Cora waved as the trio of women and their children headed out of the park. Their presence had been a godsend. Mind racing with confusion after having Van selected for a special assignment, hearing him claim he cared about her more than he should to their editor, and then her conversation with Miss Gellhorn, she’d burst out of Broadcasting House uncertain where to turn.
The youngster’s giggles and joyous expressions had drawn her across the street to watch them play. In many ways, she longed for the simple life of childhood. Her parents had taken care of her every need, and her sisters had been her best friends. Until high school when teenage angst overrode familial bonds, and they’d grown apart.
Her lips trembled. Would she live to see Emily and Doris? Would they survive this war and come home?
Greeted warmly by the kids’ mothers, she spoke to them about everything and nothing. Glad to have the day off from the factory free of responsibilities, the women regaled her with their experiences at home and at the plant. Working ten to twelve hours, their typical day included rising before dawn to do laundry, weed their Victory gardens, go to the market, and myriad other tasks to keep the household running without their husbands.
Despite worry that lurked behind their eyes, they’d joked with each other and her. Did the nations realize the level of sacrifice being made on the home fronts? Especially in countries where being killed in an air raid was a daily concern.
She shook her head and blew out a sigh. Focus on the positive, Cora. You still have a job, a place to live, and more importantly, your life.
A breeze lifted the swings, sending them swaying as if unseen children balanced on the seat and pumped their legs. Cora glanced around. The park had emptied, and she was alone. She grinned. Childhood, here I come.
With a hop, she seated herself on the wooden board and wrapped her fingers around the ropes, their textured surface rough on her palms. Using her toe, she gave herself a push, leaned back to create momentum, then pumped her legs. The wind stroked her cheeks, and tugged at her ponytail with warm fingers. She closed her eyes and unclipped the barrette binding her hair. Flowing freely, her tresses danced around her face tickling her skin.
Higher. Higher. To freedom.
Thank You, God, for simple pleasures.
Her muscles loosened, and her breathing slowed. Birds sang in the trees. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.” She smiled. The park was green with no water nearby, but King David vocalized what she couldn’t in his Psalm.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” Why couldn’t she remember to cling to God’s promise? She allowed herself to get caught up in strife and worry, letting fright of the future to strip her of peace. He was in control, yet she tried to push her will into the forefront.
“Forgive me, Father. I messed up again. Help me follow Your plan and not mine.”
“Cora!”
Her eyes popped open. Van trotted toward her. Was he part of God’s plan?
She stopped her legs, slowing her movement, until she was able to catch her foot on the ground.
“Don’t quit on my account. I could join you.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I’ve wasted enough time, but it felt good to put the day on hold.” She cocked her head. “I thought you’d be in with the bureau chief. What’s up?”
“Yeah, he’s too busy talking to the guys who are headed out with the troops. Said he’d see me later.” He shuffled his feet, looking like a small child who’d been caught red handed in the cookie jar. “Anyway, I should have taken care of Miss O’Malley’s insinuations two days ago, and I’m sorry for being lax about it, but I called Mr. Atkinson. No need to worry about our jobs. In fact, he wants you to continue with our column while I’m on special assignment.”
“That’s wonderful, Van. Thanks for handling that.” Her heart thumped at the gleam in his eye. He did seem to care, but were his feelings as strong as he alluded to during his phone call? “I guess I was silly to worry.” Once again, he’d proven to be a hero, taking care of her needs and seeming thrilled to do so.
“Happy to do it.” He laced his fingers with hers and pulled her off the swing. “I should get back in case the chief is ready to talk, but will you wait for me? We could grab something to eat. Might be our last chance for a while.”
Her stomach clenched, and she pinned a smile on her face. More time with Van would only make their separation harder because she loved him. She’d been fighting the realization for days, but she may as well admit her feelings. At least to herself. She certainly couldn’t tell him. Mutual careers in journalism were not enough in common to make a relationship. Besides, she’d already decided a second marriage wasn’t in the cards.
“No, but thanks for the offer. I’m bushed, so I’m going to head home and try to pick up something on the way.” She squeezed his hand then released his fingers. “I’d say good luck, but you won’t need it. Godspeed, and we’ll catch up when you get back, unless, of course, you do such a fabulous job they promote you.” She clamped her lips over her ramblings then pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, inhaling the scent she’d grown to know. Before she wilted in his arms, she whirled and hurried away.
“Cora!”
Without turning, she waved her hand in farewell. If she saw his face, she’d lose her nerve, and that would never do. She strained her ears for the sound of his pounding feet chasing her.
Nothing.
Cora straightened her spine and clutched her pocketbook. She was on her own now. The path she took was up to her. She’d continue to fulfill her obligations and submit their column, but she needed to do more, write stories to make the people at home sit up and take notice about what the young men and women were doing to keep them safe.
Martha was right. Time for Cora to grab her career by the horns. She’d find out where the ships were transporting the troops for the invasion and get herself onboard.
A pair of Red Cross girls bumped into her and kept walking.
“Excuse me.” She frowned as she watched them turn the corner. Did they not see her? Or were they so intent on their destination, she was invisible.
“That’s what I’ll do!” She snapped her fingers and grinned. Doctors and nurses in the medical corps as well as the Red Cross would accompany the troop transport. She’d tag along. Her first-aid training might be rusty, but she maintained the knowledge and would be an asset to the campaign.
Now, to find a uniform.
a
Tugging at the snug blue jacket of the Red Cross uniform, Cora slung her satchel over her shoulder as she rushed toward the dock from the bus stop. She gripped the billed cap that also didn’t quite fit, the blouse restricting her arm from lifting completely. Compliments of a friend of a friend at the boardinghouse, the outfit had seen better days. She’d had to pin the skirt to keep it closed and prayed the fastener wouldn’t burst. Why couldn’t the uniform consist of a comfortable pair of denim slacks, a more practical solution for carrying stretchers and crawling over terrain to care for the injured?
She rolled her eyes. In every role held by women during the war, they were expected to look feminine and chic. A ridiculous notion.
After securing the outfit, she’d returned to Broadcasting House against her better judgment, but her fear of running into Van had been baseless. He was nowhere to be found on the premises. Like Miss Gellhorn had done earlier, Cora sequestered herself in the corner of the busy newsroom and pretended to review her notes. Ignored, she sat and absorbed every kernel of information the boys bandied about. Thirty minutes after arriving, she had the location of the ships that would soon make their way across the Channel toward France.
Racing home, she’d thrown a few clothes, her toothbrush, and a comb into a bag then ran to catch the bus that would take her to the Waterloo station. Breath ragged and heart pounding, she’d arrived mere minutes before the train pulled out. The two-hour ride gave her time to recover, but her pulse still hammered.
Eisenhower’s plan was bold, a campaign that would encompass thousands of ships and millions of young men. D-Day, as her colleagues referred to the day the attack would commence, was dependent on the weather and the effect it would have on the spring tides. Poor conditions meant the supreme commander would scrap the plans until the next full moon. Could the Allies risk waiting another thirty days? What would Hitler do in the meantime?
She approached the Southampton docks and surveyed the chaos. Hundreds of ships lay at anchor, stretching to the distant horizon. Vehicles trundled back and forth delivering supplies to waiting soldiers and sailors who loaded the items in the hold. The briny air chilled Cora’s face. Metal clanked and banged, and men shouted. Engines roared, and sea gulls laughed at the commotion.
“Watch out, miss!”
Cora sidestepped a pair of American GIs, privates if she remembered how many stripes indicated which rank, wrestling with a stack of boxes. “Sorry!” She stopped. “Can you tell me where the Red Cross folks check in?”
The taller of the two men sneered. “Ain’t you got your orders?”
Her face warmed. “Uh, yes, in my bag somewhere, but uh…”
“Look for the ships with the red cross painted on the side. Pick one. That’ll get you started.”
“Thank you. And uh…again, sorry.”
He shrugged and gestured for his partner to grab one end of a large crate. Backs to her, they walked toward the nearest ship, a behemoth that rose high above her head, perhaps as much as a three- or four-story building. Nothing like the pleasure crafts used on the lake at home, the ship featured towers, masts, and massive guns.
She shuddered. What had she gotten herself into?