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  Your hard work has paid off, son, and now you’ll reap your reward. Soon I’ll address a letter to Lt. John Hutchinson.

  Hutch stared at the letter. It was real. It was done. It would finally happen. Something built inside him until it exploded. He let out a whoop.

  Georgie stared at him, jaw hanging open.

  He laughed and whooped again. If he could, he’d grab her and spin her in a circle. This occasion called for spinning. “Roosevelt signed it. The Pharmacy Corps. It’s happening.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s what you’ve been working for all these years. I’m so happy for you.”

  He held the letter high like a victory torch. Finally he’d get an officer’s commission. Finally his profession would be taken seriously. Finally the soldier on the front would get the same quality care he did at home.

  “I’ve got to tell Bergie.”

  “And Phyllis,” Georgie said. “She’ll be happy for you.”

  “Yes, she will.” His grin escaped fully. He’d return stateside for Officer Candidate School and marry her immediately. No. He wouldn’t. He’d wait until he could marry her in his officer’s uniform.

  “Bitter almond?” Dom said.

  Bitter? Nothing bitter about this day.

  Dom raised one thick dark eyebrow at him.

  Oh yeah, the elixir. “Yes, then add the glycerin. I’ve got to tell Bergie.”

  Dom gave him a paternal smile. “You’ll need a hall pass in case you run into an officer. Let’s finish up this terpinius Brutus maximus, and you can deliver it.”

  “Yeah. Great idea.”

  “I’m leaving.” Georgie waved. “The ambulance is probably loaded. I’ll see you at the party. Now you have something to celebrate too.”

  “I certainly do.” He waved good-bye, then whirled to the elixir. “Glycerin?”

  “Added.” Dom pointed to the scales. “While you chatted with Shirley Temple, I weighed out two grams codeine.”

  “Great.” Hutch measured 100 cc simple syrup in the graduated cylinder. “Wonder if she tap-dances.”

  “Ask her at the party. But you’ll want to tango instead.” Dom marched an imaginary partner down the length of the tent and threw her into a deep dip.

  Hutch rolled his eyes. “I won’t dance with her. She’s like a little sister. And I’m a happily engaged man.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t have your fun.”

  “Yes, it does.” Hutch poured the simple syrup into the Erlenmeyer. “Line a funnel with filter paper.”

  “Ah, she wouldn’t tango with you anyway. You’re the most boring man in the world.”

  Hutch added the white codeine powder to the flask. “Thank you.”

  After they filtered the elixir, they poured it into 250-cc bottles for the wards, and Hutch affixed the labels he’d typed earlier.

  “Hold down the fort.” Hutch loaded the bottles into a cardboard box and left the tent. The midday sun blazed in his eyes, and he squinted. The wards that needed terpin hydrate lay ahead of him, but he detoured to his right toward the receiving tent where Bergie worked today.

  Hutch strolled past Dressing and Dental, and past Bath. Someone shouted ahead of him. More yelling. Nurses and medics stopped outside Receiving and stared at the ruckus inside.

  A loud cry. A helmet rolled out of the tent, and everyone gasped.

  Bergie was in there. What was going on? Hutch strode forward.

  “I ought to shoot you myself, you whimpering coward,” a man shouted.

  They needed help in there. Hutch made for the doorway.

  An officer stomped out, holstered a pistol, and turned back to the tent. “I meant what I said about getting that coward out of here. I won’t have these cowards hanging around our hospitals.”

  Hutch tried to step back, but the man bumped into him. A steely gaze pierced him through. The man stood as tall as Hutch. He wore three stars on his helmet. He could only be one man. General George S. Patton, commander of the US Seventh Army.

  “Sir,” Hutch stammered. He saluted. “General Patton, sir.”

  Patton’s gaze swept Hutch up and down, then he stormed past, grumbling about how psychoneurotics didn’t belong in hospitals with brave wounded men.

  Hutch fingered his necktie. Thank goodness he was wearing it. Patton levied heavy fines for men caught with an open collar.

  But what on earth had just happened? He ducked inside the tent.

  Col. Donald Currier stood next to Major Etter, the receiving officer. He shook a finger toward the tent entrance. “I don’t care who he is. No one treats one of our patients like that. I’ll write him up.”

  A dozen patients lay on cots. Everyone focused on a soldier who lay curled in a ball, sobbing.

  Bergie knelt next to him and smoothed his hair. “Private? Are you all right? Don’t worry. He left.”

  “My nerves. My nerves,” the patient cried.

  A nurse standing next to Hutch clucked her tongue. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe the general slapped a patient.”

  Hutch sucked in a breath. Everyone knew what Patton thought of cowardice, but a hospital should be a safe place.

  “The private’s shell-shocked, poor thing,” another nurse said.

  Fire flashed in the first nurse’s eyes. “I have half a mind to go slap the general myself.”

  Hutch didn’t blame her. Combat fatigue had nothing to do with courage or lack thereof.

  “You. Medic.” Captain Chadwick flung a hand in Hutch’s direction. “Go get the psychiatrist.”

  Hutch suddenly felt out of place. “I—I’m not a—”

  Chadwick scowled. He grabbed Hutch’s elbow and marched him out of the tent. “Hutchinson? What on earth were you doing in there? You’re in the way. Go back to your drugstore and count your pills.”

  Hutch had a couple of inches on the doctor, and he pulled himself to his full height. “I’m delivering medications. And with all due respect, sir, there’s more to pharmacy practice than counting pills.”

  “Is that so?” Chadwick crossed his arms and narrowed his gray eyes. “My uncle says otherwise.”

  “Your uncle?” Hutch said. “Sir.”

  “He’s with the surgeon general’s office. He says Army pharmacy is simple, and any intelligent boy who can read a label can do it.”

  Hutch’s hand tightened around the box of elixir. He’d heard those words before, quoted in a furious letter from his father. They’d been spoken in November in congressional hearings on the Pharmacy Corps bill.

  “Recognize that statement, don’t you?” Chadwick’s thin upper lip crept up. “Thought you might. Your father’s that druggist rabble-rouser, isn’t he? My uncle told me about him.”

  “My father—” Hutch pressed his lips together. He refused to forfeit his future by snapping up this man’s putrid bait. “Sir, my father advocates patient safety. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I need to get back to my drugstore and count pills.”

  “Go ahead, boy.” He waved him off. “For the record, three comes after two.”

  Hutch spun away and headed for the wards that needed his expertly compounded elixir. A spasm of pain ripped through his stomach, and he pressed his hand over it.

  “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. He had Dad’s letter as proof.

  The spasm subsided, and a bounce entered his step. After he got his commission, he’d watch Chadwick eat his words. Hutch would count the words as they went down.

  9

  Termini Imerese, Sicily

  August 18, 1943

  Georgie hugged herself, savoring the soft pink cotton of the sundress she’d sewn. This party couldn’t get any better.

  The officers based at Termini Airfield frolicked on Sicily’s north coast, splashing in the impossible turquoise of the Tyrrhenian Sea, lounging on the sand, and playing games. The delectable smell of barbecue already filled the air. They’d eat around six, before sunset, and then the band would set up. Too bad the imbalanced ratio o
f nurses to men would limit dancing.

  The sand caressed her bare toes as she strolled across the beach. She’d thrown a similar party the night before for the enlisted men, with the officers doing the work. Thank goodness the news of the Axis surrender in Sicily came before noon so she had time to set up.

  The sense of peace and victory made the party perfect. She shoved aside the knowledge that the war was far from over and another invasion had to follow.

  “Great party, Georgie.” Kay Jobson sashayed past with a man on each arm and more in her wake. She wore a green two-piece swimsuit that complemented her green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. As if she needed any help.

  Georgie wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Thanks, Kay. Have fun.”

  “I always do.”

  Once Kay was past, Georgie shuddered. The woman had no shame.

  “Cold?” A masculine voice sounded behind her.

  “Hutch!” Georgie spun around and grinned at him. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

  “Can’t rush the Army.” He wore a khaki shirt and trousers, much smarter looking than the gray-green herringbone twill fatigues the men lived in. “Where should I put my telescope?”

  Georgie led him down the beach. “We have a tarp in the band area to keep sand out of the instruments. Oh, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t smile, and his gaze darted around the crowd.

  She recognized the look. He didn’t know anyone but her and didn’t make friends quickly. “I can’t wait to introduce you around. There’s so much to do here. You can swim or play volleyball or baseball.”

  “I brought a book.”

  “A book?” She stopped and stared him down. “You’re at a party. You’re supposed to have fun.”

  He cocked half a smile. “Reading is fun.”

  She threw back her head and groaned. “Not today. Not at a party. You can read any old day. Today you play.”

  His smile grew. “Those of us with imaginations can play in our heads.”

  “Is that so? Why use your imagination when all this fun lies before you?”

  He laughed. “All right. You win.”

  Georgie led him to the band area. “What do you want to do first? Swim? Volleyball?”

  “In this heat? Swim.” He set down his telescope case and a satchel. “But you don’t have to entertain me all day.”

  “I want to swim too. Clint and Rose are playing in the surf, so I can introduce you.”

  Hutch unbuttoned his shirt. “Once I get these stripes off, I’ll fit in better.”

  “You fit in fine.” She turned away and slipped off her sundress from over her swimsuit. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him being attracted to her. Phyllis was a quiet, tall blonde, Georgie’s opposite in every way.

  “I may need your help to meet people, but I don’t need help to find the water.” Hutch strode across the beach on long muscular legs.

  Oh dear. He looked mighty fine in swim trunks.

  Georgie shook herself and followed. She’d thought of him as a skinny city boy, perhaps even scrawny, an illusion based on his height. He might be lean, but he certainly wasn’t scrawny.

  “Like a brother. A big brother,” she mumbled.

  Hutch plunged into the ocean, ducked beneath the surface, and shook water from his hair. “Feels great. It’s got to be ninety degrees today.”

  “At least.” Georgie stood at water’s edge, and a wave crept forward and nibbled at her toes. “Is it true what they say? That the general slapped a patient at your hospital?”

  “Wow. Rumors spread fast.”

  “Oh, good. It’s only gossip.”

  Hutch kicked at the water. “No, it’s true. I was there.”

  Georgie gasped and stepped in up to her knees. “It’s true? You saw it?”

  “Not the actual slapping incident. I was heading into the tent to see Bergie—he saw the whole thing. But I did see Patton himself, almost ran into him.”

  “Oh my goodness. And the patient? Poor thing. Is he all right?”

  “Bergie says he’s shaken up. The psychiatrist confirmed the diagnosis of battle fatigue. But the patient was actually begging to return to the front. He’s no coward. Patton returned the other day and apologized to him and to the hospital staff.”

  “That’s good.” Georgie trailed her hands through the water. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “He confused battle fatigue with cowardice.” Hutch shrugged. “But I think there’s more. We got hung up at Troina and San Fratello, finally broke through, but he wanted to get to Messina, and he wanted to beat the Brits to the prize. Frustrated goals can make a man snap.”

  “Hmm. What do you think Eisenhower will do with Patton?”

  “Do? Nothing. We’re at war. He’s our best general, a military genius. The men like how he wins battles, even if we don’t like his necktie rule.” He patted his bare chest and grinned. “Maybe I should put my tie back on.”

  An officer ran into the waves, snatched a football out of the sky, and another man tackled him into the surf.

  Saltwater rained down on Georgie. She cringed and laughed.

  “About time you got wet.” Hutch floated on his back and kicked water at her. “That’s a swimsuit, not a stand-around suit.”

  Georgie smiled at the brotherly teasing. “Your little sisters must hate you.”

  “They love me. Teasing’s good for them. Better than coddling.” Mischief lit his smile.

  She sloshed toward him. “Coddling? What makes you think I was coddled?”

  “Weren’t you?”

  She tilted her head and raised one shoulder. “Only because I deserve it.”

  “I thought so.” He stood in water up to his waist and grinned at her. A smattering of dark hair formed a T on his chest, emphasizing his broad shoulders. “Spoiled rotten.”

  “Humph. Spoiled perfect.” Georgie teetered on the brink of flirtation and she didn’t like it. She stepped backward and looked for Clint and Rose. A group would help, or a volleyball game.

  “So, your parents spoil you, and your big sisters spoil you. Does Ward?”

  “Shamelessly.” Her smile rose in relief. Nothing flirtatious about discussing their sweethearts. “You’d better spoil Miss Phyllis too.”

  “No.” Hutch paddled parallel to the beach. “But I treat her well.”

  “You’d better.” Georgie crouched low in the water, so nice and cool.

  “There’s a difference between being good to someone and being good for someone.”

  “You mean like helping each other grow?” A wave knocked Georgie onto her backside. She scrambled to get up before the water went over her head and made her hair frizzy.

  “Mm-hmm.” He swam along, oblivious to her clumsiness. “My parents have a great marriage, filled with love. But they can be hard on each other when necessary. They balance each other.”

  Was Ward good for her? Or just good to her? Georgie stood, shivered, and renewed her search for Rose.

  What was she worried about? Daddy spoiled Mama, and they were the happiest couple ever. “Remember, every woman likes to be treated like a princess.”

  “Ah, Phyllis can be a princess on our wedding day. And that’s coming soon.” Hutch swam back with a big wet grin.

  “Because of the Pharmacy Corps?”

  “Yep. Still need details, but when I go home for Officer Candidate School, I’ll marry her.”

  “That’s so romantic and exciting. All your dreams coming true.”

  “Now I can be content.”

  She opened her mouth to remind him that contentment came from God not circumstances, but she pressed her lips together. The job of being good for Hutch belonged to Phyllis. “I’m glad everything’s going your way. I’d hate to see you become bitter.”

  He shot her a glance, something dark in his eyes. Anger? Fear? Conviction?

  Guilt washed through her, and she raised a hesitant smile, which he returned.

  A splash
behind her. Arms wrapped around her waist. Down she went, face-first into the surf. She spluttered to the surface. “Rose Danilovich! How dare you.”

  Rose sat in the water beside her, bursting with laughter. “Clint! Did you hear her scream? Like a little girl.”

  “I am a girl, and I’m not ashamed of it.” Georgie stood and wiped water off her face. Now her hair would explode in a mass of unruly curls. “Any sign of Tom and Mellie?” Getting those two together had been the first success of the day. Tom had flown in, Mellie had revealed her identity, and it was so romantic.

  “Right behind you.” Mellie stood at water’s edge in her swimsuit, holding hands with Tom MacGilliver. Both glowed. They couldn’t be more different—Mellie with her dark exotic beauty, and Tom with his blond boy-next-door good looks.

  Georgie cocked her head. “Looks like you two had a nice—long—bike ride.”

  “We did.” Mellie raised a hand to cover her wide smile, then dropped her hand.

  “They deserve it.” Clint helped Rose to her feet.

  “True.” Georgie’s heart swelled with the joy of knowing she had a hand in their happy ending. But her day’s work wasn’t done yet. She stretched her hand toward Hutch. “Everyone, this is John Hutchinson, the pharmacist at the 93rd. Hutch, these are my friends, Rose Danilovich and her boyfriend, Clint Peters. Clint’s a C-47 navigator. This is Mellie Blake and her—boyfriend?”

  “That sure sounds good.” Tom shook Hutch’s hand. “Tom MacGilliver. Yes, I’m his son.”

  Georgie cringed. She’d meant to warn Hutch that he was about to meet the son and namesake of the notorious executed murderer.

  “Nice to meet you.” Hutch’s face registered only the slightest shock. “Read about you in the Stars and Stripes.”

  Clint chuckled and draped his arm over Rose’s shoulder. “He’s a better man than the article said, but nowhere near as heroic.”

  Tom led Mellie into the water. “Don’t know about the better-man part, but I agree with the not-as-heroic part.”

  Mellie whispered in his ear, and he gave her an adoring smile.

  Georgie glanced at Rose so she could roll her eyes and mouth the words she was certain Mellie had spoken—“You’re my hero.” But Rose gazed just as adoringly at Clint. Oh dear, it would be a long day with two pairs of lovebirds chirping around her.