“Imagine that,” Libby said. “I never dreamed being a female pilot would be so—”
“Libby?”
The voice caused Libby’s words to catch in her throat. She turned, feeling the color drain from her face. “Mother?”
She studied her face, as if remembering it from a distant dream. Libby took two steps, then paused as joy and anger fought for top billing.
Hazel Conners was exactly as Libby remembered. Her brown locks curled around her face in a similar fashion to Libby’s, and her figure was as trim as the day she had walked out of her daughter’s life. It was only as Libby looked closer that she noted deep sadness in her mother’s eyes.
“My little girl, just look at you.” Hazel smiled and opened her arms.
Annabelle nudged Libby’s shoulder. “Oh my gosh, you look just like her. But I thought you said your mother was dead.”
“She was to me.” Libby took a step back. “Mother, what in the world are you doing here? How did you find me?”
Hazel pulled a copy of Life magazine from her purse and flipped it open. “I found this on the newsstands. I knew my little girl would be a pilot someday. You always loved to fly. But I never imagined you’d be such a famous one.” Hazel took Libby’s hands in her own.
Libby shook them free. “Mother, you’re joking, right? You walked out twenty years ago. You think you can just stroll back in because you saw my photo in a magazine?”
“Well, Delaware is fairly close to New York. That’s where I’ve been all these years, New York City.” Hazel took a cigarette out of her purse but didn’t light it. It bounced on her lips as she talked. “I went there to sing. Remember, your father used to call me his little songbird? He always thought I had potential. Well, he was right. I’d like for you to come and hear me sometime.”
Libby walked over to the window. “That man in the car. Is that the guy you left with?”
“Oh, no. Hank vanished long ago. He was just a friend who urged me to follow my dreams. That’s Wilbur. He’s a piano player—and a good one at that. We’ve been together on and off for the last few years. But enough about me …” She returned the unlit cigarette to her purse.
Libby turned to Annabelle, unsure of what to say or do. The gray walls of the office seemed to close in. She sank into a cold metal chair.
Compassion filled Annabelle’s gaze, but Libby knew this was not something her friend could help her with.
“I’ll wait outside,” Annabelle mouthed, moving toward the door. She placed a soft hand on Libby’s shoulder. “I’ll be praying.”
A rush of nausea overcame Libby, and she placed a hand over her mouth, staring at the black-and-white diamond pattern on the floor. She was sure if she moved one muscle she’d lose it all—her composure, her temper … her lunch.
Hazel squatted on one knee before her daughter. Her small hands brushed the wayward curls from Libby’s face. “I know this is hard. It must be a shock after all these years.” Her voice was tender. “But I want you to know it’s always been my intention to return to you. Your father and I had lots of problems. You were just the one stuck in the middle.”
Libby’s voice caught in her throat. “All those years I thought I’d done something wrong. You said you’d be there in the morning. You said we’d make pancakes. You never called or even wrote.” Libby sat straighter and pulled her face away from her mother’s touch.
“Surely you must know what it’s like to want to follow a dream, Libby. To believe in yourself even when those around you don’t. I had to do it. Had to try.”
“At the expense of your daughter? Of missing me grow up?” She studied her mother’s gaze, looking deep into her eyes, as she’d wanted to do for the past twenty years. And although there was sadness, Libby also saw self-justification in the set of her mother’s chin. She hadn’t come for reconciliation but to tout Libby as a prize.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” Libby stood and swept her arm toward the front door. “I can’t do this right now. You’re alive. At least I know that now. You’ve found your dream. That’s all I really need to know.” She opened the glass door, hearing the little jingle of the bell. Libby could feel Wilbur’s gaze upon her, but refused him the pleasure of an acknowledgment.
“So that’s it? You want me to leave. Just like that?” Hazel straightened her blue jacket.
“Yes, I do, Mother. And I don’t think it will be a problem for you. In fact, you do it quite well.”
Hazel hurried from the room without a parting glance. Libby closed the door and leaned her head back against the wall, waiting for the sound of the car’s engine to fade into the distance.
Then she returned to the office chairs, sat down, and covered her face with her hands. There was no way to count the number of tears she’d spilt over the woman, and she refused to release one more. The ticking of the clock was her only evidence that this wasn’t some horrible dream.
The door jingled, and Annabelle reappeared.
“Libby?” She curled into the next chair and placed an arm around her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Libby glanced up into her friend’s face. “I’m sorry I lied.”
Annabelle brushed a strand of hair from Libby’s face just as her mother had done. “I understand. You don’t have to explain.”
Libby rose and crossed the room, her fists balled and pressed against her hips, the anger inside her finally winning out. “I just don’t understand how someone can do that. I mean, nothing is worth abandoning your child. No dream. No calling—” Libby looked at Annabelle and paused.
Watery tears filled her friend’s eyes. Then Libby remembered. Annabelle had two children at home. A ton of bricks fell in Libby’s gut.
She hurried over and kneeled before her friend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t talking about you. Your situation is different. Completely different.”
“Is it?” The tears broke forth and rolled down Annabelle’s cheeks. “Sometimes I wonder. Am I really doing the right thing?”
Libby didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Annabelle glanced at Libby’s face and started to cry even harder.
Twenty-Nine
D.C. FLIER, 249 OTHERS GET VALOR AWARDS
Approximately 250 American air heroes, including Maj. Felix M. Hardison of Washington, yesterday received a total of 386 medals for feats of valor performed during the United States Army’s brief but colorful history in the southwest Pacific.
All of yesterday’s awards could not be presented—some of the recipients were dead, some were hospitalized, others were away on war duty.
Excerpt from the Washington Post, October 18, 1942
Dan had been working in the coal mines nine days now, and he wondered how many more they’d have to face before their liberation.
After using the small shack that was their restroom, he trudged into the barracks, which was divided into seven rooms, and hung his number on the pegboard. His number was his identity now. It was to be worn around his neck like a dog tag and had to be hung on the wall of any room he entered. To be found in a room without it would bring on a severe beating.
He walked through the narrow corridor down to their small sleeping room, knowing the stench of the barracks was only staggering when one first came in from the fresh air. By morning he wouldn’t notice it. His weary legs stepped onto the platform as he slid open the wood-framed door, covered with rice paper. Beyond, eight thin mattresses lay on the floor side by side. Seven weary men still slept on them under threadbare blankets. It had been cold lately, and they’d pushed them together for added warmth.
“Rise and shine, boys. Time to head back to the pit.” They’d been divided into three complete shifts so that work in the mines continued day and night. Their actual “shift” lasted eight hours, but marching, organizing, and cleanup took up half of their day.
They dressed, ate, and lined up in the dark for a three-mile walk to the underground shaft mine. Except for large spotlights that guarded the perimeter, the camp
was under blackout conditions. From rumors circulating around camp, Dan learned that American bombers had already hit mainland Japan, and as the months passed, worries arose that they’d strike again.
Dan scanned every face they passed, hoping to find Natty once more. That first day, he’d pushed his way through the crowds of milling GIs, trying to reach the platform, but by the time he’d arrived it was empty.
Every day after that, Dan continued to look for his friend, searching each Japanese face he passed. But he didn’t see him again. Natsuo was gone.
Their first night at Camp 17, Dan told Gabe the whole story as they lay in their small room with six others.
“I can even remember the poem we memorized together.” Dan recited it slowly, barely louder than a whisper.
“He ate and drank the precious Words—
His Spirit grew robust—
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was Dust—
“He danced along the dingy Days
And this Bequest of Wings
Was but a Book—What Liberty
A loosened spirit brings—”
“I like it.” Gabe looked to him with tired eyes. “It’s a great poem about the Bible.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. What other book can loosen someone’s spirit and bring liberty?”
Dan had folded his hands behind his head. There had been many in his poetry class who had made the same assumption, but he didn’t feel like getting into that now. “It’s not the poem I’m concerned about, but finding Natsuo. I just know if I can find him, he would help us.”
The thought that Natsuo was somewhere near gave Dan hope as he trudged to the mines day after day. It was the brightest his outlook had been in a while.
He’d been so sure that the army would provide support and supplies as they fought on in the Philippines. When that didn’t happen, Dan still had a glimmer of hope that MacArthur would keep his word and regain control of the island. But during the dark voyage across the sea, he wondered if there was any hope of being rescued at all. Each mile the ship sailed through dark waters, his resolve faded.
Surely their country had not forgotten them. Perhaps somewhere the government officials plotted to find a way for their safe return. The bombers now hitting Japan proved that, didn’t they? Also, maybe somewhere across the ocean, the American people prayed. Maybe they remembered their boys in the hands of the enemy.
These hopes were doubled with the knowledge that Dan had a friend in the ranks of the imperial army—someone who might be willing to offer him and his buddies assistance. Perhaps they’d be able to leave Japan after all.
If we survive the mines.
On the first week there, Dan discovered the Mitsui mines had been abandoned for a reason. They’d been closed down before the war due to the number of worker deaths. In their first week of work, the rumored dangers proved true. They witnessed cave-ins causing crushed limbs, internal injuries, and even the death of one GI.
Today Dan’s group trudged through the forest trail to the mines just as another group ventured out. The men emerged filthy, and they didn’t even lift their eyes to acknowledge the new shift. They were the exploration group. Their job was to look for new veins of coal in the hard rock.
Dan’s group, the construction team, were to shore up the ceilings and make them as stable as possible for the extraction team to follow. It was that last team’s job to blast and dig out the coal.
Just outside the opening to the mines sat a large gold statue of Buddha. Dan approached the massive image, took off his hat, and bowed as required.
Stupid Japs, bowing to a carved image made of gold. As if bowing to a metal statue could really make a difference.
Inside, the ground slanted sharply with a single track leading into the darkness. If they were lucky, there was room inside the railcars, and they’d receive a free ride to the sixth level where they worked. Today was not one of those days; and instead Gabe, Dan, and the others scurried down the steep incline, their arms filled with jackhammers, shovels, and their bento boxes, which held that day’s lunch.
As the light from the opening faded, Dan clicked on the light attached to his cloth cap. His feet slid on the loose dirt, and he wished he had a free hand to help brace himself against the walls.
At Dan’s side, Gabe coughed, and his chest made a wheezing sound. The air grew hot and stuffy the farther down they got, and the walls seemed to close in. Even Dan’s breathing was labored as his lungs worked hard, longing for clean air.
They arrived at the coal area, dropped their tools, and immediately stripped down to their loincloths. Sweat already glistened on Dan’s thin body.
Two civilian workers were assigned to oversee them. One of the men, Tumato San, refused to speak to them, instead screaming his orders and waving his arms as if they were oxen. The other, Kiyoko San, had a kind face; and though he didn’t speak much, Dan noted hints of compassion in his gaze.
They worked in a hunched-over position for the next eight hours, building a wall strong enough to keep the tunnel from crumbling under excavation. Together Dan and Gabe struggled to lift boulders that either of the men could have easily tackled alone before.
Piece by piece, their group built a support wall. Every few hours they’d hear a cry echoing through the chambers, and they knew someone else had gotten hurt. Dan suspected that some of these injuries were deliberate. Anything to leave this hole.
By the end of the day, Dan’s neck and back ached. His arms throbbed, and Gabe looked even worse. Finally, Kiyoko motioned for them to stop. Dan glanced back and studied the long wall they’d managed to build. It would be there tomorrow for them to continue. And the day after that.
The railcars carried them to the top of the hill, and daylight greeted them. Dan’s eyes adjusted to the light as they were herded into the large bathroom outside the mines. Three tubs measured at least twenty feet long, with a seat around the inside rim. Since all three shifts used the same tub, it was always a murky brown. Still, the water was hot, and there was soap for them to scrub their bodies.
Dan climbed in. He dunked his whole body in the water, then pushed his hair back from his face and turned to his friend. “Well, you got your wish. Hot bathwater and soap.”
Gabe cast Dan a sideways glance. “After digging in the depths of hell, they let you dip in a little hot water.” He stood and began lathering his body. “Yet somehow I never feel clean.” Gabe shivered despite the heat of the water. “There is a darkness down there that even the strongest soap can’t scrub away.”
Thirty
GREAT FAITH HELD WORLD’S NEED NOW:
IT CAN BE PRODUCED ONLY BY A GREAT WORD,
CHRIST, THE REV. F. R. TIFFANY ASSERTS
Declaring “this is the beginning of a new age,” and “Christ is the great word for this hour,” the Rev. Fred Robert Tiffany, in a sermon yesterday morning at the Richmond Hill Baptist Church, 114th Street and Ninety-first Avenue, Queens, described today’s need of “a great faith produced by a great word.”
“The Bible declares that in the beginning was the Word. And so history validates that biblical statement. In the beginning of every great movement is a great word. Guiding every humanitarian enterprise is a great word.
“Let it be noted that Christ is the Great Word of the Bible. Old Testament poetry sang Him; ancient prophecies foreshadowed Him; old seers longed for this Great Word.”
Excerpt from the New York Times, October 19, 1942
Libby opened one eye and moaned when she realized it was morning. It had been announced last night that today would be their first ferrying assignment. She’d tossed and turned with excitement … and she worried that she’d somehow mess up and forget to follow procedure.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Libby rolled to her stomach and eyed Annabelle sitting on her bed, wrapped in a white cotton robe. An open book was in her hands.
“How can you be so chipper?” Libby pr
opped herself up on one arm.
“Morning is my favorite time of day. The whole base is quiet. It’s a nice time to think and read and pray.” She played with the edges of her worn leather Bible. “When I was little, I loved to stay overnight at my grandmother’s house. When I’d come down to the kitchen each morning, I’d always find Grandma at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the Bible opened before her.” Annabelle sighed and looked to Libby. “I’m reading from Psalms this morning. Would you like to hear something?”
Annabelle’s expression reminded Libby of Dan’s mother as she hummed her favorite hymns. “Sure.”
“This is from Psalm 139. The whole chapter is about how God made us, knows us, and will never leave us.
“If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.” Annabelle read the words slowly, emphasizing each one. “If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.”
Libby sat up and pulled her blankets around her. “When you read that, I pictured us flying in the heavens. Sometimes it does seem like I’m completely alone up there. And the second part … Dan, and your Jeff, they’re over the ‘uttermost parts of the sea,’ that’s for sure.” She pulled the blanket tighter. “But if God can see Dan even … even when I have no idea where he is …”
Annabelle crossed the room and scooted next to Libby’s side. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. I’m glad God chose to share that with us today.” She squeezed Libby’s hand. “Uh-oh, I think I hear Betty rustling around next door.”
She jumped up. “I guess these paper-thin walls are good for something. We’d better hurry, because if that group gets to the showers first, we won’t have a chance for hot water.”
Libby rose from the bed and straightened the sheets. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Annabelle swept up her towel and shuffled to the shower.
When Libby heard the water turn on, she moved toward her friend’s open Bible. She found the verses Annabelle had read, then moved down the page: The darkness hideth not from thee, she read, but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee. She closed the book, thinking about what Annabelle had said. “I’m glad God chose to share that with us today.”
Dawn of a Thousand Nights Page 25
