“Tommy!” I run toward him to throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly.
“Easy, girl. Your brother’s got enough broken on him without you breaking anything else,” Mama says. The words are stern, but she’s laughing.
Suddenly, I see the whole room clear as day. Mama is there, right next to the bed, and a gangly kid stands on the other side of him. A gangly kid, whom I recognize as my not-so-little brother Abel.
“Oh my God!” Instantly, I gasp. You don’t take the Lord’s name in vain in Mama’s house. But this time, no one seems to notice.
“Thomas, Abel! Look at you!” Five months can change a little boy almost as much as two years can change a man.
I turn to Mama and laugh. “I must be Rip Van Winkle! How long have I been gone?”
Grandy comes in from the hallway, his hat in his hands. “Long enough for the military to do their dern jobs and find your brother.”
“And long enough for Abel to have a growth spurt or two,” Mama adds with a grin.
It’s too much. I want to hug everyone, I want to laugh, and I want to hear everything. Instead, I burst into tears.
“It’s all right, Clayfoot,” Thomas says, patting my arm with his good hand. “We’re home now. Everybody’s home.”
After dinner, when Abel’s gone off to catch fireflies with the neighbor boys and Grandy’s gone to bed, Thomas shows off his broken hip, the pin in his ankle, and tells me the story of his tour of duty.
“The Philippines are something else, Clayfoot. Hotter than a down-home July, most of the time. My first night, the mosquitoes were so thick, it was a wonder we all didn’t come down with malaria. We were at the back of a platoon of colored soldiers, not really going anywhere, just holding our ground, keeping this particular island away from the Japanese. We were treating dysentery and fevers; jungle diseases, not war wounds. And then, one night, bang! Like a bolt of lightning hit the place. Next thing I know, I’m hearing Japanese.”
Thomas laughs and points to himself, lying on Abel’s bed in the living room in his pale blue striped cotton pajamas, the buttons winking pearly and bright. “They caught me with my pants down, Ida. Too hot to sleep in pj’s, I was in my boxers when the Nips came. And I was lucky. Of all the personnel at the hospital, only two of us survived.”
In the kitchen, I can hear Mama humming as she puts the dishes away.
“Tommy.” I put my hand on his leg. It’s just like it used to be, me sitting on the foot of his bed, a big cup of warm milk in my hands, listening to stories when I couldn’t sleep. Only now, I’ve got stories of my own to tell when the time comes.
“They tortured us, Ida, something fierce. Didn’t even want information. Just wanted to listen to us scream, I think.” He looks at me with hooded eyes. “They’d never seen Negroes before. We were a novelty, like damn circus elephants. They didn’t believe I was a doctor. Didn’t believe I could be.” He looks off in the distance. The night is soft around us. “Who knows, Ida? Maybe it saved my life.
“Then one day, American planes started flying overhead. We were in the jungle pretty deep, but they found us. Some of the other boys I was with were killed in the rescue. But the guys who pulled us out didn’t know they were rescuing anybody. They were just hunting Japanese. Said the Japs blew up our hospital when they took us. It was such a mess, they thought everybody was dead.”
Thomas rests his head back on the goose down pillows Mama’s plumped up all around him.
“I came home just as soon as I knew the trip wouldn’t kill me. Don’t know if I’ll ever run again . . .” He trails off and pats his hip. We’re both thinking about him running to save Daddy. Look at Thomas fly. I put my hand over his and he sighs. “Looks like I’ve got about a month’s worth of healing left.” He grins at me. “My own prognosis. But that’ll probably be down to two weeks with Mama on duty.”
I grin back. “She was so worried about you. She’ll fix you up right and then love you to death, but she’ll take good care of you.”
Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t I know it. Remember that time I fell off the barn trying to catch swallows?”
“Yeah. And you call me Clayfoot.”
Thomas laughs. It makes him suck in a little air. “Ribs are still bruised. And broken,” he explains. “Just like when I fell off that roof. Mama sat up with me around the clock until I could breathe without flinching. The only reason she’s not in here right now is because you are.”
“Good,” I tell him. “She could use the break. And so could you.”
“Don’t say ‘break.’” He groans.
We both laugh. I take a sip of my milk and am reminded of Lily trying to calm herself before our flight test.
Thomas reads something in my face. “Now, what’s this about you joining the army?” he asks. “I thought you were going to stay here on the farm.”
Like I asked you to. He doesn’t say it, but I hear it just the same. The wind leaves my lungs. I denied Thomas was my brother so I could stay in the WASP. He’s watching me, but I can’t meet his eyes.
“Don’t think I don’t remember what you said,” I tell him.
“I tried to stay, I really did. But the news coming back from overseas was worse and worse, and it was just so hard, sitting on my hands, waiting for you to come home. So I joined the fight the only way I could.”
“By pretending to be white?”
My stomach aches. It sounds so outlandish to hear him say it.
“Abel showed me this article one day, about Uncle Sam looking for women who could fly. Suddenly, it was like everything Daddy taught me about flying was for a reason. A good reason, too.”
Thomas is quiet, but I’ve found my footing again. “I’ve flown from Philadelphia to California. I even learned to swim.”
“You? Swim?” Thomas looks impressed in spite of himself. Then he shakes his head. “That’s great, Clayfoot. But Mama needed you on the farm.”
“No, she wanted me at home, but she didn’t need me, Thomas. She doesn’t need much of anything. Between her and Grandy, this place runs like a Swiss clock. And Abel’s got more friends all the time. No, it was just me and Jolene cleaning the Wilson house, collecting cans and panty hose.” I twist my fingers together, as twisted as my tongue feels. “You just wouldn’t understand.”
Thomas smiles. “Sure I would, Clayfoot. It’s like standing in that field out there, too small to pick the tractor off Daddy and too slow to get help in time.”
My breath catches in my throat. I look at my brother, and old tears rise to the surface of my eyes. Thomas has always blamed himself for not being able to save our father. That’s why he wants to become a doctor. Kind of like me becoming a WASP when I couldn’t save Thomas. But I still couldn’t save him.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Like that.”
“And you wish you could do more,” he says quietly.
“Yeah.”
Thomas sighs. “The only difference is, you can. And you are. But it’s a dangerous thing you’re doing, Ida Mae, playing white. I’ve been in this man’s army. I hate to think what’ll happen if they figure out you’re colored.” He shakes his head, and I think of what I’ve already done in the name of passing.
“Tommy, I’m so sorry.” I grit my teeth to keep from crying. God help me, I’ve lied so many times over to join the WASP, and I know I’ll keep doing it, as long as they let me fly.
Thomas shrugs. “Still, I’m proud of you, Clayfoot. I think about the sight of those planes flying over that prison camp, and I know that they were there because of girls like you. And I couldn’t be prouder.”
I laugh, a choking sound, and feel like I can breathe again. “Stop messing with me, Thomas.”
“Oh, I know better than to mess with a WASP.”
I swat him, and he swats back. Maybe he understands. Maybe this is his forgiveness.
Mama comes into the room. “Ida Mae, don’t make me tell you again. You’ll break that boy beyond repair.”
“He started it.”<
br />
“I don’t care who started it.” Mama gives us her best “there’ll be trouble in this house” look, hands on her hips, dish towel still in her hand. “It’s finished now.” And then she smiles. “Lord, it’s good to have you home. Now you can both be home to stay.”
Thomas and I look at each other. “I’ve been honorably discharged,” he explains apologetically.
“Oh. Well. I’m just getting started.”
Thomas nods, as if to say, “I know.” But Mama doesn’t look happy.
“Mama, I—” She leaves the room without a word.
Thomas and I sit there in silence. I know better than to go after her now. If I do, I’ll be asking for permission to leave, and she didn’t really give it to me the first time. She certainly won’t now. But I have to go back. I have to report for duty.
Thomas squeezes my hand.
“Don’t worry, Clayfoot. You know she’s proud of you, don’t you? All she could talk about once she was done talking about me was you.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I must admit, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Well, Brother Thomas, there’s more where that came from.”
Now Thomas laughs even harder. “Boy, we’re in trouble now.”
I find myself laughing, too. I’ve got six days at home. I won’t ruin them by arguing with Mama now. It can wait. It will have to.
“Well, it’s past my bedtime.” I stand up and stifle a yawn.
“You’re kidding?” Thomas says. “It’s six A.M. in Manila right now.”
“Well, it’s bedtime in Slidell. I’ll see you at breakfast. Good night.”
He pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “Good night.”
I mount the stairs, hearing the familiar sounds of the house creaking around me. Abel is asleep in his room on a cot Mama used to keep in the attic but deemed too springy for Thomas to convalesce in. I tiptoe into Abel’s room and kiss my bean-pole little brother good night.
Back in my own bed, the ceiling is too low. I miss the barracks, believe it or not, and the open cockpits of our trainer planes. I close my eyes and pretend I’m simply flying at night, with the glowing instrument panel my only guide. It helps. My thoughts drift to Lily in her apartment, ten stories above Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue, and Patsy in Florida, unable to wear her landlady’s wedding pearls. Patsy Kake. I sit up and dig around in my suitcase for my knotted handkerchief. I undo a knot for Thomas and feel lighter for it. Patsy was right. It helps to travel light, but some things you just can’t leave behind. Those are my last thoughts, and then I fall asleep.
Chapter 20
“Girl! Look at you, look at you!”
Jolene hollers from down the block. I wave and she rushes down the street toward me, still in her cleaning clothes, a satchel in one hand and sweater in the other.
We’re outside of Miss Mary’s three-chair beauty parlor, built into the side of her house. The long white wooden building has merliton vines growing in the side yard. Jolene drops her bag when she reaches me and I sweep her into a hug.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I tell her, breathing in the familiar smell of pine cleaner and Cashmere Bouquet soap. Her scent is a sudden anchor to my old life.
“I’ll say.” Jolene pulls back. “You’ve put on some weight.” She pinches my arm. “But it’s solid.”
“Calisthenics,” I say.
“But you look pale as a ghost, Ida Mae. Don’t they let you see the sun out there?”
I smile weakly. I don’t want to talk about skin color. “Come on, Miss Mary’s waiting.”
Jolene and I are going to the picture show on Canal tonight. It seems plenty of sailor boys are making their way through New Orleans while heading toward the Gulf of Mexico, and Jolene wants us both looking good.
Miss Mary is a smiling woman with round glasses and a flair for the latest hairdos. She waves at us as we come in and rises from the card table where she’s been doing a crossword puzzle. I breathe in the sharp smells of straightening lye, newly pressed hair, and memories. Miss Mary gave Abel his first haircut when he was three.
The shady room is a welcome change from the sun-bright street outside. We settle into the pink hair-washing chairs, with their neck rests low against the black sinks.
“How you been, Ida Mae?” Miss Mary asks me as she rinses down my hair. Miss Mary loves doing my hair. “Smooth as silk and easy to press,” she says. Today, she runs her fingers through it, smiling at me.
“Haven’t seen you in a while. People’ve been talking.”
I look at Jolene. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Of course there would be rumors, and Mama’s not one to bother with gossipers. She’ll just say, “None of your business,” which only leads to more speculation. “What kind of talk?” I ask.
Miss Mary shrugs and her young assistant, Eliza, turns her head to hide a smirk. “It’s just that good girls don’t disappear from home for months at a time.”
Jolene starts to say something, but I beat her to it. “Good girls, Miss Mary?” I tilt my head to look up at her. “You think I’m not?” I can feel the heat rise in my face. “Do I look like I’ve been off having babies?”
At the next sink, Eliza shrugs. “Or not having them.”
“Eliza Brown, that is enough,” Miss Mary says sharply. “Now, I’m sorry, Ida Mae. I think the world of your mama, so I think the world of you, too, but you should know that people are talking, and a lot of that mess is said right here. So, what should I be telling them?”
I’m too angry to speak. Jolene didn’t tell me there was gossip to worry about. From her chair, she gives me an apologetic shrug. Miss Mary sighs. “Listen, child, I’m trying to help. Anything I say, they’ll believe. For a while, at least.”
I take a breath. Mama did try to warn me. Jolene did, too. “Tell them I’m in the army.”
“You enlisted?” Eliza whirls around to look at me, eyes wide with something like respect. “I didn’t know that, Ida Mae. Good for you. They got a lot of colored nurses in the army now. Some of them even working on white men.”
Jolene catches my eye and raises an eyebrow enough to let me know that any rumors were moved along by Eliza here. So, let her fill in the blanks any way she sees fit.
I shake my head and change the subject. “Thomas is home.”
“Thank the Lord for that.” Miss Mary relaxes visibly. She ties on her apron and soaps up my hair. “We’ve lost too many good boys,” she says. “Glad to see one of them come home alive.”
At the next sink, Eliza gets to work on Jolene. “Danny Taylor came home last month,” she says in her high, young voice. I brighten to hear Danny’s name. I remember his strong bright smile that day Jolene and I saw him doing roadwork. The day before we went to war.
“He came back in so many pieces, they said they’d have to have two funerals to fit them all.” Eliza chuckles nervously. I gasp.
“What happened?”
“Lord, whatever happens,” Miss Mary said. “One of them minefields or airplane bombs. His mama’s lucky to have any piece of him back.”
My heart sinks to my feet. “Jolene, did you know?”
Jolene stays quiet for a long time. “Yeah,” she says at last. “I went to the funeral.”
The sunny mood of our afternoon is dampened, and we sit through the rest of our hair washing in silence. It’s not until we are under the dryers that Jolene perks up again.
“So, tell me everything. Starting with height.”
Her hair is a nest of combed-out curls and mine still in curlers. She’s only halfway through her styling process, and I’m practically done with mine. The two of us are completely alone in the back of the salon. Even shouting over the hair dryers, no one can overhear us. Not even Eliza with her big old gossip-hearing ears.
“What do you mean, height?”
“Well, how tall the men are, of course! A man in uniform always looks taller to me, like all that extra starch Uncle Sam’s been using in the laundry gets into their backb
ones.”
I shake my head. Jolene is as boy crazy as ever. Not even a war could change that.
“It’s not like that,” I tell her. “There aren’t any men stationed at the field anymore, outside of instructors, and it’s strictly forbidden to mix it up with them.” I don’t tell her about my dance with Walt Jenkins. That would scandalize even Jolene. I wish I could talk to her about him, though. I wonder what she’d think of him if he wasn’t white. My face flushes just thinking about it. Ida Mae, you have to watch your step, I remind myself. I didn’t join the WASP to find a white man.
Fortunately, Jolene’s not looking at me. She frowns and flips through her copy of Woman’s Day magazine. “Girl, I thought you’d been having yourself some fun. Just marching around and flying airplanes sounds dull, dull, dull, dull, dull.”
“Well, it’s not. I like it.”
“Mm-hmm. And how are the girls? Are white army girls as snooty as civilians?”
“No. Well, not all of them. I’ve made some really good friends.”
“Right,” Jolene says, and I know what she’s thinking. Good friends as long as I’m white. But a real friend would accept me even if they knew the truth. Or would they? I frown. It’s a question I haven’t got an answer to. But I do know that I won’t tell Lily the truth while we’re still in the service. If I got found out, we’d both be in trouble. But maybe afterward, when all of this is over . . .
I sigh. We’ll just have to see.
“They really are good people, Jolene. You would have liked my friend Patsy. She’s . . . well, she was a lot like you.”
“What do you mean ‘was’?”
My face gets hot, but it’s killing me not to talk about it. “Oh, Jolene. She died on our last flight. Mechanical failure.”
Jolene drops her magazine and throws her hood of the dryer up.
“I thought you was flying planes. You never said anything about dying.”
I close my eyes. I shouldn’t have said anything, but Jolene is my best friend. I wanted her to know. “Please don’t tell my mother. It’s not anyone’s fault if it happens. I’m careful, as careful as anyone can be.”
Flygirl Page 17
