Beyond the Horizon

by Ella Carey

  PRAISE FOR ELLA CAREY

  “With snappy dialogue, impressive historical details, a sense of adventure and courage on every page, and even a love story, Ella Carey has hit all the markers that make fine historical fiction.”

  —Ann Howard Creel, bestselling author of The Whiskey Sea

  “Ella Carey skillfully interweaves two women’s lives and two eras in this passionate story about art, music, and the high cost of keeping secrets.”

  —Janis Thomas, bestselling author of What Remains True

  “A fascinating world, beautifully described. I love how Ella Carey writes. She took me there completely.”

  —Carol Mason, Amazon Charts bestselling author of After You Left

  “A captivating novel of romance, art, and deception. Ella Carey writes with such compassion, evoking two women and the landscape of two different eras so that one can see them.”

  —Elise McCune, bestselling author of Castle of Dreams

  “Ella Carey explores the geometry of love in the Bloomsbury set. Hers is an intriguing story where triangles of obsession, desire, and devotion are entwined with a mystery that reaches across generations. Highly recommended.”

  —Elisabeth Storrs, author of the Tales of Ancient Rome saga

  “Historical fiction at its finest! This is one of those books that makes you say ‘Wow!’ when you’ve finished it. From breathless descriptions of Australia to love and sacrifice, this story had big moments that still felt intimate. I was very engaged with the characters and genuinely cared about what happened to them. I look forward to reading more from this author.”

  —Camille Di Maio, bestselling author of The Memory of Us and Before the Rain Falls

  “An absorbing tale that kept me turning the pages! Set in two time periods, I found the 1940s section fascinating, learning about the modernist art movement in Australia post–World War II with its interesting characters. The novel alternates between this bohemian way of life and the corporate pressured world of publishing in 1980s New York. It portrays well the experience of a woman in such a world. The story kept my interest by switching back and forth between the two romantic storylines and—with a satisfying twist towards the end—it was an enjoyable pacey read. Stunning cover too!”

  —Janet MacLeod Trotter, author of The Tea Planter’s Daughter

  “Ella Carey’s Secret Shores flies off the page as the intricate plot points dance together to perfection. I couldn’t put it down. A must-read!”

  —James D. Shipman, bestselling author of It Is Well

  “Ella Carey’s Secret Shores is an irresistible setup—the singular passion of true love, the complicated pressures of inheritance, and the value of struggle. Insightful, full of historical drama, and with a stunning twist that will keep you turning the pages, Secret Shores earns a spot on the shelf of Ms. Carey’s bestsellers.”

  —Consuelo Saah Baehr, author of Three Daughters and Fortune’s Daughters

  “Ella Carey’s Secret Shores is a poignant, star-crossed love story that spans decades and distance and offers a fascinating glimpse into the challenges and cultural clashes of post–World War II Australia. It is a compelling dual-narrative story with immersive historical detail and a plot that will keep you guessing until the very end. Devout readers of Carey’s stories will be thrilled, and she is sure to create new fans with this latest novel!”

  —Jane Healey, author of The Saturday Evening Girls Club

  ALSO BY ELLA CAREY

  Paris Time Capsule

  The House by the Lake

  From a Paris Balcony

  Secret Shores

  The Things We Don’t Say

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Ella Carey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542091398

  ISBN-10: 154209139X

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  Cover photography by Richard Jenkins Photography

  In memory of the thirty-eight Women Airforce Service Pilots who died flying for the United States during World War II, and also in memory of Tom Lawson, pilot, who so generously helped me with the flight scenes.

  CONTENTS

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  In the novel...

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  AFTERWORD

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  While this novel is inspired by the true events surrounding the Women Airforce Service Pilots during the Second World War, the characters and story are products of my own imagination.

  In the novel, letters are written between characters during the war. Some parts of their correspondence would have been censored in such a way that Eva and the other characters would not have been able to see the censored text, but for the sake of the story, I made the authorial decision to let the reader see the censored information.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Los Angeles, 1977

  Eva nearly sent her bag of mandarin oranges tumbling all over the farmers’ market floor. Alex was racing toward her, elbowing his way through the Saturday-morning crowd. He rushed along ahead of his father, who was panting and puffing close behind.

  “Mom.” Alex pushed back his shock of dark hair to reveal brown eyes that held traces of a determination rare for her laid-back adolescent boy. “You have to see this.”

  “Alex. Enough. I’ve told you, son. No.” Eva’s husband, Jack, lunged toward a piece of paper that their son was clutching, but Alex raised it high, holding it way above his father’s head.

  “You guys!” Eva pushed her sunglasses on top of her dark curls. “Please!”

  Jack wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. The fine lines around his own brown eyes seemed to be etched deeper than usual, and his thick gray hair was sticking up in tufts.

  “You need this, Mom.” Alex thrust the piece of paper toward Eva.

  “No.” Jack snatched it from him.

  “Mom has the right to know. Whatever your stupid ideas are, Dad. Give it to me.”

  “She may have the right to know,
but it won’t do her any good.” Jack glared at their son.

  “Honestly, what is the problem?” Eva said.

  “Mom.” Alex’s words rushed and tumbled out. “I met a woman today who flew planes in the war, just like you did.” The look on Alex’s face sent Eva’s thoughts back to her own youth faster than a backdraft rekindling an old fire.

  Eva reached out for a plastic chair next to one of the tables in the middle of the market. She sank down. The sound of Alex and Jack scraping back the other two chairs seemed to come from a distance.

  “You didn’t mention my name?” Her voice sounded disembodied, and she fought to control her thoughts that wanted to fly to a myriad of faraway places, anywhere but here and now.

  “We were waiting to see Star Wars.” Alex dropped his voice a couple of notches. “Me and Denny and a few of the guys. I did mention that you flew planes too.”

  Eva brought her hand up to clutch at the red silk scarf that hung loosely around her neck.

  Alex took a swipe at the paper and snatched it from his father’s lap. The gleam in his eyes was triumphant.

  “Alex.” Jack’s tone was a warning growl.

  “Cut it, Dad.” Alex handed the paper to Eva. “There you go, Mom.”

  Jack rested his head in his hands.

  Eva scanned the paper. Slowly, her hand floated up to her mouth.

  “There was a woman handing these out, working the line while we waited for the movie. She told me she flew in the war just like you did.” Alex’s voice ran a counterpoint while Eva read on. “She was trying to get signatures to support the Women Airforce Service Pilots. They’ve got a whole group of them—ex–women pilots like you, Mom—in Washington. Lobbying Congress. Apparently, they’re about to go to a committee hearing. They’re fighting to be recognized as part of the military because they never were during the war. What do you think of that?”

  Eva kept reading. Her eyes flew over the words.

  “Isn’t that what you were, Mom? A WASP? This woman was very cool, and she said that the WASP wanted to be a part of the force, like in Star Wars.” He chuckled, his eyes lighting up. “She got us all on board. Cool strategy, don’t you think?”

  “It’s part of your mom’s old life that she doesn’t like to talk about, Alex. You know that. Leave it alone.” Jack cut in while Eva read.

  “Anyways, I told her you flew too,” Alex went on. “It was pretty neat, actually, because Denny and Ralph and the others, well, they didn’t know you’d flown in the war. They all think you’re cool anyways, of course. But the fact that you flew airplanes in the war kinda blew their minds.”

  The sounds of the market, people doing their everyday shopping, started to swirl. Eva fought to focus, to listen to Alex’s voice.

  “They’ve got the support of the son of the dude who was the chief of the air force during the war, and also Barry Goldwater, who flew with your outfit, apparently—and they are going to congressional hearings now. But they’re struggling.”

  “Henry Arnold’s son,” Eva said. “That would be Bruce Arnold. I recall his name was Bruce. Hap’s son is supporting this, you say?”

  “Eva!” Jack’s eyebrows shot to the roof.

  “Yeah, I think the guy’s name was Arnold. But the woman said most of the congressmen also fought in the war. They don’t believe the WASP should get military recognition.”

  “There was a battle over this during the war. But we didn’t win. Obviously.”

  “Eva!” Jack placed his hand over hers. “Not now.”

  “Anyways, thing is, the woman said that if you were a WASP, they would love to have you join them. You could go to Washington to help. And testify too. You’d be awesome. I got the woman’s phone number. Do you want it?”

  “I can’t. I just couldn’t—”

  “But, Mom, why not? You deserve that.”

  “But I can’t remember—”

  “It will help you remember.”

  “Alex!” Jack thumped his fist on the table. “Do you not listen to a thing I say? Your mother does not discuss the war. It’s best left alone.”

  Eva jumped at the sound of Jack’s fist.

  “Have a mandarin orange, Eva. You look faint.” Jack crinkled Eva’s brown paper bag open. He pulled out a fat mandarin and started peeling it.

  The fruit’s sweet scent flooded the air. Suddenly, it became hard to breathe, and the sound of an old prop engine throbbed in Eva’s head.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Camp Davis, North Carolina, January 1944

  Eva flicked open the door to the women’s private alert room. She stood for a moment, framed underneath the warning sign that read, WASP NEST! DRONES KEEP OUT OR SUFFER THE WRATH OF THE QUEEN!

  The North Carolina wind howled, sending the sand drifts surrounding Camp Davis into gritty swirls that tried to burst through the cracks in the makeshift building. Eva shivered. She pulled her standard-issue, men’s size forty-four flight suit closer around her slight frame.

  A small group of women pilots sat waiting in the anteroom. Her close friend Helena held a bowl of mandarin oranges. “These are liquid gold, girls! Just when you thought bathtub gin was the epitome of sophistication, I give you this: a mandarin orange!”

  She threw one across the room toward Eva. Eva caught it, her whip-fast reflexes kicking in after months of military training.

  “Thought it might help while we wait for assignments,” Helena said. “The weather’s wild out there. Even by Camp Davis standards, flying’s going to be tough. And given it’s our first time with the boys throwing spotlights all around our planes, we need all the food we can get tonight.”

  Two WASP stood up from another table, ready to go out on searchlight missions.

  “Those oranges were for the men,” Helena said. “But I stuck my chin out in the mess hall and convinced them that we deserved some fresh fruit too. We’ve already put in a full day of target towing up and down that beach while the boys shot at our planes. Nina and I came back with bullet holes in the fuselage because some fool missed his mark, and then we had a blown tire on landing, so I thought we deserved a treat.”

  Eva peeled the ripe fruit open, its tangy scent freshening the room’s stale air.

  When the mandarin eating was done, the other girls headed toward the runway, sending a swoop of icy air into the small room. Eva pulled on her leather flight jacket, grabbed her helmet and goggles, and followed them out.

  Eva braced herself against the bitter-cold January wind. She crossed the runway to the waiting A-24. Across the field, searchlights from the antiaircraft guns circled and swooped in the dark.

  Eva helped the ground crew do the preflight inspections, then pulled herself up onto the A-24’s wing, swaying against the buffeting wind. She climbed into the rear cockpit.

  Helena was already in front. Once Eva was settled, Helena yelled into the wind and the sideways rain, telling the ground crew to remove the chocks and clear the runway. Helena fired the engine and requested permission to taxi.

  Eva focused on the glimmering instrument panel in front of her. She watched the speed indicator. Helena lowered the flaps on the wings and took off. She made a gentle fifteen-degree turn. The plane bumped in the wind, rising above the swampy undergrowth and vine-covered trees that surrounded Camp Davis.

  “My bed is gonna be awful welcome after this day,” Helena said.

  Eva grinned. “Couldn’t agree more. My day was longer than a triple shift nailing rivets.”

  “Eva?” Something sharp pierced Helena’s voice.

  “Roger.”

  “I’m seeing some spatters of oil on the windshield. Keep an eye on the oil-pressure gauge.”

  “Sure.” Eva frowned and scanned the instrument panel. The indicators on the planes the WASP were given were sometimes faulty, so Eva knew she could not always rely on the readings. The oil gauge was bobbing up and down. “It’s shifting up and down a little. Are you sure you’re seeing oil, Helena?”

  “Hard to be certain in the
dark.”

  Eva kept her eyes trained on the gauge. Once they’d reached the correct altitude, planes flew above them in a circuit. They were in a holding pattern. Searchlights beamed around them in the dark. The male trainees were learning to operate radar-controlled searchlights to track bombers and indicate targets for antiaircraft guns at night. The lights dazzled the cockpit, searing into Eva’s eyes, just as they would for any enemy crew.

  There was a cough in the engine. It started to lose its rhythm, that rhythm any pilot was comfortable hearing. Eva had become attuned to listening for everything that might go wrong with an engine.

  “I’m not liking this, Evie.” Helena’s voice crackled through the radio.

  The plane bumped hard.

  “This isn’t just roughness. The oil gauge is falling now.” Eva ran through options in her head. And only one seemed viable. A forced landing.

  “It’s too close. It’s almost redlining,” Helena said. “It’s happening so fast.”

  Outside, the light continued to swoop in eerie circles around them, illuminating the instrument panel and only highlighting the plummeting oil gauge. Out of the corner of her eye, Eva saw a jagged strip of lightning streaking down toward the ocean.

  “The cylinder head temperature is rising dramatically.” Eva fought to hide the nerves that pierced her insides like a collection of spikes. “We need to look for a place to land.”

  “Going to execute a forced landing.”

  If the engine locked up, the propellers would stall.

  “Keep your speedometer steady, Helena. The faster we go—”

  “The more likely the airplane could catch fire. Oil is spreading over the canopy.”

  Helena’s voice sounded small.

  The plane skated over a belt of trees, lapping at the tops of them, shearing leaves and branches, metal chafing foliage, sickening, grating, chilling.

  “Trying to accelerate and lift, to get beyond the trees to land. How long do you think we have until the engine fails, Evie?”

  “No idea. Just keep it steady.”

  Helena’s shoulders were rigid in the front seat.