The train shimmied and bumped over the tracks as it sped south toward London. Van crossed his arms and surveyed his fellow passengers. Most were hidden behind a newspaper while a few stared out the window or slept. Several windows were open, and the acrid smell of coal exhaust swirled through the car.
Next to him, Cora sifted through the notes she’d made while they were at the internment camp. Apparently, someone of importance wanted good press about the conditions of the facility because they’d been given a full tour and an interview with the camp commander, Major Hamilton. Fewer than fifty detainees remained, but the major had talked about the early days when spy fever had prompted thousands of arrests and the facility was filled to capacity.
Most intriguing was the discussion about the tribunals conducted on a regular basis during which time a prisoner was given a hearing to determine whether he should remain interned. What would have changed to allow his release? Did the government continue to do background checks to determine the validity of the charges? How would they prove whether a man was a spy or not? Before the interview, he’d not given thought to the administrative aspect of handling the war.
He shuddered. When had man become so clinical about war? Perhaps the military had always been that way, and he’d been blessedly ignorant about the process.
The railroad car trundled over an uneven section of track, and Cora bumped into his shoulder. Her warmth permeated his sleeve, sending tingles down his arm. Did she feel that too?
“Sorry.” He shifted away from her, hoping the distance would reduce his attraction to the beautiful reporter. It didn’t.
“Sorry.” She frowned and moved closer to the window. “Am I crowding you?”
“No, but I’m ready to be off this behemoth.”
“Is it train travel in general or this particular trip? You’ve been pensive since shortly after we boarded.”
“A lot on my mind, I guess.”
“Anything you want to discuss?”
He tried to cross his long legs then gave up when his knee hit the seat in front of him. Pain shot up his thigh, and he sighed. Obviously, the engineer who’d designed the seating wasn’t very tall.
“Van, do you want to get off at the next stop and walk around for a bit?” Concern lined her face. “Maybe grab something to eat before taking the next train?”
“Tempting, but I’d like to reach London sooner rather than later.” He fidgeted, and his leg pressed against Cora’s. He drew back as if burned. “I know I’m acting like a mountain lion with an injured paw. How about if we pick a topic totally unassociated with the war?”
A smile lit up her face, and she nodded.
The tightness in his chest eased. How could she make him feel better with a simple look? No one he’d ever dated could lighten his mood like Cora. He needed to remember she was just a colleague.
“Tell me more about Iowa. What did you like best about living there?”
Visions filled his mind’s eye with fields of corn stretching to the horizon. His grandfather and him side by side in the endless rows picking ears. Back-breaking work, but satisfying. Smart enough to diversify his crops, Grandpop also grew oats.
A sharp jab to his ribs brought him back to the present.
Cora grinned. “You traveled back there, didn’t you?”
His face warmed, and he nodded. “I miss the wide-open spaces and fresh air. I’ve smelled enough coal dust for a lifetime.”
She giggled. “Me, too. Tell me what you were thinking about.”
“I was remembering harvest time. Grandpop and I picking acres of corn. The horses hitched to the wagon, their harnesses jingling, their musky aroma mixing with the scent of dirt. Sun beating down on our backs, and every now and then a breeze would waft through, and the stalks would dance and wave.”
“If you love farming so much, why did you go into newspaper work?”
“Grandpop was adamant that I make a living with my mind. He knows how tenuous farming life can be. One bad season of drought or insects, and a man can lose his property. He wanted a different path for me.”
“But now you’re over here in harm’s way.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t crazy about that when I told him, but he understood my desire to do something bigger.” His heart tugged. Would he make it home to see his grandfather again? “Enough about me. I know about Honolulu, but tell me about your journey to England. Not every gal gets this chance.”
“Which is why I don’t take my job for granted. My college roommate tried to get certified, but wasn’t able to. She cobbled together a collection of small newspapers willing to take her stories then came over here on her own dime.”
“Impressive.”
“Yes, but she’s not with an agency which doesn’t give her credibility with some people.” She sighed. “My certification took weeks. I think the government was looking for reasons not to appoint me, but my background check came back clean. This set of articles has been my first assignment since arriving. I wish I’d thought to apply when I got home from Pearl, but I was in a fog for months. Now, the war is drawing to a close. Not in the next few months, but maybe another year or eighteen months.”
“In many ways, that year will feel like a lifetime.” And then he’d never see her again. His heart fell at the thought.
“These few weeks certainly have felt that way.”
“Then we’ll get back to normal, whatever that means.”
“It means the boys will come home, and we gals will be relegated to covering garden parties again.” She frowned. “The real jobs will be few and far between.”
“Surely, magazines like Vogue or Collier’s will hire women. Consider your…uh…Miss O’Malley. I don’t suppose she’d help you get on there.”
Cora’s laugh was harsh. “Hardly. And I wouldn’t help her either.”
“I may be out of line here, but you need to shed your anger and bitterness toward her—”
“You are out of line.” Her face darkened. “My feud with Myrtle is none of your business.”
“When the dispute impacts our work, it is my business.” He took her hand in his, trying to ignore the way her palm nestled perfectly in his. “Those emotions aren’t doing either one of you any good. What happened was a long time ago. Neither of you are the same person as you were then, but like you, she’s seeking credibility in her career.”
Cora snatched away her hand. “She’s nothing like me, and if you paid attention, you'd know that.”
Van crossed his arms. Why did he bother trying to understand women, especially Cora? She’d been a prickly pear since arriving at Broadcasting House and wore a chip on her shoulder the size of an Iowa cornfield. Only two more articles remained in their assignment, then they could go their separate ways. And good riddance, too. He’d have more success wrestling a bobcat than figuring out what made Cora tick.