by Ella Carey
“I like your reasons for learning to fly,” Harry said. “I admire them.”
The following afternoon, Eva looked up from the endless rows of P-38 Lightning fighter hard-noses lined up for riveting in the Burbank factory where she, Nina, Dylan, and Harry worked. Although since Dylan came back, he’d had to drop out of the aircraft-designing program because of his physical limitations and what the company saw as a loss of motivation, and he only did mundane clerical work now.
Dylan backed his wheelchair away from Eva a little. “Break’s over,” he said. He caught her gaze, and his eyes locked on hers. “Harry told me you and Nina are thinking of enlisting as ferrying pilots. Don’t do it. It’s not worth it.”
“Dylan—”
“Eva, don’t.” His expression hardened. He rolled away up the aisle, back to the little glass office where he had to work these days, to the job he swore that he hated, over and over, every day since his return.
Harry strode down the long assembly line from the walled section that was off limits to everyone except those who were assisting with an airframe designed around the British Goblin—the most powerful jet engine they had. Harry had been chosen for the project. He’d always worked harder than anyone Eva knew.
Eva watched while he stopped and chatted with Dylan. The expression on Dylan’s face turned from hardened to listless when Harry talked to him. Harry caught Eva’s eye, patting Dylan on the shoulder and making his way over to her.
“How are you enjoying working under a tarpaulin?” Harry came to a halt right next to her and leaned against an upturned P-38 nose.
Eva was still getting used to the entire factory being camouflaged by a huge burlap tarpaulin painted with scenes from the countryside.
“Reminds me of those forts we used to make in our backyards.”
Harry cracked Eva’s favorite crooked smile. “Nina was way too bossy, even back then.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’ve ended far higher up the ladder than we can ever hope to go. Working on the secret development of a new jet fighter while we two are stuck out here playing Rosie the Riveter? I’d say someone got the better deal.”
He shifted a little, frowned back at the direction in which Dylan had gone, and crouched down next to her. “I’m taking a Ventura up for a test flight, if you’re still keen.”
“You haven’t changed your mind after last night?”
“I know better than to stand in your way when you’re determined to do something, Evie.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And anyway, today I’m on the lookout for a copilot who’s willing to take out a plane that’s been damaged but should be just fine if handled well.”
“Then I’m your girl.”
“I’m sure you are.” He tweaked the end of her nose. “Did I tell you how gorgeous you look in that boiler suit? I hope none of the men here are giving you any trouble, kiddo. Because if they are, you can send them all to me. If anyone tries anything with my little friend, they’ll know about it, believe me.”
Little friend . . . “Surely you know I’m only here for the planes, Harry. Bomber, fighter, Ventura, you name it, I’ll fly it,” she said. And I’m stuck on you, so even if some other man did try something, they wouldn’t stand a chance . . .
“Promise me you’ll never lose your passion for flying, Evie.” His eyes crinkled.
“Promise I’ll never lose my passion for anything.” Eva sighed at her surroundings, front ends of airplanes pointing upward like a group of giant silver eggs.
“Good.” His voice was quiet.
“Not seeing Lucille tonight?” She wiped a hand over her perspiring forehead.
Harry’s girlfriend, Lucille, had a dad who had been a star in the pictures during the twenties and was famous for having turned into Hollywood royalty.
“No. We’re taking this Ventura up, you and me. That was the deal, that’s what I’m doing.”
The sound of machinery starting up somewhere in the factory pierced the quiet.
“Meet you out at the airfield in half an hour?”
“I’ll be ready.” Eva turned back to finish her shift. The sound of Harry’s footsteps clicked through the hangar.
She couldn’t wipe the grin from her face.
Eva walked out to the operational airfield at exactly five past five, moving out to the runway at Lockheed that was protected by strings of alfalfa growing overhead. Harry checked the quantity of fuel in the cabin tank on the wing. He came over to stand next to her once he was done.
“Preflight checks all carried out, Evie. This little beauty’s good to go.”
Eva admired the twin-engine bomber that would be loaded onto an escort carrier or a cargo ship by crane tomorrow. From there, it would move to the Pacific.
Harry stood aside to let Eva climb up onto the wing. She swung herself into the flight compartment. Harry settled into the dual cockpit next to her, and Eva felt a thrill at the sight of the sky through the big glass nose. She pushed aside thoughts that in the frame of war, bombs would soon be stationed down there in front of where they sat right now.
“Evie, you can check the escape hatch is securely fastened.”
Eva reached up to check it.
“Now I’m removing the elevator and aileron locking bars, releasing the rudder locking bars. You adjust your seat, Evie.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Harry let out a snort, and Eva grinned.
“Okay, smart girl, now I want you to adjust your rudder pedals. Are you sure you can reach them, honey?”
“Oh, they’re made especially for women like me.” Eva lifted the pawls, moving the pedals so that all five foot five of her could reach—just.
“Now turn on the instrument switch.”
Eva moved it to “On.”
“Double-check our fuel and oil.”
Eva checked the right side of the instrument panel. “Roger, sir.”
“Evie . . .”
“Roger, Harry.”
“Checking the low-level indicator lights are working.” Harry pressed the lights down. “Carrying out a few more checks pertinent to the Ventura. The bomb bay door control is closed, the eight-gun nose needs to be retracted, and the gun safety switches are set to ‘Safe.’ The rocket switch is off too, so you know.”
“Oh, I’m so pleased to hear that. Don’t want to drop a rocket on my own neighborhood today. Although, Mom’s making wartime fish pie for dinner. It’s tempting to blow that up.”
Harry’s eyes crinkled from the side.
“Seriously, if I’m going to try for a ferrying job, I’d better get used to a whole bunch of different planes.” Eva concentrated on the knobs and dials in front of her.
“That is true.” Harry continued checking the aircraft. “So, we have no fire extinguishers on this airplane. You’ve got to keep the engine mixture under control, and then you’ll be fine.”
Eva shuddered at the thought of fire. This plane seemed safe as a rock.
Harry called out takeoff instructions to the ground crew. “Evie, you can start up the plane.”
She turned on the engine, and it started to beat beneath her.
“Warm up your engine and adjust the throttles to one thousand rpm. I’m going to carry out your engine and accessory checks, and I’ll take over to taxi.”
Eva watched Harry’s hands move deftly over the controls, taking in what he was doing.
“We want the wing flaps up. See that the cabin doors are closed and the turn gyros are uncaged. Move the tail wheel lock control to unlocked, Evie, and release the park brakes with your toes.”
“Doing that.”
“I’m advancing the throttles to taxi. You steer the plane, Evie. Don’t overuse the brakes.”
Eva took hold of the control stick.
“Never gun your engines.”
“Using a steady flow of power.”
“Right. You can watch me take off this time, but soon enough, you’ll be doing this yourself.” Harry’s fingers were s
teady on the instrument panel, and then he turned the parking brakes off. “Seat belt tightened?”
“Seat belt is good.”
Harry taxied down the runway and took off, the plane moving in a smooth arc over Burbank. Eva felt a thrill that she was in the place she adored, with one of the people, or were she to be truly honest, the one person, whom she loved most in the world.
“Right, Evie. You can fly her now.”
Eva took the plane into a gentle turn, her heart soaring as the valley spread below them, the dusty streets where they’d grown up and gone to school set out in straight square grids alongside the camouflaged Lockheed factory.
The urge to spread her wings farther than Burbank, to get beyond the confines of her upbringing, felt stronger than ever when she was up here, in the air.
“Now there’s no acrobatics allowed in this aircraft.”
“Oh? What a shame.”
Harry’s soft chuckle sounded through the communication device. “Tell me about this plan of yours. Tell me about ferrying airplanes.”
“I can tell you what my ma says. ‘No one will want to marry a pilot.’” Eva mimicked the words her mom had told her over and over again.
Harry laughed, sending the radio crackling this time.
“If I must leave, why don’t I go be a dancing girl? Why don’t I entertain the troops? Can you imagine, Harry? Me? Mom’s worried I’ll be a danger up in the sky, but I tell you, I’ll be much more of a liability to the world on a stage.”
“Oh, come on. You’d be entertaining. Gorgeous.”
Eva felt her eyes narrow into a pair of calculating slits. “No, I would not!”
“Ferrying aircraft or bust?”
“You know why I adore you? You understand.”
He was quiet for a moment. Eva was only more aware than ever of his close proximity, of the way he always stared straight ahead when he was thinking something through.
“Eva?”
“Huh?”
“I have news of my own.”
The thrum of the prop engine seemed to deepen. Eva turned toward the desert mountains that formed a ring around the valley. Up here, the heat over the San Fernando Valley glistened and shimmered while in the distance, the soft-blue California coast sparkled.
“I’m going to join the US Navy. Dive-bombing.”
No.
“I’ll be training at Cecil Field. In—”
“Florida.”
“Just like you, I can’t stay home while men like Dylan have come back injured. I want you to understand, just like I have understood for you.”
Eva forced herself to stare out the front of the plane.
Gently, Harry placed his hand on hers. Carefully, he took over the controls. “I know that it’s still raw,” he said through the radio. “I know how much you miss her. And I know how you worry about anything happening to any of us, Evie.”
Sometimes, Eva thought Harry was the only person who understood. Her parents never talked about Meg’s death. Her mother could not bear raising the topic of the sister Eva had lost, the daughter her mother had adored. Eva knew that, but sometimes, she just wanted to remember how having a sister had felt.
Perhaps she’d tried to replicate what she’d lost when Meg died by keeping Nina, Harry, and Dylan extra close. But her mother’s own protectiveness always seemed to tighten around her like a vise. She’d taken to flying to alleviate it. Up here, her mother’s restrictive attitude seemed so far away it didn’t matter. It was the only place she could be herself these days, the only place in her life where she felt free.
And if Harry was going, she’d definitely have to go too, or she’d go insane. That cemented it.
You have no idea how much I care about you, Harry, she wanted to shout. And she couldn’t say anything because of Lucille. Because Harry would think the little girl who lived around the block had gone crazy if she told him how she felt. He’d tease her or, worse, be kind. She hated the thought. It was deplorable. She was not sophisticated enough for the likes of him.
“The navy wants to train pilots with experience in fleet-type aircraft, men who’ve finished flight training.”
Eva bit on her lip until it hurt.
“I’m going with a group of ten boys.”
Nine of them will die. Bombing was the most dangerous mission he could have chosen. Everyone on the factory floor had been following the news—on top of the usual risks, planes the navy had been flying were falling apart in midair. Crashing into the sea, wings falling off. Scores of US planes had been lost in bombing missions in the last few months. Yes, Harry was experienced, but faulty planes were too much of a match for anyone.
“They say they’ve chosen men who they think will quickly become proficient in Helldivers.”
“Helldivers?” Eva’s voice sounded disembodied in the speaking tube.
Dead targets.
“Harry—”
“I have to go.”
“We both know what the losses have been in the Pacific the last few months, and flying at such low altitude, you’ll be a dead-easy target.” Fear laced her voice. She watched Harry’s hand, steady on the controls.
“They need pilots who can keep a level head.”
I’ll go insane back here waiting, knowing you are risking your life while I’m fixing rivets . . . “I can’t stay here while you’re doing that.”
“We’ll work toward it together. You, me. Nina.”
A frown tightened Eva’s features. She would rather lose one of her own limbs than have anything happen to Harry.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE COMMITTEE: What was it that led you to join the WASP, Mrs. Forrest?
EVA FORREST: It was the love of flying. I was taught to fly by a very dear friend when I was working as a riveter at the Lockheed factory in California. And the chance to do something for my country in its time of need, when women were being called to help, seemed a marvelous thing. If I could fly and help, well then. There was nothing better than that.
Eva went back through the factory floor. The news that Harry was leaving seemed even more real and desolating down here in the eerie, silent hangar. Pieces of Venturas, Hudson bombers, and Lightnings stuck up at angles all throughout the room. Eva drew her jacket closer around her and marched toward the empty locker rooms.
“Evie?”
She turned. It hurt that it was Lucille who had the right to yearn for him, while she would do so privately, on her own. But he was doing exactly what she expected him to do. He was being the man he’d grown into, no longer the child she’d grown up with. The boy whom she’d known nearly her whole life.
“Where are you going now?”
Eva stopped at the door that led to the locker area. “Meg’s grave.”
He reached out, placing his hand over hers where it rested against the door. “Want me to come with you?”
Eva stared at the cement floor. Her feet encased in heavy boots looked solid enough. She wished she were standing on firmer ground. “You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to,” he said. “I’d be honored to come with you, if you’d like me to.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t want you to have to deal with that on your own.” His words hung in the vast space.
“Thank you,” she said, her heart full of the things she could not say to him.
Half an hour later, Eva walked alongside Harry through the narrow streets of Burbank, past the rows of little factory-issued houses. The colors that people had painted their homes used to captivate her when she was young, but now, the pinks and greens and blues seemed faded.
As they came to the large cemetery, Eva stopped.
“You okay?” Harry rested a hand on her shoulder.
She resisted the urge to lean into him. Instead, Eva stared at the impersonal cemetery where her sister lay. “I’m okay.”
She made her way, head bowed, toward her sister’s grave.
Eva’s heart quivered at the sight of the man standing by her s
ister’s headstone. Her father looked so very much older than his forty-seven years. His hair had turned almost white since Meg’s death. Eva stood still for a moment, Harry beside her. Her father bent down to place a single rose on Meg’s grave, his movements stiff, like those of a man twenty years older than he was.
Her father turned and shook Harry’s hand.
“It’s been a long five years without her.” Gerald Scott’s eyes held that singular pain that losing a child can bring. “And yet, it seems like yesterday that she was a little girl riding her bike around these streets.”
Eva leaned her head against her father’s shoulder. Five years this week since they’d lost her.
Her dad stood there, quiet alongside her for a moment. “Nina’s mom has been talking to your mother. You can understand that your mom is worried sick about this flying idea that you both have. To lose one daughter has been impossible, but the thought of you taking such a risk is making your mom ill.”
Eva clutched at her cardigan. Beside her, Harry reached out and took her hand. Meg’s grave seemed so small and helpless. The fact that her remains were buried down there was too much to bear. And every time Eva came here, Meg’s last few desperate hours of trying to cling to life came belting back into Eva’s mind.
Influenza had raged through her sister’s body, tearing at her breath, coating her lungs, causing her heart to beat so hard and fast that she gasped and stared helplessly at Eva and her parents until, finally, it gave out.
Death had claimed Eva’s sister before the war had taken hold.
Eva stared at the birthdate on the little gravestone. Her birthday. She and Meg had not just been sisters. They’d been identical twins. There was not a second Eva did not miss her, not a minute of her life she did not care, not a day that she would let pass without reaching up and entwining her fingers through the twin pair of silver necklaces that they’d been given when they both turned sixteen. Meg’s last birthday. Since then, Eva had forced herself not to think the unthinkable, that from then on she’d been living only a half life.