Defiant Heart

by Steere, Marty

  “We are,” Gwenda said, weakly, from the corner. Billy had put his arms around her to support her, and he nodded his agreement.

  “Nevertheless,” McAllister continued, “they are, by their own admission, guilty of covering up the crime. They could be arrested and charged right now.”

  “Oh,” Mary said, alarmed. As mad as she was with Gwenda, she couldn’t imagine her being arrested. She turned and looked at Mr. Anderson.

  He put a hand up and nodded. “May I make a suggestion?” he asked, turning again to McAllister.

  The prosecutor seemed to know what the other was going to say.

  “This has been a horrible ordeal for Mary,” said Mr. Anderson. “None of us want to see it made worse for her. Perhaps, we won’t be doing too much violence to the rule of the law if we allow Mary to decide whether and to what extent this needs to be pursued.”

  McAllister looked at Sheriff Jansen. The sheriff tipped his head slightly. The prosecutor then turned his attention to Mary. “Mary,” he said, “how would you like this to be handled?”

  Mary thought for a moment. Then she stood and walked over to where Billy and Gwenda sat. Quietly, she said, “Because you were so selfish, Jon is not here. You put him through a horrible ordeal.”

  Gwenda sobbed softly.

  “It’s going to take me a long time to forgive you,” Mary continued. At the mention of forgiveness, Gwenda raised her head, a desperate look of hope on her tear-stained face. “If Jon is hurt, however, I never will.”

  Gwenda nodded, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Mary turned to Mr. McAllister. “I don’t want them to go to jail.”

  The prosecuting attorney thought for a moment. “All right,” he said, finally. “I’m going to look the other way,” and, with a glance at Anderson, “this one time.”

  Mr. Anderson gave him a slight gesture of acknowledgement.

  “Ok,” Sheriff Jansen said to Gwenda and Billy, “you two can go.”

  Billy helped Gwenda up, and they walked to the door.

  “Son,” the sheriff called out, and Billy stopped and turned.

  “You stay out of trouble, do you understand?”

  Billy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Mary returned to her seat, folded her hands in her lap, and gave Mr. McAllister a direct look. “So, when can Jon come home?”

  The prosecutor’s brows creased. He looked at Mr. Anderson, who, after a long moment said, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Mary. Once you’re in the army, you’re in the army.”

  “But he shouldn’t be in the army,” she protested. “It was a mistake.”

  The two men both nodded. “It was a mistake,” McAllister said. “And for that, I’m truly sorry. But, what’s done is done.”

  Mary’s shoulders slumped. Poor Jon, she thought. Her heart ached for him. As she’d done constantly over the past three weeks, she wondered again exactly where he was and how he was doing.

  #

  During Jon’s first night at Stanbridge, a massive winter storm rolled in over most of Great Britain and the European mainland. He awoke to find a foot of fresh snow on the ground and the welcome news that flight operations were suspended until further notice.

  The evening before, he’d met the rest of the men with whom he shared his living quarters. The other crewman from the Deuces Wild turned out to be Calvin Rogers, the left waist gunner. At twenty-six, he was much older than most of the other air crewmen in the squadron. He was fairly taciturn, and tended to be a loner, but he was nice enough when Jon introduced himself.

  The six other bunks in the hut belonged to the enlisted men assigned to the crew of the Silver Bullet. They’d arrived together from the States a week earlier and had yet to go on an official mission, having spent their time on training flights.

  Jon had decided to write a letter to his grandmother, and he’d just pulled out a piece of stationery, when one of the other men suddenly called out, “Ten-hut,” indicating that an officer had just entered. Jon immediately jumped up and braced at attention.

  A voice from near the front door announced, “Gentlemen, I need an enlisted man for a special duty. Who here has got the least time in?”

  “That would be Meyer, sir,” one of the others called out.

  Jon spoke up. “Yes, sir.”

  There was something oddly familiar about the voice of the officer, which made no sense to Jon, inasmuch as, with the exception of the men in his hut, he knew no one on the base.

  Jon could hear the footsteps of the officer approaching and then the man stepped in front of him. The first thing Jon noticed were the two parallel silver bars on the collar of the shirt beneath the man’s leather jacket, indicating that he was a captain. The officer leaned forward, putting his face a few inches from Jon’s.

  In basic training, Jon’s instructors had drilled into him the fact that an enlisted man was not to look directly at an officer while at attention. He tried to keep his eyes focused forward, but the man simply wasn’t going to let him do it. The officer moved his head sideways and tilted it. Jon’s eyes finally focused on his face.

  The grinning mug of Tommie Wheeler stared back at him and winked.

  Tommie straightened. “All right, Meyer,” he said in a commanding voice. “You got the duty. Follow me.”

  Jon grabbed his jacket and followed Tommie out of the hut. Tommie headed straight for a jeep that was parked out front and, with a pointed finger, indicated that Jon should get into the passenger seat. Jon complied, while Tommie hopped in behind the wheel. Tommie fired up the engine, threw the jeep into gear, and pulled away with an abrupt jerk.

  “Thought we’d go somewhere we could chat,” Tommie called out above the sound of the engine and the air whipping by.

  Tommie steered the jeep down through the row of huts and out onto the open area beyond. He seemed to know what he was doing because, even though the ground was covered in a uniform blanket of white, making it impossible to tell where the tarmac ended and the dirt began, he managed to stay on what to Jon felt to be level pavement. Tommie drove out one of the taxiways, turned, and headed for a bomber parked on a hard stand by itself. When he reached it, he came to a stop, set the brake, killed the engine and looked at Jon.

  “Yours?” Jon asked.

  Tommie nodded.

  Jon considered the plane. “I like the name.”

  On the side of the fuselage, near the nose, the cartoon silhouette of a man had been painted. He was crouched in the caricature of a boxing stance, two arms held out in front of him, bent upwards at right angles. The figure sported a pair of immense boxing gloves, turned knuckles forward, and had a cigar clenched in his teeth. He was wearing a set of coveralls similar to those worn by ground crewmen, and a large rag hung from his back pocket. A baseball cap was perched backwards on his head. Above the whole thing, in block letters that curved slightly up and over the figure, was the word “Widowmaker.”

  Tommie shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.”

  Jon studied the cartoon. “Don’t tell me that’s supposed to be your dad.”

  “Do you see a resemblance?”

  The two of them sat there a moment, squinting at the thing. Then, in unison, they both said, “No,” and laughed.

  “Come on,” Tommie said, “we can talk inside.”

  Jon followed Tommie up through the forward hatch and into the cockpit. Tommie took a seat on the left hand side, and Jon slid into the copilot’s seat.

  Jon had never sat in the cockpit of a B-17. He’d poked his head in the cockpits of a couple of the planes he’d trained in, but he’d never really had a chance to study the controls. It was an impressive collection of dials, knobs and levers.

  “This is quite a change from the Jenny.”

  “Yep,” Tommie said. He pointed to one of the knobs. “This one makes the coffee.” He tapped another. “This is for calling the butler.”

  Jon smiled. He put a hand out, a few inches from a series of dials in front him. “Fuel pressu
re, oil pressure, oil temperature.”

  Tommie nodded.

  Jon slid his hand over to the series of levers that sat between them. Touching them lightly, he said, “Throttle, mixture, and,” he hesitated, “propeller pitch?”

  Again, Tommie nodded.

  “What’s this?” Jon asked, pointing to a console below the propeller pitch controls.

  “Autopilot.”

  “Really?” Jon leaned down and studied the black face of the panel.

  “You know,” Tommie said after a long moment, “you remind me of my brother. A lot. You even look like him.”

  Jon sat back. “It must have been hard when he died.”

  “It was,” Tommie said, nodding heavily. “For me, I lost my best friend. It was the worst thing that ever happened. But, for my pop.” He stopped and was quiet for a long time. Finally, he said, “It was devastating. That’s one of the reasons I’ve got to make it through my twenty-five. Of course,” he smiled, “I want to make it for myself. But,” and his face became serious again, “I also worry about my pop. I don’t think he could take losing both of his sons.”

  The two of them were quiet for long time. Finally, Jon said, “You’ll make it Tommie.”

  Tommie gave a half nod, half shrug. After a moment, he turned and punched Jon lightly on the shoulder. “You’re supposed to be back in Jackson taking care of my pop.”

  Jon gave him a rueful look. “Something came up.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. You got a raw deal.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. “Have you heard from your dad?” Jon asked.

  Tommie nodded. “He writes about once a month. I try to keep pace. I’ve never been very good about that. I got a letter from him a couple weeks ago. He was getting ready to test the Cessna. How about you?”

  Jon nodded. “He’s been writing regularly. I haven’t seen anything in a while, though. I think it’s going to take some time for the mail to catch up with me here.”

  “Yep,” Tommie said. “It’ll take a while.”

  #

  Mary knocked lightly on the front door. After a moment, Marvella Wilson opened it. “Mary Dahlgren, come in out of the cold right now.”

  Mrs. Wilson offered Mary a seat on the divan and sat on the chair opposite her. She arranged her shawl, sat up primly and gave Mary an attentive look.

  Mary took a deep breath. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Well, I’ve always found it best to start at the beginning. I’ve got plenty of time.”

  After a moment, Mary began, “It all started a year and a half ago, when Jon arrived in Jackson.”

  Mary told Mrs. Wilson how she and Jon had met, but had been kept apart by misunderstanding, explaining, but not dwelling on, her father’s role in it. She went on to tell Mrs. Wilson how she and Jon had finally begun seeing each other a year earlier and some of the things they’d done. She knew her face flushed a little, but she unabashedly explained how he made her feel and how extraordinary it was when they were together.

  “You love him,” Mrs. Wilson observed.

  Mary nodded emphatically. “Very much.”

  Mrs. Wilson nodded.

  It was hard for Mary when she got to the story about the incident at the Lodge. However, she told it as thoroughly and as accurately as she could, concluding with her suddenly waking up in the hospital with no recollection of what had happened.

  She explained how the memory of Jon had come back, but how it had been isolated and devoid of recollection regarding anything else. She then posed one of the important questions she’d come to ask.

  “Did my father visit you in October and ask you where Jon is?”

  Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “No. I don’t remember the last time I spoke to your father, but I know it hasn’t been any time in the last several months.”

  Mary nodded. She had pretty much assumed that to be the case, but she’d wanted confirmation.

  She told Mrs. Wilson that her memory had finally returned three weeks earlier, but, at the suggestion of Mr. Anderson, she’d kept it under wraps until Vernon King and Jeff Fletcher could be confronted. She concluded with the events of the evening before and the arrest of the two boys who had attacked her.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Wilson, “I am very pleased to hear that those two have been apprehended. And I am so sorry for the difficulties you’ve had to go through.”

  Mary gave a nod of appreciation. Now, it was time for her to ask the most important question. “Mrs. Wilson, do you know what has happened to Jon?”

  When Mary had finally regained her memory and driven to Ben’s place, Ben had explained to her that Jon had been undergoing training and was expecting to be assigned to a unit in England. But, he’d explained, he did not know exactly where Jon would be going or, for that matter, exactly where he was now. Together, they had sat at Ben’s kitchen table and composed a letter. On their way to meet with Mr. Anderson, they’d posted it to the last address Ben had for Jon. That had been three weeks ago, and there had been no response.

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I’m afraid Jon has been sent to England. He’s going to be flying in a B-17. I’m,” she hesitated, then continued, “worried about him.”

  Mary nodded. It was consistent with what Ben had already told her. “Have you received any letters from him?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Wilson said, immediately. She stood and walked to the fireplace. She retrieved a box from the mantle and handed it to Mary. The box was finely constructed of dark wood. On the lid, the initials “MW” had been carved and inlaid with a contrasting light material.

  “My Ernest made that for me years ago,” Mrs. Wilson explained, “to hold important things.”

  “May I?” Mary asked, and Mrs. Wilson nodded.

  Mary opened the box. Inside was a stack of envelopes. She reached in and lifted them out. She recognized Jon’s handwriting.

  “Would you like to read them?” Mrs. Wilson asked.

  “If it’s ok with you, I’d like that very much.”

  “Of course, dear. Why don’t you take your time. I’ll make us some tea.”

  Mrs. Wilson returned with a tea set on a tray just as Mary was finishing the last of the letters. Mrs. Wilson was very discrete, and she said nothing about Mary’s tear-stained face.

  As Mary was buttoning her coat to leave, Mrs. Wilson excused herself for a moment, then returned with a bright blue scarf in her hands. She reached up and wrapped it around Mary’s neck. “This is Jon’s. It’ll help keep you warm.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said, her hands running softly over the material. She hesitated, then asked, “Do you mind if I give you a hug?”

  Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “No dear, not at all.”

  They embraced, and Mrs. Wilson gave her a squeeze. “Don’t you worry. He’ll come back.”

  #

  When she got home, the house was empty. Mary slowly climbed the stairs and walked to her room. She opened the desk drawer and retrieved the envelope. It was the same envelope Ben had given her three weeks earlier.

  She paused a moment before pulling out the single page. It was worn now, the edges showing the results of being handled multiple times each day over the past three weeks. She’d read the thing so many times, she’d memorized it. Still, when she took it out of the envelope, it gave her the same thrill it had when she’d sat at the table in Ben’s kitchen and seen it for the first time.

  “Dear Mary,” it began, “I have heard the wonderful news that you are home. I am so happy and grateful. You cannot imagine. Believe me when I say that you have been in my thoughts every moment. Now, there is something very important I have to say. I’ve known it for a long time. But, I didn’t know the right way to say it, so I never did. Not out loud. Then I thought I might never be able to say it to you, and I felt so lost. I cannot let another moment go by. I love you. I love you with all my heart. I cannot imagine life without you. It is the thought of you that keeps me going. I pray you feel the same and t
hat we will be together again soon. Please know that I will do everything I can to find my way back to you. Love, Jon.”

  Mary laid the letter on her chest next to her heart, closed her eyes, and said a prayer for Jon.

  14

  As quickly as the winter storm that had suspended flight operations at Stanbridge rolled in, it moved out, and, that evening, the entire base was placed on alert. There would be a mission the next day, and the Deuces Wild and the Silver Bullet would participate. The guys in Hut 51 turned in early. They would all need to be up at 4:00 the next morning.

  Jon had a difficult time falling asleep. At once excited and nervous, he wondered how he would perform under pressure. People would be trying to kill him, and there was a chance he wouldn’t return. And, yet, strangely, the only fear he felt was a fear of letting down his crewmates. It seemed as though he had just nodded off when the lights in the hut came on, and it was time to get up.

  After breakfast, Jon accompanied the officers of the Deuces Wild to the primary briefing. As the radio operator, he was the lone enlisted man expected to sit through the session during which the plans for the mission were revealed.

  Jon had met the officers the previous afternoon. Gooch had taken him over to Hut 34 and introduced him to Bob Roth, the pilot and commander of the Deuces Wild. Gooch had explained on the walk over that Roth was a no-nonsense kind of guy. Before the war, he’d been studying to be an accountant. Gooch reported that Roth was a good pilot and well-respected, not just by his own crew, but by the other pilots in the squadron. Roth, in turn, had introduced Jon to Phil Murphy, the co-pilot, Vince Ambrose, the bombardier, and Jonas Kovalesky, the navigator. They’d seemed like a decent bunch.

  At the briefing, Jon learned that the target would be the Lille Fives Company Locomotive Works in the City of Lille, which was located in northern France, near the border with Belgium. The planes would be carrying 1,000-pound bombs and would drop them from an altitude of 23,000 feet. The Deuces Wild would be in the second flight of the lead section. It would be a good place if they were attacked by enemy fighters, as it was well tucked in to the formation. The spot would be irrelevant when it came to anti-aircraft fire.