Love Blooms in a Snowstorm: A World War II Inspirational Romance

Praise for Love Blooms in a Snowstorm

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~Virginia Steffenhagen.

I read the whole book. I couldn’t put it down. And I just want the story to go on and on.

~Mary Ann Rutledge, Lifestyle Supervisor, Pacific Springs Village, Omaha

Love Blooms in a Snowstorm

A World War II Inspirational Novel

By

Ruth Richert Jones

Copyright ©2014

Love Blooms in a Snowstorm

A World War II Inspirational Novel by Ruth Richert Jones

ISBN 978-0971232

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below:

Electronically designed by Electric Moon Publishing

www.emoonpublishing.com

Interior Design: Electric Moon Publishing

Cover Design: Nate Brown, Art Director

THANKS TO:

my husband, Russell G. Jones, D. Ed, who served in the United States Army Air Corps during the World War II era and to my only brother, Arnold J. Richert, who served in the United States Navy And for the information they contributed to this book.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover

Praise for Love Blooms in a Snowstorm

Title

Copyright

Thanks from author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Epilogue

About the Author

1CHAPTER ONE

Light fog had already reached the house when Shirley closed the door behind her. And it was chilly. She pulled her sweater more tightly around her then paused before taking her first step. Farther down the beach, the fog was much thicker, thick enough that should another person come along, she wouldn’t be able to see them until they were right in front of her.

Was Mrs. Taylor right? Was it too dangerous to go strolling along the beach? Should she go back and spend the evening listening to the radio or reading a book? Or write letters?

No! Shirley declared. Her mind was made up. She was not about to spend any more time in her room than she had to. The beach was calling her.

She started down the sandy slope leading to the ocean. But walking downward on dry loose sand was difficult. Her feet slid forward with each step. But the level beach wasn’t much better for the sand was still loose and dry. Her feet still shifted. At the rate she was moving, she’d never make it to the damp sand where walking would be much easier.

But she did finally make it. It was true, it was easier walking on the sand but now the fog was more dense. Shirley had barely reached the damp sand when she glimpsed a dark shadow moving in the fog. It was too far away to tell what it was but it seemed to be coming her way. But she couldn’t tell what it was. She stopped short then spun around and started back up the hill toward the house. But she had taken only a few steps before she turned and started down the beach again. She wasn’t about to spend the evening in her room.

The shadow kept moving closer. Was it someone like her just taking a walk? Or, could it be a Japanese? Rumor had it that the Japanese, or Japs as they called them, had already reached the Pacific shores and were preparing to attack. Was this one of them? Had he seen her? Would he attack? Why hadn’t she chanced it when she could have made it? Now it was too late. If she ran, whoever it was would run after her. And once she was on dry sand, she’d never get away.

She chuckled. On dry sand, he’d have the same problem!

But he might be able to run faster than she. And if he were a Japanese, he likely had trained and could run faster than she. Mrs. Taylor was right. She should never have left the house. But now it was too late.

While she debated her course of action, the figure continued moving closer. Then he was close enough to see that he was carrying a rifle over his shoulder.

But as Shirley tried making up her mind deciding what to do, the dark figure moved even closer. Was he Japanese? Or German? The country was at war with Germany too. But Germans would likely attack on the east coast.

Then the figure moved closer, close enough that she could see his uniform. He was an American! She was safe!

Halt! he shouted as his rifle came off his shoulder.

What ya doin’ alone on the beach? he barked. Isn’t safe!

He sounded gruff but there was a gleam in his eye. Was he just a flirt or was he merely glad to meet someone here on the lonely and foggy beach?

The hair showing below his army cap was dark. He had prominent cheek bones and, although she couldn’t see the color of his eyes, they looked dark. His face was smoothly shaven. And he sure was good looking! Course, soldiers in uniform were especially good looking! Shirley couldn’t help but think of some of the fellas back in high school who quit school and joined the army. Most weren’t that good looking in street clothes. But in their uniforms, any girl would go for them.

And this soldier was tall. At five foot, two, Shirley just came to his shoulders. He had to be over six feet tall. How romantic to meet a soldier out here on the beach. And a good looking one at that!

Despite his official gruffness, she could tell he was pleased to meet her. And as far as she was concerned, meeting a soldier on the beach was a bonus she hadn’t expected when she agreed to work for the Taylors. The fact was she had never dreamed she would spend this much time on the beach.

It all started with a telephone call from Jane Taylor.

How would you like to spend the summer on the beach? she asked.

Shirley could hardly believe her ears. Was this for real? Her favorite romantic novels were set on beaches. She had fallen in love with oceans just reading about them.

But to be here for a whole summer! That was unbelievable! She had never dreamed of this. She couldn’t imagine spending that much time on the beach. And she had never dreamed that she, Shirley Aldrich, born in Montana and raised in Dallas, Oregon would spend a whole summer on the beach.

Actually, even though they lived in Oregon and the ocean wasn’t far away, she hadn’t really spent a lot of time on the beach. Never overnight. When her family moved to Dallas, they were coming out of the great depression. In Montana, there hadn’t been a crop year after year so her parents gave up the farm and moved to Oregon.

Before Shirley was born, her family had lived in Oregon a couple of years. Her father had always considered Oregon the Promised Land. Now that they were in Oregon, it wasn’t always so wonderful. There weren’t any jobs available at the saw mill, a mainstay for local men so the family picked fruit, nuts and hops. That kept them busy not only in the summertime but into the fall. It was hard work. They’d get up early in the morning so they could take advantage of the cool of the day. In the afternoon it got very hot especially in the hop fields.

While picking these crops when they were in season, there was little time to spend even one day on the beach. And in the wintertime it was just too cold. And most businesses on the beach were closed.

In Omaha, where she attended college, she couldn’t spend time on the beach. There weren’t any beaches nearby. Not unless you counted some of the lakes like Linoma Beach. It was on the Platte River and, as its name indicated was halfway between Lincoln and Omaha. It wasn’t really a lake, just a sandpit. There was a beach there but the beach was tiny compared to the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean beaches. Nevertheless, people enjoyed what little beach there was.

As a matter of fact, Shirley had been there herself several times.

Jane Taylor’s husband, Bill, owned a car dealership in Dallas, where Shirley’s dad had bought his car. Her dad really needed a new car now, but while the nation was at war, it was impossible to buy a new one. But her dad kept his name on the list in case one should come in. Whether or not he could afford it if one did come available, was another question. In the meantime, he tried to keep his present car in good shape.

After Jimmy was born, Mrs. Taylor often asked Shirley to babysit. Then, in high school, she worked as their maid and as Jimmy’s nanny. Jimmy was a lively three-year-old and kept her busy. But she learned to love him as she was sure she’d love her own child, if she had one.

Then, when Shirley was out of high school, she quit working for the Taylors and worked in the canneries, where she got better pay. Her favorite job was canning Royal Ann Cherries. The cannery for which she worked was in Salem, about fifteen miles from Dallas and it processed only fruit.

Shirley, perched on a high seat, fed cherries into a feeder that removed the stems then dropped the cherries to a moving belt. Several cannery workers, usually women, sat at the moving belt where they picked out the bad ones and the double ones called twins. But, of course, as she worked, Shirley picked out the best looking cherries with a little red on their cheeks and ate them.

During the green bean season, she’d work in another cannery where they canned beans.

It was near the end of her freshman year of college in Omaha that Mrs. Taylor called her.

Will you be coming home this summer, she wanted to know.

Plan to, Shirley told her. Hope to work in the canneries.

Would you like to work for us instead? Mrs. Taylor asked. We’re renting a house on the beach, she continued. It’d just be light work around the house and taking care of Jimmy. He loves you and begged us to ask you."

I don’t know. I’d have to think about it, Shirley answered. And talk to my parents.

Oh, I’ve already talked to them. They think it’s a good idea, especially since we’ll pay your train fare both ways. Mr. Taylor checked and it would be around ninety-nine dollars each way.

That made the offer hard to refuse.

And now here she was enjoying her first night on the beach! Jimmy was asleep and the evening was hers.

Earlier that evening before leaving for the beach, Shirley tucked the covers more closely around the sleeping child and gave him a pat on his shoulder.

Someday, she mused, she would have a child of her own. He’d likely have blonde hair just like Jimmy’s and hers unless, of course, the child’s father had dark hair.

Shirley crossed the room to the windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Across the sandy beach for as far as Shirley could see, huge mountains of water were rolling toward shore. But at the horizon, fog was beginning to form.

How blest she was to spend a whole summer on the ocean shore. And she, Shirley Aldrich, was getting paid for it! Sure, she would be responsible for Jimmy and working around the house but there were times when he would be with his parents or asleep in bed. She would have plenty of free time, time to swim and time for long walks on the beach. Unfortunately, the Pacific waters along the Oregon coast were usually cold and the air chilly. Still, what better way to spend the summer before going back to college? It’d still be hot when she got back to Omaha but she’d have these memories.

Shirley’s eyes scanned the horizon for enemy ships or submarines. It was 1942 and the country was at war. Enemy subs were a stark reality. Last year, on December 7, when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the country was plunged into war. Eighteen warships, 188 aircraft and 2,403 servicemen were lost within two hours. Pearl Harbor had changed everything. President Roosevelt called it a day to live in infamy.

Here on the Oregon coast and more than a hundred miles inland, the windows of every house, were equipped with heavy black shades.

Be sure to pull all the shades before it gets dark, Mrs. Taylor told Shirley when they moved into the rented beach house. "Then run your hand along the edges so not a bit of light shines into the street.

In the evening there was little traffic in the streets. Not in Dallas nor any of the neighboring towns and especially here on the beach. The few cars out just inched along, their lights on dim. Or no lights at all. To Shirley that just didn’t seem safe. She was surprised there weren’t more accidents. But then traffic here and in Dallas, was light at night.

Volunteers in Dallas and all the neighboring towns spent countless hours watching for enemy aircraft. Kids in school learned to recognize the different kinds of planes. They also learned to recognize the smell of the various toxic gases. In gym they learned to march to the tunes of military tunes.

People on the east coast watched for German planes and submarines for the United States was also at war with Germany. But here on the west coast, if the enemy attacked, it would likely be the Japanese, or Japs as everyone called them. It sounded disrespectful to call them Japs but then she couldn’t do anything about that. Everyone, it seemed, hated the Japs. They even hated the Japs who were U.S. citizens.

In fact, not long before, the U.S. government uprooted thousands of Japs, including U.S. citizens, from their homes and settled them in crowded prison camps. It didn’t seem fair but the government suspected them of passing information to the enemy.

Everyone was uneasy. Rumor had it that there had already been sightings of enemy craft near the Oregon shore. Some claimed they had seen Japanese soldiers on land. How they had managed to enter the country without being detected, no one seemed to know.

But this evening no ships were visible. Then, even as she stood at the window, she saw fog slowly rolling toward shore. She was sure the beach would be shrouded with fog before she reached it, Should she risk walking along the beach?

On one hand, once the fog reached the beach, no one would be able to see her. But, on the other hand, anyone else walking along the beach would be shrouded too. If she were walking along the beach, someone could easily sneak up on her. And if there were Japs ashore like rumor had it, they could attack and no one would be the wiser. No one knew what method of attack the enemy might choose.

Shirley shrugged. She’d heard that soldiers regularly patrolled the beach. Surely one of those soldiers would come along every so often. She’d be safe. Or would she? Would the enemy reach her first? Since this was her first night on the beach she couldn’t be sure.

She decided to take the risk. She let the shade drop back into place then ran her hand down the sides of the shade as Mrs. Taylor had shown her.

Shirley quietly slipped down the hall to her room. The blackout shades were already down so she turned on the light. She exchanged the light blue housemaid uniform she was wearing for a dirndl skirt scattered with huge roses and green leaves and a blouse that perfectly matched the pink roses. Skirts were much more comfortable than uniforms. And prettier too. Besides, previous maids had worn the uniforms and they hung too loosely over Shirley’s slender body.

She glanced at the brown and white saddle shoes she was wearing. They looked a bit shabby and the sand would likely make them look even worse. But besides her dress shoes, this was her only pair. She’d have to wear them. She’d have to buy a new pair for school anyway. But for now, when she reached the beach, she could take off her shoes and go barefoot on the sand. That way she wouldn’t get sand in her shoes. Once she had settled that, she pulled on a heavy white cardigan and started across the room.

But before turning off the light, Shirley glanced in the mirror. Every strand of her long wavy blonde hair was in place. She wondered briefly why her looks were so important when no one would see her out in the fog. Force of habit she guessed. She did like to look nice. Well, so be it, she decided.

She switched off the light and closed the door behind her then started down the stairs. Halfway down, a cloud of tobacco smoke whirled up to meet her and she held her breath. It smelled awful!

Raucous laughter burst from the living room. Jimmy’s parents and their guests were playing bridge. From the sound of things, they were having a good time despite the blue smoke that engulfed the room. They were used to it and likely didn’t notice.

Shirley looked in on the foursome. Jimmy’s asleep, she said, directing her attention to Mrs. Taylor, and I’m going for a walk.

Mrs. Taylor tapped her cigarette on the edge of an ashtray. The fog’s coming up. Sure it’s wise?

I won’t be long, Shirley told her.

She left. And then she met Tom.

What are you doing out here alone on the beach? he asked. Don’t you know there’s a war on?

* * *

American soldiers were a familiar sight to Shirley for there was an army base not too many miles from Dallas, Shirley’s home town. On weekends, a busload or two of soldiers drove in to the USO canteen the city had set up for service men and women. Like most canteens, it was furnished with several sofas, a piano, a radio and a phonograph. There were also a few tables, chairs, a sink and a stove. Usually there was a place to write letters. Volunteers were always present and coffee was always on. And there was always lots to eat. Despite sugar rationing, people still brought in cookies, cake and sandwiches.

Invariably someone would play the piano and they’d all gathered around and sing. Or they’d put a 78 rpm record on the phonograph and dance. Bing Crosby’s records were among the favorites.

As regulations dictated, those in the military usually wore their best uniforms. And did they look handsome! Some had not seen a girl in a long time.