Radar Girls

by Sara Ackerman

  She had just made it to her bike when Walker tore out of the tack room with a wild look in his eye. He had a rifle hanging across his chest, and he was carrying two others. He stopped when he saw her. “Hey!” he said.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Montgomery.”

  He wore his flight suit, which was only halfway buttoned, like he’d been interrupted either trying to get in it or trying to get out of it. His face was flushed and lined with sweat. “Don’t you know we’ve been attacked? You ought to head for cover, somewhere inland.”

  He was visibly shaken.

  “I saw the planes. What do you know?” she said.

  “Wheeler and Schofield are all shot up, and they did a number on Pearl. Battleships down, bay on fire. God knows how many dead.” His gaze dropped to her body for a moment and she felt her skin burn. There had been no time to change or even think about changing, and she was still in her half-wet swimsuit, hair probably sticking out in eleven directions. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I was worried about the horses,” she said.

  “That makes two of us. And goddamn Moon is not in his stall. You know anything about that?”

  Taking Moon had been about the dumbest thing she could have done. But at the time, it seemed a perfectly sane idea. The kind of thinking that got her into plenty of trouble over the years. Why hadn’t she learned? She looked at the coconut tree just past him as she spoke. “I have no idea. Perhaps Mr. Silva has him?”

  “Mr. Silva went to town last night to see his sister,” he said.

  She forced herself to look at him, feeling like she had the word guilty inked onto her forehead. “Looks like you have somewhere to be. You go on, I’ll find Moon. I promise.”

  Her next order of business would be scouring the coast and finding that horse before Walker returned. There would be no sleeping until Moon was safely back at the stables.

  “I sure hope so. That horse is mighty important to me,” he said.

  Tell him!

  She was about to come clean, when he moved around her, hopped in the car and slammed the door. He leaned out the window and said, “Something tells me you know more than you’re letting on, Wilder.”

  With that, he sped off, leaving her standing in a cloud of red dirt and sand.

  In the stables, the horses knew the sound of her footsteps, or maybe they smelled the salt on her hair. A concert of nickers and snorts erupted in the stalls. Daisy went to the coatrack first, and slid on an oversize button-up that she kept there for chilly days. It smelled of hay.

  “How is everyone?” she said, stopping at each one to rub their necks or kiss their noses. “Quite a morning, hasn’t it been?”

  Peanut was pacing with nostrils flared, and she spent a few minutes stroking his long neck before moving on. Horses were her lifeblood. Feeding, grooming, riding, loving. She only wished that Mr. Montgomery would let her train them—officially, that was. Without being asked as a last resort by Mr. Silva when everyone else had tried. Lord knew she was better than the rest of the guys. When she got to Moon’s stall, all the blood rushed from her head. The door had been left open and two Japanese slippers hung from the knob. She had hidden them in the corner under some straw—apparently not well enough.

  Damn.

  Just then she heard another car pull up. The ranch truck. A couple of the ranch hands poured out, making a beeline to the stables. Mr. Montgomery followed on their heels with a machete in his hand and a gun on his hip. Daisy felt the skin tighten on the back of her neck. His ever-present limp seemed even more pronounced.

  When he saw her, he said, “Where’s Silva?”

  No mention that they were under attack.

  “In town,” she answered.

  “What about Walker?”

  “Walker just left in a big hurry,” she answered.

  One of the guys had his hunting dog with him. It was a big mutt that enjoyed staring down the horses and making them nervous, as if they needed to be any more nervous right now. Daisy wanted to tell him to get the dog out of there, but knew it would be pointless.

  “The hosses in the pasture need to be secured,” Mr. Montgomery said.

  “Do you need my help?” she offered.

  “Nah, you should get out of here. Get home. Fuckers blew up all our planes and now paratroopers are coming down in the pineapple fields. Ain’t no place for a woman right now.”

  Daisy wanted to stay and help, but also wanted to get the hell away before he noticed that Moon was not here. “Yes, sir.”

  He stopped and sized her up for a moment, his thick brows pinched. “You still got that shotgun of your old man’s?”

  “I do.”

  “Make sure it’s loaded.”

  * * *

  On her way home, Daisy passed through Japanese camp, hoping to get more information from Mr. Sasaki, who always knew the latest happenings. A long row of cottages lined the road, every rock and leaf in its place. The houses were painted barn red with crisp, white trim. On any given Sunday, there would have been gangs of kids roaming the area, but now the place was eerily empty.

  “Hello?” she called, letting her bike fall into the naupaka hedge.

  When she knocked and no one answered, she started pounding. A curtain pulled aside and a small face peered out at her and waved her away. Mrs. Sasaki. She was torn, but chose to leave them be. With the whispers of paranoia lately, all the local Japanese folks were bound to be nervous. She didn’t blame them.

  This time when Daisy ran up to the shack, her mother was sitting on the porch drinking coffee from her chipped mug. She was still in her nightgown, staring out beyond the ocean. When she was in this state, a person could have walked into their house and made off with all of their belongings and her mother would not even bat an eye.

  Daisy sat down next to her. “Mom, the Japanese Army attacked Pearl Harbor and Wheeler and who knows where else.”

  Her mother clenched her jaw slightly, took a sip of her coffee, then set it down on the mango stump next to her chair. “They said it would happen,” she said flatly.

  “This is serious, Mom. People are dead. Civilians, too. I don’t know how many, but the islands are in danger of being invaded and there are Japanese ships and planes all around. They’re telling us to stay inside.”

  A look of worry came over her mom’s face. “You should go find a safer place to stay, away from the coast.”

  “And leave you here?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Her mom shrugged.

  She knew Louise couldn’t help it, but a tiny part of Daisy was waiting for that day her mother would wake up and be the old Louise Wilder. The mother of red lipstick and coconut macaroons, of beach bonfires and salty hugs. The one who rode bikes with her daughter to school every day, singing with the birds along the way. The highs and lows had been there before, but now there were only lows and deeper lows.

  After some time, her mother finally spoke. “Men, they do the dumbest things.”

  “That may be true, but we’re at war. Does that mean anything to you?” Daisy said, her voice rising in frustration.

  “Course it does, but what can we do?”

  She had a point. Aside from hiding in the house or running away, what other options were there? Used to doing things, Daisy was desperate to help, but how? Their home was under attack and she felt as useful as a sack of dirt.

  Louise leaned back. On days like these, she retreated so far into herself that she was unreachable. You could tell by looking in her eyes. Blank and bottomless. Mr. Silva always said that you could see the spirit in the eyes. Dull eyes, dull spirit. That Louise looked this way always made Daisy feel deeply alone. The onshore winds kicked up a notch and ruffled the surface of the ocean. She knew she should stay with her mom, but more than anything, she wanted to go in sear
ch of the horse. Moon meant more to her than just the job. She loved him something fierce.

  Only one thing was clear: their lives would never be the same.

  3

  THE VISITOR

  Each morning, when Daisy woke, it took a few minutes to register that her island home had been bombed and strafed and ambushed by the bulk of the Imperial Japanese Navy. Days passed in a blur. Martial law was declared and the death toll continued to rise. Worst of all was news of the youngest victim—a three-month-old baby killed by an errant bomb in Honolulu. She slept with the smell of fear and burning metal always nearby.

  The first part of the day was spent scouring nearby beaches and coastline for Moon, while avoiding soldiers on patrol. Her heart was sick with guilt and worry, of war and missing horses. Mr. Silva knew the truth about Moon. She had told him the next day, unable to lie to the old man. Though she was surprised that Mr. Montgomery had not called her in yet to ask why her slippers were found in Moon’s stall.

  “If that horse ain’t back by tomorrow, you gotta tell boss man,” Silva had said. The lie sat like a lead fishing weight in the bottom of her stomach.

  Mr. Silva was the kind of old leathery cowboy you didn’t argue with.

  “But he’ll fire me,” Daisy said.

  “You made your bed, girl. Talk is going around about evacuating folks to the Mainland. You and Louise would be safer there anyway.”

  The thought of leaving had never crossed her mind. “And you think it’s safe to cross the Pacific Ocean right now? With all those submarines and who knows what else out there?” she said.

  “Safer than being here.”

  Daisy sighed. He was probably right, as usual. And she was worried sick about Louise. If it came to running and hiding out in the hills—which was a real possibility—Daisy knew she could survive. Her mother, not a chance. Weak from lack of physical activity, thin as a reed and pale white, Louise wouldn’t last a day. They had a machete, a fishing spear and a gun. A lot of good that would do.

  Following Mr. Silva’s advice, she rode her bike to the ranch early the next morning. Instead of turning into the stables, she followed a long drive lined with coconut trees up to the sprawling house. She’d tossed and turned all night, one minute seeing Mr. Montgomery understanding and forgiving, the next having her arrested and locked up for stealing. He was unpredictable that way.

  Billy, her father, used to tell her that worry sucked the life force right out of your body. He had been full of sayings like that, and Daisy felt closer to him when she followed them, as though he was watching over her shoulder. As a girl, she had been to the Montgomery house for holidays and company barbecues, always mesmerized by the hundreds of jars of light hanging from tree branches, white-suited men strumming steel guitars and the little white pony, Taffy, who came to all their events. That all stopped after the accident.

  Louise had always made a point to emphasize the word accident.

  Daisy wiped those thoughts from her mind. She needed a clear head when facing her boss. She approached the wooden door tentatively and forced herself to knock on the smooth and solid koa wood. The maid directed her out back, where Hal was reading the newspaper with his morning coffee. The Montgomerys were a family of three-letter names: Hal, Peg, Dot. Only Walker was different.

  Mr. Montgomery caught sight of Daisy over his paper. She saw his eyes, but then he dropped them and kept reading. Even at this hour, his mustache was waxed into place, and he was dressed in a beige linen suit. A mug of coffee steamed next to him, alongside a plate of malasadas, pineapple and Portuguese sausage. Her mouth watered.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said.

  “You here with news?” he said, still reading.

  “I came to tell you about Moon.” Her heart hammered in her chest and she forced the next words out. “I rode him that Sunday morning, early. I’m so sorry, Mr. Montgomery—”

  He slowly lowered the paper, and she saw genuine surprise. “You what?”

  Had Walker not told him?

  “Nalu was hurt and I figured I would take Moon out for a short ride, since he was antsy. But then the planes came and he spooked and took off down the beach. I never meant for this to happen.”

  He shook his head slowly from side to side. “You of all people know what that horse is worth, Miss Wilder. And you thought you would just borrow him and no one would be the wiser?”

  “If the planes hadn’t come—”

  He stood up and faced her, eye to eye. “Looks like your reasoning is faulty, girl, but that doesn’t surprise me.” He poked a finger in her chest. “I got my people on the lookout, and they’ll find him. If it turns out you did this for the money, that little ass of yours is going straight to jail.”

  He may as well have slapped her. “I would never do that!” she said.

  “Regardless, count yourself out of a job. I don’t tolerate stealing.”

  Though expected, the words stung. Living paycheck to paycheck meant that she and Louise were just about out of money. How would they get tickets to the Mainland? And how would they survive once there?

  She felt a wave of anger rise up. “You have my sincerest apology, sir. But know this—it was an accident. Something you know all about.”

  With that, she turned and hurried back into the house, blinded by tears. She fumbled down the hallway. The aroma of cinnamon wafted through the air. Turning into the kitchen, she ran in on Mrs. Montgomery and her daughter, Peg, sitting at the table with a silver-haired man in an army uniform. Both women looked as though they’d come fresh from the salon, with pin-curled hair, coral lipstick and pleated skirts. The man saw her first, and raised a thick eyebrow.

  Daisy stopped short. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to find the front door.”

  She spun to leave.

  “Hang on,” he said, and then to Mrs. Montgomery, “Is this another daughter?”

  “Lord no, she works for Hal cleaning the stables.”

  Worked. And she did a lot more than just cleaning the stables, though no one really cared.

  “What’s your name?” the man said to Daisy.

  “I’m Daisy Wilder,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheek and forcing a smile.

  “How old are you, Miss Wilder, or is it Missus?”

  “Miss. I’m twenty three, sir.”

  Peg waved her hand toward Daisy. “Miss Wilder is a dropout. I doubt she would be much help.”

  Daisy wondered what kind of help she was talking about. Ever since the sixth grade, when Daisy brought a cane toad with an injured leg into the classroom, Peg Montgomery had decided Daisy was unclean and a little too peculiar for friendship. That and the fact that Butch Anderson followed Daisy around like a baby duckling. At the time, Daisy had no interest in Butch, or boys in general for that matter, but it soon became clear that Peg did.

  The man had kind eyes and a strong but quiet presence. He ignored Peg’s comment and motioned to an empty chair. “Miss Wilder, come join us.”

  “Sir, I really should be going,” Daisy said.

  “Please? I was just explaining my reasons for being here to the ladies. And forgive me for not introducing myself, I’m General Danielson.”

  Lord, now she was trapped. Who could disobey a general? She sat down and crossed her legs, noticing for the first time a long black smear of bicycle grease on her pants. Wearing white never went well for her. She avoided eye contact with Peg and Mrs. Montgomery, instead looking at the tall glass of orange juice on the table in front of her. How she longed to gulp it down.

  Danielson continued. “Now, I can’t tell you much right now, as it’s highly secretive business, but I’m in need of able-bodied women that we can trust. Our boys are being shipped off for combat as we speak, and we need to replace them on the double.”

  “Is the work dangerous?” Peg asked.

  “Not inherently, but it�
��s technical, so we’ll need you to pass some tests. And a physical.”

  Mrs. Montgomery patted Peg on the shoulder. “Peg here would be honored, Major. Won’t you, dear?”

  Peg fanned her face. Daisy was tempted to correct Mrs. Montgomery that he was a general, not a major, but held her tongue.

  “So far, I have ten women committed in Honolulu, and I’m looking for twenty to start. But we’ll be needing a whole lot more. How about you, Miss Wilder?”

  Mrs. Montgomery coughed. “I know a bunch of women I can call. I’ll have you twenty and then some rounded up by tomorrow.”

  “There you go, you don’t need me, then,” Daisy said, standing to leave. She heard a door slam and pictured the look on Mr. Montgomery’s face if he found her sitting in his kitchen. It was more than she could bear.

  “I think we could use you,” Danielson asserted.

  Daisy remained planted under his assessing gaze.

  Mr. Montgomery came in, catching the tail end of the conversation. “We can get you better stock, General. Girls with a college education and a proper upbringing,” he said.

  A look of irritation passed over Danielson’s face. “Miss Wilder looks perfectly fine to me. And you’d be surprised at how few women I’ve been able to round up. A good number of them already have kids, which won’t work for us.”

  Whatever it was that Danielson needed them for, Daisy could not imagine being chosen. And yet the way the Montgomerys were all ganging up on her, making her sound like an ill-bred horse, made her want to know more.

  “Can you tell us anything else?” she asked.

  Mr. Montgomery shot her a look. “Miss Wilder cannot be trusted, so I think it’s best she be on her way.”

  Danielson turned to Daisy, as if waiting for an explanation. There was no point in defending herself—not with this crowd—so Daisy turned and hightailed it out the door without another word, hopped onto her bike and flew down the drive, pedaling faster than her pounding heart. The wind felt cool against her burning face. All she could think about was getting home, packing their bags and looking for passage to the Mainland. She was done here, and the sooner they left town the better.