Blackbirds (5 page)

“That certainly answers a few questions,” Linda said.

“Like what?” Sharon asked.

“Like why you're such a good pilot. Like why you can fly better than all of the people who trained us. Why you fly at least as well as the pilots in the
RAF
.” Linda chuckled.

“What's so funny?” Harry asked.

Linda pointed at her friend. “The fighter pilots often can't believe it when she lands. Most of them have an eye for the finer points of flying. Their mouths fall open when she steps down from the wing. Some admire her ability. Others, well. . .”

“Well?” Honeysuckle asked.

“I think some are jealous that a woman flies as well as Sharon does.” Linda looked at her father. “In fact, better than most of them.”

“You liked this Douglas?” Harry asked.

Sharon thought for a minute. “He never asked why I didn't have a father. He just accepted me. He treated me like an equal, like a friend. Douglas taught me that I could be a match for anyone, and that because I was good at flying, there were lots of other things I could do. Flying his Staggerwing gave me confidence. And he taught me how to shoot skeet.”

“A Staggerwing! You flew a Beechcraft Staggerwing?” Linda hit the table with her palm.

Sharon sat back. “Yes, that's what Douglas had parked in his hangar.”

“So, at ten years old, you flew a Beechcraft Staggerwing?” Linda looked at her father and shook her head. “You've been flying a performance aircraft since you were ten!” Linda's expression and her tone of voice told them all that some great secret had been revealed.

“You're saying that it's unfair that I learned to become a good pilot?” Sharon felt anger leaping over logic.

“No. It's just her awkwardly uncivil way of saying she admires your flying ability.” Honeysuckle stood, put her hands on her hips, and leaned back with her eyes closed and her face to the sun. “Come on, Harry, you've got to do your duty.” She winked at her husband.

Linda blushed.

Sharon thought,
What was that wink all about?

Harry and Honeysuckle got up and walked into the house.

“What's got your knickers in a knot?” Linda asked.

Sharon looked at her friend while cocking her head to one side.

Linda went to say something, stopped, and then said, “I know! It's me who's upset. It's just that my parents act as though Michael was never here. They seem to think that ignoring his disappearance will make everything all right!” She used a handkerchief tucked up her sleeve to wipe tears away.

Yes, it is strange
.

“It's that stiff upper lip! It makes me so furious! I can't pretend that everything is going to be okay!” Linda stood up.

Sharon followed as Linda walked down into the garden, along a stone path, and into a stand of trees. She stopped and stood with her hands holding her elbows. The sun dappled her head and shoulders. A breeze shifted light and shadow. Her red hair changed shades.

Sharon moved alongside her friend.

“Michael and I used to spend hours playing here among the trees. We felt safe here. Now it feels like nothing is safe anymore. Bloody Nazis!” Linda looked up into the branches of the trees. “This oak tree was his favourite. He loved to climb it. He'd try to get me to follow, but I never would.”

“How come?”

“I'm afraid of heights.” Linda turned to face her. “Isn't that hysterical?”

“Flying is completely different, actually.” Sharon lifted her chin, tapped it with the back of her hand, and winked at Linda.

Linda's laughter was sharp and short. “Come along. Your grandmother will be here soon. She might walk into the house and catch my parents
in flagrante delicto
.”

What are you talking about?
“What do you mean?”

“Making the beast with two backs.” Linda looked flustered.

“Speak English!” Sharon followed Linda back to the house.

They found Cornelia sitting at the table in the back garden. She stood as the two young women stepped into the open. “Oh, good. I was afraid I'd arrived at the wrong time.”

Sharon almost laughed out loud.

“No, not really,” Linda said. “My parents should be out momentarily.”

As she spoke, Honeysuckle stepped outside, followed by Harry, who carried a tray with tea and sandwiches. Both were smiling and looking a little flushed.

Within minutes, all were seated around the table with a cup of tea and a pyramid of sandwiches within reach.

“Marmaduke and his family are arriving next week for an extended visit.” Cornelia made no attempt to hide her excitement.

Honeysuckle sipped her tea before saying, “How
nice
.”

To Sharon's ears, Honeysuckle's tone said that Marmaduke's visit was very far from being nice.

Linda said, “Yes, quite a few people from London are making extended visits to the countryside.” She stuffed a cucumber sandwich into her mouth as if hoping to stop herself from saying more.

Cornelia carried on as if she hadn't heard. “I haven't seen the grandchildren since last summer, when they stayed for a month.”

Sharon felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of cousins she had never known.
They're nothing to do with me
.

“Nothing like an imminent invasion to bring a family together,” Linda said.

Harry glared at her. “It will be good for you to see the grandchildren.”

Cornelia touched Sharon's hand. “I hope you'll be able to visit, so I can introduce them to you.”

“Sharon wouldn't miss it!” Linda turned to her friend. “And neither would I!”

Honeysuckle said, “Linda, would you help me bring out dessert?” She stood up.

Linda smiled. “Of course, Mother.”

Sharon gathered plates and followed them into the kitchen.

Honeysuckle closed the door behind Sharon and said to her daughter, “What is wrong with you?”

Linda said, “You can all live in your fantasy worlds, where we never deal with reality, never mention Michael's name, and never say how Marmaduke blamed his mother for the old bastard's death, but some of us have to live in the real world! There is a war on, and Marmaduke is moving in with his mother to save his skin and lay claim to the estate!”

Sharon looked at Honeysuckle.

“That's true.” Honeysuckle faced Sharon. “Your uncle, unfortunately, is much like his father.”

The phone rang.

Linda picked it up, listened, then hung up. “Sharon, we've been called back.”

Sharon heard relief in her friend's voice.

Within thirty minutes,
Sharon and Linda were in the back seat of Cornelia's Rolls-Royce, her chauffeur at the wheel. Sharon looked out the window at stone walls, gardens, and thatched roofs.
This is my first summer in England and my second ride in a Rolls-Royce.
It felt remarkably similar to a Buick she'd had a ride in once.

Linda looked out the other side.

After half an hour, Sharon said, “Did they say why we're being called back?”

Linda shook her head. “Mother wouldn't say. It was all very cryptic.” She made eye contact with Sharon and glanced at the driver. The message was clear: anything said would be reported back.

Sharon looked ahead and saw the eyes of the driver studying her. She thought for a moment, trying to remember the driver's face, and found she could not.

Sharon passed the rest of the trip in silence, memorizing the route, noting that the road signs had all been taken down in order to make navigation difficult for an invading army.

As they approached the airport, more military vehicles and men in uniform were visible. One group marched in the opposite direction with broomsticks instead of rifles on their shoulders.

Sharon saw a blend of anger, determination, and fear on their faces.

CHAPTER 4

[ JULY 1940 ]

“What's the matter with you?”
Linda sat behind Sharon in the Anson, their ride to the first delivery of the day.

Roger was up front, concentrating on his instruments. It appeared his frequent belching was an attempt at holding down a breakfast of greasy sausages he called bangers.

Sharon looked out her window for a glimpse of the ground. There was the hint of green treetops disappearing into a world of grey cloud. “I was hoping to fly today.”

“Today, tomorrow, next week, don't worry — you'll get back to Biggin Hill. I just hope. . .” Linda put her hand over her mouth.

“What? Spit it out!” Sharon glared at her friend. The Anson hit a patch of rough air. She grabbed the back of the seat in front of her. The wings flexed. The airframe groaned.

Linda looked around for a paper bag. “I hope your father isn't a disappointment.” Her eyes rolled and she swallowed hard.

“Here.” Sharon pulled a paper bag from her coverall pocket.

Linda grabbed the bag and held it over her mouth and nose. “Don't you ever get airsick?”

Sharon shook her head. She looked out the window. A railway line ran about five hundred feet below the aircraft. “It's usually tension that does it to me. I think we're getting close.”

They felt and heard Roger throttle back.

Sharon looked ahead, but couldn't see much out of the cockpit windows because of Roger's hulking frame, so she looked out through the side.
I hope he wasn't drunk last night
.
And I hope he isn't drunk right now
.

The flaps extended.

The wheels thumped down.

They passed through dense cloud and into the open. She could see the approach to the runway.

There was a bump of turbulence.

Linda threw up.

The wheels kissed the runway.

The cabin filled with the sweet-sour stink of vomit.

“Your stop, Canada!” Roger said.

When she climbed out the side door, Sharon had her gear in one hand, and Linda's airsick bag in the other. She moved away from the wash of the propellers tugging at her coveralls. For a moment, Linda's ashen features were framed in the rectangular window. The engines revved, and she was gone.

Sharon walked toward the dispersal hut.

A group of pilots waited near the canteen, looking at the clouds, sipping tea, and munching on white bread sandwiches.

Bully beef.
Sharon's stomach turned at the thought of what passed for meat in England. She looked at the bag in her hand.
Oh, no
.

“Wrong time of the month? A bun in the oven, perhaps?”

Sharon turned and saw Bloggs' smug face as all the pilots turned to gauge her reaction.

She felt the weight of the bag.

“Morning sickness or just down a pint?” Bloggs was encouraged by the reactions to his first comments.

Sharon lifted the bag and considered throwing it in his face. She walked closer to the men. The woman in the canteen frowned from overtop of the heads of the men.

Bloggs turned to one of the other pilots. “There's a rumour that Churchill might have to put the war on hold because female pilots are complaining about flying when they have their time of the month.”

Sharon smiled. “Here, Mr. Bloggs, this is for you.”

The young woman in the canteen hid a smile behind her hand.

Bloggs was silent. He kept his hands at his sides.

“Don't feel like a light lunch?” Sharon lifted the bag for all to see. “Because what's in here is better than what you're eating right now!”

One of the pilots laughed. The others followed.

“Oi! Sharon. There's a priority delivery!” Walter ran things at Castle Bromwich, the Spitfire factory. His round face wore a smile as he waved a chit at Sharon.

She set the bag on the table behind Bloggs, turned, and walked toward Walter.

When she was close, Walter said, “Biggin Hill.”

Her stomach lurched. She took the piece of paper.

An hour later,
she was turning on finals for her approach to Biggin Hill. An airfield surrounded by trees and green fields (including one that was red) of various shapes. The clouds had lifted to two thousand feet. Still, the sun could not penetrate the overcast.