BooksBarbecue
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

Mija meant he had the best mother in the world. “Mija means daughter.”

Leah’s mouth dropped open.

“I’ll tell you what else it means.” Clay rested his forearm on the wall over her head and leaned closer so he could keep his voice low. “It means our baby will have doting grandparents to spoil her rotten.”

Her eyes shimmered, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

Clay perched on the edge of the little bench beside her and offered his handkerchief.

“Thank you, but I don’t—I don’t cry.” Her voice broke, and she took the handkerchief.

He rested back against the wall while contentment filled every compartment of his soul. Not only was he giving Leah and the baby a comfortable life together, but he’d given them a big family that would keep loving and supporting them long after he was gone. He hadn’t even thought of that before the phone call.

He’d given his parents a gift too. Clay would die, and Wyatt and Adler might never come home again. But now Daddy and Mama had a daughter to cherish and a grandchild on the way.

Leah sniffed. “I suppose all brides say this, but this is the happiest day of my life.”

Clay couldn’t contain his grin. “Mine too.”

ch-fig1

13

TULLAHOMA
SUNDAY, AUGUST 8, 1943

Leah held the tiny soap to her nose and inhaled cleanliness and luxury. She had a bathroom to herself, with no girls pounding on the door or crowding at the sink.

Clay’s canvas toiletry kit lay unrolled on a cabinet. Pouches held razor and blades, toothbrush and paste, shaving cream, soap, comb, and mirror. What a clever thing.

No sounds emanated from the bedroom. When she had awakened, Clay had been asleep on a blanket on the floor. How odd to sleep in the same room as a man. Yet the rhythm of his breathing had a comforting effect.

After Leah buttoned her yellow floral dress, she arranged curls and bobby pins the best she could.

Leah eased the bathroom door open. Daylight brightened the room through the drawn curtains. Holding her breath, she padded past Clay to the chair by the window.

Perhaps she could write a poem. Since the attack, her emotions had been too jumbled to put into words. She took her composition book from her purse, but the blank page mocked her.

Leah’s gaze drifted to Clay. Watching him sleep felt too private and intimate.

He lay on his stomach, one arm crooked above his head, a white T-shirt taut across his back. One bare leg protruded from under the sheet, as sturdy and muscular as the rest of him.

For the first time, words alone felt inadequate to describe the sight before her. If only she were an artist, so she could sculpt him in bronze.