The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,6
words, and she handed the pin to the saleslady. “No, thank you. Not today.” She fumbled for the bills inside her purse.
What had she almost done? She’d never taken anything from a store before, but then she’d rarely been inside stores. The shopkeepers in Des Moines shooed out the orphans.
This was why.
The saleslady punched keys on the cash register, her lips in a thin red line.
Leah tried to breathe evenly. What sort of things had she taken in the past? Food, for the most part. And lovely lonely things.
Pearl Gunderson’s hair ribbon of robin egg blue, forsaken on the playground. An eraser, one of the clever typewriter ones on a wheel with a little brush, abandoned on the floor in typing class. Stella Black’s tiny celluloid Kewpie that she always made the villain in her games, left in the mud in Stella’s yard. Leah had taken the doll home, bathed her, made her a dress from a handkerchief, and named her Euterpe after the muse of lyric poetry and music.
The saleslady handed her a large pasteboard box tied with string.
Outside in the extraordinary heat and rain, Darlene opened her umbrella. They strolled down West Lincoln past Clayton’s Shoes, where Leah had bought her pumps and purse with Miss Mayhew’s loan. In the autumn, Leah could buy a second purse and pair of shoes, a set for each season. She still had two shoe ration coupons remaining for the year. How exciting.
“Here’s Taylor’s Pharmacy,” Darlene said as they turned left onto Atlantic. “They’ll have umbrellas.”
Leah opened the door, setting bells to jangling, and she clenched her fingers together so they wouldn’t even think of browsing.
“May I help you?” a middle-aged saleslady called from behind a glass counter, her eyes curved into friendly half-moons.
“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to buy an umbrella.”
For the next fifteen minutes, the lady showed her over a dozen, and Leah chose a sturdy one in her price range.
Leah paid for the umbrella. Beside the counter stood a collection bin for the Victory Book Campaign, emblazoned with a red, white, and blue poster stating “Give more books. Give good books.” How marvelous it would be to have so many books you could give them away.
Darlene stood just inside the door with four soldiers wearing khaki shirts and trousers and garrison caps. “There she is, fellas. My roommate, Leah. She works at Camp Forrest too.”
A tall skinny soldier gave her a lopsided grin. “At the PX? The mess?”
Leah held her breath. She wasn’t used to men looking straight at her or talking to her. “At the library. I’m a librarian.”
“One of those bookish gals, huh?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“Sugar, don’t admit that.” Darlene nudged her. “Not if you want dates.”
Leah didn’t want dates, but she worked up a smile for her friend.
Darlene shook back her hair. “Leah spends far too much time in the library. She works every night until nine thirty. Then after she closes, she stays an extra hour just to read. All by herself.”
To research, but the explanation would be wasted again.
A square-faced soldier with pale blond hair gave her the type of grin Leah had only seen directed at girls like Darlene. “Sounds like you could use a night on the town. How about the four of us, the two of you? Maybe you’ve got a couple girlfriends.”
Darlene set her hand on her hip. “Sure, handsome. I know plenty of gals. But y’all had better take us somewhere nice. We’re plumb tired of the cafeteria.”
Leah felt ill. Why, she didn’t even know these men, much less how to act on a date. “Not me, but thank you for the invitation.”
The skinny soldier crossed his arms. “Got yourself a boyfriend?”
“No. I just . . .” Leah twisted her purse strap and smiled in a way that she hoped would communicate polite regret. “I’m still settling in and getting used to my job.”
The black-haired soldier at the end was looking at her chest.
Leah pulled her purse in front of her like a shield.
The man had a notch in his left ear like a tomcat who had been in too many fights. He met her gaze. His eyes were dark and as cold as midnight in Iowa in January, and a shudder ran through her. One of the wolves.
“Any of you fellows have a pen?” Darlene asked.
Two immediately sprang forth.
Darlene uncapped one, took the hand of the blond soldier, and wrote on the back of his hand. “The number for my boardinghouse. Ask for Darlene. I’ll round up some friends.”