Sisters in Arms

by Kaia Alderson

  “Attention!” Lieutenant Rogers’s voice broke into her thoughts. Eliza abandoned the precise fold she had been attempting and jumped to her feet. Rogers stood in the doorway of the barracks but did not enter.

  “It was a shame we had such bad weather yesterday. Thankfully, the sun is shining now. It’s a perfect day to take a jog around the base. Put on your PT gear and be outside in ten.” He let the door slam behind him as he left.

  Eliza groaned. “A jog? He can’t be serious. I don’t run. I’m from New York.”

  Grace, whose bunk was across from hers, turned around and looked at Eliza like she had grown a second head. “Girl, this is the military. All they do is run.”

  Chapter 11

  Fort Des Moines, Iowa

  July 1942

  (Week One of OCS)

  THE WOMEN OF Third Company were ordered to the base parade grounds two days after those infuriating COLORED signs had first appeared in the mess hall. A vehicle with American flags waving from the hood rolled up to where they stood. From what Grace could tell from the annoyed looks on their company commanders’ faces, some bigwigs from D.C. were making an unannounced visit today.

  A middle-aged white woman in a WAAC uniform emerged from the car first. Grace recognized the WAAC director, Colonel Oveta Hobby, from the pictures she had seen of her in the newspaper. Next came an older Negro woman who held out her white-gloved hand to be helped out of the car. The officer who had assisted Colonel Hobby out of the car stared at the woman’s hand and paused. He looked unsure of what to do. It was only when Hobby commanded that he “help Dr. Bethune out of the car, Lieutenant,” that he took her hand.

  Grace blinked. She had not seen Mary McLeod Bethune in person before. Her first face-to-face impression of the woman left her in awe. Both her height and demeanor were imposing, even to one as tall as Grace. She didn’t know which one of her fellow auxiliarists had made the call that led to the arrival of such an impressive entourage (although Dovey Roundtree, who had quickly earned the nickname “the Walking NAACP”; Harriet West, who had been Dr. Bethune’s secretary prior to joining the corps; and maybe even Eliza Jones would be at the top of her list if she were to guess). But Grace felt the beginnings of reassurance that the slights her company in particular had endured in the last few days were about to come to an end.

  Once Dr. Bethune had exited the car, Colonel Faith gave the command: “Parade, rest!”

  Every woman lifted her left leg, stepping outward until her feet were about twelve inches apart. Grace was still getting used to standing for long periods of time. The transition to a more, although not much more, relaxed stance was a relief. The increasing heat of the relentless Iowa sun made Grace sway. She let her leg muscles slacken a bit as she mentally berated herself that she had to stop locking her knees lest she pass out.

  There was yet another person making his way out of the car that had carried Hobby and Bethune. All thoughts of maintaining a straight spine and loose knees while looking straight ahead flew out of Grace’s mind as the man she had met at Minton’s Playhouse just weeks ago emerged from the vehicle. Every muscle in her body went rigid. Moments later, much to her horror, she found herself dizzy and falling to the ground.

  When she came to, she opened her eyes to find that it was Mr. Jonathan Philips who was cradling her head.

  Grace groaned as his too-handsome face hovered over hers. His features were drawn up in what looked like genuine concern.

  “What the hell are you doing on my base?” she croaked.

  “Your base, eh? I was going to ask you if you were all right. But I think you’ve already answered my question.” He looked up and yelled to someone off to the side, “She’ll be fine. But she probably could use some water.”

  When he returned his attention to her, she frowned up at him. “It feels like you’re stalking me.”

  “I’m not sure it’s considered stalking when it was Colonel Hobby, your commanding officer, who insisted that I come along on this trip.”

  “My mistake.” Grace pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Thanks for making sure that I was okay, but let’s not make this a regular thing.”

  “What don’t you want to be a regular thing?”

  “This.” She gestured her arm across her lap. “You coming to save little ol’ me every time I feel woozy.”

  He laughed at her sarcasm. He held his hand against her back, supporting it, as she pushed herself all the way up into a sitting position.

  “Miss Steele, are you saying that I make you feel woozy?”

  “No,” she snapped. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  “Are you all right, dear?” Dr. Bethune’s face now hovered over Grace and Jonathan. “Mr. Philips, did you run track in school? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone run that fast before.”

  “No, ma’am.” Jonathan gave Dr. Bethune a wry smile. “Just didn’t want her to hit her head, is all.”

  That’s when Grace remembered where she was. She looked up to find all the Fort Des Moines top brass staring at her, in particular a red-faced Lieutenant Rogers throwing lightning bolts with his eyes.

  Dread crept up her shoulders and neck. The whole world might as well have been watching what could be interpreted as an intimate moment between them. Grace closed her eyes.

  “Get away from me,” she whispered to Jonathan. “Please.”

  “As soon as I help you to your feet.”

  “No. This is the first time Negro women have been allowed anywhere near these people’s Army. Jonathan, seriously, I don’t need any more attention. Not when all eyes really are on us.”

  “You’re right. I know better than anyone what this means to us, the race, to you.” Jonathan nodded with a frown as he pushed himself back to his full height. Grace almost instantly regretted the warning. “I’ll come back to talk to you later.” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “Because it’s my job, Miss Steele.”

  Jonathan strode away back to his place among the WAAC and Fort Des Moines leadership, every one of them staring back and forth between the two of them curiously. There was none of the cool swagger in his step that Grace had admired back in Harlem. His now tight facial features said it all. Grace wanted nothing more than to run after him and apologize. But she couldn’t. Unless one of these officers, who so far had held so much contempt for her and the rest of Third Company, ordered it.

  She pushed herself back up onto her feet and resumed standing at attention. She took extra care to keep her knees unlocked this time.

  “Colonels. Lieutenant. Dr. Bethune.” Grace nodded at each one as she addressed them. “I apologize for the interruption.”

  They all nodded in one way or the other to accept her apology. But Lieutenant Rogers continued to throw daggers with his eyes in her direction.

  I’ll deal with you later, he mouthed at her. A new line of sweat broke out on her forehead, but she dared not move. She had no doubt that he would make good on that threat once the WAAC leadership had gone back to Washington.

  Grace saw Jonathan hesitate a step before taking his place next to Rogers. There was no way that he could not have seen her commanding officer’s threat. She watched as Jonathan leaned closer to Rogers. From this distance, it looked like his mouth had formed the words “But first you’ll have to deal with me.” Grace felt her blood go cold. This would not bode well for her.

  From what she knew of Lieutenant Mitchell Rogers so far, Grace suspected that the man had never had the experience of a mother’s love. He definitely couldn’t have been married. It seemed like he hated being around women that much. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on where he stood on having to turn civilian Negro women into soldiers. To his credit, she had never heard him sneer the term “negra gals” or the like. Well, not yet. But she had seen him bark at some of the white recruits who were in other companies in the regiment. So, who really knew what Rogers’s deal was?

  But he definitely hated women.

  After the as
sembly, Grace walked ahead of the rest of her company as they headed to lunch. She heard a set of boots clomp up beside her. She looked over just as Eliza fell in step with her. “Good Lord, Grace, who was that? He’s gorgeous.”

  “Nobody.” Grace picked up her pace. She felt a mixture of jealousy and embarrassment swirl in her tummy at Eliza’s assessment of Jonathan. She definitely did not want to discuss him with her. “Just a guy I know from . . . before.”

  “Just a guy, huh?” Eliza threw her a quick, skeptical look as they stepped to the side of the mess entrance. They had been instructed to enter the building as a unit today.

  Eliza pressed on. “It looked to me like that beautiful ‘just a guy’ only had eyes for you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was interested in you.”

  “No, definitely not. Jonathan is just a friend. No . . . more like an acquaintance. I barely even know him, to tell you the truth. Just forget it. We can’t . . .” Eliza’s hand on her arm made her stop. Grace sighed. “Oh, just forget it. Okay?”

  “Well, lookee here. Miss Cool, Calm, and Collected is babbling. Wait, do you like him?”

  “Him? No! Ugh, absolutely not.”

  “You’re babbling again.”

  Grace stopped and drew a deep, calming breath. “My nerves are all over the place, okay? I mean, I can’t believe I passed out like that in front of everybody. In front of the WAAC director, Colonel Faith, and—oh my God—Dr. Bethune. I am so embarrassed.”

  “It happens to the best of us.” Eliza looked her over, smiling when her eyes reached Grace’s face. “You’re blushing.”

  Grace rubbed her cheeks. “That’s ridiculous. I’m too dark to blush. It’s just the heat.”

  Eliza stared at her like she didn’t believe one word that had come out of Grace’s mouth. After a short laugh, Eliza resumed their march into the mess hall. “Just a guy. Girl, please. It’s written all over your face. You’ve got it just as bad as he does.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  In the past, Grace had always relished being the one who stood out. That is, when she was onstage. But today? She would rather be just another soldier. No one seemed to be giving Eliza or Harriet a hard time just because they happened to know Dr. Bethune prior to joining the corps. So why did it have to be such a big deal that she had met Jonathan Philips before today?

  And now him showing up like this at Fort Des Moines? She still had his business card, the one he had given her in case she ever had any problems once she joined the corps. The irony was that she had not called him. Even though she had been the one to help iron out the plan for the Negro trainees’ calling campaign, Grace had not actually called anybody when it was time for action. Unlike the other women, she didn’t know anybody else with the connections or enough fame to make a difference.

  Grace grabbed a tray and utensils as the lunch line moved forward. If they were lucky, they’d be having that tasty meat loaf again. And if they weren’t so lucky, it was the sloppy joes. It was hard to tell, since the appearance of all these D.C. bigwigs had caught everyone by surprise. She frowned once she got to the serving counter. Hot dogs and potato salad. She eyed the plate suspiciously as she lowered it onto her tray. She hadn’t eaten anyone else’s potato salad besides the upstairs neighbor Mrs. Perez’s since she was a small child. Though it was a simple recipe, potato salad required a practiced hand to come out right.

  She gave the mess cook a pasted-on smile and said, “Thank you.” He blinked at her blankly like she wasn’t even there. Grace decided then that her portion of potato salad would be going right into the trash. Untouched. The two boiled hot dogs would have to sustain her.

  She sat down at one of Third Company’s usual tables. Thankfully, those damnable COLORED signs were absent. “I guess someone had the good sense to remove them before Dr. Bethune could see them for herself,” Grace grumbled.

  It was more likely that the signs had been removed so as to make the Negro WAACs’ complaints look false or like they were overreacting to having been separated from the white WAACs.

  “May I sit next to you?” Grace looked up and nearly fainted again. Dr. Bethune stood beside her with a pleasant smile on her face as she waited for Grace’s response. Grace immediately stood up.

  “Of course, of course. Please, sit.” Grace held out the chair so Dr. Bethune could sit. So much for those hot dogs. There was no way Grace could eat them now. Her right hand began to shake. She slipped it under the table before Dr. Bethune could see it. She had admired this woman from afar for so long. She never imagined she would ever eat lunch with her!

  “Aren’t you the one who took that tumble earlier?”

  Grace felt her cheeks warm. “Yes, ma’am. I’m so sorry for ruining the review.”

  “No apologies needed. It was so hot out there. I’m more concerned that you’ll be all right.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I forgot to not lock my knees. There’s so much to remember.” Under the table, Grace began pressing Mozart’s Fantasy no. 3 with her fingers into her thigh.

  Dr. Bethune patted her shoulder like she imagined a grandmother would. Lovingly. Her soft hand warmed her. Grace’s hands finally stopped shaking. “You’ll be fine. I’ve heard good things about you.”

  “Me?” Grace squeaked. “You don’t even know my name.”

  “Of course I do. You’re Grace Steele. They used to call you the Mini-Mozart of Harlem.”

  Everything in Grace went still. She hadn’t been called that name in years. Dammit, Jonathan must have been running his mouth, she thought. She didn’t want anyone else associated with the WAAC to know that about her. “How—how did you know that?”

  “I make it my business to know about all of the exceptional Negro youth in this country. That’s why I made sure to have a WAAC invitation letter sent to your home.”

  Grace went still again. “That was you? You sent me that invitation?”

  “Yes, I did. And I’m so glad you answered my call.”

  “Thank you for thinking of me. I . . . don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Just do your best. The race is counting on you. On all of you here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Grace went silent. What else could you say after being told something like that? Dr. Bethune began to eat her lunch. Grace pretended to nibble on hers so as to not seem awkward.

  “Dr. Bethune! It’s so good to see you again.” Eliza chose that moment to plop down on the empty seat across from them. “I don’t think we’ve spoken since you called me out of the blue that day.”

  “Eliza Jones, my, how you have grown. I don’t think I’ve seen you since you were—what—in high school?”

  Grace couldn’t help but feel like she was eavesdropping on a private conversation. She pushed back her chair and stood. “Excuse me. I’ll let you two catch up.”

  “It was very nice to meet you, Auxiliarist Steele.”

  “It was an honor to have met you, ma’am.”

  Their afternoon training schedule was thrown off because of the unexpected officials’ visit today. As a result, Third Company had a longer gap than usual between mealtime and the next activity. Grace planned on using her free time to go outside. And maybe just breathe.

  ELIZA HATED TO see Grace go so abruptly. She knew that Grace had never met Dr. Bethune before today. She had hoped that by sitting down she could help them get to know each other better. Instead, Grace had sat there awkwardly pushing her food around with her fork. Honestly, Eliza didn’t know Dr. Bethune that well herself. She was a friend of her parents’, and they had always been around before to help facilitate the conversation.

  At the thought of her parents, a wave of longing rushed over her. This was the first time Eliza had had a chance to think about them since she had arrived here.

  “I imagine you heard from my father after I left.”

  Dr. Bethune chuckled. “Not from him directly. I imagine he’s too mad at me for encouraging you to be here. Your mother said you ruined his di
nner party with the Marshalls.”

  Eliza grinned. “Yes, I sure did.”

  “Normally, it isn’t my place to encourage young ladies to defy their fathers. But in this case, I’m proud of you.” Dr. Bethune beamed at her. “And so is your mother.”

  “Now you’re just being kind.” It’s not that Eliza didn’t believe the older woman. But when they had last spoken over the phone, Eliza had barely been able to get a word in. Mother had prattled on about her Housewives’ League committees and war bond fund-raisers, then rushed Eliza off the phone when Daddy came home. She hadn’t spared a breath to tell Eliza that she was proud.

  “She told me so herself. She’s told me a lot about you over the years. She said you’ve become quite the cub reporter since you returned from school. Perhaps you should write her a letter. You know, ‘report’ on what your new life is like.”

  “That’s a great idea, Dr. Bethune. Thank you.”

  A photographer from the local newspaper approached them and asked Dr. Bethune if she would mind if he took their picture. “It’ll most likely wind up on the ANP wire,” he added.

  “Not if my friend here doesn’t,” she responded.

  “That would be swell. Daddy will have a fit when he sees me in an Associated Negro Press lead story when he could’ve had an exclusive scoop.” Eliza chuckled.

  “That’s the spirit, dear.”

  COLONEL HOBBY AND Dr. Bethune left right after lunch, so it was back to work. A few hours later, Eliza practically collapsed onto her footlocker. It was such a relief to get off her feet, even if it was only for a moment. She leaned down to rub her calves. They’d just run at least five miles for the second day in a row. Her legs were screaming.

  “Soldiers, attention!”

  She, along with everyone else, quickly stood at attention next to their footlockers, as they had been instructed when they had first arrived. Her shins burned at the sudden movement. She did her best not to wince.

  Lieutenant Rogers strolled into the bunk room. Jonathan Philips stood a few paces behind. Eliza could see him peripherally. She dared not look anywhere but straight ahead, though. Rogers’s tone was all the indication she needed to know that he was not in the mood for even the smallest error right now.