by Cat Gardiner
“Good Morning, Miss Renner.”
“I … um … good morning.”
“George! Come in,” Renner cheerfully greeted.
She extricated herself from the man’s grasp before the deliberate brush of his thumb grew bolder. “Excuse me, Mr. Gebhardt.”
~~*~~
Nineteen
Ridin’ High
October 10, 1942
The Orange Blossom Special to Florida was high-class transportation, almost as luxurious as the world-renowned 20th Century Limited Pullman train to Chicago. Since 1925, the exclusive seasonal train had traveled between New York and Miami transporting affluent snowbirds to their winter retreat homes. On this trip, however, it was crowded with GIs, and in Lizzy’s opinion these current passengers were even more worthy of the white glove treatment. Although the manicurists, barbers, maids, and valets were superfluous, the fine china, porters, and air-conditioned, berthed cars were all very much appreciated by the boys.
Three days prior, her father’s acquiescence to telephone the President of the Seaboard Air Line Railroad had paid off. As usual, Frederick Renner’s charm and railroad influence had successfully secured a Pullman private, sleeper compartments for both routes of his daughter’s travel to Sarasota, Florida. Her last minute timing could not have been better since the deluxe accommodations were about to be suspended until the war ended. Officially pressed into service as troop transport before the season’s southern run, this “special” accommodation was to be the Orange Blossom’s final first-class trip. From here on in, it was going to be used exclusively by the Office of Defense Transportation. Her return trip to Pennsylvania Station in three weeks was to be on board the Silver Meteor’s all-coach class.
Lizzy cringed at the thought. Train travel was her abhorrence, yet here she sat. Since meeting Ducky, she was doing a lot of things she never expected to do.
The sleek, citrus-colored, locomotive train bulleted ahead of schedule to surpass its own twenty-six hour record to the Sunshine State. Comfortably seated in the elegantly appointed Club Car, Lizzy stared out the window at the passing landscape, lost in her thoughts. Her decision to see Will had been impetuous and unplanned, but faced with Lillian’s announcement and the distressing meeting with Bethsabee, she could think of nothing else but running to him. Thankfully, Aunt Helga came to the rescue allowing for Kitty’s visit and Lillian had, indeed, made the arrangement for the ambulance that transported her. She could have kissed her sister when she found a nurse to stay with Kitty in New Jersey for the duration of her stay. Father was, begrudgingly, pleased with the news, but not enough to make amends with his “disappointing” ARC daughter.
It seemed as though Lizzy had only left minutes ago on the 12:50, but time, like the train had flown by during her daydreaming.
The conductor called out “Richmond, Virginia. Next stop Richmond.”
Lizzy’s hand pressed against her tummy to calm the wacky feeling within. Just the mere thought of seeing Ducky in a few days elicited an excitement that nothing ever had or ever could compare. She imagined his look of surprise upon her arrival at Drane Airfield then envisioned their kiss hello. That thought brought a full grin to her lips. The outfit she chose for the occasion, she hoped, would leave him awestruck.
First things first though; she would keep her promise to her father and see that everything was in good order at Rosebriar. She needed to discuss with the caretaker about readying the house to be closed for season since neither Father nor Mother would be traveling south this winter. Next order of business was to visit the OPA’s local ration board to secure a B-3 gas ration card for 53 gallons of gas in order to make the long drive to Lakeland from Sarasota. Hopefully, she would be able to accomplish this near impossible feat having learned a thing or two since she began volunteering for the bookmobile. Not that she’d fib why she needed so much fuel, as boosting troop morale was truly essential war business, but she just might consider bandying the Renner name to get what she wanted. She’d think about Will’s expected fuddy duddy objections another time.
As the train slowed, Lizzy craned her neck to see beyond the curtains. She noticed volunteers of all ages with the American Women’s Volunteer Service local canteen, waiting on the platform to greet the soldiers on board with beverages and sandwiches. She had seen this happen at other stops along the Pennsylvania Railroad: Trenton, NJ and Wilmington, DE. Not even a kiss of gratitude was spared to those boys who hung out the windows or briefly exited the train to stretch obviously more than their legs. Here, beside the Richmond information window, a four-piece band played something sounding like a patriotic march in welcome. Waving flags and bunting festooned the clapboard station house. Lizzy smiled wistfully thinking how she wished she could have seen Will off at the train station on the day of his departure at Grand Central in New York City.
The Orange Blossom slowed to a heaving stop and more soldiers boarded into the coach class, more women cried, and more fathers shook hands. For a brief moment, she felt guilty sitting in this luxury railcar, smelling the sweet bouquet of fresh cut flowers and baking corn bread. Families were being torn apart as men were sent off to fight in terrible conditions while she sat in her exclusive Pullman reserved for people of her society. Observing from her window she felt the paradox, removed yet connected, in more ways than most of her station would acknowledge.
Resisting the temptation to read once again the literature she acquired from the Free French office, she instead removed from her purse the letter received from Will the day just before her departure.
October 5, 1942
Dear Lizzy,
It’s two or so in the morning and I couldn’t sleep. I have you on my mind and well … wanted to spend the night with you. I felt the sudden urge to talk with you and this is the closest I can get. In case I didn’t tell you in my last couple of letters—I miss you, but you expected I would, didn’t you? Every letter of yours brings such a smile to my heart and lips that I wish to G-d I was there in New York to hold you and laugh. I’d take you to Prospect Park or to Jones Beach, even to the movies where I could sneak a kiss up in the balcony. How does that sound? Where would you like me to take you on our third date? It’s hard to believe that we’ve only been on two dates!
How are the bookmobile and the Victory book collection going? I am so proud of you, Lizzy. You have no idea what a difference you are making. If you can, please send me a couple of books because there isn’t a library at our new location. MacDill had a swell set up, even going so far as a bowling alley and movie theatre, but not here at Drane. Rustic is hardly the word for our base life, and darn if these Floridian mosquitoes aren’t even more sinister inland than by Tampa Bay. There’s even a tortuous insect the locals call a “no-see-em”. That’s for sure! They’re like invisible Kamikaze bugs and you don’t know what’s bit you until it’s too late. It’s dry, hot, and flat here, but I make it a point to fly to the base any chance I can. There’s not even running water and I won’t tell you about the latrine situation—crummy. Suffice it to say, I will be getting some serious payback on those Nazi fellows!
Try not to gloat too much that I am away from MacDill and its dishy nurses up at the field hospital. I am sure that the pistol in you can’t help laughing at my expense. Well, you’ll just have to come down here and attend to all my bug bites yourself. I may not be able to take you out in a Runabout, but my men do call me “Skipper” and I do fly something we refer to as a “ship.” See, I am a boatsman after all. Didn’t you say you love to fly? With the right enticement, I might be able to sneak you onboard! Oh, Pistol, you are even a bad influence to me all the way from Long Island! See what you do to me. You make me dizzy, Lizzy.
How are things at home, baby? Is your father talking to Lillian yet and what exactly are you implying about the literature you found in Ingrid’s closet? I understand your new found commitment to the war effort and not wanting “Loose Lips to Sink Ships,” but forgive me for not being able to read between your lines. If I can, on
my next flight to MacDill, I’ll try to telephone you so we can discuss this.
Hopefully, this afternoon my crew and I will be able to listen to the World Series in the mess hall. There’s an old radio in there that seems to get pretty swell reception. Of course, I’m disappointed that the Dodgers aren’t playing, but I’ll have to settle for the Bronx Bombers. My navigator Rocco is a Bronxite, so he’s pretty gassed and hoping the Yankees can turn this around tonight. You and I have never discussed baseball and given your love of sports, I wonder if you listen to the game at all. I would love to take you to Ebbets Field in Brooklyn!
I received a letter from Louie. He’s heavily engaged in fighting, and I hardly recognized his handwriting. Although he did make a joke about how it compared to mine, so at least I know he’s trying to hold onto his humor. He misses home and Lillian, even mentioning her four or five times in his short letter. He writes me they plan on getting hitched when the war is over. I’m happy for them, and I think that if the love they share and the promise of the future keeps him going through the rough times, well … that’s the way it should be. Which reminds me … one of the snapshots you sent me is tacked on my bomber’s dashboard above the altimeter (determines altitude) and, baby, I’m flying on cloud nine when you’re staring back at me. You’re my good luck charm.
Well, I better sign off and try to get some sleep before Reveille. That’s only about an hour from now and then I’m back up in my Marauder for practice missions.
With love,
Will
Lizzy didn’t hear the train’s whistle blow, or the conductor’s announcement of “All Aboard,” and before she realized, the Orange Blossom was underway again. She folded the letter and placed it in the Agatha Christie novel beside her, nearly bursting in anticipation of seeing Will. As fast as the train traveled, it wasn’t fast enough! With every letter, she discovered something new to love about him. Baseball! Not to mention his unspoken love for her made her near giddy like a schoolgirl. Oh, yes, Ducky, you are in love with me and I know it. At that moment, she chose not to think of all the unpleasantries: his omission of news about his family in Paris, Bethsabee’s supposition about them, her father’s suggestion of a marriage between her and Gebhardt, and Ingrid’s propaganda literature. The purpose of this trip was to escape the distress of the war and life at Meercrest and fly into the arms of love.
The sound of the railcar’s passenger door opening with a tight whoosh caused her to look up. Two GIs entered the First Class Pullman. Around her, several businessmen and a well-dressed middle aged woman stared aghast from their tables. A waiter asked the men to exit back into the accommodations reserved for troop transport.
“That’s okay. The soldiers are my guests,” Lizzy said with blatant mischief sparkling in her eyes. She twisted her mouth when she stared back at the onlookers then cocked a sculptured eyebrow waiting for the challenge that surprisingly didn’t come.
Lizzy turned her attention to the soldiers. She didn’t recognize the insignia patch below their shoulders. Not that it mattered—she was all too happy to spoil them and pointed to the soft club chairs beside her. “Won’t you gentlemen join me?”
“Holy Mackerel! Yeah, sure.”
They took the vacant seats and removed their garrison caps, introducing themselves with appreciation not only for the opportunity to enjoy a drink in such luxury but also with a leggy dame.
One of the soldiers lit a cigarette followed quickly by the waiter’s arrival to the table for admonishment, but Lizzy’s deliberate charming smile kept him from asking the young man to smoke in the domed observation car. She almost wanted to laugh aloud, unsure whom she was more similar to—her father with his manipulative charm or Lillian in her outspoken nonconformity. Together those disparate personality traits made a splendid combination when a woman set herself on a path of defiance.
“Miss Renner, what are you and your guests drinking from the bar this afternoon?” the white-jacketed waiter asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you say to three Coca-Colas, boys?”
“Sounds great,” agreed Private Archibald Snipes from Kansas.
Lizzy lit a cigarette as well. “Where are you fellows headed? Bomber training?”
“No, Miss. Hank and I are headed to train with the 82nd Airborne in North Carolina. We’re All Americans.”
“How exciting. Do you fly planes?”
“Some do, but they’re glider planes. We’re not with the Air Corps. We’re infantry paratroopers.” Archie, the younger of the two, beamed with obvious excitement. “We jump from planes!”
She leaned forward, intrigued beyond measure. “Really? You jump from planes? Are you scared?”
Hank laughed. “Not at all. I love getting up there, listening to the drone of the plane then just letting myself go above the drop zone.”
She clapped with excitement. “I positively love to fly! I own a Zephyr and a Hydroplane Runabout, and I just love to feel the wind blow, the speed, the feeling of soaring uninhibited. Oh, I’m so envious that you can jump from an airplane. What type of plane? How high up are you? Does it hurt when you land? It sounds positively lulu!”
“Ah, the details … can’t tell ya’ Miss, but it is definitely … lulu.”
Lizzy pointed to Hank’s garrison cap insignia. “That’s a parachute, isn’t it?”
“A hard earned Parachutist Badge.”
Upon the white collar of her dress, Lizzy toyed with Will’s cadet pilot pin, given to him in flight school but since replaced by his silver wings. She could still vividly remember his gentle kiss that followed his bestowing that special gift to her before their separation at the Glen Cove train station in July.
“My sweetheart flies in a B-26 Marauder. I’m headed to see him.”
Her pride was evident, and both men looked at each other. That ship was getting quite a reputation, which spread like wildfire through the Army.
“What was that look for?” she asked, the smile slowly receding from her face, a bad feeling suddenly shrouding her.
Hank fiddled with his crystal glass. “Nothing really ... it’s just there’s a saying. ‘One a day into Tampa Bay.’ They can’t keep those Widowma ... um ... planes in the sky and no one wants to fly them. Given a choice of bombers, everyone is opting for the Fortress or the B-25 rolling off the line after that Doolittle Raid over Tokyo.” Clearing his throat, he looked to his friend beside him before speaking again. “So, your fellow is a pilot?”
“Yes.” A different type of anticipation filled her. Dread and fear eclipsed joyful exuberance. Her voice sounded distracted as she continued to rub the propeller wings between her index finger and thumb uneasily. “He loves to fly, too.”
Archie smiled thoughtfully and elbowed his friend. “Don’t worry, Miss Renner. I’m sure he’ll be just swell. We never should have said anything.”
“No, I’m glad you did. I suppose he just didn’t want to worry me. He’s considerate like that.”
“I’m sure of it. Heck, my mother thinks I’m part of a ground crew refueling transport planes. There’s no way I’m going to tell her I’m a paratrooper. She would get on the next train from Wichita to box my ears.”
When Lizzy turned to look out the window, Hank promptly changed the topic to something he felt sure would bring back that effervescence in her fine eyes and a smile upon those quite alluring lips of hers. He was rewarded with both when he said, “Let me tell you what I feel up in the air. The minute I hear from the Jump Master, ‘Stand up’ and I hook myself to the static line ...”
~~*~~
Lizzy swore she would never forget October 14, 1942 because everything about the day became an extraordinary experience from the moment she left the picturesque beauty of Rosebriar Manor along Sarasota Bay. Like the North Shore of Long Island, this area was also referred to as the Gold Coast, and it held its appeal for winter vacationers as well as year-round residents. From ostentatious, Spanish-style and Mediterranean revival homes to the lavish golf and cou
ntry club, like Palm Beach and Winter Park, Sarasota was the place to be seen and enjoy society life.
Having departed Rosebriar in the early morning for the seventy-mile drive north to Drane Airfield in Lakeland, every stop she made in her father’s 1938 convertible Horch was a new adventure. She had never taken such a long drive before, particularly in his 855 Spezial Roadster, as it was garaged year round at Rosebriar. What a car! What a grand tour she was on!
In her excitement to see Will, she could have sped through every sleepy agriculture town along the rural routes of State Roads 62 and 37. They all held fascination for her and, several times, she couldn’t help pulling over to the side of the road and breathe in the sweet country air, which smelled so different from the sea. During one stop, she unfolded the large Florida state map on the hood of the car, looked around, walked back to the cockpit of the car, and snapped off the radio—just so she could enjoy the peaceful silence of Central Florida. Spanish moss clung to the trees and hung over the dirt road; morning sun shone through the branches and she tilted her head up to catch the beams of light on her face. She chuckled at how she must look, sticking out like a sore thumb in the cattle ranching, farming, and active phosphorous mining communities along Bone Valley and the Peace River.
She had never seen a mining town before, but it was clear that the war had caused an increase in activity necessitating a complex series of detours through far-flung back roads of dry, flat land. Security had been ramped up around the vital mines and railroad transport after the widely reported news of saboteurs in America. It seemed as though the landings of those Bundist saboteurs at Ponte Vedra and Amagansett beaches had certainly shaken America awake.
Small, quiet towns, such as Pierce welcomed her when she pulled into the filling station for gasoline. The blue-overalled attendant didn’t even bat an eye when she procured her hard-won B-3 gas ration booklet from her purse, but he certainly raised the brim of his cap when she slid out of the automobile to stretch her legs.