Mentally she kicked herself for not reading the letter. He might still be alive. The thought made her giddy and devastated at the same time. Her heart had been so thoroughly shattered thinking he was dead, she couldn’t let her hopes get too high. She might not survive having them destroyed again.
Should she call her uncle and ask what the letter said? For that matter, where was her copy? She had corresponded with them several times. They had her address.
No, they had Dick’s address. She hadn’t remembered to correct it with them, nor had she had her mail forwarded. It was likely in the mailbox at the apartment building, the one she no longer had the key to, or else Dick had picked it up and forgotten to leave it for her. She couldn’t believe this.
It was either call her uncle or Dick.
“You’re right,” Genie said, getting to her feet. “I’ll call Uncle Art.”
The operator put her through to the hotel, and the clerk at the front desk rang her aunt and uncle’s room.
“The line’s busy, miss. Would you like to leave a message?”
Genie closed her eyes in frustration. In all likelihood, her uncle had taken the phone off the hook so they wouldn’t be disturbed, which meant he wouldn’t get her message until tomorrow. She wasn’t sure she could wait that long to know whether or not her father was actually dead. “No. I’ll try back later.”
“Now what?” Charity asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“Now I call Dick and see if he has it.”
This call was a little harder to place, and her stomach flip-flopped several times as she waited for the operator to find his home number—was she looking for the Richard Pelton in West Hollywood?—and then put her through.
A woman answered the phone, her voice slurred. “Hello?”
“This is Genie Baker. I’m sorry to call so late, but is Mr. Pelton available?”
The woman cursed and hung up with a decisive click.
Genie inhaled shakily and hung up the receiver. “I guess not.”
“Likely that was the very unhappy Mrs. Pelton,” Charity observed drily.
Genie collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs. “This is awful. I don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight.”
Charity sat across from her. She drummed her red-painted fingernails on the table for a moment and then stopped. “What about the police? They could get into the mailbox, couldn’t they? If you tell them it’s an emergency, maybe they could still do it tonight.”
Genie rolled her eyes. “The police are not going to care if I find out how or if my father died tonight.”
“How do you know?” Charity said stubbornly. “Are you just going to give up without even trying?”
The answer was no, she was not. Without much hope, she had the operator put her through to the LAPD.
“This is Detective Joe Vital,” a gravelly voice finally said over the line.
She explained about the locked mailbox, and the letter that might or might not say her father was dead in China, and how she really, really wanted to know if he was all right.
The detective cut her off. “We don’t open mailboxes without a warrant.”
“Wait,” she said, trying to keep him on the line, her brain working furiously. It wasn’t easy, given all the shocks it had had today. “What if I told you my roommate is missing—which is true, by the way—and she might have left a clue as to her disappearance in the mailbox.” Which was also true, if unlikely.
“How long has she been gone?” he asked, sounding more interested.
“Two months, I think.”
“You think?” Boredom had crept back into his voice.
“We had a falling out, and I moved out right afterward. No one has seen her since.”
“Any chance she might have done herself in? Because I’ve got an unidentified white female I’m trying to identify.” He paused, and Genie, breath held and sick to her stomach, heard what sounded like papers being shuffled. She hadn’t even considered the awful possibility that Lavinia might have harmed herself.
“Here it is. Female Caucasian in her early twenties. Found not far from Venice Beach, an apparent drowning victim. It was hard to say how long she was in the water, but coroner guessed at least a month. Long enough to make identification difficult, in any case.”
Genie swallowed hard as the kitchen swam before her eyes. “Do you know what color her hair was?”
“Says here, blonde. Does that fit?” Detective Vital continued, sounding almost hopeful.
Relief flooded her so fast, she almost dropped the receiver. “No. Lavinia’s hair is dark, almost black.”
“Well, I guess this isn’t her.” Disappointment laced his tired voice. “Shame, too. It would’ve been nice to get this file off my desk. You would think families would keep better track of their loved ones.”
Her heart squeezed as she thought of Lavinia’s family, and then of her own father. Was someone, right now, in China lamenting the same problem concerning her father’s body?
“I wish I could help you, miss,” the detective continued. “But without probable cause, we’re not opening that box. My advice is wait for the postman tomorrow.”
“And my friend?”
“You could file a report, but if your friend doesn’t want to be found, you’d be wasting your time. Unless she turns up in an alley, or washes up on a beach, there’s not much we can do. Especially with the war on, and so many people moving around.”
The war again. Lord, how she wished it would end. It tore everything apart, scattering entire nations, soldier and civilian alike, to the four winds, with neither care nor concern.
“So?” Charity asked as Genie hung up the receiver.
“The short answer is no, they can’t help me.”
Charity hesitated. “Is Lavinia really missing?”
“Yes.” Rubbing her temples, Genie closed her eyes against the wave of despair, all the fight beaten out of her. She had made so many mistakes, hurt too many people, Lavinia especially; it was time to give up and forget about being independent. “There’s one more person I can ask: her friend Sheila. If she doesn’t know where Lavinia is, I’m at a loss. I could take out personal ads in different newspapers, hoping she’ll see one, though I’ll need to wait until I know my aunt’s phone number.”
Her friend’s perfume enveloped her a second before Charity’s arms closed around her in a tight hug.
“Don’t go, Genie. I know you love your aunt and want to help her, but I think you’re making a mistake. Whether your father is alive or not, he wouldn’t want you to give up the fight. There’s real evil threatening China and the US and the rest of the world, and you are in a unique position, because you can make a real difference in this war.
“You and I both know we’ve got planes aplenty, with more rolling off the line every minute. What we don’t have are enough pilots to move them. Genie, there just aren’t enough of us. If you quit, that makes one less.”
Genie sighed. “But my father wanted me to—”
“Escape China, which you did. But consider this: What if his survival is depending on that one fighter plane to arrive, that one bomber, that might turn the tide of this war? The one that’s stuck on our factory lot because we don’t have enough pilots to move them. What then?”
Charity sat back, her gray eyes intent. “Anyone can write letters to the troops, Genie, or help staff scrap material drives. Anyone can work in an office typing letters or on the production line setting rivets. But not everyone can be a pilot.”
Genie bit her lip in distress. In her mind’s eye she could picture one of their planes zooming over the emerald green of her homeland, on its way to battle the enemy. She could almost feel the controls beneath her fingers, the frame vibrating with the throttle full open.
No. She had made her decision. Aunt Hazel would be devastated if Genie didn’t return with them tomorrow, and Genie had been raised to put family first. But her father and Zhenzhu were also family, and what if one or both of them were st
ill alive, waiting for help? She had made so many bad choices since leaving home, she was afraid to make any more.
Going with her aunt and uncle would mean returning to a life with which she was familiar, where she would know her role. Where she wouldn’t be expected to think, or speak, or make decisions for herself. Where she wouldn’t be able to fly.
Genie no longer knew what to do. If only her father were here . . .
Except what had she learned these past few months if not that she was an independent person, with thoughts and dreams of her own? She wasn’t just her father’s daughter. She was herself, Eugenia Claire Baker. She was the tree that stood against the wind.
“I would have to find a new job,” she said slowly, testing the feel of her decision against her conscience. “Building hours isn’t cheap.” That her conscience was silent spoke volumes. It convinced her she was doing the right thing.
Charity pushed back and searched Genie’s face. “You’re not going to go to Fresno?”
“No,” she said, her resolve solidifying. “I think winning this war is more important than any one person’s sorrow. And what our side needs is more planes, which calls for pilots. Male and female.”
“Especially female!” Charity hugged her again. “I’m so glad. Your father would be so proud of you. And your aunt will forgive you. Don’t worry.”
Genie wasn’t so sure on either account, but she had to be true to what she believed.
Her father would at least agree with that.
And in her heart, she believed she was meant to fly.
Chapter 43
After a sleepless night, Genie sprinted into the train station for the second time in twenty-four hours. The buses had been running late this morning, so she missed an important connection, which had led to her just missing her aunt and uncle at the hotel. Aunt Hazel was likely in a panic. If she had tried to call the apartment, no one would have answered, since Charity and her other roommates were already at work.
Her gaze raced over the crowded platforms, but there was no sign of her aunt or uncle. Her nervousness ratcheted up another notch. She had no illusion the upcoming conversation was going to go well, and—Lord as her witness—she had tried to arrive early enough to have it in private. The train heading to Fresno was starting to load. Genie hurried forward, determined to find her relatives, even if she had to sneak aboard.
“Genie, Genie Baker.”
She almost tripped as she recognized the familiar drawl. Ted?
She spun around, her heart beating way too fast. Sure enough, Ted was jogging toward her. He was in uniform, or mostly. He had on his battered brown flight jacket, the same one she remembered from China. He had never looked more handsome. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same.” He smiled a little hesitantly, his beautiful eyes luminous with something she couldn’t quite decipher, but it wasn’t anger. “You’re not leaving town, are you?”
“No.” But she had been until about twelve hours ago. Urgency gripped her again. She backed away, even as it killed her to do so. “I’m so sorry, but I’m looking for someone.”
“I’ve got a few minutes until the new cadets arrive. Let me help you.”
“Oh, I . . .” Two familiar faces appeared down the platform, both clearly searching for her, and both clearly worried. Relief raced through her. “There they are!”
Leaving Ted behind, she hurried toward them. Aunt Hazel saw her first and waved madly.
“Where were you?” her aunt said, tears in her eyes. “I was so worried.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Hazel. The buses were—”
Her aunt’s gaze dropped to Genie’s empty hands. Her face clouded in confusion. “Did you already leave your bag with the porter?”
“No, see . . . I’ll explain in a moment.” She turned to her uncle, the need to know her father’s status overriding all else. “The letter you showed me yesterday: What did it say exactly? I was so upset, I never actually read it.”
Her uncle cast a hesitant glance at his wife, who had paled. “It said they had lost contact with your father, and since it had been more than three years since they had heard from him, they had to presume he was dead, a casualty of the conflict over there.”
“They presume he’s gone,” she repeated, wanting to be sure she’d heard correctly, even as relief pounded in her head. “But they don’t know for sure?”
“No,” he admitted. “But three years is a long time.”
Hope surged within her, leaving her dizzy. “I was just with him nine months ago, remember? And I’ll attest that we never got Aunt Hazel’s letter announcing your marriage, so it could be the mail isn’t getting through in either direction.”
She turned back to her aunt, feeling the lightest she had all day. “So there’s still hope. But we won’t know for sure until the war is over, which is why I have to stay.” She glanced pleadingly at her uncle, hoping he would understand. “I’m needed here. The sooner this war is over, the better for everyone. And because I’m a pilot, I can actually do something to help shorten the war.”
He nodded, as she hoped he would, though his eyes remained sad. “We’ve all been called upon to make sacrifices during this time of national peril, you no less than us. We’ll miss you, though.”
She threw her arms around her new uncle and hugged him. “Thank you. And I’ll miss you, too.”
“You’re not coming?” Her aunt sounded so lost, it broke Genie’s heart.
She took the older woman gently into her arms. “No, Aunt Hazel. Not right now. But I’ll come visit you as often as I can.”
“But what would your father say?” Aunt Hazel’s voice trembled.
Genie hugged her tighter. “I think he would understand. After all, he’s the one who taught me about duty and being true to one’s beliefs.” She pulled back slightly to look into her aunt’s blue eyes. “Yes?”
A tear slid down her aunt’s papery cheek. “But flying is so dangerous.”
“A week ago I had the same reaction, ma’am,” a bystander interjected gently. “But your niece here set me straight.”
Genie glanced up, startled to see Ted standing beside her. He smiled at her, and her heart thumped painfully.
He continued, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “She told me it shouldn’t matter if it’s dangerous or not—a gal should have a choice in deciding her own destiny. It took a couple of days for the truth of that to sink in, for me to realize my objection had more to do with my fears than her abilities. And to be honest, it wasn’t easy for me to admit I’d been wrong.”
Genie’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he turned to her uncle and held out his hand. “Lieutenant Ted Younan, at your service, sir. Sorry to interrupt a family discussion, but I wanted to tell you that your niece is one smart cookie, brave as heck, and someone I feel honored to know.”
“How do you do?” Her uncle smiled and shook Ted’s hand. “Arthur Sharkey. And this is my wife, Hazel. Eugenia’s aunt.”
“I would have guessed,” Ted said, his smile broadening. “You look a great deal like Genie’s father, but a lot prettier.”
Aunt Hazel sniffed as she wiped her cheek. “How would you know?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed you would know.” Ted’s expression turned serious. “Your brother was the man who rescued me after my plane was shot down in China.”
Aunt Hazel froze midwipe. “You’re the Flying Tiger from the newspaper?”
“I think so, ma’am. I did fly for the AVG. And help Genie here get out of China.”
“Oh my,” Aunt Hazel said faintly, her tearstained eyes wide. “Did you come to see my Eugenia off?”
“No, ma’am. That I’m here is something of a happy accident.” He turned to Genie, his dark gaze becoming hesitant, vulnerable. “I was planning to call this weekend, when I finally got some time off, to see if she would forgive me for being such a blockhead at the diner. My rudeness was uncalled for. I was completely out of line when I said what I
did about women and flying. It may have been my honest opinion, but it wasn’t fair. And I’m sorry.”
Caught off guard, she didn’t speak for a few heartbeats. “And your position on women being allowed to ferry airplanes?”
“I still think ferrying is dangerous work, more so than people think. But you’ve fought for the same rights and privileges as any other pilot, and you proved yourself as worthy as any fellow, or you wouldn’t have that license. Which is not to say I wouldn’t worry every time you went up. But if the situation were reversed, and someone tried to ground me for my own safety? I would’ve said something a lot stronger than what you did that night.”
She forgot about the audience, her focus entirely on the man in front of her. “So is it just me who gets the pass, or any female pilot?”
“Any and all,” he said firmly.
She believed him. Of all the people she knew, he was the only one she trusted to always tell her the truth, even if she didn’t want to hear it.
“Then I forgive you.” She hoped he could hear the sincerity in her voice.
The flicker of relief she saw in the deep brown depths told her he had.
“All aboard!” the conductor called from down the track.
Genie turned back to her aunt and uncle. “Take care. I love you both.”
With a flurry of kisses and hugs, the older couple boarded the train. Genie waited and then waved as the train slowly moved out. It saddened her more than she had expected.
“I’m glad I got to meet them,” Ted said from beside her. She glanced up. He was watching the train disappear down the track with a pensive look.
“I’m glad, too. I think they like you,” she said with a small laugh.
His dark eyes smiled down at her. “I think they like you, too. And for the record, so do I.”
“You do?” She had meant to sound cool and sophisticated, but her voice squeaked.
“I do,” he said firmly. “And if you’ll let me, I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
“I might get attached,” she warned, quite seriously.
He took her hand and studied her knuckles. “Yes, well. The same gal who convinced me women should fly ferries also chewed me out for being a coward about that.”
A Girl Divided Page 41
