Grand Central: Original Stories of Postwar Love and Reunion

by Karen White

  That’s when it dawned on Virginia that the show, in fact, had commenced.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” he said. “That a big chunk of metal like that can even get off the ground, let alone soar through the sky?”

  The awe in his voice revived memories of Virginia’s first flight, the adrenaline rush, the splendor of it all. Though her love of flying had not tapered since that day, she’d begun to take for granted the miracle of the feat.

  Together they grazed on their sandwiches and watched aircrafts rolling in. Raised in Connecticut, the only son of an engineer, Taz explained that this had been his favorite pastime with his late father.

  Virginia warmed from knowing he wanted to share it with her—but then wondered how many other girls he had escorted to this place, softening them up with the exact same story. Perhaps the flower deliveries and scrambled invitation, too, were not as unique as she had assumed.

  “So, I take it this is your usual spot for a date,” she said.

  He crinkled his brow, deciphering the implication, and shook his head. “I come here all the time, but it’s the first time with anyone else.” The mischief in his eyes had slipped away, leaving inarguable sincerity.

  Still, she remained cautious.

  “What made you think I wasn’t hoping for a fancy night on the town?” she asked.

  He angled a glance at her clothing—reminding Virginia of her casual appearance—and shrugged. “Whenever I’d seen you around . . . you just seemed like someone who’d enjoy being here.”

  She pondered this, and nodded. A good guess.

  They spent the rest of the evening enjoying takeoffs and landings of night training flights and learning about each other’s lives. To fend off the cooling air, he draped her with his blanket, forcing them to sit close together on hers. And she was glad for it.

  When it came time to leave, Taz held her hand and walked her back. So tender was his grip she dreaded pulling away. There was no good-night kiss before they parted, only his invitation for another date. Virginia agreed, this time without reservation. Then she disappeared into her barracks, where Millie awaited with a full interrogation.

  Soon after, a second date followed, and a third and a fourth, until Virginia lost track of the total. Beyond plane gazing, they ate at local diners, caught picture shows in town, and even kicked up their heels now and then. There were times Virginia sensed a smidge of jealousy from Millie, an understandable reaction. But inviting her to join on occasion seemed to remedy the issue.

  Their work schedules stayed rigorous, of course, often one of them coming when the other was going. But as a result, every minute Virginia and Taz shared, every kiss and embrace, was cherished tenfold.

  Then, in September, Taz learned he would be sent to Arizona to test new aircraft models and would not return for a good two months. While Virginia knew the war effort had to take priority, the idea of their extended separation caused a sinking in her chest.

  On what was to be their last day together, she had been assigned to tow a target behind a P-40, giving ground troops the opportunity for shooting practice. However, her claim of feeling ill succeeded in keeping her day open.

  Stealthily, as not to be seen, she made her way to the trees by the airfield. She arrived at their usual spot right on time, but Taz was nowhere in sight. An A-24 roared its engine and sped off the airstrip.

  Could Taz have been ordered to take an earlier flight? Had he left without a chance to inform her of the change? Her throat tightened, trapping a breath in her lungs.

  Something white fell from above and brushed her cheek. She snapped her head up and discovered a hand sprinkling petals. From a dogwood, no doubt. She spun around to face Taz with a laugh of relief.

  “You’re a goof,” she said, giving him a light shove.

  He kept her palms on the chest of his uniform, his heartbeat pronounced beneath. “But you love me anyway,” he said, and she affirmed this by pressing her lips to his.

  She was determined to savor the moment, to not think about how much she would miss this, or dwell on her fear that one of his test flights could go terribly wrong.

  When they drew apart, he whispered, “Follow me.”

  She smiled, aware he did not have to ask, and trailed him deeper into the cluster of trees. In a small clearing were several blankets, as he typically laid out, but this time with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of dogwoods displayed in a vase.

  “My, my, Lieutenant,” she said. “If I’d known this was such a lavish event, I would have worn a nicer dress.” She knelt down to admire the flowers and noticed several cards dangling. “Love notes, too, I see. You must really be worried I’ll step out on you while you’re away.” She lifted the first two cards to read: Virginia and Me.

  The clues rang as familiar until reaching the last one: Marry.

  She mentally reversed the order of the words and swung toward Taz, now down on a knee beside her. Her pulse skittered and goose bumps rose on her skin. She stared into his eyes, seeking confirmation that the proposal was real.

  “I love you so much, V.” Gingerly he grasped her hand. “When I come back in two months, will you do me the honor of—”

  “Yes,” she said, even before he could finish.

  He heaved a sigh and scooped her into his arms. She closed her eyes, absorbing the warmth of his breath on her cheek. In a flash the whole world made sense. Every detail had found a place, oddly even the flaws. She would not have thought it possible to feel so complete. But already she could see her future built with this man. Her fiancé. Her groom.

  She held him closer than ever. Soon Taz was kissing her neck, then the slope leading to her shoulder. Her mind started to drift, blurring at the edges—until a noise sliced through the haze.

  A siren.

  The warning of a crash.

  Instantly sobered, she and Taz snapped their attention toward the base. Trees obstructed the view. They gathered themselves, exchanging worried looks, and hurried into the open. At the far end of the airstrip, a plane had angled into a ditch. Orange fire sprouted from the engine. Ground crewmen raced to reach the P-40, its tow target strewn behind.

  A P-40 . . . a Warhawk . . . the type of aircraft Virginia was supposed to have flown today.

  The assignment Millie had taken in her stead.

  “No,” Virginia breathed, imagining, comprehending. “No, no, no . . .” She scrambled down the tarmac, yelling over and over, “Millie! Millie!”

  Virginia vaguely heard Taz calling her own name, but she did not slow, did not answer. She had to reach Millie first. Why wasn’t the girl bailing out?

  The siren continued to blare. Officers shouted orders. Panic seized every inch of the area. Virginia was halfway to the aircraft when a fiery burst exploded, devouring the enclosed cockpit. She could hear a woman’s screams. Were they her own or Millie’s? Were they both?

  From behind, someone’s arms enwrapped her—it was Taz—preventing her from lunging forward. Even from here she could feel the heat of the flames.

  Servicemen worked frantically to extinguish the fire. Virginia struggled to free herself as tears stung her eyes. Every second became an infinite stretch of terror, a nightmare from which she could not wake. The stench of smoke and gasoline invaded her nose, her mouth, her lungs, but it was the thought of her friend trapped and burning that curdled Virginia’s stomach. She strained to hear Millie, the scantest sound of hope.

  But there was nothing.

  Oh, God, there was nothing.

  “Millie!” Virginia tried again to break free, yet Taz held her tighter.

  “She’s gone, V,” he said hoarsely by her ear. “She’s gone . . .”

  The ground crew’s expressions, of shock and sadness and resignation, served as a maddening testament.

  Slabs of guilt piled on Virginia as if dropped from the sky. When her knees gave way,
she collapsed in Taz’s arms. Despite the support and comfort he offered in that moment, and then from afar in the weeks that followed, she rejected such undeserved tokens. For on that day, on that tarmac, her soul had retreated into itself, and there it remained as fellow WASPs wept and hugged. They cursed the engine fire and faulty latch that had sealed Millie’s end. They even took up a collection, wanting to contribute to the transfer of her remains. After all, they were mere civilians, warranting not a single benefit from the military.

  No one actually asked Virginia if she would care to be the escort. It was assumed. And why wouldn’t she?

  “It’s time to go, honey,” Lucy said to Virginia, who sat in the barracks, staring at Millie’s vacant cot. All of Millie’s possessions sat in a suitcase, ready for the trip. How many times at Avenger Field had Virginia wished the “farm girl” would simply pack her things and go? Yet now, there was nothing she would not give to have Millie back, if only for a day, an hour, a minute.

  “Sugar?” Lucy stepped closer. “If you don’t leave soon, you’ll miss the train to Ohio. Millie’s family . . . they’ll be waiting.”

  Virginia attempted to move but failed. It was as though she had just ferried an aircraft from one of the factories in the northern states. In open-air cockpits, she would wear wool from head to toe, underclothing included. Still, the cold would sneak into her bones. Often, after landing on base, her suit had been so frozen she could not stand without help.

  A similar, debilitating chill set in as she imagined meeting Millie’s father. She pictured him at the station, placing a trembling hand on the lid of the casket. As a widower, he had already lost so much. How could Virginia look him in the eye? What right would she have to console him?

  “I can’t go,” she managed to say, her jaw tight as a vice. “I just can’t . . .”

  Lucy presumed grief alone rendered Virginia incapable of making the trek. Always the compassionate sort, the woman patted Virginia’s shoulder and volunteered to serve as the escort. Virginia did not argue, and by the next morning she herself departed on a train as well, but bound for Manhattan. She left behind her job as a WASP and most of her belongings. Even her shiny silver wings. Nothing seemed valuable enough to pack.

  The memories, however, followed her home.

  They stalked her in hallways and lurked in corners. They loomed in the spaces between words. No matter how many times Virginia reviewed the tragedy, there was no logic to be found. There was only sorrow and anger and guilt. Plans for a simple picnic had led to her dearest friend’s death. Sure, Millie had been quick to agree to fill in for the flight, perhaps suspecting the intended proposal. But that did not change the fact that she was never meant to be on that plane.

  Was it any wonder, then, that Virginia could not follow through with the engagement? One injustice did not warrant a second. Had she conceded to Taz’s appeals, he would have been marrying a ghost. For though Virginia’s body had escaped ruin, her soul remained trapped in that cockpit. Her zest for life had burned to ashes. She yearned to explain this to Taz, but there were no words for such a notion. This was the reason, once back with her family, she did not answer his letters or calls. Nor did she so much as venture downstairs when he appeared at her home during his furlough in December, and then again in March.

  From the haven of her bedroom, she caught her mother’s apology. “I’m afraid she’s just not up for a visit today.”

  “Did you tell her it’s me?” Taz asked, and the plea in his tone wrung Virginia’s heart.

  “I’m sorry for your troubles, Lieutenant, coming all this way. Perhaps another day would be better.”

  At the heavy pause, Virginia moved to her door, hand on the knob, torn by her longing to walk through. But the mere sight of him, she knew, would bring them together. And that reunion would signify officially moving on, or, even worse, picking up from where they left off. As if Millie’s death was so easily brushed aside.

  “Please, then,” Taz said, a drop in his voice, “give this to her for me.”

  “Of course,” her mother said, and seconds later Virginia heard the front door close.

  What he left was a letter, his final effort. A letter Virginia had since read a hundred times over. Although brief, it conveyed love and hope and the sadness of parting. The same emotions that had brought her to Ohio, to see Millie’s father, to face Millie’s grave.

  —

  By the time Virginia finished her confession, tears poured from her eyes. An unstoppable stream. Mr. Bennett gazed at his daughter’s grave. He had listened without interruption, and only now did he speak.

  “So, you’re saying it should’ve been you on that plane,” he said, not looking up.

  Virginia tried to say yes but only edged out a nod.

  He took in a breath, pondering, hands hitched on the hips of his trousers. Finally he met her gaze. “I’d like you to come with me,” he said. “Family’s gathering for supper, and I think you ought to be there.”

  It was not a question. It was a ruling already made.

  The thought of repeating the admission to more of Millie’s loved ones caused anxiety to ball in Virginia’s throat. But she swallowed hard, forcing it down, and yielded her agreement.

  She trailed the man through the cemetery, clutching her purse to her middle. She hazarded a glance back at Millie’s grave, but just once from a distance. When she went to pick up her travel bag, Mr. Bennett assumed the duty, and Virginia was in no place to object. She dried her cheeks with her palm, aware she must look a fright, but her appearance mattered little.

  They walked in silence through a neighborhood of modest, weathered houses. Before long, he turned at a slate blue two-storied home. He led her onto a porch that hosted a planter box and a faded gray rocking chair.

  “Wait here,” he said, and disappeared inside.

  The minutes that followed passed with all the speed of slogging through mud. Behind the rooftop, the sun slinked downward. Sheets on the clothesline gained an eerie glow.

  Virginia was struck by an urge to flee, but penance required she stay.

  Mr. Bennett returned and held the screen door open. “Come in,” he said.

  Girding herself, Virginia proceeded into the entry. Bread and roasted meat scented the air. She turned toward a mingling of voices and discovered a small crowd in the living room. The conversations halted. All eyes trained on her, Virginia became the target of a firing squad and now recognized the appeal of a blindfold.

  An elderly woman in a floral apron took steps forward. She did not rest until a foot away from Virginia. Behind her glasses, her eyes glimmered with moisture and her lower lip shook. “I’m Bess,” she said. “Millie’s grandmother.”

  Again, the wringing returned to Virginia’s heart. It was no secret how close Millie had been to the woman. Virginia gripped her purse tighter, uncertain how much Mr. Bennett had shared with the group.

  But then Bess laid her hands over Virginia’s, and her mouth curved up at the corners. “We’re just so pleased you could join us—on such a special occasion. Millie would be tickled.”

  A special occasion . . .

  Naturally, for the anniversary of Millie’s passing, they had gathered in remembrance. A framed photograph of Millie stared from the brick mantel over the fireplace. Virginia should not have chosen today, of all days, for a visit.

  Bess declared to the group: “Well, don’t be shy, all. Come meet Millie’s most cherished friend in the world.”

  Virginia swiftly angled toward Mr. Bennett, seeking a cue of how to respond. Was this to be a means of atonement?

  He offered a nod, a signal for her to oblige.

  And so she did. One by one she exchanged introductions with relatives and friends. They were brothers and cousins and schoolmates of Millie’s. Each of them filed past with sheer kindness in their greetings, shaking her hand, some giving hugs. It was clear
they did not know better.

  “Tommy,” Bess called out while removing her apron. “Bring a chair down from the attic for Virginia. And you place it right next to mine.”

  A tingling of panic rose in Virginia. How could she sit at their table, share a meal with those she had inadvertently wronged? She had accomplished what she’d come for. It was time to depart for the bus. A motel in Alliance would suffice until the morning train.

  She scanned the room for Mr. Bennett. Not seeing him, she embarked on a search for her luggage and found it in the entry closet.

  “You’re not leaving yet, I hope.” The comment turned her to Mr. Bennett, who had just descended the stairs.

  She was not proud of slipping out, but staying felt grossly inappropriate. “Mr. Bennett, I’m grateful for the invitation. But . . . under the circumstances . . .”

  After a pause, he released a sigh and looked down at the photograph in his hand. “At least take this with you. I know my Millie would’ve wanted you to have it.” He handed her a snapshot of his daughter on graduation day. At Avenger Field, she posed in her uniform beside the propeller of a P-51 Mustang. Virginia had never seen Millie beam so brightly, and the memory again summoned tears to Virginia’s eyes.

  “This here picture isn’t meant to make things worse,” Mr. Bennett explained. “It’s to remind you that she passed away doing a job she loved more than anything in life. And from what I gathered, she never would’ve had that without you.”

  Indeed, there was truth in his claim. Nonetheless, it did not bear the power to dissolve Virginia’s guilt.

  “Let me just say this,” he added. “When my wife died, me and the kids spent a good chunk of time—me most of all—wondering if there’s something we could’ve done different. But in the end, we learned the Lord makes those choices, not us. It’d be flat-out wrong to think otherwise. And it’d be a real disservice to Millie if we wasted our lives dwelling on her passing. Especially knowing she’s at peace with her mother now.”