by Sarah Jio
And true to form, as my parents and I walked across the lawn at the Godfreys’ that afternoon, Grace could be seen assisting the waitstaff in carrying an ice sculpture—a large duck with three ducklings trailing precariously behind—from the terrace to a table on the lawn.
“Let me help you with that,” Papa called out from behind me.
“Grace, be careful,” Mother chimed in. “You’ll put out your back.”
Mrs. Godfrey relinquished her hold on the duck, which looked perilously on the verge of collapse, just as Papa dove in to assist.
“Thank you,” she said, before turning to Mother. “Hello, Luel-len, Anne. Isn’t it a lovely day for a party?”
“Yes,” I replied, peering up at the blue sky, a single fluffy white cloud its only resident. Tables covered the expansive lawn, and in every vase atop the lilac-colored table linens were five stems of purple hydrangeas. “It’s . . .” I paused, suddenly overcome with emotion for the display of love for me, for Gerard, for our impending union. “It’s all so beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Mrs. Godfrey said, entwining her substantial arm in mine. “Gerard’s on the terrace waiting for you, dear.”
I could see him in the distance, stretched out on a chaise longue, puffing on a cigar with his father. Smart, handsome, strong, he could have stepped from the pages of one of Mother’s magazines. When he saw me, he stood up quickly and snuffed the celebratory smoke. “Anne,” he called, waving, “I’ll be right down.”
I adjusted the sash on my dress, and Maxine’s words rang in my ears: “You can never play a part in life, especially not in love.” But everyone plays a part, don’t they? Mother. Papa. Kitty, in some ways. Even Maxine. Why should I be expected to behave any differently?
Moments later I felt Gerard’s arms around my waist. “You,” he said, whispering in my ear, “are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”
I blushed. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so,” he replied. “Where did you get that dress? You are a vision.”
“I wore it for you,” I said. “I wanted you to—”
“Wait, is that Ethan Waggoner?” He squinted at the entrance to the garden as a man and his very pregnant wife walked through the gate. “Sorry to interrupt, sweetheart, but it’s an old friend from college. Let me introduce you.”
The afternoon was so filled with introductions and how-do-you-dos that I hardly saw Gerard, except for an occasional wave from across the terrace or a kiss on the cheek in passing. Engagement parties were not for the engaged.
As the dinner bell rang, I looked around for Kitty, realizing that I hadn’t seen her all afternoon. That’s strange; she’s known about the event for weeks. Throughout dinner, her spot at the head table next to Gerard and me remained curiously empty. And when the band started to play the first song of the night, “You Go to My Head,” I began to worry.
“Gerard,” I whispered in his ear as we swayed on the dance floor, feeling what seemed to be a thousand pairs of eyes staring at us through the warm night air. I tried to ignore them. “Kitty hasn’t shown up. I’m worried about her.”
“She’s probably just running behind schedule,” he said, without a trace of concern. “You know Kitty.”
True, Kitty was often late. But not five hours late—to the engagement party of her best friend. No, something was wrong. I felt it.
I rested my head on Gerard’s lapel as he led me around the dance floor in perfect form. I closed my eyes and let him lead me, as I always did, never taking the reins for a moment, as I listened to the words of the song.
You go to my head and linger like a haunting refrain. . . . Did Gerard go to my head?
“Gerard,” I whispered, “have you thought much about the war? About joining?”
He pulled back to look at me. “Sweetheart, if you’re worried about me being drafted, please don’t. Father’s already taken care of that.”
I frowned. “Oh,” I said, pausing to choose my words carefully. “But, don’t you ever worry that . . .”
“Worry about what?”
My thoughts were interrupted by motion, detected in the corner of my eye, at the entrance to the garden. Someone was waving, trying to get my attention. The lights from the dance floor blurred the periphery, but I squinted hard to bring the person into focus. Kitty. There she was, standing behind the garden gate. Is it locked? Why isn’t she coming in? She dabbed a handkerchief to her eye. No, something is wrong.
The song ended and several other couples joined us on the dance floor. I leaned in close to Gerard and whispered, “Do you mind sitting this one out?”
He gave me a confused smile, but nodded, before I raced through the gate, where I found Kitty seated on the sidewalk, slumped over, head buried against her knees.
“Kitty, what happened?” I noticed her face first, the tear-smeared makeup down her cheeks, eyes red from crying.
“You must think I’m a terrible, terrible friend,” she sobbed, burying her face again.
I smoothed her hair, tucking whatever stray locks I could back into her hairpins, but it was no use. Her curls were disheveled in a way I’d never seen before. “Of course I don’t, dear,” I said. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”
“I’m so sorry, Anne, for standing you up like I have,” she sniffed. “You must consider me a wretched friend. And I am. I am a miserable, unworthy friend.” More sobbing ensued, and I pulled out a fresh handkerchief from the fold of my dress and handed it to her.
“You are not an unworthy friend,” I said. “You are my dearest friend.”
Kitty blew her nose, and looked up at me with frightfully grief-stricken eyes. Her gaze telegraphed sadness, that was certain, but also a glint of desperation. Here was a woman on the verge of a drastic move. I looked away.
“I arrived hours ago,” she said. “But I just couldn’t come in.”
“Why on earth not?”
She blew her nose again. “Because I can’t bear to see you off,” she said.
“But I’m not going anywhere, Kitty.”
“That’s just it,” she said. “You are. You’re getting married. You’re changing. And I know I should be happy for you, but all I can think of is how I’m losing you.”
“Oh, Kitty,” I said. “You’ll never lose me!”
She nodded. “But I will. And it’s the way it has to be. I just haven’t gotten used to it yet.” She pointed to the party on the other side of the hedge. “It’s why I couldn’t join in tonight. I’m so sorry, Anne.”
I reached for her hand. “No,” I said firmly. “You mustn’t apologize.” I used the hem of my dress to blot an errant tear from her cheek.
“Anne,” she said, a little distantly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
I let go of her hand. “What?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Tell me anyway,” I said, bracing myself for whatever was coming.
“I’ve made a big decision—about my future,” she said. She cleared her throat. “You’re moving on, and so must I.”
“Kitty, whatever do you mean?”
She took a deep, calming breath. “You remember the pact we made when we signed up for nursing school together?”
I nodded. “Yes. We swore we wouldn’t end up like our mothers.”
“Exactly,” she said, staring straight ahead. “And that we wanted a different life, a more meaningful life.”
I frowned. “Kitty, if you’re implying that by me marrying Gerard I’m—”
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t mean that at all. I’m just saying that it occurred to me that there is something I can do with my life, with my skills—something of great meaning. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, ever since we first heard rumors of the war, but tonight, Anne, it’s clear what I need to do.”
I clenched my hands tightly in my lap.
“I’m going away,” she said. “Far away—to the South Pacific. I’m joining the Army
Nurse Corps to assist with the war efforts. I was downtown today at the volunteer registration center. Anne, they need trained nurses. They’re desperate for them. This could finally be a chance for me to do something of value.”
My heart surged with emotion. I thought of the stories recounted in Norah’s letters about the islands—the muggy nights with the stars so close you could touch them, the beauty and the mystery, the fear of destruction, of war, lurking around every corner. The men. And though I’d only dared to dream about what it would be like, I had no idea that Kitty had been quietly making plans to go.
I kicked a pebble, sending it flying into the street. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
I sighed.
“Listen,” Kitty continued. “You’re getting married. Everyone’s getting married, or going to school, or going somewhere. I won’t sit here idly and watch while everything changes. I want to be a part of the change.”
Yes, change was happening to both of us, whether we wanted to participate or not. The closer we came to it, the more painful it felt. And now that we were staring it in the eye, it produced an ache in my heart that I could not ignore.
“Mother hates the idea, of course,” Kitty continued, “of me running off to an untamed island, to mingle with savages, to live among army men, but I don’t care. I don’t care what anyone thinks, except”—her tone became more cautious—“well, you.”
I couldn’t bear to think of Kitty out there either, but not because of the “savages” or the men, though the latter did concern me a fair amount. No, I couldn’t stand it that Kitty was leaving, flinging herself to another part of the world—without me.
“I’ve been corresponding with Norah,” I finally confessed.
Kitty looked displeased, but then her eyes brightened. “Isn’t she in the South Pacific now?”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s been after me to sign up.”
Kitty grinned. “Well, she’s wasting her time on the wrong girl.”
“Maybe not,” I said quietly.
I thought about the wedding, just weeks away. All the little details ran through my mind like the frames of a film. My dress, French silk. The blue garter. A five-tier cake, with fondant. Doilies. Bridesmaid bouquets. White peonies and lavender roses. I shuddered. How can I get married without Kitty standing by my side?
I sat up straighter and nodded to myself. “I’m going with you,” I said matter-of-factly.
Kitty beamed. “Anne! No, you can’t mean that. What about the wedding? We’d have to leave in under a week, and the commitment is at least nine months, maybe longer.”
I shrugged. “They need nurses, don’t they?” My heart pounded—with excitement, with anticipation, and also with fear.
Kitty nodded through her sniffles. “They do,” she said. “The recruiter says the action in the Pacific is heating up, and they’re in dire need of nurses.”
I smiled. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you set off on the adventure of your life without me?”
Kitty threw her arms around me, and we sat there on the sidewalk together for the next song, and then another. The music from the party sounded as if it might be a world away, and in some ways it was. The clipped laurel hedge represented the border between the certain and the uncertain.
“Gerard will never forgive me,” Kitty said, “for stealing his fiancée away on the eve of his wedding.”
I shook my head. “That’s nonsense. You’re not taking me prisoner. I’m going because I want to.”
I looked over my shoulder at the party behind us. My decision would come with consequences; I knew that. Mother would be beside herself. Papa would warn against it. And Gerard . . . Gerard. I sighed. He would find this hard to take—his fiancée going off to a battle zone while he stayed comfortably at home. I knew he’d also be hurt, which is what worried me most of all. But I couldn’t think about that, not now. If he loved me, truly loved me, he would wait—and if he wouldn’t, well, then I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
As each moment passed, I felt my resolve strengthen. I needed to go to the South Pacific with Kitty. Why, exactly? The answer was still hazy. And yet one thing was certain: In this new adventure, I would not be simply playing a part.
Chapter 3
Kitty jabbed her elbow into my side, and I groaned, opening my heavy eyelids. “Look out your window,” she said, squealing with delight. “We’re almost here!”
It had been a forty-five-minute flight from an island to the north, where we’d arrived by ship. I’d been seasick for a full four days and longed to be on land again. I looked around the cabin of the small plane, so gray and mechanical. A place for men. Yet, other than the pilots in the cockpit and a single soldier, a tall, gangly fellow with strawberry-blond hair and a freshly pressed uniform on his way back from an extended medical leave, the plane was filled to capacity with nurses.
“Look!” Kitty exclaimed, holding her hand to her heart. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”
I leaned over Kitty to have a look out the tiny window. I gasped as my eyes met the scene below—the impossibly light blue water against white sand and the lush, emerald-green hillside. I hadn’t expected to catch my breath at the sight. Frankly, I hadn’t expected much. Sure, Norah, now on a ship headed stateside, had talked of the islands’ allure, but newspaper articles from home told a different story, one of an unrelenting tropical heat, squalor, and misery, where men fought in mosquito-infested swamps described in letters as “a living hell.” And yet the view from the window didn’t seem to fit that description. No, this island was something else, something entirely different.
My thoughts turned to Gerard and the look on his face when I boarded the plane—sad, unsure, a little frightened. He had been wonderful when I told him, the day after the party, that I was going. But there had been something concerning in his eyes too.
Of course, he tried to talk me out of going, but eventually he squeezed my hand and forced a smile. “I’ll be here for you when you return. Nothing will change that,” he said.
After a long talk before I left, we decided to postpone our wedding a year. Mother was devastated when she heard the news, running to her bedroom to weep. Papa was a little more difficult to read. I waited until the evening after the party at the Godfreys’, right before supper, when he was sipping a scotch in his study. Little beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead. “Are you sure you want to do this, kid?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I can’t explain it other than it just feels right.”
He nodded, then lit a cigar, puffing the smoke toward the open window. His eyes glimmered. “I wish I had your courage.”
“Papa—”
“Well, that’s that,” he said abruptly, snuffing out the cigar in an ashtray and any emotion lingering in the air. “We don’t want to miss dinner. Maxine is making croque monsieur.” And yet, Papa managed to take only one bite that night.
I straightened my dress. How had mine gotten so rumpled when Kitty’s looked freshly pressed? I frowned. Have I made a mistake coming here? I folded my hands in my lap and eyed the landscape below—my new home, for a good portion of a year, at least.
Constance Hildebrand, the charge nurse who would be our superior on the island, stood up in the front of the plane and looked sternly at the group of young nurses. She was a portly woman with gray hair tucked severely under a nurse’s cap clipped so tightly it looked painful. If she had a gentle side, she kept it under lock and key. “We are almost to the island,” she said. It was loud in the airplane, and even though she spoke in a shout, I still had to read her lips to understand her completely. “Don’t be fooled by its beauty; it isn’t a place of luxury,” she continued. “You will work harder and perspire more than you can imagine. The heat is harsh. The humidity is suffocating. And if the mosquitoes don’t get you, the natives will. The ones close to the shoreline are friendly, but don’t venture farther than that. Cannibal colonies still exist not far from
the base.”
I glanced at the other women near the aisle, wide-eyed and frightened, as Nurse Hildebrand cleared her throat. “I know you are tired, but there is work to be done,” she said. “You will find your quarters, wash, and meet me in the infirmary at fourteen hundred hours. And, a word of warning: There will be a great many men watching your arrival, men who haven’t seen women in a very long time, aside from the wahine.” She shook her head for emphasis. “Do not oblige the men with eye contact. They must be made to behave like gentlemen.”
One of the girls in the row in front of us whipped out her compact, dusting her nose with a bit of powder before applying a fresh coat of red lipstick.
Kitty leaned in toward me with a grin. “There are two thousand men on the island,” she whispered. “And forty-five of us.”
I frowned at Kitty. How could she let her mind turn to men when all I could think of were Nurse Hildebrand’s chilling warnings? “Do you really think there are cannibals?”
“Nah,” Kitty said confidently. “She’s just trying to scare us.”
I nodded to reassure myself. “Besides,” I added, “Norah didn’t say anything about mosquitoes in her letters.”
Kitty nodded in agreement. “Meredith Lewis—you know, Jillian’s sister—was on another island near here. She arrived with the first wave of troops and said the cannibal stories are all fiction.”
But instead of comforting me, Kitty’s words hit my heart like shrapnel. Meredith Lewis had been in Gerard’s class in high school. She’d stood next to him in his yearbook photograph, and the memory made me long for home. My heart swelled with uncertainty, but the thoughts quieted as the plane began to shudder and jolt.
Kitty and I held hands as we touched down with a thud, speeding down a runway that appeared dangerously close to the ocean. For a moment, it seemed a very real possibility that we would catapult right into that great body of water like a speeding torpedo. I quietly crossed my heart and said a prayer.
“Here goes,” I whispered under my breath a few moments later, as I filed in with the other women to exit the plane.
