Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
OCTOBER 1941
PEARL HARBOR
LUKE DROPPED ONTO HIS BUNK, GLAD TO BE ALONE. LEANING AGAINST THE bulkhead, he ripped open a letter from home.
“Dear Luke,” his mother began. “I hope you're well. Ray, the children, and I pray for you every evening, but I still worry. Is the navy feeding you enough? Next time you make it home I'll fix you a blueberry pie; hopefully that will help persuade you to take leave.”
Luke's eyes rested on Ray's name. If he weren't there, I'd be more than happy to go home.
“I miss you terribly. We all do. Brian and Susie say hello. Susie says to tell you she's making a card for you and that she picked a bouquet of wildflowers just for you. They're a bit ragged, being they're the last of the season, but if not for the Indian summer we're having, there wouldn't be any left. She also sends you a hug and a kiss. Brian wants you to know he caught a huge trout in the creek yesterday, ‘bigger than any you ever caught’—those are his exact words. He also says he wishes you were here to fish with him. He often tells us that when he grows up he's going to join the navy just like his big brother and be a damage-control man on the USS Nevada just like you. He's very proud of you.”
Luke smiled, envisioning seven-year-old Susie picking wildflowers in the field alongside the farmhouse and twelve-year-old Brian snagging his fish, blue eyes sparkling as he proudly held up his prize. It had been nearly two years since he'd left home and more than ten months since his last leave. He missed his family. Letters and photographs just weren't enough. It was time for another visit.
I'll have to see about putting in for holiday leave, he thought, then remembered Ray Townsend, and his anticipation evaporated. The thought of that man living in his house was more than he could stand. He has no right to be there. I'll never accept the marriage. Not ever.
Hatred embraced for years had become bloated. Luke envisioned the man he believed had killed his father, then married his mother, and the rage swelled. Time had not healed the hurt. Each visit home only fed his resentment and bitterness. Seeing the curly-headed mountain man rule in his father's home gouged his heart and worked to graft his resentment even more firmly to his soul.
Ray should be the one who's dead, he thought, envisioning his father and feeling the hurt of his death. “Enough,” he told himself. This line of thinking would only lead to more pain. He forced his eyes back to the letter.
“Laurel and Adam often come for supper on Sundays. Little William is no longer so little. He'll be four this Christmas, and it looks like he's going to be tall like his Grandpa Hasper and Uncle Luke. He has your father's easy-going way.” Luke smiled, remembering how the last time he'd been home his nephew had reminded him of his father.
“He's a regular little boy these days,” his mother's letter continued. “Always searching for bugs and special rocks, and even doing a little fishing. Adam's still writing for the Tribune. His stories are very popular in Chicago. I'm afraid he's getting itchy to do something for the war effort in Europe, however. I pray he doesn't do something foolish like travel overseas to write about the war. I don't know if I could stand having both of you in harm's way.”
Luke didn't consider himself to be in any real danger, not unless the Japanese attacked the United States, which everyone said was unlikely. He wasn't so sure he agreed with the consensus, wondering if people might be underestimating the Japanese.
Things seemed peaceful in the Pacific, and Luke wouldn't have minded being sent to the Atlantic to do some bona fide fighting. This is a good ship. We'd do some real damage against those Kraut U-boats, he thought, believing that sitting in port in Oahu was a foolish waste of gun power. He returned to the letter.
“Celeste came by yesterday and told me she and Robert are ‘very serious.’ Ray wonders if Celeste is too independent for marriage. I guess only time will tell.”
Luke's eyes wandered to the photograph of Mattie he'd taped on the bottom of the bunk above his. We should be married and having children, he thought, angry with himself for not having had the courage to tell Mattie how he felt about her. They'd written, but the letters had remained chatty and sociable. They never talked about anything serious, and she seemed happy to keep it that way. She's probably seeing someone else.
“What we had was nothing more than a childhood romance,” he told the photograph. He gazed at the beautiful native Alaskan woman and couldn't keep from wishing that someday they might be more than friends. With her brother Alex gone, Luke and Mattie didn't really have anything to bind them together. Alex had always been the one to make them a threesome.
Luke's mind returned to the day his best friend had died. He would forever live with the memory of Alex being swept away by the crushing ice flow. Even now it was hard to believe the spirited young man was dead. Alex had loved life. Everything Luke knew about native ways Alex had taught him. He missed his friend. If only I hadn't gone out on the ice that day.
For a few moments Luke's mind remained with Alex, then his eyes focused on the pages in his hand. His mother talked about their dog Spot and what a good watchdog he'd turned out to be, and about the fall harvest, which had been below expectations. Pests had waged a war of their own against the farmers. “We hope for better next year,” she said.
“Ray and I both brought down mountain sheep this fall. Now that Brian is old enough, Ray is teaching him to hunt. For a twelve-year-old, Brian does well. He's set on dropping his first moose this year. He's very determined, and I believe he'll do it.”
Luke clenched his jaw. I should be the one teaching him how to hunt, not Ray.
“Hey, you want a Coke?” Barry Randal asked.
“Sure,” Luke said, looking up at his best friend. Barry tossed him a pop, and Luke barely caught it before it fell to the floor. “Hey, watch it!”
Barry laughed and handed him a bottle opener. “You look awfully serious. That a ‘Dear John’ letter?”
“No. There's no one to send me one.” Luke pried the lid off his drink. “This is from my mother.”
“Must be bad news. You look like a storm cloud.” Barry leaned against the bulkhead and took a swig of his pop.
“Nah. Just wish I was there, is all.” Luke folded the letter, returned it to its envelope, and slid it into his shirt pocket.
“I thought you liked the navy.”
“A fella can like what he's doing and still miss his family. My brother Brian's learning to hunt. I wanted to be the one to teach him. We used to go fishing a lot before I signed up. I never really thought about missing out on the time with him.” Luke swiped black hair off his forehead and sipped his Coke. “It's hot in here,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk.
“Yeah. Well, that's Hawaii for you,” Barry said with a grin. “Balmy weather's hard to take,” he teased.
Luke heaved his pillow at his friend.
Barry grabbed it easily and fired the weapon back.
