The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,75

take them out into the harbor to their LSI transport, Ben-my-Chree.

“We’re ready for you chaps.” A Royal Navy officer checked off their names on his manifest.

Clay gave his name, then led his squad down concrete steps cut into the pier and out onto a floating wooden dock. The British crew gave him a hand, and he stepped down into the belly of the LCA. The men took their seats on two benches along each side and one down the center.

Clay straddled the center bench and arranged his pack and rifle to make room for the other men.

“Smoke?” McKillop held up a pack of Lucky Strikes, and Clay passed it on by.

When all the men were crammed in, Lieutenant Taylor signaled to the coxswain. The motor revved, and the boat putted down the canal.

The side of the landing craft was above Clay’s head, and he couldn’t see where he’d come from or where he was going.

Low in a pit once again.

The pit had turned out to be the right place for him, and he was thankful for all that had happened there, but it was time to leave.

Clay stood and braced himself against the armor-plated plywood of the hull, and other Rangers stood too. Brisk air flowed over his face and into his soul.

The boat trotted over the blue waves with its herd, each LCA with a wake like a plumy white tail.

Farther out in the harbor sat giant gray warships and transports, as the huge invasion fleet received the horde of soldiers and prepared to sail.

The Rangers were scheduled for another briefing tonight on board the Ben-my-Chree. At last they’d hear the date for D-day.

How many days, how many hours until he left the pit for good?

Behind him, Lombardi sang “Over There” in his rough bass.

Clay laughed at the song from the previous war and then joined in the appropriate lyrics. The Yanks were indeed coming, and someday soon it would be over, over there.

Clay grinned at Gene and Ruby and Holman and McKillop. He wouldn’t see that day, but he’d do his bit to make it happen.

Resolve and peace and purpose wove together into a rope, strong and true. It would hold.

35

DEARBORN STATION, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

SUNDAY, JUNE 4, 1944

Leah clutched sleeping Helen to her chest as she fought to keep up with Mama Paxton’s brisk pace down the train platform.

The station lights illuminated the Dixie Flagler’s sleek aluminum sides. What a sumptuous journey, with reclining seats and an elegant dinner. The ladies’ lounge and restroom had even been roomy enough for her to nurse and change the baby.

Since the train left Nashville at one thirty, Leah had spent her time playing with the baby and watching the Midwest roll by.

A year had passed since she’d taken the train south from Des Moines. The year before, she’d worn that dumpy gray dress with a long braid down her back, wide-eyed and innocent.

Now she was a mother in a chic grassy green suit with her hair rolled up under her sweet summer hat. She was no longer innocent, but she felt stronger and wiser.

At the baggage car, Mama gave the porter their claim ticket, and the man stacked their bags onto a trolley.

Three stylishly dressed black women stepped out of the baggage car, and Leah’s heart lurched. How unjust that segregation in the South required them to ride back there just because of the color of their skin. No reclining seats. No elegant meals.

Leah gave them a nod and a small smile as they passed. She would acknowledge their worth, even if no one else did.

The porter wheeled the trolley into the station, and Leah followed with Mama.

Although it was ten o’clock at night, hundreds of people filled Dearborn Station. So many sailors in bright white tunics and bell-bottom trousers, their “Dixie cup” caps at rakish angles.

Three soldiers passed in olive drab service uniforms, like Clay had worn at their wedding. She’d received a letter from him yesterday, each letter a treasure. The invasion hadn’t occurred, but the nation crackled with tension as summer rose on the horizon.

By the ticket windows, a poster showed a crowd of soldiers boarding a train. The caption read “Is your trip necessary?”

Leah winced and did a double step to catch up to Mama. Should she have taken a seat in wartime for a personal errand?

“Daddy!” Three school-age children darted through the crowd and slammed into a sailor. He lifted the youngest high, laughing and grinning.

Leah’s shoulders relaxed. Yes, her trip was necessary. If she had even