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The ruby ring glittered in the morning sunlight, and once again, I took a moment to admire its beauty on my finger. Charlie presented the ring to me, on bended knee, a few days after VE Day. Its presence still filled me with delight.
The men stood at parade rest, in lines of formation in the middle of a grassy field across the street from the café where I sat. They looked smart in their uniforms, each man’s boots polished and pant crease crisp. The camera at my elbow was already filled with a dozen shots of the troops as they waited patiently for General Eisenhower to arrive. Charlie’s battalion received word yesterday that the great general was making his rounds of the regiments. The 502nd was on his list and rumors abounded the regiment would be receiving a unit citation.
It had been two weeks since my crying jag. The emotional purge seemed to have provided a catharsis, for I slept well—no longer lying in bed with my mind racing and guilt-ridden or plagued with bad dreams. However, VE Day and the initial excitement had dissipated among the men. Japan had yet to surrender, and fighting in the Pacific raged on. The military issued a point system based on time served, combat awards, and if they had dependent children at home. Enlisted men needed eighty-five points to be discharged. Even some D-Day veterans didn’t have enough points, and the officers returned to a training regimen that dampened the initial exultation of the German surrender.
I took another sip of coffee and returned to the half-written letter I’d been penning to Colette, letting her know that I would be returning to Paris, on my way back home to Washington, D.C.
America. A place I was finally ready to return. The surrender and my engagement to Charlie seemed to have lifted my desperation to remain in Europe. A few days after VE Day, I finally admitted to myself that my incessant need to find a purpose to remain in Germany had to do with my shameless pursuit of Charlie and persistent concern for his safety. Luckily, Charlie had enough points to be discharged and we hoped he would be home by fall.
Three days ago, I received a letter from Father assuring me that I was forgiven for my thoughtless words and would always be welcome in his home. After I finished the letter to Colette, I planned to write Father, informing him of my engagement, and to ask if we could hold the wedding at his home in Georgetown. Fall was a beautiful time in Washington. If I couldn’t convince Colette to come to the States for my wedding, I’d ask either Evelyn or Jane to be my maid of honor. There was enough space to house Charlie’s family, and my father could walk me down the aisle. Even though Mother would not be there, I would wear her dress, and she would be with me in spirit. With her grand plans, my marriage to Charlie wouldn’t be what she envisioned, but I think, in the end, she would have wanted to see me happy above all else.
A covered army jeep zipped up the road, pulling my thoughts away from wedding plans. The great man finally arrived. His jeep parked to the side of the field, and I strained to catch a glimpse from my vantage point. Lieutenant Glassman must have been hailed by someone in the jeep because he left his position in front of his platoon, and he, too, disappeared from my sight line, but it wasn’t long before he returned to speak briefly with Whiskey.
This is it. I rose and positioned my camera so I could catch the perfect shot of Eisenhower as he came around the wall of men. To my surprise, Whiskey broke ranks to jog across the green space in my direction. It occurred to me perhaps there were rules against photographing the general, and I lowered my camera as Whiskey came even with me.
“Ma’am.”
“Hello, Whiskey,” I whispered. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, ma’am. Lieutenant Glassman requested that you come closer for a better view of the proceedings.”
“Am I allowed to take photos?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Regimental and some battalion officers, including Charlie, were seated on a recently erected platform in front of the troops, and I followed Whiskey over to the viewing area. Expecting to be allowed to stand to the side of the stage, it surprised me when Whiskey indicated I mount the stairs.
“There’s a chair for you next to Lieutenant Colonel Kincaid.”
A thrill of excitement zipped down my spine at the honor I was being afforded. I wondered if Charlie had arranged it for my benefit. He winked when I glanced up at him as I made my way to the empty seat at the end of the front row.
The men were called to attention. As one, their heels snapped together, and those of us in the reviewing stand rose. I positioned the camera and waited with excitement. The general approached the stage and my shutter clicked.
It wasn’t Eisenhower.
The face seemed vaguely familiar to me. He mounted the steps, followed by his driver, shaking hands with the top brass in the front row, then turned to the microphone.
“At ease, gentlemen.”
Those of us in the viewing stand took our seats and the men in the field relaxed into parade rest.
“As you can tell, I am not General Eisenhower. I regret to inform you, his plans unexpectedly changed, and he will not be joining us today. My name is General Magruder. General Eisenhower asked me to share these words with you.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, adjusted his glasses, and commenced to read Eisenhower’s speech.
Magruder. That name also rang a bell, but I just couldn’t place it. I forced myself to retain the genial smile on my face, though I felt such disappointment on the men’s behalf. After all, they’d given so much for their country. I listened to the address with only half an ear as I gazed on proudly at the fine-looking group of soldiers in front of me.
They all deserved medals.
The General finished and returned the paper to his pocket. “Now I would like to move on to the main reason I’ve come to be here with you today.”
He surveyed the troops and crooked a finger at his driver, who handed over a small black box. “I’m here to present the Distinguished Service Cross to one of you who showed gallantry and determination against all odds. Someone who not only risked life and limb for their country but also provided vital intelligence to the Allied cause, which saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives, including innocent civilians back at home.”
I listened with interest.
“This person’s selfless acts saved not only American lives but foreign ones as well. I’m pleased to be able to present this award today in front of you men because it is my understanding, if not for the precise actions from certain men in the five-oh-second, this person might not have survived to continue work so valuable to the Allied cause.”
My brows furrowed as I searched the ranks, trying to figure out who the general spoke of.
“Today it is my honor, as Deputy Director of the Office of Strategic Services—”
Of course, General John Magruder! We’d never met, but I’d seen his photograph at OSS headquarters on Navy Hill in D.C. next to Director Donovan’s...
“—to Lillian Saint James.”
My head snapped up at that. My musings had distracted me so completely, I missed the rest of Magruder’s speech. It was Lieutenant Colonel Kincaid, on my left, who took my hand and helped me rise, propelling me to where Magruder waited, holding a brass cross that hung from a blue-and-red-striped ribbon between his fingers. Thunderous applause rang in my ears, and I stood in mute astonishment while he pinned the prestigious award to the lapel of my jacket. Officers in the stand came forward to shake my hand. My head reeled. I staggered and would have fallen if Charlie hadn’t come to my rescue.
Scooping up my elbow, he escorted me back to my seat. “Congratulations.”
“Did you know about this?” I asked.
He shook his head. Pride shined through his eyes and his warm grip settled my whirling confusion.
The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. Many of the troopers, including Charlie, were awarded for their actions in combat. My heart warmed when Magruder posthumously awarded Feinberg the same British Medal Nigel pinned on me in April. Finally, the ceremony wound down and the men dismissed.
I gathered my things and straightened to find the general at my elbow. “Miss Saint James, I’ve got to be moving on, but I was wondering if you could give me a moment of your time before I leave.”
“Of course, General.”
He drew me away from the crowd to an empty bench at the far side of the grassy field. “I understand you turned in your resignation after Operation Gumdrop was canceled.” He didn’t look at me as he spoke, instead stared at the American flag fluttering in the breeze.
“I did, sir.”
“Why?”
I sighed. What could I tell him? I couldn’t stand the thought of returning behind a desk while my beau battled Nazi’s? “Well, sir, I felt that my ... usefulness at the OSS had run its course. I knew you would never send me back in, and when the opportunity to see the inside of one of the concentration camps came up ... I took it. I’m sure my file tells you everything you need to know.”
“As a matter of fact, it does. It also tells me that your impulsive actions acquired some unparalleled intelligence. That you’re quick on your feet. Did you really fix a car with your stocking?”
My cheeks burned. “Well ... I didn’t fix the car, Sergeant Feinberg did.
“The man who you performed field surgery on with a sewing kit from your handbag?”
I fidgeted with the medal and cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“And is it true you escaped the Black Forest riding bareback on a German Army draft horse?”
“Yes, sir.”
Finally, he turned his gaze on me, and those piercing eyes raked me up and down, pausing for a moment at the ring on my finger. “You are an incredibly resourceful young woman, aren’t you?”
“I suppose.”
“I understand congratulations are in order. You’re to be married.”
“Hopefully in the fall, yes.”
“Will you be returning to Washington?”
“In two weeks.”
“I hoped I could convince you to return to work at the OSS offices there.”
I folded my hands over my knee. “I’m not sure how useful I would be.”
“I can find a dozen jobs for a resourceful woman like you. But I would consider it a personal favor if you would help me out.”
I twisted the ring on my finger.
“At least until your wedding. Afterwards ... well, I suppose that would be up to you and your husband to decide.”
How could I refuse the man in charge of OSS Intelligence this favor? I imagined I’d go back to manning a desk, maybe providing translation services. It wouldn’t hurt to continue to help out. I’d be safe at home in America, which would make Charlie happy, and it would give me something to do until he was released from the army.
“Who do you need me to report to, General?”
“When you return, contact your old roommate Jane.”
“Very well.”
Magruder rose and offered his hand.
“I look forward to reconnecting with Jane. Who does she work for these days?”
“Me.”
My eyes widened at his revelation.
“Thank you for your service, Miss Jolivet. I’ll see you in a few weeks.” He tipped his hat, pivoted on his heel, and strode to the waiting jeep.
Charlie found me standing in the same position, watching the empty road where the general’s car once stood.
“What did the general want?”
“To offer me a job in D.C.
“What kind of job?”
“I’m not sure, something in his office. A desk job.” I turned to Charlie, whose furrowed brow told me everything I needed to know. Cupping his cheek, I assured him, “I agreed, but only until the wedding, darling. After that, it’ll be smooth sailing. I’m all yours.”
Charlie’s features lightened, and he took the compass at my neck in his fingers, rubbing a thumb across the glass face. “I have a feeling with you, quiet and calm is never going to be in our future.”
