The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,47

would be at school.

Miss King led Leah into a room filled with long tables and benches. “This is the dining room, where the children do their homework. We’ll put the books in here.”

Scuffed floorboards and scratched-up tables, but all was clean. “This is nice.”

“We do what we can.” Miss King fussed with a wiry strand of hair above her ear. “I’m pleased to say we can officially accept the book donation.”

“Officially?” When she’d talked to Miss King on the phone the day before, she’d heard nothing but enthusiasm.

She tucked the strand into her bun, but it sprang free. “I’m afraid I spoke out of turn. At last night’s board meeting I was in a bit of trouble for accepting the donation without asking. The chairwoman was not pleased.”

Mrs. Channing again. “I’m sorry. Are you sure—”

“Yes, yes.” She pushed a bench into line. “The board voted her down. I practically begged. We’re packed to the rafters with children, and we need to keep them occupied.”

A baby’s cry pierced, and Miss King aimed a sigh upstairs. “With an Army camp in town, you can imagine how many unwanted babies come our way.”

“I—I can imagine.” She stroked her rounded belly and was rewarded by a fluttery greeting from her much-wanted baby.

Miss King cocked her head and picked up a handkerchief under a table. “We still have so many older children who were abandoned during the Depression.”

“But the economy is strong now. Haven’t people begun to adopt?”

“Not with the men overseas and the wives working at Camp Forrest.”

“I—I hadn’t thought about that.”

“And donations have fallen.” She rubbed her foot over a stain on the floor. “The war effort takes priority, so other charities struggle. If it weren’t for Tullahoma’s best families, I don’t know what we’d do. We’re barely staying afloat.”

If only Leah could contribute, but it didn’t feel right to give out of Clay’s allotment. “Do you need volunteers?”

Miss King’s gaze darted to her. “Sure do. It’s hard to hire staff since we pay less than Camp Forrest. And with all the ladies working, it’s hard to find volunteers.”

“I’m interested. I have to quit my job in January, and I won’t return after my baby is born. Would it be possible to bring my baby along?”

Miss King fiddled with that strand of hair. “A woman of your standing? You wouldn’t want your child here. I love these children dearly, but some are a bit rough and uncouth.”

Leah’s chest ached. That was how everyone had seen her. “All the more reason to help.”

The director’s shoulders relaxed. “Well then, I’ll see you in January.”

She managed a smile. “You’ll see me in a few days with a load of books.”

22

BUDE, CORNWALL

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1943

“Those artillery boys will be hopping mad.” Clay chuckled and ran with his squad back to the rendezvous point.

“Happy Christmas to you, old chaps,” G. M. called in an affected English accent.

Thank goodness the foliage kept them concealed from their opponents in the field exercise. And thank goodness Lieutenant Colonel Rudder had assigned the exercise to help the men forget they were spending Christmas far from home.

Not such a happy Christmas for the boys of the US field artillery battalion stationed in Bude. The Rangers had tracked the artillerymen’s position, infiltrated past their security, removed the breechblocks from the 155-mm howitzers, and let air out of the tires. Mission accomplished.

Clay’s squad ran along a narrow path lined with tall hedges and arching tree branches. A cool wind blustered up from the Celtic Sea onto the Cornish downs.

For the past three weeks, the Rangers had traipsed the downs in speed marches and runs. They’d trained with combat-seasoned British Commandos. And almost every day they’d scaled the hundred-foot-tall Upton Cliffs, first with a safety line and then without.

Clay hopped over a low rail fence into the clearing where his platoon gathered. He found Lieutenant Taylor and reported his squad’s success. With Bob Holman injured, Clay had led the squad on this exercise.

Holman sat propped against a tree, surrounded by Gene, Ruby, and McKillop.

Clay joined them. “We’ve scaled how many cliffs, and you sprain your ankle on level ground.”

“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have heard the scuttlebutt.” Holman’s blink was slow and uncoordinated. Just how much whiskey had he nipped before the exercise? “Overheard Big Jim talking to Tay-Tay. D’you ’member in Florida when that girl went missing?”

“Yeah.” Clay could still hear her father’s anguished voice.

McKillop tapped a cigarette out of a pack. “Betcha they found her holed up in a beach shack with some sailor