One More Sunrise Read online

  One More Sunrise

  Copyright © 2008 Michael Landon Jr.

  Cover design by The DesignWorks Group, Charles Brock

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-0326-7

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  On Earth there is no Heaven,

  But there are pieces of it.

  —Jules Renard

  (French writer, 1864–1910)

  Chapter 1

  Kansas farm country, August 1941

  Joe Daley crept through the dark upper story of the farmhouse that had been his home for his entire seventeen years. His six-foot frame cast shadows on the wall as he passed the nightlight illuminating the back staircase and the family pictures staggered parallel to the steps. He started down in his stocking feet, counting ten steps, then positioned his foot carefully over the far-left edge of number eleven to avoid the familiar loud creak. The last thing he needed was any questions from his sleeping parents and brother about his predawn mission.

  “Better to skip it than creak it, little brother.” The loud whisper out of the shadows above him nearly caused Joe to stumble. He grabbed for the banister and turned to look back up the staircase. He could just make out his brother’s grin in the glow from the small light. Rob, three years his senior, was normally his hero. Right now he was a pain in the neck.

  “What are you doing up?” Joe whispered back fiercely.

  “What’s in the clenched fist?”

  Joe tightened his grip over the small object in his left hand. “How’d you know?” he whispered louder.

  “You told Bo. You might as well have taken out an ad in the Greenville Gazette.”

  Joe could hear the amusement in Rob’s voice. “Let me be the one to tell Mom and Dad, Robby. Okay?” He was pleading now, but anything to get his brother back to bed and out of his hair.

  “Sure thing.”

  Joe turned to start moving down the steps again.

  “Hey, Joey! Go for the glory!” came one last comment from above.

  Joe lifted a hand over his shoulder and scooped up his shoes near the bottom of the stairs. He quickly crossed the large country kitchen and checked the hands of the clock above the stove in the waning moonlight. He was slightly behind schedule. Timing was critical or his whole plan would fall apart. Grabbing two jackets from the hook beside the back door, he deposited the small item from his hand into the pocket of the smaller jacket, then stepped out into the humid predawn summer morning. A rush of adrenaline ran through Joe as he glanced at the sinking full moon. Still in his stocking feet, he bolted from the porch and raced across the yard to his dad’s ’38 Ford pickup.

  With a vigilant eye on the horizon, Joe shoved his feet into his loafers, pushed the truck out of the yard before starting the engine, and drove as fast as he dared along the dirt road connecting the neighboring farms and cornfields. He had taken extra care with his appearance. He’d had his dark brown hair cut the day before and shaved the stubble from his chin. “Cleanshaven and well kept,” his mother liked to say. He stomped on the brake when he reached the end of the cornfield, a cloud of dust swirling around the tailgate of the truck. He ducked his head to the right to look through the passenger window at the eastern horizon. A saffron hue linked earth and sky in a narrow strip and highlighted the thin, low ceiling of clouds barely visible above. With renewed urgency, he hit the gas and swung onto County Road 7. With asphalt now under his tires, Joe ramped up the Ford to forty miles an hour for the short run to his destination.

  A mere two miles away, Joe’s best friends, Larry Ledet and Bo Gene Conroy, were doing their part for Joe’s mission under the same fading moon. Their cars were parked strategically to shine their headlights on opposite sides of a long strip of hard-packed dirt. Both young men kept their eyes on the ground as they walked along slowly, their conversation punctuating the quiet dawn countryside.

  “I ain’t seen a thing worth mentioning, Larry,” Bo Gene said through a wide yawn. He scraped a small clod of dirt flat with the toe of his loafer and pushed back his straw boater so the wide navy ribbon around the band showed no more than a narrow stripe.

  “Me neither,” Larry admitted. “But we gotta make sure there’s nothing out here that’ll cause him a problem. Especially this time.” The white T-shirt and Levi’s Larry was wearing contrasted in more ways than one with Bo’s madras short-sleeved shirt and pressed khaki slacks.

  “I don’t remember this check ever taking so long before,” Bo complained.

  “That’s because we always do it after the sun’s up, you dope.”

  Silence.

  Larry and Bo continued slowly along the dirt strip, carefully inspecting the ground beneath their feet. Bo began to hum, then sing in a rather nice baritone, “When skies are cloudy and gray, they’re only gray for a day, so wrap your troubles in dreams, and dream your troubles away.”

  Larry groaned. “Okay, I’ll admit you do sound like the Crooner, but I’ll be awful glad when Bing’s got another hit and you move on from that dumb song.”

  “You’re not going to sound so high and mighty when I’m famous and making thousands of dollars each gig. I might even get to be a movie star. You’ll be begging for my autograph, and I may just turn you down.” Bo finished his point by placing a homemade Savinelli knock-off pipe in the corner of his mouth.

  Larry laughed and shook his head. “And I suppose you think we’re on The Road to Zanzibar and Dorothy Lamour is waiting for us just up ahead.”

  “It could happen,” Bo insisted, the pipe clenched between his teeth.

  “Whatever you say, Bing.” Larry knocked Bo’s hat forward. “Let’s just hurry up and finish our job. We need to get back to Betty so everything’s ready when Joe shows up.”

  Joe killed the engine and cut the headlights as he rolled to a stop in the Johnson farmyard. He hopped out of the truck and dashed toward a two-story house silhouetted against the dark western sky. He stopped to scoop up several small stones from the ground, then took careful aim at a second-story window and let the first pebble fly. A second later he was rewarded with a sharp ping on the glass. No one appeared in the window. He tried again, this time with a larger pebble. Another ping on the glass, but no response. With one more stone curled in his palm, Joe drew back his arm and took aim. It left his fingertips at the same time he heard the window sliding up its sash. He winced at a surprised “Ouch!”

  “Meg! It’s me. You okay?” he called softly.

  “Joe? Are you crazy? You hit me with a rock!” was her agitated reply. But he was glad she kept her voice down—he wanted to deal with her parents’ questions even less than his own family’s third degree.

  “I was just trying to wake you up,” he called back in a hoarse whisper.

  “Good job. I’m awake. What are you doing here?” Meg was obviously irritated.

  “I need you to come with me. Hurry up.”

  She leaned farther out the window. “Where are we going? The sun’s not even up yet.”

  Joe cast another glance at the skyline, where the glow on the
eastern horizon had widened since his last check.

  “I know. That’s kind of the point. Now shake a leg,” he urged as loudly as he dared. After the slightest pause, Joe sighed in relief as he heard the window slide shut. Though it seemed like forever to Joe, it wasn’t long before seventeen-year-old Meg Johnson came through the screen door, shaking her head, a scowl firmly in place. She wore a pair of clam diggers and a white T-shirt. Joe swallowed hard, marveling that she could be so beautiful and yet completely unaware of it. Her long hair was the color of summer wheat, combining the palest of straw with golden hues that tumbled over her shoulders. The color of her eyes—somewhere between blue and green—changed with her moods. Something Joe found both intimidating and wonderful.

  As Joe moved quickly toward Meg, he saw her holding a white rag against her forehead. He gently pulled back her hand with the ice-filled cloth and grimaced, then leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, Meg. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything, you know.” He looked into her face, hoping she would believe him.

  “I know,” she said.

  He let out a relieved breath.

  “But tell me how I’m going to explain this knot on my head to my folks,” she asked in a severe tone. “ ‘By the way, Dad, Joe stopped by in the dark and pelted me with a rock’?”

  Joe grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the truck.

  “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so good,” he acknowledged. “But now we really do have to hurry. We’re running a few minutes behind schedule.”

  Meg sighed, still sounding out of sorts. “Where are we going? What schedule?”

  Joe helped her into the truck. “You’ll see” was all he would say as he climbed in beside her and started up the truck.

  She glanced at the two leather jackets lying on the bench seat between them.

  “Joe? What are we doing? It’s too warm for jackets.”

  “Down here it is,” he acknowledged, “but we’ll need them when we get to Betty.”

  “You might have warned me we were taking Betty. Or maybe you were worried I wouldn’t come along if you explained—is that it?” It appeared she wasn’t going to give up her scolding tone yet.

  Joe glanced over at her and beamed. “You can’t resist me, Meg Johnson, and you know it.”

  Meg’s mock frown said even more than her words. “I know it. I just wish you didn’t know it.” She gave him a playful punch on the arm.

  The two turned at the sound of a vehicle in the distance.

  Now serious, Larry asked, “Did you see the Gazette headlines yesterday? Sounds like that Hitler guy is sure stirring things up. Ya think Roosevelt will get us called up?”

  Bo sounded just as thoughtful. “Can’t say I know that. But I do know ol’ Joe is going to sign up just as soon as he turns eighteen next month.”

  They both watched as the Ford roared up the road to the fence and bounced across the pasture.

  “Actually, Bo, I think I’m going to join the army air corps myself,” Larry said, staring at the pickup.

  The Ford turned through the pasture gate and bumped over the grassy surface. Once again Joe killed the engine and the lights, but the area remained lit with the headlights of the two cars. Meg looked around.

  “Who else is here?” she wanted to know. Joe gathered both jackets and opened his door.

  “Bo Gene and Larry got here a while ago. Come on, let’s go.”

  “What is the hurry anyway?” she protested as she opened her door and climbed out. But Joe slammed her door and grabbed her hand again without answering. He was practically trotting now as Meg continued with weak sounds of disapproval. Framed in the headlights stood a tandem open-cockpit biplane with a swashbuckling Betty painted across the tail.

  Larry and Bo both greeted Meg, who nodded and murmured something in return. Joe handed Meg a jacket, then slipped quickly into his own as he moved toward the plane.

  “She all ready to go?” Joe asked, even as he was running his hand over the wing and ducking underneath the nose of the plane to check it all out himself.

  Larry nodded. “Gassed and ready. We removed the tie-downs and checked the strip for any debris. You got a clear shot for takeoff.”

  Meg shoved her arms through the jacket, then finger-combed her hair into a hasty ponytail. She must have caught a fleeting grin between Larry and Bo Gene.

  “So you two are his partners in crime this morning?”

  “Always, Meg. You know better than to ask,” Bo answered with another grin.

  “It’ll be chilly up there. Hurry and zip up your jacket,” Joe called to Meg. He helped her onto the wing and into the front cockpit. She settled into her seat while Larry removed the chocks in front of the nose gear.

  “What are we doing anyway?” she probed once more.

  “I want to show you something.” Joe stepped into the cockpit behind her.

  “But it’s still dark. I won’t be able to see a thing.” Meg sure wasn’t going to make this easy.

  “Where’s the girl who likes adventure?” he joked.

  “She’s sitting in this plane ready to take off with you,” Meg said wryly as she twisted in her seat to look at him.

  “And?” he prompted.

  “And . . . you’re the best pilot in the sky.”

  Joe grinned when he saw her lips curve upward and heard the smile in her voice. “You better know it,” he answered. “Are you strapped in?”

  She nodded and put her thumb up in the air. When Bo and Larry stepped away from the plane, Joe shouted out, “Clear!” The engine roared to life and the prop whirred in front of them. Joe reached up to his neck to feel the St. Christopher’s medal Meg had given him after his first solo flight. Satisfied, he maneuvered the plane confidently onto the dirt airstrip.

  Once they were airborne, Joe banked west under the clouds that by now were streaked with gold. The ground below disappeared into a huge predawn shadow, and the sky cocooned them with the promise of the coming light. He pulled back on the stick and felt the plane respond, climbing into the canopy above them.

  Having Meg with him intensified the familiar elation Joe always felt when airborne. Ethereal light from behind seemed to burst over the tail of the plane and catch in the strands of Meg’s ponytail dancing between them in the wind. Joe urged the plane through the thin cotton batting of clouds, at the same time executing a slow, graceful turn to the east that brought them face-to-face with the Creator’s daily morning masterpiece. Indescribable peaks of pink and orange splayed out into a blush of beautiful color across the horizon. He could see Meg strain forward in her seat. Her hands came up and gripped the front of the cockpit as if to embrace the beauty before her. This sunrise was their own—for their eyes and their hearts.

  Just as the sun itself made its first heart-stopping appearance, he unhooked his harness, leaned forward to touch Meg’s shoulder, and spoke loudly into her ear.

  “I want you to trust me,” he said.

  She turned so he could see her profile and nodded confidently. “You know I do!”

  Once again, Joe put his hand on Meg’s shoulder and raised his voice enough to be heard over the wind and the engine.

  “Reach into your left pocket, Meg.” She did as he instructed. With wide eyes, already damp with tears from the beauty of the sunrise, she opened the lid of the small black velvet box.

  Joe cut the engine on the plane, and the silence was so profound he could hear the quick intake of Meg’s breath.

  “Meg?”

  She unbuckled her harness and turned in the seat to face Joe, now standing behind her, his feet planted firmly on either side of the stick.

  “I wanted to share this sunrise with you,” he said. “In fact, I want to share all my sunrises with you, Meg. Marry me?”

  She looked into his eyes, and he saw her trust, love, joy, and . . . faith.

  “Yes!” she said softly. Then her voice rose. “Joe Daley, I’ll marry you.”

  Joe whooped
for joy, leaned down to kiss her, then settled back into his seat.

  “We’re going to see the world together, Meg! Once I’m out of basic and flying for the service, we’ll have one nonstop adventure after another. Our life is going to be wonderful. I promise!”

  Meg’s laughter bubbled up as she slipped the modest solitaire diamond onto her finger.

  “I believe you, Joe! I love you!” she called back to him as she held her left hand up in the sunlight to catch its rays.

  “I love you too, Meg!” he said before restarting the engine. He was convinced he was the happiest man on earth—and above it.

  Chapter 2

  Summer 1958

  A steady breeze outside stirred the leaves and swept them over the roof shingles near an overgrown branch that was beating a rhythmic cadence against the house. The noise seemed magnified, even ominous, in the dark space of the attic. With just the flashlight beam to guide her through the indistinguishable maze of the attic floor, Meg stepped carefully, throwing the circle of light around to make sure she didn’t walk into any spider webs. Considering how little she ventured up here, there were plenty to watch out for, along with the mementoes of happier times tucked away in boxes and trunks and old dresser drawers. “Out of sight, out of mind” had been her refrain for too many years.

  But she’d received a letter from an old friend that had stirred up memories and propelled her up the dim attic stairs when Joe wasn’t around to question her. And now she was about to break her own long-held rule and lift the lid of the large trunk now sitting stoically in the light beam. Meg stood motionless for a while, then sank to her knees, slowly lifted the lid, and trained the flashlight on the remnants of her past.

  In what had become a Saturday-night ritual, Meg settled into a corner of a faded couch across from a picture window in the living room. She gazed unseeing out that window and thought about all the nights she had sat here and waited.

  Her eyes swept around the dark room—the two armchairs she had reupholstered three years ago, the braided rug her grandmother had given them for a wedding present. The window treatments she had painstakingly made the first year they moved into the house—heavy fabric, pleated and lined that she had found on a clearance table. She had been so proud of those drapes. “Just like the kind you can get through the Sears and Roebuck catalog,” her mother had proclaimed. “Imagine that, Meg. I didn’t realize you had such a talent for sewing.”