She drew a steadying breath and met Inga’s gaze. “I’ve finished with Wesley. Last night I told him I quit.”
Inga gasped. “No!”
“I thought you’d be pleased,” Delia said. “You’re the one who told me I was squandering my life waiting for Wesley.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d ever summon the nerve to actually walk away.” A smile broke across Inga’s winsome face. “Congratulations! This is going to give you a clean break and the chance for a new future. It’s so exciting!”
No, it was terrifying. Working for Wesley had been safe. She knew exactly what to expect, and she was thoroughly competent at her job. Now she was facing an uncertain future and a mission she wasn’t confident she could accomplish.
“Bertie walked me to the subway stop last night after I quit,” she said. Their awkward conversation was still fresh in her mind.He’d offered to pay her a salary in light of resigning her position with Wesley, and Delia had gratefully accepted. It felt awful to be yet another burden on the CRB’s struggling finances, but she couldn’t afford to go months without any means of income. Taking payment from the CRB strengthened her determination to refill its coffers, even if it meant working alongside Finn.
To the bottom of her soul, she wished Finn hadn’t overheard her argument with Wesley. The pity in his eyes had been unmistakable, and it was humiliating. For years she wondered what it would be like if she ever met Finn again. She imagined being a successful businesswoman or perhaps the wife of a congressman or an aristocrat. The best fantasy was being the sole owner of her very own kite store, proving to Finn she didn’t need his help to make their dream come true. Having Finn witness her mortifying rejection by Wesley had never been on her list of fantasies.
Delia’s first sight of Camp Mills showed a vast landscape filled with thousands of tents. This was another world, a masculine one of marching soldiers and snare drums and officers shouting orders. Somewhere behind the miles of fencing, Finn was waiting for her, and she was going to have to fake a calm, poised demeanor as she met him to begin their joint mission of aiding the CRB.
“This is where we part,” Inga said. “The Red Cross station is down the street, but you’ll need to go to the checkpoint at the west gate to get inside the camp.”
After they exchanged a quick hug, Delia went to the booth, where an enlisted soldier manned the checkpoint. This wasn’t her world; she didn’t belong here. Rows of khaki-clad soldiers marched the parade grounds while a cavalry officer led a row of trotting horses in formation. Even from the other side of the gate, the sheer magnitude of the operation was intimidating.
She straightened her collar and cleared her throat before approaching. “I have an appointment with Lieutenant Delaney,” she said, the sound of Finn’s rank sounding awkward on her tongue. “I’m supposed to meet him at the Hostess House.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the soldier shot back with rigid precision. She wished he wouldn’t call herma’am. She didn’t want any part of this military world, where men barked out orders instead of speaking normally.
A few moments later, an open-carriage automobile arrived to take her to the appointed meeting place. She was told to settle into the back seat while the driver started the engine and put the auto into gear. The noisy motor chugged as they passed acres of tents, then rounded a row of wooden buildings housing the medical station, command headquarters, and the supply depot. The auto then made a sharp curve toward a tall A-frame building.
“That’s the Hostess House,” the driver said as he pulled to a stop and killed the engine.
Dozens of men in uniform milled about outside, some lounging in rocking chairs on the wide front porch while others kicked a ball around in the dirt yard.
Delia followed her escort inside the building, jumping when the rickety screen door slapped shut behind them. Their footsteps thudded on the wooden floorboards as she arrived at a spacious living room, furnished with tables and chairs for card playing. The far end was set up with upholstered chairs for reading and tables for letter writing or study. Rattan chairs were grouped around a long coffee table strewn with newspapers.
She spotted Finn sitting in a rattan chair, his crutches propped beside him. Her heart gave an involuntary squeeze at the sight of him. A battered leather aviator’s jacket was slung over the back of his chair. He wore an ordinary open-collared shirt, a white silk scarf draped around his neck.
He looked even more handsome today than he did last night. Unlike the other soldiers with their shorn heads and close shaves, Finn’s hair was long enough to brush against his collar, and he needed a shave. His slouchy, relaxed aura reminded her of the carefree boy she once knew. She’d probably always have this instinctive attraction to him, but inconvenient feelings could be ignored.
Theymustbe ignored. Finn probably had a wife or a sweetheart somewhere, and she had no business hankering after such a man.
She closed the distance between them and sent a pointed glance at his tatty scarf. “That scarf has seen better days,” she said. It was an understatement. The white silk was dingy, speckled with burn marks and frayed at the ends.
Finn beamed as he touched it. “This scarf has flown sixty-three missions with me and was around my neck the day I got shot down. I’ll never get rid of it.” He braced his hands on the arms of his chair and prepared to stand.
“Don’t get up,” she rushed to say, but he ignored her. Soon he was standing before her, six feet tall and radiating raw, masculine energy.
“Dee, before you say anything, I want to apologize for last night.”
She stiffened. The less she had to dwell on the horror of last night, the happier she’d be. “There’s no need.”
“Yes, there is. If I had the ability to magically disappear from that garden, you’d have seen nothing but a little puff of smoke as I vanished.”
She smothered the temptation to laugh and glanced about, looking for something to change the topic, and landed on the newspaper Finn had been reading.
“Do you know French?” she asked in surprise. Foreign languages certainly weren’t anything taught at the orphanage.
“I learned enough to get by when I was over there,” he answered as he gingerly lowered himself back onto the chair. He gestured toward the newspaper. “La Libre Belgiqueis a clandestine paper put out by a handful of brave people in Belgium. I was lucky enough to find a copy in the camp library. Yesterday you were pretty adamant that all the stuff printed in the American papers about how bad the Krauts are is just propaganda.”
“Please don’t say ‘Kraut.’”
“TheGermans,” he amended with great exaggeration. “Maybesome of the stuff in the newspapers is overblown, but I saw with my own eyes what’s going on in Belgium, and believe me, it’s bad. After the Germans rolled over the country, they seized everybody’s horses and automobiles. They don’t let people leave their neighborhoods unless they have a military pass. The telephone wires were cut, so they can’t talk to each other. They made it illegal to fly the Belgian flag or to sing their national anthem. The newspaper offices were closed and the presses seized. Even so, some brave journalists cobbled together enough printing equipment to start publishing this newspaper.” He held up the issue ofLa Libre Belgique. “This reports on ways to resist the occupation. It pokes fun at the kaiser and mocks the stiff-necked Germans stationed all over Belgium. It gives updates on rationing and tips for holding on through dark times. Delia, it gives peoplehope.”
