With Every Letter by Sarah Sundin

retracted.
    Mellie stared at Alice. How could someone so beautiful have insecurities? And how could she snap at Georgie, who only wanted to give the whole world a hug?
    She wanted to pat Georgie’s arm or hand or something, whatever girls did. But would that comfort her or embarrass her?
    Rose and Georgie exchanged a soft look, a twitch of a smile, a humorous lift of the eyebrows. How did they do that? Friendship took practice.

    Mellie shouldn’t have stopped at the PX on the way to the theater. If she’d known Ernest had written eight lettersand they’d all arrive today, she would have waited. But now she sat on the bus, trying to read and absorb, while Rose and Georgie sat in the seat in front of her, watching with expectant grins.
I’ll never understand man’s inhumanity to man. Just because his ancestors came from China, not Europe, my platoon sergeant gets teased, excluded, and worse. He’s a good man—smart, funny, bighearted, but all they see is the color of his skin.
Isn’t that why we’re fighting this war in the first place? Because the Germans hate the non-Germans? Because the Japanese hate the non-Japanese? How are we any better?
Poor Annie, saddled with my rant. But that’s one of the reasons I crave your friendship. I can’t rant to anyone else. And this kind of nonsense makes my blood boil.
    “Well?” Georgie’s Southern drawl slung the word up the musical staff. “What’s he have to say?”
    Mellie wanted to soak in Ernest’s words. He cared deeply about his men. He hated how people judged others. And he’d chosen her to confide in. Yet she lifted her head to engage with her friends. “He says all sorts of wonderful things.”
    “It’s so romantic,” Georgie said. “The meeting of two hearts, two minds.”
    “It’s not romantic, it’s—”
    “I wish Lambert would set up something like that.” Rose crossed her arms on the seat back and leaned her chin on her forearms. “About the only way I could meet a fellow.”

    Georgie nudged her with her shoulder. “Nonsense. A lovely girl like you? Give it time.”
    “You’re the one talking nonsense.” Rose wrinkled her freckled nose. “You’re the sweet flower the boys buzz around. I’m the blunt-talking sidekick. In the movies the sidekick never gets the boy, or if she does, it’s the hero’s loudmouth best friend, and the sidekicks insult each other and exchange weird smacking kisses. That’s not for me.”
    Mellie smiled although Ernest’s open letter called to her. “The insults or the kisses?”
    “Neither,” Rose said with a laugh. “I want a fellow who says nice things to me and kisses me like I’m precious. Georgie has that with Ward. I want it too.”
    “Well, you can’t have Ward.” Georgie winked. “But we’ll find you someone, right, Mellie?”
    “Me?” She laughed. “I can’t be much help. Men don’t look at me unless I’m changing their bandages or giving them morphine.”
    “You did something right to get engineer-man to write eight letters,” Rose said.
    Mellie shook her head and stared at the letter in Ernest’s square handwriting. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to deserve pages full of funny shipboard stories, deep musings on God, and insights on friendship and loneliness.
    Her fingers itched for pen and stationery, but she tucked the envelopes into her Army Nurse Corps shoulder bag.
    Rose looked out the bus window. “We’re here, ladies. Louisville’s finest theater.”
    “I love the Palace,” Georgie said. “The theater alone is worth the ticket price.”
    “I can’t wait to see it.” Mellie stood and followed the girls off the bus.

    “Ta-da!” Georgie swept her arm up to the marquee. “Isn’t it grand?”
    “Yes, it is.” The façade of the Palace featured intricate carved masonry and a colorful marquee, which must have been even more impressive before wartime dimout regulations.
    The women purchased their tickets and entered the lobby.
    “Oh my.” Mellie had