Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington Read Online Free PDF Page B

wouldn’t join the military on one condition— if someone would hire him as a newspaperman in a big city, and if he’d be able to use journalism to “make a difference.”
    Since listening to Bible stories while perched on his father’s knee as child, Kenny had grown up realizing the power of story. The right words could stir emotion. They could unite and excite people, and help bring important causes to light. Yet, as the months passed, Kenny came to realize he was simply wasting time in Seattle. He wasn’t writing about things that mattered—not when his boss rejected every serious story. He felt disrespected too. Every other healthy guy his age was off at war. He saw the curious look in folks’ eyes—like that riveter—wondering why he wasn’t off fighting, assuming he was a coward.
    Worse than that. After being on a naval vessel attacked by the Japs, his father had been injured—pretty bad from what his letter had said. While his dad was recouping in Hawaii, here he was, snapping shots of famous actresses. It didn’t seem right.
    Turning the corner, Kenny paused, gazing down at the sparkling Elliot Bay. He breathed in the scent of ocean air and thought about what it would be like to be on a ship, sailing off to fight the Japanese or even flying over the Atlantic to battle the Germans. Beyond the water, in the distance, the white, jagged Olympic Mountains jutted into the sapphire sky. So different from Eastern Idaho where he grew up. No mountains there—no waterways, either.
    Continuing his downhill trek toward his office, he walked past the U.S. Navy recruiter’s office, as he did every day. The new poster this week showed a shadowy sailor with his fist raised. Avenge December 7 was written in blood-red ink, with a ship sinking in the lower corner of the poster. As usual, Kenny dispelled an urge to go in.
    Lord, are You sure You don’t want me to fight the Japs or maybe the Nazis? This is the plan? He sighed, remembering his promise. He just wished he could do something more meaningful than piffle celebrity stories.
    Twenty minutes later, Kenny reached Alaskan Way where his office was located. The roar of an engine approached, and a woman’s voice called his name.
    “Kenny! Kenny Davenport!”
    A motorcycle driven by a brown-haired woman wearing a jumpsuit pulled up beside him. “Hey, Kenny, I need to talk to you. Meet me over there.” Iris pointed a red-tipped finger toward a side street, then zoomed ahead.
    What can she want? Kenny wondered as he set off in that direction. Iris delivered auto parts when the newspaper’s truck broke down. Was she in trouble? Maybe she needed help from a man of the press….
    Kenny jogged to where she waited. With the bike parked, her legs barely reached the ground. It still seemed strange to him to see a woman on such a big machine. “Everything all right?”
    Iris’s cherry red lips stretched wide in a smile. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a paper, folded in fourths. “For you.” She winked, straightened her leather helmet, then vroomed away.
    Kenny unfolded it and frowned, not recognizing the handwriting. His eyes skimmed to the bottom of the page for a signature. When he saw it, his heart bounded into his throat: Rosalie—the girl Lana Turner introduced you to.

Chapter Four

    Tying her yellow, Boeing-mandated bandanna in place, Rosalie ignored the less-than-ladylike odors of cutting oil, grinding dust, and welding flux as she entered the front doors of the Boeing plant and quickened her pace toward the women’s locker room.
    All in a girl’s work, she thought as she peered up at a wall poster of Rosie the Riveter. Rosalie admired the icon’s strapping arm posed like a body builder. Riveting the skins onto B-17s eight hours a day for the last year and a half had given her ample biceps herself.
    She eyed Rosie’s intense message, W E C AN D O I T !
    “Sorry, honey,” Rosalie spoke to the lady on the poster, “I’m not ‘doing it’ so well