Being married wouldn't keep him alive. It's in God's hands. At least they love each other.”
“If something happens to him now, Clarke, she'll never get over it.” She didn't say it to Clarke, but watching Kate cry that night had reminded her of how bereft Kate had been when her father died.
“She's in the same boat half the women in this country are in. She'll have to get over it, if something happens. She's young. She'd recover.”
“I hope she never has to face that,” her mother said fervently."
"But the next morning, Kate was in a somber mood for Christmas.
Her mother had given her a beautiful sapphire necklace with matching sapphire earrings, and her father was offering to buy her a two-year-old car he had seen, in perfect condition, if her driving improved. But with gas rationing she had little opportunity to practice, and Elizabeth didn't think it was a good idea. Kate had bought each of them lovely presents. But all she could think about was Joe as she sat silently at Christmas dinner, unable to say a word.
She knew he was back in England by then, flying bombing missions again.
For the next several weeks, her spirits never lifted. Her mother was seriously worried about her, and even thinking of taking her to a doctor. She looked tired and pale, whenever she came home for an occasional night from college on the weekends. She seemed to have no social life anymore, and Andy called her at home several times, complaining that he hadn't seen her in ages. All she seemed to want to do was sleep and reread Joe's letters.
He sounded almost as depressed in England. It had been hard going back again, and the weather had been foul. They had had to cancel several missions, and the men were restless and bored.
It was Valentine's Day when Kate's mother finally began to panic about her. She had seen Kate the previous day when she came home for Sunday dinner. She barely touched her food, looked tired and pale, and she cried every time she talked about Joe.
After she left, Elizabeth told Clarke she wanted to take Kate to a doctor.
“She's just lonely,” he said, dismissing it. “It's cold and dark, she's working hard at school. She'll be all right, Liz. Just give her time. And maybe he'll get another leave soon.” But in February of 1943, he was flying more than ever.
Joe had taken part in the night attack on Wilhelmshaven. He was flying mostly day raids, as the British preferred to do the night flying themselves.
