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Back The Land Beneath Us Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Endorsements
  3. Books by Sarah Sundin
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright Page
  6. Presidential Radio Broadcast
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. Epilogue
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. Discussion Questions
  60. About the Author
  61. Back Ads
  62. Back Cover

What a horrible mother she was. How could she have ignored the person who needed her most, the only person who loved her?

She stilled, her hand on her daughter’s head. Yes, Helen loved her. Leah wasn’t unloved.

Leah resumed the rocking and pacing. “Mama loves you. Jesus loves you.”

And sweet, warm peace flowed about her. “Jesus loves me too.”

She’d never truly been alone or unloved, and she never would be. “Lord, forgive me. You saw me when I was abandoned and rejected, and you stayed by my side. You’re my true Father.”

In the Bible, God had seen Leah too. He’d seen that Jacob didn’t love her, so he opened her womb and gave her children.

Leah kissed her own gift from God. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me Helen, for sending Clay so I could keep her.”

Love for her husband built inside, strong and deep. He didn’t love her in a romantic way, but he loved her in the best way, protecting and giving everything he had. A true husband.

That wasn’t all. She had Rita Sue, as dear as any true sister. And Mama Paxton, who loved Leah like a true mother.

Fresh moisture filled her eyes. “Oh, Lord. I’ve been searching for the family I lost, and I didn’t see the family you gave me.”

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42

POINTE DU HOC
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 1944

The pain—it hurt to breathe.

Another explosion, lower and deeper. It jostled Clay, and he cried out.

Sharp retorts in the casemate. Rifle fire?

“Position secure!” Perkovich called.

His buddies had taken it, just as in his dream, and Clay’s smile dug into the dirt.

“Casualties?” Taylor yelled.

“One dead Jerry, two injured. No Rangers hurt.”

“Paxton is!” Gene shouted. “Pax is down. Medic!”

“Don’t—bother,” Clay mumbled.

Footsteps pounded his way, and someone rolled him onto his back.

Pain carved into Clay’s chest, and he groaned.

“He’s alive!” Ruby grasped his shoulders. “Come on, Clay. Stay with me. Tell me what to do. You paid attention in first aid class, remember?”

“Let me go.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don’t talk that way.” Ruby ripped open Clay’s field jacket. “Tell me what to do.”

“Come on, Clay. Don’t give up.” Gene hobbled over, using his rifle as a crutch.

He had to give his buddies a task so they’d feel better. Clay lifted his head enough to see his chest. So much blood. “Check—check to see if the bullet went through.”

“Sorry, pal.” Ruby pushed on Clay’s shoulder and hip.

It hurt like blazes, and Clay bit his lip so he wouldn’t scream.

“Yeah, another hole in your back and bigger.”

“Pack ’em with field dressings. Sit me upright.” His breath was fast, shallow, painful.

More footsteps. Lieutenant Taylor knelt in front of him, and so did Pete Voinescu, a medic.