Free Cherry Ames 05 Flight Nurse by Helen Wells Page B

big cabin, tried sitting on several bucket seats, and begged Cherry to paint her fingernails red, like the nurses, with the red mercurochrome she spied in the medical kit.
    Cherry obliged. She was sorry Bunce was not here, too, to enjoy this.
    “What goes bang-bang at the Jerries?” the elf in slacks wanted to know, waving her tinted fingers.
    “No guns aboard, cherub,” said Wade.
    “Oh. Well, then, if Cherry is my aunt, are you my uncle?”
    Wade’s laughing brown eyes turned gleefully to Cherry. She felt herself flushing.
    “Could be, Lieutenant Grainger, could be. A very smart question. Ask us again from time to time, will you?”
    “’Course.”
    Cherry sputtered, and then she and Wade burst out laughing.
    Little Muriel studied them patiently. “What’s funny?
    I don’t think it’s funny. It’s nice. Cherry is my favorite aunt.”

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    Wade, looking at Cherry with softened eyes, assured her, “Cherry is my favorite, too. Now isn’t that a coincidence? Let’s go get you some refreshments. All small fry should be stuffed with refreshments!” He lifted the small nurse and then helped the grownup nurse down from the open bays to the ground.
    “I’m not small fried—I’m not fried at all!” Muriel protested.
    “Want a ride in a chair?” Wade motioned to Cherry.
    They clasped their hands around each other’s wrists, making a chair for the six-year-old. She rode off between her flying “aunt and uncle” wearing an expression of sheer bliss.
    That night after lights were out in Nurses’ Barracks C, Cherry could not sleep for thinking about their little mascot—and Mark Grainger. Cherry had lost her heart to this sad-eyed child who had known only war, and Cherry was only a friend. How much more must a parent love her! Then how could Mark Grainger do anything to jeopardize his little girl’s safety, or submit her to cruel gossip among the neighbors? Cherry turned uneasily under the khaki blankets. She tried to recall what Muriel had said about her father. Nothing, so far.
    The nurses had kept her so busy, the youngster had had no chance to prattle of her own accord. She was too reticent, besides, to confide much to any brand-new friends. Perhaps later . . . perhaps on a visit to Mrs. Eldredge’s house . . . Cherry drifted off to sleep.

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    The drizzling rains ceased and the mists lifted a little.
    Cherry and Wade began again to carry the wounded to Prestwick. It was now nearing the end of November, but Cherry waited in vain for snow or crisp cold in England. It was nearing Thanksgiving, too, she thought nostalgically.
    She managed to have a little private visit with Bunce on Thanksgiving Day. Nurses, being officers, were not supposed to fraternize with enlisted men, but Cherry—
    an old Army girl by now—had learned that the American Army is a friendly one. So she and her old friend and sergeant met Thanksgiving morning, after church service, to take a walk down one of the country lanes.
    “I’m so homesick,” young Bunce confided, “I could break down and blubber. Gosh, I’d like to see my mother! And our house, and my two kid brothers, and my town. This war, Miss Cherry, is an awful lonesome war.
    “It sure is. Well, Bunce, whenever you get so lonesome you can’t stand it, you just come and tell me about it.”
    Bunce grinned down at her from his lanky six feet.
    His candid blue eyes and tousled hair might better have been atop a small boy, than such a tall man. He gave a vigorous chew on his gum, hesitated a moment, and then said earnestly:

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    “Miss Cherry, ’scuse me for askin’, but what’s on your mind lately? Seems to me you’re thinkin’ awful hard about something. Is it that little girl?” Cherry glanced up at him, startled. “Well—uh—
    Don’t take such long strides, Bunce. Yes, I have been worrying about that youngster.”
    “War orphan, I guess.”
    “In a