Gift of Faith Read online

  It seems Rory and Rogan decided they needed a neighborhood ice rink and thought the backyard at your folks’ house would be just the spot to create one. They turned on the faucet behind the carport and started hauling buckets of water into the yard, but what they failed to notice is all the time they left the faucet running, the water seeped beneath the wall of the carport, creating a solid sheet of ice where your father parks his car.

  To say your dad was blistering mad would be a dire understatement. I thought the vein in his temple might actually explode. I do believe it is safe to say the twins won’t be attempting to create any more ice rinks, perhaps ever…

  Chapter Nine

  “Read that part again,” a voice wheezed beside Marc.

  He turned and looked at Klusky as the man held his injured side and laughed until he couldn’t draw in a breath. “Please, Rawls, read it again. The twins…” More wheezing. “Are hilarious!”

  Marc rolled his eyes but reread the account of the twins filling the carport with ice. A thick packet of Amy’s letters and a few from his family had just caught up to him three days ago and he’d relished reading each one. To cheer the men in his ward at the naval hospital in San Diego, he’d read Amy’s humorous accounts of his brothers’ misdeeds.

  Klusky was the only man he knew. The others were wounded strangers, but all were in need of something to lift their spirits.

  Amy’s stories of the twins’ antics had been received with such enthusiasm the wounded soldiers had asked him to reread the stories multiple times the last few days.

  The sweet parts of each letter, the parts that were meant to reassure him of her love, her faith in him, he kept to himself. When he closed his eyes, he could picture her sitting on her window seat, staring up at the moon and praying for him to return home safe and sound.

  Marc still couldn’t quite believe he was back in the United States.

  From what he could piece together, the Japanese had launched an all-out attack, using the land, air, and sea to try to take back the airfield on Guadalcanal. Only they hadn’t counted on the Americans putting up quite so much resistance. Marc recalled slinging grenades at a bunch of Japs as they raced out of the jungle and watched them fall, one by one, only to be replaced by another wave of them. They were tossing grenades back at them, shooting artillery shells, and firing guns.

  A shell had exploded near where he and Davey were holding the line. Thoughts of Davey made a lump lodge in his throat. The medics wrote in their reports that Davey was killed instantly from the impact of the shell exploding, but Marc hadn’t known that. He’d picked up his buddy and carried him and a few others out before loss of blood sent him into the oblivion of unconsciousness. Shrapnel had been embedded in his left thigh. And if it hadn’t been for Amy’s little midnight sky medallion taking the brunt of a bullet meant for his heart, he would have been dead. As it was, he had a cracked sternum that kept him from moving around much.

  His injuries were serious enough that he was sent home for an additional surgery. The doctors told him he’d have a full recovery, but his body needed plenty of rest and time to heal. Up until the other day, when the letters arrived, he’d thought everyone had forgotten about him. It seemed strange, though, that Amy kept on writing to him when the letters from his family had stopped in October. Surely, they all hadn’t gotten too busy to write, had they?

  He could count on his beautiful Bella, though, to not give up on him or forget about him. Her letters had reminded him of why he enlisted in the first place, why all the death and sacrifices were worth it—because they were protecting something precious at home.

  “Please, Rawls. Read the one about the boys and your sister’s sweater again,” another soldier asked. The fresh-faced private had to have lied about his age, because Marc wasn’t sure he was old enough to need to shave. The young man lost part of his foot when a grenade landed right in front of him, but was lucky it wasn’t worse than that.

  He spent another hour reading parts of Amy’s letters aloud until his throat grew dry and his eyes weary. A nurse came and told the men they needed to rest for a while. She poured a cool cup of water for Marc and handed it to him.

  “It’s a nice thing you do, sharing your letters from your sweetheart,” she whispered as she adjusted his covers.

  “We all need a little cheer,” he said, smiling at the nurse after he finished drinking the water.

  It wasn’t long until exhaustion pulled him into sleep, but it wasn’t restful. He kept seeing Davey face down in the mud while the battle raged around them. Marc could hear the high-pitched whistle of the shells before they exploded, as well as smell the scent of blood and the earthy, continuously rotting odor of the jungle.

  The nightmares that had plagued him for more than a month returned. In them, he was always too late in yelling a warning at Davey to run. Too late to save his friend. Too late. Always too late.

  Marc awoke with a start, heart beating rapidly as he glanced around at his surroundings. Safe. He was safe in the hospital.

  He scooted back against his pillow and winced at the pain the movement caused in his chest. As he focused on the room, he realized the nurses had strung colored lights around the ward while he slept, bringing a bit of Christmas cheer to the otherwise drab space.

  For the hundredth time since he’d been cognizant enough to write a letter, he thought about writing to Amy and his family, letting them know he was alive and well. He’d told them when he left there may be gaps between when he could write, though. Surely, they’d understand if he didn’t get in touch with them for a while. What could he say? Because of him, his buddy was dead along with several others. And as a reward for his supposed bravery, the Marines had given him a Purple Heart along with a promotion to sergeant.

  Marc felt so unworthy of both. If he’d paid closer attention, if he’d yelled five seconds sooner for Davey to run, his friend wouldn’t be dead. Others might not have been wounded or killed. No, he was no hero and he certainly didn’t deserve to ask anyone for grace or forgiveness. Not when he was so undeserving of either.

  After supper, a scrappy private named Len pulled out a guitar and strummed a few carols, making them all so homesick, Marc wanted to throw a bedpan at the guitar and smash it into a million little pieces.

  Instead, he rolled onto his side, away from the music and feigned sleep until the nurses declared it time for lights out.

  The next morning, a nurse brought Marc a sheaf of blank papers, a pen, and a few envelopes.

  “What’s this for?” he asked, holding the paper and pen like they dripped poison onto his bedsheets.

  “You’ve got a fine girl waiting at home for you. I know for a fact you haven’t written her a word since you’ve been here and who knows how long before that.” The nurse glowered at him. “It might not be any of my business, Sergeant Rawlings, but if it was me, I’d want to hear from you, know you were safe. Women tend to assume the worst, you know.”

  “Not my Amy,” Marc said. Despite his lack of correspondence with her the last few months, she’d continued to write often. Not once did she sound discouraged or doubtful, but maintained a hopeful, cheerful tone that encouraged him. Now, more than ever, he was convinced he didn’t deserve someone as sweet and good and kind as Amy Madsen.

  “If you don’t feel up to writing the letter yourself, I’d be happy to write one for you,” the nurse offered.

  “No, I’ll do it, but thank you,” Marc said quietly. It took him two hours to write two paragraphs.

  When the nurse brought their lunch trays, she shook her head at him. “That is pathetic. No woman wants to read that. Write from your heart or don’t write at all,” she advised before moving on to the next patient.

  Marc wanted to toss his dinner roll at her, but refrained. Who was she to call his letter pathetic even if it was? His inability to do something as simple as write a letter to Amy confirmed all the reasons he should let her go. If enough time passed without hearing from him, perhaps she’d give up on
him and turn her attentions elsewhere.

  But even as he considered the possibility, he knew Amy would never do it. She was honest and loyal to a fault. The gift of her faith in him was one he treasured, one she didn’t give lightly.

  He would write her a letter, but maybe it would wait until tomorrow. He tucked the paper and pen into the drawer of the stand by his bed then took out her letters to read through again.

  “Will you read to us, Rawls? Please?” Klusky pleaded.

  Marc read to them until his throat felt raw and Nurse Bossy returned, informing the men it was time for a rest. Uninterested in napping when he was sure he’d be haunted by more dreams of Davey, Marc thumbed through a magazine someone had left for the patients to share.

  An advertisement from a towel company with an amusing cartoon drawing caught his attention. A dozen soldiers appeared to bathe in a river with netting surrounding them. The caption about it being army day and the crocodiles staying away hit a little too close to home for his comfort. Often, he and his comrades had bathed in the river and hoped nothing bit them in the process.

  Another advertisement encouraged people to forego their annual Christmas calls to keep the lines open for necessary war calls. The thought of picking up the telephone and speaking with Amy held such appeal, he almost called to the nurse to see if she could arrange it before he settled back down with the magazine and flipped another page.

  He passed by a recipe for fruitcake. Even with his grandmother’s amazing talents in the kitchen, he never tasted a piece he liked.

  There was an article about women taking over more jobs left behind by men and showed a woman in a meat processing plant with a huge carcass. Marc hated to think of his delicate Amy taking over some grueling, dirty job. Thank goodness she enjoyed working in the bakery. With the airfield in Pendleton he could only imagine the soldiers and those who were short on sugar rations stopping there for something sweet.

  Amy had written all about her mother creating new recipes using honey and syrup or leaving out some of the sugar to make do with their rationed portions. His aunt Rachel had written the same about the restaurant, about making do with what they had.

  Marc’s mouth watered thinking about the Italian food his family traditionally served on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day was all about turkey and the trimmings, but Christmas Eve was the food of his grandmother’s ancestors redolent with garlic and spices, layered with Parmesan and mozzarella cheeses, and finished off with creamy puddings, rich cakes, and crispy fried pastries. His Uncle Tony would snap dozens of photos while Aunt Ilsa, Uncle Lars, and Uncle Garrett would harmonize and sing carols, accompanied by Nik Nash on the harmonica and cousin Laila on the piano.

  The sound of Bing Crosby singing about a white Christmas on the radio made a wave of homesickness wash over him with such force, Marc closed his eyes, breathing deep to keep his composure. He could smell the thick tomato sauce that would be bubbling on the stove at his grandmother’s house, hear the carols playing on the radio, taste the soft, buttery amaretti cookies that were his favorite of all the cookies Nonna baked.

  He opened his eyes and continued looking through the magazine. Two colorful pages offered hints for gifts for everyone in the family. Marc stared at the advertisement. He hadn’t given a thought to Christmas gifts. It would be a shame not to send something, at least for the twins and Amy. Maybe Nurse Bossy would be willing to help him. If he could buy something and ship it right away, it might reach Pendleton by Christmas.

  A picture of a toy tank made him smile. Boy, would Rory and Rogan have fun with that. He considered gifts he would purchase for each family member, if he could be there to celebrate Christmas with them, then let his thoughts drift to Amy as he got to the end of the magazine. An advertisement on the back for a big box of chocolates certainly wasn’t a gift he’d give such a swell girl.

  No, she needed something as special and unique as she was. But what? What could he possibly get her? Even if he could go somewhere to do some shopping, which wasn’t an option in his current state, he had no idea what to purchase that would sufficiently express the feelings in his heart for Amy, to show her how special she was to him.

  “You’ve got visitors, Sergeant Rawlings,” the nurse said, grinning at him as she stepped into the room.

  “Visitors?” he repeated, uncertain who could possibly be at the hospital to see him.

  A moment later, a familiar figure marched into the room. Marc sucked in a surprised gasp then grinned so broadly his cheeks ached.

  “Gramps!”

  Chapter Ten

  The bell above the bakery door jingled like a bell ringer standing next to a Salvation Army kettle, in near constant motion. The closer it got to Christmas, the busier the Madsen Bakery became with hungry shoppers and those who didn’t want to bake placing orders for holiday treats.

  Amy had been up since three that morning, making dozens of cookies, cakes, pies, sweet rolls, and more as they rushed to fill last-minute holiday orders as well as keep something in stock in the bakery displays for customers to enjoy. Cider simmered on the back of the stove in a big pot and Amy was just carrying the last of the hot chocolate out to a customer when the bell jangled again.

  Caterina and Sarah Rawlings breezed inside, accompanied by Rory and Rogan.

  Amy set the hot chocolate in front of the soldier who’d ordered it. “Enjoy,” she said, then hurried over to the women and little boys.

  “Amy! Guess what?” Rory said, giving her a hug around her waist.

  “I’ll never guess. You’ll have to tell me,” she said, smiling at him then at Rogan.

  “Gramps is missing!” Rogan proclaimed.

  Amy looked from the boys to Caterina. “Missing? The judge is missing?”

  Caterina looked like she’d just eaten a rotten lemon while Sarah nodded her head. “He left early this morning, but his secretary said he didn’t show up for work. In fact, he left her a note he’d be out of the office until after Christmas. No one has seen him all day.”

  “He hasn’t been by here, has he?” Caterina asked, glancing around as though it might make her husband magically materialize.

  “No. I haven’t seen him since church on Sunday.”

  Caterina looked deflated. “Oh, I hoped, since the two of you…”

  Sarah scowled at Amy and then Caterina. “The two of them what?”

  “It’s nothing, dear.” Caterina patted Sarah on the back as though she was a child.

  Sarah looked like she was ready to stamp her foot in frustration.

  “Gramps and Amy think Marc’s gonna come back,” Rory said, grinning at his mother. “Ain’t that right, Amy?”

  Apparently, his mother was far too upset to correct his poor grammar for she merely glowered at the twins then turned her disapproving gaze to Amy. “What nonsense are you spouting to my children?”

  “I haven’t said a word to them, Mrs. Rawlings.” Amy backed up a step. In all the years she’d known Sarah Rawlings, she would never have thought the woman capable of possessing a temper, but she looked like she could rip a steel beam in two as she pinned Amy in place with her icy glower.

  “Gramps told us a while back. He said it was a secret.”

  “Told you what?” Caterina interjected, grasping the chins of both boys in her gloved hands. “Tell Nonna what Gramps said.”

  “Well, he said him and Amy didn’t believe that telegram at all and that Marc was gonna be okay and come home someday.” Rory rubbed a knuckle over his nose and looked at his brother for reinforcement.

  “Yep,” Rogan said, smiling at his grandmother. “And he told us we couldn’t tell no one ’cause he and Amy are the only ones who know the truth.”

  “And just what do you know, missy?” Sarah took another step toward Amy.

  “Just that Marc is alive. I can’t explain how or why I know, but I know. Judge Rawlings shares my feelings that the telegram was a mistake. He said he was trying to get in touch with Marc’s commanding officer to discover the tr
uth. Perhaps he heard something and went to meet someone.” Amy wondered if the military ever considered recruiting enraged mothers to use in interrogation rooms. From the questions Sarah proceeded to fire at her, she didn’t think much training would be required.

  “Enough,” Caterina said, finally placing a hand on Sarah’s arm and pulling her back from Amy.

  Rogan and Rory had plastered themselves to Amy’s legs, serving as a buffer between their mother and her. At the moment she thought the boys should be commended for their bravery, but didn’t have enough gumption to comment on it with Sarah still clearly in a volatile state.

  “You really have no idea where Kade might have gone?” Caterina asked quietly.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t. As I said, the last time I saw the judge was at church Sunday and we didn’t discuss Marc then.”

  “Thank you, Amy. I apologize for bursting in here,” Caterina said, tugging Sarah toward the door. “Have a lovely afternoon and whatever it is that smells so heavenly, please box up enough for six of us and have the boys bring it home.”

  Caterina pushed Sarah outside, leaving Amy and the boys staring after her retreating figure.

  “Golly. Mom sure popped her gasket,” Rory commented, turning to look up at Amy. “Do you think my grandpa really ran away from home?”

  “No, sweetheart,” Amy dropped to her knees, heedless to the curious stares from customers and pulled both boys into a warm hug. “I think your grandfather had something very important to do and wants to keep it a surprise.”

  She stood and took a small hand in each of hers. “Come to the kitchen and have some milk and cookies then you can take an apple cake home to your mom and nonna.”