Forcing the Hand of God

In a flurry of white uniforms, a tall, robust grey-haired woman emerged from the group, quietly giving orders. Rodger stood in the middle, clasping Adele’s hand, noting the pin on the nurse’s uniform: Mary Richards, Head Nurse. The procession moved toward the doors. Rodger stepped up to the head nurse.

“Where the hell is the doctor?”

“Train accident south side.”

“What the…” Rodger’s voice dissolved with Adele’s scream. He dogged the nurse’s footsteps. “Are you going to deliver our baby?”

“Yes,” she started to move past him.

Rodger straightened. “Have you done it before?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Over five hundred in World War I, mister.”

Rodger danced around her. “Let me assist.”

She pointed to a room down the hall as Adele was wheeled into the delivery room. “Wait there.”

Rodger’s heart thumped erratically inside his chest. “I have to be with her.”

“You’re not a doctor.” The woman stepped toward the basin and began lathering her hands.

Rodger followed her, pressing his advantage. “I’ve just come from a tour of duty at the hospital at Bose. You can check with the head nurse there.” He stood in front of her so that she could not enter the other room. Adele’s pants and groans echoed in the next room.

The head nurse whirled around and whispered savagely, “Scrub up!”

As he had seen the nurse do, he lathered with the soap and dried his hands. He turned as a young nurse tugged on his sleeve so that she could slip the gloves onto his hands. Stabbing pains shot through his injured shoulder as he slid his arms into a gown the nurse held for him. Nurses moved as if in patterns, knowing what they were about.

“Rodger! Rod-ger!” Adele cried out.

Rodger surveyed the room, allowing his gaze to lock with the eyes of the head nurse. He nodded briskly at her, then walked over and stood by the head of Adele’s bed, not daring to touch her. Her face was bathed in sweat and tears.

Rodger bent over her. “It’s all right, honey,” he soothed over and over.

“Goddamn it, Rodger! Adele swore, “It’s not all right!”

“What can I do?” He mopped her forehead with a towel given to him by a nurse. The head nurse, bowed over Adele’s draped legs, spoke calmly, evenly.

“You’re doing fine. The baby’s in a good position. Try to breathe with the pains and push only when I tell you.” She shot Rodger a hostile look. “You stay there.”

Adele focused on the head nurse and breathed jaggedly in and out, timing each breath to the pains. She no longer looked at Rodger. She pushed, exhaling a loud groan.

He suddenly felt stranded in this roomful of women. As he caught their reflections in the mirror above the table, he thought of the first time he met Adele.

To relieve some of the boredom during intermittent flights, Rodger would meet the RAF Bristol Bombay transport when it arrived and help the crew unload. The Sunday flight usually came in late afternoon, and there would be a party of sorts for the overnight crew with ample supplies of beer and hard liquor.

At the deafening sounds of the incoming plane, Rodger had gazed skyward and marveled at the monster’s dexterity as the four‑engine bomber came effortlessly gliding down for a perfect mid‑field landing. He saluted the unseen captain.

He had continued watching as the magnificent bird taxied into the revetment. Then, squinting hard, his breath had come more quickly as he became aware of the emerging backside of a woman from the cockpit; absolutely no way such curves could belong to a man! No, not one but two women—-the co‑pilot was a woman, too.

Rodger wiped Adele’s forehead again. “It’s going to be all right, honey. It’ll be over soon,” he consoled.

The irony of it! he thought. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with her as pilot of a transport. Or with any of the British Air Transport Auxiliary, or their women pilots trained to ferry transports and the like around the country. Women had no business operating machines and learning the technical skills it took to fly. While Rodger conceded they might be capable, they could hardly be reliable. Not that they could help being that way, simply because they were subject to hormones the way a man was not. Rodger found it foolish and dangerous to all concerned to have women in the air over enemy territory. She surely had proven him wrong. She had been rightly confident of herself and her crew, never losing a plane or any one of her crew.

“Rodger, the baby…,” Adele dug her fingers into his arm.

He gripped her hand, lacing his fingers into hers. At least she hadn’t outranked him.

Rodger smiled down at Adele. She eased her head back and sighed. “I’m glad I didn’t let you get away,” he whispered.

He had, at the last minute, invited her out to dinner. They had spent the better part of the night discussing airplanes. She really knew her stuff.

“Oh! The baby’s coming!” she cried out in pain, laughing at the same time.

Rodger tensed. A wave of nausea hit him.

“Oh, God, please!” he breathed. “Please don’t take this one from me.”

The room became deathly silent. Rodger’s head lightened for a moment. He exhaled. He turned and looked at the mirror. As the baby’s head became visible, he edged to the end of the table.

The bloody hands of the nurse grasped the baby’s head. She whispered to the nurse beside her. Rodger caught her last words: “….cord is around the neck. Clamp it!”

Rodger’s heart contracted. He stood elbow to elbow with the head nurse as she eased the tiny body out. It slid out, blood-streaked and blue.

Adele called to him, a note of alarm in her voice. “Is the baby all right?”

He couldn’t move. The ugly beast of terror rose in his chest, choking him. A nurse cut the umbilical cord, whisked the baby away to the far side of the room. Two white forms loomed over the baby, hands ministering it, blocking his view.

Rodger heard the head nurse softly talking to Adele. He shifted his body so that he could turn his head over his right shoulder and look from Adele to the nurse.

“You’ve got a baby girl. Now give me a big push for the placenta. That’s it,” she encouraged Adele. “It’s better this way, no anesthetics. You’ll recover faster.”

Adele’s face contorted. As she relaxed, her features softened as she beamed up at Rodger. Rodger drew a mask over his face, flattening out his fear. But he dared not trust his voice.

A petite woman stepped briskly up to the head nurse, one hand cupped under the baby’s head, the other beneath the tiny butt. The mouth moved, twisting like a newborn bird’s. Rodger gasped. His eyes suddenly filled with tears. He forced himself not to blink, until the stinging went away. He looked up into the boring eyes of the head nurse. And smiled. She held her gloved hands, oozing with strings of thick blood, in front of her, and pointed to Rodger with an elbow.

“Give the new father his baby daughter.”

Rodger opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. The nurse turned and thrust the baby into his arms.

He froze. Bloody mucus dripped onto his gown. Little arms and legs churned. Her face puckered. She squawked. The cries grew louder and louder, a crescendo in a room of smiling women.

“Oh, damn,” murmured Rodger.

Adele laughingly scolded him. “That’s no way to welcome your daughter, Rodger.”

With careful steps, he walked to Adele and placed the baby girl into her outstretched hands.
“Did you count her toes?”

Rodger numbly shook his head. Watching Adele as she cradled her baby, cooing to her, he thought the room began to undulate. He sucked in air, carefully releasing it. His body began to tingle and warm. He reached out to touch the wrinkled head of his baby.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Adele looked up, awed.

Rodger stroked the baby’s forehead. “Yes. Did you count her toes?”

Adele’s deep, throaty laughter pealed throughout the room.

A nurse swooped down and carried the baby off, talking over her shoulder. “I’ll bring her to you later, all cleaned up. My, isn’t she pretty!”

The head nurse brushed past Rodger. “You can come with me.”

Rodger followed her into a room where he, too, took off the gown, and snapped each glove from his hands. His pants were splattered with blood. He waited until the nurse was leaving before he spoke.
“Should I wait here, or come back later?”

The woman’s face cracked into a broad smile. “Come back at six. Give your wife a rest.”

“Hey! Thanks!” Rodger went to shake her hand, but overcome by a sudden shyness, dropped his arms to his side, then shrugged his shoulders. He heaved a sigh. “Doc Adams thought she might not be born alive.”

The nurse leaned close enough she could have kissed him on the cheek. “You’re welcome. Congratulations. She’s a healthy, little girl.”

Rodger walked to the car in a daze. He propped himself against the warm metal of the car door, crossed his arms over his chest, and just stood watching the traffic. He saw Ada, Kyle, and his mother getting out of the Chevy in the parking lot. He could talk to them later. He knew he had to get out of here unseen by family or he wouldn’t have another chance to be alone for a while. And he had something he had to say to his dad. He got into the car and, taking the side road, drove to the cemetery.

He sat for a long while in the car, staring at the walnut tree that shaded his father’s grave. He reached for his coat, heaped in the corner of the back seat, and fumbled in the pockets until he collected the boxes of medals. He laid them out on the front seat, fingering the outlines. Then he gathered them all, got out of the car to make his way to his father’s plot.

He knelt beside the soft, overturned dirt at the head of the grave, set aside the medals and dug into the moist earth with his hands. Deeper he dug, his tears streaming unchecked down his face. He dug, ignoring his shoulder afire with prickling pains. He scraped his finger and the blood ran and streaked the brown earth, but he dug, flinging the dirt to one side. He bored deeper. When the hole was deep enough, wide enough, he stopped. Sitting back upon his heels, he wiped his muddied hands upon his pants. He threw in the boxes of medals and clattering, they piled upon themselves. Then he pushed the dirt over and tamped it down.

It was done.

He stood up, running his sleeve across his face, drying the tears.

“Those belonged to you, Dad,” he said aloud.

Rooting for keys in his pocket, he pulled out the bead Mary Elizabeth had given him. He chewed on his lip, looking at it for a long time. He played it in circles in the palm of his hand, thinking of his newborn daughter. Perhaps he’d stop at the jewelry store and find a gold chain for the bead. He’d give it to his daughter on her twelfth birthday.

He put the bead safely back into his pocket then unlocked the trunk and dumped the clothes out of his knapsack. Mary Elizabeth’s doll flopped out onto the pile of clothing. Rodger scooped it up, slammed the trunk down, and walked back to the grave.

At the head of the grave he channeled the soft ground until he had a large hole. He held the doll with its smudged face and sightless eyes in the palm of his hand. Folding the limp arms across the midriff, he laid her down in the grave, packing the earth around her.

A birth for a death, he thought. It’s all a game of balance.

With deliberate steps, he walked back to the car and slid onto the hot seat then hurriedly cranked the window down for some air. He turned over the engine, welcoming the vibrations as the car moved ahead. He leaned out the window, searching the bright, sunlit sky, gave thumbs up, and shouted heavenward, “She made it!”

Then, putting on his sunglasses and edging the car forward, he whispered, “Thank God.”

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

The tires squealed as Rodger turned the corner into the cemetery. The sign on the opened gate read: hours: 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.

The weather had turned ungodly hot and humid. His own sweat made him itch and want to be anywhere else. He parked the car and loosened the top button of his shirt, then discarded the tie. He climbed out of the car, leaned against the door, and scanned the rows of grave sites, neat and orderly. As a boy, he had played hide and seek on summer nights amongst the tombstones and over the graves of long-dead relatives. Never had found any ghosts.

Rodger walked to the far side, to where Sam’s grave lay. A few flowers, blue forget‑me‑nots, dotted the site. Grass had begun to fill in the outline. He bowed his head, his mind a curious blank.

He tried to find reasons, tried to think that in the unknown mind of God there might be an answer. But it was all too much, all so little.

Rodger backed away and turned on his heel, reading each marker as he moved slowly eastward. He stopped beneath the boughs of a huge, sprawling trunk with peeling bark. Ada had said underneath the walnut tree. There it was, a fresh mound of dirt dotted with red and white carnations with no head stone yet. Beside the newly dug earth of his father’s grave, lay a grassy strip that would be his mother’s grave some day. He wondered if his mother had ever looked into his father’s eyes and fallen in love with him. Or maybe his father had felt like a schoolboy, too, once. Maybe. Could have been.
Rodger picked at his bandage, trying to ease the discomfort. He worked his fingers underneath the adhesive and worked loose the edges. He brushed away beads of perspiration on his lip, swatted at flies.

“Well, damn, Dad.” He focused on the spray of carnations at the top of the grave. He could see his dad’s face so clearly in his mind’s eye and felt some essence of his dad lingered.

“I remember you taking out your railroad watch every night at 9:15 to check the Night Express comin’ through. Every night.” Rodger played with a piece of tape between his fingers. “You’d get the most god‑awful longing on your face.” He flicked the sticky ball away. “I felt for you. Every goddamn night. I wish I could ask you if you did it for us, left the railroad for a safer life.”

Rodger watched a mockingbird dance along a branch of the walnut tree. He spat. The bird took flight.
“I’m going to be a father, but the baby might not live. I’ve had so many people I’ve cared about die that I thought I couldn’t care very much anymore. But I do.”

“The more I know, the less I know.” He backed a step away from the grave. “About you. Me.”
Rodger clenched his fists, staring fixedly at where the headstone should be.

“I can’t play it safe, not even for Adele.” He squatted down on his heels. “I gotta fly. That I know. And I’ll be damned if anyone will ever tell me I can’t.”

He stood as if to leave, but found he could not.

“It’s a rotten deal. You’re gone just as I had a chance to know who the hell you were.”

His throat tightened, aching as much as his shoulder. A bird’s shriek made him start. He searched the grounds until he spied the offending male calling for his mate.

“See, he just builds her a nest and stays for a little while. That’s the nature of the beast.”

Rodger unclenched his fists and focused on his palms.

“I never forgave you for not telling me what was important. I felt I walked along a dark road all alone. Big Red, Dee, and all my dreams up in smoke. You never said a word. You could have, you know. But,” he stared intently down at the ground in front of him, “it was better this way. The way I learned. My own way.”

He suddenly felt drained of all the bitterness and fatigue of the last weeks. He turned and walked back to the car. Sitting at the wheel, he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. With quick jerks, he stripped the tape off, burning his skin, then wadded the sullied and frayed tape into a huge ball and tossed it in the back seat of the car. He put his shirt back on, buttoned it, got out of the car and stood inside the door so that he could unzip his pants and tuck his shirt in properly. Finished, he tilted his head all the way back to look up into the tree, searching for movement.

There was no breeze to ruffle the leaves, only sunlight reflecting through the branches, throwing shadows and light. The glare of the sun made him blink. He strained his eyes to see the outlines of bark and leaf.

After a moment, he rested his chin on his chest and rotated his shoulders. He climbed back into the car and headed for Ada’s house.

He parked his mother’s car on the street between her house and Ada’s, then quietly shut the car door. Long strides brought him up the walk to the porch. He jumped from the bottom step onto Ada’s porch, just as he had always done as a kid. He opened the unlocked screen and, leaning against the door, held onto it as it swung him into the house.

“Ada! It’s Rodger!”

He heard Ada’s voice, soft and cajoling. Then he saw a kitten bounding down the hall. Spying him, the kitten sprang straight up in the air, then bounced over to him. Ada appeared in the doorway.
“Rodger! I thought I heard you!” She rushed across the room to hug him.

Rodger pointed to the black, fuzzy creature. “What is that?”

“You’ve never seen a kitten?” Ada asked innocently. “Meet The Kid.” She blushed. “He reminds me a lot of you.”

“I hate cats.” Rodger patted Ada’s cheek, then made a face at the kitten.

Ada swept up the kitten in her hand. The Kid turned and started biting and swatting at her fingers.
“Make yourself comfortable.”

Rodger sat down on the bluish-green sofa, bent over and unlaced his shoes, using first one foot, then the other to push off a shoe. He stretched out on the couch, covering his eyes with his right arm.

“I stopped by Dad’s grave.” He peeked between his arms to see the kitten claw at the lace doily over the fraying material of the green chair that Ada sat in next to him. “Sam’s, too.”

Ada restrained the kitten with both hands, putting him in her lap. She stroked his head and calmed him as she spoke.

“Most everybody in town showed up for your dad’s funeral. Fred Hewling closed his business for the day.”

Rodger could remember lying here listening to the radio as a kid. Sometimes, after he’d put out the garbage cans for Ada, they’d make popcorn, then sit on the couch and listen to The Shadow and munch handfuls of popcorn together. Many times they would say very little all night, just be with each other.

“Uncle Kyle told me about Dad. The Army. The medals.” He dropped his arm, but did not look at Ada, his gaze riveted on the ceiling. “Secrets. All these years.”

Ada watched him. She put the kitten down, shooing him away. “It wasn’t meant to be like that. Your father wanted you to make your own way, not try to live up to some glamorous image.”

“He was right. I didn’t have a glamorous image to live up to.”

“He gave you wings, Rodger. Don’t deny him that,” Ada shot back.

Rodger sat up. “I don’t know what you mean.” He rubbed his temples.

“John gave you your independence. Sam never would have let you near Lucy if it hadn’t been for your father.”

The words bit into him. Ada spoke calmly but with fierceness Rodger had never heard in her voice before. He didn’t like the change in her. He couldn’t argue with her.

“Rodger,” she softened, “don’t you understand? He loved you so much he wanted you to be the best, do the best, and have the best he could give you. Not be a reflection of him. He fought your mother over so many issues that concerned you and boxing and just about everything!” Ada suddenly angered. “And what right do you have to judge him?”

Taken aback, Rodger stammered, “I…don’t really. It’s just…that…I don’t understand.” He stared directly into Ada’s eyes. “Or maybe I do. Beginning to.”

Ada stood then moved to sit down next to Rodger, placing a hand on his. “I understand how you feel. I do. But somehow,” she hesitated, patting his hand absently, “we’ve got to bury our childhood. It becomes like a thin veil that stops us from seeing clearly.”

“I get your point. I’m trying to see through that veil.”

He sat up abruptly. “Dr. Adams thinks there may be complications.”

Ada shivered. With a catch in her voice, she asked, “What did he say?”

“Stillborn. Normal labor.” Rodger willed his headache away. “Adele doesn’t know.”

“It’s not a sure thing, Rodger. Dr. Adams couldn’t know for sure.”

“No, he said maybe.”

“Then we’ve got hope.”

“That’s about all, Ada.”

“No, Rodger.” She leaned close to him, touching his good shoulder. “I know it seems like you’ve lost a lot. You have.” She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But, with faith, we go on living. And there will be happy days for us. You. Adele. Me.” She gestured to the house next door. “All of us.”

A moment of strained silence hung over them. Rodger went to the radio and turned it on. The announcer blared, “A train wreck, southside of Chicago, just a mile out of the Williams Station, derailed. Several people injured. Doctors from surrounding areas called to aid the victims, many women, children and soldiers.”

Ada frowned, clucking in dismay. “That’ll put our hospital staff short. And already, with the younger ones enlisted, there is only the nursing staff to handle all of it. Luckily,” Ada sighed, “our town has very few crises.”

Rodger sat again on the couch, looking sharply at Ada’s face. So many changes in her, yet, really, she remained much the same. Except for moving a little slower, Rodger thought, she hadn’t changed.
With an annoyed wave at the radio, Rodger snipped, “The train wreck will be the talk of the town. Every little thing is something to sit and discuss for hours.”

“I can imagine it’s not what you’re used to.” Ada got up and turned the radio off.

Rodger swiveled to look out the window. “Saw a lot of dying, Ada. It’s part of the job. Every day counts.”

The front door to his mother’s house suddenly opened and out rocketed Rachel, headed straight for Ada’s house. Breathless, she charged into the living room, passed Ada at the door, and stood before Rodger. Rodger braced himself, ordering his thoughts as Rachel gasped and heaved out unintelligible words. The kitten hid beneath a chair, mewing. Rodger sneered at it, wanting it to go away.

Rachel waved frantically at the house. “The hospital!”

Rodger nodded, perplexed. “Yeah, we heard it on the radio.”

Ada spoke, her voice low and reassuring. “It’s all right, honey. There will be doctors and nurses to take care of the people.”

Rachel scowled at them, shaking her head and gasping, “Come on…Adele.”

Rodger gently held Rachel by the shoulders. “Adele? In labor?”

Rachel nodded.

Ada muttered, “Oh, my God,” as she hurried out the door.

Rodger hugged Rachel quickly. “Don’t be scared, Tagalong. Everything’s going to be all right.” He squatted and gathered his shoes, sitting on the edge of the couch to hurriedly put them on. He stood and held his hand out to Rachel.

“Let’s go see what’s happening.”

She latched onto to his hand, looking up with frightened eyes. Rodger guided her out the door with the kitten following.

“Stay here,” he ordered, kicking at it.

Rodger fished in his pants pocket for the keys to his mother’s car. Ada and Kyle were struggling with Adele down the steps. Rodger hurried to move the car from the curbside to the driveway. Leaving the engine running, he scooted across the seat and flung the door open. Kyle lowered Adele into the seat, into Rodger’s hands. She groaned.

“How far apart are the pains?” Rodger looked at his watch.

“Four, five minutes.”

Kyle poked his head inside. “I can drive.”

“No, thanks,” Rodger slid back to the steering wheel, releasing the brake. “I’ll get us there.” Kyle gave a sharp wave of his hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rodger studied Adele’s face. Sweat trickled down her forehead and temples. Her eyes were screwed shut, her nose puckered, and her lips stretched taut against her white teeth.

Rodger let go of the steering wheel with his right hand, to give a reassuring pat to Adele’s arm.
“Hang on, kid, we’ll be there in a jiff.”

“Rodger … I … can’t,” Adele cried out.

“Yes, you can.” Rodger swerved to miss a careless dog. He ran a stop sign. “Look! There’s the hospital!”

Adele whimpered. Once again, her swollen body lurched and shuddered. Her damp dress clung to her. Raindrops of sweat dripped from the ends of her hair.

“Wait here!”

Rodger sprinted to the front doors of the hospital. Nurses and orderlies crisscrossed the halls. Rodger grabbed a nurse by the arm.

“My wife’s having a baby!” He jabbed at the air, toward the car behind him, as she pushed away from him.

Irritated, the nurse pointed to the desk. “The receptionist will help you.”

Rodger rushed to the desk. “My wife! She’s having a baby!”

“Last name?” The woman pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing.

“Brown. Listen, she’s in the car and—”

“Address?”

Rodger slammed his fist down. “Goddamn it! She’s having the baby in the car!”

The woman looked up in alarm, throwing her hands up. The pen she had been writing with arced across Rodger’s nose as she sprang to her feet.

“Wheelchair!” she barked.

Feet scurried. An orderly whizzed past. Rodger, on the run to the car, was unexpectedly joined by two more people.

Hands, swift and efficient, lifted Adele from the front seat and into the wheelchair. She panted and moaned, her body heaving in great spasms. Rodger watched helplessly as they wheeled her through the doors and down the long corridor to the delivery room. He dashed to catch up to Adele, turning to face her as he danced on his toes in a backward shuffle until they came to a stop before the delivery room doors.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

“Did you talk with your mother?” she murmured. Aunt Carrie dipped her shoulder, turning slightly to look pointedly at Rodger, ignoring Adele.

“Yeah.” Adele entwined her hand with his. “She’s glad to have me home.”

Adele stared hard at him, pinching his hand. “You have such charm, sometimes.”

“Always.” He winked at her.

Madeline glided to the couch and dropped the four small boxes into Rodger’s lap. Then she went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a brandy.

Carrie stopped in mid‑sentence. Kyle nodded and smiled at Madeline and walked over to her. He clinked Madeline’s glass, and Adele cupped her hand around Rodger’s glass as he held it up.

“A toast to the homecoming.”

Carrie pointed to the boxes. Rodger ignored her and scooped them into his hand. Adele nudged him gently. “We must be off. Rodger hasn’t seen our new house yet and I have an early doctor’s appointment.”

Rodger dropped the boxes with the medals into a pocket as Adele helped him into his coat. Then he went to Kyle and thrust out his hand. “Buy you a beer tomorrow night.”

Releasing Rodger’s hand, Kyle downed the last of his drink. “Looking forward to it, son.”

Rodger strode over to Madeline and draped an arm around her shoulders.

“We’ll stop by sometime tomorrow.” He hesitated, then kissed her cheek. “And thanks, Mother.”

Madeline’s shoulders sagged; she said nothing, giving him a sad, half-smile.

Carrie elbowed Adele out of the way. Rodger noticed how broad the older woman’s back was, the flowered print dress with the rolls of fat bulging like sausages. Even Aunt Carrie’s shoes splayed out from fat feet. In contrast, Adele in her straining maternity top still seemed lithe and tall, simply an adjusted version of her former self.

Aunt Carrie gripped Rodger’s arm. “I do hope we’ll have a chance to talk tomorrow.”

“Certainly.” Rodger gave her a brisk nod. Laying his hand under Adele’s arm, he escorted her out the door.

“She is such a bitch,” muttered Adele. “Carrie’s done nothing but harp about all the things that weren’t done right by your father.”

“Well, as long as I’m here, the heat’s off you.” Rodger slowed his step to accommodate his wife. “We’ve other things to think about.”

Adele entwined her arm though his and crooned softly,
When I look into your eyes,
I see my world anew,
When I look into your eyes
I fall in love with you.
Words will take us back
To that night I looked into your eyes
And fell in love with you.
Speechless, Rodger stopped and, pressing his face close to hers, looked at Adele for a moment before he could stammer, “Did you compose that? For me?”

“Well,” she blushed and tugged on his arm, taking a step, “yes.”

He felt like a schoolboy with his first love, shy and so much in love that he feared he might do or say something stupid and ruin it. He hugged Adele to him, matching his steps to hers.

Adele gasped. “Oh!”

Rodger pulled up in alarm.

She panted. “Just a stitch. It’s not labor.”

“Maybe I should take the car tonight.”

“No, no, it’s only another block home. You can get it in the morning.”

Rodger felt awkward around this woman at once familiar yet transformed. Still, a wave of tenderness for her washed over him as they strolled along, holding hands, up to the gate of their house. He felt in love with her all over again as she unlocked their front door and walked about the house.

“Nice job on the house.” He walked from room to room. “I like it.”

“Ada helped me.” Adele grabbed him by the hand and pulled him along the hallway into the bedroom. “I guess I should say, a lot of people helped.”

“I’m glad you and Ada are good friends. I knew you would be.” Rodger smiled as Adele stripped him of his coat, shirt, then unbuckled his pants. He kissed her neck. “Just remember I’m not used to sleeping with anyone, so I may hog the whole bed.”

“We’ll hog each other,” Adele kissed and bit his neck, then gave him a shove onto the bed. She climbed in beside him.

After a tense and serious moment of trying to find each other over Adele’s bulk, they burst into laughter. Adele purred as Rodger stroked and explored her new form. She came to him. He relished her loving hands over his body, her kisses deep and binding. He let himself fall into her, and she into him. And between them, the baby. Their baby.

As Adele’s breathing became more rhythmic, Rodger eased his hand out of her fist. So many ways to love. So many different loves. Adele sighed. Rodger scrunched the pillow beneath his head and lay thinking of his father most of the night.

Shafts of morning light filtered through the blinds. When Rodger woke with a start to the banging of pots and pans, it had to mean Adele was up and about.

Rodger sprang out of bed, only to be cut short by painful stiffness in his shoulder. He massaged his neck on his way into the sunny, small kitchen.

“Aren’t you the busy one! Adele, it’s only six in the morning! Are you all right?”

“Yes, it just takes me so long to do anything. If you are to have any breakfast, I have to start early.”
Rodger groaned inwardly. Breakfast, ugh.

“Wonderful.” Stacked pancakes, afloat in butter, with a pitcher of syrup beside his plate, awaited him. He sat down before them and pushed his fork in the middle. “What time do you have to be there?” He swallowed whole, unchewed bites.

“Nine.” Adele sipped on orange juice. “First patient of the day.”

“I’d better get on over to Mother’s for the car.” He bolted from the table, pushing the plate with half‑eaten food onto the kitchen counter. He shaved, wrestled the toothbrush and powder, washed and dressed in a clean uniform.

“Adele! Could you help me tie my shoes?”

She waddled in the bedroom and he regretted asking. He lay back on the bed and stuck his foot in the air, nose level, making Adele giggle as she grabbed his foot.

“You’re rather vulnerable, my dear man.”

“You better not play with me, woman, or we’ll miss your appointment.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and plopped onto the bed, cradling his foot, tying the shoelaces. She motioned for his other foot.

“There, now go and let me finish getting ready myself.” She leaned over and kissed him fully on the mouth before pushing him out into the hallway.

He stopped at the front door. “Maybe I’ll ask Ada to borrow her Chevy.”

“No, Rodger. Your mother is counting on you to use hers.” Adele popped her head around the corner of the hall door; her tone was firm and unyielding. “Don’t make it a contest between them to see which one you’ll choose. It wouldn’t be fair to either your mother or Ada.”

Rodger sprinted the two and a half blocks to his mother’s house. He let himself inside and listened for anyone about but found no one up yet. He quickly found the keys hanging in their old spot next to the back door and scooped them up, hurrying out to the garage where his knapsack rested against the door. He grunted as he grabbed the handle of the garage door and swung it up. He pitched his knapsack into the trunk, then jumped into the driver’s seat, gunned the engine and backed the car out, leaving it idling while he dropped the garage door back down. He zipped along, enjoying the feel of being behind the wheel. He parked and waited beside the front door for Adele.

“Allow me.”

He offered his arm and hustled her to the car, seated her and got inside, rapping his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel while she nestled into the seat. He almost forgot about her as he accelerated along the main street.

“Don’t speed, honey. We’re there,” Adele pointed to the white wooden older house converted into a professional office, with the bold, black-lettered “Dr. Adams, General Practitioner” across the front of the door.

Everything took so much time. Rodger found himself wanting to shove Adele in and out of the car, through doors, into the doctor’s office. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting in the waiting room. Nice office, though with comfortable wooden chairs lined neatly against the wall across from the receptionist. Not much to look at there. He twisted his chair to look out the window and stared at Old Man Jenkins’ place, trapped in childhood memories.

Down this street, to the corner of Main and Melrose, he had gotten into his first childhood fight at eleven years old on a hot, sunny August morning. He had been walking with his dad to the Longhorn Bank, trying to tell him about what his mother had done to him, making him wear a diaper the whole day.

“Son, we’ll talk about this after work, I promise. I have to open the tellers’ boxes.”

“Oh, sure dad,” Rodger had said with a shrug and waved his dad good-bye.

He had raced back to the corner of the street where his gang would be. He’d suggest they all go fishing.

Two bigger boys were standing by his best friend Tommy. Three other friends stood apart, glancing up and down the sidewalk, waiting for Rodger.

Even now, remembering, Rodger’s neck muscles tensed. No one had smiled. As Rodger came closer, he made out the faces of the two twelve-year-olds, Mike and Bobby. They turned to face him.

“Where’s your diaper today, little baby?”

Rodger looked at Tommy, wanting his best friend to move out of the circle. But Tommy didn’t move. He didn’t look at Rodger either.

“We don’t want babies slowing us down. So run along home, sonny, and play in your play pen.” Mike and Bobby laughed. The taller one, Mike, pretended to cradle a baby in his arms. He pantomimed throwing the imaginary child up in the air and then catching it. On the third toss, he let it fall.

“Say, Rodger, could we borrow your diaper to clean up this mess?”

His body had turned to lead. He couldn’t move. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and feel his palms sweat. At least Tommy hadn’t laughed.

The other three were wide‑eyed, with stupid grins across their faces. So much for friendship.

“Say Rodger, do you get a bottle or something better?” At this, Mike pantomimed unbuttoning a blouse and pulling out a breast.

Bobby pursed his lips, cooing loudly, “Momma, momma, hummm, good.”

The thought of being smothered in his mother’s arms infuriated him. He could see her as she squashed his baby sister against her. His face flushed in mad‑red splotches. Heat burned through his body, dissolving the numbness.

Before Mike could say anything more, Rodger jumped at him, swinging his arm wide. He missed Mike’s face, but hit him on the shoulder. Unprepared for a fight, Mike took the second punch square in the stomach. Bobby didn’t move. When Rodger went for him, he turned his shoulder, butting Rodger off balance. Then Bobby clobbered Rodger with his right fist.

Rodger thudded on the sidewalk, scraping his elbow. Mike stepped toward him, but Rodger rolled out of the way of a kick. He sprang up and went for Mike, but Bobby shoved him in mid‑flight, sending him sprawling again on the concrete. As he got to his feet, knuckles mashed into his nose. The pain splayed outward, washing his eyes in greens and reds.

Whoosh! came a fist into his stomach. He recovered enough to shield his face from the onslaught of rock‑hard hands. Then he lowered his head and rammed blindly into one of them, grabbing him about the waist. Together they landed on the ground, holding desperately to one another, rolling over and over, each pushing and clawing at the other to gain the advantage. Rodger jabbed his elbow hard into flesh before being pulled off and kicked in the side.

Winded and unable to move, he figured he had had it then and lay waiting for more painful blows. But none came. A strange voice drifted around his aching head. He turned over and squinted up to see the face of Mr. Jenkins.

Mike jerked his arm free of the old man, glowering at Rodger. “I’ll take care of you another day, little baby.” Mike backed away, scowling as Bobby turned and crossed the street.

The doctor’s office began to fill with mothers and small children. One little boy, fast on his feet, darted about the room, flinging magazines on the floor. His mother corralled him, yanking him by the arm into a seat.

“Sit right there, young man,” she commanded, handing him an opened picture book and pointing. “Here, why don’t you look at this? See the pretty pictures?”

The fidgeting youngster shook his head and sprung the pin on his diaper.

“No want.”

His mother slapped his hand, making him howl.

Rodger turned away from them and searched for the vacant lot he remembered as a kid. A house with a big, green front lawn stood there, now. It hadn’t been like that the day of the fight.

Rodger had eased himself up onto his feet, brushing vainly at the dirt‑clotted blood on his knees.
“Rodger Brown! You could git yourself killed by such foolish acts.” The old man peered steadily at Rodger. “You better learn to box before you take on someone twice your size. You git yourself on home and let your mother tend you.”

“I’m all right.”

The blood still dribbled from his nose, tasting salty on his lips. His body tingled and stung all over.
Retreating into his house, the old man shooed them away, “You boys git along home now.”

Rodger stood against the others, staring them down.

Tommy finally blinked. He moved from one foot to the other. “Uh, do you still wanna go see Tom Mix in Galloping Herds today?”

“After lunch. Meet me back here at one.”

The others stirred, yet would not go. Tommy moved closer to Rodger. “You better do something about your nose. It’s still bleeding, Rodg.”

Rodger wiped his hand across his mouth, shaken by the streak of bright red blood. He felt sick. He couldn’t go home like this. His mother would get hysterical. His pants were ruined. She’d hate the mess.

Rodger walked over to a vacant lot, where a worn-out, abandoned shack still stood. He went around back, where once a porch had been, sat heavily against a broken step, and picked at his elbow. His nose throbbed, and he winced as he scraped at the encrusted blood. He played his finger in the trickling wetness of his own blood. His left eye twitched spasmodically.

He sat a while, absently watching the passing clouds, chasing one another across the sky. Even though he ached all over and was sure to be in a mess of trouble, he was proud of himself.

Miss Ada. That was it! She’d been swell about having him spend the night with her, and giving him the underwear. Rodger could still imagine the diaper lying upon the navy and red striped bedspread of Ada’s extra bedroom. It had been her son’s bedroom.

Funny, she didn’t seem like a lady that once had a kid. She certainly wasn’t like his mother. Miss Ada would never make an eleven-year-old kid wear a diaper. Bloodied and bruised, he’d gone to Ada’s house. Ada hadn’t winced at the sight of him. She’d cleansed the wounds and mended his pants. He had loved her more that day than anyone else, ever.

“Mrs. Berkeley, you and James can see the doctor now,” the nurse called, snagging Rodger from his reverie. He laughed softly, causing the receptionist to look up at him. He arched his eyebrows, wiggling them until the wizened old lady looked down again at her books, and his thoughts returned to the most unforgettable days of his life.

He had met Big Red the next day after having met Ada.

At lunch time he’d gone and waited by the back door of the bank for his father to leave. First thing his dad had said was, “Are you in trouble with your mother?”

He had explained in detail about the fight with Mike and Bobby because of the diaper. He mentioned how Miss Ada had helped him.

“You mean to tell me your mother put a diaper on you and made you play outside?” Although his father had looked steadily at him, his mouth was set in a way that let anyone know not to fool with him. Rodger watched him as he tapped his teeth with his right index finger; it always meant his dad would come up with a really good solution.

“That diaper might be a blessing in disguise, son. Come along, I’ll introduce you to a good friend of mine.”

And what a good friend Big Red had turned out to be. Seven years of training and boxing. Made him into a Golden Gloves champion. If only there was a way to get in touch with Big Red, tell him about Adele, the baby, and his Army career.

Rodger jingled the change in his pocket then found the ivory bead that Mary Elizabeth had given him. He played with it. He checked his watch again. What could possibly take Adele so long? Rodger picked up a magazine and thumbed through it, not settling on any one article.

The little boy whizzed around in a circle, touching every chair as he passed. He stopped before Rodger, smiling. Rodger tried to ignore him. Other mothers in the room regarded the child with tolerant smiles. The little boy laid his hand softly on Rodger’s knee. The boy’s mother jumped up.

“Don’t bother the man, Nathan.” She jerked at his arm. “Sorry, but all he has ever seen is a picture of his father in uniform.”

Rodger nodded and surveyed the room. The doctor’s office reminded him of his elementary school classrooms. Cramped. Never enough chairs for everyone.

He snapped his gum. The receptionist scowled at him.

Adele appeared at the doorway, Dr. Adams behind her.

Doc Adams still looked the same. Rodger remembered him from the days he had been ringside and had laid a few heavy bets on a smoker or two. Rodger had made him some money.

Adele plodded out to the chair next to his and sat.

“Your turn. The ‘new father’ lecture.”

“Do I —?”

“Yes. The sooner done, sooner over.” She gestured to the door.

As Rodger went into the door, he collided with little Nathan. He stopped, put his hand on the child’s head, and pushed him away.

“You’d be a great boxer some day, kid. Use all that energy up.”

The little boy did not make a sound, just stood and watched him. He was fiddling with the pin on the other side of his diaper and popped that one. The diaper dangled. Rodger laughed, turning into the doctor’s office.

The doctor, a small man with a face straight out of a leather‑bound text book, sat hunched over papers at his desk.

“Sit down, Rodger.” His eyebrows shot up in approval. “Colonel Brown.” He waited. “Do any boxing in the Army?”

Rodger crossed his arms. “Some. Mostly against Navy. Won a few, lost a few.”

Framed degrees littered the wall. Mahogany paneling made the room dark like a dungeon. A headless, grotesque mannequin, sliced through the stomach to reveal a fetus nestled in the womb, squatted on top of a mountain of ragged‑edged journals.

The doctor pushed aside his papers and leaned back in his chair. “There may be complications with Mrs. Brown’s pregnancy. I can’t find a heartbeat.” He raised his hand. “It may not mean anything. Or, it may mean the baby’s stillborn.” His lined face hardened. “Mrs. Brown will go into a normal labor. Best not to say anything to her.”

“What the hell!” Rodger sat on the edge of the chair. “You mean the baby could be dead?”

“Could be. I don’t know for sure.”

“And she doesn’t know it?” Rodger pointed behind him. His stomach roiled.

“No. And there’s no reason for her to know. Yet.” The doctor laced his fingers in front of him. “Colonel, there are some things that only God knows for sure.”

“Is Adele going to be all right? Or does only God know that, too?”

“There’s no need to get belligerent, Rodger. Your wife should be all right. There’s no good explanation why these things happen; sometimes they just do.”

Rodger clenched and unclenched his fists. “That’s it? That’s all you can say?” He jumped to his feet. “That’s a hell of a note, Doctor. In other words, we play it as it comes.”

“Exactly. I would hope you would be with her at all times. Except during the delivery.”

“I should be with her then.”

“Not done, Colonel.”

Rodger hissed. “Make me an exception to the rule.”

The doctor shook his head. “Hospital regulations. You understand.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Rodger just caught the door from slamming on his way out deciding not to antagonize the old man.

Adele’s beatific smile as she gazed on a mother holding a sleeping infant transfixed Rodger until she saw him.

“Were you appropriately new-fatherish for Dr. Adams?”

He helped her up. “I’m the best new father in town. Just ask him.” He guided her into the front seat of the car. “I’m going to drop you off at Mother’s for a while. I want to go to the cemetery.”

“I could be with you.”

“I need to be alone.”

He felt all of the unspoken love between them as they drove up to his mother’s house. Adele squeezed his arm. “I’ll be nice to your aunt. I hope I can have some time with Kyle.”

“He’ll arrange it.” Rodger opened the gate for her.

“I can manage it from here.” She threw out her chest, making herself even larger. “I’m invincible!”

As he drove off, he thought of Adele. Strong enough to take on the live ones. He gripped the steering wheel until his hands hurt.

He’d take on the dead ones.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

It had been a long week without any letters here at Tripler Hospital in Honolulu. He had to admit he had mixed feelings about going home on a medical leave; it meant time with Adele, but his airmen needed him back, too. He took a copy of Tarzan and the Ant Men by Edgar Rice Burroughs from his duffel bag and left the confines of his hospital room, making a beeline down the hall for the exit to the front lawn outside the gaudy pink building. He flicked his last cigarette butt and watched it skid along the concrete as he yanked out a lawn chair, put on his sunglasses, and sat, his mind a blank.

He reached in his shirt pocket for the letter from Adele about his father’s death. He tried to find any thread of feeling, but he felt none. Not yet, anyway. Images of Mary Elizabeth, Sam, LinChing and Sister Mary scrolled through his thoughts, but he dismissed them all. Fleetingly, he wondered if he would ever feel anything anymore. Every day he sat in the sunshine here, reading or doing nothing. Another week of this and he’d start flapping his arms to get himself home. His wound itched. He flexed his muscles and wiggled his arm. All around him nurses hurried by.

“Not disturbing you, Lt. Colonel, am I?” boomed a distinctive voice.

Rodger turned his head to see Kyle. His hand shot out and met the other hand in a solid grip.
“Good to see you again, Uncle Kyle.”

“Yes, you, too. Congratulations on your promotion and medals. Pretty soon, you’ll have more than your old man.” He released Rodger’s hand.

The noise of an outgoing transport drowned out Kyle’s words and Rodger nodded as if he had heard him, although he had missed part of what his uncle had said.

“Well, so you’re a fan of Burroughs?” Kyle gestured to the book. “He lives here in Honolulu. At hotel Niumalu. Major in the Business Men’s Military Training Corps. Has a son stationed at Hickham. The man is the oldest war correspondent in military history.”

Rodger flipped the book over to expose the cover. “I’ve read every one of his Tarzan series. This one’s the best.” He half-smiled. “Even the hundredth time.”

“You’re looking healthy.”

“I’m in the pink, so to say,” he rolled his eyes and waggled his fingers at the hospital buildings.
“There are two stories about that coral color. General Richardson liked the Royal Hawaiian Hotel in Waikiki so much he designed this complex after it. The other is Colonel Wood looked out at the red dirt of Moanalua Ridge and told the architect that the color better be as close to dirt as possible because that’s what it would look like when they got through building. Personally,” Kyle scanned the landscape, “I think it’s charming.”

“As charming as a hospital can be, Uncle Kyle.” Rodger shrugged.

“What do you say to a beer?”

“Swell.” Rodger ran his fingers through his newly cut hair, aware that they sat exposed to a bevy of white uniformed personnel. Kyle was a man of many resources, though.

“A man might die of thirst around here,” Rodger said with a regretful shake of the head. “All they have is juice or water.”

“Go pack. I sprung you.”

Rodger jumped to his feet, stabbing the air with a thumbs-up. “I’ll meet you out front.”

An orderly brought him his belongings, and then stood by solicitously. Rodger inched his bandaged shoulder into his coat, dismissing the orderly. “Thanks, I don’t need any help.”

The man hesitated. Rodger paused, his hand on the strap of his bag, and stared unblinking at the man. The orderly backed out of the room. Rodger hefted the bag onto his shoulder, his gaze sweeping the hospital grounds through a closed window.

He walked to the end of the hall and cracked the door. He poked his head through the opening and waved to the men side by side in beds lining the walls. The last bed on the north wall had been stripped of its sheets.

“Hey, guys, it’s been swell! Hate to take all the poker winnings, but you know how it is! See ya later.”

Several men called after him, wishing him luck.

Rodger stopped a nurse rounding the corner. “What happened to Lt. Green?”

The nurse shrugged as she jammed her hands into the front pockets of her uniform.

“Sorry, Major. I don’t know.”

Rodger’s jaw tightened. “You know, goddamn it, you know. I know.” He spun on his heel, then looked over his shoulder. “And it’s Lt. Colonel Brown.” He stormed out the front door to the parking lot where his uncle sat mindlessly tapping the steering wheel.

Rodger slung his duffel bag in the back of the jeep. Kyle recoiled from Rodger as he thudded into his seat.

“What’s got you so riled up?”

“Why the hell can’t I get an honest answer from anyone around here?”

Kyle laid a restraining hand on Rodger’s shoulder. “Every place has its own rules, Rodger. You can’t always buck the system.”

“How much does it cost to give an honest answer?”

“Sometimes your life.”

Rodger grunted. “Where are we going? Know any good bars?”

“To my place. We’re under martial law, curfews and blackouts, island currency. Shortages of nearly everything. Even Sears is out of pins and thumb tacks.” Kyle, in an uncharacteristic agitated gesture, waved at the barracks along the Palm Circle Drive. “Turning those into offices; the biggest one is the US Army Forces. Should’ve seen this place after it was strafed. Palm trees shattered. Unbelievable. Look at it now, beautified.”

Rodger mentally chided himself for his oversight. He just felt so comfortable in wartime conditions.
Kyle shifted gears, slowing to show his pass and return the salute from the guard on duty as he eased through the gate. “But I can give you a good, cold beer.”

“God, I’m thirsty.”

They parked and walked to his quarters. It might have been a vacation bungalow but for the blacked out windows and gas mask on top of a table by the entrance.

“You’re lookin’ down in the mouth, son.” Kyle propped the ice box door open and extracted two bottles of beer, handing one to Rodger. “Not that I blame you. Sorry about your dad.” Kyle raised his bottle and Rodger did likewise. “Glad to have you with me.”

“Thanks.” He clinked bottles. “Here’s to us.”

Like his wound, questions itched to be scratched. His uncle had always been forthright, and Rodger felt he could freely speak his mind. “You and he were good friends, weren’t you?” The first sip exploded deliciously in his mouth and he leisurely let the cooling liquid slide down his throat.

“From day one. Knew your dad when he was an engineman with Burlington and when he became a sergeant in the Army.”

“My dad?” Rodger choked on a swallow of beer. “World War I?”

Kyle frowned. “Didn’t you know? Hell, he got four medals.”

“I’ll be damned!” Rodger boomed. He eyed his uncle.

Kyle ticked off four fingers. “Good conduct, expert horseman, expert marksmanship, and the silver star.”

“What’d he get the silver star for?” Rodger drank more beer, savoring this moment of satisfaction before his bitterness returned.

“He pulled his squad leader and two other guys to safety. Don’t know all that much about it, just what I’ve learned from Fred Hewling. Your Dad wasn’t much of a talker, especially about himself.”

“Fred Hewling?” Rodger had always thought of Fred as his dad’s best friend. “Grew up with his kids.” Rodger traced a bead of water down the bottle with his finger. “A hero. My father the hero.” Rodger snorted. “And I thought he was hen-pecked.”

Kyle scratched his ear. “Son, there are three kinds of heroes.” He tapped his bottle in time with his words. “Quiet. Showy. Scared.” He swigged his beer. “The showy ones gotta tell all, be all. The first ones to volunteer. That sort.” He paused. “The scared, most of us intelligent men,” he raised his glass in a salute, “are forced to act honorably.” Kyle looked squarely at Rodger. “Your father was the quiet kind. Did what had to be done and went about his business.”

“So why he’d never tell me about his days of glory?” Rodger threw his hand up in the air. “No, let me guess. A married man is not a hero, away from his family, fighting a war.”

“Listen, Rodger, Madeline didn’t want your father to be a military man. We were always uprooted and moved from one end of the country to the other. She figured the kind of life she had as a kid wasn’t what she wanted for her own children. She only wanted what was the best for all of you. Don’t be too hard on her, son. She means well.”

“She’s vain and witless.”

“No, Rodger, Madeline is not stupid. I can understand your resentment; sometimes I wondered myself what the hell she was thinking raising you, but your mother is not stupid. Vain, maybe.” He tipped his bottle and drank with a smile.

“Dad should have married a woman like Ada.” Rodger watched Kyle. He detected a hint of embarrassment in the old man. He wondered if Ada would ever say anything to him about Kyle. “But I guess it’s better in some ways he didn’t.”

Kyle cleared his throat. “There aren’t many women around like Adele, either. I think you’ve got yourself one hell of a wife, Rodger.”

“Yeah. She’s all right. We’re good friends to boot. And she knows planes.” Rodger grinned. “She’s like a wool sweater. Warm but itchy and you always know you’ve got it on.”

Kyle slapped his beer bottle down. “You…um…might take in consideration…ah…Adele being nine months. I remember when your Aunt Louise was pregnant and…”

“You didn’t get any?” Rodger quipped.

“You understand.”

Rodger couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Yeah.” He didn’t mention how forthright Adele could be, especially in her letters. “I know what to expect.”

Kyle feigned a yawn. “God, I hate this early morning business at Pearl Harbor. We’re still investigating the bombing. Though,” Kyle rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, “it had to have happened.”

“Did you know about it beforehand?” Rodger hoped to get an honest answer from his uncle, though he did not expect one from the Army intelligence officer.

Kyle stood up, scraping his chair on the linoleum. “We better get some shut‑eye. You can go with me in the morning to Pearl.”

“All right. I’d like to take a look at the planes.” Rodger worked his shoulder and moaned. Kyle pointed to the bedroom, but Rodger indicated the couch with a stab of his thumb. “Much easier to brace myself against the back. You go ahead.”

Kyle threw down a sheet and blanket, then plumped a pillow, causing Rodger to laugh aloud as he came out of the bathroom. “Thanks, Uncle Kyle. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

Early the next morning, Kyle woke him at 5:30. “Hey, son, up and at ’em. Have some coffee and breakfast. I’ve got some business and I’ll be back in an hour.”

Stiffly, Rodger eased himself up and shook off sleep.

“Best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

“Good, good,” Kyle replied, on his way out the door.

Rodger stretched, then eased himself up to his feet. He had never been big on breakfast. He buttered a piece of toast, and poured himself coffee, eating over the sink. He yawned, stretching until the pain pulling at his shoulder made him stop. O-six hundred and already sweat trickled down his neck. His wound twitched.

He gulped down the coffee and went in the bathroom. His movements were so damned restricted by the bandages, and everything took so long. He pulled at his whiskered cheek and closed his eyes to imagine being home. With Adele. His temples pulsated and the images wavered. He forced the air from his lungs and opened his eyes. With a wry smile at his reflection, he began to shave.

When Kyle returned, he found Rodger sitting on the couch, resting his arm on the pillows and folded blankets.

Kyle waved at the door. “All right. Let’s go.”

It might have been any Army base. The buildings had been patched, the green lawns mowed and manicured, the streets paved and kept clean. Then the harbor came into sight, where the Missouri lay crippled on her side. The thought of the dead and wounded hit him with an unexpected blow.

Kyle drove to the staff building and parked in a reserved spot. He pointed across the lawn to a huge metal building. “You’re cleared to go over there. I’ll get you when I’m done.”

Rodger hopped out of the jeep and walked the short distance to the hangar. He strolled down the line. Tiger Moths. Trainers. The replacements. But the thought that fewer than eighty of the original 231 planes had been left saddened him. He searched the skies, alert for sounds. Nothing. He thought of his own men flying their daily missions and willed them home. Safely.

“Rodger! All done,” Kyle’s voice floated across the yard.

They drove back to Kyle’s quarters and packed for the trip home the next day. Rodger put Mary Elizabeth’s doll at the bottom of his knapsack then piled his other clothes on top of it. He frequently checked his pocket for the ivory bead, surreptitiously pulling it out and examining it when he was sure not to be seen. He pushed aside her memory and thought of Adele.

His hands ached to touch her again, to bury himself in the warmth of her love. And she would understand so much without explanations.

He smiled to himself. Ada would be happy to see him, too. He’d have time to sit and talk with her like before.

Kyle plopped his solid body into a chair. “It’s not going to be happy times back home, Rodger. But,” he reached for a cigar, “God seems to have a way of balancing life, doesn’t He?”

“A birth for a death?” Rodger blew out a short laugh. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” He accepted a cigar and light. “Another funny thing—I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Hope for a son.” Kyle screwed up his face. “Girls are sweet when they’re little, but…”

Rodger chuckled and tapped Kyle on the shoulder in mock seriousness. “Carrie and Madeline will be overjoyed to see us. Aren’t you looking forward to a reunion with your sisters?”

“Hmph! More like a firing squad.” Kyle puffed his cheeks and blew out smoke rings. “Everything’s my fault. Always has been.”

Rodger stood up. “Might as well fortify ourselves then. Last meal and all that.”

“Right you are, old boy.” Kyle pulled two beers from the icebox and a left-over ham that he sliced neatly and put onto a plate before Rodger. They drank more than they ate, and spoke in monosyllables the next morning as they gathered belongings to leave.

Hung‑over on the next day’s flight, time stretched mercilessly as the C‑47 transport’s engines droned on and on. Rodger would have liked to ask questions of the pilot and crew about this new Skytrain R4D, but during the long flight home, he never quite had the energy to swim out of his lethargy.

Neither he nor Kyle spoke much until they landed in San Francisco. They hustled their gear, pulling rank to get through the lines. Finally, after what seemed hours and endless repetitions of filling out forms, they boarded a train bound for Chicago.

They sat side by side in the front section of the train. Three days and they couldn’t get a sleeper car. It was a going to be a long ride home. Shoulder to shoulder, jostled back and forth, Rodger tried to block out the ceaseless clack of the wheels on the rail. He slept. Kyle paced the corridor, stopping once in a while to chat with an enlisted man.

The second day of traveling, in spite of the rumbling voices and smoky car, Rodger slept most of the time. When he awoke, the collage of greens and browns and reds of the countryside flashing across the windows mesmerized him. He drifted, aware of the ache across his left side. He vaguely remembered eating with his uncle. Most of the time, Kyle’s seat was empty. Rodger smiled. Kyle played poker.

At last the train pulled into Chicago. Rodger stood, glancing at his watch. Fourteen‑hundred. Right on time. People began to press in on him, moving him along the corridor behind Kyle. Kyle leaped from the steps, pushing through the crowd.

Rodger struggled with his baggage, using it as a shield for his left side. He spotted Ada.

“Hey! Ada!” he cried, waving his good hand.

He searched for Adele, but could not see her in the swarming crowd, not until she cried out his name and he looked up to see her rushing toward him.

Rodger sucked in his next words as Rachel and Heather ran to him, encircling him with a thousand arms, pulling at him, shouting his name.

“Wait a minute, girls,” Rodger stared at them. How they had changed! His head throbbed. His eyeballs hurt. “I mean, young ladies,” he said softly.

Rachel let go and smiled at him. “Bet you didn’t recognize me, huh?” Hands on her hips, she twisted her lithe body so that she blocked Heather from Rodger.

Heather’s fawn eyes stayed on Rodger’s face. He grinned back at her. “Look at you! You’re not a baby any more.”

Adele finally reached him. Rodger set his baggage down. “You look,” he faltered, then threw his arm around her neck, crushing her into him, “so wonderful, Adele.”

She blushed, then arched back to look up at him. Rivulets of tears coursed down her cheeks. He pulled her close, pitching sideways to get around her stomach to kiss her.

Suddenly, they were laughing. Everyone around them was laughing. Rachel and Heather held hands and giggled. Adele sought and clasped Rodger’s hand. Ada dabbed her eyes. Kyle stood close to Ada, grinning. But his head moved back and forth over the faces of the crowd.

Never catch his uncle off guard, thought Rodger. Not even now.

Rodger went to Ada with Adele in tow. Ada stepped up to him and flung her arms around him. With Adele’s hand still in his, he hugged Ada, crushing them all together. “You’re lookin’ good, Ada. Real good.” He patted her back, reluctant to move away with the rest.

“I bought Chinese silk for you and had it shipped to your address. I thought you might like that. Hope you don’t mind.” He felt the others pulling at him, “I also put in some things for Adele, and the girls.”

Ada gave him another quick kiss and let go of him.

In a bunch, like a giant caterpillar, they lurched to the car. Once inside they huddled close to one another, as if to keep the warmth among them. Heather sat up front, between Ada and Kyle. Rachel, Rodger, and Adele sandwiched together on the back seat. Everyone talked at once. Then they all grew silent.

“How long, Rodger, before your shoulder is healed?” Adele’s voice trembled. Her foot touched his foot, his knee rested against hers, their thighs glued together.

Rodger squeezed her shaking hand. “Two minutes and fifty seconds.” He tugged on her hand, then leaned over and kissed her, slipping his tongue quickly over hers. “There, I’m good as new.”

She lightly slapped his right shoulder. “Can’t you ever give me a straight answer?”

He placed her hand in his lap, so that she could feel his hardness through the material, seeking her face in the dim light.

She nuzzled his neck, biting his ear. “Later,” she whispered.

The chatter started again, until they got home. Ada eased the Chevy into the driveway and beeped the horn, exclaiming merrily, “I wish we had fireworks!”

They hopped out the back seat, gathering around Rodger.

Rodger put his left hand on top of Rachel’s head and waggled it so that her long hair flipped back and forth. “We’ll declare it a national holiday.”

“Rodger’s day!” squeaked Heather. “Our own holiday!”

“Goose!” scolded Rachel. She took Rodger’s hand gently into hers. “Mother’s been so worried about you. Now everything will be better.”

Like attached weights, all the responsibilities of being a son and husband and brother returned. He stopped himself from swearing out loud.

“We’ll do what we can, Tagalong.”

Heather jumped up and down as Rodger, Kyle and Ada hauled the baggage out of the trunk.
“You girls help Uncle Kyle take in his baggage. I’ll leave mine out here by Mother’s car.”

Heather dragged Rodger’s knapsack over to the garage as Rachel battled Kyle’s duffle bag. Rodger turned again to Adele. “Do you mind? I’d like to see Mother alone. Uncle Kyle told me about my dad, and I want to discuss it with Mother. ”

“Rodger, please, there’s so much going on. She’s been in a flurry getting ready all week.”

Rodger stiffened.

Adele sighed. “All right. I’ll settle the girls. I’m sure Kyle will have his hands full with Carrie.” Adele puffed out her cheeks and made the whites of her eyes show, making Rodger laugh.

Rodger caught up with Ada by the porch, with Adele following.

“I’d like to spend some time alone with you. Maybe tomorrow?”

Ada waved as Rachel led the others to her house, through the front door. She turned to Rodger. “I’d like that, if you have time.”

Adele pecked Ada on the cheek. “We’ll stop by after the doctor’s in the morning.”

Ada stayed Rodger with a slight pull of his hand, and he bent to hear her words.

“I’m glad you’re home. I’ve worried about you.” Then as he straightened, but before he could speak, she encircled his face, rubbing his cheeks between her two hands. “So good to have you home. So good.”

Rodger pressed his cheek against her hand. “I thought a lot about you, too. Not that it showed in my letters.”

“I understand, Rodger.” Ada dropped her hands. “Like I told your father, I know how to read between the lines.”

“Was he…” Rodger jerked upright, “…oh, you know, happy? Did he have a lot of pain?”

“No.” Ada hesitated, then continued with conviction. “He spent his last afternoon with me.” She gestured behind her to the dark patio. “We sat in the sunshine and talked. About you. And a lot of things.” She clasped Rodger’s hand in hers. “He went quickly. Adele and I were at his side.”
“I’m glad it was you.” Rodger kissed her hand, gripped it tightly in his. “I guess I better go on. Adele’s just to the porch. I can be at the door before she can.”

Ada chuckled, releasing his hand. “I’ll be home all day tomorrow. Come over anytime.”

Rodger dashed to the porch, leaped up the steps, and opened the door for Adele. “Such gallantry,” she said, stopping to kiss him. She walked into the house, calling the girls to her. “Upstairs, now. I’ll go up with you.”

Kyle edged around Carrie, but she cornered him. “Not a word from you! Really, I do worry about you!”

Carrie spied Rodger. “Oh, my goodness! Rodgie, it’s so good to see you!” She advanced on him.
Rodger braced himself. As she moved to engulf him, he stepped back, his hand over his wound.
“My shoulder. Still tender.”

Deflated, she slapped her hand across her heart.

“Oh, how could I have forgotten?”

Rodger patted her arm reassuringly. “No, no, it’s an easy thing to do.” Seeing Kyle pour himself a drink from John’s liquor cabinet, Rodger nodded to him. “Scotch.”

Aunt Carrie clucked. “Tch, tch. You would be much better off without alcohol. Have something to eat. There’s still plenty left from the funeral.”

Madeline walked out of the kitchen and approached Rodger.

“Rodger,” she placed a hand on his forearm. “I’m so glad you’re home. It isn’t the happiest time for us, but now that we’re together…” her voice quivered. She crinkled the uniform beneath her hand. “Are you hungry?”

He looked down sideways at her.

“No, Mother.”

But seeing her now, so frail and older than he remembered, he softened, though his bitterness towards her lay just beneath the surface. He patted her hand.

Aunt Carrie sniffed as Kyle shot the drink past her into Rodger’s outstretched hand. She shifted sideways so that, once more, she could concentrate on Kyle.

“It’s disgraceful how you let mother’s grave go unattended! Why just the other day I was saying to Mildred…”

Rodger lowered his voice, bending slightly so that he spoke into his mother’s ear. “Let’s talk in the other room.”

As they left the room, Madeline said with a little wave of her hand. “Please excuse us. We…we’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Rodger took three steps into the hall. Madeline followed, with Carrie’s voice trailing after her. Rodger went into the kitchen, turning so that he had his mother cornered.

Rodger sipped the scotch. It burned sweet down his throat. He stared down into his mother’s eyes.
“Get me his medals.”

Madeline bristled. “You’ve no right to speak-”

“You had no right,” Rodger snarled. He felt the back of his neck flush.

His mother’s face spotted red with anger. “I did what I thought best.”

He backed her up to the wall. “You’ve made a few errors in judgment.”

She placed her hand against his chest and shoved, then flicked his shoulder with her fingertips. “So have you.”

Madeline turned abruptly and went upstairs to her bedroom. Rodger returned to the living room, heading straight for the liquor cabinet. Glancing over to Kyle, he caught his aunt’s anxious face but ignored the curiosity in her eyes, pouring more scotch for himself. Kyle raised his glass to show that he had taken care of his own drink. Adele came downstairs and sat heavily beside Rodger on the couch.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

The morning air was soft with late-summer drizzle. Ada liked the sound of her shoes slapping on the concrete as she walked to Adele’s house. She stuffed letters from Kyle and Rodger into her coat pocket, burying them deep inside.

Thinking of Adele, she felt her neck muscles tighten. So much stress for all of them these past days with John’s death and Rodger’s injury. Yet, Rodger was coming home. He’d be home in time for the birth of the baby.

Adele greeted Ada at the door. One look and Ada knew that Adele had been crying.

“How did he sound when he called?” Ada pressed her cool hand against Adele’s flushed cheek.

“You know Rodger,” Adele shot back. “Acts as if this is all part of the game.”

Ada met her gaze. “It is, in a way. We take it more seriously because we’ve got more to lose.”

“Oh, Ada! One minute I’m up, and the next I’m down!” Adele covered her face with her hands and sobbed. “I’m not normal.”

“You are. Scared and happy.” She patted Adele on the shoulder. “There have been too many changes.”

Adele’s mood shifted as abruptly as a summer storm. She waddled into the bedroom for a hanky. “How’s the kitten?”

“Fine.” Ada shook herself free of her coat and hung it up in the hall closet. “He’s still cute and cuddly.”

Adele came into the small living room and sat down again. “He’ll always be a lover.”

“Maybe.” Ada held up the letters in her hand. “I brought these.”

“Rodger said Uncle Kyle’s assigned to Army Intelligence in Honolulu. They’ll get together when Rodger is released from the hospital.” Adele blew her nose and coughed. “I didn’t cry over the phone, Ada. I think I sounded like I was holding together just fine.”

“You are, dear. I think it’s much better for you to cry a little now and again.”

Ada scanned the letters. Without her spectacles, the handwriting wiggled across the page. She pinched the bridge of her nose, just as she always did when she removed her glasses. “He didn’t say much about how it happened, but finding Mary Elizabeth and LinChing dead must have been a shock for Rodger.”

“Ada,” Adele whispered fiercely, “there were only two who made it. And they came home wounded.”

Ada smoothed out Kyle’s letter. “Kyle says Rodger is not too badly hurt. Healing quickly. Be good as new in no time.” Ada looked over to Adele. “In time for the baby.”

Adele smiled. She whisked the hair away from her face and sat heavily into the cushion. “There hasn’t been much action lately. The baby’s been quiet.”

Ada tensed. “Probably stress. You must relax more.” Ada nodded toward the bedroom. “Go lie down for a while. I’ll finish hanging the curtains.” Adele started to protest. “Go!” Ada pointed to the bedroom. “We’ll go for a walk when you get up.”

“Ada, you’re going to mother‑hen me to death.” But she went.

Ada liked what Adele had done to the little house that was built like hers. Country antiques. Her mother must have brought them with her last January.

Ada fidgeted with the curtain rod, uncertain whether to begin or not. If by chance Adele slept, then quiet was what the house should be. But if she fretted over the unfinished projects, it would only add to her fatigue. Ada debated until, weary of her own arguments, she stepped upon the chair and measured the window. Then she took the hammer and nails, put up the rod, hooked the curtains and started on the next one. By noon, all of the curtains hung neatly in place.

Ada picked up the christening gown and hand worked the finishing edge on it when Adele padded out to the living room barefoot. She started at Adele’s exclamation.

“Ada!” Adele spread her arms out wide, turning in a half-circle. “What are you, part hurricane?”

“I’m sorry! Did all that noise awaken you?”

“No, no, Ada,” Adele came beside her, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “You do too much for me.”
Relieved, Ada chuckled. “Got to keep busy for my sanity.” She waved the threaded needle at Adele. “Why don’t you fix us some tea. I’ll be done by the time it’s ready.”

“The weather’s better. Sunshine.” Adele’s lilting voice carried from the kitchen throughout the house. “Let’s do a little weeding today. I’d like to yank some of those devils out.”

Ada rethreaded the needle. “Sounds like you need to rid yourself of some energy.”

Adele came to the doorway. “I do.” She gestured to the radio. “I don’t even turn it on anymore. Mother and Daddy in England with the diplomatic corps, Rodger God knows where. I’m afraid of what’s going on out there.”

Ada eased a stitch through. “You best keep your own world intact, Adele. Do what you can. Give your best. That’s all the world can expect of you.”

“I know.” Adele leaned against the door jamb.

“You’re not used to being at home. One day you’re flying transport and then,” Ada snapped her fingers, “you’re tied to home and hearth and child.”

“Being married sounded like a good idea at the time.” Adele’s voice faded as she scurried to answer the teakettle. “Now I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Rodger is the White Rabbit,” she patted her stomach, “and junior is the Cheshire Cat. Intimate strangers.”

Ada knotted the thread then bit it. “Aren’t we all strangers?” she asked with a sigh. “It seems we never know a person.”

Adele handed Ada a cup of steaming tea. “I’ll never forget the look on Rodger’s face when he recognized me and the co‑pilot for what we were. Women! By God, his little world rocked.” With deliberate movements, Adele set her cup beside the chair, nested, then picked up her tea and blew across the top. With a gruff voice and wag of her head, she imitated Rodger. “‘I don’t care if you were personally trained by Jacqueline Cochran—women have no business in the air!’” Adele wrinkled her nose and sniffed the tea. “I let him take a long look at my log book. My twenty‑five hundred hours impressed him.”

Ada plastered her listening smile on her face and continued sewing. Adele relaxed further into the chair.

“My co‑pilot, Ellen, was also a fair mechanic. She and Rodger were always locking horns. She ended up falling for a flyer in Rodger’s outfit.”

Adele put down her tea cup. She folded her hands across her belly. “What a jerk he was! They ran off to some bar in Bantang, and he stole the jeep. Poor, stranded Ellen had to hitch a ride back to base and tell Rodger the sordid details. Rodger was really nice to her, but he sure loved it. ‘She should have known better.’ ”

“I bet he covered for her, too, didn’t he?” Ada peeked up at Adele.

“How right you are!” Adele grunted. “Look at me, lounging while you sit and slave away. Put it down, Ada, and drink your tea.”

“I’m done.” Ada laid the gown next to her, running the wrinkles out with her hands. “Was Ellen your bridesmaid?”

“No, another friend of mine that flew with me in the ATA. Ellen was killed ferrying a Stirling bomber.” Adele’s face went blank. Her voice trembled. “We lost flyers, too.”

“Do show me the rest of the pictures. I haven’t seen them all.”

Adele inched out of the chair and pushed up onto her feet. She went to the bookcase and retrieved a photo album. Sitting next to Ada on the couch, she gently opened the cover to the eight‑by‑ten black-and-white picture of her wedding: Adele and Rodger wedged in the middle, flanked by Kyle and the bridesmaid; each of them wore a uniform. Adele lingered, and Ada waited for her to turn the page.

“Oh, how lovely! Where did you get a cake like that?” Ada pointed to the two‑tiered wedding cake with elaborate birds made of icing on the sides.

“My mother’s friend made it. She’s English.” Adele tapped the picture. “Bluebirds of happiness.”

Ada flipped through the pictures. “You both look so happy. Like you belong together.” She cocked her head, shaking her finger at Adele. “Listen to me! Don’t let that child be the only thing you and Rodger have in common. Keep yourself interested in outside things. For yourself and him.” She took a breath and plunged in deeper. “It’s easy enough to let the baby be the end all of the relationship.”

Adele grabbed Ada’s finger and shook it playfully. “Are you a mind‑reader, too?” “I’ve thought of that a lot lately.” She let go and looked down at her huge stomach. “I’ve thought about getting certified to teach music, but I am really only good at the guitar. I was too much of a tomboy to settle inside and practice much on the piano or flute. But I am good a reading music. I don’t know, I’ll have to look into it.”

“You know, the only thing I know about Rodger and music is that he took piano lessons for one year. Maddie said it just wasn’t worth the battle to get him to practice.” Ada straightened. “I don’t even know what kind of music, if any, he likes.”

“Guitar. He likes ballads.” Adele fingered the armhole of the satin baby’s gown. “Perhaps I’ll take up classical guitar.”

“I have Sam’s! I’ll give it to you. It’s old, but he kept it in good shape. I think I remember him saying it’s a ‘classical’ guitar. It’s has six strings.” Ada pinched her lip.

“’Classical’ refers to style and how to play the music, but it is bigger by one string.” Adele gave a confirming shrug and short laugh.

“He played so fine! But, my oh my, he sure couldn’t sing!” Ada searched the ceiling for patterns.
“Oh, Ada, I couldn’t! Sam gave it to you to keep.”

She waved away Adele’s protests. “You might as well have it. It’s not meant to be stored away forever. I do not have a shrine for Sam!”

Adele squinted. “I can see why Rodger loves you so much. It’s not that you’re so kind,” Adele patted Ada’s arm, “which you are, but that you are so much here, alive in today.”

“Well!” Ada snorted, hoping to turn the conversation, “Let’s look alive and be on our way before the day gets away.” She smiled in satisfaction at her little rhyme.

Adele rolled her eyes. “A posy of a sentence.” She walked to the hall closet to get Ada’s coat and handed it to her. “I must get Madeline’s bread. I baked this morning.”

Adele came out of the kitchen, with a lilt in her step and swinging a sack filled with loaves of bread. The aroma of still‑warm bread filled the room. “And yours. You choose either oat or barley.”

“Hmm,” hummed Ada, “I love the smell. I don’t care. Either.”

“Well, then, barley. Maddie prefers the oat.” Adele bit the smile on her lips. “Underneath that cold crust of hers, she’s really a very nice person.”

Ada tried not to smirk. She turned to the door. “Aren’t we all?”

Adele giggled. Arms linked, they walked along. Roses and dogtooth violets still showed. Rain drops dribbled off leaves, and the smells brought out by the summer rain thickened the air. Ada whistled. Adele tried but couldn’t sustain her breath. Laughing, she tugged at Ada’s arm to stop her. “I’m out of breath. I can’t keep up with you.”

“The only advantage I have,” Ada started again, pacing herself slower, “over youth is being able to walk and whistle at the same time.” Adele skipped a step to catch up. “It’s called experience.”
“I’ll let you take junior for a stroll every day.”

“Oh, no dear, that’s how you gain experience.”

As they rounded the corner, Madeline stepped outside her front door. She recognized them and signaled them to come to her house.

Adele looked pleadingly at Ada. Ada shrugged and sighed. “It would be terribly rude of us to ignore her.”

“Quite. But let’s stay only a little while. We don’t want all this sunshine,” Adele wailed, “going to waste.”

They came up the stairs and onto the porch together, then separated as they walked through the doorway. Madeline paced from the fire place to the couch.

“I don’t think I can take much more!” she cried out, throwing herself down onto the couch. “There can be no headstone for John’s grave! Some nonsense about, I don’t know! The plot isn’t situated right!”

She looked from Ada to Adele, her hands fluttering onto her lap. Ada sat on one side of her, Adele the other.

“I wish Rodger were here now. He could take care of some of these things.” The corners of her mouth twisted down, and her lips trembled.

Ada felt sorry for her in a lot of ways; some women like Madeline, didn’t know how to cry, and the effort cost them as much as the denial. Ada thought of leaning over to take Maddie’s hands in hers, to say something at least.

But it was Adele who slipped a hand to cover Madeline’s shaking fist and reassure her.

“I know it’s hard for you with Rodger so far away. But he is coming home. Next Thursday.”

Adele’s voice had the confidence Ada envied in younger women nowadays. It was as if the war had opened up a time and place for them. Even John had talked of a better future for his girls; he painted a picture of dazzling hope and wishes realized for women in the home and politics. Ada missed his optimistic musings.

Ada didn’t listen to Adele but watched her comfort Madeline as she brought up one objection after another. She liked the young woman of twenty‑four who made statements instead of apologies. Her commanding tone, though soft and sincere, frustrated Madeline’s protestations, until finally, clutching desperately to Adele, Madeline fell silent and began to cry.

Ada heard a noise and turned to see Heather and Rachel as they slipped into the kitchen. Heather dogged Rachel’s every footstep, as if glued to the hem of her purple and brown plaid skirt.

Ada followed them. She noted the dulling yellow kitchen walls. Rachel got Heather a glass of water, then posed by the sink with an outstretched hand awaiting the return of the glass. Ada cleared her throat, catching the girls’ attention.

Heather gulped the last of the water from the glass and handed it back to Rachel. Edging up to Ada, Rachel smoothed her skirt and whispered, “Is this all right, Ada? Or do you think I should be more, well, more…”

Heather, with her widening brown eyes, blurted, “Less colorful?”

Ada almost laughed. Then tears swelled and she could only murmur, “No, no, it’s perfectly all right. You both look lovely.” She noticed that Heather was wearing a simple navy blue dress with a ruffled white collar and cuffs.

“It certainly is going to change things, with Daddy being dead and all. Isn’t it?” Rachel’s features hardened as she pinched her brows together. Madeline’s look. “Heather’s going to miss him the most, I think. She was his favorite.”

Ada was impressed by the lack of rancor in Rachel’s voice. “It’s pretty hard to say who’ll miss him the most. We all loved him so very much.” Ada suddenly felt embarrassed to have admitted openly her love for John. But both Rachel and Heather smiled sad little smiles, casting their eyes downward and shaking their heads.

Ada went to them. Neither they nor she cried. And for that she was thankful. When the telephone rang, Ada was slow to let go of the girls.

Woodenly she picked up the receiver. “Hello?” For a brief moment all she heard was static.
“Kyle?” Caught off guard by his voice, she heard herself squeak, “Where are you calling from?”
She could imagine him standing in front of her, his tanned, handsome face with its bushy, white mustache partly concealing his dimples when he smiled. Then breathless, she answered, “Yes, I’ll be there at the station.”

As Rachel and Heather looked at her expectantly, she added, “And the girls.” Their subdued excitement pleased her.

She could hear the disappointment in Kyle’s voice, hoping to have a few minutes alone with her. That pleased her and even more that he asked to see her later on.

“Of course, Kyle. There’ll be plenty of time for us.” With two sets of eyes tracing her every movement, she hurried to add, “To do all the necessary things.”

The click of the receiver in its cradle set the girls in motion. Ada, too, went back into the living room.
“Maddie?”
Madeline flinched. Red‑streaked eyes turned and stared straight at her.

Ada tried her best to console her. “Your brother just called. He’s coming home with Rodger.”

Madeline nodded, not answering, not caring.

Adele peered around at Ada, her face animated. “Will Kyle be staying long, Ada? Did he say?”

“He’ll be here for a week.” She locked stares with Madeline. “If you like, I’ll go with Adele to the train depot Thursday night.”

“Yes, that would be very nice of you.” Madeline edged a long, polished fingernail up and down her plaid skirt. “Carrie will be glad to see him. I’ll have to ask her to stay on another week.”

Just then the front door slammed and Madeline’s sister bustled in. The girls ran to greet her, spilling out the news about Uncle Kyle.

Carrie loomed in the doorway, imperiously demanding. “Is this truly the case? Will Kyle be here next Thursday?”

Madeline squeezed her lips, her nostrils flared, and she nodded vigorously at the carpet.

“He’ll stay here with us. He usually sleeps in Rodger’s old bedroom.”

Carrie moved laboriously to a chair. “I haven’t seen Kyle in six years. I am rather anxious to talk to him.”

Madeline pouted. “You’ll be lucky to get any time with him. He seems to have a baleful of excuses to be gone.” Madeline didn’t look up, much to Ada’s relief.

Adele narrowed her eyes. “You might think how hard it is on him to lose John.”

Carrie gasped. Madeline massaged her temples. Neither spoke to Adele, but turned their eyes to Ada.
Ada fought laughter rising from deep inside her throat. Instead she nodded sympathetically.

Rachel and Heather huddled by the door. Heather mimicked Rachel’s frown. Both sets of eyes stared intently at their Aunt Carrie.

Carrie laid her arms across her enormous chest and waited. Adele crossed her ankles, shifting her weight so that she sat at an angle facing Carrie and Madeline. Madeline’s face froze in a scowl.

You aced that one, Adele, Ada thought before she stood.

“It’s been a long, hard road to walk for all of us.” Ada pointed to Rachel and Heather. “We should be thankful that Rodger and Kyle are coming home.”

Carrie pushed off the chair, blocking Ada from leaving. “I promised the girls I’d take them uptown today.” She turned to them. “Shall we go now?”

Rachel and Heather nodded. Rachel grabbed Heather’s hand and held it tight. Carrie plodded to the door. Half in, half out the door, she called back, “Madeline, we shall return before supper time.”
Madeline pressed a hand to her forehead. “Dinner. I must think about that.”

Adele picked up her shopping bag. “No, don’t go to any trouble. There’s plenty of food in there and I’ll leave you two fresh loaves of bread. You might reheat the casserole. That would be simple but tasty.”

Ada added hastily, “I’ll bring over some fresh vegetables.” She shot a warning glance to Adele not to offer to stay for dinner. Carrie took being Madeline’s older sister as an inherent right and dominated the household when she stayed. “Adele and I were on our way to do some weeding. She owes me.”

“That would be very kind of you, Ada.” Madeline wrung her hands. “I could do steamed vegetables.”
Adele laid the bread upon the kitchen counter. Madeline balled her hands together in her lap. “How sweet of you, Adele. You’re showing all the signs of an expectant mother.”

Adele looked puzzled. Ada, feeling the weight of her patience, explained. “Mothers nearing time of delivery have a nesting urge. Typically, they cook, bake and clean a lot.”

“Then it’s not time. I only bake.” Adele shuffled to the door. “Because I like to.”

“Of course, dear, but soon you’ll have this unbearable urge to—” Madeline stopped short when Adele challenged her with a defiant look. “You probably know best, dear.”

Ada sighed and pressed Adele out the door. “We’ll see you later, Maddie. Do get some rest.”

Madeline eased the door shut. Adele snorted. “I have a hard enough time with Maddie always giving me advice, let alone that blimp Carrie. I’m not used to being treated like a simpleton.”

Ada pinched her arm. “You’ll have to learn to get along. You can’t go around insulting all your near and dear relatives.”

They both giggled. As Ada opened the back door, her kitten scurried out from beneath the chair to greet her. “Hi, Kid.” Ada scooped him up and nuzzled him. Then she handed him to Adele. “Say hi to Miss Grump.”

“Can he go outside?” As Adele stroked him, he purred loudly. “With us?”

“Of course. I’m not going to make him a house cat.”

“You’ll give him a choice?” Adele cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

“Here’s an extra pair of gloves. You weed. I’ve the last row to stake.”

They worked at opposite ends of the garden. The kitten played in the discarded weeds until he spotted a butterfly. Both Ada and Adele stopped and watched him frolic.

Ada straightened up, her knee joints cracking sharply. “I’ll run over these few vegetables to Maddie. You take a break. Sit in the shade.”

Adele said nothing but continued pulling up the weeds. Ada swallowed her irritation and marched to Madeline’s back door and knocked. Madeline cupped her hands to receive the produce.

“I’ve got dinner on. Won’t you and Adele join us?”

Ada shook her head. “No, the way Adele’s attacking those weeds; she’ll be needing to go home and to bed early.”

“Should she be alone, now? What if…”

“Don’t fret. She has a phone.”

“Do give her a lift home, Ada. Too much walking can cause her to go into labor.”

“I’ll look out for her.” Ada gave Madeline’s hand a quick squeeze. “You try and rest some. You’ll be exhausted before Rodger and Kyle get here.”

Madeline looked away from Ada. “I suppose. Thank you.”

Ada nodded and backed away. Adele was furiously tugging at a milkweed when Ada came through the gate.

She stood over Adele. “Come on! Now!” She reached down and jerked the roots out of the ground. “You’ll be in labor tonight if you keep it up.”

Adele bowed her head. Her chest heaved. Ada offered her a hand up. Adele pulled off her gloves and accepted Ada’s hand. “I get obsessed with ridding the garden of every last one of them.”

“I know, I know,” Ada soothed. “Look! The Kid.” She pointed to the kitten chasing his tail. “We should be so carefree.”

Ada escorted Adele to a chair. The kitten bounded over, squatting before them, crying plaintively to be picked up. Ada walked away, letting Adele tend to him. The sky was growing duller, the grey of twilight. Clouds moved in. It would be a starless night. Ada slipped on her gloves. Perhaps tomorrow would be better. A better day for all of them.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

Planes overhead. A flash of wing; one of his planes. Rodger bolted from the jeep, tumbling forward, and screamed. “Clear out! Clear …”

Where Josephine and Tobias had been, a thin, black column of smoke curled up. The ground was splattered by bullets.

Bombs hit the mission. The force of the explosions knocked Rodger off his feet. He was thrown down, his head slammed into the gravel and mire. His whole body hurtled out of control, skidding and thumping, bouncing every which way. He tried to pull himself up, but his arms collapsed and his aching body thudded back down to the ground.

He lay with his face buried in the dust for several minutes before he could focus his eyes and order his thoughts. Debris rained down, and something struck his hand. He quickly ducked his head inside his folded arms, shielding his face.

The earth had stopped moving, and he was suspended in an ungodly silence. When he heard his own breathing again, felt his heart beating and blood pounding in his temples, he knew they were dead and he lived. Slowly he rolled over to his side and pushed up onto his elbow.

Sister Grace walked in the rubble, with her bloody hands pressed against her eyes. Rodger forced himself onto his feet and stumbled to her side. She was muttering in an unintelligible, prayer‑like whisper. Rodger looked behind them, and there, intact, was the jeep, a little bullet hole bleeding gasoline.

He led Sister Grace over to it and seated her, pulling off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders. He searched under the seat and found the first‑aid kit. Sister Grace sat paralyzed, only her lips moving in silent prayer. Rodger hunted under the seats and in the back of the jeep until he came upon a rag. He shook it fiercely, then stuffed it into the hole, wiping the gasoline from his hands onto his fatigues.

He yanked at the latch on the first‑aid kit. “God damn it, open!” He hesitated before pulling away Sister Grace’s bloody hands, afraid to expose the wounds.

“No, no, no,” she resisted then suddenly gave way, dropping her hands, exposing the shredded pieces of flesh and gaping, bulging eyeball.

Rodger pressed the sterile bandage quickly against her face, stanching the blood and covering her ugliness. He fought down his own vomit, the bile searing his throat, burning his mouth.

“Stay here, Sister Grace. Just stay right here.”

He walked over to the ruins, kicking aside sharp‑edged stones. There in a corner, a faded, black, cotton cloth showed under a pile of rubble. Rodger stared at it. Father McBride.

Rodger went on, stepping carefully over the ragged edges of stone. The gate still stood, though the wall was gone. It banged crazily against its own frame until Rodger walked over and shut it. There in the overturned courtyard, underneath the uprooted trunk of the litchi tree, side by side, lay Mary Elizabeth and LinChing.

Had they not been dead, it would have been a pretty scene, for it looked as if they were playing a game, each intent upon discovering a secret hidden in the hallowed ground. Rodger knelt before them and tenderly brushed aside the long trailing hair across Mary Elizabeth’s face.

His left hand was stiff and useless as he tried to lift the tree trunk from their bodies. It would not budge.

As he straightened up, he noticed Mary Elizabeth’s clenched fist. He knelt down, pried her fingers apart and pocketed the ivory marble.

He scanned the court yard. Sister Pearl lay heaped in a corner. He went to her and checked for a pulse. Dead.

Returning to the jeep, he raised his voice above the nun’s jumbled prayers. “You and me, Sister Grace. I’m going to take you to the hospital. Hold that bandage tight.”

The jeep lurched before Rodger could grasp the wheel firmly enough. He concentrated on the road, weaving in and out of ruts. Sister Grace droned on above the engine noise of the jeep.

“God damn it, would you shut up?” Rodger screamed at her.

She desisted. Her head bowed forward as she slumped into the seat. Five miles more to the hospital at Bose. Almost there. Almost home safe.

He waved to a sergeant. “Head injury!”

“Yes, sir!” The young man checked the body for vital signs. “Sorry, sir, she’s dead.”

As the body was taken away, Rodger staggered from the jeep. He stood alone beside the mess tent. He felt dizzy. Rudderless.

He lit a cigarette. His thoughts became coherent as he looked overhead at the sky. God damn McGree and his hide and seek game with the Japs. Hotheaded Ace. Only the enemy had sought and found. Rodger squashed the cigarette butt with the heel of his boot.

He noticed another jeep parked in front of the mess tent. He walked over, climbed in, and started it. No one saw him leave.

It was dark, the darkest of hour before dawn when Rodger pulled up to his base. He tried flexing his left arm before going inside. It hurt, but he could move all of his fingers.

McGree and Summer lay in their bunks asleep. Rodger stomped to McGree’s bunk and clamped his right hand around his neck, jerking him out of bed, and then throwing him against the wall.

“You dumb SOB!” Rodger advanced on him.

McGree, instantly alert, crabbed his way along the wall.

“Mary Elizabeth’s dead because of you.” Rodger pinned McGree’s shoulder with his good hand. “We’re going to do us a little flying, McGree, old boy. We’re going Jap hunting. Just you and me. Pay some dues.” Rodger shook him free of the wall. “Twenty minutes.”

Summer had awakened and begun to suit. Rodger turned to him.

“No.”

Summer continued dressing. “My fault as much as anyone’s.”

“I’m not responsible for you.”

“Yes, sir. I know that.”

Rodger headed out to his plane with McGree and Summer close behind. They had no night time ground crew to assist as they preflighted and rolled out. Rodger scanned his instruments, working his bruised hand. As the engine caught and held, and the oil pressure registered, he slammed the canopy shut. He waited, emptying his mind of any thoughts but this mission. McGree and Summer signaled they were set to go.

McGree took a heading and Rodger followed. Summer acted as wingman. They headed northwest, flying deep into the mountainous interior. Craggy peaks jutted through the thick cloud cover. McGree dived through an opening.

Guns blazing, they took the Japanese by surprise. But two Nates got off the ground.

Rodger watched for movement, sure that McGree and Summer did, too. Without the sun to blind them, it might be easy pickin’s. But the lightening grey sky hid the Nates.

“Bandit, one o’clock!” cried Summer.

McGree aligned for a strike. Rodger dived and strafed the runway, coming up into the second plane. Summer was holding his own against the first one; McGree fired and hit.

Then McGree took it full on the side. His plane caught fire, spiraled downward, but he maneuvered his craft and rammed into his Nate. Both planes exploded into flames.

Summer and Rodger chased the second, elusive Nate. Rodger, low on gas, figured the chase would soon be over. One way or the other.

Summer’s plane went flaming down. Rodger caught the Nate in the belly. The plane banked, spitting gunfire. Bullets hissed through metal. The canopy shattered. A bullet chewed into his shoulder. His mind blanked, and the plane spun out of control.

He snapped back to consciousness, clutching the controls. The ground swirled around and around, like pancake batter. Rodger jerked himself upright, fighting negative Gs. He eased off the throttle and took his feet off the rudder pedals. Close. Too close, but he pulled out. He headed back for the base.

He landed hard, bounced, then thudded onto the runway. Coolies scattered as his plane zagged across the runway. He pulled alongside the revetment and killed the engine. The transport had arrived. Two of the crewmen ran over to him.

Rodger shoved open the shell of the canopy. He fought the dizziness, the queasy sickness in his stomach. Tired. So damned tired.

“Hand up,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.” A lieutenant hopped onto the wing, shouting over his shoulder. “Major’s hit!” Deftly, the man lifted Rodger out of his seat and guided him to the other crewman.

“Hospital not far. Due east. Take my jeep.” Blackness blanketed him.

Later, he awoke with sweat trickling down into his sideburns. He tried to lift his left arm, but looked down to see it pinned by bandages to his side. The head nurse appeared at the end of his cot.

“Nice of you to return the jeep, Major.”

“Just a friendly exchange.” He pointed to the bandages. “What’s my damage?”

“Nothing serious.”

“Then I’ll be movin’ on, Nurse … ?”

“Adams. Jane.” She gave brief directions to a younger nurse, then fixed her amused gaze on him. “No go, Major. You’re here at least until the next transport.” She waved a white envelope teasingly. “The boys left this for you.”

“Damn it! Have they left yet?”

“They’ll be leaving in a couple of hours. As soon as they have some air cover.” She laid the letter on his chest, then touched his leg. “You’ll be goin’ home in a couple of weeks, Major.”

Another nurse came to the bed wordlessly handing Nurse Adams a ragged doll. “Oh, yes. Captain Raftly left this for you. Said Mary Elizabeth and the others were taken care of.” She tossed the doll into his good hand. “Seems people like leaving you things, Major.”

He tucked the doll beneath the covers, away from her eyes, away from his. “Yeah. Know where that guy is?”

“Told me he had to escort another transport home.”

Rodger nodded. He waited until she had been gone for a good half hour, then called over an orderly.

“Bring me my clothes.”

“I can’t do that, sir. You’re not discharged.”

“What is your rank?”

“Captain.”

“Consider it an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

He had his pants, socks, and unbuttoned shirt on before Nurse Jane came storming down the aisle to his bed. Her reddened face materialized before his.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Dressing.”

“Like in turkey,” she spat back. She watched him struggling. Shaking her head and with an exasperated sigh, she reached over and buttoned his sleeve. “Here.” Then she started with the bottom shirt button. “I’ll get someone to drive you to the transport.”

Rodger grabbed her arm and squeezed it. “Thanks.”

“No, problem soldier,” she said briskly, turning and walking away. “We need the bed space.”

Rodger shoved the unopened letter in his coat pocket, then slung the coat over his shoulder. He dumped out the sack with his personal belongings and examined Mary Elizabeth’s marble. He realized it was actually a carved ivory bead. Fingering it, absorbing its warmth, he slipped it into his right pants pocket.

Nurse Jane came back with a young woman in tow.

“This is Sergeant Laird. She’ll get you back to your base. And here,” Nurse Jane thrust a vial of pills into his right hand. “Pain killers. Take only when needed.”

Rodger arched an eyebrow.

She eyed him sternly. “And no alcohol, Major. If you want to fly again, take care of yourself.” She spun on her heel and marched down to the operating room.

“Yes, ma’am.” Rodger threw a salute to her disappearing backside. The sergeant kept her head lowered, partially hiding her smile. “Let’s go, young lady. I’ve got a date to keep.” He picked up the doll, and they walked outside into the intense humid daylight to the jeep.

During the ride back to base, he gritted his teeth to keep from groaning, willing away the pain. He hopped out of the jeep before it had come to a full stop and tipped his hat, the doll dangling over his eyes. “Thanks, Sergeant. Drive carefully.”

The sergeant saluted, then gunned the engine and took off.

Rodger walked over to the cockpit of the transport. “Hey, Ace, got room for me and my stash?” He stood respectfully to one side of the loading ramp as the last coffin went aboard.

The captain pushed back his hat and whistled. “Thought you were out of commission for a while, Major. Yeah, I got room. But,” he smiled broadly, “no back seat drivers.”

“Don’t leave without me.”

He walked over to the sleeping quarters. No voices, no bantering, no snoring, just deathly quiet. He motioned two Chinese boys over.

“Do you understand English?”

The older teenager nodded.

Rodger pointed from one to the other. “You two pack up McGree’s and Summer’s belongings. Bring them to my quarters.”

He snagged another young boy coming from the kitchen to help him. As he stuffed the doll into his knapsack with the last of his gear, one of the transport crew came in just as the two teenage Chinese boys with duffle bags came to an abrupt halt before Rodger.

“I’ll carry that, sir,” and the young man swung the knapsack easily over his shoulder. “Those, too.”

Rodger handed his over and motioned for the boys to do the same with the other two bags and followed the crewman out to the plane.

The captain threw him a package of wax earplugs. “Here—for your beauty sleep, Major.”

Rodger fumbled with spongy pieces of foam until at last he stuffed one in each ear. Remembering the letter, he shook his coat free and took the letter postmarked from Washington, D.C., from the pocket, laying it on his lap. He turned it over, picked it up and tore the end off with his teeth, then crumpled the envelope and tossed it aside. Taking the official paper out of his mouth, he snapped the paper so that he could read it.

FLYING TIGERS TO BE REASSIGNED. R&R HONOLULU.

Rodger burst into laughter so long and deep tears rolled down his face. Of all the ironies.

He searched his pocket until he found the ivory bead, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, thinking how much like it he felt.

He leaned back into his seat, trying to settle in for the long ride home. His shoulder ached and his arm hurt deep inside. He closed his eyes and drifted through the pain into a half‑sleep. The mutilated face of Sister Grace morphed into that of Mary Elizabeth. He bolted upright and wrenched his shoulder. Hot, liquid pain spread across his shoulder and into his neck. He tried to close his eyes again, against the pain, against the faces.

He worked the bottle up from the deeper part of his pocket and flipped off the cap. Just one, he told himself, swallowing hard. One of the crewmen leaned over and handed him a canteen of water.
Rodger drank, handed it back to the man, and said with a nod, “Only one for the pain.”

As the plane rumbled through the night, he slept, not even waking when they landed at Okinawa for refueling. When the plane had landed and was taxiing to a stop at Hickam Air Force Base in Honolulu, Rodger felt the light touch of someone’s hand.

“Major. Last stop.”

As much as he wanted to get to his feet, he couldn’t. Two men, nameless and faceless, helped him off the plane and into a jeep.

Rodger looked down at his shoulder where blood had seeped through the bandages and began to stain his shirt. Gingerly, he touched the spot and winced in pain. He closed his eyes and sank into a soft, velvet blankness.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

Ada stood by the kitchen counter, her back to the window. She might fade into a ghost, to haunt her own house. So weary, so very tired. It hadn’t seemed like John’s funeral at all. More like hers.

The mail plopped down through the slot onto the hardwood floor. Ada looked out her back door screen to the garden, then back to the scattered letters. Amidst the white ones lay an air mail envelope. She walked over and briskly scooped them all up.

She delayed the agonizing moment of finding the letter amongst the bills. When she picked it out, she ran her finger over the front of it, tracing the “A,” then the “d,” “a” slowly, methodically, of Kyle’s handwriting. The fat envelope felt light when she picked it up. She fanned herself with it, sniffing the air for his scent; but only itchy, feathery, tomato pollen tickled her nose. She turned the envelope over and ran a fingernail underneath the seal.

She read and reread the parts that spoke to her, telling her he missed her, wishing she would reconsider and join him in London.

Then he negated his words. “No, it is best you are not here. Parts of the city are devastated by the bombing, and it’s depressing to be here at night in a huge city without lights.”

Then as she read on, a line reached out to her, wrapping around her, pulling her into a memory of him. She shivered, folding the paper carefully along the creases and replacing it in the envelope. Ironing it down, she suddenly regretted making the letter less than it had been before she had read it. Tears splashed on the envelope, staining it grey. She vainly tried to wipe them off. Finally, she sought out her favorite chair in the living room and collapsed into it, pressing her body into the cushions so that they engulfed her.

She lay her head back and let the tears come. All of the words were right. He had made a promise he would come back for her, but she knew it was a lie. He was lost to her as surely as the rest of them. She hurt all the more when she thought of John.

She sat and cried until the tears came no more, then she closed her eyes and waited. Her heart ceased to pound violently and her breathing slowed. She inhaled deeply, held it, then exhaled until her ribs pushed out and she sucked in more air.

Something thwacked the screen door and stuck to the vibrating mesh. She shrieked. When she focused her eyes, she saw that it was a black kitten, its claws hooked through the screen. It mewed.
Ada stormed to the door, throwing off the latch. She grabbed the intruder by the neck with one hand and picked off each paw with the other.

“No!” she scolded. Still holding onto its neck, she looked at its open, pink mouth. It mewed softly. It still had the blue eyes of a baby. A white nose. Otherwise all black.

“I don’t need anything that needs taking care of. Go away.”

She put it down and clapped her hands. The kitten sat and meowed. Louder and louder. Ada scanned the neighborhood, feeling helpless against its pleas for care. She had noticed, earlier, unfamiliar children with a box running down the sidewalk. They had simply left the poor thing to fend for itself. She stared long at Madeline’s house. She might give it to Heather and Rachel.

Oh, no. Especially since Maddie’s sister was staying with them for a while. Carrie, demanding in different ways than Maddie, mentioned several times before and after the funeral how she could not tolerate animals. Allergic.

“Humph,” snorted Ada. “Wouldn’t share anybody’s attention, is all.”

Then she looked down into the unblinking blue eyes.

“Oh, all right!”

She jerked open the door, then held it until the kitten came all the way in. “I’ll get you some milk. Mind you, you take it as is. I’m not heating it.”

The milk sloshed against the sides the bowl as Ada set it before the kitten. The kitten nosed the dish, took a tentative sip and backed away from the bowl. It sat washing itself, paused, looked at Ada and meowed.

“I’ll feed you mush until I can get you cat food.” She slapped the box and pan down on the counter.
After the dish and pan were rinsed and put away, Ada sat on the couch. The kitten came beside her feet, rubbing and purring. She reached down and picked it up, placing it gently on her lap. “Well, what is your name? Most beings are born with a sense of themselves, so who are you?”

She scratched its ears. It nestled down, putting its head between its paws. She thought back over the years. The lost loves. The times.

She looked about the rooms. Her sewing machine in the other room. The fireplace, neat and sparkling. Rodger and Adele’s wedding picture on the mantle. With Kyle beside them. Rodger and Kyle in uniform. Adele, so pretty and slim in her mother’s wedding gown, her mother beside Adele, radiant, and her father looking off into the distance.

Her life wasn’t so bad. Not really. Then another wave of sadness crested, and she sat back into the cushions with arms dangling by her sides and let the tears flow anew. For John, for Sam, for herself. Spent, she rested, stroking the kitten absentmindedly.

Just as she welcomed the calmness, savoring the quiet, the telephone rang. She eased the sleeping kitten off her lap and on the fourth ring she answered.

“Yes, Mrs. Steele, I do have a garden.” Ada’s curiosity piqued. “What a lovely idea! Yes, I’d love to contribute vegetables out of my garden.”

She imagined all of the women baking and putting together sandwiches for the train loads of soldiers coming through Chicago.

“Why, no! The pick‑up spot is only a few miles from my house. Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. All right.”

She paused after hanging up the receiver. A Victory garden, Mrs. Steele had called it. Oh! The irony of a day of bereavement and contributions. Relief swept over her that she hadn’t been asked to bake cookies and cakes. That would have been too much. Too much.

She started outside. “Oh, my! Forgetful woman!” she chided herself. “I must change my clothes.” Then she stopped and slowly shook her head. “No,” she whispered, “I’ll pick in my finery.”

She charged outside, slamming the door behind her. But when she heard the plaintive cries of the kitten, she returned and held the door open. The kitten pranced outside as if it already owned the entire backyard.

Ada grabbed up an old, metal washtub, pushing it against her hip. She plucked ears of corn, ruffling the long, green leaves as she marched down the rows. She pinched off green beans and tossed them in. The kitten followed her, darting in and out of the corn stalks, batting at a dangling tomato that drooped from the vine onto the path. Ada put the washtub down and shooed away the cat. She yanked out rutabagas and carrots and rhubarb, tossing them into the tub. She plucked several ripe tomatoes and nested them carefully on top.

The kitten came up behind her and bit her above her heel. “Ooh, you little monster,” she growled, picking it up and giving it a shake. Then she cradled it, stroking its downy fur.

“I’m tired. Let’s go rest a spell.”

She sat down at the patio table. The sun poured over the entire yard, so intense the light on the green grass, it hurt her eyes. Reluctantly, she rose, and nestling the kitten in the crook of her arm, she wearily padded back inside to the living room and sat where she could see outside the front window.
Ada watched Adele leave Madeline’s house and come to hers. She closed her eyes, wishing that Adele would go on home.

“Ada?” Adele pushed the front door open a crack. “I won’t come in if you don’t want company.”

“Come on in, dear.” Ada continued to stroke the kitten.

“Oh, isn’t she cute?” cooed Adele. She stood awkwardly beside the chair. “Where did she come from?”

“I don’t know. But I think she’s a he.” Ada motioned for Adele to sit. “For the life of me, I can’t think of a name.”

The kitten woke, yawning, its teeth exposed. It looked sleepily over to Adele.

“Are you going to keep him?” Adele winced at a sudden jab in the ribs. Ada looked at her expectantly. “No, Ada, don’t even think of asking me! I couldn’t cope with a kitten.”

“Then I guess he’s my guest until he decides to go.” Ada suddenly choked. She swallowed. “How’s Maddie?”
Adele stared at the kitten. “Doing well. It hasn’t hit her yet.” Adele relaxed into the seat. “Madeline’s one tough lady. She could have been Rodger’s boxing trainer.”

Ada had no reply. She nodded.

“Look at the way that cat stares without blinking. Like Rodger.” Adele chuckled. “Maybe he’s ‘The Kid.’ ”

Ada smiled, rubbing the kitten’s head. “ ‘The Kid.’ Cute. ‘Kitten the Kid.’ ”

Adele got herself a glass of water from the kitchen and brought it out to the living room. She sipped, then dipped her finger into the glass. Dripping across her dress, she placed the tip of her finger on top of the kitten’s head. He tried to shake her loose.

“I baptize thee ‘The Kid.’ ”

“You didn’t tell me what the doctor said.” Ada smoothed down the wet fur.

“I’m as healthy as a horse. I feel like one too. Probably going to be a boy the way I’m carrying him so low. That’s what the nurse said. She delivered a hundred babies during World War One.”

For the first time, Ada noticed that Adele looked stressed. The baby must be carrying all of the extra weight, she thought, because Adele’s face still had the hollow cheeks evident in her wedding picture.

Ada wagged a finger at Adele. “Don’t you believe every old wives’ tale you hear.”

“I don’t. I’m too smart for that.” Adele chuckled. Suddenly, her voice thickened. “How many more funerals, Ada?” Her face pinched, then relaxed a bit. “Don’t think me ill‑mannered, but I can’t help but feel funerals are a waste of time. I can’t understand why we do it.”

“For the living, my dear. So we can atone for our sins against the dead.”

Adele played with a wad of her dress between her index finger and thumb. Wisps of hair framed her heart‑shaped face. “Do you think Madeline loved John?”

Ada waited before answering. “Yes, yes, I do. And I think John loved her. In his way.”

Adele contemplated Ada. “I hope so.” She stared into Ada’s eyes. “I think he deserved to be loved. He was a good man. Kind.”

“He was a strong man, Adele,” Ada kept her eyes from wavering. “He took on moral responsibilities and did right by himself and others. It’s something, I’m afraid, Rodger has little understanding of.”

Adele shook her head. “Rodger’s a very moralistic man. Very duty‑bound.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant he doesn’t…didn’t understand John.”

Adele ran her tongue along her teeth, making little sucking noises. “I don’t know. It’s all too much for me today. I’m going to walk home now and take a nap.”

“It’s a long walk. Would you like a ride?” Ada started to rise, quickly cupping her hand around the kitten.

“No. Need the exercise.” Adele pushed herself up. “Ada, thanks for letting me lean on you. Having one person to talk honestly with makes this small town bearable.”

“You’ll meet other young mothers, Adele, and you won’t feel so lonesome. Don’t let Maddie take you over. Keep yourself as yourself.”

Ada stood, leaning into Adele as the young woman kissed her cheek. Ada squeezed her arm. “Take care and rest. You’re going to need it more these next few weeks.”

“I will, Mama Ada.” Adele winked. “I’d like to help you weed the garden tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”

“I would like that.” She waved back as Adele eased down the porch steps. “Come in the morning when it’s cool.”

She had the day back to herself. She paced the house. She straightened the books on the shelf. She picked up the empty teakettle, and then spied the washtub of vegetables outside the door by the patio table.

“I’ll take them over right now,” she said aloud. The Kid meowed when Ada left him behind inside the house. Ada hefted the washtub onto her hip and walked around front to her car. She set the warm metal tub on the driveway at the back of the car and went into the house to get her purse and keys.

The Kid followed her through the house. She eased herself out the front door, quickly closing it behind her so The Kid could not follow. As she put the vegetables in her trunk, she could hear him howling.

“Oh, all right!” she snarled. She dashed back into the house, dashed to her bedroom to find a shoebox of letters on the top closet shelf. She spilled out the contents onto the bed, corralled the letters into a pile, and swept them into a drawer. Then she hurried into her sewing room, with The Kid at her heels, and seized a flannel remnant, stuffing it into the shoebox.

“Come along, then if you must,” she said, swooping down on him. She planted him in the box. “But I’m warning you, no nonsense.” She tucked the box beneath her arm and scooped up her purse and keys, marching to the car. She scooted the box with the kitten over to the passenger’s side as she seated herself.

The Kid nested in the flannel and promptly fell asleep. Ada drove cautiously the fifteen minutes to Minnie Steele’s house, reminding herself to be careful of gas and wear on the tires.

Minnie had seven women organized and working at packing boxes. Ada stayed for a few minutes, chatting with the ladies about their home‑cooked meals for the soldiers in transit. She marveled at the women’s humanity. On the way home, her kitten stirred, then fell back to sleep.

Ada carried the box into the house, careful not disturb the sleeping kitten. The evening softened with the twilight. As the teakettle whistled, The Kid appeared in the kitchen, his vociferous cries unnerving Ada. As the tea steeped, Ada made mush for her kitten. He ate while she drank tea. She had fixed a cardboard box with sand in it for him and put it by the back door. It wouldn’t be long until he’d be going outside.

Ada blinked back the tears. She’d enjoy him now, as he was, a kitten. And not worry about what was yet to be.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

Rodger walked along the trail leading to the front door of the mission. Sister Pearl came running toward him, crying out in her broken English.

“Oh, God’s will! A miracle!” Breathless, she sucked in air loudly while striking her chest.

“What miracle, Sister Pearl?” Rodger kept her at arm’s length, his hands pressed against her shoulders.

Her face cracked with all of the joyful emotion her soul could not contain. “God’s will! Mary Elizabeth lives again!”

Rodger hunched down so that he could push his face close to hers and demanded, “You mean she’s all right?”

“Yes, yes, all right!”

Sister Pearl snatched Rodger’s hand and dragged him along, her little feet churning up dust balls along the way. Rodger hurried behind her, fanning at the dirt, until at last she deposited him at the garden’s gate. Snapping off his sunglasses, he peered over the top of the rotting, wooden slats, squinting his eyes hard until he could make out the three images of Father McBride, LinChing and Mary Elizabeth.

The two men sat with their backs toward Rodger, with Mary Elizabeth standing before her father, her hand resting on his knee. The treetops rustled and insects skirred.

Father McBride’s laughter erupted through the silence. The sound of voices, soft like a faraway engine, came to his ears, and for a moment he lingered with his eyes shut. When he pushed against the gate, all three turned to him.

Although he knew LinChing was blind, Rodger couldn’t help smiling and waving at him. Mary Elizabeth jumped away from her father at the sight of Rodger, her smile frozen into a ghostly expression on her beautiful face. Rodger hesitated and stopped in midstride.

Mary Elizabeth bounded forward and in three swift leaps, clasped her arms around Rodger’s neck. “Oh, Rodger!”

Standing upright, with Mary Elizabeth dangling from his neck like an ornate pendant, Rodger was shocked by her lightness. He hugged her closer to him, feeling the thumping of her heart. She drew away from him and stared into his eyes. He kissed her cheek, squeezing her tightly once more.

“Long time, Bright Eyes.”

The clean smell of her newly washed hair, the fragile softness of her body made all of his senses hurt for the joy of holding her. He wanted to stay holding onto her for as long as he could.

But the moment passed, and Mary Elizabeth began chattering about people he didn’t know.

“Wait, not so fast. What is it you want?”

“I want you meet my Aunt Josephine and Uncle Toby. They’re coming tonight. You will, won’t you?”

“I don’t know, Bright Eyes. If there’s enough food.”

“I helped.” She peered through her thick, dark eyelashes.

Father McBride had LinChing on his arm, inching the crippled, elderly man over to them. Rodger could see that LinChing winced in pain with every step. Father McBride’s face had mellowed, the stiffness in his features gone as he patiently helped LinChing along. Even the nuns had a radiance about them. Rodger felt like laughing out loud, wishing there were some way he could throw a party for everyone.

“Major, your added presence at our supper tonight will be most welcomed.”

“Thank you, Father McBride.” He put a hand upon LinChing’s arm. “I brought the papers with me. I’ll go over them with you.”

Father McBride nodded briskly, as did LinChing. “Perfect. Let’s all go into my study for a celebration drink.”

Mary Elizabeth giggled, giving her head a saucy toss. Rodger set her down, sliding his hand over hers as they walked down the corridor to Father McBride’s study.

LinChing spoke. “Mary Elizabeth drew a sketch. Go now, child and get it.”

She bounded off to her room, returning a few moments later with a portrait of a woman in a veiled hat. Rodger leaned forward in his chair and took it carefully into his hands and studied the likeness of a beautiful, dark-haired woman with an engaging smile, who might have been a movie star. “Who’s this, Bright Eyes?”

Mary Elizabeth blushed. She leaned close to whisper in his ear. “I copied it from a picture of my mother.”

“Is it very good, Major Brown?” LinChing’s quiet voice mixed certainty and anxiety.

“Yes,” Rodger handed it back to Mary Elizabeth. “Be sure to pack it so you can take it with you.”

Mary Elizabeth balked, her eyes widening and flashing in fright. “Leave? No, no leave. We stay here with Aunt Josephine and Uncle Tobias. Then go their home. Isn’t that right, Father?”

Rodger’s heart contracted painfully. He damned sure hadn’t counted on a custody fight.

“Hush, child. We speak later.” LinChing patted the air impatiently.

Before Rodger could reply, Sister Pearl scurried in the room to announce the arrival of missionaries, Josephine and Tobias Standord, from the outlying village of Binyang. Rodger shifted his weight in his chair so that he could see through the doorway into the entryway.

As soon as the couple entered the room behind Sister Grace, Rodger understood. There, shaking loose her wide‑brimmed, veiled hat was the lady of Mary Elizabeth’s drawing.

Rodger stared at Mary Elizabeth’s aunt, more beautiful than Carole Lombard, mesmerized by her smile, blooming slowly as she turned to face all of them. She paused, then leaned over to speak with Sister Grace before turning to her companion, a portly gentleman with ruddy cheeks and a quick smile. The woman took the coats from her husband and handed them to the flustered nun. Removing a dainty handkerchief from her sleeve with a graceful motion, the woman daubed at her face, pressing her lips last, and with an audible sigh, seemed to step from her own world into the reality of this place of strangers and relatives.

Father McBride rushed forward. “Josephine and Tobias! How wonderful to see you!”

Father McBride’s head bobbled as Tobias pumped his hand. “Do you remember meeting last year at the Bishop’s reception?”

Tobias laughed heartily. “Indeed! Indeed, I do!”

Father McBride extracted his hand from Tobias’s grip and proffered it in a courtly gesture to Josephine. Rodger wistfully thought that he would like to hold her hand, too, as Father McBride introduced her.

“Major, this is Mary Elizabeth’s Aunt Josephine and Uncle Tobias.” He turned his back to Rodger and spoke in a low whisper, “Major Brown is responsible for Mary Elizabeth and LinChing going to the United States.”

Josephine smiled, extending her hand to Rodger. “So pleased to meet you.” Leaning into him, she murmured, “I’m sure you meant well, Major. But now that we’re together again, it’s best for us to stay a family.”

“Call me ‘Rodger,’ Ma’am. Pleased to meet you,” he shook her hand lightly. “Perhaps LinChing has something to say about it.”

“Oh, Major!” she said, then whispered. “He’s Chinese and I don’t think he knows really what’s best for Mary Elizabeth!”

Then she lifted her head and pronounced gaily, “My husband, Tobias, Major Brown, ah! Rodger,” and stepped back as Tobias grasped Rodger’s hand in a fierce handshake.

“Rodger, glad to know you, old man,” Tobias boomed.

Mary Elizabeth held tightly to Rodger’s other hand. He winked at her, then looked directly at Tobias. “War has a way of aging the best of us.”

Mary Elizabeth giggled. Sister Grace came to the door, asking them to come in to supper. Mary Elizabeth squeezed Rodger’s hand harder, until he looked down to see her holding the marble in her palm. Then she quickly slid it back into her newly patched pocket.

Rodger was seated between Josephine and Mary Elizabeth, across from Tobias. He wouldn’t think of calling either one “Toby” or “Josey”; they addressed him as “Rod-ger” to the point he had to smile. They may not have been pretentious, but they certainly observed a rigid decorum.

“And you, Rodger,” Josephine leaned closer to him, as she did to anyone she addressed, as if she made herself a sponge to absorb all that was said, “are from what part of the States?”

“Aunt Josephine!” Mary Elizabeth blurted out with a wave of her hand. “Tell Rodger what you told me! You will come once a week!”

When Mary Elizabeth interrupted the conversation, Josephine turned and gave the child her full attention.

“Yes, I did say that, Mary Elizabeth. I will teach you how to read.”

“My aunt will teach me to read out of her book.” Mary Elizabeth spoke to Rodger, all the while she cast glances around the table, ending with a smile at Josephine. “And Uncle Tob…” she faltered at the pronunciation of his name and Rodger noticed Tobias visibly wince every time she referred to him.

“Dear child,” he corrected yet again, “my name is pronounced Toe-buy-us.”

Abashed, Mary Elizabeth looked down at her plate. “Uncle, I am sorry.”

“Oh, there, dear child! Forget it!” he chortled and flapped his napkin theatrically. “You can just call me Uncle.” Tobias shifted so that he spoke directly to Father McBride.

“How is your work coming along here? I understand that you have been working on an irrigation system.”

It amused Rodger to watch Tobias and the priest trying to talk to one another without mentioning religion. LinChing said nothing as he ate with chopsticks, never requiring assistance. For the most part, he was disengaged, yet his composure spread over the assembly like a transparent cloth.

“And you, Rodger, what are you doing in this part of the world?” Josephine riveted her sapphire-blue eyes on him.

Rodger pushed away his plate, laying aside his napkin. It occurred to him how odd it was that cloth napkins should have been brought all the way out here; another example of how, in some way, each of them tried to hang on to a part of their prewar life.

“Pearl Harbor.” At the mention of war, everyone grew somber. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cast a dark shadow on the evening. What are the both of you doing here?”

Pleased, Josephine replied, “We are Mormon missionaries.”

Before she could elaborate, Tobias spread his arms over them as if in blessing and spoke loudly, punctuating his words carefully and distinctly. “We’re here for the same reason you are, Major. In fact, I venture to say that is the reason we’re all here: to make it a better world for all to live in.”

“How long have you been here?” Rodger turned his attention to Josephine.

“Fifteen years. Fifteen long years.” Josephine, shocked by her own admission, clenched her napkin, then sat upright as if to correct herself.

Tobias squared his shoulders and frowned meaningfully at her. But she was determined to continue. “My younger sister, Elizabeth Marie, came with us. She met LinChing in his village while she was there teaching the children reading and writing. She died in childbirth, when Mary Elizabeth was two. Oh, she was a good mother! And a dedicated teacher and missionary! She would have wanted Mary Elizabeth to follow her example.”

Mary Elizabeth squirmed. The clattering of her fork onto the wooden floor arrested the conversation. Her mouth turned downward, as if she might cry. Sister Pearl rushed to pick up the fork, hurrying away with it to the kitchen. Sister Grace leaned over, clucking, patting Mary Elizabeth on the arm.

Rodger and Josephine exchanged a long, keen look between them.

“Well, Bright Eyes, I have time enough to go for a short walk before I leave.”

He turned again to those at the table. “If you’ll excuse us. Most delicious dinner.” He winked at Sister Pearl. “Father McBride, I’ll be back Friday, and we’ll take care of business.”

He stood, offering his arm to Mary Elizabeth. She pushed away her chair and, with the daintiness of a gentlewoman, as her aunt might have done, took his arm. Standing tall and grinning at him, she let him guide her to the garden.

“You must look like your mother, too.” Rodger was appalled by his own morbid curiosity.

“Yes.” She tugged on his arm, stopping them. She spoke intently. “Mother’s voice…like summer wind in grasses. She sang to me. I remember sometimes…how I felt when she held me.”

Rodger felt Mary Elizabeth shudder. “What is it?”

Mary Elizabeth puckered her lips and flicked her hand at the mission. “Aunt Josephine and Uncle Tobeye-us don’t like…” she stopped and wiggled her fingers as if to catch the words, “father and me. I can tell,” she looked steadily at Rodger with a pinched brow. “One breath I will read, and next breath I will teach; I will be this, and I will be that. And she never asked Father, not once, Rodger, no one time, did she ever ask Father!” Flustered, she shrugged and stopped speaking.

“It’s only for a little while, Bright Eyes.” Rodger began to walk again. “I know it’s hard for you and your father, especially now that he is blind. Will you promise me that you will take care of him—-just like you took care of us guys at the base? I won’t worry if you say you will.”

“Yes, I will,” she replied soberly, reminding Rodger of LinChing. “I will do all that I can and all that he wishes me to do.”

“Good girl,” Rodger hugged her arm into his side. “Tell me, do you need anything?”

She dropped her head, shaking it. Rodger stopped and scrutinized her. “All right, do you want anything?”

She clutched his hand in both of hers. “I would like some watercolor paints.” When he nodded, she looked into his eyes. “Tell me about this place in America.”

“I have this friend I’ve known since I was six years old. I bet she’s a lot like your mother was. She’s soft‑spoken and generous. She always knew the right thing to do when I was hurt, angry or lonely. The best part of it is, I can be near you when I come home.”

She gripped him tighter, words rushing out. “Oh, Rodger! I thought you not want to see us any more. I hear awful things about how people are sent away to foreign places.”

Rodger stopped abruptly. “You don’t really think I would do that, do you?”

Her eyes darkened, spilling forth tears. Rodger bent down and hugged her close, stroking her long, black hair until she had stopped sobbing. “Hey, Bright Eyes, this is supposed to be a happy time. How come you’re always crying?” She shook her head. “Hey, think of what Will’s gonna say about me having dinner with you!”

“Promise me, Rodger?”

Rodger nodded, alarmed by the seriousness in her voice. He held onto to her arms, giving her a little squeeze.

“Tell them I pray. Two or three times, I go to the church and kneel on my knees and say my prayers.”

“I’ll tell them Mary Elizabeth. Give me hugs and kisses for the whole lot and I’ll pass them on.”

She threw her arms around him and she covered his cheeks with kisses. “I have special one for you,” she said, reaching into her pocket.

Just then Sister Grace called to her. “Mary Elizabeth! Come now! Say good‑bye to your Aunt and Uncle.”

“Go, Bright Eyes.” He gave her a little push. “I’ll be back in two days and we’ll have time for just the two of us.”

She dashed off through the garden gate. Rodger stood watching her until she was out of sight. He bowed his head, chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, thanks, God.”

He turned to leave. He saw Tobias and Josephine walking side by side toward Binyang. They were a compelling sight, as if they might have been a duke and duchess strolling along the Thames rather than gliding across the brown, dying grass. Tobias’ stoutly figure cut a dignified space around him; Josephine might have stepped out of a fairy tale in her long, flowing, yellow dress, although worn thin and patched. They stopped, suddenly turning to face one another.

Rodger called out to them. “Want a lift?”

Josephine reached up to tip her hat back slightly so that she could look heavenward. Shadows of clouds moved over the ground.

Then Rodger heard it, too.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

Ada watched Heather and Rachel playing kickball from the kitchen window while washing her breakfast dishes, reminded of Rodger as a toddler zipping around the yard in constant motion; older, he would be digging moats around a fortress or turning soil for bugs to examine. As a teenager, he would eat her oatmeal‑raisin cookies every Saturday as he worked about her house doing odd jobs. Wiping her dripping hands across her apron, she searched the pantry for flour and sugar.

She ought to call Heather and Rachel over and let them help with the cookies. But as she sifted and measured, an easy feeling came over her. She began to hum as she pulled the cookie pans out and readied the oven. Little lumpy mounds spread across in rows on the metal sheets. The batches browned evenly, the hot, sweet aroma filling the kitchen and overflowing throughout the house. Ada relished the welcomed smell and memories as she searched for a small box to ship half the cookies to Rodger.

As she pulled the last pan of eighteen cookies from the oven rack and set them aside to cool, she bent over the sink and called out the window to Rachel and Heather.

“Girls! Would you help me eat some freshly baked cookies? It seems I’ve made too many.”

Heather dropped the ball and darted for the gate. Rachel hesitated, then ran quickly to the back door, asking Madeline’s permission.

Heather waited at the back door for Rachel. Rachel stomped over to her and snipped, “You ninny! What if Mother had said no?”

Rachel pushed ahead through the door, snapping, “Good thing I think of these things, or we’d be in trouble all the time.”

Heather’s smile vanished, and she bit her lip.

Ada hugged Heather. “I should have checked with your mother. Let’s not dwell on what might have happened. On with our party!”

Both girls, familiar with Ada’s house, began to set the table. Their girlish voices buzzed excitedly about Ada’s ears.

“Mother and Daddy are going away for a week in the country. Adele is going to stay with us.” Rachel lined up the napkins, her lips drawn taut and her girlish face pinched, reminding Ada of a little old lady.

“Oh, she’s so much fun, Ada! She lets us have peanut butter and jam for lunch on Saturdays. With cocoa.” Heather stood beside Ada, leaning into her as she imparted her wonderful news.

Ada stopped scraping cookies from the pan to look down into Heather’s arresting, aqua‑tinted eyes. Rachel talked non‑stop. Ada listened with the sense that things were as they should be, which made her aware of her own smile.

“I’m sure that Adele will like staying with you. You girls have made quite the friends with her, haven’t you? I’ll get the milk and you two sit down now.”

After they had eaten and cleared the dishes, they began carefully packing the box with cookies for Rodger. Rachel was oddly silent while Heather asked a string of questions about the package.

“Won’t the cookies be stale? And all broken up into a hundred pieces? Do you think he’ll eat them anyway?”

Ada was just about to answer Heather when Rachel hissed, “Why don’t you just shut up and do your share of the work? What does it matter, anyway, if he gets them at all?”

Ada flinched. Heather, her eyes bleeding tears, looked at Rachel. Disgusted, Rachel walked away from the table and into the living room.

Ada smoothed away Heather’s teardrops. “Hush, baby, it’s all right. I’ll go talk with Rachel.” She kissed Heather on the forehead. “You stay here and fill the box to where I’ve penciled in a line. That’s my sweetheart.”

Ada walked into the living room and sat beside the petulant thirteen-year-old. Rachel’s long, chestnut hair fell in waves down her back and across her arms, hiding her face from Ada in its thickness. Ada stroked Rachel’s head. For several minutes Rachel sat motionless, and Ada gazed outside through the filmy curtains.

Suddenly, John came into view, walking up the street, swinging his cane, casting his head from side to side as if to catch all of the sights and keep them to himself. Ada wanted to stop him. Chide him for his overconfidence. Pushing himself beyond the limit. A gambler. Always a gambler.

Ada’s heart skipped painfully as she thought of him leaving for a whole week. There was so little time to be together. So much time alone.

She felt the tension in Rachel’s body begin to ease as she raised her head. She stared straight ahead, out the window. They both watched John disappear into the house.

“Rachel, dear, tell me what’s bothering you.” Ada hesitated. “You mustn’t feel very good about something, or you wouldn’t be so mean to Heather.”

Rachel looked over, tears noiselessly streaking down her face. She blurted all in one breath. “Why is it always ‘Rodger this, Rodger that’? Everything for Rodger. Rodger, Rodger, Rodger. What has he done that’s so great? A big hero or something.”

Ada didn’t know what to say. Not so long ago, Madeline rarely even mentioned Rodger. But since his marriage to Adele and the impending birth of their baby, Madeline spoke often and lovingly of Rodger, romanticizing his childhood. And John spoke of Rodger’s medals and promotions.

“You know, Rachel, it’s funny how a person seems to think more about someone when they’re gone.”

Rachel stared at Ada, her eyes a mirror of anger, jealousy and fear. An adult could never get by with staring at another person that way, thought Ada.

“I’m nervous about Rodger’s Chinese friends, LinChing and Mary Elizabeth.” Ada leaned close to whisper into Rachel’s ear. “I wish Rodger could come home and be with us by himself for a while. Don’t you?”

Rachel nodded. Ada could remember Rachel at three trailing behind Rodger while he pruned, weeded and mowed. Ada had nicknamed her “Rodger’s tag‑along kid.” Rodger had always been patient with Rachel. He never neglected to remember both of his sisters in his letters. Once in while, Rachel received her own letter from Rodger. Then along came Adele. And LinChing and Mary Elizabeth. And a new baby.

Rachel sighed. Ada sighed. Poor Rachel, last place in Rodger’s heart.

“It’s real hard not to be jealous, isn’t it? Everyone tells us it’s wrong, but we can’t help feeling that way.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes, but smiled weakly. Ada’s own anguish increased as she gazed back, wondering if they could adjust to these changes in their lives without heartbreak. Heather came into the room and stood at the doorway, shifting from one foot to another.

Suddenly, Ada thought of John again. She looked out the window once more, lingering a moment.

Then she clapped her hands together. “Girls! Let’s get that package wrapped and hop on down to the post office, lickety‑split!”

They bustled about in the kitchen, gathering scissors, tape, pen, and string. As they finished the last tie, Ada paused, loudly sucking in her breath, and pointing her index finger skyward.

“I’ll call your mother, right now!”

Rachel gave her a tiny smile, while giggles bubbled from Heather.

All heads turned as Adele knocked, then let herself in the back door. Heather ran to her and threw her pudgy arms around Adele’s bulging stomach.

Adele groaned. “Just think, Heather, in a couple of months your little arms will reach all the way around my waist.”

Adele, with Heather in tow, took a cookie and waddled into the living room. “I’m going to take the girls to their piano lesson and I’ll go on to the doctor’s.”

Both girls moaned. Heather whispered something to Rachel, for which her older sister admonished her. “It’s not my fault you don’t practice. All you want to do is play around and not learn anything, dumbbell.”

“Rachel! Can’t you be a bit nicer?” Adele patted Heather on the head. “I think Heather has done a wonderful job of learning the piano. She is, after all, two years younger than you.”

Rachel glared at Adele.

Ada drew Heather into a hug. “You’ll have to practice twice as hard next week, right?” Heather frowned, then her face crinkled with a smile.

Ada encircled Rachel with her other arm and followed Adele out the door. “Come, on, I’ll walk all of you to the gate. Maybe first thing tomorrow we’ll go down to the post office.”

Ada held the gate open as the girls skipped past. She quickly squeezed Adele’s arm as she lumbered after the girls. “Tell me what the doctor says.” She waved them good‑bye until they were out of sight.

She tarried in her front yard, looking for the late spring blooms. She should get mulch for her garden. She tilted her head back to watch the darkening gray clouds amassing in the sky as though they were collecting her thoughts to rain down upon her.

Back inside she nervously watched through each window for any movement on the street, expecting John. A stolen hour. Like a sinner, her anticipation of the deed was as great as the act itself. The loud ticking of the grandfather clock hurt her every nerve.

The back door creaked, and with it John’s resonant voice carried into the living room. “Ada? Are you here?”

“Yes!” she blurted. “Come in.” She met him in the kitchen and as he seated himself, she took out the china cups and put the tea kettle on to boil. “I’ll get us some tea.”

“Fine.”

“Milk?” Ada suddenly wished that John were not sitting there in her kitchen wanting a conversation. Yet at the same time she wanted him to stay. If only she could have told him about Kyle, but it seemed a breech of their relationship to tell John of another man.

John looked at her quizzically. “Well, for the last forty years I’ve taken sugar.”

Ada realized with a start it was Kyle who took milk.

“You seem distracted, Ada. Care to share what’s bothering you with a friend?” John blew across his cup, bending and curling the steam.

“It’s the times,” Ada said, her voice wavering, not wanting him to guess at conflict of desire she had for him.

“Worried?”

Ada bristled. “I sometimes allow myself to indulge in self‑pity. If you were any kind of a good friend, you would shake me loose from it. Not encourage me.”

John’s head snapped up when as he caught the irritation in her voice.

Ada immediately regretted her outburst. “Mind you, don’t shake me so hard you throw me out of my tree, however.”

She looked directly into his eyes. He reached over and with a gentle wiggle of her hand, enfolded it in his. Even though it pained her swollen, arthritic hand, Ada laughed out loud, in turn pleased by the softening of John’s face with a bemused look. His hand stayed on top of hers, resting as it were, while neither spoke nor moved.

Ada leaned into the back of her chair, eyes darting sideways to the window on her garden. “Why don’t we sit on the patio on this nice June afternoon? I might get up the energy to pull a weed.” But neither one moved.

“Remember when we thought World War I was the end of all wars?” Ada whispered.

John nodded. They sat without speaking for several minutes, each listening for the other. With just the rustling of his cotton shirt as he pulled himself upright, John pushed against his cane and started for the back door. Ada picked up the cups, put them into the sink then followed him out to her garden. Beneath the arbor, they sat on the bench swing, holding hands in companionable silence.

“Ada,” John turned to look at her, “we’ve been friends for a long time, but I know so very little about you. You’re a hometown girl, aren’t you?”

“I grew up on farm not far from where the old water tower used to be. I was the oldest of nine children,” she paused and they both watched a robin take wing, then she continued. “I took care of my sisters and brothers from crib to high school. I always thought I would have a large family myself one day. Isn’t it ironic that I lost my only child?” She stared only at the garden, not daring to look at John’s face. “Maybe that’s why I have taken such an interest in Rodger,” she hurriedly added, “and the girls. Now with the baby coming, and maybe LinChing and Mary Elizabeth, I guess I’ll have a large family!”

“I’m thankful that you’ll always be a part of our family, Ada.” John gave her hand the gentlest squeeze.

When Ada noticed her heart’s echoes ringing in her ears, she slowly extracted her hand from John’s and rose to pick up her gardening tools. John sat observing her without comment. She kept her eyes to the ground, furiously working her hands around the throats of the weeds.

She paused in her digging, hunger pangs reminding her that it must be well past noon. She snatched three ripe tomatoes dangling from a plant in front of her, and leaving her tools lie, walked past John and into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry, John?” she called. “I’ll throw some of these onto bread and butter for us. Do you like toasted white or wheat?”

“I’ll have plain white, please.” John’s voice was subdued, shrouded in politeness.

Ada hurriedly made the sandwiches, flinging them onto small, rose‑patterned china plates. She went back outside and dragged two Andirock chairs on each side of the wooden table. Before sitting down, she returned to the house and hunted in the kitchen drawers for two matching linen napkins.

John wrestled himself out from the swing and crabbed his way to the chair. He sat motionless, waiting for her to join him. The more she hurried, the longer it took her to find anything.

Finally she located the floral printed napkins in the first drawer she had already rummaged. Annoyed, she pulled at them, squeezing them in the middle as she marched to the table.

“I’ve been rearranging drawers to make room for Rodger’s friends, but I seemed to have disorganized my whole house doing it.” She watched him eat the sandwich hungrily.

“Regrets?” he asked swallowing a mouthful.

How she loved the way he could cut to the bone of an issue! The knots in her stomach unraveled. “No.” She frowned, offering him the truth from her heart. “We never become involved more than we want for ourselves.”

Putting his napkin beside the empty plate, he looked long and searchingly at her. “I think Maddie finally realizes how much you’ve done. I was afraid for Maddie when Rodger was little. He was a difficult baby and Maddie cried a lot and worried that she must be an awful mother. Thank God she had the girls!” John creased the napkin when a stroke of his long fingers. “She used to resent the time Rodger spent with you, but Lord knows, she barely could stand have him in the house. The two girls were less of a mess than one Rodger.”

Although Ada chuckled, John’s words disturbed her deeply. Just where did she fit in? She could never turn away Rodger when he needed her, nor could she shut herself off from John, Rachel, Heather, or even Madeline. She was damned to understand them all.

“Perhaps Madeline and Rodger will come to an agreement one day.”

“I hope so. I guess we have to take the consequences of our lives, no matter how small they might be.”

His sadness touched Ada, making her sad too. But she had no words of comfort, for she wasn’t sure of what sin he thought he should atone for. She reached across the table for his hand.

“You never told Rodger about your Army days.” Ada played her thumb along the inside half‑circle of John’s hand.

“D‑a‑z‑e?” He smiled, clasping her hand in his. “Just a bit of a smile?”

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

“No, I promised Madeline when Rodger was born I’d never talk about ‘those days of glory.’ ” He scratched his chin with both of their hands. “I worry about Rodger, too. For a lot of reasons.”

“You mustn’t feel you’ve let Rodger down, John.”

He shrugged. “I probably let Rodger down in ways I don’t even know about.”

Ada wondered at his sensitivity and how much of this man lay hidden from himself and others, yet he could be so forthright with her. She felt the familiar sting of regret of what might have been for them but pushed it aside.

“Our children are mirrors of our inner truths. But, how much of ourselves can we give to our children? How much will they take?” She wished she could give him more than just words.

John stared straight ahead, talking in a monotone. “I don’t think Rodger understood how I could quit being an engineman. Quit the life of a hoghead, highballing those freight trains as fast as the speed of light. Give up that to become a banker.”

He flicked away a fly.

“God, I wish I could have flown!” he burst out.

Ada had closed her eyes, letting time mingle memories of their lives over the years. “You’ve lived a full life.” She leaned close enough to kiss his cheek. “I should say ‘lives’: engineman, soldier, gambler, and,” she swept her free hand palm up, “Indian Chief.”

He pressed his cheek to hers. “Rodger won’t understand until he has the same decision to face.”

“Maybe Adele will make it easier for him,” Ada whispered.

She heard the sounds of girlish voices. She disentangled their hands and gave John’s arm a shove, at once holding him and letting him go.

“Be gone, back-door man. There’ll be time enough for us later.”

Ada took the dishes inside and from the kitchen window she could see John leaning against the fence, making faces at her. She fought to keep her face expressionless, pushing down the rising threat of laughter. She waved him away with mock impatience, both delighted and irritated when he blew an indiscrete kiss to her.

Ada turned her attention to Adele and the girls. Heather and Rachel would run ahead, circle back and around Adele as she shooed them onto their own doorstep. Ada could almost feel the weight of Adele’s pregnancy as she shuffled along the sidewalk and came up the walkway. She heard Adele’s careful steps as she picked her way up the front stairs. Adele pulled at the screen door and rapped twice before nudging the front door open. Ada stepped away from the sink and turned to greet her.

“Oh, my God!” Ada heard Adele gasp.

In her confusion, Ada thought Adele had seen John’s foolish displays of affection. Her horrified expression impelled Ada to turn back to the window.

John had fallen and was crawling on his hands and knees toward the back door of his house. He frantically jerked at his collar, stopping to sit back upon his heels. His head was thrown back, and his gaping mouth hung open as his sides heaved. He plucked at his collar and clenched his ribs with the other arm.

Ada ran to him. He lay prone as she searched his right pants pocket, jerking it inside out. Adele was beside him, loosening the tie and top button of his shirt. Ada fumbled through his other pocket, lying across his stilled chest as she searched for the nitroglycerin pill. She found the steel capsule container and worked it until the lid snapped open. She snatched a pill and shoved it into John’s mouth, forcing it past his lips and under his tongue. She tried to find his carotid pulse, pressing two fingers underneath his chin, and along his throat.

“John! John! Please open your eyes!” she demanded of him. She grabbed his chin, thinking to keep it shut tight so that the pill would dissolve faster.

Adele reached over and shoved Ada’s hand away from John. The little pill rolled out and onto the ground.

“It’s no use, Ada. He’s dead.”

“No! He’s not!” She picked up his wrist and searched for a pulse; then lay her head upon his chest. She heard no heartbeat. Her panic ebbed, and an eerie calmness stole over her. She looked up at Adele, sure the young woman understood.

“Stay with him. He’d want that.” Adele struggled to her feet. “I’ll tell Madeline.”

Ada nodded, sitting heavily onto the grass. She cradled John’s head in her lap and stroked his cheek. No more, no more. Up, down, up, down over the stubbles of his late‑day beard. No more. No more.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.

Fate, thought Rodger, has a justice all her own. The last air raid had damaged their quarters and makeshift hangar. He would tell Mary Elizabeth all about it, sparing none of the details, and she would have to understand; she should be glad he got her out of there.

Rodger walked unannounced into the convent. He approached Sister Grace, her back to him, furiously sweeping the hallway. Before he could speak, she turned and shrieked.

Rodger met her uncompromising glare with a shrug. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I came to see Mary Elizabeth.”

“Come with me, honorable Major,” Sister Grace flicked the broom as if to whisk him away. “I will show you to LinChing and Father McBride.”

The other nun, Sister Pearl, stood by the kitchen door, facing the garden. Rodger nodded to her, making a sober face behind Sister Grace’s back. Sister Pearl suppressed a sad, little smile.

Father McBride and LinChing were seated in chairs under the litchi tree in the garden. As Rodger approached, a silence, like a shroud, enveloped them. Even the birds and insects were quiet. Leaves, overturned by the breeze, moved soundlessly, and the roving clouds blocked the sultry sun’s ray, casting a darkened shadow over the small group. The nuns excused themselves and with rustling habits, disappeared inside the mission.

Rodger sensed chaos beneath the calm appearances. He eyed LinChing, then Father McBride, who waved to an empty chair.

“We have a very serious problem, Major. Mary Elizabeth refuses food and water. Sister Pearl has forced some mush down her throat, but all our efforts are futile. She won’t speak to anyone—just sits staring or rocking back and forth.”

Father McBride, aged and beaten by circumstances, shook his head. “LinChing feels he must stay with her.”

Rodger remained standing. “No.” He looked directly at LinChing, bolt upright, his breath audible, sitting with his hands clasped in his lap. “I’ve got to have you back to repair our planes.” Rodger wiped away sweat beading along his forehead. He stepped closer to LinChing, maintaining eye contact. “I’ve got paperwork in the mill now to get you and Mary Elizabeth to the states, but it won’t be for a couple of months. We’re without a decent mechanic at Bose, and I can’t let you stay here.”

LinChing blinked but did not say anything. Frustrated, Rodger paced.

“Look, we’re only forty‑five minutes from here now. You can come back every night if it’ll help. Anyway,” Rodger swiveled in the direction of Mary Elizabeth’s room, “let me talk to her.”

LinChing would not reply. With a sigh of resignation, Father McBride gave his tacit approval with a wave in the direction of Mary Elizabeth’s room.

Rodger shoved the mission door open and strode down the hall to her room. At the door he paused, patting the pocket where he had put her present from Jimmy. He took off his hat and stepped softly inside. He stood rigid, shocked by her thinness and lifelessness. It seemed that he had been sucked into a void, into the vast and incomprehensible hell she had succumbed.

He watched her for a long time before he went over and knelt beside the cot, alarmed by her fragility. He placed his hat by her pillow where sunlight streamed down from the window, illuminating half of the bed. Mary Elizabeth huddled in the dark corner. “Listen, we had to move the base because it got blown up.” He swallowed hard, willing a steadiness in his voice. “Seven men died.” He made himself reach out and touch her thin arm, took a deep breath and kept his voice low. “God, I’m so thankful you were here. We’re up at Bose now, real close.”

She did not move. He leaned over close to her ear. “I brought you something from Jimmy.”

He took from his front pocket a travel-size comb, brush and mirror. “Here, Bright Eyes, look at yourself in this mirror. See how pretty you are?”

He angled the mirror and caught her reflection but she did not so much as blink. He wiggled the mirror shooting rainbows around them. He rattled the comb and brush in his other hand, but nothing he did caught her attention. He stopped his frantic motions, placing each item side by side at the end of the mattress near her feet. He walked to the opposite end of the room and leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

He considered what to do. With pounding steps, he went over and scooped her up, as best he could manage her awkward form. He thought of the night he held her as she grieved for the dead airman, Buck. She did not relax as he held her but remained in a tight, curled ball with jutting elbows.

He plopped down upon the mattress and his hat slid to the floor, as the mirror, comb and brush tattooed onto the floor. “Remember I told you about Ada? Well, the next transport out, you’re going to the States. You and your father. To the same town I was born and raised in. Wilmington. You’ll meet my sisters and have new dresses and lots of dolls. Ada will take good care of you, and I know you’ll love her. Just like me. I love her. She’ll know how to take care of a little girl. Your father’ll get a job so that you two can live like decent people and not like animals.”

He tried to hold onto to her, hoping to bring her back to him. But though she did not move, barely it seemed breathed at all, she slipped away from him.

He heard his words getting louder, echoing with desperation. “The Japs wasted us, Bright Eyes. They cleaned us out. But you know what? Your doll didn’t get a scratch on her. We still have her with us. You can come see us.”

Gently, he eased her on the mattress. She began to rock back and forth. He grabbed her shoulders, but stopped himself from shaking her. This nonsense had to stop, now. He eased his grip, whispering harshly, “Hell, you think it’s all fun and games? You don’t think I care about you, your feelings? No! I only care about you living or dying. God damn it, Mary Elizabeth!”

He softened his voice. “I know how you feel. But I didn’t desert you. In the long run, things’ll work out for you and your father. Trust me.”

He let go of her. She continued to rock back and forth. He snatched his hat off the floor on his way out of the room and smacked the door shut.

Sister Grace walked down the corridor towards him. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Do you bathe her? Will you feed her and take care of her like…,” he faltered, “…like she is now?”

Sister Grace nodded. Rodger dropped his hand and she left him standing alone by the door. He stared a long time at the closed door before walking away. Once outside, sunlight blinded him, bleaching the trees, plants and walkway. He fumbled in his shirt pocket until he found his sunglasses. As he scanned the garden looking for LinChing, he recognized the rattling cries of pheasants and twittering of finches. He scattered a swarm of insects, batting a path to where LinChing knelt weeding.

LinChing stood and dusted the dirt from his hands and pantaloons. He faced Rodger squarely and met his gaze as Rodger spoke. “Listen, there’s no way for me to justify your being here. You have to earn your keep. The only way Mary Elizabeth can stay here, where she is safe, is for you to come back to the base and work. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Major.” LinChing replied curtly.

“All right, then. We’ll leave in a couple of hours.” He turned back to the mission, re-entering the side door.

Rodger came to Father McBride’s door and rapped softly.

“Enter.”

Father McBride stood staring out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Over the priest’s shoulder, Rodger glimpsed the countryside and thought of simpler days, wishing he could mount a good, swift steed to race along paths going nowhere in particular. Just somewhere.

Father McBride turned to face Rodger, unwinding an arm to point at the chessboard. “Are you game?”

“Sure. I could use a good match.”

Father McBride sat heavily into a chair. Rodger pulled another chair up to the table.

“I’m expecting news any day now from stateside about immigration papers for Mary Elizabeth and LinChing.”

“I’m not sure you are doing the best thing for LinChing. You’re forgetting how it must be for him to leave his homeland.”

“Look, I’ve got troubles enough. I don’t want LinChing to leave. He’s the best mechanic within a thousand miles, and I need him, at least until his replacement gets here. I went through hell to get a new mechanic. And now, Washington’s trying to break us up.” Rodger let Father McBride take his knight. “You’ve no idea what it’s like trying to play mother and God to a bunch of hot‑headed pilots.”

“Indeed.” Father McBride laced his fingers together, peeking over the rim of his glasses. “Perhaps, Major, you ought to let God be God and man be man.” He pushed his knight back to the original square and contemplated his move some more. “After all, you can’t force the hand of God.”

“I sure as hell can try.”

As Father McBride moved into checkmate, Rodger leaned back in the chair. The game was over in thirty‑three moves. Father McBride slapped his thighs and stood, pushing his chair away. He went to the bookshelf and snagged a large, black, leather-bound book down from the second shelf. He splayed it open and handed it to Rodger, pointing to the middle paragraph on page 47. “Our first game. Played in London in 1851. Right here, ‘The Immortal Game.’ ”

“Interesting.” Rodger compressed a smile. “Good bedtime reading.” He snapped the book shut and placed it on the desk. “Listen, doesn’t LinChing have any relatives around here?”

Father McBride rubbed his chin. “Yes, I believe Mary Elizabeth’s mother came here with her sister and brother‑in‑law. They, too, were missionaries somewhere across the mountains. I think I may even have met Tobias, once.”

“All the people would have been evacuated from that side of the mountains by now. Probably to Tenchong or Binyang.”

Rodger ran a finger along the spine of the book. “Can you get in touch with them? Maybe some kind of connection to her past would bring her out of…,” Rodger waved behind him, “…of that.”

“I’ll make inquiries, Major.” Father McBride pulled out a cigar for himself and offered one to Rodger.

Rodger leaned forward, accepting the cigar. “I’ve got something for you. Besides extra provisions.” He scooted the chair back, rose, and left with a nod to Father McBride. He returned cradling a bottle of scotch.

He presented Father McBride the bottle of Haig & Haig Five Star Blend. “Sometimes it works out that the loser takes all.”

The older man gazed lovingly at the bottle. “Join me?” he asked, turning to reach inside a cabinet for glasses.

“No, I’m going to collect LinChing and head out.” He paused at the door. “I told him that I couldn’t justify Mary Elizabeth staying here if he didn’t return with us and work on the planes. Maybe if you told him you would try to find Mary Elizabeth’s aunt, it would be of some consolation.”

“Certainly, Major. I’ll speak to him right away.”

Rodger smoked and paced beside the jeep as he waited for LinChing. After nearly half an hour, LinChing emerged with his few belongings wrapped in a new Army blanket. Without a word to Rodger, he climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Neither man spoke to the other on the ride back to the base. When they came into the new barracks, Rodger pointed to the hangar.

“Better’n the last shack, huh?”

LinChing simply nodded, and as the jeep slowed to a stop, he hopped out. Along the far side of the hangar a dozen or more coolies squatted, smoking opium pipes. LinChing walked passed them without any acknowledgment and through the gaping door to examine the interior of the hangar. Rodger followed, going on to his office where he poured himself a cup of thick, day-old coffee. He sat down at a long table with maps and a flight slide rule. A few minutes later, Will sauntered through the door with Steve and the Canadian pilot Raftly trailing in with two other pilots.

“You guys, come here.” Rodger placed his index finger on a target zone on the map in front of him. “We’ll brief at 0530.”

Raftly grunted, stuffing his goggles inside his shirt pocket. Steve and Will nodded in the direction of the canteen, and the men left as a group.

When LinChing came in from the hangar, Rodger stopped him before he could slip into a bunk. “Are we airworthy?”

“Yes. All six.”

“Listen, tomorrow after we’re all in from the sortie, I’ll take you back to see Mary Elizabeth.”

LinChing nodded.

“The next transport that comes in will bring your replacement. You and Bright Eyes are going to the States.” Rodger slapped his chipped coffee mug down. “The land of milk and honey.”

“Not my home, Major.”

“I know. But right now, you’re a man without land or people, LinChing. It’s the best chance for the both of you to have some sort of life.”

“Will replacement parts come for the P‑40?”

“Yeah, day after tomorrow.”

LinChing walked away. Rodger muttered under his breath, “Thank you, too.”

He and his men were eager to be airborne early the next morning. Rodger waved away the two ground men, then slid the canopy shut on roll-out.

The hum of his P‑40 Warhawk and the other P‑38 Tomahawk engines was a song he could harmonize with, letting his mind and body flow in rhythm. His company flew in syncopated camaraderie. Approaching the French-Indochina border, the flight swooped down. Rodger led as he and his men strafed the ground. Trucks, jeeps and machines scrambled for cover. Guns popped.

The ground lit up in bursts of fiery explosions, like candles on a huge cake. Another pass and in unison, they pulled away and headed for home base.

Then six Nates dropped on them.

Rodger and his wingman broke away. They had two strikes right away; Will and Steve pounced on a Zero and sent it flaming downward. Rodger caught the lead plane and pumped ammo until the plane exploded in midair. Debris flew across the sky, slicing into one of its own Nates like a huge razor, forcing the crippled plane to leave the flock.

Rodger regrouped in the air with his men. McGree’s voice broke the radio silence.

“All accounted for.”

They headed for home base. Near the airfield, the air churned with black smoke, streaked with colors of orange and violet. Swooping for a low overpass, Rodger watched in horrified fascination as the last fuel can burst into flaming pieces. The landing strip had been strafed.

“Take it easy, guys, it’s going to be a tough landing.” A chill zipped his spine at the sight of the devastation.

They all made it safely into the revetments. The prop still churned as Rodger bounded off the wing and sprinted for the smoldering hangar. He recoiled from the acrid smell of burning rubber but forced himself forward, yanking the doors open and picking his way over the scattered parts. Then he spotted the dark form of LinChing.

The mechanic lay limp and unconscious. Blood streamed in rivulets over his eyes, down his cheeks. Little drops of blood plopped onto the ground.

“Medic’s kit!” Rodger screamed. With one quick, unthinking motion, he plucked a piece of shrapnel lodged over the man’s eyebrow.

LinChing winced. The unlocked medic’s kit dropped beside him. Rodger jerked out a wad of gauze and stuffed it into the gash, yelling to Raftly.

“Bring that board. Get the jeep as close to the door as possible.”

Rodger and Raftly hefted the board sideways across the back of the jeep. McGree drove while Raftly and Rodger rode beside LinChing. Rodger pressed his body against the hardness of the wood to stay the jiggling. McGree cursed at dogs and people that moved or got in his way. The gauze grew warm and spongy beneath Rodger’s hand. It took three hours before they arrived at the hospital in Nanning. All three of them maneuvered the makeshift stretcher through the hospital doors and into the emergency room.

Rodger, McGree and Raftly sat silent in a waiting room where the stench of infected flesh and antiseptic wafted through the netting covering rows of wounded. Raftly, nicknamed Dragonman, sat hunched over, puffing on a cigarette, smoky billows pouring from his cheeks.

The head nurse beckoned Rodger. “Major! Your friend is going to live, but he lost a lot of blood. And most likely lost his sight. We’ve done all we can for him. Anyway,” she paused, directed the orderlies, then turned to look at Rodger, “you’ll have to find someplace where he can have complete rest until scar tissue forms.”

“Does he … know he’s blind?”

“I expect he will when he regains consciousness. They usually do.”

Rodger felt a wave of nausea. “How soon can he be moved?”

“Tonight.”

“But he can’t be in any shape to be moved tonight!” Rodger protested.

The nurse cut him short. “I don’t run the war, mister. I just try to patch ’em up and send ’em out again.”

“That’s a helluva note, lady.”

She started moving toward the door. “I have no more time for you, Major. Move your men out.”

With a wave of his hand, he directed Raftly and McGree to the stretcher. “We’ll take him to Father McBride.”

They loaded the stretcher with LinChing into the jeep, careful to keep it steady. Rodger sat once again beside LinChing as Raftly edged into the front seat next to McGree.

McGree drove without a curse word, and the Dragonman stared listlessly ahead, only the slight flick of ash from a cigarette showing any movement. The closeness of the warm night air was comforting during the two hour drive back. The mission was dark and quiet. Rodger leaped from the jeep and pounded on the door.

Father McBride appeared, the door ajar. Behind him were the nuns with arms outstretched, holding lamps that covered their faces.

“Father, LinChing has been seriously wounded. The hospital had no room for him, so I had to bring him here.”

Father McBride turned and shooed the nuns away with orders in Chinese. He waved to Rodger. “Bring him! Bring him! Follow me.”

Rodger motioned to McGree and Raftly to bring the stretcher. Father McBride rustling in his loose Chinese pants, the nuns swishing about in their habits, and the padding of careful footsteps were the only sounds down the hallway. Rodger waited as the others went on. He pushed Mary Elizabeth’s door open and stepped inside her room. She lay on the mattress, pressed into herself and rocking, rocking.

“Now, goddamn it, you listen to me, Mary Elizabeth,” he whispered harshly, “your father is wounded, badly. He’s blind. Blind!” He squatted beside her, smoothed back her hair, and tried to reason with her. “He’s here, next door. He needs you. Do you hear me? You can be the eyes he doesn’t have!”

He reached out and pressed her shoulder, staying her incessant movement. “We’re just poor bastards trying to win a war that no one wants to fight. You’re not the only one hurt by it.”

With both hands he cupped her face, bringing her closer to him. “We’re all lost in our own way. It’s not just you. We all are.”

She did not open her eyes, but she lay still. Rodger listened to her breathing and the thrumming of his heart then kissed her forehead before he stood upright. “I’ll be back next week.”

He closed the door with a resounding bang and leaned against it, whispering, “Please, God, give us all a break.”

Father McBride hurried down the hall. “Major, LinChing is resting, and we’ll see that his wounds are dressed. We’ll do the best we can for LinChing.”

McGree and Raftly trailed behind the priest. Sister Grace eased out of the room, made the sign of the cross, and disappeared into another room.

“I’ll be back.” Rodger threw out his hand. “Thanks, Father.”

Father McBride gripped it and held it. “I’ve contacted the mission and expect to hear shortly about Mary Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle. I’ve sent word for them to come and visit us.”

“Does she know?” Rodger called out, gesturing at Mary Elizabeth’s direction as he and his men loaded into the jeep. He could see Father McBride in the dimly lit doorway, smiling faintly, nodding his head.

Back at their base in less than an hour and put down for the night, Rodger dropped into fitful sleep. Visions of grotesque, bloodied faces with gaping, toothless mouths made him bolt upright of out sleep. He got up from his bunk and went outside to smoke a cigarette.

He walked over to his plane and ran his hand along the wing. He had done what he could for LinChing; he just hoped that Mary Elizabeth would come around. She would, he repeated breathing deeply, she would. For the next few days, he would make himself forget them, trusting Father McBride, the nuns, and God would take care of Mary Elizabeth and her father.

Five days later, immigration papers for LinChing and Mary Elizabeth came in with the transport, hand-carried by the new, eager mechanic. So did the spare tire for his plane and a P‑38 carburetor.

Maybe this would auger a lucky break for them. With the packet of official papers and passports, Rodger climbed into his jeep and set out for the mission, whistling as loud as he could.

Want to read more? Read online for free>> Or buy your own copy of Forcing the Hand of God: paperback or hardcover on Amazon.com or ebook (multiple formats available) on Smashwords.com.