The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,65

parts of his life joining—as he’d hoped they would. Obviously, they’d been talking about him.

Clay darted his gaze between the road, the Rangers, and the stationery.

I pray constantly that you’ll completely forgive your brothers. This is for your own good, so you’ll be at peace knowing you’ve done right by them. This is for Wyatt and Adler, so they can rest in the knowledge of your forgiveness and love. Despite all that’s happened, I know you love them dearly.

This is for your parents, who love all three of you and long for you to forgive each other. Please remember your parents’ love for Wyatt and Adler doesn’t diminish their love for you. It never has, and it never will.

This is also for the sake of your family as a whole. Clay, you alone hold the key to restoration and peace. Your parents have forgiven your brothers, and they say Wyatt and Adler have forgiven each other. That leaves you, my sweet husband.

My sweet wife. What wisdom, written with assurance. What compassion—for Clay, for his parents, and for the brothers-in-law she’d never met and had heard nothing good about.

Clay pulled the snapshot from the envelope, the picture of Leah holding baby Helen to face the camera. Over and over he’d studied Helen’s face—so tiny it only intensified the desire to see her, to watch her expressions and hear her cries and coos.

And Leah. Something in his chest stirred and rolled. She’d changed. Nothing girlish or na?ve remained. She was a woman. A beautiful woman.

The way those dark eyes looked to the camera, still dreamy but with a new poise. And the way her lips tipped up at the corners, serene but strong.

Clay had married a lost waif who needed his protection and his giving. Along the way, something had changed. She’d begun giving to him. He craved her words, soft but true. He needed her.

He loved her.

Clay stifled a groan and tucked the photo and letter back in his pocket. He was afraid this might happen. He was afraid he’d fall in love. Now he couldn’t deny it any longer.

Through an opening in the shrubbery, the cliff fell away beside him. So like their objective on the far shore.

Where he’d die.

Clay kept his feet moving, although the stirring in his chest transformed to churning. For three years, he’d wanted to die to escape the pit of his life. But now the pit wasn’t miserable. It was downright cozy. He belonged to the best unit in the US Army, and he had the sweetest wife and baby girl in the world.

If his brothers hadn’t . . .

Clay’s eyes stretched wide, taking in gravelly path and trees and clouds and insight.

If his brothers hadn’t cast him in the pit, he never would have been drafted. He never would have joined the Rangers. He wouldn’t have been at Camp Forrest—

His blood ran cold.

He wouldn’t have passed the library that July night. Leah would have bled to death. Even if she’d lived, Clay wouldn’t have been there to marry her. She would have given Helen up for adoption.

“Oh, Lord. Thank you,” he murmured. Thank you for the pit. Thank you—thank you for letting my brothers take away my future so Leah and Helen could have a future.

His chest convulsed. He gasped long and hard—quickly faked a cough to divert his friends’ attention.

Clay could barely breathe, barely walk, barely think, everything upside down and backward and topsy-turvy.

And everything turned right side up for the first time in three years.

31

TULLAHOMA

SUNDAY, MAY 14, 1944

On the church lawn, Miss King from the orphanage peeked into the carriage—not easy with Luella and Sally Bellamy guarding “their” baby. “My, she’s good. I hope this means you can volunteer again soon. The children keep asking about you.”

Leah rolled her hands around the handle of the baby carriage. “Thank you.”

“Happy Mother’s Day.” Miss King wiggled her fingers at Leah and Rita Sue.

In front of the stately brick church, Mrs. Paxton chatted with Mrs. Sheridan from the library, Mercer chatted with three men Leah didn’t know, and Joey Bellamy played tag with some older boys.

Leah frowned at Rita Sue. “Why would Miss King want me back?”

Rita Sue tilted her head, making the pink flowers on her hat sway. “Why wouldn’t she?”

“I insulted the donors.”

“Pff.” Rita Sue leaned close and lowered her voice. “Mrs. Channing is insulted if the weather doesn’t do her bidding. Never you mind her.”

Leah turned the carriage to keep the sun out of Helen’s eyes. “But I’m not . . .