Pacific Glory by P. T. Deutermann

Author:P. T. Deutermann [Deutermann, P. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2011-03-14T22:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

After a bath, Glory slipped into a muumuu and went out to the verandah of the nurses’ quarters. It was just after midnight, and she had brought down one lone cigarette. Everyone she knew at the hospital smoked, but she consumed precisely two a day: one with her first morning coffee, and another before going to bed at night. She smoked in private because her mother had drilled it into her that ladies did not smoke in public. In these days of global war, Glory knew those rules of female propriety were hopelessly old-fashioned, and yet she still abided by them whenever she could.

The moon was somewhere behind the building, but the night was clear with just a hint of a tropic breeze coming in from Diamond Head. The bougainvillea was in bloom, along with a few stray orchids. It was almost too beautiful, she thought. Sally had said she’d be delighted to write to Glory’s “handsome” lieutenant commander, as long as Glory did, too. Glory had promised to write and then realized she didn’t have his address. She’d have to check with the Fleet Post Office to find out how to send mail to the USS Evans. Or perhaps not, she mused. If Sally struck up a warm correspondence, then she wouldn’t have to.

She heard voices coming from the darkness of the street. The Pearl Harbor blackout was still being observed, so there were no streetlights. Finally she saw shapes moving up the sidewalk toward the nurses’ quarters. Four nurses in uniform were accompanied by a tall, dark-haired man wearing khakis. The girls were giggling like teenagers surrounding a movie star, and Glory guessed this must be the new surgeon everyone in the nurses’ lounge had been talking about. What was he doing here?

She rubbed out the cigarette on the rocker of the chair and bent forward to get up and go inside. Then she realized she was naked under the flimsy muumuu, a fact that would be obvious to anyone who saw her in the doorway. She sat back down and adjusted the fabric so that it draped less revealingly.

The nurses came up the walkway, saw Glory, and happily introduced her to Dr. Stembridge. He was indeed tall, dark, and very handsome, and his voice was soft and refined, with a hint of New York City.

“Nurse Hawthorne,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. He had to bow slightly because Glory had remained seated, and it seemed a movement to which he was accustomed. His hand was soft and rock-hard at the same time, a surgeon’s hand.

“Doctor,” she replied. “Welcome to Pearl.”

“Oh, c’mon, Glory,” one of the girls said. “Say aloha—we’re in Hawaii!”

“I don’t speak Hawaiian,” Glory said. “I think it sounds silly when Americans use their words.”

There was much rolling of eyes and then several giggling good-nights and thanks-for-walking-us-backs. The verandah emptied out quickly, but Stembridge hesitated. He appeared to be sniffing the air.

“Is that bougainvillea?” he asked rhetorically. He went to the side of the verandah.

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