by Sarah Sundin
Tom passed an A-20 and its flight crew in their sheepskin-lined leather jackets. He greeted them and continued on his way.
Another memory intruded, and he wrestled with it. Daddy coming home in the evening, dusted with the sharp smell of the explosives used in his demolitions work. “Where’s my Tommy?” he’d call.
“Here I am!” Tom would run up, hop on one foot, and stretch his hands tall to the ceiling.
“Oh no! It’s a burglar!” Daddy’s face would fill with mock terror, then he’d tackle Tom and tickle him.
“It’s me, Daddy. It’s me,” Tom would say between giggles.
“It’s my Tommy? Why, I didn’t recognize you, you grew so much today.”
When Tom caught his breath, Daddy would swing him up onto his back, gallop into the kitchen, kiss Mom—which made Tom break into more giggles—then gallop around the house.
That’s what he stole from Tom when he chose liquor.
He stopped and closed his eyes. “Lord, I haven’t fully forgiven him, have I? He took so much from me. Help me. Help me forgive him.”
Sesame leaned against Tom’s leg, his brown eyes warm and penetrating.
“God sent you into my life, didn’t he?” Tom’s voice came out husky, and he rubbed Sesame’s ears. The dog saw what he hid and loved him anyway.
A man let out a shrill whistle behind him, by the A-20.
An air raid.
More whistles broke out. Pilots scrambled to their planes, fastening parachute harnesses and yanking on leather flight helmets.
Tom shielded his eyes and gazed west. Sure enough, black dots appeared beneath the afternoon sun.
“Here we go again.” He gathered Sesame into his arms and raced away from the airfield, the Luftwaffe’s target. He dropped into a slit trench and sheltered the quivering dog between his body and the earthen wall.
Sesame didn’t mind construction noise, but he hated the explosions during an air raid.
More men jumped into the trench, a whole line of them, helmets like stones in a stream, rifles like reeds along the banks.
After Tom attached the leash to his pistol belt, he readied his carbine. He had to look ready to shoot even if he didn’t intend to do so.
One P-40 sped along the runway and lifted into the sky, and another followed. The propwash raised a cloud of dust on the ground.
“Go, boys. Get ’em,” the officer next to Tom said.
A mechanic to Tom’s right adjusted his steel helmet. “We’re the 33rd Fighter Group. We ain’t gonna let Jerry get away with this.”
Tom glanced at the faces around him, eyes lit up and focused, as if watching a college football game and not a struggle for life and death.
“Here they come, boys.”
Tom hunched lower in the trench but peered over the edge. German Junkers Ju 88s, skinny twin-engine bombers with strange bubble-like cockpits, about ten of them.
Two more American P-40s took to the air, then a P-40 bearing the French Tricolor on its tail.
“Hey, the Lafayette Escadrille’s joining in today,” Tom said.
“’Bout time,” someone grumbled.
“Be fair,” another fellow said. “The French had never seen the P-40 before. Takes time to learn a new plane.”
“What’s the escort? Me 109s?” Tom asked. The German Messerschmitts were some of the best fighter planes in the world.
“Me 109s. Yeah.”
“Wait.” An officer flipped through a deck of aircraft identification cards, printed with silhouettes of different types of aircraft. “Might be Macchi 202s.”
“Italians?” the mechanic said.
“Sure. We’re fighting them too.”
“I know that.”
“Look at the engines when they come by. The 202s got a big old engine, not sleek like the 109.”
“What do you think the quarterback will do?” Tom said. “Punt or go for the long pass?”
Men turned and stared at Tom.
He chuckled. “We sound like we’re in the bleachers at a football game—not a battle.”
“Same thing,” the ground crewman said with a laugh. “Who wants a beer?”
A chorus of “I do, I do, I do” ran down the line.
But this was no game. The American antiaircraft guns opened up with booms that shook the ground and made Sesame tremble.
Tom pressed the dog’s pointed ears shut.
The first Ju 88 passed over the field and dropped a string of bombs, kicking up dirt and steel from the runway. “I know what we’ll be doing tomorrow,” Tom muttered.
Some of the men in the trenches popped off shots at the bomber, and a P-40 buzzed around the larger plane. Bullets zipped through the air, and yellow tracer fire lit the path.
The Ju 88 climbed and turned to the east, but the P-40 stayed with it, bullets hitting the mark. One of the bomber’s engines gave off clouds of black smoke. The wing snapped in half. The plane spiraled to the ground.
An explosion rocked the earth and took the lives of the bomber’s crewmen.
A whoop rang out from the trench. Tom joined in because he had to, but cheering death made his stomach churn.
The tail of the bomber stuck out of the wreckage, and flames licked at the painted swastika. This was why the Americans had to fight, to kill. Because the Nazis were bent on destruction, and destruction was the only way to stop them.
Bomber after bomber plummeted from the sky, nine total. But no P-40s fell, and no Americans or French died, so it was considered a victory and a cause for celebration.
Tom soothed his little dog. “Someday, Sesame. Someday this will all be over. Then we can build.”
15
USS Lyon
New York Harbor
February 7, 1943
Mellie leaned on the railing of the USS Lyon and belted out “Manhattan Serenade” over the rumble of the ship’s engines. Hundreds of personnel from the 325th Fighter Group and the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Transport Squadron crowded the deck. The Manhattan skyline passed by on Mellie’s left, and the scenery shifted perspective moment by moment.
In two weeks she’d be in Africa. Not only would she get to explore a new continent, but Ernest’s letters would arrive more quickly and the conversation would flow.
Her song swelled, filled with the joy of friendship and motion.
The last month and a half had been nothing but hurry and wait. Hurry to Florida. Wait for personnel and equipment. Hurry to Camp Kilmer. Wait for overseas processing. While in New Jersey, the 802nd worked at a civilian hospital during a measles epidemic. Alice Olson complained that they were flight nurses, not ward nurses, but Georgie reminded her they should help where needed.
Last night they were told to pack, destination unknown.
The news Mellie had longed for drained the color from Georgie’s face.
She sighed. Perhaps Captain Maxwell should be more concerned about Georgie’s fear than about Mellie fitting in. He still circled Mellie like a hawk and swooped down on infractions. She’d dared to question a medication order for one of the measles patients. Although Mellie was right, he still complained to Lambert. His hawkishness and Vera and Alice’s cattiness seemed designed to drive Mellie into a mouse hole.
She launched into the final verse of the song, determined to be a mouse no more.
“There you are. Just had to follow that voice.” Georgie wormed her way through the crowd to the railing, her face ruddy from the wind and cold.
“Where’s Rose? Still not well?”
“Yeah. She’s lying down. Once a month.” Georgie lifted an apologetic smile, as if she’d revealed a deep secret.
“I hope she doesn’t get seasick on top of it.”
“Rose? This is the only thing in the world that gets her down.” She pointed across the Upper Bay. “Look. There’s Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty just beyond.”
Mellie shielded her eyes to view the red and cream brick buildings of Ellis Island. She could imagine a steamship pulled up to t
he berth forty years before and a crowd of immigrants in peasant caps and shawls swarming from steerage into sunshine. “So much history here.”
“All those huddled masses desperate to come to America. We’re headed the wrong way.”
Mellie tugged her overcoat tighter and studied Georgie’s atypically downcast face. “Why don’t you want to go?”
Georgie snapped up her gaze. “What? I want to go. This is what we trained for.”
“So why do you look like your mother just died?”
“Do I?” She rubbed her gloved hands over her cheeks. “Oh dear. It shows? Do you think Rose noticed?”
“No. She’s too excited to notice anyone’s misery.”
“Misery. Is that what this is?”
Mellie smiled. “Has your life been so wonderful you’ve never felt miserable before?”
“Sure I have. My grandparents passed away. That was miserable. Though I was a tiny thing. And when I was ten, my favorite horse broke his leg and had to be put down.”
“Mm.” Mellie gave her a soft nod.
Georgie sighed. “All right, my life’s idyllic. My mama and daddy and big sisters love me to pieces. I grew up on the most beautiful horse farm you can imagine. I always had Rose and Ward.”
“But now you have to leave Ward.”
A deeper sigh. “I know he’ll miss me, but I can’t abandon Rose. We’ve always done everything together. We need each other.”
Papa’s face flashed into her mind. Up until the past year, they had always been a team. Now he was alone. If he lived. Her eyes watered, and she blinked hard.
Georgie gazed up at the overcast sky. “Rose and I complement each other. She makes me try new things, and I soften her rough edges.”
“You two are good for each other. And for me.” If only she had something to give to them.
Georgie held back her curls on one side and fixed a firm gaze on Mellie. “Rose can’t know how scared I am. If she knew, she’d slap me. With good reason. I’m scared of the U-boats. I’m scared of being caught in combat. I don’t know if I can handle it.”
Mellie hesitated, but she’d learned from four months of friendship. She put her arm around Georgie’s shoulders. “You’ll do fine. The Lord will be with you. So will Rose, and so will I.”
“Please don’t tell Rose I came just for her. She thinks I’m as excited as she is, and it’s best that way. Besides, when I pretend to be happy, I end up feeling happy.”
Mellie smiled. She still had a lot to learn from these ladies.
“Promise me,” Georgie said, eyes wide. “Promise not to tell Rose.”
Her breath caught. She’d never been asked to keep a confidence before, a solemn responsibility. But she knew the sting of betrayal and could never inflict it on another. “I promise.”
Georgie’s expression overflowed with warmth. “I knew the minute we met we’d end up the best of friends.”
“You did?” Mellie’s nose stuffed up, and she sniffed. “If only I’d known when you did. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so shy.”
“All in God’s time. Now, look. Lady Liberty herself.”
Expressions of awe and wonder flooded the deck of the troop transport as hundreds of airmen and nurses craned their necks to see the immensity of the statue.
Mellie leaned back her head and braced it in one hand to support the weight of her hair.
Liberty faced east, one arm cradling law and justice, the other holding high her torch. She strode forward, out of the broken chains of bondage, her face determined and visionary. She offered hope and freedom to the world, and no adversity of this time or any time to come could restrain her.
“I can’t believe we’re leaving.” Tears meandered down Georgie’s cheeks.
“Don’t you see? This is why we’re leaving.” Mellie pointed to the statue as the ship curved around the island. “Liberty Enlightening the World—that’s her full name. She isn’t facing America. She faces the world, showing the enslaved nations what freedom looks like, a beacon in the darkness.”
Georgie pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket and patted her face. “We’re not supposed to keep the light to ourselves, are we?”
“No. That’s why we’re going.” For a disorienting moment, it seemed as if Liberty looked down at her, circled her, and imparted a blessing. A shiver started at her hairline and worked over her scalp. These hundreds of men and women were leaving with the blessing of the nation, to protect that nation and restore freedom abroad. “Lord, help us do your work.”
“It’s his work, isn’t it?” The light returned to Georgie’s eyes, as if Liberty’s torch had passed on its fire.
Mellie nodded. “God gave us gifts of mercy and healing. We can’t keep those gifts to ourselves. He wants us to use them for him.”
USS Lyon
Atlantic Ocean
February 11, 1943
“Don’t peek. Peeking is cheating.” Rose tugged on the knot of the blindfold.
Mellie stubbed her toe on the metal threshold of a bulkhead. She wriggled her nose to scoot the blindfold up a bit. “I thought this was supposed to be a pleasant surprise.”
“It is.” Georgie tugged on Mellie’s elbow and guided her down a corridor. “Just wait.”
“Staircase. Up you go.”
Mellie groped for the cold metal handrails, which were almost vertical. “If you want to kill me, why not throw me overboard and have done with it?”
“Nonsense.” Rose patted her back. “It’s more fun this way.”
Mellie laughed and climbed up. A brisk whirl of air and the rush of waves against the steel hull told her she was almost to the deck. A rotation system allowed everyone a short amount of time topside each day and gave the sailors room to work. Only a storm would keep her in the cramped stateroom shared by twelve nurses.
Georgie’s small hand cupped Mellie’s elbow. “You’re on deck.”
Mellie drew a deep, damp, salty breath. Women were clean creatures, but limited water meant little bathing, and the stateroom stank.
After Rose untied the bandanna, Mellie blinked and looked around. She stood on the fore portion of the ship’s deck under a mushroom-shaped platform for an antiaircraft gun. This was a surprise?
Georgie held up one finger, two, three, and she and Rose sang “Happy Birthday.”
Mellie’s knees felt loose. A birthday surprise? For her? Papa always gave her a nice gift, but he never made a big fuss.
Georgie beamed as if it were her birthday. “Rose, give her the—well, it’s not a cake, but it’ll have to do.”
Rose reached into the musette bag she wore across her chest and pulled out a Hershey bar. “We couldn’t think of a way to get a cake on board without squishing it, but with sugar rationing, a candy bar is just as nice.”
Mellie took the chocolate. “It is. Thank you. We’ll share, see how long we can make it last.”
Georgie and Rose laughed. “Ten seconds?” Rose said.
“Five.” Mellie worked her finger under the wrapper.
“Not yet.” Rose took the chocolate bar and returned it to her bag. “We have to give you your present first.”
“Present?” They’d already given her the best present ever—they’d thought of her.
Georgie stepped to the side. White squares had been chalked onto the wooden deck. “Hopscotch,” she said. “And two playmates.”
The chalk lines wiggled in Mellie’s vision. Her throat felt thick.
Rose pulled a rope out of the musette bag. “Georgie sweet-talked some poor sailor into loaning us some line for a jump rope. Jacks were tough. Metal jacks, rubber ball—you can’t buy either now.”
“Shortages, of course,” Georgie said. “Thank goodness Mama mailed me my old set before we sailed. I’m glad she didn’t donate them to the scrap drive and the rubber drive.”
“What do you want to play first, birthday girl?”
Mellie’s lips undulated like the waves below. “You—you did this for me?”
�
��Oh, honey.” Georgie whipped out her handkerchief and handed it to Mellie. “Of course we did.”
“It was her idea,” Rose said. “After we saw your scrapbook on Christmas.”
Georgie took Mellie’s hand. “I know this doesn’t restore your childhood, but I hope it helps.”
Mellie dabbed at her face. She hiccupped and covered her mouth so she wouldn’t break out in a full-blown sob. “It does. It does help. Thank you so much.”
“What’s first?” Rose held up a little cloth drawstring bag and a rope. “Jacks, hopscotch, or jump rope?”
Georgie laughed. “To think you never wanted to play those games when we were little. You wanted to run around with Ward, climb trees, and play baseball.”
“Mm-hmm.” Rose lowered her gaze, and her mouth tightened. She poked around in the drawstring bag. “Hopscotch first. We’ll use jacks as markers. Do you know how to play, Mellie?”
“I watched often enough.” A sudden memory burst in—Lupe Rodriguez inviting her to play in second grade. Mellie shyly said no, tired of being hurt. But Lupe was new to school, the daughter of a maid, and she didn’t fit in with the children of Palo Alto’s academic elite. Protecting her own heart, Mellie hadn’t shown mercy to someone who needed it. She sent up a quick prayer for forgiveness.
Georgie slipped a jack into Mellie’s hand. “You go first.”
Mellie swallowed hard through her swollen throat. She tossed the jack and hopped through the course.
“Georgie, you go next,” Rose said. “This was your idea.”
“A fine idea it was.” Georgie fanned her face in her best Southern belle fashion and took her turn.
Rose’s jack landed in the square next to Mellie’s. With one athletic leap, she cleared the hurdle. “Speaking of Ward, any news in today’s letter?”
“Wasn’t that the sweetest thing?” Georgie handed Mellie another jack. “Sending me off with a packet of fourteen letters, one to open each day?”
“Mm-hmm. Any news?” Rose asked.
Mellie threw the jack, but she sneaked a glance at Rose. Her smile seemed flat, her voice high.
Georgie shrugged. “The usual farm news. Planning the spring planting and all.”