The Victory Club Read online

  In the past two weeks, Lucy and Dottie—and Margo King, too—had dropped by with hot casseroles and loaves of fresh-baked bread. More importantly, they'd listened as he'd gone on and on about how he missed Penelope and wondered where she'd gone. Dottie had offered to watch the children while he searched for his wife, and she'd said she could take care of them after he found a job, too.

  That was more than his in-laws had done when they found out about Penelope. His mother-in-law might have wanted to help, but his father-in-law would never let her. He didn't believe in handouts to anybody, including his own family.

  David Ballard had never liked his son-in-law. That hadn't mattered to Stuart in the early years of his marriage, but later it had grated on him. It got worse after he injured his back and couldn't work. Ever since then, his father-in-law had looked at him as if he were a bug that needed smashed underfoot.

  Kind of like the way Pen looked at me before she left.

  He groaned softly.

  Why had his marriage gone sour? He'd known Penelope was unhappy, but he hadn't realized it was so bad that she would leave him. Worse, she'd left her kids. How could she do that? He didn't understand.

  If there was a God, why didn't He stop something like this from happening?

  Part IV

  May 1943

  Chapter 38

  Out of habit, Margo awoke before dawn. She tried to make herself go back to sleep. There was no reason to get up early on this Saturday. Lucy had cancelled today's meeting of the Victory Club.

  "I'm working on a few ideas for future projects," she'd told Margo and Dottie, "but I don't have particulars yet."

  Margo had nearly mentioned that one of their reasons for meeting was to pray, and there were plenty of people who needed prayer. Dottie and Greg, to start with. The needs of those two were too numerous to think about. Then there was Penelope, who hadn't been heard from in three weeks; and Clark, who was fighting in Africa; and Richard, who was flying missions over enemy territory. They could pray for 2nd Lieutenant Rhodes, her private pupil, who'd left this past week for Europe on some secret and undoubtedly dangerous mission. There were parents and wives in their churches who had lost sons and husbands in battle.

  Needs. So many prayer needs.

  But something in Lucy's demeanor had stopped Margo from saying any of that.

  Margo frowned as she shoved aside the bedcovers and sat up.

  This was unlike Lucy. She wasn't a quitter. Yet Margo had the distinct impression that was what the younger woman was doing—quitting. Perhaps without admitting it to herself. Lucy had lost heart and not just about her precious Victory Club. It went deeper than that.

  Margo rose, put on her bathrobe and house slippers, and headed for the kitchen. If she couldn't sleep, she intended to treat herself to a rare cup of real, honest-to-goodness coffee.

  Despite it being the first day of May, the house was chilly. Still, Margo didn't touch the thermostat. No point running the oil furnace when the sun would warm things up eventually. In the kitchen, she took her treasured Hills Brothers tin of rationed coffee from the cupboard and spooned out enough grounds to make two cups.

  Clark had written that the army issued instant coffee in their rations kits. An abominable brew, in Margo's opinion, but apparently the soldiers were thankful for it. She supposed they were grateful for a good many things that she would find second-rate.

  As she set the coffeepot on the burner, the shrill ring of the telephone broke the early morning silence. Margo spun toward the offending object, her heart hammering, her eyes wide. No one called at 6:00 AM unless it was bad news. Was it about Clark or Greg?

  She hurried across the kitchen and picked up the receiver. "H-hello."

  "Mrs. King?"

  "Yes."

  "It's me. Greg Wallace."

  She leaned against the wall, willing her pulse to slow. "Greg?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm back in the States. I was hoping I could talk to Dottie. Is she there?"

  Margo was about to ask him if he had any idea what time it was.

  "Mom?" Dottie—now standing in the hallway—sounded as fearful as Margo had felt moments before. "Who is it?

  Margo held out the receiver. "It's Greg."

  Her daughter's expression went from anxiety to ecstasy in an instant. She grabbed the handset and pressed it to her ear, holding it with two hands. "Greg? Greg, is it really you?"

  Feeling the intruder, Margo returned to the stove. But she couldn't help overhearing one side of the conversation.

  "Where are you? … I love you, too … When will you be home? … Are you sure? … Oh, I love you, too … I'm fine. Honest … Yes … No … Thank God. Oh, thank God … I talked to him last Saturday… Yes, he said he would … Did you tell your parents? … Greg, you shouldn't wait … Well, I suppose that's a good idea … Oh, honey, God's been merciful to us …"

  Margo didn't have to look to know her daughter was crying.

  "His grace is sufficient," Dottie whispered. "His power works best in our weakness."

  You no longer live under the requirements of the law. Instead, you live under the freedom of God's grace. The words of Scripture whispered in Margo's heart as she reached for a cup and filled it with the freshly brewed coffee, her hand shaking. God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy.

  "I love you, too … Yes, I'll be there … Yes … Yes … I won't … I love you, too … I'll be waiting … Okay … I love you, Greg … Yes … Good-bye, honey … I love you … Me, too … I love you … Bye."

  Holding her coffee cup with both hands, Margo turned around.

  Dottie dried her eyes on her pajama sleeves. "He's coming home, Mom. He'll be here on Thursday's train."

  You no longer live under the requirements of the law … freedom of God's grace … they will be shown mercy.

  Those beautiful words, so simple, so gentle—known by Margo for years but never fully understood—echoed in her mind as she stared at her daughter.

  Unexpectedly, she felt a hard place in her heart begin to soften.

  Chapter 39

  Lucy shifted the telephone receiver from her right ear to her left. "I'm disappointed, too, Ruth, but I don't see any way around it. Mondays are always bad, but this one was the worst yet. My supervisor doubled my workload today. I won't be able to come to practice most weeks, and that's unfair to everyone else in the choir. I simply must resign for now."

  "I suppose it can't be helped," the choir director replied with a sigh. "We all have to make sacrifices for the war effort."

  "Maybe I'll be able to rejoin in a few months, if you'll let me."

  "Of course we'll let you. You're welcome back at any time, dear. You know that."

  Guilt knotted Lucy's stomach. "Thank you, Ruth. I appreciate your understanding." A headache pounded in her temples.

  "Everyone will miss you. The choir won't be the same without your lovely voice. I do hope things at work will ease up soon."

  "Thanks, Ruth. I appreciate your understanding more than you know."

  "It's quite all right. Good-bye, dear."

  "Good-bye."

  I didn't lie, Lucy thought as she set the receiver in the cradle. Things are hectic at work, and I am working longer hours.

  But that wasn't why she'd resigned from the choir. The truth was, she felt uncomfortable sitting in the loft with the other choir members, singing hymns to the Lord. She felt like … like a fraud.

  I haven't done anything wrong, God. Why do I feel this way?

  Oh, the silence was deafening.

  "Well, I haven't," she argued aloud. "What's a few suppers with a friend? What harm is there in that? Can't a married woman have a few friends who aren't also married women?"

  "Let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up."

  But she hadn't sinned. She hadn't.

  Restless and needing immediate activity, Lucy opened the back door and headed for the corner of the yard that would soon
become her Victory Garden. Yesterday afternoon, Howard had tilled that section of the lawn with a borrowed rototiller, exposing the rich clay soil beneath.

  Howard. Her friend. Any friend would have helped her as he had. Any friend.

  "Remember," her pastor had said during yesterday's sermon, "you must not use legal cover or technicalities to mask moral failure."

  A garden hoe leaned against the fence where she'd left it. She grabbed it and attacked the freshly tilled soil as if it were an enemy spy. Chopping, chopping, chopping.

  Moral failure …

  Technically, she'd told Ruth Norris the truth about her workload and why she'd quit the choir.

  Just as, technically, she hadn't been unfaithful to her husband with Howard Baxter.

  Who am I hurting? Nobody. Richard won't know, and besides, I haven't done anything wrong. Howard is my friend. Howard listens to me. He cares about me. He understands me. Who can it hurt?

  Lucy choked back a sob as she released the hoe and let it fall. Then she dropped to her knees, weighed down beneath the truth.

  Me. It's hurting me. And it's hurting Richard.

  Howard wanted much more than to be her friend. He denied it with his mouth, but he said otherwise by his actions. He was a man and she was a woman, and something churned beneath the surface whenever they were together, something volatile and dangerous.

  "Let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up."

  "Oh, God," she whispered. "Help me."

  V-Mail

  To: Mrs. Richard Anderson, Boise, Idaho, U.S.A.

  From: 1st Lt. Richard Anderson

  Monday, April 12, 1943

  My beloved Lucy,

  It's with a heavy heart that I pick up this pen and write to you tonight. On our bombing raid today, we lost XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Good men. Good airmen. I've served with most of them since the first week I arrived in England. They won't be easily replaced. I guess that's true of all the Americans dying in this bloody war. It's hard not to get discouraged. One morning I sit down to breakfast with a bunch of guys who are my pals, and the next morning one of them isn't at breakfast. Or two aren't there or three or five or ten aren't there. You know what's hardest for me, Lucy? Not hating the Germans. I know, as a follower of Christ, I'm not supposed to hate another person, but how can I not hate the enemy? Now, when they're killing innocent people? That's something I keep asking God to tell me or show me, but I haven't found the answer yet. Maybe it helps to hate them a little as my plane roars down the runway on its next mission, those red lights on the ground whirring past me as we lift off the ground. Once we're in the air, all's quiet except for the drone of the B-17's engines and the comforting whisper of the radio coming through my earphones. That's what I've always loved about flying, that quiet when I'm up above the earth. But now it's different. Now I know the lives of the crew behind me depend on my skills, on the choices I make, on my reactions when we come under fire. Now I know we're headed where there'll be guns aimed right at us, and the Luftwaffe will be trying to knock us out of the sky, and if I don't make the right choices, these boys could die. I could die. I know we need to be here, Lucy. I know this war has to be fought and it has to be won. I just wish I was back home with you, holding you in my arms, loving you. I just wish things could be different.

  Always,

  Richard

  Chapter 40

  Tuesday evening, Lucy waited across the street from Howard's store until she was certain the last customer had left. Then, in the gathering dusk, she crossed the street and entered the market.

  Howard was walking toward the front entrance, keys in hand. He stopped when he saw her, and his face lit with a smile. "Lucy. What a nice surprise." His voice was like warm honey, sweet and tempting. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight." He moved toward her.

  Lucy stretched out her right arm to stop his forward momentum—and the embrace she knew would follow—by placing the flat of her hand against his chest.

  His smile vanished, replaced by a frown. "What's wrong?"

  "I … I can't see you anymore, Howard."

  "What?" He placed his hand over hers, holding it to his chest. "Why? What's happened?"

  "It isn't right for me to … to be with you. It isn't fair to … to Richard."

  In the beginning, when Howard was just the owner of the corner market and Lucy was just his customer, he'd asked about Richard. In the beginning, Lucy had answered his questions, telling him many things about her husband. Lately, they'd avoided mentioning Richard altogether.

  "Howard, I've tried to tell myself you and I are good friends and we're not doing anything wrong, but that's a lie. It is wrong, and it would hurt Richard if he learned about our … about us." Lucy slipped her hand from beneath Howard's and took a step backward. "I'm sorry. I never meant to mislead you or hurt you. I never meant to—"

  "You can't do this, Lucy. I need you. You're like the air I breathe. You're essential for life. I love you."

  "Howard, stop." She shook her head slowly. "You agreed not to say that again."

  "Say it or not, it's true. You know that I love you, Lucy. Don't you? Don't you believe that I love you?"

  She sighed in despair. "Yes. Yes, I believe you do. But, Howard, I'm not free to be loved."

  "Then get free," he said, sounding gruff. "Divorce Richard and marry me. I'm here. I'll take care of you."

  Lucy caught her breath. "I could never get a divorce." She braced her shoulder against the doorjamb for support.

  "Why not? People do it all the time."

  "Other people might," she whispered, feeling shame wash through her, "but I couldn't. I don't want a divorce. It goes against everything I believe about marriage. I forgot what I believed for a while. I ignored what I knew was true because I was lonely. I can't do that any longer."

  "Lucy, that's—"

  "I was selfish." Her voice grew stronger. "I was so selfish I refused to see I wasn't being fair to Richard. And it wasn't fair to you either. I love my husband and I don't want to divorce him. I want to be his wife and I want to have his children. I want to grow old with him. It's Richard I love. It's Richard I will always love. Until the day I die."

  Silence fell between them.

  A range of emotions flickered across Howard's face—anger, frustration, sorrow, defeat. After a long while, he opened his mouth, as if he might try to change her mind with a new argument. But then he pressed his lips together, gave his head a slow shake, turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the storeroom at the back of the store.

  Lucy straightened away from the doorjamb, uncertain if she should follow him.

  But for what purpose? she asked herself. Did she think she could make him feel better with more words? Did she think she could undo the harm she'd already done?

  She couldn't. She had wronged Howard at the same time she'd wronged Richard. Perhaps not to the same degree, but she had wronged him all the same.

  "I'm sorry," she said softly as she opened the door.

  The chimes jingled overhead, a tuneless, empty, fitting sound.

  Chapter 41

  As a Flying Fortress barreled westward down the Gowen Field runway, Dottie joined Lucy on a bench on the north side of Building B-301.

  "Where's your mom?" Lucy asked when the roar of the B-17 had faded to a hum in the distance.

  "She had a dentist appointment." Dottie opened her lunch box but didn't remove the food inside. She wasn't particularly hungry. Softly, she said, "I think my supervisor's guessed I'm pregnant."

  "Are you sure?" Lucy asked. "You don't show. If I didn't already know, I don't think I could tell."

  "You could if I wasn't wearing these coveralls. None of my clothes fit right." She knew she would be dismissed from her position as soon as her pregnancy was confirmed. Should she quit now or wait it out? I'll wait. Greg will be home soon. He'll know what I should do. Thinking about Greg and their upcoming nuptials made her feel better.

  Luc
y unwrapped her sandwich. "Will your mother be able to go with you to meet Greg's train?"

  "No. She has exams to give. Greg's parents will take me."

  "Do they know about the baby?"

  Dottie shook her head. "Greg wants to tell them in person. I thought they should know before now, but he insisted."

  Lucy stared toward the mountains, and her voice grew as distant as the look in her eyes. "That's good. He wants to take responsibility for his choices. We all have to do that, sooner or later."

  "Luce, what's bothering you?"

  Her friend drew a deep breath. Tears glittered in her eyes but they didn't fall. She looked brittle, as if she would shatter if touched.

  Dottie wanted to comfort Lucy, but she wasn't sure how to go about it. Lucy was the strong one, the one who reached out and comforted others. It felt awkward to have the roles reversed.

  Setting aside her lunch box, Dottie asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "Oh, Dottie." Lucy covered her face with her hands. "I've made such a mess of things. I … I almost had an affair." She whispered the words, but her pain was audible. "I've been unfaithful."

  "What?" Dottie could imagine this of many people but never Lucy Anderson. "I don't believe it."

  Her face still hidden, Lucy nodded. "I betrayed Richard."

  "But you didn't actually do anything. Right? You said almost."

  For a long while, Lucy was silent, unmoving. So still, Dottie wondered if Lucy had heard the question. But then, at last, she spoke.

  "I was unfaithful in my heart, and that's more than enough. 'From the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery … These are what defile you.' That's what the Word says. It's my heart that's the problem." Lucy lowered her hands but kept her eyes closed.