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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

Realization slammed into his chest. Abandonment was all she knew. Why would she expect anything else from him?

He had to reassure her. Clay pushed to his feet and draped the scarf around his neck.

A chill wind slapped him in the face.

November 15? She’d written that letter a month and a half ago. By saving her letter for a Christmas treat, he’d left her in the lurch.

She wouldn’t receive his reply for another week or two, maybe four.

That wouldn’t do. He marched back across the sand. He’d send a cablegram today.

No, it was Christmas. First thing tomorrow morning. He’d make the message vague enough for all the eyes that would see it, yet clear enough for her.

“I won’t abandon you, Leah.” He crossed the footbridge and broke into a run, desperate to write his reply. “I won’t.”

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23

CAMP FORREST
FRIDAY, JANUARY 14, 1944

Leah brushed a finger along the book spines in the 720 section of the library. Architecture. How she’d hoped to peruse that section.

She’d never sift through Camp Forrest’s collection again. Dr. Adams wanted her to quit now that she was in her third trimester, and today was her last day. Since everyone thought she was only five months pregnant, Leah stated that her recent surgery had made the doctor cautious.

Her fingers halted on a book on early American architecture. What if it contained a photo of one of the buildings in her memory? She would never see it.

Leah sighed and shelved two volumes from her cart. Hoping to find clues about her hometown and surname in library books had been naïve. Her childhood memories were foggy and sparse and distorted by time.

Although she would never stop yearning to know her name and to find her sisters, bearing the Paxton name and feeling her daughter’s tiny kicks eased the ache.

“Leah Paxton,” she whispered, and she wheeled her cart to the next aisle.

Thank goodness she could keep that name. The arrival of Clay’s cablegram had nearly torn her heart out. She was preparing herself for a telegram come spring, not right after Christmas.

But the message soothed her qualms: “NO NEED TO WORRY STOP NOTHING WILL CHANGE STOP LETTER COMING STOP YOURS CLAY.”

Leah shelved books in the 800s. She hadn’t received that letter, but she no longer feared annulment. And he’d never signed his letters “yours” before. How could one word fill her with such warmth and joy?

Her cart empty, she pushed it toward the circulation desk. At the card catalog, Miss Mayhew chatted quietly with Miss Elliott, who had started the first of the year.

Miss Elliott had graduated from the library school at Emory University and could catalog, research, and make acquisitions, as well as work the circulation desk, a more qualified librarian than Leah and a suitable replacement.