“Thank you. And for what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”
“They’re going to send me home any day now. I still don’t know if I’m getting kicked out or not. The worst part is that I never got a chance to see Paris. Since I was a little girl, it’s been a dream of mine to visit Paris.” Grace then closed her eyes and began playing the most somber piece of music that Eliza had ever heard.
Eliza opened her mouth to respond. But what could be said in response to something like that? Instead, she just nodded in Grace’s direction and left. Eliza had wanted to say that her next project would be to figure out a way out of this mess for Grace. But words were pretty much useless at this point. All that mattered now was action and results.
AS PROMISED, GRACE performed the music at the funerals the next day. Thankfully, Noel and Charity had been sympathetic in giving her permission to do so. But their hands were still tied in getting her out of a court-martial. To their credit, however, they were still poring over their Army procedural manuals and working every connection they had to figure out a way around it.
In the end, she was ready when the time came for the musical selection. Grace had played the most haunting rendition of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata she had ever heard herself play.
Her fingers glided over the opening notes of the piece effortlessly. By this point in her life, she had played it so many times that the song felt like an old friend. An old friend who had crafted and boosted her confidence as a child, but who later had abandoned her on the worst day of her life, only to return to comfort her on the days when her spirits had sunk even lower. Then came the time when Grace herself had turned her back on it, finding solace in a new, snazzier combination of notes in the bebop sound she had discovered.
As Grace continued to play, her thoughts shifted to the moment at hand, to the women who had been lost in the tragic accident, and to the one woman who continued to fight for her life. The last update on Dolores’s condition had been grim. There was little chance that she would survive her injuries, but that didn’t kill the hope among the women of the Six Triple Eight.
Grace glanced over at the caskets at the front of the altar of the hospital’s chapel. Both of the women who lay inside them had been in their early twenties. Grace felt old at that thought, even though she herself was only a few years older. No, you’re turning thirty next year, she reminded herself.
She’d had a full life once. She continued to have one now. She’d just been too absorbed in her self-pity to see it.
Grace finished the last bars of the piece with a flourish. The audience’s hushed silence followed. She stood up and dipped slightly into a bow. That was for you, Mama.
She stared at the caskets again, shaking her head. Such a waste. She vowed to herself to never waste her life living in the past ever again.
After the funeral service had been dismissed, they all learned that Sergeant Dolores Browne had succumbed to her injuries. Then Major Adams pulled Grace to the side to tell her two things. One, that her musical performance had moved the major to tears. And two, that Grace’s orders had arrived with the travel arrangements for her journey back home to the States.
TWO DAYS LATER, Eliza stayed in her seat in the front row of the chapel long after Dolores’s casket had been removed and loaded onto the truck that would carry it to the American cemetery in Normandy. It had hurt to see the young woman’s remains when she had put up such a fight to live. It had hurt that much more because Eliza had been that girl hooked up to tubes and bound in casts not too long ago.
Eliza had survived her ordeal. Dolores should have survived hers too.
“Would you like some company?” Noah stood just far enough away to give Eliza space if she wanted it.
She tapped the seat beside her on the pew. “Company would be nice.”
After Noah sat down, he asked, “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. It’s just senseless. The three of them survived the war. Yet they’re all gone.”
Noah squeezed her hand. “I know. The sad thing is how many of these jeep accidents I see every week. So many lives gone for no reason. I love it here in France. But I’m starting to wish they would just send us all home.”
She squeezed his hand back. She liked how warm and soft it was. How it made her feel safe. How he made her feel safe. Eliza sighed, then leaned against him. It was good to have a friend by her side again. One who she knew had her back.
“Why do I sense that there’s more behind that sigh than Sergeant Browne’s passing?”
“Just thinking about Grace. I feel so bad. My big mouth got her in a heap of trouble.”
Noah slipped his fingers beneath her chin, lifting it off her chest. “I don’t know all the details, but it sounded to me that she broke the rules. She knew it. He knew it. They knew the risk they were taking by getting involved.”
“True. But she doesn’t deserve to get kicked out of the corps for it. Grace Steele is a damn good soldier. I don’t know of anyone else who follows the rules as closely as she does. She doesn’t even report to Jonathan directly anymore. And the war’s over. What does it matter?”
Noah leaned back. “Hmm, maybe that’s the problem.”
Eliza turned and stared at him. “What is?”
“I haven’t known you long, but I have seen you knock a grown man out cold. You’re not the type to tackle an illogical rule by following it.”
Eliza felt the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind. “You’re right. I should be figuring out how to break it.”
She smiled for the first time in days. The time had come to get creative.
* * *
July 5, 1945
Dear Mr. Secretary Stimson:
I hereby resign as the civilian aide to the secretary of war effective immediately.
Sincerely,
Jonathan Philips
Postmarked July 6, 1945, Rouen, France
Received July 10, 1945, Washington, D.C.
* * *
Chapter 32
Rouen, France
July 1945
IT IS AS much your fault as it is mine that Grace is in trouble. And we are going to fix it.”
Eliza had tracked down Jonathan Philips right after Sergeant Dolores Browne’s funeral. He was staying at a private residence turned soldier rest home on the outskirts of the city. She’d had to bribe a member of the 6888th motor pool to drive her out there.
He offered her one of the chairs in the home’s parlor. Eliza placed the typewriter case she had brought with her down beside it. She noted that he made pains to sit on the small couch across from her.
“There’s not much I can do, I’m afraid, considering that the complaint against her involves improper conduct with me. What did you have in mind?”
“I want you to quit your job.”
Jonathan looked like he had to stop himself from falling out of his seat. “I’m sorry. You want me to what?”
Eliza scooted her chair closer to where he sat and leaned in. “We still have a shot at getting her off the hook. The main charge against Grace is for fraternization. With you. She might have a defense if we show that you no longer work for the War Department.”
Jonathan leaned back on the couch, chuckling. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works, sweetheart. That defense might work had I submitted my resignation before she got in trouble. It won’t stick if I quit today and made it effective retroactively.”
“I know. That’s why your resignation letter was lost in the mail.”
“Come again?” Jonathan gave her a look that made her feel like she had been drinking too much of the local brandy.
“We run the mail going to and from the United States. If we say a letter got lost or delayed, then it was lost or delayed.”
He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and thought about it for a moment. “You seriously want me to quit my job so you can tamper with the mail in the hopes of getting the charges against Grace dropped?”
Eliza picked up th
e typewriter case and set it onto the coffee table. Once she finished opening it and setting it up, she folded her arms across her chest and leaned back. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
TEN MINUTES LATER, Eliza finished typing up the letter. She handed it to him along with a pen. “Now, all you have to do is sign.”
“This will never work.”
“Why? The war is over. Unless you were planning on making a career out of the civilian aide thing.”
“No, actually, I was planning on doing this very thing after I got back home.” Jonathan took the cap off the pen. He hesitated. “Quitting while I’m still here in Europe is going to make this a logistical nightmare.”
“If Grace loses her right to her veterans’ benefits, it’s going to make her life a nightmare.”
“You’re right.” Jonathan signed his name. “She earned every last one of them. No thanks to me.” He handed the pen and letter back to Eliza. “I hope this works.”
Eliza pulled out an ink pad, a date stamp, and an envelope. She twirled the numbers back to a date before the accident occurred and stamped the envelope. She tucked the letter into the envelope and sealed it. “Thank you.”
“You might as well give that back to me. I’m flying back to D.C. tonight. If we’re lucky, I’ll have Grace in the clear before she returns to New York.”
“At this point, whatever works.”
WHEN ELIZA RETURNED to Caserne Tallandier, one of the mail-sorting clerks gave her a letter. “Can you pass this to Grace? It just arrived. I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Yeah, sure.” The envelope was marked URGENT. Eliza recognized the return address. It was in Harlem. “It looks like it’s a letter from home. I’ll run this over to her right now.”
But when Eliza got to Grace’s room in the basement, she wasn’t there. The room was emptied of all personal effects. The only thing that remained was a note on the bed that said “Received permission to leave for the coast early. Going home.”
“Damn.” Eliza looked at the letter again. There was something about it that niggled at her to open it. Then she noticed the script on the envelope. It had been written by a woman. Eliza knew for a fact that Grace’s mom had never written her since she left home. “That means whatever’s in here has got to be important.”
Eliza ripped it open and scanned the note inside. “Oh my god! She has to read this note.”
Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean
Two weeks later
DESPITE THE COLD, Grace spent a few minutes each morning on the deck of the Liberty ship that was taking her home. She told herself, and anyone else who asked, that she did it for the fresh air and to clear her head. In reality, she knew that it had to do with maintaining her sanity and reassuring herself that, unlike during her last transatlantic trip, there were no Germans lurking under the seas, trying to blast them all out of the water.
On this morning, she leaned on the railing and studied the waters surrounding the ship. Or at least, what she could see through the fog that had rolled in. Satisfied, Grace closed her eyes and listened to the water lapping against the hull. She took a deep breath of the sea air. Having been crammed in a ship with about three thousand other returning soldiers for two weeks, she relished these precious moments of solitude.
This trip across the sea had been way more uneventful than her first one. The battle-hardened infantrymen were much more interested in joking with their buddies than flirting with her. None of the officers bothered with leading drill exercises on the deck. What would’ve been the point? The war for everyone aboard this Liberty ship was essentially over.
She had been among approximately five hundred of her sister soldiers from the Six Triple Eight going over to England. While there were a few WAC companies aboard this ship coming home, there were only a handful of other female soldiers who looked like her aboard. She no longer had anyone to order about. Aside from meals, Grace kept to herself.
She spent most of her time trying not to think about how close she had been to Paris. Ironically, a rumor had started circulating as she was leaving Rouen that her battalion would soon receive orders to move on to the French capital. If that came to fruition, it would be a dream come true for the women of the Six Triple Eight. But not for Grace. Her adventure of a lifetime was coming to an end.
The fog rolled across the deck as Grace resumed her walk. But there was one particular difference on this day. Seagulls circled overhead. More than usual. Grace felt her heartbeat speed up. More birds meant that they were close to land. Land meant that she would have to face the music soon. She would finally learn what her fate in the military would be.
Soon enough, a few buildings began to peek through breaks in the fog. Then the fog retreated altogether to reveal the Lower Manhattan skyline. Grace smiled despite her dread. We’re home.
A FEW HOURS later, Grace found herself back at Camp Shanks. “Last Stop, U.S.A.” had become her first stop back on American soil. Grace had been escorted to a windowless room. She knew that a debrief would be part of the demobilization process, but she hadn’t expected to be in a room by herself.
The WAC official who went over her files with her was nice enough. But after listening to the woman drone on about what could and couldn’t be shared about her experience once she was a civilian again, Grace had had enough.
“Am I getting an honorable discharge or not?”
The woman wrinkled her brow, confused. “Of course you are, sugar. Why would you ask such a thing?”
Grace, surprised, refused to allow herself to relax. “I got into a spot of trouble over there.”
The woman took her hand and giggled. “Didn’t we all? Let me take another look.”
The WAC official scanned the papers laid out in front of her again. “Oh, I see it now.” She pointed to an entry on Grace’s record. “It says right here. The investigation and review of possible misconduct has been dismissed. The Army’s bureaucratic nightmare can be our blessing sometimes. Whatever you did, sugar, you’re free and clear now.”
Only then did Grace allow her shoulders to slump in relief. She took the papers the lady handed her and got out of there as fast as possible.
NOW GRACE STOOD on the landing outside her parents’ apartment. She had spent the last ten minutes mustering the courage to knock. What should have been the most familiar place in the world to her now felt foreign. She debated whether coming back here was a good idea at all. She had no idea if Mama still held a grudge against her for leaving.
In a different time and place, she would have gotten Tony on the telephone. He would have told her what the temperature was with her mother. He would have already smoothed over the differences between mother and daughter. He would have made home feel like home again. But in the here and now, she no longer had him to act as her crutch. Tony was dead. She wasn’t sure if she felt brave enough to handle a face-off with her mother. Not yet anyway.
I should just leave. Grace slung her canvas duffel bag back over her shoulder. She was about to go when the door opened.
“Grace?”
Grace dropped her bag. It tumbled down the stairs behind her. Before her stood what could only be a ghost.
“Tony?”
Tears filled Grace’s eyes. She blinked them back for fear that they would dissolve the image of her brother forever.
“Yeah, kiddo.” He grinned. “It’s me.”
Chapter 33
Paris, France
October 1945
ELIZA SAT ALONE at an outdoor café table, staring off into the distance. The steam from her coffee had stopped rising from the cup almost an hour ago. Everything that had made her fall in love with the city of Paris as a child was present—the lights that were beginning to twinkle, the Eiffel Tower peeking between the buildings at the end of the block, the scent of that morning’s fresh bread from the bakery next door still perfuming the air—yet none of it triggered any kind of reaction from her.
It had been little over a month sin
ce the Six Triple Eight had been reassigned from Rouen to Paris. Ironically, the magic that had seemed to bond the 855 women together from the start had dissipated once they had been immersed in the magic of the iconic city. Previously, they all had been crammed together working and living in the same confined spaces. But now, they were housed in hotels all over the city and saw each other only at work. The mail distribution workload was a fraction of what it had been when they had first arrived in Europe.
With fewer pressing deadlines chasing them, there was more time and opportunity to explore the delights of Paris either on one’s own or in small groups. Enjoying Paris was what Eliza thought she would be doing now that she was finally here. Instead, all she wanted was to go home.
Her fingers toyed with the edges of the letter in her hand, which had arrived that morning. It was proof that she had done one thing right.
Operation Hail Mary a success.
Jonathan Philips
Eliza was relieved. It was bad enough that she hadn’t been able to get that last-minute letter to Grace before she sailed off for home. The one Grace’s mother had sent with the news that her brother, Tony, somehow survived that Japanese assault in the Philippines, had spent the last three years fighting as a guerrilla in the jungle, and had now come home. Eliza would have liked to have seen that happy reunion.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Capitaine.”
It was Noah. She greeted him with a half-hearted smile. She reached absently for her coffee, then choked it down when the cold liquid hit her palate.
Noah bit his lip to keep from laughing at what must have been a horrified expression on her face. “Is the Parisian version of coffee not to your liking?”
“No, it’s cold,” she said between coughs. “And even if it was still hot, this isn’t anywhere near the quality of the stuff I tasted when I was here before the war. The old girl might be going on five months since her liberation from the Germans, but she’s not all the way back to herself yet.”
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