“Been back long?” I asked inanely, putting the towels down on the cabinet and getting a mug down for him. My inner thoughts were too chaotic to sort out. I had the feeling of being on a treadmill. I had to keep moving faster or I’d fall off altogether. Like Alice, running as fast as she could to stay in the same place. Only, as of right now, I wasn’t even in the same place.
“Got in a week ago,” he replied genially.
“Take your things off.”
He divested himself, grinning apologetically as he kept peeling off layers. When he had got down to a uniform tunic, he turned to take the coffee I poured him.
“Just black, thank you, ma’am,” he smiled and edged close to the stove. “That was one mighty cold walk,” he continued sociably, his glance dropping to the pie and away. “I got a lift from the railroad station to the first crossroads. The Coast Guard. Oh, near forgot, the stationmaster gave me some mail for the major and young Murdock,” he said, and having found the letters in his pocket, handed them over to me. “Special Delivery.” His grin was frank and broad.
“You weren’t kidding.” A stupid remark, for one of them, addressed to me, was liberally covered with special delivery stamps. It was from Mrs. Everett and thick. She had probably forwarded me some letter, I thought. It was sweet of her to go to so much trouble. I put the letters down on the sideboard.
“No, ma’am,” he said, turning this way and that to warm all angles of him at the stove.
He had crisp blond hair cut close to his scalp, and I could see the line of a bullet crease along the top of his head. He was stockily built and shorter than the major but still six or seven inches the better of me. He seemed to be waiting expectantly and I realized he wondered why I didn’t call “the Murdock lad” or the major.
“The men are out after wood,” I explained hastily and gestured him to the chair nearest the stove. He thanked me again and sat down, hands curled around the hot mug.
“You sure would need it, day like today.”
“Day like the last several.”
“Ah,” he began self-consciously, clearing his throat, “how’s the kid taking his father’s death?”
“I think I’d better set you straight, Lieutenant DeLord,” I said deliberately. He looked apprehensive. I held up my hand. “Now this may come as a surprise to you but - I’m James Carlysle Murdock.”
“Well, I’m pleased to
” and he did a perfect double take. “Did I hear you right, ma’am? You’re James Carlysle Murdock?”
“Oh, yes, if you knew my father for very long, lieutenant, or very well, you probably discovered he had an odd sense of humor.”
The light green eyes regarded me seriously.
“He was also somewhat stubborn. He had chosen an appropriate name for his firstborn, so it didn’t occur to him to change the name simply because he was disappointed in the sex of the child. I have been James Carlysle Murdock all my life and there have been times, especially since Pearl Harbor, when it has been a liability, believe me.”
The green eyes began to twinkle although the face had not changed expression. The twinkle turned to laughter and then the mouth turned up at the corners as Lieutenant De Lord started to laugh. He continued to laugh until the infectious quality of his mirth caught me up, too, dispersing entirely my apprehensions about him.
“James Carlysle Murdock, well, that’s one on me,” he said.
“No,” I contradicted him, grinning, “that’s one on me.”
This set him off again and I joined in so wholeheartedly that neither of us heard the men approaching until the back door burst open and Merlin came charging into the room.
The moment the shepherd saw the newcomer he changed from a happy dog in from a mad morning of fun into a guard animal, alert, intent, moving slowly, purposefully, towards the stranger.
I’ll say this for DeLord, he didn’t move a muscle. It took a strong will not to retreat from the sight he was facing.
“At ease, Merlin!” I said sharply.
The hackles on Merlin’s back dropped, his muscles relaxed, and he came forward at a normal pace, to sniff the hand DeLord slowly extended.
“Friend,” I added, having just decided that. Merlin was already making a new acquaintance.
This had all happened very quickly so that both Turtle and the major had just reached the doorway when Merlin touched DeLord’s hand with an inquisitive nose. DeLord got to his feet.
“The lieutenant, by God,” Turtle ground out.
“Major,” the lieutenant acknowledged gravely. “Bailey. Didn’t realize you were back, sergeant.”
“No, sir, just got back. Excuse me, Major,” and Turtle pushed in with the load of logs he was lugging.
Regan Laird, also laden, came in too, hooking the door shut with his foot. There was a clatter as Turtle dropped his burden into the wood basket.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” the major asked, stalking - yes, that was the term - stalking across to dump his own load.
“Young James Carlysle Murdock,” drawled the lieutenant, moving to one side to let the men warm themselves at the stove. He leaned back against the inner wall, one hand holding the coffee mug, the other thrust into his pocket. He seemed far more at ease than either the major or Turtle.
At the mention of my full name, the major frowned, first at me and then at the lieutenant.
“He thought I was Mrs. Laird.” I giggled nervously.
“Issat apple pie?” Turtle cried, pointing to it.
“No,” I told him, making a face, “it’s monkey meat.”
Turtle grinned, turning to Laird with a satisfied smile. “I tol’ya we’d eat good when we got back.” I pushed them both out of the way to check on the roast. The fork went in smoothly, two full inches.
“I’d have given odds this meat wouldn’t thaw before late tomorrow,” I commented, closing the door slowly on the delicious aroma. I was very conscious of the major’s alertness, DeLord’s almost insolent ease, and the fact that Turtle wanted to improve the situation.
“Yorkshire pudding?” Turtle asked hopefully.
“If this ever cooks,” I promised, poking the meat again. “It’ll probably be red-raw in the middle.”
“Only way to eat it,” Turtle replied, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips. “Right, Major?”
“Yes,” the major agreed absently. “Could we have some coffee, Carlysle?”
“Yes, yes.” I went to the cupboard, planting my hands on the counter to lever myself up.
“The stool, Carlysle. Use the stool,” the major said in a grating voice that sounded more like Turtle’s.
“Allow me,” said the lieutenant smoothly and handed me down two mugs. I thanked him sweetly, carefully avoiding Regan Laird’s eyes. The air fairly crackled with his annoyance.
“The lieutenant hitched a ride in with the Coast Guard,” I said conversationally as I filled the mugs. “He brought us some mail, too. Special delivery.” I glanced over at DeLord with a special grin for our inside joke.
Picking up the packet of letters, I riffled through them. Two for Regan Laird were in the brown manila envelopes, franked for official business, U.S. Army. There were two V-mail envelopes for me plus Mrs. Everett’s letter and one with a local postmark.
“If you’ll excuse me a minute, I’ll see what my nice landlady has to say,” I said, drawing up a chair to the far end of the table, “since she was ‘specialing’ it to me.”
One envelope, addressed in an unfamiliar handwriting, fell out of the pages and pages of lined tablet paper that had been folded over it.
“Jesus,” I exclaimed angrily, “what does that bastard want with me?”
“Bit, can it,” Turtle growled at me.
I pursed my lips. “Warren!” I flung the envelope distastefully to the table. “Guardian, you read it.”