by Janet Dailey
Today was the third anniversary of Pearl Harbor. Cappy’s thoughts wandered as General Yount of the Army Training Command addressed the throng. Avenger Field had changed since she had trained there. The construction was finished on all the runways; two new hangars had been built, and a swimming pool. A ground man told her they had electric runway lights, no more trucks racing out at dusk to set out the oil pots. But the painted rendition of Walt Disney’s character, Fifinella, the WASP mascot, still sat atop the administration building and the Wishing Well was still there.
“… Well, now in 1944”—General Arnold was in the middle of the keynote address—“more than two years since WASPs first started flying with the Air Forces, we can come to only one conclusion—the entire operation has been a success. It is on the record that women can fly as well as men. In training, in safety, in operations, your showing is comparable to the overall record of the AAF flying within the continental United States. That was what you were called upon to do—continental flying. If the need had developed for women to fly our aircraft overseas, I feel certain that the WASPs would have performed that job equally well.
“Certainly we haven’t been able to build an airplane you can’t handle. From AT-6s to B-29S, you have flown them around like veterans. One of the WASPs even flight-tested our new jet plane.”
At that announcement, Cappy wondered if it had been the girl they’d met on the flight line that day at Wright Field. She could still remember the scream of those jet engines.
“You have worked hard at your jobs,” the general said. “Commendations from the generals to whose commands you have been assigned are constantly coming across my desk. These commendations record how you have buckled down to the monotonous, the routine jobs which are not much desired by our hot-shot young men headed back to combat or just back from an overseas tour. In some of your jobs, I think they like you better than men. …”
Cappy searched the crowd of faces for Mitch. There were so many things she hadn’t seen—that she hadn’t understood about herself the last time they’d met. She wanted the chance to tell him she’d been wrong—about the Army, about everything. She owed him that much.
The general had finished his speech and Jacqueline Cochran had taken the podium. After some opening remarks, she talked about the Air Medal and described how Cappy had earned it. When her name was called, Cappy came forward to receive the service medal. Distinguished, snowy-haired General “Hap” Arnold pinned it over her breast, his round cheeks coloring slightly with embarrassment at the task.
After the ceremonies were over, the overflowing crowd spilled out the doors onto the base. Her mother waited to embrace her and proudly admire the medal she’d earned. Her father stood back, more silvered at the temples of his dark mane. Cappy noticed the shimmer in his eyes when she turned to him.
“You should be very proud,” he informed her with a military jut of his chin.
“I am.”
Lieutenant Colonel Robert Hayward tilted his head down and seemed to fumble awkwardly for the words he wanted to say, but they were difficult for him. “Long ago … I used to wish for the day … a son of mine would … follow in the old man’s footsteps, so to speak. But your mother and I weren’t blessed with any sons. But today—” He lifted his head, and the tears glittering in his eyes were unmistakable. “—You made that wish come true. You, my daughter.”
Cappy hugged him. She knew he couldn’t break that rigid discipline that frowned on emotional displays, so she did it for him. This day, she had gained his respect, a most precious thing. But Cappy also knew she had received it because the Army had acknowledged her worth, not because her father saw it. In these last couple of months since she had received the letter announcing the disbandment of the WASPs, she had mellowed and learned to accept the things she couldn’t change and be grateful for the things she had, including her father’s respect.
When she drew away, her father had managed to blink back the tears and display some military decorum again. “When do you anticipate you’ll be coming home after your mustering out?”
“I don’t know.” But her glance went past him as Cappy spied Mitch standing near the generals. “Excuse me, Dad. I’ll only be a minute.”
So tall, so tan, lean, and muscular in his Army uniform, Mitch watched her approach with a blank expression. Her steps slowed as she drew near him, a thudding deep inside her.
“Hello, Mitch.”
“Congratulations.” He nodded at the Air Medal pinned to her jacket.
“Thank you.” Cappy hesitated only a moment, then asked with a false calm, “Can we walk? I’d like to speak to you about something … privately, if it’s all right.”
After a short glance at the generals to weigh how long they’d be, Mitch inclined his head in a nod of agreement and swung away to match her stride. As they made their way through the slowly dissipating crowd, she stole glances at his profile.
No one was around the Wishing Well. Cappy slowed her steps to stop beside the stone-walled reflecting pool. The fountain bubbled in the center and coins shimmered in the bottom. A plaque from General Arnold was mounted in the pool, inscribed: “To the Best Women Pilots in the World.” For no reason, she tossed a coin into the Wishing Well, without even making a wish. It made a plunking splash, sending out a small ripple.
“This brings back a lot of memories,” she said, then added wistfully, “Soon that’s all there will be.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Mitch didn’t sound interested, and when Cappy glanced at him, he didn’t look interested either.
“I’m still looking for a flying job … without much luck.”
“I wouldn’t feel too bad about it. Neither has Jacqueline Cochran. She’s going aboard Northeast Airlines … as a director, in hopes of attracting more female passengers. And she’s a flying ace with countless world records to her credit.”
“Like Earhart,” Cappy mused, but she didn’t want to talk flying, at least not that aspect of it.
She sat down on the stone lip of the pool while Mitch remained standing. She let her fingers trail in the water. It seemed easier to talk if she didn’t look at him.
“It isn’t easy for anyone to swallow their pride and admit when they’ve made a mistake. I’m no different from anyone else in that respect,” Cappy said with a shrugging tilt of her head. “When we were denied commissions in the Army, it took me a while to realize how much I had wanted it.”
Her gaze went to Mitch, needing to see his reaction to her words and discover whether they made any difference to him. His eyes were on her, watching, committing nothing.
“I don’t want to turn in this uniform, Mitch.” Her voice was low and vibrant with the strength of her feelings. “These girls are my sisters. I said I never had a home … family or friends. I was wrong. Home was every barracks I stayed in across this country for the last year and a half. The WASPs were my family and friends.” Cappy paused for a long second. “I guess I’m trying to say that I had to be a part of it to understand. And I had to lose it to know it. I don’t hate the Army anymore, Mitch.”
“And?”
“That’s all.” She looked again into the reflecting pool, a little ache starting inside.
“Is it supposed to make a difference to me?” Mitch asked.
She had hoped it would, but it obviously hadn’t. With a quick move, she came to her feet, seeking to make her escape. Her head was up, held by that measure of pride that she wouldn’t release.
“I wanted you to know, Mitch.” Cappy walked carefully around his question. “Goodbye.”
His hand stopped her. “Did you want it to make a difference to me, Cappy?” Mitch demanded. “If you did, then dammit, say so!”
Her eyes were bluer than anything he’d ever seen, and her lips were trembling. She was the cool deeps and the fire, all the softness and the never-ending for a man.
“Yes. Yes, I did.” Her voice was a whisper, but a forceful one.
“I think
I know where there’s a place for you, if you want it,” Mitch said.
Her features were set in unbreakable lines, all the needing and wanting held inside while her gaze searched his face in near hope. “Where?”
“Beside me,” he said.
“Mitch.” In his name was her answer.
Cappy came into his arms and her lips were hot and firm against his. It was all there. No one else would ever have as much from her as he did. She was proud and willful, her feelings and passions running as deep as his own. He’d heard the bitterness in her voice and seen the strain of hurt in her eyes. Now she was smiling, confident in herself and certain of him.
Chapter XXX
THE SLOW, PAINFUL process of signing forms and turning in uniforms and flying gear was taking the bulk of Tuesday morning, the 19th day of December, the day before they were officially discharged. The four friends trooped to the various offices together, providing moral support for each other.
Marty rubbed a hand over the smooth leather of her fleece-lined flying jacket. “I wish I could keep this.”
“Where would you wear it?” Eden wondered. For all its practicality, it was hardly the height of fashion. On her ring finger, the soon-to-be bride of Mr. Hamilton Steele wore her diamond sparkler.
“Michigan winters are cold.” Marty shrugged vaguely.
“Then you’ve decided to go home,” Cappy surmised. Marty was the only one among them without any definite plans for the future, vacillating from one thing to another.
“I don’t know. With David gone …” She still couldn’t talk about her brother’s death. “I thought I might as well go back to Detroit. There’s a bomber plant at Willow Run. If they won’t let me fly them, maybe I can get a job building them.”
“Good luck.” But Eden was skeptical of her chances.
“Nobody’s going to keep me grounded.” Her husky voice had a growl in it. “I’ll find a way to get back up in the air if it means ferrying war surplus airplanes from sale points to the homes of their new owners.”
“You know the kind of shape those planes are in,” Mary Lynn protested. “They’re all red-lined. How many have crashed just being ferried to the Army’s sale depots? That’s all you hear about.”
“So?” Marty countered. “What do you think we flew at Camp Davis?”
With the roughly eighty WASPs stationed at Long Beach going through the discharge process, there was a lot of waiting in hallways and corridors. The four of them lounged along a corridor wall, part of a slow-moving line, supporting themselves with a shoulder against the wall, or sometimes their whole bodies slumped against it.
By day’s end, they were divested of everything the Army had issued them—uniforms, parachutes, guns—but they kept their wings, those silver, shining insignias that had set them free for a little while. What was left of the time was spent packing their personal belongings and saying goodbyes to gals they’d flown with, strangers now in civilian clothes.
As they walked out of the barracks that last time with their suitcases under their arms, the California sun was shining as if the day were no different from any other. An awkward silence reigned, a self-consciousness claiming them.
Eden glanced at the two suitcases she carried and joked weakly, “Two suitcases instead of the two trunks I brought with me to Sweetwater. I’ve learned something, I guess.”
Faint smiles were offered in response to the attempted joke, but not even Marty commented on it. Loosely walking abreast, they headed for the gate house, feeling oddly out of place in their traveling suits and dresses instead of the familiar Santiago-blue uniforms they had worn so proudly. Their route took them past the flight line and the numerous war planes parked on the ramp.
“I heard they have sixty planes on line, headed for embarkation points to the war zones,” Cappy remarked as they all looked at the aircraft, wings gleaming in the sunlight. “—And no pilots to fly them.”
The irony of it was not lost on any of them. A man in an officer’s cap with his flight jacket unzipped left the flight line to approach their foursome. Marty recognized Walker and glanced quickly at Mary Lynn to discover if she had seen him.
Marty saw regret and reluctance mixed in Mary Lynn’s expression. In the last two weeks, assignments had kept the two of them apart, one leaving while the other was returning. Marty’s opinion of their affair hadn’t altered. Now that Mary Lynn was going home, Marty didn’t want Walker trying to change her mind.
She intercepted him before he reached Mary Lynn. “Let her go.” Today his dark eyes were sobered by something, although his mouth quirked.
“You can relax, Martha Jane. I’m not here to steal her,” Walker said in lazy assurance. “I just want to tell her goodbye.”
“We’ll wait for you at the gate.” Eden and Cappy walked on, but Marty lingered, standing off to one side, watchful and wary of this last meeting between the couple.
His officer’s cap sat on the back of his head, pushing forward his coffee-colored hair. A gentleness was in his eyes, a longing and a regret, but he made no move to touch her, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his jacket as if to prevent such an occurrence.
“You’re on your way home, I guess.” His gaze traveled over her lively dark beauty. She was everything perfect and graceful and strong—things a man dreamed of and never expected to find.
“Yes.” The soft drawl of her voice was musical and warm. “I’ll be there by Christmas. My suitcase is filled with presents for my parents.”
“They’ll be happy about that,” he said.
“Beau said in his last letter that they’ll probably send him home after the first of the year.”
His mouth twisted. The subtle message hadn’t really been necessary. “I’ve always known you’d be going back to him, Little One. You know—” He paused, turning his head to squint into the sun and hide the stinging in his eyes. “—All my life I’ve always taken what I wanted. Life can trap a man. Because now I find myself wanting to give … and I have nothing to offer.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, so softly.
His head shook it away; he didn’t want her pity. “Goodbye, Little One.” He looked at her with moist eyes. “Tell that husband of yours to take care of you.”
“Goodbye.” Mary Lynn walked quickly from him.
For a long, long time, Walker watched her, then he turned to Marty and tipped his head back, his mouth crooking at an angle. “Well?” he taunted.
“Maybe you aren’t as rotten as I thought, Walker,” Marty suggested.
“It looks like I’ll be out in a few months,” he said. “I’ve heard there’s a market for surplus cargo planes in South America. I thought I might see if I could make some money. ‘Course I’d need some good pilots to fly them down there. What do you think?”
“Look me up.”
“I’ll do that.”
They shook hands to seal the agreement, then Marty was hefting her suitcase and striding after the others to the gate house.
The moment had been prolonged but the time finally came when the four of them had to say their goodbyes. Clinging and crying, they forced smiles into their expressions.
“We’ll keep in touch,” they promised, but they all knew they wouldn’t.
A big piece of their lives had been cut from them, leaving a hole. Until they found something to fill it—husbands, family, or career, it would hurt too much to see each other again and remember all that they had lost.
So they went home.
When Marty climbed the steps to the front porch of her parents’ Detroit home, she saw the service flag hanging in the window. The gold star was there, signifying the loss of the family’s soldier son. She walked into the house and went straight to the cabinet where her father kept the liquor.
Eden’s hands burrowed under the collar of her sable coat, its dark, dark luster a contrast to the rich red of her hair. Her high-heeled and fur-trimmed boots crunched into the packed snow on the edge of the flight line as she hurried to ke
ep up with a fast-walking Hamilton Steele.
“What are we doing here?” None of her questions had been answered, but still she tried as her breath made little puffs of vapor.
Behind his smug look was a mysterious smile. Hamilton stopped to open the side door to a hangar and hold it for her, indicating with a sweep of his hand that she should enter. Eden walked through.
“Merry Christmas.”
A renovated AT-6 Texan glistened with fresh paint in a soft shade of sky blue. Lettered on it were the words “A Lady’s Wings.” Eden stared at it, then looked at Hamilton.
“Mine?” she whispered. At his affirmative nod, she threw her arms around him and hugged him. “You are going to spoil me,” she declared, then she walked over to inspect her plane.
The skies above Mobile were a-hum with training aircraft. The drone of their powerful engines filtered into the front room where Mary Lynn was stringing the last of the tinsel on the Christmas tree. Planes would always be a part of her life, whether she flew them or Beau did. His presents were under the tree, waiting for him with bright, beribboned expectancy—just as she was.
“I simply don’t see why you can’t cook the meals for our boarders.” Her mother made wide, vigorous swipes with the dust cloth across the side bureau, the loose flab under her arm shaking with the action. Her small-built body had gone to plumpness, giving her a squatty look in the plain housedress she wore. “You might as well help while you’re here.”
“Mama, if you want to start providing meals for your boarders, that’s your business, but don’t expect me to do the work for you.” Mary Lynn turned away from the decorated tree to confront her mother, respectful but firm in her refusal.
“You haven’t got anything else to do except wait for your husband to come home.” The sullen glitter of her small, dark eyes was turned on Mary Lynn. “You might as well be doing something that will bring some money into this house.”
“I’m not going to be here that long, Mama,” she replied. “As soon as Beau comes back, we’re going to find us a place of our own. Wherever the Army sends him, I’m going.”
