Sisters in Arms

by Kaia Alderson

  “All those fancy clothes you like to wear.”

  “Most of which I had to ship back home while I was packing up for this deployment. They said we could only bring one civilian outfit with us. Besides, my mother bought most of that stuff. The fancy stuff I mean. If I had my way, I’d live in Chuck Taylors and dungarees.”

  “I can’t see them letting you cover society events for your family’s newspaper like that.”

  “I never wanted the society beat. That was my father’s doing. I’ve always wanted to cover sports. Baseball, that’s my dream.”

  So now Eliza was telling Grace her deepest dream that she feared would never come true? Grace knew then that hell must have frozen over. Or, more accurately, that hell was literally chasing them down to the ends of the earth.

  “Whoa. I never would have thought baseball.”

  “Yeah. I’ve loved the game all my life.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, even played a little. I was recruited to play for an all-girls traveling softball league once. My father threw a fit.”

  “You didn’t stage a walkout like you did to join the WAC?”

  Eliza chuckled. “No. But only because he locked me in my room.”

  “He what? I’m surprised he didn’t try that again when you told him you got in the WAC.”

  “Only because I planned ahead. I had my bag stashed in the front hall closet. I left in the middle of a formal dinner with our neighbors. Right in the middle of the dessert course.”

  “Let me guess, he was too much of a good host to run out after you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Wow, that’s some story.” Grace paused. “So what are you going to do when the war’s over and you go back to the States?”

  “I’m not sure. But I have thought of going for something more dramatic, like showing up to the newspaper’s office unannounced and banging out some baseball coverage on a typewriter.”

  “Yeah, I can see you doing that.” Grace’s gut reaction when she had first laid eyes on Eliza at the induction center had been right. The woman was fearless. She had more gumption than Grace had in her little toe. Grace remembered having some of that fearlessness about herself when she was younger, back when she was still performing recitals and practicing piano under Mama’s strict tutelage. Grace had been terrified right before each and every time she had to go onstage to perform. But once she was seated at the piano bench, she felt like she owned the world. Until the one day when sitting there instead made her feel like the world owned her. And it had crushed her without a second thought. “I wish I could be that brave.”

  “You are. When you want to be.”

  “No, I mean, the thing I wanted most . . . I had it at my fingertips once. But when I got it right in my grasp . . . I froze and messed it up.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Juilliard. I used to play piano. I was really good. Good enough to be invited to audition. But I messed it up. The plan was to study at the best music school in Manhattan and then become a world-famous concert pianist. That was Mama’s dream for me. For me to grace some French stage someday. I went along with it because I figured it was the only way to get me out of my mama’s house. But I never told her the truth. But my brother knew. He was my biggest cheerleader. Tony sensed that I had no desire to play only the classical stuff, so he turned me on to the hipper stuff. But he’s dead now. The Philippines.”

  “I’m so sorry, Grace.”

  Grace shrugged it off, not wanting to discuss Tony any further. “What I really want to do is compose.”

  There, she had finally shared with another person her dream of composing. This was the first time Grace had admitted that aloud. Of course it would be when her own fate was uncertain.

  “So that’s why I always find you scribbling on sheet music when you think no one is looking.”

  “Guilty as charged. But I still wouldn’t mind going to Paris.”

  “Well, if the Germans don’t blow us out of the water, you just might get your chance.” Eliza smiled. It was the first time that Grace could recall Eliza genuinely smiling at her since they had come aboard.

  Grace exhaled. The release of air caused her shoulders to drop, like they had just released the weight of a load she had been carrying for far too long. It felt good to have finally shared her actual dream with someone. Jonathan had tried to pry it out of her. But she hadn’t been ready to accept it for herself yet. But now, under her own terms? It felt right. It was her dream. Not Mama’s. Not Jonathan’s. Not Eliza’s. Something that she wanted for herself.

  Why the hell did she need someone else to believe on her behalf for her to see it through to fruition? Why did she need someone else’s approval to walk into a Juilliard audition with the confidence to knock it out of the park? She had performed on the Carnegie Hall stage by herself when she was thirteen years old.

  Grace’s arm dropped from around Eliza’s shoulders. She had a sudden urge to run away, far away from this ship, the Germans lurking outside, her life in the WAC. Run back to the fool she had been at that audition, when Mr. Hutcheson asked her if performing was what she really wanted to do. He must have sensed her true desire to compose when she stumbled over the musical selections as written, preferring to improvise her way through the pieces instead. She decided that whenever she returned to New York, she would go back and request—no, demand—one more opportunity to show him what she could do on a piano. To have the confidence to declare her true aspiration: becoming a composer. To show him who she really was inside.

  Now that her life was on the line, she was ready to take all the risks her former self had been too scared to breach.

  “Thanks. I haven’t had anyone believe in me in a long while.”

  “And thank you. For . . . looking after me tonight. My body healed from the attack long ago. But my mind . . . well, let’s just say I’m still working on that. And thanks for not laughing at my dream. Girls like me aren’t supposed to want to be sports reporters.”

  The truth was Grace had never actually hated Eliza. She had hated herself.

  Grace wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and sniffed.

  No more. The ridiculous war with Eliza that she had concocted in her head was over.

  “Does this mean we might finally become friends now?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Then I hope we get off this boat and through the rest of the war in one piece so you can make that happen, Eliza.”

  Eliza leaned back to get a better look at Grace. “Make what happen?”

  “To see you become a sports reporter . . . and spite your daddy.”

  Eliza laughed a little, but it soon trailed off. “Yeah, that would be something.”

  The ship had kept a steady course for a while now. The beat of boot steps and yelling in the hallway had gone silent.

  Eliza pushed herself to her feet, wiping off her bottom. She reached out her hand to Grace. When Grace took it, she helped her to her feet.

  “But most of all, I wish you peace.”

  Eliza studied her for a moment. “Thank you. I wish the same for you.”

  Grace had no idea how much time passed before they heard the all clear. She flexed her fingers. A whoosh of relief escaped her lungs when she felt them wriggle at her sides. She was still here. She was still . . . whole.

  Chapter 23

  GRACE AND ELIZA continued to work together overseeing their troops in the days that had passed since the U-boat chase. Despite the terrifying event, there were still drills to practice, outgoing letters to censor, and flirty GIs to chase off. Eliza was more than happy to keep herself occupied with busywork. She hadn’t slept much in the aftermath of the U-boat attack. The few times she had managed to fall asleep, visions of the man attacking her in the train station again and again snatched her back into consciousness.

  However, the tension that had chafed between her and Grace had significantly decreased, if not disappeared altogether. Eliza was m
ature enough to admit that most of that tension had originated with her. Since there was no hope of ever bringing the true culprit to justice, she had directed all her anger at the easiest target, Grace. Now that they were working together, they were quickly becoming a well-oiled unit with a reputation for efficiency and a one-two punch when needed.

  When the Île de France finally arrived at its destination, they had no way of knowing exactly where the ship had docked. No word had come down through the officers’ grapevine yet. All that anyone could say with any certainty was that they were “somewhere in Europe.”

  Finally, their group received the order to line up on the deck with all of their gear for inspection. This was unusual because inspections usually happened once the troops got off the ship, and they were still on board. Whispers buzzed down the line, the women wondering why they were being singled out.

  One private groaned, “I’m not getting on one of these troop ships ever again. The only way I’m going home is if they build a bridge over the Atlantic Ocean.”

  Poor Millie Veasey had been confined to her bunk the entire trip, sick. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been the only one who suffered from a horrible bout of seasickness. The others responded to her with a chorus of “mm-hmms.”

  “Calm down, ladies,” Eliza ordered. “The sooner you line up, the sooner we can get this inspection over with, and then the sooner we get off this thing.”

  Finally, Grace gave the order for everyone to fall in line. Like everyone else, Eliza was curious herself about this break in protocol. But wondering about it wasn’t going to change anything. She took her place in line in front with the rest of the officers in their group.

  Her questions were answered the moment she spotted two familiar faces in WAC uniforms, who were accompanied by an older Negro man, also in uniform. The woman leading the way was none other than her old friend Major Charity Adams, followed by her right-hand woman, Noel Campbell. She remembered them both very well from Officer Candidate School. The gentleman with them, the one sporting the general’s stars . . .

  “Straighten up, ladies. We have visitors. And one of them is a general.”

  Then she followed her own order, willing her spine to stretch straighter despite the weight of the pack on her back. The party of senior officers was just about to step off the gangplank and onto the deck of the ship. Grace likewise quickly composed herself, yelling, “Attention!”

  “Thank you, Captain Steele. Captain Jones.” Charity—or Major Adams, Eliza mentally corrected herself—gave them the briefest nod hello. Major Adams turned her head slightly to address the rest of the WAC soldiers. “Ladies, welcome to Scotland.”

  Scotland, huh? That would explain the thick accents she had trouble understanding coming from down below on the docks. What in the world would they be doing in Scotland?

  “I’m happy to see you all have arrived here safe. It is my pleasure to introduce you to Brigadier General Benjamin O. Davis Sr. of the United States Army.” The major gestured toward the brown-skinned man in uniform beside her.

  Eliza blinked a few times because she didn’t believe her eyes. Benjamin O. Davis Sr. was a legend back home in Harlem. As much as he was on the pages of the Negro newspapers, the man’s name and face were familiar to everyone in their group, and even more so to Negro soldiers in the U.S. military. Davis was one of the very few men of the race to have attained the rank of general in the U.S. Army. Charity gave them all a moment to get over their awe before she continued.

  “Well, the good news is you won’t be in Scotland long. We’re getting on a train headed for England as soon as we get off this ship,” Charity started off. “The bad news is ETO Command—also known as the top brass over the European Theater of Operations—has ordered us to be ready for a review parade three days from now. And I gave him my word that you all would be ready.”

  THEY DISEMBARKED FROM the ship and made it onto the train without incident. Grace was exhausted by the time she had a chance to sit down on her assigned berth in the sleeper car. However, she did not fall asleep immediately upon lying down. She tossed and turned, but no matter how she positioned herself, she couldn’t get comfortable. She was used to thin pillows and scratchy blankets by now. It took a few more minutes for her to figure it out.

  It was her berth. It was too short for her long body. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked around the sleeping car that had been reserved for officers. All the berths looked like they were a good foot shorter than what she remembered them being back home in the United States.

  Grace groaned. Every muscle in her body burned with exhaustion. She had to get some sleep.

  She shifted again, this time into a contorted position that had her at as much of an angle that she could manage with her leg dangling off the side. She balled her pillow up into a lump. There, not perfect but better.

  As she drifted off—finally—to sleep, Grace wondered how much more this new experience would force her to contort herself to make it work.

  GRACE JOLTED AWAKE when Eliza shook her shoulder. “Get up. We’re almost there.”

  She blinked, but even with the haze of sleep gone from her eyes, still all she saw was darkness. The only light was that of the moon streaming in from the window. Grace attempted to push herself up into a sitting position. She groaned. Her arms and legs all felt as heavy as lead.

  She tried again. This time she succeeded in sitting up. Her reward for her efforts was bumping her head against the bunk frame above her. She groaned again. Were all British people unusually short? Grace herself stood at five feet ten inches. She was beginning to suspect that she would not just “blend in” with the local folk here for a variety of reasons, the least of which being the color of her skin.

  Now that she was upright, she had a better view out the window. The moonlight revealed a dark countryside and what looked like ancient stone walls parceling the land. She assumed the buildings off in the distance were homes.

  None of them had any lights on, though. That’s right, the blackout. Grace had been under only partial blackout conditions back home in the United States. But here in Great Britain, they were under full blackout orders. She had never seen anything that dark, not even when she had been stationed in the Midwest.

  However, she had seen the newsreel images of a smoldering London after long nights of German bombings. Her heart had ached for all the people over there who had been senselessly killed and displaced. Oh wait, Great Britain was no longer “over there.” It was now “right here.” Grace shivered. She was now right in the middle of it herself. They all were, wherever they were.

  “Do we know where they’re sending us yet or what we’ll be doing?”

  “No.”

  “Great, the mystery continues.” Grace yawned. There was a sour taste in her mouth. She ran her tongue against her teeth. She needed to brush them before she went anywhere. “Any word on the ETA?”

  “A half hour, give or take.”

  “Then scoot over. I’m getting up.” Grace pushed herself to her feet. She just about stumbled to the floor. The steady rumble of the train moving over the tracks wasn’t the problem. She had been on enough trains within the last two and a half years to be used to that. When she stood, she swayed back and forth like the sea as it crashed upon the shore. Her sense of balance had been off ever since she had gotten back on dry land. It was like her body thought it was still on board the Île de France. An arm reached out in the darkness to steady Grace’s shoulder.

  “They call it ‘sea legs.’”

  Grace grabbed the post attached to the berth. “So, we’re doomed to stumble around like drunkards now?”

  Eliza laughed as she let Grace’s shoulder go. “No, they say it should last a few days—a week at most—to get your sense of balance back to normal.”

  “But we only have two days until we have an inspection parade for that general.”

  “Yup.”

  “So basically, he’s setting us up to fail.”

  It w
as Eliza’s turn to sigh. “Yup.”

  Grace shook her head gently in the darkness. “Some things never change. Not even on a completely different continent.”

  Grace began shoving the few personal items she had taken out back into her pack. It had been so cold when they had first settled down for the night that she had opted for sleeping in a clean uniform, so she’d be ready to go when she woke up, aside from her teeth and hair.

  “It’s not the Europeans. They tend to be more curious about us American Negroes than prejudiced. Only an American would set us up for this type of impossible task.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “Mother and I came over on holiday to the UK and France the summer before I started college.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Don’t you go starting all of that ‘rich girl’ business again. I thought we had come to an understanding. We had a truce.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll direct my ire at the one who deserves it—this general who couldn’t wait a few days. It’s going to be so much fun when we disappoint him by showing him just how flawless our group of ladies can be.”

  They laughed. After all the differences they’d had between them since they first met, it felt good to bond with each other.

  “I know that’s right,” Eliza affirmed between giggles.

  Soon enough, they all were filing off the train and into Birmingham station. They had been told that Birmingham, the second-largest city in England, had mostly been spared from the wrath of the German bombers. But they soon learned that the locals had a stoic stiff upper lip about the reality of their blitz experience. The inside of their transport became eerily quiet as the convoy passed by the remains of a bombed-out building. It was the first of many they saw as they went through the city. It was one thing to see a sight like that in fuzzy black and white on the newsreels back home. It was an entirely different thing to have it right in front of you a few footsteps away, charred and crumbling in real life.

  Finally, they found themselves on the grounds of the King Edward boarding school.