by Janet Dailey
A Christmas tree, all decorated with shiny balls, colorful garlands, and wispy clouds of angel hair, stood in a corner of the Georgetown home. Gaily wrapped presents were crowded around its cotton-covered stand, waiting to be opened. But Cappy was standing at the window, gazing up at the beckoning clouds in the sky.
She didn’t see Mitch enter the room or hear his approach. She wasn’t aware he was there until she felt the touch of his hands sliding onto her arms. She half turned with a start, then smiled as he bent to brush her lips with a light kiss. No more than that, since her parents would be joining them in the living room at any moment.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Mitch said.
“They aren’t worth it,” she answered.
His fingers curled under her left hand to lift it, as if needing to see the diamond engagement ring on her finger to reassure himself it was still there. He carried her hand to his lips. His dark eyes were warm and ardent.
“Happy?”
“Yes,” Cappy said, and she knew she would be—once she got used to the idea that all windows look out to the sky.
Epilogue
November 3,1977
House of Representatives,
Washington, D.C.
TIME HAD HEALED many breaches. In a row, they sat in the seats of the House visitors’ gallery. Eden Steele, the socially prominent wife of the financier Hamilton Steele, sat with her mink cape folded across her lap, still a strikingly attractive woman in her late fifties. A wide streak of snow white ran through her silvered red hair. On her right was Cappy Ryan, the wife of Air Force Colonel Mitch Ryan, the metallic gray of her hair somehow flattering when combined with the blue clarity of her eyes, darkly outlined with thick lashes. The petite, white-haired woman sitting next to her was Mary Lynn Palmer, the wife of the former Trans World Airlines pilot, Captain Beau Palmer, now retired.
They all led full, busy lives, involved in many activities outside the home. But none of the three was too busy not to be here on this day to witness another battle on the House floor over a bill which would grant military status to the WASPs, an act of recognition.
Over the years, countless such bills had been introduced to Congress, rarely ever being reported out of committee. This time they had hopes. Senator Barry Gold water of Arizona had championed the legislation in the Senate, and the upper house version had been passed the 19th of October. The senator had firsthand knowledge of the role the WASPs played during World War II, having flown with them as a major general in the Air Force Reserve when he was based at New Castle, Delaware, as a pilot with the Air Transport Command.
Now the compromise version of the “GI Bill Improvement Act” was to be voted on by the House. In the past, veterans had lobbied against any amendment giving military status and benefits to what they regarded as a civilian group of women pilots.
In the visitors’ gallery, they waited tensely for the coming debate, for the battle on the House floor that they hoped would give them victory. They wanted to win. They had been “Army.” Their discharge papers said as much: “This is to certify that Eden van Valkenburg honorably served in active federal service in the Army of the United States.”
Outside, the sun was drifting lower in the early winter sky. Shifting, Eden thought she caught sight of a familiar, lanky figure on the House floor below and strained her eyes for a better look. William “Bubba” Jackson was somewhere down there, she was sure. The representative from Texas was one of the ardent supporters of the amendment. With his silver-haired, down-home looks and country humor, he was a popular political figure in Washington. He’d married a pretty, freckle-faced Texas girl, who’d given him seven children. Eden had met his wife about six months before—the homespun type, exactly suited for Bubba. Congressman or not, he basically hadn’t changed. During the committee hearings last May, she’d met him again for the first time in all these years. It had been outside, in the parking lot … and Bubba had grease all over his hands from tinkering with his car, which wouldn’t start.
It was still there—the old magic—faded a little, as they were. But … Eden sighed. She and Ham had known many good years, and she had been happy with him. No, she had no regrets.
Congressman Olin E. “Tiger” Teague approached the table of the Speaker of the House. This Texas representative had long been a staunch opponent of any measure to militarize the WASPs and give their members veteran status. That afternoon, however, he requested a unanimous consent to pass H.R. 8701, as amended. According to parliamentary procedure, if there were no objections, it would be passed with no debate and no vote. No one objected. The ring of the gavel made it final.
It was over. The opposition had capitulated without a fight, robbing them of the glory of battle and victory.
Dazed by the anticlimax, they looked at one another, then stood to file quietly out of the gallery and down the stairs. The long, empty hallways of the Capitol were shadowed by the diminishing sunlight, and their footsteps echoed hollowly through the tall corridors.
“It was stolen from us again,” Cappy murmured.
“I don’t know about you, but I need a cigarette.” Eden opened her Gucci handbag and took out a gold case.
“Did I tell you my youngest daughter, Lily Anne, is one of the women pilots taking part in the jet training program the Air Force just opened to females this past year?” Mary Lynn informed them in a musing tone. “She’s encountering the same prejudice and abuse that we did. Men still think the cockpit isn’t any place for a woman.”
“During the war, we all found out there were a lot of jobs we could do that the men thought we couldn’t,” Cappy said, then smiled, the corners of her mouth dimpling. “And nothing has been the same since.”
“Yes, probably much to the men’s regret,” Mary Lynn agreed, a smile almost lightening her low spirits.
The quick, heavy stride of a man disturbed the quietness of the congressional halls. As the footsteps came nearer, Eden turned to look idly over her shoulder while she expelled a trail of smoke. A trim-looking man in a dark wool overcoat approached them on his way to the stairs leading to the visitors’ gallery. A very handsome man with distinguished silver tufts threading the temples of his jet-dark hair, he had blue, blue eyes. The contrast of dark hair and blue eyes brought a flicker of recognition. At almost the same instant, Eden noticed the man look at her and hesitate, as if trying to place her.
He paused, frowning slightly. “Excuse me, but”—he almost laughed the cliché-riddled words—“I believe we’ve met. My name is Zachary Jordan.”
“Eden—”
“Of course.” He interrupted with an expansive regret that he hadn’t remembered. “Eden van Valkenburg.”
“Married name is Steele, now,” she volunteered.
“Mrs. Steele.” Zachary Jordan made a continental show of bowing over her hand, as charming and gallant as he was handsome. “It isn’t likely you’ll remember me. We met only briefly … at the chapel where the Army held the memorial service for Rachel.”
“I do remember,” Eden assured him, all the vague memories clicking into place. “How are you?”
“Fine. I’m with the Israeli Embassy here in Washington now.” After the war, he had immigrated to Israel—then Palestine—as he and Rachel had planned so very long ago.
“I … I still remember Rachel’s plane crash.” It was an image she couldn’t shake from her mind.
“I believe she mentioned to you that her grandmother was in one of the Polish death camps,” Zach said.
“Yes,” Eden nodded, curious. “She did say something once.”
“Rachel’s grandmother was one of the survivors of Oswiecim—Auschwitz,” he added, supplying the American-known name. “After the war, I managed to find her. She had an interesting story to tell about Rachel coming to her in a dream, all surrounded by flames and assuring her grandmother that she would never know the fires. Her grandmother thought it was very odd … because Rachel had always spoken very bad Yiddish. In the dream, she had unde
rstood every word. I have often wondered …” Zach let his voice trail away and shrugged expressively. “We shall never know.”
“I suppose not.”
His glance traveled up the stairs in the direction of the visitors’ gallery beyond. “You are here for the debate? I heard it was scheduled for today’s session and I thought I would sit in on part of it. Has it begun?”
“It’s over,” Eden informed him, and smiled when she realized there was no elation or triumph in her voice. “The bill was enacted, unanimously.”
“Good.” But the startled tone indicated that he, too, felt something was missing. “Rachel would have been glad about that.” He looked around, somewhat lost, as if there was no more reason to be there. “Congratulations … to all of you.” He included Mary Lynn and Cappy.
“Thank you.”
“In that case, I must get back to the embassy. Goodbye.” Again, he took her hand and kissed it with a European flair. “Perhaps we’ll meet again someday.”
“I hope so.”
The click of his shoes tapped loudly down the corridor as he walked swiftly away. Outside, it was growing darker. In mutual and silent consent, they started toward the exit doors. Eden slipped on her fur cape against the November briskness awaiting them. As they emerged from the Capitol building, they paused at the top of the steps.
A man stepped from the shadow of a column. “Little One. It is you,” he murmured.
The lazy voice jolted her with recognition as Mary Lynn stared at Walker, an old Walker whose body had finally aged to match his eyes. But the glitter was still in those eyes, despite the lines of dissipation that jowled his face. The scars had faded until they had all but disappeared.
“Walker.” Her voice was warm and sad all at the same time. The years hadn’t treated him kindly. He looked like a broken-down pilot in his worn leather flight jacket and crumpled officer’s cap. His dark hair was shot with gray and his chest had fallen down around his middle. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been reading all the publicity about this bill they’re trying to pass to make you a veteran like me.” He smiled crookedly. “I heard it went through.”
“Yes.”
“I wish Marty had been here,” Walker said absently.
“We don’t know where she is,” Mary Lynn said. “We tried to find her a few years ago when we were organizing our first reunion, but her parents had died and she hadn’t kept in touch with any of us so—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“After the war, Martha … Marty and I had a little partnership going—buying surplus transports and flying them down to Central and South America. We were talking about setting up an air cargo business. Then … she had a C-47 … she lost power shortly after takeoff. She didn’t have enough altitude to make it back to the field. The only open patch of ground was a playground full of children. Witnesses said it looked like she deliberately plowed into the side of a hill. She was killed outright, but nobody else was hurt. Noble damned fool, if you ask me.”
Tears slipped down Cappy’s cheeks, while Mary Lynn had trouble accepting that bold, wild Marty wasn’t somewhere out there.
“That was the end of the good times for me. At least now I can put an American flag on her grave. She’d like that, I think,” Walker murmured. “It looks like you’re doing fine, Little One. I suppose you’re a grandmother now.”
“Yes. And you, Walker? What about you?”
“Same as before. You strip away the pride and there’s nothing.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I just wanted the chance to see you one last time, Little One. Guess I’d better go now.”
“Goodbye, Walker.”
He lifted a hand and sauntered away, a lonely figure.
They stood on the Capitol steps, looking out at the gray dusk. “The three of us is all that’s left,” Mary Lynn said.
“I don’t know how you feel,” Eden said in a tight choked voice. “But the two years that we flew in those skies were the best years of my life.” Neither of the others disagreed.
