With Every Letter by Sarah Sundin Page B

and led them to seats in the middle.
    Mellie sat down and gaped at her surroundings. The theater resembled an open-air Spanish courtyard. Building façades lined the walls, and a brilliant blue ceiling arched overhead, pierced by starry white lights. “It’s magnificent.”
    Rose nodded. “Gorgeous.”
    “Yes, you are,” a gruff voice said from behind.
    Mellie whipped around. The three airmen occupied the seats behind them.
    Clint leaned forward on his knees, his eyes sparkling at Rose like the little lights above. “I’ve never believed in love at first sight—until now.”
    Rose lowered her chin. “See yourself in the mirror?”
    Clint laughed. “Didn’t I tell you, boys? She’s the one for me.”

    “He does this all the time, doesn’t he?” she said to Roger.
    He frowned. “No. Actually, he doesn’t. He’s never done this before.”
    “I haven’t.” Clint’s face lost the playful look. “First time ever. Because it’s the first time I’ve seen you.”
    Rose spun back to face the screen and crossed her arms.
    Mellie searched her face—the drawn mouth, the tented eyebrows, the wide eyes. Was Rose scared?
    “What’s your name?” Clint asked, his voice soft as a pillow.
    Rose shook her head. Her eyes glistened.
    Clint turned to Mellie. “Please. I need to know her name.”
    Mellie glanced back and forth between them. What if he’d told the truth and this was love at first sight and they were meant to be together? But no, Rose looked like she was about to cry. “Sorry,” Mellie said.
    “All right.” Clint leaned close to the back of Rose’s head. “I know the Lord brought us together tonight, and I know he’ll bring us together again. Forever.”
    Rose’s head jerked at the mention of the Lord’s name.
    The theater lights dimmed, and in the darkness, Rose wiped her eyes.
    Mellie settled back in her seat. Was that what love was like? A sudden revelation? Or did it grow over a lifetime as it had for Georgie and Ward? Papa never related how he and her mother had fallen in love.
    How much depended on looks? How much on personality? How much on hearts and minds?
    She folded her hands over her shoulder bag, and Ernest’s letters crinkled inside. A pureness about the relationship appealed to her, free of looks, free of the crass form of attraction that Bert fellow demonstrated.
    It could never be love, but it could be wonderful.

12
    Telergma, Algeria
December 12, 1942
    “This is how my squad got the dozer, Gill. Honest.” Sgt. Lou Moskovitz squatted by the M1 heavy tractor and picked dried mud from the track rollers. “When was the last time Kendrick cleaned this thing?”
    “Don’t know.” Tom stood behind the wheel and peered at the two air pre-cleaners that stuck up from the hood like stumpy antennae. The dirt level rose to the top of the glass windows in the pre-cleaners. How much dirt had been allowed into the engine?
    “Wow,” Larry said from behind the dozer. “You should see the gunk in the sediment sump drains.”
    Tom squeezed his eyes shut, tipped back his helmet, and massaged his throbbing forehead. Dirt and water had accumulated in the fuel tank. Not good.
    Kendrick came from a construction background, had experience with heavy equipment. Why had he neglected basic maintenance? The 908th couldn’t afford to lose what little equipment it had.
    Tom settled his helmet back in place and hopped to the ground. After several days of heavy rain, the battalion had achance to finish the airfield in the next day or two, but only if the equipment worked. “Moskovitz, Fong—see if you can siphon off the fuel, then drain out the sediment. Let’s hope no damage was done. I’ve gotta find Kendrick.”
    “Listen for the sound of rolling dice,” Moskovitz said. “Then you’ll find him.”
    Tom forced a laugh. “Sounds right.”
    He headed across the field past clumps of French and Arab locals the battalion had hired. They weren’t much help. Neither was his platoon.