Wings (48 page)

“Are you all right?” the nurse asked her briskly, after Cassie had brought a particularly nasty bum case into a treatment room. The man was screaming and there was flesh hanging everywhere, and even some left on Cassie.

“I'm fine,” she said coolly. She remembered her brother and pulling him from the burning plane. She still had a scar on her arm from where the flames on his body had burned her. “Just tell me what to do.”

“You're doing just what you need to,” Lieutenant Clarke said firmly. “Don't stop unless you feel ill, and if you do, tell me.”

“I won't,” Cassie said, willing herself not to be sick as she helped the injured men, and a number of women. Civilians began coming into the hospital too. There were casualties everywhere, and after a while there was nowhere to put them. The second bombing lasted till just after ten o'clock, and then they were gone, leaving not only the island in shock, but the entire nation.

Cassie worked feverishly all afternoon, doing what she could, and she felt weak in the knees when she finally sat down at four o'clock. She hadn't stopped, and she hadn't eaten since breakfast. Lieutenant Clarke brought her a cup of tea, and together they checked the lobby for more injured. The last ones had been transferred to the
Solace
just an hour before. The hospital simply couldn't hold another body.

There was nothing left for her to do for the moment, except offer comfort where she could, and as she was doing that, Desmond arrived with a lone photographer beside him. All the others had gone to the harbor to see the damage there, but he had promised the young reporter a picture of Cassie O'Malley if he came with him. He strode across the lobby to her, as Lieutenant Clarke settled a young pregnant woman in a chair. She had come to inquire about her husband, and Lieutenant Clarke had just promised to find him.

‘There she is”— Desmond pointed to her dramatically—” darling, are you all right?” he asked, looking at her tenderly, as the photographer snapped a picture of her in her skirt and blouse that were covered with other people's blood, and all she could do was look at Desmond in disgust, and the photographer along with him.

“Oh, for chrissake, Desmond,” she railed at him in contempt, “stuff it. Why don't you go do something useful instead of showing off for the press all the time? And you,” she wagged a finger at the camera, and the man behind it was too startled to say anything, “why don't you go help someone, instead of standing around taking pictures of me? We've been bombed, you idiot. Get off your lazy ass, and drop your camera.” And with that she wheeled out of the lobby with Lieutenant Clarke, and she left the two men with their mouths open behind her. She had won Rebecca Clarke's heart forever that day. She knew that as long as she lived, she would never forget the tireless redhead, helping wounded men, treating bums. She had given up her private room to four of them, and had wheeled the cots in herself and made them with whatever sheets she could find, or steal, from other beds if she had to.

The director of the hospital thanked her himself that afternoon. And they found her a folding cot that she set up in a closet to get some sleep. They had sicker people to take care of now, people who needed them more, and she felt guilty taking any of their attention. She stayed on to help the next day, and they were told, not surprisingly, that the President had declared war on Japan on Monday. There was a cheer in the hospital when it was announced. And on Tuesday, she checked into the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, and called her parents. She had already called them once before to tell them she was all right, but now she wanted to let them know she was going to try and get home as soon as possible.

The hotel promised to try and get a cabin for her on the
Mariposa
, which was leaving on Christmas Eve. It was the first ship she could get, and the only thing she wanted to be sure of was that Desmond wasn't on it.

She had no sympathy for him at all, she thought he had behaved abominably. The only thing he was interested in was milking her story one more time. It was disgusting.

He came to see her that afternoon, and told her that the Pentagon had promised him a seat on a military flight to San Francisco in a few days, and he could arrange one for her too, since she was practically a national hero now, but she was adamant that she didn't want to go anywhere with him.

“What difference does it make?” He looked annoyed at how difficult she was being. It would look a lot better to the press if they went home together, although he could still explain it if she didn't. He could even claim that she was suddenly nervous about flying, or blame it on her health. But she was not amenable to any of his excuses.

“I've got real bad news for you, Desmond. The whole world is not watching you, or me, they're thinking about the war we just got ourselves into, though you might not have noticed.”

‘Think of what you could do now for the war effort,” he said hopefully, thinking of the publicity opportunities for him, and for his airplanes. But as far as she was concerned, she had just done it, for three days at the naval hospital, not that he understood that, although Admiral Kimmel had personally thanked her.

“I'll do exactly what I want to do,” she said unpleasantly, “and you're not going to advertise, trade, announce, use, or exploit it. You got that? We're finished. I completed my contract.”

“You most certainly did not,” he said smoothly, and she stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you kidding? I almost killed myself for you.”

“You did it for yourself, for your own glory,” he corrected.

“I did it because I love flying and I felt I owed it to you. I thought doing the tour for you was the honorable thing to do. Not to mention the fact that you said you'd sue me if I didn't, and I figured my parents didn't need that headache.”

“And do they now? What's changed?” Nick was right to the end. Desmond was vicious.

“I flew eleven thousand miles, I did my damnedest, I went down with your goddamn lousy plane, and managed to live forty-five days on an island the size of a dinner plate, while starving to death, I might add. And I watched my best friend die in my arms. Isn't that enough? I'd say it is. And I'll bet a judge would.”

“A contract is a contract,” he said coolly. “And yours said you would fly fifteen thousand miles across the Pacific in my plane.”

“Your plane went up like a matchbook.”

“I have others. And your contract said you would do unlimited publicity and endorsements.”

“We're at war, Desmond. No one's interested. And whether they are or not, I'm not going to do it. Sue me.”

“I might. Maybe you'll give it some thought on the way back.”

“I wouldn't waste my time thinking about it. I'll call my lawyer when I get back… for a number of reasons,” she said pointedly.

“We'll have to discuss that. By the way, you mentioned Billy in rather touching terms a little while ago… was that your
best
friend, or your boyfriend. I'm not sure I understood you.”

“You understood me perfectly, you sonofabitch. And if you're talking adultery, why don't you discuss it with Nancy Firestone. She's very clear about calling herself your mistress. I already mentioned that to my attorney.”

For once, he blanched, and she was pleased to have gotten him upset for a change.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He was furious with Nancy for talking to Cassie.

“Just ask Nancy. I'm sure shell explain it to you. She was very direct with me.”

His eyes told her he hated her, but she didn't care. She never wanted to see him again after Honolulu.

She spent the next two and a half weeks volunteering to help at the naval hospital again and on the hospital ship
Solace
. It was devastating to see what had happened in the harbor. The
Arizona
, the
Curtiss
, the
West Virginia
, the
Oklahoma
, the
Chew
, the
Oglala
had all been hit by the Japanese, 2,898 had been killed, and another 1,178 had been wounded. It was devastating, and now the country was at war. She wondered what it would mean to Nick, if he would stay in the RAF, or join the American armed forces. Everything was still very confusing.

And when the
Mariposa, Monterey
, and the
Lurline
finally sailed on Christmas Eve, she was touched and surprised when Rebecca Clarke came to see her off, and thanked her for all her help since the bombing. Cassie had done nothing but work with the wounded since the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor.

“It was an honor to meet you,” Rebecca Clarke said sincerely, “I hope you get home safely.”

“So do I,” Cassie said honestly. She was anxious to get back to Illinois to see her parents, and to see a lawyer and find out how she could best get out of all her obligations to Desmond.

She was relieved to see that no members of the press had come to see her off. But Desmond had left for San Francisco by military plane the week before, so they hadn't bothered. She was happy not to have flown with him even if this did take longer and was potentially more risky. They were traveling by convoy to ensure greater safety.

Lieutenant Clarke left her on the ship, and they set sail an hour later. Everyone was anxious about the trip, and afraid that the Japanese would come back and sink them. They had complete blackouts every night, and everyone had to wear their life jackets day and night, which was very unnerving. There were a lot of children on the ship, which made it noisy and stressful for the other passengers, but families who had relatives on the mainland were anxious to get away from Hawaii. It was too dangerous there now. Everyone felt sure they would be attacked again at any moment. The
Lurline
, the
Mariposa
, and the
Monterey
sailed quietly with an escort of destroyers, which accompanied them halfway to California, and then left them to complete the trip alone, as the destroyers headed back to Hawaii.

The ships were very quiet as they zigzagged across the Pacific to avoid submarines. There were no parties at night, no one was in the mood. They just wanted to get to San Francisco safely. And Cassie was amazed at how long it took. After flying everywhere all her life, traveling by ship seemed endless and incredibly boring. She hoped she never had to do it again, and the entire ship cheered as they came through the Golden Gate and into the port of San Francisco five days later.

She was even more surprised when she stepped off the gangplank, carrying her one small bag, and saw her father. She had traveled under the name of Cassandra Williams, and only a handful of people had realized who she was and talked to her. The rest of the time, she kept to herself and minded her own business. She had a lot of thinking to do, and some quiet mourning. But when she saw her father, relief turned to excitement. And her mother was right behind him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with wide eyes that filled instantly with tears. They were all crying as they hugged each other, her mother more than anyone, but Cassie and her father too. It was the reunion she had thought of a million times on the island. And then as they hugged and talked, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Desmond. He had set up an entire press conference to greet her. There were at least eighty members of the press to welcome her and ask her questions. But as Cassie noticed them, she saw her father's mouth set in a hard line. He was having none of this. Desmond Williams had gone far enough, and he would go no further.

“Welcome home, Cassie!” a flock of reporters shouted at her, as her father grabbed her firmly by the arm, and propelled her through the crowd like a snow-plow. Oona was following them closely, and Pat was heading for the car and driver he had hired to meet her. And before the reporters could say anything, she was being pushed into the car, and Desmond had come toward them.

“You're very kind,” her father was saying warmly to the members of the press, “but my daughter's not well. She's ill and she's had a traumatic experience in the hospital at the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Thank you… thank you very much.” He waved his hat at them, shoved his wife into the car after his daughter, and climbed in behind both of them. And then told the driver to pull out as quickly as he could without hitting them. Cassie was laughing at Desmond's expression as they drove off. They had completely foiled him.

“Does that man never stop?” her father said irritably. “Has he no heart at all?”

“None whatsoever,” she assured him.

“I don't understand why you married him.”

“Neither do I,” she sighed, “but he was very convincing then. Until afterward; then he didn't think he had to hide his moves anymore.” She told him about his threats to go after her now with his lawyers.

“You owe him nothing!” Pat raged at her, incensed at what Desmond had told her.

“Mind your heart, dear,” Oona warned, but he had been fine since the summer. Even during Cassie's ordeal, he had held up surprisingly well. And now he was only angry.

“He'd better mind my fist, not my heart,” Pat said bluntly, as they drove back to the Fairmont. Her parents had taken a suite for the three of them, and they spent two days there celebrating her safe return. Before they went home, she went to visit Billy Nolan's father. It was a sad and difficult visit, and she told his father that Billy had died in her arms peacefully, and he hadn't suffered. But even knowing that, it was difficult to console him.

It dawned on Cassie afterward, that with the war now, there would be many young men like Billy dying. It was an awful thought. And she had never been as happy to go home as she was this time.

Her father had brought a co-pilot along, and flown the Vega out for her. Halfway back to Illinois, he turned the controls over to her, and asked her if she'd like to fly it. And much to his surprise, and her own, she hesitated, but he pretended to ignore it.

“It's not as fancy as what you're used to, Cass. But it'll do your heart good to fly again.” It was a nice plane to fly, and he was right, she loved the feeling of flying again. She hadn't been in a plane since she'd gone down in the
North Star
, two and a half months before. And it was odd to be flying now, but she still loved it. It was in her Mood, just as it was in her father's.