Sisters in Arms

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Sisters in Arms Page 19

by Kaia Alderson


  Eliza was amazed at how even Mother’s voice was. How in control. But then Eliza saw her mother’s knuckles whiten as she squeezed the napkin even tighter.

  “How am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me, dear?”

  Daddy winced. Mother’s arrow had hit its mark apparently. But then Daddy seemed to wither within himself. Daddy’s head was down, refusing to look his wife in the eye. To Eliza’s eyes, he suddenly looked very old and frail.

  “I can’t.” He shook his head, his eyes closed tight. “No woman’s ears should ever be subjected to that. They’re too delicate.”

  “I’m offended by how much you underestimate me, Martin. I’ve given birth, for goodness’ sake. I think I could handle hearing about a little carnage.”

  “Don’t push me, Lillian.”

  “Have some faith in me, Martin.”

  Daddy shook his head, his shoulders slumping further. “Maybe if I had told you before about what happened to me, then you wouldn’t have pushed our baby into the Army. And that monster wouldn’t have put his hands on her. My precious baby . . .”

  Eliza had been about to take another bite of the toast. But her hand stilled when her father choked back a sob. Mother stood and went to his side, putting her hand on Daddy’s shoulder.

  It was a private moment between husband and wife. One Eliza was sure that her father wouldn’t have wanted her to witness.

  “Yes, Daddy, the so-called worst did happen to me. But the most important thing is that I survived it. That should be proof enough that I’m made of tougher stuff than you’ve been giving me credit for.”

  “You don’t understand.” His eyelids closed tight. When they opened again, Eliza saw that they were filled with tears. “It’s one thing to have lived it. You suck it up all while making promises to yourself that you will endure if only to ensure that those types of horrors never happen again. And then you become one of the lucky ones who gets to come home, only to be subjected to unimaginable indignities for having the nerve to hold your head a little bit higher because you did serve . . . all because of the color of your skin. But you persevere. You put your head down and work hard. Push against the obstacles put in your path because your skin is wrong, where you came from is wrong, how you speak is wrong. Despite all that you make it. You do everything humanly possible to erect as many barriers as you can to shield your wife and your baby from the horrors—the ones that still haunt you in your face and in your dreams. The next thing you know, a phone call confirms that a real-life nightmare has gotten its clutches on your baby . . .”

  She watched her father’s face as it transformed from that of the stern, gruff patriarch of their family into one of a frightened little boy. Eliza blinked back her own tears. She couldn’t recall a time when her father had allowed himself to be seen in such a vulnerable state. It was as if he had transported himself back into another time, another place. The horror that shone in his eyes broke her heart.

  “Every day since I stepped foot back onto American soil, I’ve wanted to tell you what happened to us. I’ve wanted to get that monkey off my back so many times.” Now the tears were streaming down his cheeks. His voice lowered to a whisper. “Baby, I’ve wanted to so bad. But I just can’t.”

  Then Martin Jones, the strongest man that Eliza knew, sank to his knees, covered his face with his hands, and wept.

  “I owe you both an apology.” Eliza’s voice echoed in the silence of the grand room. “I should have paid more attention when my travel arrangements were made for that day.”

  She stood up and slipped into the embrace of her parents. “It was naive to not consider the safety of arriving alone at that time of night in a secluded place like that. I know that now. I promise you both that I won’t take that for granted again. And I am sorry for putting you through that.”

  She pulled away to swipe at her nose, sniffing. “But if I did the safe thing by staying put at home, I would have exploded. I had to do something. Doing nothing more than writing puff pieces about society events wasn’t it. I have to do what I can to make this world, this country, right. The fact that the two of you are arguing over me like I’m still two years old and not capable of speaking my own truth, making my own decisions . . . I’m not your delicate flower anymore.”

  Eliza watched her father press his lips together. “Maybe I could have listened to you more. Your mother doesn’t know this, but I have been reading the letters you’ve been sending home. You have a good eye. A reporter’s eye . . . Maybe I can find you a juicier beat to cover when you come home for good.”

  Eliza sighed. She was not looking forward to what she had to tell them next. But it had to be done. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but given the circumstances, I think you both should know the reason why I’m back in town. I’m shipping out for Europe.”

  “You’re what?” Her mother’s eyes rounded. “I assumed that you would be stationed up at Camp Shanks, not just passing through. Wait, since when are they sending Colored WACs overseas?”

  “They’re starting with us, with me.” She took a good look at both of her parents now, even when everything in her wanted to flinch and look away. “And there’s a chance I might not make it back. We were supposed to ship out a few days ago. The rumor is that the delay is due to German subs lurking too close to the shoreline.”

  “Dammit. Of course you are a part of that secret group. The one the Negro press has been buzzing about off the record for the last month.” Her father tapped his fist on the tabletop.

  “Oh my God.” Mother’s eyes filled up with tears. “And here I was frippering on about hair appointments and tea parties and such. Now I just want to lock all the doors and hold you tight until it’s time for you to go back.”

  “It’s okay, Mother. You didn’t know.”

  “That’s it. I’m done.” Daddy pushed himself back up onto his feet. He tucked his newspaper under his arm. “I pray to God that nothing happens to you all on your journey across the sea. But if anything does happen to you out there on the Atlantic, then this is me telling you I told you so.”

  He walked out of the room. Neither woman attempted to call him back. They knew how he was. But Eliza did run out into the living room and yelled after him. “You know better than most that there’s a chance I might not make it back. Do you really want to leave things between us like this?”

  “You already know the answer to that, baby,” her mother said to her from behind. “He loves you too much. His heart won’t bear it if anything else were to happen to you.”

  * * *

  Telegram

  JANUARY 31, 1945

  FROM: NEW YORK PORT OF EMBARKATION

  RECEIVED: CAMP SHANKS

  MESSAGE: HEADQUARTERS STAFF, SUPPORT STAFF, AND COMPANIES A AND B OF THE ALL-NEGRO WAC UNIT ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO BOARD THE ÎLE DE FRANCE AT 0600 HOURS.

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  New York Harbor, Manhattan

  February 1, 1945

  THE DAY HAD started off full of anticipation and excitement. Grace’s heartbeat quickened as their ferry approached the vessel that was waiting for them alongside the West Side piers. Not only was the ocean liner that would take them to Europe massive, but it was also famous. A few of the girls squealed when they saw ÎLE DE FRANCE etched on the stern of the ship. Grace almost squealed with them. She, along with most of the unit, had heard of the famous ocean liner from newsreel coverage at the Saturday two-for-one cinemas. She never imagined that she would get the chance to experience such luxury herself. Especially not while she was still in the military.

  The loading of people, equipment, and munitions onto the ship seemed to have taken up the greater portion of the day. What a madhouse! It was two hours of waiting on the pier before Grace was able to order the women in Company B to “Forward march!”

  Just as soon as Grace gave the command, Company B began marching up the gangplank with orderly military precision. Even while hauling all of their gear on their backs, her girls ma
de her proud. Not a single misstep or stumble under their heavy loads. Not one of their Army-issued combat helmets fell to the ground.

  Grace followed the last of her company up the gangplank. As soon as she set foot aboard the ship, the butterflies in her stomach began a-fluttering. The biggest boat she had been on before was a rowboat at summer camp, a mere blip in the water next to this ocean liner. She had never left the United States before. She had never marched straight into a war zone before. The ship swayed to and fro with the Hudson River’s current as it flowed into New York Harbor and beyond it to the very wide and vast open sea. Grace felt her knees buckle.

  The weight of the heavy pack on her back began to feel like it would crush her. Grace took the few steps over to the railing and gripped it tightly with both hands. She took a series of deep, controlled breaths until the tension gripping her lungs eased.

  She looked over the side, hoping to glimpse something familiar to steady her. They were so high up above the pier. She might as well have been looking down from the Empire State Building’s observation deck. There were so many people down on the pier below. So many faces. So much bundled cargo and material. It was just so much at once. Much too much.

  And then, just when she thought she might pass out altogether, Grace saw a familiar face among all those people. It can’t be. She blinked to clear her vision. But when she looked again, that face was still there. “Mama!”

  Grace’s knees buckled again. A hand shot out of nowhere to steady her elbow.

  “Jeez Louise, Grace. Do you want me to get you a medic?”

  It was Eliza. Now she knew for sure she was hallucinating. Eliza had barely said two words to her since they’d been assigned to this battalion. Each time they had shared the same airspace leading up to today, Eliza either ignored Grace’s greetings or just looked through her like she wasn’t there. There was even that one time she had pivoted a full ninety degrees to avoid her in the Camp Shanks canteen.

  “No.” Grace yanked her arm away. She was not in the mood for Eliza’s sudden change of heart now. “I just need a minute.”

  “Are you sure? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  “I’m scared of heights,” Grace lied. Silently, she prayed that Eliza would get the hint and leave her alone. Leave her alone to process what she thought she had seen.

  “Excuse me for having a decent bone in my body. Unlike some people, when I see someone in trouble, I go out of my way to help.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You tell me.” Eliza took a step backward, thankfully giving her some room to breathe. “I swear, I don’t know why I still give a damn where you’re concerned. I, more than anyone, should know that you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself.”

  “That’s not true.” She stood to her full height. But Eliza had already disappeared back into the crowd. Grace would have followed her, but the ship’s horn blared, indicating that it was getting ready to leave. Everybody on the deck surged toward the railing to wave and scream their final goodbyes. The press of bodies pushed her forward. She braced herself against the railing once more. She used the opportunity to find that face, to convince herself that it had been indeed Mama come to see her off.

  But whoever it had been that Grace had seen down there was gone. What was supposed to have been the most exciting moment of her life had, instead, turned into one of her loneliest.

  WHATEVER AWE SHE’D had over traveling aboard the Île de France was short-lived once they came aboard. Yes, the ship had been a high-class luxury liner in peacetime. But since France had fallen to the Germans, the United States had commandeered the Île and retrofitted it into a troop transport ship. That meant that while the exquisite chandeliers and trimmings were all still there, the plush staterooms now housed sixteen bunks instead of the previous standard of two guests per room.

  The officers in their unit were housed together in the same stateroom. But this standard practice turned awkward, because Grace had been assigned the bunk right above Eliza’s. Grace knew the tension between them stemmed from the night Eliza had been attacked at the Kentucky train station. Grace could only imagine what the woman thought of her now. She had tried to explain what had happened after the train pulled out of the station, but Eliza wasn’t interested in her story. Her excuses didn’t change the fact that her friend had been left alone and vulnerable when she needed Grace the most.

  Grace finished stowing her belongings in the narrow storage locker that had been provided. Actually, everything in that stateroom was narrow. She felt the dreaded squeeze of panic begin to wrap around her chest.

  I need to get some air.

  Once out on the upper deck, Grace was relieved to have the space to move around unencumbered by her heavy gear. The cool February breeze coming off the water was a welcome treat. However, she was shocked by the number of other vessels that surrounded their ship. As far as she could see in either direction, there was an endless line of battleships, aircraft carriers, and what looked to be other troop ships. It was a jarring thing to see, especially with the New York City skyline in the distance getting smaller and smaller behind them. The reports of U-boat sightings in the paper now became more real. One could be lurking beneath them now, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

  She reached under her sleeve to finger her watch, the one Tony had given her. It had become her lucky charm of sorts since then. Although they had been instructed several times to ship home everything but the most essential supplies, keeping this watch with her, in addition to her Army-issued one, had been her one act of defiance. She knew of others who had their own contraband on board, including one private who had snuck a set of red satin pajamas by wearing them under her uniform.

  But when Grace felt for the watch now, it wasn’t there. She reached deeper into her sleeve. Nothing. And then it dawned on her: she had left it behind in her rush to leave Jonathan’s hotel room after their night together.

  Damn. Now she really did feel exposed out here in the middle of the ocean. The hairs stood up on the back of Grace’s neck.

  She pulled her fatigue jacket tighter around her. Suddenly, the cool ocean breeze didn’t feel so good anymore.

  GRACE MADE HER way down the serving line in the onboard dining area. At least the former French luxury ocean liner still had its advantages. Instead of the normal bland Army fare of sloppy joes, doughnuts, and coffee, the cooks aboard the Île de France were dishing out the best bread she’d ever tasted, along with something called a cassoulet. She recognized bits of chicken and sausage in the stew. The divine aroma hinted that wine was among the other ingredients.

  They also had the option of sipping on French red wine with their meals. Evidently, the French were in the habit of issuing a daily ration of wine to their soldiers. Grace had never developed a taste for the dry, rich beverage. But then again, her opportunities to drink the stuff were limited to taking Communion at church.

  She boldly placed a filled wineglass onto her tray. What was that saying? When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Well, aboard this ship, she was technically on French soil, even if it was a combination of the American and British navies in command of it. Grace smiled to herself at the thought that she was doing something “naughty.”

  “Please tell me that devilish grin was for me,” a very handsome and very Canadian serviceman called out to her as she passed by him. Grace rolled her eyes at the unimaginative attempt to flirt with her. They were a few hours into their journey. Already, it was a rare moment when there wasn’t a GI or an enlisted man of some other nationality who made a catcall or come-on to someone in her unit.

  Most of the quips had been harmless. But the blatant leering she saw in some of the men’s eyes made it apparent that Grace would have to institute a buddy system for using the facilities in the middle of the night. It seemed that too many of these male soldiers held the belief that these female soldiers’ jobs were to “service” them rather than serve the United States in the war effor
t.

  “Don’t be like that.” Dolores, one of the sergeants in her company, fell in step beside her. They had grown friendly during overseas training, since Dolores also hailed from New York. “That Canadian was kinda cute.”

  Grace rolled her eyes again. “And very white. Segregation might be a nasty business back home. But I’ll be damned if I get court-martialed for giving them a hint of impropriety on my part. And you’d be wise to do the same, young lady.”

  “Young lady? You’re only a few years older than me.”

  “Yes, I am. And I also outrank you.” Grace swished past her friend and settled at a table where a few of the privates in their unit sat. Several girls stiffened at their approach.

  “As you were.” Grace smiled.

  Dolores slid into the seat beside Grace. She leaned in and whispered, “Does that mean you are ordering me not to make a move on that Canadian, Captain?”

  “No,” Grace replied with a disapproving frown, “but I should.”

  “Fine, then I’ll just enjoy looking at him from afar. But if you don’t mind me saying, Captain, I don’t see why we couldn’t go slack on the rules just a little while we’re stuck on this boat.”

  Grace stared at her friend. These younger women had heads that were harder than granite. “No, we can’t, because we still have a job to do.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Dolores started picking at her plate. “What is this stuff? I’ve never seen anything like it before. Definitely not the usual Army fare.”

  Grace picked up her fork and stabbed at her food. She slid a forkful of the cassoulet stuff into her mouth. The rich stew overpowered her senses. “Oh my goodness, I think this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Girl, please, nothing could ever top my mama’s cooking.” Dolores sampled a bite, then moaned. “Except this. Ooh wee, Frenchie back there put his whole entire foot in this.”

 

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