A Girl Divided

by Ellen Lindseth

  Chapter 24

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get you swimming again. Kitty can get worked up about the damnedest things,” Dick said as he pulled out a chair for her in the ship’s bar. Besides the sailor in his light- and dark-blue enlisted man’s uniform listlessly wiping down glasses from the night before, they were the only ones inside. Maybe it was her mood, but the remnants of the boat’s luxury status—the wood paneling and mirrored shelves—gave the room a strange, haunted air. Like so much else in the world, the ship’s grandeur had been reduced to a tattered shadow of itself by the war.

  “Like I said before, I don’t think Kitty likes me very much,” she admitted, taking a seat by the window, which had been cracked to catch the ocean breeze. “And it was her swimsuit, so she had every right to ask for it back.”

  Dick took the seat across from her. “Ask, yes. Rip out of your hands, no.” He laughed. “I think our Kitty might be a bit jealous of you.”

  She scowled at him, not at all amused by his friend’s rudeness moments ago. “I don’t see why. She’s the glamorous one.”

  “Jealousy is rarely rational. Though if I had to guess at a reason, I’d say she’s miffed because the two people she’s currently most interested in are both more interested in you.”

  “Who, Lavinia?”

  “And me.” He gave her a wry half smile that sent her heart skittering nervously. Surely he didn’t mean “interested in” her as anything more than a friend. She wasn’t nearly sophisticated enough to interest him that way. And yet . . .

  Seemingly unaware of the sudden turmoil he had touched off inside her, he pulled a cigarette case from his trouser pocket and sat back. “But enough about Miss Kitty. I want to make sure you’re all right after your misadventures this morning.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Or will be if I can keep avoiding Nathan.”

  Dick snorted as he shook out a cigarette. “Talk about people not liking someone. I don’t think he’s said word one to me this whole trip.”

  “He just doesn’t know you.”

  “Or more accurately thinks I’m a bad influence,” he said with a laugh as he struck a match.

  “I don’t see why. You’re always a perfect gentleman.”

  “You’re sweet to think so.” He lit his cigarette and then waved his hand to douse the match. “But he might have a point. After all, I introduced you to Bess and Larry.”

  “Why should that bother him? They both seem very nice. And I like how Larry dotes on his wife. All husbands should be so attentive.”

  “That’s the problem. Larry isn’t her husband.” His lips quirked as she stared at him. “I thought you realized after Kitty spilled the beans back in Cape Town.”

  “But . . .” She thought back to that day in the park, to Kitty’s comment about the photo and Larry’s angry reaction. And then she recalled how Larry’s hand had rested on Bess’s bare thigh at the pool this morning, while Bess leaned her head on his tanned shoulder, her wedding ring glinting in the sunlight.

  “Where is her husband?” she asked, feeling a little ill.

  “India, working. He’s attached to one of the consulates and couldn’t get away.” He perched his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and gave her an amused look. “Still think they’re nice?”

  “I . . .” She couldn’t find the right words to express the tumult in her head. “Does Bess not love her husband?”

  “You’d have to ask her to be certain, but I assume she does. I also know she’s angry with Howie for sending her home alone. Likely she’s afraid and perhaps a little bored. Who knows why people cheat. I’m guessing the reasons are as individual as the people themselves.”

  “And Larry?”

  “An opportunistic hound dog. Still, you can’t fault his taste in women.”

  “Actually I can.” Genie rubbed her temples. “I don’t know what to think. Bess has always been very nice to me. Nice to everyone, as far as I can tell. But what she’s doing is wrong. Adultery is a sin. I want to blame Larry, because I don’t like him as much, but she’s the one who’s bound to another.”

  “Morals are the very devil, are they not?” He laughed and picked up his cigarette again. “Still, good for you for trying to figure it all out. And good thing you know so little about me, or I doubt we’d still be friends.”

  “Are you really that awful?”

  He exhaled a stream of smoke and then, not meeting her eyes, he tapped an ash into the small tray. When he finally lifted his gaze to hers, she was struck by the myriad colors of his irises: brown, gold, green, even a little blue. “So what were you thinking of doing once you got to the States? Any plans?”

  “Well, I’m going to my aunt’s house.”

  “And then what? Go to church picnics, knit socks for soldiers, pray for the war to be over?”

  “Is there anything wrong with that?” she asked, a little stung.

  “Not at all, if you’re inclined along those lines. It just seems to me that for someone like you it might be a little . . . well, stifling.”

  “For someone like me?” she asked slowly.

  “Someone with an affinity for adventure.”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong about that.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then who went into Cape Town with a virtual stranger? Went swimming today despite having zero experience? Even flew in an airplane with no visible qualms?”

  “That last one isn’t entirely true. I had my doubts at first, but then Ted explained everything to me, and I felt much better.”

  Something dark flickered in his eyes before he looked away. “Tough business, being a pilot these days. They don’t last very long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Of course those AVG boys are some of the best,” he went on without answering her question, which only increased her unease. “All the same, a gal like you would be smart not to lose her heart to one.”

  “Probably so,” she agreed, her anxiety building. “But what did you mean, they don’t last very long?”

  “War is dangerous business, Genie. And a pilot isn’t only fighting enemy pilots but the airplane itself. I have a buddy who’s a test pilot for Vultee Aircraft, a fellow with over a thousand hours of flight time—he learned to fly in the Great War—and he says they’re sending boys up with less than thirty hours in these planes. Planes unlike what they were trained in. Planes that are faster, trickier, and flat-out harder to fly.”

  She suddenly found it hard to breathe. “Ted never mentioned any trouble, other than his plane running out of fuel. But he says he thinks a bullet nicked the fuel line.”

  “Or maybe he had a bad gauge. Or maybe a leaky fuel line that had nothing to do with a bullet. Truth is, the best pilot in the world can be brought down by a bad plane.”

  “Does America produce bad planes?” The idea seemed to border on sacrilege and ran counter to everything she had read in the newspapers, where the US was the greatest, the best, and would win the war in no time.

  “Compared to Germany? We’re a decade behind in design and production. The government is leaning on the industry to catch up, and they are—well, they would be if they could get enough workers. The armed forces are vacuuming up all the able-bodied men just when the industry needs them most. Which is what made me wonder what you were going to do while you waited out the war. Because you could work, if you wanted.”

  “Work?” The suggestion caught her off guard. She knew women worked, of course, but usually only if they had to, not because it was their choice.

  “Where does your aunt live?”

  “Bakersfield, California.”

  “You’re kidding,” he said, brightening. “That’s just a hop, skip, and a jump from LA, my hometown. It’s beautiful country, though a bit different from what you’re used to. What we call mountains are nothing like the ones in China.”

  China. A sudden longing to see her mountains again seized her. She had been gone almost six weeks. Her father, Zhenzhu
, Li Ming . . . Lord, how she missed them. And worried about them.

  She glanced out the window at the sunbathers lying around the pool, drowsy in the hot sunshine, unconcerned that there were people busy fighting the enemy right now, fighting for their lives. People like Ted, who was likely back in Kunming, flying his new plane over those mountains, hunting for the Japanese, risking his life to defend her family while she sailed away.

  “What time is it in China?” she asked suddenly, tearing her gaze from the deep, brilliant blue of the water just beyond the railing, the glare off the small waves so bright, it was making her eyes water. Or at least that was what she told herself.

  “Let’s see—we’re not quite halfway around the globe from there, so . . . maybe a ten-hour difference. Nine o’clock at night? Why?”

  Nine o’clock. The airbase in Kunming would be shut down for the night, all the pilots safely on the ground. She closed her eyes and prayed that Ted was among them, joking about his day, getting ready to “sack out.” She couldn’t even begin to pray for her father’s safety; the fear cut too close to her heart. Lord, watch over them; watch over them all.

  “Hey.” Dick’s hand settled over hers on the table. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Don’t cry. I can’t abide damsels in distress.”

  Opening her eyes, she wiped her cheeks with her free hand. “I’m sorry, and I’m not so much in distress as tired and wishing I could go home. Everything was so much simpler there.”

  “And what would Miss Eugenia Baker be doing if she was home right now?” His teasing lilt tugged at her spirits, and she tried to smile.

  “Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.”

  He squeezed her hand again. “Try me.”

  “Well, right now I’d be getting ready for bed because it’s late, and candles are precious.”

  “Then what if it were daylight?”

  She turned her gaze out the window again and let her thoughts stretch out. “I was working on translating the Old Testament into Yue Chinese before I left. So I’d be in my father’s study, working while Zhenzhu cooked. Or maybe I’d be out in the fields . . .”

  The mountains rose up around her, the air so clean and fresh. Earthy. In her mind’s eye she gazed up at the jagged peaks, her heart reaching out and over them . . .

  She stiffened. No, that’s not right. If she were home again, she wouldn’t want to leave. She would be glad to return to the simple life, where she knew her role, where everyone did. Where the line between right and wrong was understood. Where she knew exactly what each day would bring . . . and what it wouldn’t.

  “Genie, what’s wrong?” Dick asked sharply.

  Her gaze slid to his. The concern she saw there steadied her, even as the problem became clearer. “What if I can’t go back?”

  He frowned slightly. “Are you worried your village won’t be there?”

  “Of course, but more than that . . .” She bit her lip, wondering whether she dared say what was truly worrying her, if it would change his opinion of her. She took the plunge. “What if I return, only to find I don’t belong there anymore? That I’ve somehow changed too much?”

  “Ah.” Understanding lit his eyes. “Did no one warn you about the ravages of time? That innocence lost can never be regained?”

  “The only constant is change,” she whispered, hearing her father’s words for the first time for what they really were: a warning. Panta rei.

  “You’re not alone. Every sailor on this ship, every young fellow being shipped overseas, every one of your pilot friends . . . anyone who’s ever left home changes. Their perspectives broaden with their experiences. Or they should. I have, unfortunately, met people who ended up even more narrow-minded than when they started. But I chalk that up to fear.”

  Fear . . . that was exactly the emotion gripping her. “What do I do?”

  “Hi, kiddos. Ready for lunch?” Bess asked cheerfully as she stopped by their table. “I’m famished, and whatever they’re cooking today smells divine.”

  Dick glanced questioningly at Genie. “Shall we?”

  She hesitated as Larry came up and possessively wrapped his arm around Bess’s waist. The revelation of the other couple’s less-than-respectable relationship still unsettled her.

  If only she could go back in time to when she had been oblivious. “Thanks, but I think I’ll wait for Lavinia and Nathan.”

  Dick eyed her curiously for a moment and then relaxed back in his chair. “I’ll wait with Miss Baker. You two run along, and we’ll see you shortly.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Genie said after the pair had left. “I know they’re your friends.”

  “Acquaintances, more like. And besides . . . you’re much more interesting.”

  She laughed without humor. “I find that very unlikely.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and his eyes darkened. Her breath caught at the change. Alarm, awareness, heat all rushed through her veins. Then he blinked, and the intensity was gone. “You sell yourself short, Miss Baker. And, given the time, perhaps we should return to your cabin to see if Lavinia is ready for her apology and lunch?”

  “Oh, of course.” Horrified that she had so totally forgotten about her friend, she shot to her feet. “I wonder that she hasn’t come to find me already. We always eat together.”

  “Miss Baker? Miss Eugenia Baker?” A uniformed naval officer crossed the bar to her, his tanned face grim. He wasn’t the captain, but there was enough insignia on his shoulders to mark his high rank.

  “Yes.” She glanced at Dick nervously, but his attention was fully focused on the officer.

  “I’m Lieutenant Andersen, and I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  Her knees gave way, and she thumped down in her previously discarded chair. Her ears buzzed dreadfully, her greatest fear about to be realized. “My father?” How could they have found out? How could a message find us here, in the middle of the ocean . . .

  The officer frowned slightly. “No, your travel companion.”

  And then, just like that, she could breathe again. Then her heart cramped painfully. “Lavinia?”

  “I’m here about Mr. Sterling,” he corrected, a touch impatiently. This time he had her full attention. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this . . .”

  A chill of premonition dredged its way through her soul. No, no, no. She raised her hand to stop him.

  “There was an accident. Not more than an hour ago, Mr. Sterling fell down the number three stairs and landed badly. Very badly. In fact, Mr. Sterling is dead. I’m sorry.”

  Genie’s vision grayed, and then she saw nothing more.

  Chapter 25

  “Genie . . .”

  Vaguely, she registered an icy glass being placed in her hands.

  “Come on, drink.”

  She did and then immediately choked as a harsh liquid burned its way down her throat. The fog of unreality that had gripped her vaporized in an instant. She gasped for breath, the bar swimming back into view. As the fire in her throat died to a raspy, manageable burn, her consciousness fully returned. Abruptly she became aware of Dick crouched beside her chair, his hand on her back.

  “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

  She felt the weight of a dozen stares, the silence in the bar almost deafening. Embarrassment became unreasoning anger. What were they waiting for? For her to scream? Throw herself on the ground and wail? Cry?

  Not that she could do any of those things with her lungs feeling as if they were caught in a vise. Every inhalation hurt, as if she were no longer breathing air, but water. Maybe she had drowned after all, and this was some kind of horrible after-death dream.

  She glanced up at the officer, who seemed real enough. His expression reflected the discomfort one would expect in such a situation. She licked her dry lips. “Are you sure it was Nathan?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Her world collapsed again. Even though she hadn’t felt anything but antipathy for the man for mont
hs now, that didn’t mean she wanted him to die. He had been her one constant on the trip. The one person she knew wouldn’t fail her. Her one last link to home.

  Home. “I must get word to my father,” she said, a strange restlessness driving her to her feet. “He needs to know.”

  “Later,” Dick said, pushing her back into the chair.

  The officer shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss, but we can’t risk communicating with shore right now. It’ll have to wait until we make port.”

  “But that’s . . .” She struggled to do the math in her head, her brain still fuzzy with shock. “A week away.”

  “At least,” the officer agreed solemnly.

  She shivered. Her father would be devastated. Nathan had been like a son to him and would have become family in truth if she and Nathan had married. And yet that possibility had died long before today. Died because she had refused to marry without love, and Nathan had chosen to love . . .

  “Lavinia,” she gasped as her mind cleared more. “Does she know? We have to tell her.”

  Her friend would be destroyed by the terrible news. “You and Nathan are all I have . . .” She turned in her chair and grabbed Dick’s arm, her fear for Lavinia overriding her own. “We have to find her before she finds out from someone else.”

  The officer cleared his throat. “If you mean Mrs. Schmidt, she already knows. She was there when it happened.”

  “She was . . .” Her brain whirled in a thousand different directions, but what kept rising to the forefront were her parting, angry words to her friend. Ask Nathan . . . It defied reason, but could Lavinia have . . . ?

  No. She couldn’t even finish such an awful thought. Even if Lavinia and Nathan had argued over her going home, it would have been just that: an argument. And how had the officer put it? It was an accident. People could and did fall down stairs, especially on ships. That Lavinia had been present was nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence. If anything, the widow was bound to think the accident was somehow tied up with her curse. Of all the awful things that could happen . . .