A Girl Divided

by Ellen Lindseth

  Her breath locked as she read the first few lines:

  Dear Miss Baker,

  We’re sorry for the delay, but our records still show Mr. Nathan Sterling as living in Kweichow, China . . .

  Exhaling with relief, she scanned the rest, picking out the words “request denied” and “death certificate.” Rats. “Lavinia, do you, by any chance, happen to have Nathan’s death certificate?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Without it, the Society refuses to believe me that he’s passed on.” She stuffed the letter back in the envelope and followed Lavinia up the stairs. The stairwell was filled with the savory-sweet smell of frying onions. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively.

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the bronze plaque in the front closet, would it?” Lavinia asked as she waited for Genie to catch up.

  “You found it? I was going to tell you about it, but I was afraid you’d be upset.”

  “It’s kind of hard to miss,” her roommate said as they walked down the hallway. “And why would I be upset? If anything, I’m glad you did it. He was a good man.”

  Genie inwardly sighed in relief. “I was hoping to get it installed a while ago, but grave plots are more expensive than I thought. That’s why I wrote the Society, hoping they might help out.”

  “Fat chance of that,” Lavinia said coldly. “They didn’t care about him when he was alive, so why should they now he’s dead?”

  “That’s not true.”

  Lavinia stopped, her short dark hair practically lifting in anger. “Isn’t it? To them he was just another soldier in the field, fighting the good fight, but ultimately as expendable as any boy in uniform. Same as me. Same as your father. Same as . . .” She shook her head, and her pin curls rippled. “Forget it. I’m done with that life. With all of it.”

  Genie bit her lip as Lavinia put her key in the lock. Even though her roommate’s moods had been more stable of late, apparently Nathan’s passing was still a sore spot.

  Lavinia frowned, twisting the key one way and the other. “That’s strange. Didn’t we lock up this morning?”

  “I thought so, but we were in a hurry.”

  Lavinia eased the door open. A black silhouette stood in the living room, his shape starkly outlined against the bright window. Genie jumped back and screamed.

  The man stepped forward quickly, hands out, placating. “Whoa, it’s me.”

  “Dick?” Genie could scarcely believe her eyes.

  The light from the hallway illuminated the wary expression on his deeply tanned face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Well, what did you expect, showing up here without warning?” Lavinia snapped as she passed Genie and entered the apartment.

  Dick frowned as he stepped back out of Lavinia’s way. “I called and left a message with the Vultee switchboard operator. Didn’t you get it?”

  “No.” Genie tossed her lunch box onto the kitchenette counter, a riot of conflicting emotions squeezing her heart. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, she was so relieved to see him, but nervousness—as well as Lavinia’s presence and her obvious dislike of the man—held her back.

  “I’m sorry.” Hands in his pockets, he gave Genie a sad half smile. “Any chance you’ll forgive me? I’d really like to take you out to dinner tonight. After this last assignment, I could use a little feminine company to remind me of all that’s still good in the world.”

  Her hurt over not hearing from him even once during the last three months was no match for the shadows in his eyes. Wherever he had been, it was clear that fresh horrors had been laid upon old ones.

  “Of course, but I’m not dressed—” she began, remembering his request from that day so long ago for her to look her best.

  “No need to change,” he said, his voice firm with sincerity. “You look lovely. Probably better than I deserve.”

  “Definitely better than you deserve,” Lavinia said acidly from the couch.

  “Lavinia!” Genie exclaimed, shocked, but Dick only laughed.

  “I see Kitty was telling tales out of school again.”

  “Only to me,” Lavinia said. Her expression remained stony.

  “Would you like to come with us?” he asked, the amusement fading from his face. “Genie is in no danger from me, but if you’d feel better tagging along—”

  “Of course I’m in no danger,” Genie said, losing patience with her roommate. “And what in heaven’s name is wrong with you, Lavinia? Do you know how much trouble we’d be in if it weren’t for his help?”

  Lavinia’s gaze became troubled. “You don’t owe him anything, Genie.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Genie said hotly. “We owe him everything at the moment.”

  “Genie, sweetheart,” Dick said, interrupting her. “Why don’t you freshen up while I talk to Nia and see if we can’t come to some sort of agreement.”

  Lavinia paled at his use of Kitty’s nickname for her, and Genie’s loyalties began to slide the other way. She had no idea what was going on, but she wouldn’t stand by while either one hurt the other. They were both her friends.

  Lavinia glanced at her. “Go ahead. We actually do have things to discuss, and I won’t be able to go to dinner with you two. Sheila and the girls are going to the cheap movies tonight, and I already told them I was coming along. I was going to ask if you wanted to go, but it sounds like you might have other plans.”

  “No, that’s fine,” Genie said honestly. Sheila wasn’t one of Genie’s favorite people, even though she worked the line with Lavinia and purportedly worked it with more swagger and attitude than most of the men. Maybe it was because no matter what Genie tried, Sheila still seemed to dislike her.

  Dick smiled in reassurance. “Don’t worry. We promise to keep it civilized.”

  Reluctantly Genie went into the bedroom and closed the door. Then she hurried into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. As quietly as possible, she flew back to the door and pressed her ear against it to listen. Muted murmurs were all she heard, thanks to the running water in the bathroom. She tried listening from a few different spots and then finally gave up. Disappointed, she returned the bathroom and turned off the water. A few quick repairs of her makeup and hair, and she was ready to go.

  She opened the door to find that Dick was the only one there.

  He smiled as he picked his hat up off the kitchen table. “Ready?”

  “Where’s Lavinia?”

  “She said she had an errand to run, and to have fun.” He opened the door into the hallway for her.

  “What kind of errand?” she asked, narrowing her gaze.

  “Does it matter?” He sighed in the face of her glare. “She’s off to the post office. She had a letter for Kitty and asked if I had her most recent address.”

  “And you just gave it to her?” She wanted to shake him.

  His eyebrows rose, clearly not understanding her irritation. “Why not? She has the right to write to whomever she chooses.”

  “Unless that person is utterly evil.” With a growl, she grabbed her handbag off the chair. “The way Kitty sabotaged Lavinia’s relationship with Nathan is unforgivable.”

  Dick sighed. “I wondered if you’d heard about that.”

  “I did. And now—no thanks to you—Lavinia is about to be back in touch with her.” Heartsick for her friend all over again, Genie stormed into the hallway. Men could be such fools.

  Dick followed her down the stairs. Once they were on the sidewalk, he guided her toward a shiny black sedan parked at the curb. As he opened the door for her, revealing the interior, her eyebrows rose despite her irritation. Butter-soft leather covered the seats, and polished wood with chrome accents made up the dashboard. Everything gleamed softly in the sunlight. Expensively.

  While she didn’t know a lot about automobiles, this one was definitely much nicer than the one Mr. Short had driven, and Charity had practically waxed rhapsodic over that one. Maybe cameramen made more money than stunt pilot
s?

  She took her seat on the passenger side and then waited as he walked around the back of the car.

  “So tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself,” he said after sliding behind the wheel.

  Deciding not to let memories of Kitty ruin her evening, Genie began to talk. While he drove across town, she told him about learning to type and her job at the plant. She told him about flying while they drove up into the hills. He asked the occasional question but otherwise didn’t say much, which struck her as strange. He wasn’t usually one to be so quiet.

  Finally they reached the restaurant, an out-of-the-way spot with a breathtaking view of the valley and the ocean beyond. While Dick talked to the maître d’, she wandered over to the edge of the veranda that ran along the side of the building.

  “What a lovely place,” she said as Dick came up beside her.

  “And my date is even lovelier,” he said, making her blush. He winked and took her hand, and all her nervousness returned. A white-aproned waiter appeared, breaking the spell, and together they followed the man to their table. Dick pulled a chair out for her, and the waiter handed them menus.

  “This reminds me of the 300 Club in Calcutta,” Genie said, admiring the rich paneling and fine china. “Well, except there are more women present, and fewer uniforms. And there’s no live band or dancing. Or overhead fans . . .”

  “So not very alike after all,” Dick said with an amused expression as he picked up the wine list.

  She laughed. “I guess not. But the feel is the same. Exclusive.”

  “Ah, but anybody can come here. The 300 Club is members and guests only.”

  “You’ve been there? You never told me.”

  “You never asked. Do you prefer red or white wine?”

  She hesitated, not sure how to respond.

  He glanced at her over the top of the card. “You still don’t drink?”

  “I’ve never had a good reason to, I guess. Whatever money I have left over at the end of the week is split between savings and flight lessons, not liquor.”

  “Your dates don’t offer to buy?”

  “Oh, I . . .” She glanced away as embarrassment heated her cheeks. “I don’t date. I don’t have time.” Nor had anyone asked her, but she wasn’t about to admit that.

  “So I should be flattered, then?”

  Her startled gaze lifted to his.

  “That you’ve taken the time to have dinner with me, I mean.” His hazel eyes were extraordinarily pretty in the low light. A slow smile curved his lips, and a very feminine kind of heat warmed her. “I can’t tell you how glad I am no other fellow has caught your eye.”

  He reached out and took her hand again. Shivers of awareness raced up and down her arm. Once again, the waiter spoiled the moment by coming to take their order. Nervously, Genie snatched back her hand, barely hearing Dick as he ordered a bottle of the restaurant’s best cabernet.

  “If I never drink another bottle of warm beer, it’ll be too soon,” he said with real feeling after the waiter left. “That and homemade hooch. Boy, was that stuff awful. Could take the paint right off metal.”

  “I take it there were no bars wherever you were working?”

  “There was precious little of anything except jungle and ocean,” he said with a small laugh, except there was no humor in the sound, and shadows had crept back into his eyes. She wished she could drive them away permanently, but she didn’t know how.

  The waiter returned with the wine. While Dick examined the bottle, she tried to think of a topic to broach that wouldn’t be war related. Unfortunately, she had used up most of her chitchat on the car ride to the restaurant.

  “Did you hear Burma fell?” Dick asked before she could decide on a subject.

  So much for avoiding war-related subjects. “I did. I read about it in the papers,” she said, turning pensive as the waiter poured wine into a glass for her. “I wish they had written more about the situation in China, but I did see there was a string of recent U-boat attacks in the Caribbean. It made me think we were lucky on our voyage.”

  “In more ways than one,” he said with a wink, making her heart beat a little unsteadily. Then he sobered. “I tried to find out what was happening in Kweichow, where you said you lived. You know, through back channels and fellow photographers. I’m afraid I couldn’t find out anything more than what’s being published.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, touched by his effort.

  He lifted his glass, his expression becoming mock serious. “To reunions with old friends.”

  She started to pick up her water glass to return the toast but then changed her mind and set it back down. She lifted the wineglass. “To friends, old or not,” she teased. She sniffed the deep-red liquid as he drank from his glass and was intrigued by the faint fruit smell. “Will I like this?”

  “Maybe. Won’t know unless you try it.”

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted her glass to him. “To trying new things.”

  He returned the toast, his green-gold gaze taking on a lazy heat. “To new things.”

  She took a sip. It was tangy and sweet and rich all at the same time. And faintly grapey. With her second sip, a pleasant warmth touched her tongue and then traveled down her throat as she swallowed.

  “What do you think?” Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

  “Am I supposed to feel any different?” she asked curiously, because nothing felt different. Certainly not different enough to justify the “demon drink” moniker.

  “Not after two sips, certainly,” he said with a laugh. Then his amusement faded as his gaze met hers. “I find alcohol relaxes me. Lets me forget what I’ve seen, if only for a while.”

  Her chest tightened, and she reached across the table for his hand. “I wish you didn’t have to go back,” she said, tears burning in her eyes. “Sometimes I really hate this war.”

  “Only sometimes?” he teased. His strong calloused fingers threaded through hers, becoming entwined.

  “Can I tell you something? Something I haven’t dared tell anyone else?” she asked, her stomach clenching with nervousness.

  “I’d feel honored.”

  She bit her lip as a swirl of emotions built inside her. She let them go. “When I first heard that Tokyo was bombed, I was overjoyed because the war would be over and everyone would be safe . . .”

  “But?”

  “But then I realized how much I would lose by going home: my job, my apartment, my friends. My chance to get my pilot’s license. And I found myself praying the war wouldn’t be over too soon . . .” Guilt squeezed her throat. “What kind of horrible person would wish such a thing? Especially when every additional day means a day people’s lives are endangered.”

  Instead of reassuring her, as she had hoped, he picked up his glass and swirled the contents, his face contemplative. “Say the war were to end tomorrow, would you have to go back immediately?” he asked finally.

  “Well . . . yes. My father is expecting me.”

  “Is he?” He glanced up, his gaze sharp. “Because there’s no guarantee that ending the war with Japan will end the civil war simmering in China. And I can’t imagine a caring, loving father wanting his child to return to that kind of situation. Not if she’s safe and happy somewhere else.”

  “But . . .” She wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. So much of what he said was true. Even before the Japanese invasion, her beloved China had been racked by political unrest. The war had solved nothing on that front. She had only to remember Wu Fang’s contempt for the Kuomintang and the Generalissimo’s anger at the Communists.

  “And whether or not you wish for the war to be over won’t change reality. One person’s wishes don’t hold that much power. What matters are actions, and in that regard you are entirely blameless, Genie. You’re working in an aircraft plant, supporting the war effort, doing your best to bring this war to an end.”

  “You make it sound so glamorous, when all I’m doing is typing ord
ers,” she said, her throat still tight.

  “Here, stop moping and drink up. After all, you’re out with me.” He winked at her. “What more could you want?”

  She forced herself to smile as their dinners arrived. The conversation, as if by mutual consent, turned to lighter subjects. The more Dick drank, the more easily he talked, which thrilled her to no end, since he was a fantastic storyteller. For her own part, she found the more she drank, the better the wine tasted. And if Dick kept both their wineglasses full, she didn’t have the heart to refuse him.

  By the end of dinner, Dick was as relaxed as she had ever seen him, and she was feeling pretty good herself. The world had a kind of fuzzy glow that made the restaurant particularly delightful, the food excellent, and the company even better.

  After Dick settled the bill, he came around the table to hold her chair.

  “Ready to beat feet, my dear? And be careful standing up.”

  “Why?” she asked, mystified as she stood. The room tilted abruptly, and she gasped. “Oh my!”

  His fingers closed around her elbow, keeping her from staggering. “It’s okay; I’ve got you. Give it a moment.”

  Trying not to panic, she held very still and concentrated on the feel of his hand on her arm. Slowly the floor settled back into place, though her hearing still seemed slightly muffled.

  “Let’s get you to the car, and we’ll go for a drive.” His voice was warm on her ear, and she shivered. Everything about him called to her tonight. She wanted nothing more than to turn in his arms and lean against his solid chest, letting him fight off gravity and hold her up. “Nice and slow. You can do this.”

  His hand settled on her waist, setting off tingly, electric waves of awareness. Her skin became even more sensitive, the rub of her clothes become almost erotic. “Don’t let me make a fool of myself.”

  “Never,” he said firmly.

  Trusting him, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It got easier as her legs started cooperating again. It actually wasn’t so different from trying to walk across a deck in a high sea. Dick said goodnight to the maître d’, and then they were outside in the fading twilight. In the semidarkness, she didn’t see the khaki-uniformed man until they almost collided.