We had said good-bye to so many friends that morning, and we were so tired it was impossible to hide our emotions. The three of us had to step away from the Cheyenne’s window at different times so they wouldn’t see us cry: Eddie from Arizona, George and Alan—our other observation day helpers, Patrick Halloran, Sam Katz, Nelson, and way too many others to name.
We blared records over the PA, playing the cheery songs from home that they loved, and the soldiers continued to line up for coffee and conversation to distract them from what they were about to do. At every airfield, I kept searching through the sea of men for the one soldier I had yet to say good-bye to but desperately wanted to see. I was starting to lose hope. Finally, I spotted him before he saw me.
Peter was standing with some of his men, and they gravitated around him like he was the sun, a strong and steady light in the darkness.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, taking off my apron.
“Do you see the line, Fi?” Viv asked, annoyed. But I was already out of the truck, running over to him.
“Hi,” I said, trying to smooth down my hair, but the wind kept whipping it around.
“Give me a minute, fellas,” he said. They didn’t whistle or crack jokes; they just nodded and respectfully walked away. Except one.
“Fiona, I didn’t realize that was you,” Tommy Doyle said.
“Tommy, is that you under all that equipment? So happy I got to say good-bye to you, my dear friend,” I said, giving him a hug. “I still have the address. But I won’t need it. Stay safe, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Sounds good,” he said and then whispered, “Captain Moretti is a really good man. A soldier’s soldier. I approve.”
I just nodded and smiled, kissing him on the cheek, and then he ran off to join the rest of his friends.
Peter had watched this exchange, amused. “Hi,” he said, giving me a small smile.
“Hi,” I said, and at the same time we stepped closer to each other and then both laughed, a little embarrassed.
The sun was just beginning to rise. Tommy had joined the groups of soldiers heading toward the planes now, dark silhouettes against the orange and pink colors of the horizon, like a scene from a movie. An icy breeze blew up again, and I put my arms around myself and shivered.
“I’d give you my jacket if I could,” he said. “But I’m loaded down at the moment.”
“It’s okay, I’m just glad I got to see you.”
“Me too.”
We stood there for a few seconds looking at each other, and he stepped even closer still.
“Thank you again for last Saturday night,” he said into my ear. “I have something I want to give you.”
“Peter, I . . .” But he raised one hand while he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out a little plastic box. He handed it to me, and I opened it. It was his Purple Heart.
“Like a lot of our guys, I was injured landing at Utah Beach,” he said. “I want you to have it.”
“Peter, I can’t—” I started to protest and give it back to him, but he interrupted, placing his hand on mine, over the box.
“Take it. As a token of friendship and admiration, nothing more,” he said, but he looked in my eyes and we both knew he was lying.
“I . . . thank you,” I said as he took his hand away.
“Be safe,” I said. “I’ll see you on the Continent.”
“I hope you don’t,” he said, his expression serious, and I was stung by his words. “It’s just that you’re so much safer over here. You have no idea. And you know how I hate having to worry about you doughnut girls.”
“That’s true,” I said with a small laugh.
“Things are going to be hot over there at first, but when I finally get my next batch of mail, I’ll get word to you if I hear anything from Hank at the IRC. I promise you that.”
“Thank you,” I said, looking at his face and trying to memorize it—the scar on his brow, his large dark eyes. I had tried to memorize Danny’s too, and my heart was aching in ways that felt very familiar and yet so different. It turns out you can care for two men at the same time, but you never care for them in the exact same way.
Someone yelled, “Captain Moretti!”
“Time to go. Take care of yourself,” he said.
“You too.”
“Remember, you’re no use to these guys if you’re crying,” he said as he wiped a tear from my cheek.
“I know,” I said, nodding and smiling through the tears. “Good-bye.”
He looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching, and then he pulled me into his arms, kissing my forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment.
“Good-bye, sweetheart,” he whispered, and with a nod, he walked toward the line of C-47s. As I watched him walk away, I bit my lip to keep from crying more.
“You okay?” Viv asked when I stepped into the Cheyenne and grabbed my apron.
“Yeah,” I said with a deep breath. “I am. The hardest part of this job are these damn good-byes.”
After we had served everyone we could, Jimmy started up the Cheyenne and we headed to the middle of the field with all the others that were left behind. I sat on the hood of Major Bill’s jeep, between Dottie and Viv. Dottie kept nodding off on my shoulder. Hundreds of C-47s, carrying our brave friends, wheeled around the field and then struck off, heading for the channel in a steady stream, until there were so many planes in the sky they nearly blocked the early morning sun.
We arrived back at Mrs. Tibbetts’s a little while later and stumbled into the cottage, where our dear billeter was waiting for us with a warm meal of fried tomatoes, eggs, toast, and hot tea. I didn’t realize how ravenous I was until we sat down at the kitchen table.
“Liz was here waiting for you,” she said. “She thought you’d be home earlier, so we sat and had tea, and she waited for about an hour. She’s a lovely girl.”
“What did Liz want?” I asked, frowning. We were supposed to see her the next day at headquarters.
“She didn’t say, but she left you this note,” she said with a nod.
She handed me a cream-colored envelope. I opened it and read out loud:
Fiona, Dottie, and Viv—
Please take the next two days off to recover from your marathon thirty-six-hour shift. Well done, you!
I came by because I have news I couldn’t wait to share. Miss Chambers has recently been inundated with letters from a number of the officers that have been stationed in the Midlands, all of them singing your praises. We’ll talk more when we meet this week, but, long story short, it’s time to start packing your bags. We’ll all be heading to Zone V in less than two weeks.
I couldn’t be prouder of you three and the work that you’ve done here. You’ve all come a long way. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you soon to make plans.
Warmest—
Liz
I looked up at the faces around the table. My brain was hazy from lack of sleep, and I was almost too tired to process the news. We were going to the Continent—we were finally going to France.
“Wow, that’s not what I expected,” Viv said, stifling a yawn.
“Do you think we can take Barbara?” Dottie asked. She had prominent circles under her eyes and was nearly asleep in her tea.
We were all quiet for a moment, absorbing the impact of this news.
“Do you think you might be able to take me?” said Mrs. Tibbetts, giving us a sad smile, her eyes shiny with tears. Dottie squeezed her hand, and I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Chapter Seventeen
September 23, 1944
Less than a week later, Jimmy arrived at Mrs. Tibbetts’s at 6:00 a.m. to take us back to 12 Grosvenor Square, Red Cross headquarters in London, to gather with other Clubmobile groups. After meeting there, we would join a caravan heading for Southampton and ultimately cross the channel to France on one of the Liberty transport ships.
The days had blurred into a whirlwind of laundry, packing, writing letters home, and saying good-byes to the remaining troops that were still in the area. I took one last look out our bedroom window, our fairy-tale view of the enchanting English garden and the sheep in the meadow. I would miss this place. I had taken for granted how lucky we had been to have such a perfect billet and a gracious host with a beautiful cottage, fresh vegetables, eggs, and running water.
And while the work hadn’t been easy or perfect, this place, this job, had taken me out of my grief-stricken rut. It had forced me to focus less on myself and more on helping the men that were here, doing the best that they could, sometimes under unimaginable circumstances.
Viv, Dottie, and I had barely absorbed the fact we were going to the Continent. I was thrilled and nervous and, in quiet moments, a little scared.
“Fiona!” Mrs. Tibbetts yelled from downstairs. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I called, trying to memorize the view before I hurried down.
“We’re all packed,” Jimmy said. “It’s time.”
The Cheyenne had a small trailer attached, which included necessary equipment like a back-up generator, water tanks, tents, and other supplies. Jimmy would be accompanying us all the way to Southampton, but then heading back to London to become the driver for a Clubmobile group arriving after we left.
Mrs. Tibbetts walked us outside, blotting her eyes with her blue tea towel, which of course made us all get misty-eyed.
“Please promise me you’ll write, so I know you’re safe?”