Then her mind began to race, wondering what she should do next. Part of her told her to run back the way she’d come as fast as she could. The other part… well, she didn’t like what the other part wanted.
Before she could decide, Luke grinned. “What’s your first name, Palmer?” he asked.
“L-Lottie,” Lottie stammered. “Charlotte,” she added, as if that might build back some of the formality that they had just cast to the wind—and give her some more dignity in his eyes.
“Lottie,” Luke repeated. Then he looked back out at the water. “You found one of the best beaches on the island,” he said. “I’ve always loved this beach.”
“It’s beautiful,” Lottie said.
“It hasn’t always looked this way,” Luke replied.
“What do you mean?” Lottie asked.
Luke didn’t answer, staring out at the dark water.
Lottie glanced back at where he had been sitting, still curious about what in the world he had been doing on the beach.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the cove by now to the point where she could make out where Luke had been sitting.
To her surprise, it didn’t have the natural shape of a rock. Instead, it had the straight lines of something man-made, even though it had the bulk of one of the big rocks scattered around it.
She took a few steps up the beach, drawn by curiosity. And as she did, the shape Luke had been sitting on suddenly came into focus.
It was the wing of a plane. Luke must have been sitting on it when she first jogged into the cove.
“It’s a plane!” Lottie exclaimed.
When she looked back at Luke, he didn’t even glance at her, as if he hadn’t heard her say anything at all.
Lottie felt a lurch in her stomach. She’d known of the carnage that must have happened here, in the attack on Pearl Harbor. But to see it firsthand… it was a chilling reminder of what might still happen, all over the world, if they didn’t find a way to win this war.
She padded back down the beach to Luke’s side.
When she got there, he turned to her and locked eyes with her again.
Lottie braced herself to hear the awful story that must have lain behind that plane, whose fuselage had been blown apart, and whatever had happened to the pilot.
“What is this?” she asked.
Luke shrugged. “We grounded this old plane a few years ago,” he said. “Just didn’t have anywhere to stash it on the base. So it wound up here.”
Lottie bit her lip, thinking that the plane wasn’t the only thing that had ended up on this beach.
Luke took a deep breath. “I guess that’s how we all end up one day,” he said. “No matter how fast we fly.”
Lottie could hear the weariness in his voice, but for some reason her chin came up at the sound of it. He had every reason in the world to be weary. But that didn’t mean he knew everything about the world.
“Well, if this is how we end up,” she said, “it’s better to fly than stay on the ground.”
Luke looked at her, surprised. For a long moment, he seemed to be seeking something in her eyes. Then he smiled. “Maybe so, Lottie,” he said. “Maybe so.”
Then he looked up at the galaxies spread before them, over the ocean. “Aren’t the stars beautiful?” he asked. “You never see them the way you can over the ocean. There’s too much light on land.”
Startled, Lottie nodded uncertainly.
“Sometimes,” Luke said, “I think, maybe if I just souped up a powerful enough engine, I could build a plane that would take me up there.” Lottie looked at Luke while he gazed at the night sky. He looked peaceful. “Out among the stars. Beyond all of this. Just leave it all behind.”
Lottie looked up at the stars as well.
Then Luke turned to her.
“Do you ever think anything like that?” he asked.
He scanned her face now the same way he had been scanning the stars, as if he were looking for something incredibly important. And as if he were a little lost himself.
For a moment, she was caught by his dream, imagining a freedom that would catapult them up beyond this world, into something else, hopefully something better.
But she fought the feeling back. It was strictly forbidden, she reminded herself, then repeated the word, as if she might forget it: forbidden.
Instead, she stepped away. “I think I better be getting home,” she said. “I don’t want to miss curfew.”
“Oh,” Luke said, surprised. “Sure.”
Lottie tried to give him something approaching a smile, then started off jogging back down the beach, the way she had come.
With every step, she could feel something pulling her back, toward Luke.
But she kept on, determined not to give in to her thoughts, until her feet hit the macadam of the parking lot again, and she put her shoes back on for the drive home.
Eighteen
LOTTIE BREATHED IN A sigh of relief as she walked into the hangar.
Early morning light poured through the windows, but the big bay doors hadn’t been opened yet, which was exactly how she wanted it.
She’d had strange dreams all last night: That she was in the thick of a battle and dodging falling pieces of metal between deafening explosions. That she was hiding in the crevice of a cove, waiting for a chance to rescue someone stranded on the beach, but the fire never let up enough for her to rush out and help them. That she was working in the shop as a battle raged around them, but no matter how hard she worked, they could never provide as many planes as the Navy needed.
And other dreams that were in some ways even more disturbing. Dreams where she and Captain Woodward—Luke—were walking and talking, dressed in civilian clothes, as if they were old friends. He listened as she told him the story of her life, and she listened as he told her his. And at some point, he even held her hand.
She tried to tell herself it was just a dream, but mixed with the strange memories of the evening, it was hard to tell the difference. And she didn’t want to be confused in her feelings for her commanding officer.
The best remedy, she’d decided, was to get to work as soon as she woke up and give herself a good strong dose of the Captain Woodward she knew best: the one who spent most of his time ignoring her or telling her what she’d done wrong. She knew how she felt about that version of Captain Woodward.
And it would be good, she thought, as she stepped into the deserted hangar, to have a minute or two to herself, just working with an engine, which had problems she understood and could fix, before he got there.
She headed over to the shelves where she stowed her toolbox every day, collected it, and headed over to the plane she’d been working on the day before, a Hellcat fighter with one gun out. She hadn’t worked with guns before. The men hadn’t liked the idea of having her work with it, because they didn’t think girls mixed with guns.
She was eager to get a good look at it and educate herself without their interference.
But as she crossed the hangar, heading toward the Hellcat, she had the eerie sense that she wasn’t alone. It was so strong that she stopped in her tracks and did a full 360-degree turn, scanning the place for anyone else.
That’s when she heard it: the murmur of another human voice.
She followed the sound of the voice cautiously to the back corner of the hangar. There, she found Luke, still fully dressed from the night before, asleep on a low cabinet that was almost wide and long enough to function as a cot.
Asleep, but not quietly.
He lay on his back, one arm thrown up over his eyes, as if trying to protect himself. Beneath it, Lottie could see his face contorted into a pained grimace. She looked closer and realized that it was wet. From sweat, perhaps, or tears. Maybe both. She shivered.
And he murmured a constant babble of sounds. None of them resolved into actual words, but it was clear how agitated he was. As Lottie approached, he began to cry out in his sleep, as if someone were hurting him.
> “Captain,” she said.
In response, he only cried out louder.
“Luke,” she tried, raising her own voice and taking a step closer.
But Luke just thrashed where he lay, as if she hadn’t said anything.
So Lottie walked right up to his makeshift bed, took his shoulder firmly in her hand, and began to shake him.
“Luke,” she said. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”
Even with Lottie’s speaking at the top of her voice, shaking him as hard as she could, it took him several seconds to wake up.
When his eyes finally did open, they were full of such horror that Lottie almost looked over her own shoulder to see if something awful was coming up behind her.
Instead, she locked eyes with him. “Luke,” she said. “You were having a dream. You’re okay.”
“Lottie,” Luke said.
It wasn’t lost on Lottie that she’d only told him her name once, but he remembered, even waking up from a dream like that.
She shoved the thought from her mind.
Slowly, the horror faded from his expression. In its place was a sorrow so deep that Luke closed his eyes again and laid his hand over them. He fumbled for her hand on his shoulder, then closed around it, like a child hanging on to a favorite toy after a bad dream.
Lottie sat beside him awkwardly, wondering what in the world she should do now.
Then she heard footsteps behind her.
Instantly she scrambled to her feet, cursing her luck in her mind. It didn’t matter which one of the men had surprised them. It would look bad to any of them.
When she turned around, she was only slightly relieved to see it was Cunningham. His wiry, gray eyebrows were only mildly raised, but she still didn’t like the look of it.
“Palmer,” Cunningham said.
Suddenly, Luke was on his feet behind her. When she glanced up at him, his face had transformed into the competent, commanding mask of Captain Woodward.
“Roger,” Luke said to Cunningham. “Good morning. Palmer here decided to come in early and caught me napping.”
“All right,” Cunningham said in a tone that indicated he’d decide for himself later what he might think about that. “Well, we’ll let you get to it.”
Then he began to saunter off.
Lottie hurried off after him, too embarrassed to give Luke even a backward glance.
All through the day, she watched Cunningham. She knew he wasn’t one of the gossips in the hangar, but she also knew he’d only need to tell one of the other men in order for the whole story to spread around the shop like wildfire, and with a lot of ugly embellishments that had no bearing on what had really happened.
From time to time, her face would flare up at the thought of the shame she’d feel if that happened. “Appearances matter,” her mother used to tell her.
And below it all ran the same low hum inside her at any thought of Captain Woodward—Luke. She was suddenly aware of his presence in the shop. Even when he was clear on the other side of the hangar, it was as though she could feel a tether between them. And if she let herself think of the look he’d given her when they’d met on the beach, she forgot everything about the engine that was sitting right in front of her.
She told herself not to think about it. The best cure was to ignore these gnawing feelings. But, she discovered as the thought intruded on her mind all through the morning and into the afternoon, that was easier said than done.
She knew Cunningham had a habit of staying late. He was a lifer at Pearl Harbor. He liked to remind them that he’d been there since the place opened, if he felt they weren’t working as hard as they could or giving him the respect he deserved. He ran the shop as if he owned it himself and not the Navy. And no matter how conscientious a mechanic was, Cunningham could still find a reason to snoop around their station and discover something that needed straightening up after they were done.
For Luke’s part, he had spent the entire day acting not just as if he’d never met Lottie before, but as if she didn’t even exist. That was perfect, in Lottie’s estimation. She didn’t need him doing anything that would add to any speculation from Cunningham, or any of the other men.
But by the end of the day, she knew she was going to have to talk to Cunningham about what had happened.
As her father had always said, the best way to deal with a problem was head-on, man-to-man.
Or woman-to-man.
So Lottie, who had been there before all the other men arrived, waited until all the other men, except Cunningham, had left.
By this time, the sun was sinking in a gorgeous haze of pink and orange, filling the entire hangar with warm light.
After the last mechanic slipped out the door, heading for the mess hall, Lottie went over to Cunningham, who peered with disapproval at the patch job some of the men had left half-finished on the belly of a wounded bomber.
“Chief Cunningham,” Lottie said.
Cunningham didn’t even look away from his inspection of the patch. He answered her with a noncommittal grunt.
“I just want to make sure you understand,” Lottie said. “There was nothing untoward happening between me and Captain Woodward. I just came in early, and he was—” She paused, not wanting to give away Luke’s secrets. But not telling this one, she reasoned, could hurt both of them.
“He was having bad dreams,” she said. “Yelling. I was just trying to get him to wake up.”
The statement hung in the air, making Lottie shift uncomfortably.
But to her surprise, Cunningham nodded. Then he turned to her and met her eyes. His were no longer suspicious but kindly.
“Captain Woodward was here during the attack,” he said quietly.
“Pearl Harbor?” Lottie said in shock. Then she realized that, to someone who had actually been here, those words didn’t conjure up just the surprise attack, but so much more: friends, places, and work they’d devoted their lives to and loved.
From the way Cunningham nodded, she could see at once that he had been here on that terrible day, as well.
“This wasn’t our shop, then,” Cunningham said. “That shop is gone.”
Lottie shivered. Instantly, she understood what that meant, what Cunningham was trying to tell her.
Luke had survived a direct hit of the bombing.
“Real good friend of Captain Woodward’s died that day,” Cunningham said. “Wesley Pine. Got caught under a bird he was working on when the bomb dropped. Luke managed to get him out, but he was too busted to move any more. Died in his arms before they got there with their stretchers.”
Lottie’s heart turned over at the thought.
Cunningham shook his head. “Course, there were others. Still, I think Pine’s death hit him the hardest. He hasn’t been the same since,” he said. “For a long time, he had a lot of trouble with sounds, surprises. Any kind of surprise. That’s why they sent him back to the mainland, for rest.”
Lottie nodded.
“Maybe we should have let him get some more rest,” Cunningham said, looking out at the fading colors of the sunset. “Maybe we should have let him sit the whole rest of this thing out. If I had a thousand men just like him, that’s what I’d do.”
Lottie stared at the crags of Cunningham’s kindly old face, as everything she’d ever thought about Captain Woodward came apart and began to rearrange itself in her mind, around these new pieces of his story.
Cunningham sighed. “But I don’t,” he said. “This war’s too hot now. And it’s only going to get worse. We need all the men we can get. I had to have him back here.
“Because,” he added, “there’s no one like Woodward.”
He clapped Lottie on the arm.
“I’m glad you cut one of those nightmares short,” he said. “And I’m glad it wasn’t one of the other men who saw it.”
His face crinkled into a grin that let her know what had happened that morning in the hangar would stay between them. Then he looked at his watch.
“Get out of here,” he said. “You can just make dinner if you run.”
Nineteen
LOTTIE SQUINTED AS SHE stood on the deck of the carrier. The strong Hawaiian sun had come out in full force that day. The wind was whipping the tendrils of her hair that had escaped from the bandana and tight knot she always pulled it back in when she was working, as she stared up into the propeller of the busted bomber.
Over the past few weeks, the deck had steadily filled as their shop put bird after bird into fighting shape, replacing bad gears and calibrating electronics. Now there were only a few slots left on the carrier deck. The shop had been working almost around the clock to get all the planes possible onto the ship before it went out, along with dozens of others scheduled to head for the brewing conflict in the Pacific.
But they hadn’t been working so fast to get just the birds on the ship. After the carrier moved out, there wouldn’t be much of a shop. The demand for manpower was so high in the Pacific that most of the men Lottie had been working with had been assigned to deploy—they’d be shipping out along with the planes they’d fixed.
That only made sense. There was no reason to keep a whole mechanic’s shop working hundreds or thousands of miles from the real conflict. Putting them on the carrier itself was the best way to keep the pilots safe and get the planes back in the air as quickly as possible, even if a battle was raging around them.
Of course, Lottie hadn’t been assigned to deploy with them. The Navy might have tolerated women in their secretarial pool, or even in the mechanic’s shop, if they fought hard enough. But there was no place for one on a carrier—or in battle.
So when everyone else shipped out, she’d be one of the few who stayed on. It gave her a lonely feeling, thinking of rattling around in that big hangar with just a skeleton crew. But their reduced number also raised a fighting spirit she didn’t tell anyone about, especially the other women at the barracks.
For Love and Country Page 14
