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CHAPTER 1

Kensington, London, England Friday, January 14, 1944

Second Officer Dorothy Fairfax slathered a thick layer of orange marmalade on the buttered toast and slid the plate in front of her father. "I had enough ration coupons for sausage and your favorite Fortnum & Mason's marmalade. If you don't eat your breakfast, I shall feed it to Charlie with no regret or shame."

Papa glanced from the Daily Telegraph to the Scottish terrier dancing by his chair. After an interminable minute, he took a bite.

Dorothy released her breath and sent a smile to Mrs. Bromley. The elderly housekeeper slipped back into the kitchen.

She spread a thin layer of marmalade on her unbuttered toast, her stomach hopping as gleefully as little Bonnie Prince Charlie. "I have the most splendid news. Quite a bit of change at headquarters. New commanders and staff are reporting — British and Americans, army and navy and air." If only she could tell him more about her duties with the Women's Royal Naval Service. Knowing the Allies would invade France in May might bring color back to those gaunt cheeks. But as a Royal Navy veteran, Papa understood the need for secrecy.

However, her news wasn't classified. "You'll never guess who's reporting to my unit."

Dorothy waited, but Papa kept reading the Telegraph as she knew he would. "Why, it's Lawrence Eaton."

The sound of his name was the sweetest music.

Papa looked her full in the eye.

The shock of it. When had he last looked at her?

His blue eyes clouded over, and Dorothy's heart shriveled. The wrong Fairfax child sat before him, and he couldn't abide the sight of her.

Then his brow wrinkled. "Lawrence ...?"

"Eaton." She brightened for her father's sake and at the name of the man she'd loved since she was fourteen years old. "You remember. He stayed with us on holidays. He was a Cambridge chum of —"

"I remember." The newspaper rose between them.

Dorothy bit into her toast, the marmalade sour on her tongue. She mustn't be hasty in speaking, not when she'd waited ten years for Lawrence to come back into her life. "It would be lovely to have him over for —"

"No." A page flipped.

Every muscle in her face wanted to assume an unladylike expression, but she restrained herself. If they could entertain Lawrence, he'd see she'd grown up, and his clever conversation would cheer Papa.

Or would Lawrence's presence only remind Papa of her brothers?

The newspaper rustled. "I do wish you wouldn't wear so much face powder. I thought I made my opinion clear on that matter."

She winced. "Yes, but the Royal Navy likes the Wrens to look smart." And Lawrence Eaton would never look at her if she were covered in freckles.

The sausage on her plate bent in an accusatory frown. He also wouldn't look at her if she were fat again.

However, it was against the law to waste food, so she finished her breakfast. "Will you be going to the office to —"

"No."

Papa only went to the office once or twice a week now. How did Fairfax & Sons stay afloat without Reginald Fairfax at the helm? James Montague was an excellent manager, but he shouldn't have to perform Papa's duties as well as his own.

Dorothy stood and straightened her double-breasted navy blue uniform jacket. "Have a good day, Papa." She kissed his forehead, his hair tickling her cheek. Once as brilliant red as her own, now graying and dulled.

He had been such a robust man.

Before the war.

* * *

London Saturday, January 15, 1944

Only $437.24 until Lt. Wyatt Paxton could go home.

He subtracted the cost of the Underground fare from his savings and tucked his notepad in the breast pocket of his dress blues. He hated to add to his debt, but how could he spoil his buddies' fun their first full day in London?

Besides, he'd always wanted to see these landmarks — Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey — all within his line of sight. Ancient spires disappeared in thick fog straight out of Dickens or Sherlock Holmes. Wyatt sank his gloved hands in the pockets of his overcoat and shivered from the privilege of being in this historic city. He didn't deserve it.

"Too cold for your blood?" Lt. Jack Vale nudged him as they walked down a sidewalk edged by carved stone pillars.

Wyatt would never admit it to his best friend, but the cold stung like yellow jackets. Nevertheless, he sent a grin over his shoulder to their fellow officers, Jerry Hobson and Ted Kelvin. "Dakota here's jealous that the sun prefers my home state to his."

Ted turned up the collar of his navy blue overcoat. "At least you two served in the Aleutians. You're used to the cold."

"You'll get used to it," Jack said. "If only we could get used to walking on the left side of the sidewalk."

Yep, Wyatt kept drifting to the right. The men turned the corner and strolled beside the Houses of Parliament. The area teemed with civilians and servicemen in every sort of uniform.

"Wonder what we'll do here." Hobson adjusted his officer's cover over his black hair.

"They'll brief us on Monday," Ted said.

"Think about it." Hobson gestured at Wyatt. "You were a gunnery officer. Jack, you were a communications officer. Ted, you fought U-boats in the Atlantic. And I manned a landing ship at Sicily and Salerno."

"That's enough speculating." Wyatt softened the warning with a smile. "Whatever we do, I have a notion it'll be big."

The other officers nodded.

Spring would arrive soon, the perfect time for the Allies to invade Nazi-occupied Europe. Now was the time to plan and prepare.

"A newsstand." Ted pointed ahead. "I need to get postcards for my wife and kids."

Wyatt hung back and checked his watch. Only one minute until the clock on Big Ben would toll twelve. He couldn't wait.

"Say, Wyatt, aren't you buying postcards for your family?" Ted held up a selection.

Wyatt's chest seized, and Jack shot him a look.

He couldn't explain. Not today. Today was meant to be fun.

"Say, Ted. How about this for your little boy?" Jack held up a card.

The distraction worked, and Wyatt thanked Jack with a smile. Soon he'd tell his new friends what Jack already knew. That he hadn't been home for two and a half years. That he hadn't written. That his family had no idea where he was or what he was doing.

He'd also tell them why. Daddy always said keeping secrets was as stupid as keeping gophers. All they'd do is pop up and poke holes in your life.

The familiar ache filled his chest. Boy, how he missed his family. By the time the war was over, he could pay off his debt. Maybe by then his brothers' grief and fury would dim enough to allow forgiveness.

At least God had forgiven him. Thank you, Lord. Your forgiveness is all I need, but you know it isn't all I want.

The Westminster chimes played, and Wyatt ambled over to the row of stone pillars, each pierced in the side with rusty holes. London's wrought-iron fences had been melted down for the war effort, and bomb craters and boarded-up windows added further testimony to the reality of the war.

For over four years, Hitler's Germany had bullied Europe, conquering and bombing and killing. But now thousands of Americans were flooding into Britain with tons of ships, planes, and weapons. The Allies were fixing to make things right, and Wyatt was supposed to play a part.

Long and low, Big Ben announced the hour, each strike resounding in Wyatt's soul with the enormity of the moment.

For the sake of freedom, Wyatt Paxton couldn't afford to be a failure again.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "The Sea Before Us"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Sarah Sundin.
Excerpted by permission of Baker Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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