With Every Letter (11 page)

“This is exciting, isn’t it?” Georgie gave her shoulders a cute little lift. “Someday we’ll get to administer plasma in flight.”

Maxwell returned to the front of the classroom. The nurses would keep the handsome surgeon busy with questions they really didn’t need to ask.

Vera pulled the box to her end of the table, Alice tore off the tape, and Kay lifted the lid.

Mellie frowned. They only had one box and needed to share. Should she speak up? “I think that box is for all six of us.”

Alice looked up with wide innocent eyes. “Oh . . . well, of course. But there’s only enough work for two or three.”

Mellie chewed on her lip. “Perhaps we could put it in the center of the table so everyone could see, then we could take turns performing the steps.”

A corner of Vera’s mouth flicked up. “Who put you in charge?”

Mellie dropped her gaze to the table. She thought she’d been polite, but she’d failed again.

“Come on, Vera.” Rose held up her hands, palms outstretched. “Mellie has a point. We’ll fly alone, so each of us needs to know how to do it. This may be our only training.”

Mellie glanced around the room. The other flights of nurses cooperated, laughing and helping each other. “In the field, we’ll need to work together.”

Kay reached in the box and used a drawstring to pull out two tall tin cans. She set them smack in the middle of the table. “I don’t want to do all the work around here.”

Alice’s face reddened, and Vera pursed her lips.

Kay flipped her strawberry blonde hair off her shoulders. “Rose, Georgie, open the cans. We’ll go clockwise. Is that fair, Philomela-Mellie?”

She nodded. “Thank you. And please call me Mellie.” She couldn’t tell if Kay’s teasing was friendly or mean-spirited, but at least they’d all get to train. They needed it.

Something had shifted in Washington. Generals called for air evacuation in the Pacific and North Africa, and everyone rushed to get the nurses off the ground. On November 30, Gen. David Grant, the Air Surgeon, made a public call to recruit flight nurses. Bowman Field buzzed with activity. The day before, two squadrons were officially activated and named the 801st and 802nd Medical Squadrons, Air Evacuation, Transport. Mellie was in the 802nd.

Rose and Georgie pried keys off the tops of the tin cans and opened the lids. A little whoosh signaled the breaking of the vacuum. They laid out the contents of the cans—a 300-cc glass bottle of sterile water, a bottle containing translucent white flakes of dried plasma, rubber IV tubing, and needles.

Mellie scanned the instructions that came in the box, then passed them on to the others. “First we need to transfer the water to the plasma bottle.” After she wiped both stoppers with rubbing alcohol, she poked a double-ended needle through the rubber stopper in the water bottle. Tilting both bottles sideways, she inserted the other end of the needle into the plasma bottle. Water gurgled through and wet the flakes.

Vera took the bottle assembly and swirled it to dissolve the plasma. “It’s losing the vacuum. Must not have been done right.”

Mellie winced. She’d been very careful.

Georgie patted Mellie’s forearm and smiled at Vera. “Sometimes that happens. That’s why they include an airway needle.”

Vera inserted the needle into the rubber stopper of the water bottle. Air rushed in, and the water resumed its flow. “What are your plans tonight, gals?”

Georgie pushed the rubber IV tubing to Alice. “Rose and Mellie and I are going to see
The Road to Morocco
at the Palace Theater downtown—Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, and Dorothy Lamour. Doesn’t that sound fun? We’d love it if y’all joined us.”

Vera, Alice, and Kay gave Georgie a blank look. The question hadn’t been directed to her.

“Isn’t that sweet of you?” Alice inclined her blonde head. “I’m going out with my boyfriend.”

“I have a date,” Vera said.

“Friday’s Bill’s night.” Kay arched one eyebrow. “He ships out soon. Gotta give him something to fight for.”

Mellie studied Kay’s face. Why did she delight in shocking people? Why did she need so many men to feel complete? And what kind of hurt produced such behavior?

Alice giggled. “Gordon should give
me
something to fight for. I’m shipping out soon. He’s staying here.” Then her face stretched long. “I sure will miss him.”

“I understand,” Georgie said. “I’m going to miss Ward. At least here he can visit every once in a while. He’s just a hopeless little boy when I’m away. Goodness, he was beside himself when I was in Alaska. But now I’ll be overseas. Poor thing.”

“Yes. Well.” Alice pulled the water bottle and needle from the plasma bottle. “Why is it if a man goes overseas, his woman is supposed to wait for him, but if a woman goes overseas . . . ?” Her mouth crimped.

“Oh, honey.” Georgie stretched one hand along the table toward Alice. “I know he’ll wait.”

Alice jerked up her head. “I didn’t say he wouldn’t.”

Georgie’s hand retracted.

Mellie stared at Alice. How could someone so beautiful have insecurities? And how could she snap at Georgie, who only wanted to give the whole world a hug?

She wanted to pat Georgie’s arm or hand or something, whatever girls did. But would that comfort her or embarrass her?

Rose and Georgie exchanged a soft look, a twitch of a smile, a humorous lift of the eyebrows. How did they do that? Friendship took practice.

Mellie shouldn’t have stopped at the PX on the way to the theater. If she’d known Ernest had written eight letters
and they’d all arrive today, she would have waited. But now she sat on the bus, trying to read and absorb, while Rose and Georgie sat in the seat in front of her, watching with expectant grins.

I’ll never understand man’s inhumanity to man. Just because his ancestors came from China, not Europe, my platoon sergeant gets teased, excluded, and worse. He’s a good man—smart, funny, bighearted, but all they see is the color of his skin.

Isn’t that why we’re fighting this war in the first place? Because the Germans hate the non-Germans? Because the Japanese hate the non-Japanese? How are we any better?

Poor Annie, saddled with my rant. But that’s one of the reasons I crave your friendship. I can’t rant to anyone else. And this kind of nonsense makes my blood boil.

“Well?” Georgie’s Southern drawl slung the word up the musical staff. “What’s he have to say?”

Mellie wanted to soak in Ernest’s words. He cared deeply about his men. He hated how people judged others. And he’d chosen her to confide in. Yet she lifted her head to engage with her friends. “He says all sorts of wonderful things.”

“It’s so romantic,” Georgie said. “The meeting of two hearts, two minds.”

“It’s not romantic, it’s—”

“I wish Lambert would set up something like that.” Rose crossed her arms on the seat back and leaned her chin on her forearms. “About the only way I could meet a fellow.”

Georgie nudged her with her shoulder. “Nonsense. A lovely girl like you? Give it time.”

“You’re the one talking nonsense.” Rose wrinkled her freckled nose. “You’re the sweet flower the boys buzz around. I’m the blunt-talking sidekick. In the movies the sidekick never gets the boy, or if she does, it’s the hero’s loudmouth best friend, and the sidekicks insult each other and exchange weird smacking kisses. That’s not for me.”

Mellie smiled although Ernest’s open letter called to her. “The insults or the kisses?”

“Neither,” Rose said with a laugh. “I want a fellow who says nice things to me and kisses me like I’m precious. Georgie has that with Ward. I want it too.”

“Well, you can’t have Ward.” Georgie winked. “But we’ll find you someone, right, Mellie?”

“Me?” She laughed. “I can’t be much help. Men don’t look at me unless I’m changing their bandages or giving them morphine.”

“You did something right to get engineer-man to write eight letters,” Rose said.

Mellie shook her head and stared at the letter in Ernest’s square handwriting. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to deserve pages full of funny shipboard stories, deep musings on God, and insights on friendship and loneliness.

Her fingers itched for pen and stationery, but she tucked the envelopes into her Army Nurse Corps shoulder bag.

Rose looked out the bus window. “We’re here, ladies. Louisville’s finest theater.”

“I love the Palace,” Georgie said. “The theater alone is worth the ticket price.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Mellie stood and followed the girls off the bus.

“Ta-da!” Georgie swept her arm up to the marquee. “Isn’t it grand?”

“Yes, it is.” The façade of the Palace featured intricate carved masonry and a colorful marquee, which must have been even more impressive before wartime dimout regulations.

The women purchased their tickets and entered the lobby.

“Oh my.” Mellie had never seen anything like it. An ornate carpet of red and blue and gold, a high vaulted ceiling, and walls and alcoves covered with frescoes and tiles and carvings in the Spanish baroque style, all in those riveting reds and blues and golds.

“Don’t you feel like doing the flamenco?” Georgie struck a pose, one arm curved overhead, the other flung around her waist.

“Not now, Señorita Tayloroso.” Rose linked her arm with Georgie, then extended an arm to Mellie. “Coming, Señorita Blakerado?”

With a slight hitch, Mellie lifted her arm. “
Sí
,
sí
, Rosita.”

“Rosita. I like that. Better than Señorita Danilovez—can’t even say that—goodness! Maybe the fellows would like me better with a name like Rosita.”

Georgie led them up the carpeted stairs. “If you stopped fussing about the fellows, they
would
like you better. Now smile sweet at those flyboys.”

Three men in leather flight jackets and pilot’s “crush” caps trotted down the stairs toward them. “Be still, my heart,” the shortest of the men said with a lopsided grin. “Do I see three lovely ladies in need of escort?”

“Nope.” Rose pushed ahead, right through the threesome, Georgie and Mellie in her wake. “You see three lovely ladies about to ship out, perfectly capable of entertaining themselves, thank you.”

Masculine laughter billowed up, and the tallest of the men trotted after them. “A spunky one. The blonde’s mine.”

Rose spun to face them. “The blonde is her own woman, and if she belonged to anyone, it wouldn’t be to a cocky flyboy with more nerve than brains.”

Georgie shot a funny look at Mellie behind Rose’s back, and Mellie covered her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh.

The flyboy took off his cap to reveal wavy blond hair, and he bowed. “I’ve got brains enough to know when I’ve met my match. Lt. Clint Peters, and I’m in awe.”

“That makes one of us.”

The third officer laughed. He had a square jaw and auburn hair peeking from under his cap. “Clint, you’re outmatched. Ladies, I’ll get him out of your hair.”

“Uh-uh, Coop.” Clint grabbed his buddy’s arm. “This is Lt. Roger Cooper and this is Lt. Bert Marino, both single and available.”

“But not looking,” Roger said. “Now be a nice boy and leave the girls alone.”

“I’m looking.” Bert grinned at Georgie. “How ’bout you, curly-top?”

“That’s sweet of you.” She flushed and smiled. “But I have a boyfriend.”

“Ah, they always do. You too, toots?” His gaze turned to Mellie and swept from her shoulders to her toes. A slow smile enveloped his round face. “Tell me you’re single. Please.”

Mellie’s face and fingers tingled. Her jaw drifted down. Never had anyone looked at her or spoken to her like that. “Uh . . . I’m . . . not looking. Not looking.” It worked for his buddy, why not her?

“Even if we were looking, we’re not looking for the likes of you.” Rose spun on her heels and marched up the steps. “Come on, ladies.”

Mellie’s feet felt like an elephant’s, heavy and clumsy and too big. She almost tripped on a step but managed to catch up to the others.

Georgie laughed. “You sure told him, Rosita. But did you really want to? Didn’t you just say you wanted the fellows to like you better? He sure likes you, and he’s cute too.”

“And full of himself.”

“Maybe. But Mellie would be wise to stay away from that Bert.”

She stopped at the top of the stairs and stared at Georgie. “No one’s ever looked at me like that.”

“Never? With a cute figure like yours? Oh, I doubt that. And you have the prettiest eyes, very exotic. Why, you’ll get gobbled up if you’re not careful.”

Mellie’s thoughts tumbled like a kaleidoscope. Papa always said she had an exotic beauty, but he was biased. She’d never heard that from anyone else. Mellie ventured a smile. “Rose knows how to beat them off.”

“Stick with me, sister.” Rose strode into the theater and led them to seats in the middle.

Mellie sat down and gaped at her surroundings. The theater resembled an open-air Spanish courtyard. Building façades lined the walls, and a brilliant blue ceiling arched overhead, pierced by starry white lights. “It’s magnificent.”

Rose nodded. “Gorgeous.”

“Yes, you are,” a gruff voice said from behind.

Mellie whipped around. The three airmen occupied the seats behind them.