A Girl Divided

by Ellen Lindseth

  “It’s . . . incredible. I feel so powerful, so free. Like a bird soaring over the earth.”

  The Chinese pilot began to laugh. Joe was his name, if she remembered correctly. “Now you’ve done it, Younan.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” Cheeks burning, she glanced back at Ted, afraid she had ruined everything with her silly comment.

  “No, no. Not at all,” he said, not looking a bit upset. In fact, he was smiling. “What you said is what every pilot has felt or thought at some point. It’s what draws us into the air and makes us do what we do.”

  “Younan’s right,” Joe said, his attention back on the gauges. “Though it’s probably only fair to warn you—once you’re bitten by the flying bug, the only cure is to learn how to fly.” He glanced at the blond pilot, George. “How we doin’ on fuel?”

  Genie shook her head, the possibility alone making her weak-kneed. “Oh no. I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” George asked while checking the gauges and jotting down numbers on a clipboard. “It’s not like women can’t fly. Surely you’ve heard of Amelia Earhart.”

  She hadn’t, actually, but her pride wouldn’t let her say so. “I mean that I have no call to learn such a skill, not unless I could find a way to serve the Good Lord by flying. It would be wasteful.”

  George turned in his seat again. “Far be it from me to argue with the man upstairs, but I think you’re denying yourself one of the greatest pleasures put on this God-given earth.”

  Joe shot him an amused look.

  “What? I said one of the greatest pleasures, not the greatest pleasure. And it looks like we have forty-five minutes of fuel, so we should make Lashio, no problem.”

  “Speaking of Lashio, how close are we?” Ted asked.

  Chin made another adjustment to one of the levers. “We’re about fifty miles out, so if Miss Baker wants to see anything else, now’s the time.”

  “Maybe I should go back,” she said, not wanting to overstay her welcome. And Nathan might be missing her by now.

  Ted gestured toward the window on her right. “Not till you look out there. You likely had too many clouds before to really appreciate the view.”

  “There were a lot of clouds.” She edged toward the window, the siren call of his suggestion too strong to resist.

  The view of the ground was better from the side, and she soon spotted a waterfall, the bright water cascading down a rocky cliff. Ted leaned down beside her, his face startlingly close to hers as he peered out. She could smell his breath, clean and minty from the gum he was chewing.

  “It never gets old.” His tone was reverential, as if he were gazing on some holy relic.

  With an effort she refocused her attention on the view.

  “We’re about to start descending,” George called from behind her. “Which means we’re liable to hit a few bumps. Perhaps Miss Baker would like to take her seat?”

  “Oh yes. Thank you.” She stole one last look out the front at the awe-inspiring panorama while Ted shifted back out of her way.

  Nathan was waiting for her, back in his seat. He nodded toward the front. “I see Younan found you.”

  “He wanted to show me the view from the front, to make me feel better about flying.”

  “I bet.” Nathan closed his eyes, his complexion still pale. “And how providential he should be on the same flight as we are.”

  She studied him for a moment, not missing the sarcasm in his voice, and wondered if she had missed something. Could it be he was jealous? He had made it clear he didn’t love her, and she had made it clear she wouldn’t marry him. Or at least she thought she had. Yet he bristled every time Ted was near, as if he were defending his territory.

  The engines were throttled back to a steady purr, and a subtle shift in her seat told her the plane had started to descend. Leaving the problem of Nathan aside, she watched the deep green of the jungle get closer and closer. Soon roads appeared and then individual buildings. Sooner than she wanted, the ground was only feet away. A series of fences flashed by the window, and then a firm thump shook the plane. The plane continued to rattle its way down the runway, slowing as it went.

  “Please tell me we’re in Calcutta,” Nathan said hoarsely.

  “Lashio.” She frowned as the plane taxied toward a crowd of people gathered in the ramp area. She wondered if perhaps there was a dignitary on board with them, or somebody famous.

  The plane eased to a stop, and the engines shut down. The passengers began talking in relieved and buoyant tones. The blond pilot, George, exited the cockpit and strode down the aisle. He winked at her as he passed. She bit her lip, hoping Nathan had missed it. He was in a bad enough mood without his thinking she’d been flirting with the CNAC pilots, too.

  Fresh air, redolent with humidity and the musky vegetative smell of jungle, rushed through the fetid cabin as the back door was opened. Shouts came from outside, and the plane rocked slightly as the airstair was lowered. Restless, she stared out at the hangars and the jungle beyond while brown-skinned workers replenished the fuel in the wing tanks. It was hard to comprehend she was already in another country, and come nightfall she would be in yet another.

  A white couple boarded, thin lipped and eyes haunted. More refugees fleeing the war, she decided as they spoke softly to each other in French, the lady’s eyes red as if from crying. Her heart went out to them as they took the two empty seats. Then to Genie’s surprise, three more people boarded. While they moved toward the front of the plane, George let two more on.

  “The ticket agent warned me about this,” Nathan said sotto voce, his eyes still closed.

  “About what?”

  “That they might have to overboard the airplane. The general consensus is that the British will lose Burma any day now, so the airline has agreed to try to get out as many people as they can. For a price, of course.”

  An ear-splitting scream came from outside the plane. Everyone in the cabin fell silent. A second passed, and then an almost inhuman wail echoed off the buildings.

  Chin shouted something from the cockpit, his words not quite making it back into the cabin. Passengers on the side closest to the hangars pointed to something, and Genie tried to angle her head to see around them. With so many people standing in the aisle, she didn’t dare leave her seat for fear of losing it.

  “Excuse me. Let me through.” Ted worked his way down the aisle, his expression tight. He passed her without making eye contact and then was out the back, clattering down the airstair.

  “Hey!” The anger in his voice was distinguishable even at a distance. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

  A man responded, but his words were lost beneath another wail. This one ended in a gut-twisting shriek that made the hairs on Genie’s neck stand on end.

  “Jesus,” George muttered from the back.

  Nathan half rose in his seat, and Genie could feel his agitation. But then how could anyone hear those awful sounds and not react?

  “What’s going on?” he called back.

  George swore softly again, all geniality gone. He turned his attention to the rapt passengers. “Folks, it looks like we’ve got a reluctant traveler. Is there anyone willing to give up their seat? Because we can’t have an unconscious gal in the aisle.”

  A dozen people began talking at once, but Genie didn’t hear a single offer of a seat. She tugged on Nathan’s sleeve.

  “Tell him she can have my seat. I’ll just ask Ted if I can sit up with him and the pilots.”

  Nathan ignored her, his attention focused on the door.

  A commotion on the airstair had Genie craning around in her seat. The back of Ted’s shoulders appeared in the door, and George shifted back against the luggage rack. Next through came a young woman hanging limply in Ted’s arms, her legs supported by someone just out of sight. Then Genie got a better look. The woman was dressed in the long skirts and drab colors of a missionary.

  “Nathan—” Genie said, her heart in her throat.

/>   “I know,” he hissed angrily. Then he raised his voice. “Bring her here. She can have my seat.”

  Chapter 12

  Nathan climbed over the top of her as Ted and another man eased down the aisle with a moaning woman in their arms. Genie scooted over to the window seat so it would be easier for the men to deposit the girl, for it was clear now that the poor thing was no older than Genie, and perhaps a little younger. Ted’s jaw was clenched as he and the other man propped her into the seat, though from effort or anger she couldn’t tell. The girl had gone limp and unresponsive.

  He met Genie’s eyes. “If she gives you any trouble, call for me.”

  “There’s no need,” the other man said calmly, his voice accented in a way that made Genie think English wasn’t his first language. “She is my responsibility. I’ll watch over her.”

  Ted shot the man a hard look. “What if the morphine wears off before we land?”

  “I was assured it wouldn’t. If it does, the doctor has given me another syringe to use.”

  The rear door slammed shut, and George edged his way forward past all the people sitting in the aisle. “That’s it. We can’t squeeze on another soul and expect to get this bird off the ground. Younan, move it.”

  Ted looked as if he wanted to say something more to her but then gave way to the other pilot.

  Genie took a deep breath and glanced at the pale, still girl next to her. Her narrow chest rose and fell in shallow, fast breaths; her thin face was streaked with tears. Genie’s chest squeezed with sympathy.

  “Don’t judge us too harshly,” her escort said softly. “She has been through so much, she had become unreasonable.”

  She glanced up doubtfully at the man. Solidly built and not much older than she, his reddish hair stuck out from under a black flat-brimmed hat, and his round face was framed by a ragged beard. Shadowed gray eyes met her scrutiny steadily and without affront. His plain white shirt was stained from sweat and traveling, a condition only partially covered by his loose black vest buttoned above equally black trousers. Yet he appeared not a bit self-conscious over how he stood out from the other more conventionally dressed passengers. Instead he exuded a calm steadiness that reassured her.

  Her father had the same kind of presence.

  Questions burned on her tongue, but she lost the chance to ask them when the engines fired to life once again. The girl next to her stiffened and moaned. Her escort took her hand and began to sing in a low, pleasant baritone. The girl calmed.

  Not wanting to intrude, Genie looked out the window. The airplane took much longer to lift off than she remembered coming out of Kunming. From her window, she watched the jungle rush by faster and faster, the plane swaying while it jolted over the ground, as if debating whether to leap into the air. Genie held her breath and prayed: she would be good, obedient, grateful, anything if she could survive the next couple of minutes.

  The ride smoothed abruptly, and slowly—very slowly—the ground receded. Her fear dissipated in a rush of excitement. Ten feet. Twenty. Trees rushed so closely beneath the wings, she could almost imagine herself reaching out the window and touching the branches.

  Slowly the hills once more became small green ripples in the earth, and the occupants of the cabin seemed to exhale as one. Apparently she hadn’t been the only one to notice their less-than-spry ascent.

  She glanced at the girl’s escort and found him staring sightlessly at their clasped hands, his mind clearly elsewhere. A troubled elsewhere, if his bowed shoulders were any indication.

  “Are you missionaries?” she asked, hoping to turn his thoughts to a more pleasant vein.

  He glanced up at her. “Were. Our mission was destroyed by the Japanese.”

  “Oh.” An awkward silence stretched as Genie struggled to think of what next to say. Happily, he made the decision for her.

  “I am Brother Marcus Krauss, most recently from Thailand.”

  “Eugenia Baker, from Kweichow Province, China,” Genie said readily, happy to be back on safer conversational ground. “And Thailand? Where is that?”

  “You probably know the country as Siam. The government only recently changed the name to reflect its independence, which is somewhat ironic now that the government has kowtowed to the Japanese.” The sudden edge in his voice left no doubt who he blamed for the loss of his mission.

  “Are you and your wife hoping to start over somewhere else?”

  His eyebrows flashed up. “Oh, this isn’t my wife. This is my sister, Lavinia.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Genie said, embarrassed and a little confused. The two looked nothing alike. Where he was square and sturdily built, Lavinia was reed-thin, almost to the point of being frail. Her hair was dark, almost black, beneath her white cap, her skin translucent without a single freckle that so marked her brother’s countenance.

  “No need to apologize,” he said gently. “We are strangers to you, so how would you know? And to answer your question, no. At least not right away. I need to take Lavinia back to the States first, to stay with our parents for a while. She is . . . not doing well. Her husband was killed—murdered, actually—in front of her, along with several others of our group.”

  “How awful!”

  “Yes.” His gaze dropped to the fragile hand in his grasp. He was silent a moment, and then he gave a shaky exhale. When he looked up again, his eyes were clear, resolute. “So where are you and your husband headed?”

  “To the United States as well. And Nathan isn’t my husband. My father sent him along as my escort. Like you, my father is a missionary, but for the Blessed Souls Society. He’s been serving in China for over twenty-five years. Nathan was sent to help him eight years ago.”

  “And you served as well?” he asked with what appeared to be genuine interest.

  “I suppose. In my own way.” Her cheeks heated under his steady regard. “I was helping my father translate the Old Testament into Yue Chinese.”

  “A worthy cause, to be sure. Will you continue once you reach the States?” he asked curiously.

  “I—I guess I never thought about it. I’ve been so focused on the journey to my aunt Hazel’s house in California.”

  “Ah, the West Coast. Beautiful country, though it can’t compare to western Pennsylvania, where my family lives.”

  She hesitated. “Forgive me, but does everyone in Pennsylvania have an accent similar to yours?”

  “In my town, yes. But then most of us grew up speaking German and only used English at school. Though perhaps not so much anymore, now that Germany has declared war on the US.”

  “So you grew up in two cultures like I did.” She hesitated. “Do you ever feel conflicted, as if you don’t know which country you belong to?”

  “I am a man of God, so everywhere is my country. No”—a muscle worked in his cheek as he gently brushed a strand of Lavinia’s hair out of her slack face—“divided loyalties trouble me not. My struggle is remembering we are all the Lord’s children and worthy of forgiveness, even those who would slaughter civilians without provocation.”

  “May the Lord have mercy on their souls.” The phrase, which she had heard her father say a hundred times or more, seemed woefully inadequate given the situation, but she had no idea what else to say. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the horrors he and his sister had lived through.

  He gave a short nod, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “Just so.”

  Deciding she had probed enough, she leaned her head back and tried to sleep the rest of the flight. Luckily, the air was much smoother on this side of the mountains. In what seemed no time at all, she awoke to Ted’s voice informing everyone it was time to buckle up for landing.

  Genie glanced at the girl beside her, but she was still out cold. Even the thump on landing didn’t seem to disturb her. If not for the slight rise and fall of her chest, she could have been dead.

  Genie shivered at the thought of all the girl had been through.

  This time when George threw open the door
after landing, a different flood of scents filled the cabin, a concrete reminder that she was in yet another country. Her third in less than twelve hours. Her mind could scarcely comprehend it. As the aisle emptied of passengers, Brother Marcus assured her he would be back for Lavinia and then left with the others. Afraid Lavinia would awaken, leaving Genie to handle the situation, she hardly dared breathe while the other passengers filed past—some openly curious, others politely looking away.

  After the cabin had emptied, Ted appeared in the cockpit doorway, a bag slung over his shoulder. His brows gathered into a single dark line as he approached. “Did he abandon her?”

  “No.” Genie bristled, feeling a strange need to defend the missionary. “Brother Marcus—who is Lavinia’s real brother, by the way—said he would be back once everyone got off.”

  “And that would be now.” His gaze flicked to the back of the plane. “Sterling, you up for helping carry this poor girl off?”

  With a guilty start, Genie realized she hadn’t thought of Nathan once on the flight from Lashio. She peeked over the top of her seat to see him wipe his face with a handkerchief. He was still unnaturally pale, but he looked better than he had.

  “If you can hold up a minute,” George called up the airstair in a lazy drawl. “I see a wheelchair coming this way.”

  “All righty, then.” Ted relaxed against one of the seats. “I meant to ask earlier, but where are you two staying? I thought we might share a taxi. Save some dough.”

  Nathan pocketed his handkerchief. “I don’t know yet.”

  “I see.” Ted studied the other man for a moment. “You do know there’s hardly a bed to be found in the whole city thanks to the war, let alone one suitable for Miss Baker.”

  “I’m not worried,” Nathan said coolly, and Genie felt a subtle rise in tension between the two men. “If worse comes to worst, I’m sure we can spend the night in a church.”

  “What’s the holdup?” Joe asked, coming up behind Ted, a brown leather satchel in his hand. “I’ve got places to go, people to see.”