick of all of this.” He flung out his arms. “I’m sick of lying and hiding and sneaking around.”

She set her hands on her hips. “I’m sick of being blamed because the Army likes my profession better than yours. If I hear one more gripe out of you . . .”

His arms settled to his side, and he stood tall and still, his expression a strange mixture of sadness and anger. “You’ll what? You’ll end it? For a single gripe?”

For the second time in only a few months, she felt the foundation cave beneath her. But now it rattled her like an earthquake. With effort she kept her legs beneath her and shook back her curls. “If you’re going to be grouchy for the rest of the war, then I don’t want to be with you.”

He stood even taller if that were possible. “If you can’t respect me, if you can’t support my goals, then I don’t want to be with you either. It’s over.”

“Over and done.”

“That’s for the best.”

“Absolutely for the best.”

Hutch snapped his heels together, saluted, turned smartly, and marched away, the tails of his jacket flapping with each strong step.

Georgie groped for the wall and leaned against the rough ancient stone, once lashed by volcanic wind, then buried in ash, now exposed to the elements.

If this was truly for the best, why did her soul scream?

Anzio, Italy
January 23, 1944

Good-bye and good riddance to
LST-242
. Four nights sleeping on the heaving cold steel deck under an Army truck and almost two days of enemy air attack made Hutch long for terra firma.

Even if terra firma was Anzio, the birthplace of Roman emperors Nero and Caligula, of evil itself.

Hutch gripped the side of the DUKW amphibious vehicle as it cut through the waves. The shore looked quieter than the day before when the Allies made the main invasion, with the British landing north of Anzio, and the Americans taking the twin towns of Anzio and Nettuno.

Operation Shingle was the Allies’ latest gamble. By landing about forty miles south of Rome and sixty miles past the Cassino front, they hoped to break the stalemate, cut off the Germans, and make them retreat north of the capital.

Beside him on the DUKW, Bergie whooped. “What a ride!”

“Yep,” Hutch shouted over the clattering engine. He wiped sea spray from his face with his mackinaw sleeve.

“We’ll get a nice vacation at the shore, I’ve heard. Almost
no resistance yesterday. We can race for the Alban Hills as soon as General Lucas unleashes us.”

“Yep.” White and tan buildings cringed by the waterline, and far away across the Anzio plain, the Alban Hills ripped a jagged line through the blue sky.

“On to Rome!”

“Yep.”

Bergie held one hand on his helmet and glanced at Hutch. “Don’t strain your vocabulary.”

Hutch adjusted his field pack on his shoulders. Since he left Lucia and broke up with Georgie, every word felt like a sword in his throat.

“Are you ready to talk—”

A medic cussed and pointed skyward. Three German Junkers bombers crossed the bay.

Hutch crouched low in the cramped boat, oddly free of fear, just glad to distract Bergie from dissecting his problems.

Bullets spat out and splashed in the surf behind the DUKW. Lousy aim, thank goodness.

Antiaircraft fire boomed from the shoreline, and the planes wheeled out to sea. With a familiar whine, bombs fell, missing
LST-242
and sending waterspouts a hundred feet into the air.

Bergie wiggled himself back up to standing. “I’m glad the nurses aren’t coming for a few days.”

“Yep.” Why did he choose that word?

Sure enough, Bergie’s gaze homed in, and his mouth opened to drill Hutch with questions.

Hutch pointed ahead. “Shore coming. Don’t want to miss this.”

The DUKW driver turned around. “Hold on!”

The men obeyed, and the DUKW rode the wave to shore like the surfers Hutch had watched when he was stationed in Hawaii. With a bump, the wheels hit the sand and carried
the vehicle onto the beach. Water poured from every surface and carved gullies through the sand.

The DUKW ferried them about a hundred feet inland. The driver motioned the men out of the boat. “Everyone out. Gotta go back for more of youse.”

Hutch sat on the edge, swung his legs over, and thumped to the ground. He found a patch of dry sand, pulled a glass vial from his pocket, and scooped up fine beige sand for his collection. If he had his way, he’d never collect another vial again.

He joined the dozen men from his DUKW and followed them toward the town. For once, the 93rd Evac was supposed to set up in actual buildings, a sanitarium by the Anzio pier.

Hutch marched in the cool air, and the firm sand barely clung to his combat boots.

Bergie dropped back to walk with him. “I’d kiss the ground, but I don’t want sand between my teeth.”

“Nope.”

“A new word.”

Hutch rolled his eyes.

Bergie nudged him. “It’s taking you longer to get over two months with Georgie than it did five years with Phyllis.”

His chest felt tight. “I loved her.”

“Are you finally ready to talk about it? Remember, I’m the relationship expert now. Six months with Lillian.”

“She’s good for you.”

“I thought Georgie was good for you.”

“I did too. I was wrong.”

“How’s that?”

The blue bay was marred by dozens of LSTs, destroyers, and landing craft, and overshadowed by the Luftwaffe. “She doesn’t support my goal. Says I’m obsessed and bitter.”

“You
are
obsessed and bitter.”

Hutch glared at his friend’s grinning face. “Thought you were on my side.”

Bergie hiked up his overcoat belt, loaded with equipment for once. Even the officers had to carry their own gear since the 93rd could only bring twenty-three trucks in this first wave. “I’m trying to be on the side of reason. It’s a stretch for me.”

“So don’t stretch.”

Bergie drew a deep breath. “Why do you say she doesn’t support your goal?”

“She told me to let it go, give it up. Easy for her to say. She already achieved her goal.”

The column of men entered the town of Anzio, filled with two-storied buildings with red tile roofs. Allied shelling had demolished some of the structures. Under a heap of brick, limestone, and plaster in the street, two feet clad in German boots jutted out.

Six months in a combat zone, but the sight of violent death still slammed Hutch in the chest.

Bergie cut a wide path around the scene. “I hate this war.”

“Who doesn’t?”

Another body lay crumpled next to a burned-out donkey cart. The man still clutched his rifle.

Bergie pointed his thumb at the German. “What would’ve happened if he’d surrendered?”

“He’d be alive. Such a waste. Such a stinking waste.”

“Sometimes giving up is better than fighting.”

Hutch stopped and stared. “Are you saying—”

“What’ll you do if you don’t get a commission? What then? How long are you going to be angry? That’s no way to live.”

“No way to live?
This
is no way to live.”

“You’re right. War is a horrible way to live.”

Hutch’s jaw clenched, and he blew a hot breath out his nostrils. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m talking
about the position I’m in. I have to take orders from a florist who knows nothing about my work. I can’t eat a meal with my best friend. I couldn’t date the woman I love. How would you like it if you couldn’t be seen with Lillian—or even call her Lillian?”

“I love her. I’d make do.”

“Baloney. You’ve never had to try. You never will.”

“No.” His voice came out low and strained. “So, let me get this straight. Georgie got on your case about being bitter. Remember when you told me you loved her? You said you liked how she encouraged you to grow. Sounds like that’s what she was doing.”

Hutch kicked away a chunk of concrete. “Don’t you get on my case too.”

“Why not? You’re turning into a grump. Georgie was tired of it, and so am I.”

“Are you now? You don’t have to listen to it. You’re not supposed to talk to me anyway . . . sir.”

Bergie turned to him, his blue eyes cool. “You know what? That’s a good idea. You need to work things out. After you do, let’s talk again.”

“Yes, sir.” He whipped up a salute. “Whatever you say, sir.”

Bergie walked away and flipped a wave over his shoulder, leaving Hutch alone.