<< Go Back

A Heart For the Sailor

By Terri Wangard

Order Now!

Late summer, 1944
Manitowoc, Wisconsin
Evelyn van der Heiden stared at her image in the mirror. What was wrong with her? Raising her chin, she smiled. The image smiling back was passably pretty.
She turned her head this way and that. Sandy brown hair fell past her shoulders, where the ends obediently curled under. Straight, white teeth allowed a pretty smile. Her nose wasn’t too flat or too long. Everyone always commented on her bright blue eyes.
Her shoulders sagged. Maybe her personality was the problem.
Her roommate, Sharon Bero, skipped into the room. She caught Evelyn’s gaze in the mirror and plopped onto her bed. “Something the matter?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
A grin twitched Sharon’s lips. “Now, there’s a definite answer. What’s up?” She spied the letter on the makeup table. “Is that from Jerry? Is he giving you grief again?”
Evelyn pivoted around on the stool. “He wrote about how hot the South Pacific is. How hot the ship’s berthing quarters are that it’s like sleeping in an oven. How the Tabberer has run out of fresh food, so they’re eating Spam until the ship can be replenished. That’s it. He could have been writing to his mother.”
“Nothing about missing you, or hope to see you soon, or wish this war would end?” Sharon kicked off her shoes and pulled up her feet to sit cross-legged. “He never really writes letters, does he? Just quick notes? Maybe that’s his style.”
“Maybe, for the most part.” Evelyn fingered his latest correspondence. “He did write a lot when they arrived in Australia. He wrote a whole page on the pretty girl he met with the delightful accent. I wonder if he writes to her. If he’s lost interest in me.”
“Aw, honey, no. He’s been crazy about you since you met in tenth grade. He’s not the type to have a girl in every port. Although that little gal with the delightful accent might have a guy on every ship.” Sharon jumped up, nearly stumbling over her feet. “I’ve got a great idea. Where are those invitations? Here. Those two cute sailors invited us to the commissioning party for the USS Lagarto. We’ll go, and then you can write to Jerry all about the fabulous time you had with Ron. No, he’s my guy. Yours is Verne.”
The light blue invitation featured the submarine’s battle insignia set behind a cutout window. Evelyn read the invitation again. “We are summoned by Davy Jones.” She grinned. “Sounds ominous.”
When it came yesterday, she’d immediately decided not to go. But why not? The Lagarto and its crew were about to leave Manitowoc, unlikely to ever return. Verne wanted a date for the party, nothing more.
Jerry had been away for over two years, joining the navy in the months after the attack on Pearl Harbor. In that time, he’d mentioned parties before his ship left on patrols or sortied with the fleet. This would be no different. The Lagarto crew deserved a festive send-off. A few dances with other men wouldn’t threaten Jerry.
Would he feel threatened?
“You think I ought to let Jerry know he has a little competition, is that it?”
“Yes! You write a whole page about the swell seaman whose feet are always jitterbugging. Maybe Verne will ask you to write. That should worry Jerry.” Sharon performed a few dance steps of her own. “You realize how long it’s been since we’ve danced?”
“We went to a dance last week.”
Sharon snorted. “That was a mistake. It still burns me up the way that slick sailor pinched me. Anyway,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder, “this is a dignified affair, with official invitations.”
Evelyn leaned back with her elbows on the makeup table. “Verne is kind of cute with his curly blond hair, and his aquiline nose suits him. Although, I’ll admit, I’d rather go with that handsome lieutenant with the charming smile. Frederick, I think his name is. Unfortunately, he wears a wedding band.”
“Aha! You’ve been eyeing the sailors. Good for you. Since Jerry’s dragging his feet, you may as well stay in circulation.” Sharon snatched the invitation out of Evelyn’s hand. “I’ll RSVP tomorrow before you can change your mind.” She danced out the door. “Right now, I’ll help Cousin Violet with supper.”
“Cousin Violet? Our landlady is my relative, and I don’t call her Cousin.”
“You don’t have to because of your blood relation. A verbal relationship is all I can claim.”
Shaking her head, Evelyn turned back to the mirror. Her reflection gazed back at her. “What do you think Jerry will think of me going to the commissioning party?”
Her reflection mimicked her shrug.
She picked up her brush. “Why not go to the party? I helped build that sub. It’s time to celebrate a job well done.”
The reflection shared her nod.
***
The Silver Lake Lodge hosted the party. Crepe paper streamers hung from the sides of the room to the center. Tables of refreshments hugged the walls, allowing room for dancing.
Evelyn had seen newspaper photos of other commissioning parties and knew the women wore nice, everyday dresses, not evening gowns. She smoothed her pleated skirt and adjusted the white lace-trimmed collar of her floral print dress. After wearing dirty coveralls at work every day, dressing up felt strange.
Verne brought her a glass of punch. He did look swell in his dress uniform. She and Sharon first met Verne and his friend, Ron, when the men had been watching the Lagarto glisten in the sun, tied up at the pier.
Ron had grinned. “She’s eager to get out there and make her mark.”
Sharon had no trouble flirting. “Are you eager to get out there and make your mark?”
“You bet, darling.” Ron and Sharon should get along just fine.
Evelyn had squared her shoulders and pushed aside the intimidation trying to smother her. Verne looked smart in his uniform and she looked grubby in welder’s coveralls, but she had nothing to be ashamed of. She did important work here. “Are you eager to be going?”
He had offered a bashful smile. “Sure am. I want to see the world. Kansas doesn’t offer much besides wheat fields.”
She cocked her head. “So you’re going to sea? I’m guessing you don’t have much sailing experience. And you’ll be underwater.”
Verne chuckled. “Credit a persuasive recruiter for this.” He indicated the sub. “He claimed submarines are the way to go. We’ll see.”
Now they were ready to join the war. Evelyn smiled at the memory and surveyed the room. “Is the whole crew here?”
“Probably. Shall we count everyone? There should be eighty-eight of us.”
The orchestra struck up “The White Cliffs of Dover.” Verne whisked away their now-empty glasses and offered her his hand.
The dance floor filled with couples. Having another man’s arm around her seemed disloyal to Jerry, but Sharon was right. Since Jerry hadn’t committed to her, he should know she attracted attention from other men.
She shook off the guilty feeling with the first thought to pop into her head. “I guess you aren’t likely to see the white cliffs of Dover.”
“No, ma’am. I’m sure we’re bound for the Pacific. About the only ships Jerry has left are U-boats, and you don’t fight subs with subs.”
Evelyn nearly stumbled. “Jerry?”
“The Germans.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Goodness, guilt was hounding her. “Jerry is the name of the man I’d been dating before he shipped out. He’s not in the Atlantic or on a sub.”
Verne whirled her around another couple. “He’s in the navy?”
“Yes, aboard the Tabberer.”
His brow puckered. “The Tabberer?”
“A destroyer escort.”
“Ah.” His brow smoothed. “One of the baby boys.”
“Pardon?”
Verne grinned. “Well, if the destroyers are called small boys, then the DEs must be babies.”
Evelyn stifled a laugh. “I don’t think I’ll mention that to him.”
“They have the advantage of being an unlikely target. The Japs want to bag the big prizes. The carriers, followed by the battleships and heavy cruisers. But the destroyer escorts? Why waste a torpedo?”
The song ended and they paused to applaud the orchestra. The musicians segued into “I’ll Be Seeing You,” the song that most made Evelyn think of Jerry.
“And the disadvantages?”
Verne grimaced. “Imagine being in a storm at sea. Heaving waves, billowing wind. In subs, we can dive down to calmer water. The carriers are heavy enough to barely notice, but the small ships? They’ll be tossed around like bathtub toys.”

Order Now!

<< Go Back