Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington (2 page)

May 3, 1942
Seattle

The cool, misty air caused Rosalie Madison to pull her arms tight against her as she focused on the twenty bombers that lined the runway, wingtip to wingtip. They were a forest of gray metal except for one bright spot, a splash of color on the nose of Vic’s B-17. It was the painting of a young woman’s face—
her face—
the word
Rosalie
scripted beneath it.

Her hands covered her mouth. Wide-eyed, she turned to Vic. “I’m there. I mean, that’s me. My face is on that bomber!”

Vic beamed like a child presenting a birthday gift. “They usually paint the nose-art—and name the planes—overseas, but since I’m flying this one all the way down to the South Pacific, they gave me the honor of having it done.”

“I can’t believe you did that for me. I’ve never had anyone give me such a special gift.” She couldn’t get her eyes off the image. She could tell from her painted, playful smile that whoever drew it copied the photograph she and Vic had taken last summer to announce their engagement.

“It’s partly selfish.” Vic grinned. “Nothing could be more inspiring than to see your smiling face before every mission. To remember, more than anything, who I’m fighting for.”

“You’re a good catch, you know.” She playfully punched his shoulder.

“I know that.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

A twinge of sadness struck her heart at his question. Her smile faded. “Yes, of course. How could you even ask?”

Since she was a young girl, the one thing she’d wanted more than anything was to find a good man to spend her life with—to grow old together, to raise children, to pursue dreams side by side. Then, one day, she saw the caring guy she’d grown up with in a whole new way. Who better than a best friend for a fiancé? She had good hopes for their future together, but now—in this moment—she needed his strength.

Vic led her across the freshly mown airfield, toward the flight line, and Rosalie savored the assurance of his hand pressed against the small of her back. Vic was the steady one, the brave man she relied on to plan, lead, and support her. But did she love him as more than a friend? A knot tightened in her stomach. If they’d followed his plans, they’d be married now.

Did I make a mistake? Will I regret not saying “I do”?

Rosalie’s heartbeat quickened as the bomber grew larger in her sight. Taking in the immense machine, her chest constricted with pride, knowing her work played a part in crafting these great gray beasts. She was also proud of Vic—proud he was going. If she couldn’t fight the Japanese herself, at least she could send her man.

Anger filled Rosalie’s mind at the thought of that morning last December when everything had changed. She’d been lying in bed, reminiscing about the fun time she and Vic had the previous night, jitterbugging at the Harbor Room, when her mother knocked on her bedroom door. The horror on her mother’s face should have prepared her for anything. But not for the news of the attack. From the first moment she heard of Pearl Harbor’s bombing, Rosalie worried about her brother, Rod, who was stationed on the USS
Arizona,
one of the ships pummeled by enemy fire during the attack
.

Then the horrible reality struck home. Rod’s remains were never recovered but were still trapped inside, along with his crewmates’, in an underwater tomb. Rosalie wondered if those bodies would ever be removed. She also had a feeling that Vic, a pilot, would be one of the first to sign up for the fight. She was right. They’d lost her brother, and now Vic was leaving too.

Sadness and fear swelled, but she quickly shoved it down. She’d pull those emotions out later—during her work at the factory when her muscles throbbed and her heart ached with thoughts of Vic fighting so far away. Fighting to save life, as they knew it, against some foreigners’ greed for land and power.

Hand in hand, Rosalie and Vic hurried through a sea of McChord Field’s best ground crew, engaged in orderly chaos. The mechanics were diligently checking and rechecking the bombers’ massive radial engines, hydraulics, control cables, and airframe. Large tanker trucks rumbled by on their way to fuel the aircraft. The only things missing were the bombs that would be loaded into the specially designed compartments. No bombs here. Not yet.

Rosalie tucked her pocketbook more firmly under her arm. Until Vic returned, she had a job to do. In addition to her work at the plant, she was determined to stay strong. Strong for Vic—and for herself. In the midst of their time apart, she’d make a decision about her future. About
theirs.

Her pumps squished through the cold, wet grass, chilling her feet.

“I understand you wanting to wait until I get back, you know, to tie the knot,” Vic said, sensing her thoughts as usual. “I’ll be home on leave next spring. You’ll love an April wedding. Your tulips will be in bloom.” His lips curved in a reassuring smile.

She leaned her head against Vic’s shoulder as they neared the bomber. “Yes,” she said simply. “April’s a beautiful month.” But what would Vic think if he knew her hesitation had more to do with her own doubts than the great big war that consumed everyone’s thoughts these days?

He tugged her toward his B-17 and patted its belly. “Rosalie, this is Rosalie. She’ll keep me safe while I’m away.”

His mention of being kept safe sent a surge of anxiety through her. “She better,” Rosalie mumbled while studying Vic’s eyes. Worry eclipsed the joy of a moment ago.

“Rosalie, I want to say—”

The light May rain abruptly transformed into a waterfall of water pounding noisily on the plane’s thin, sheet-aluminum-covered wings and fuselage. Rosalie and Vic dashed under the wing for shelter.

She forced a mask of cheerfulness, not wanting to hear Vic’s words, his heart. Lightening the mood, she deepened her voice like a Hollywood actress. “Don’t worry about me, flyboy. I can take care of myself.”

Vic grinned. “Oh, you can, can you?”

“You bet.” She put a hand on her hip and brandished a wagging finger. “You just promise to do the same.”

“Oh, I will.” He tugged her to himself and gently stroked her curls. “Watch yourself.” Tenderness dripped from his voice. “Don’t overdo it at the plant. I need my strong girl waiting—someone I can come home to.” Vic’s voice turned serious, but Rosalie recognized the hint of teasing. “Remember, you’re
just
a girl.”

Rosalie whacked his arm. “Just a girl? You wouldn’t even have a plane to fly if it weren’t for me.”

“Weren’t for you? Just you?” His mouth formed that crooked grin.

“I know I’m one of many, but—” She reached over his shoulder and fingered a rivet on the fuselage. “I think I remember this one. I named him Rivie.” Then she stepped back and held her hands up as if holding an invisible rivet gun. “Yep, I’m sure of it. I made this plane.”

“Sir?” a man’s voice interrupted.

Rosalie spun around, feeling as if their private party had been crashed.

A young airman raced across the airstrip and joined them under the wing. “Sorry to, uh, interrupt.” A hint of red colored his cheeks. “Control tower says you have five minutes.” Then he disappeared as quietly as he’d come.

“Five minutes?” Rosalie felt her brave façade crumble. She clutched Vic, stealing one last measure of strength.

“Where’s my independent Rosie?” He gently thumbed away a tear. “Where’s the Boeing girl who’ll win the war all by herself?”

Boots stomping through the rain grew louder.

“I swore I wasn’t going to cry like those other girls.”

“But you’re
my
girl.” Vic touched her chin, then leaned his cheek against hers. “I love you, Rosalie. I’ll be back soon.”

Rosalie opened her mouth, but she couldn’t return his loving words—not when uncertainty still filled her heart. “You’re a wonderful man,” she managed to say.

Nine crewmen approached to board the plane. Vic kept his eyes on her as he grabbed the cockpit ladder and stooped under the plane’s belly. “You keep saving the world, will ya?”

She waved back. “I will. You too!”

As he poked his head into the hatch, her resolve faltered.
Save the world?
She couldn’t even save her own feelings.

Alone, Rosalie walked back to the gate, hoping to enjoy one last glimpse of her flyboy before he taxied out, but the sky’s reflection on the Plexiglas wind screen prevented it. She had to be satisfied with watching the plane taxi to the runway, wait its turn, and depart with its engines’ deep-throated roar. One by one the planes departed and, second to last, the
Rosalie
lifted, then vanished into the clouds.

“Okay, girl,” Rosalie whispered to herself. “Pull it together. This is your life now.”

In the parking lot, she slid into the front seat of Vic’s 1938 Ford. Vic had told her to sell it to help the war effort, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to. He loved this car. The least she could do was care for his “baby.” Then she’d surprise him with it when he got home. It wasn’t exactly what Vic had planned, but life didn’t always work out as in one’s dreams.

June 7, 1943
Seattle

Rosalie Madison’s lips always curled into a smile at her roommate Birdie Phibbs’s high-pitched giggles. Even on hard days. Even on
this
day.

The salty tang of ocean air, subtly mixed with diesel exhaust fumes, wafted through the open windows, past Rosalie and a squad of other female factory workers. Loose coins in the fare box jingled as the Seattle city bus jounced through potholes en route to the Boeing plant. There they would join an army of other women who lovingly welded, riveted, and pounded out B-17 bombers to win the war and bring their boys back home.

Rosalie fixed her gaze on a middle-aged couple walking shoulder to shoulder down the sidewalk.

Look away,
she told herself, noting their easy gaits.
Don’t. Don’t imagine the warm sensation of your hand wrapped gently in a large, strong one.
If she could have anything at this moment, it would be that peaceful joy of being close to someone she loved, instead of the burden of loneliness that had become her constant companion. Added to that, the heavy weight of guilt caused her shoulders to slump and her eyelids to droop, even at the beginning of her workday.

As the bus passed the couple, the man placed a soft kiss on top of the woman’s head, causing laughter to spill from her lips. Rosalie sucked in a cool breath, but it felt like lead in her chest. Her fists balled on her lap, and her lips pressed into a tight line. Why did she do this to herself? Why couldn’t she simply look away? It should make her feel better that the war hadn’t changed everything—that bits of happiness could still be found in the world—but it didn’t.

Birdie chatted with the woman in the seat across the aisle, but Rosalie focused on the florist shop, the bank, and the small café outside her window. The bus driver’s voice broke through her thoughts. “University Street and Fourth!”

Rosalie turned back to Birdie. “Oh no! This is where I need to get off.” She stood.

“What are you doing, girlie?” Birdie tilted her head, flaxen curls brushing her petite shoulder. “Aren’t you coming to work today?” Her lips puckered. “If you’re not there, who’ll be my partner? More than that, what will our boss say? You’ll be in big trouble for sure!”

The bus whined to a stop amidst exhaust fumes and the screech of air brakes. Rosalie grabbed her satchel and eyed her roommate. “It’s Vic. I have to go to the square.”

“It’s today—?” Birdie’s smile softened, her eyes narrowing in compassion.

Rosalie nodded. “A year.”

“I understand,” Birdie murmured and touched Rosalie’s forearm with her dainty, yet strong, hand.

“You comin’ or what? Get the lead out, lady.” The driver held the bus’s door open for her, frowning at her in the large rearview mirror.

Rosalie gave Birdie a quick hug. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Won’t take long.” Then she shuffled past Birdie’s knees and jogged down the aisle. “I should make it before the whistle,” she called over her shoulder.

“You better, or the boss’ll be off his lid!”

Rosalie bounded down the steep steps, hitting the pavement with her sturdy shoes. She again breathed in the cool gusts sweeping down from the cloud-splotched blue sky. As she hurried forward, the stabbing guilt she’d carried since Vic had asked her to marry him pierced her heart.
If I’d only married Vic before he left, like he wanted….

Turning the corner, Rosalie spotted her destination: Victory Square. The city had blocked off a section of the Seattle downtown district for war bond rallies, starting in May and going until Labor Day. The day before he left, she and Vic had seen Bob Hope perform the square’s dedication show. Rosalie’s pace slowed, and she eyed the stage. A work crew scurried around for the daily noon performance.

Pain drilled a hole into her heart as she remembered Bob Hope’s voice calling over the crowd, his finger pointing straight at Vic. “Hey, lovebirds! You two married yet?”

When Vic said no, Mr. Hope had joked, “Well, what are you waiting for, flyboy? A war?”

Rosalie and Vic had laughed, but the laughter only pierced her heart, especially as Vic gently massaged her neck, his comforting touch beneath her bobbed, brunette hair.