Jenny sat on a crowded train heading home from her two weeks in Washington, D.C. She was exhausted, but the thought of seeing Kathryn again had her running on pure anticipation. The last half hour of the ride seemed the longest—so close, yet so far away. A soldier had kept her company for most of the ride, but he had fallen asleep on her shoulder. She was thankful for his normal conversation while it lasted. After two weeks of hiding everything about herself and receiving the same nondescript banter from her fellow recruits as part of their training, his life story was a welcome open exchange. He apologized for going on and on but explained he was shipping out and just wanted to leave something of himself at home, even if it was only in the memory of a total stranger. He wanted her to remember him as a kind, loving man who had never harmed another living thing. He got a faraway look in his eyes and said he was afraid that would all change soon. He went silent as he considered his future, his thoughts weighing him down until he snapped out of it and smiled, cracking a joke about being nineteen going on fifty.
“Lighten up, Wasilewski,” a soldier complained from across the aisle as he slapped his buddy in the arm. “Dames don’t dig that noise.” He winked at Jenny.
Wasilewski blushed. “Sorry.”
Jenny took his hand, ignoring his friends. “What’s your first name?”
“Francis.”
His buddies across the aisle broke out in a mocking whisper, Francis, Francis.
“Frank,” the soldier said, chagrinned.
Jenny turned in her seat so she was facing him and put her other hand on top of his. “Francis,” she began sincerely, “I’ll remember you—” She swept her eyes over his face. “Just like this … young, beautiful, kind, and gentle.” She squeezed his hand. “I won’t ever forget this about you. I promise.”
He was quiet for a moment, absorbing her words, and then emotion filled his eyes and voice as he whispered, “Thank you.”
Wolf whistles came from his rowdy friends, and slaps on the back were accompanied with urgings to “Kiss the girl, ya dope!”
He didn’t. He ignored them and slid down in his seat, where he promptly fell asleep with a contented smile on his face.
As the soldier slept, Jenny looked around the train. She saw the world with new eyes—an undercover operative’s eyes. She noticed specific details like never before. Her intensive training not only taught her to hide telling traits about herself, but it also taught her to pick up on clues from the people around her. If you looked hard enough, you could uncover where each person came from, where they were going, and why. It was an automatic curiosity now, an ongoing game of honing her skills. It wasn’t hard, not among the general public, who had nothing to hide. Most wore their purpose on their faces, revealing intent in their body language. There was the older mother, clutching a handkerchief and imagining each soldier as her own boy, safely on his way home to her; the disgruntled office worker turned to the window in hopes that no one would ask him why he wasn’t in uniform; and the exhausted woman with grocery bags on her lap, her work boots giving away her factory job.
It was the people she couldn’t read that gave her pause and made her suspicious. Maybe they were like her. Maybe they were judging her every move, waiting for a clue to use against her. Well, she wasn’t going to give it to them. Her instructors had said she excelled at her ability to become someone but to reveal no one.
They gave her a name when she arrived in Washington: Spitfire. And a number: 698. This was her new identity—her only identity. Jenny Ryan ceased to exist as soon as she walked through the white columned portico of the aptly named Farm. It reminded her of Tara, and she half expected Scarlett O’Hara to appear at the door and scold them all for their silly little war games.
In a world where the tiniest detail, such as the hand you use to hold your fork when you eat or the stitch you use to sew on a button, can reveal your country of origin, she was taking no chances. She became someone else, so much so that she pushed Kathryn out of her mind and immersed herself completely in her new world.
While she was there, she was friendly, so as not to seem guarded—something that could give you away as easily as a slip-up—and she tried to be as ordinary as possible. She played poker badly, and didn’t swear once, trying very hard to be what she assumed the group around her would consider the typical woman. That part was easy. She could play simple games of manipulation, but she wasn’t prepared for the physical reality of an agent’s life. She was left exhausted and on edge by grueling early morning workouts over rough terrain, violent hand-to-hand combat training, and mock missions that would bring brief jail time should they run afoul of the law.
Before she could recover physically, there were nights of mind-numbing mental exercises, which included memory tests done over and over until it became an acquired skill, and frustrating code problems that she swore had no answers and were merely there to drive her insane. She rated herself average in most of these tasks, even though her superiors claimed success and a job well done.
She was one of three women in the group, and male chauvinism was pervasive at the beginning. Fortunately, the instructors pointed out a woman’s skill at manipulation gives her the advantage in certain situations, and it goes a long way toward achieving their desired goals. Jenny wasn’t sure this was a compliment to women, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Their hard work earned them their well-deserved respect.
More training would come, but for now, Jenny was happy to be on her way home. She took the quiet time to find herself again, to fill her mind and heart with Kathryn. With every new experience in the OSS, she gained more respect for the woman who bore the weight of her job so gracefully.
The train pulled into the station, and Wasilewski was unceremoniously awakened by a hat flung at his head by one of his pals.
“Rise and shine, lover boy!”
He scrubbed his face with a groan and sprang to his feet when he saw Jenny struggling to reach her bag on the shelf above the window.
“Here, I’ll get that.” He pulled it off the shelf and set it on the seat.
“Thank you.”
“Aw,” cooed his buddies.
The soldier rolled his eyes and secured his hat. “Well,” he drew out shyly as he stuck out his hand, “I sure do thank you for the ear.”
She ignored his hand and gave him a hug, which he readily returned. “You’re welcome, Francis.” She pulled away and kissed him on the cheek. “Be careful, and good luck.”
“Gosh,” he said, blushing.
Jenny smiled and reached up to wipe her lipstick from his skin.
He stilled her hand with a grin. “Leave it, if you don’t mind.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward his friends. “Let ’em eat their hearts out.”
His group began filing out, and he was swept away in their wake, as slaps on the back and friendly nudges pushed him along. Jenny knew she’d never see him again, but she smiled, knowing that for a few brief hours, she gave him comfort, and for the rest of his life, he would know that all that was good in him would live on in her—a kind of immortality in a very mortal world.
Jenny briefly stood on her suitcase as she scanned the crowded train station concourse, using the higher vantage point to try to catch a glimpse of Kathryn’s tall frame. They’d had no contact for the past two weeks, but before they parted, Kathryn had promised that, come hell or high water, she would be there the minute she stepped off the train. The station looked very much like hell, Jenny observed—people were scattering this way and that, like cats on a hot tin roof—but she didn’t see any high water, so she kept looking, sure that Kathryn wouldn’t break her promise.
It only took one sweep of the concourse to bring a smile to her face. There was Kathryn, dressed in a bold white suit and broad-brimmed hat, with a rich navy blue shirt and matching gloves, which stood in sharp contrast to the gray sea of blurred figures swirling through the station. Jenny watched her tuck her clutch under her arm as she lifted her chin and got on her toes to peer over the crowd, searching.
Jenny grabbed her suitcase and quickly mapped the shortest route through the crowd to her destination. She was jostled and stepped on, but she wouldn’t be swayed from her path. She could no longer see Kathryn for all the men’s thick shoulders and ladies’ hats, but she wouldn’t need to, as suddenly the crowd parted like the Red Sea and she was face to face with a broadly grinning tower of a whole lotta wonderful.
“Hi, beautiful,” Kathryn whispered as she took her into her arms.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Jenny said into Kathryn’s chest.
They embraced for as long as they dared in public, both keenly aware of their surroundings and the necessity for discretion.
Kathryn released her and picked up her suitcase. “How was your trip?”
“It was fine. Exhausting. Exhilarating. Enlightening. Fine.”
Kathryn smiled. “That sounds about right.”
As they weaved through the station, it seemed every couple they saw was in a passionate lip lock, oblivious to the world around them. Jenny bit her lip and let out a frustrated groan, as she longed to do the same. She knew Kathryn echoed the sentiment as they both simultaneously glanced toward the ladies’ bathroom.
The line stretched out the door and along the wall. No privacy there. She looked hopelessly at Kathryn, who put her hand on her shoulder, indicating she shared her frustration. She briefly scanned the station for some place to go—a storage room, a dark corner, some place that would afford them the same luxury of expressing their love that the couples around them enjoyed and most certainly took for granted.
That particular luxury was not for them this day, so they left the station and headed home in Kathryn’s car.