“Got a ride arranged with one of them Red Cross service trucks,” he said. “Headin’ back to London, then Leicester in a few days.”
“Now don’t forget to take Mrs. Tibbetts to the pub,” Viv said. She kissed him on the cheek and gave him a huge hug. Dottie and I followed suit. He turned red from all the affection, and his eyes welled up.
“Will you fetch me Vera Lynn? Think it’s for the best that she and Barbara are goin’ their separate ways,” he said. He looked at Barbara; her poor nose was covered in scratches from her failed attempts at feline friendship.
“Oh, you can’t forget Vera Lynn.” Viv nodded. “I’ll go get her.”
Liz came over with a clipboard, looking happy and relieved.
“Huge luck: they can get us on the ship tonight,” she said. “We’re heading to the docks now. I thought we might be stuck here for days. Fire up the Cheyenne, ladies.”
Viv handed Vera off to Jimmy, and the four of us stood there for a quiet moment, sad but not sure what else to say.
“Fiona, remember everythin’ I taught ya now. Don’t forget to double clutch to—”
“Climb the steep hills,” I said, interrupting him. My heart ached. Another good-bye to add to the chain of them in this war.
“You girls have been me favorites,” he said, shaking his head and showing no embarrassment at the tear sliding down his cheek.
“Jimmy, you’ve lost so much in this war that I can’t even imagine,” I said. “I hope you find love and happiness again. I wish that for you more than anything.”
“Wish the same for you, my girl,” he said in a whisper, his hand on my shoulder. “Be safe and remember everythin’ I taught ya.”
I gave him a final hug and climbed into the Cheyenne.
Chapter Eighteen
September 24, 1944
“Fiona, wake up. You can see Utah Beach.”
Dottie was nudging me awake, and it took me a few seconds to remember where we were. The night before, the three of us had waited on the docks at Southampton for a few hours until they finally lifted the Cheyenne onto the deck of a sparkling new Liberty ship dubbed the Famous Amos. It had been a long process, and we sat around and watched as a machine wrapped it in a huge net like it was a big army-green elephant, and then a crane had to lift and lower it, ever so carefully, into the hold of the ship.
After it was loaded, the captain had invited us on board, where we had received a friendly welcome by the crew. Many of them looked freshly shaven; some even had flowers in their lapels. The three of us and the other twenty-two Clubmobile girls on board were all wiped out after our long day of travel. Viv, Dottie, and I had found a spot on deck to lay out our bedrolls, and I had fallen asleep in seconds.
“Viv, come see,” I said in her ear. “It’s our first morning in France. And I smell coffee—we need to go find it.”
In the light of day, I realized the Famous Amos was part of a huge convoy of Liberty ships and other landing craft that had been escorted by minesweepers and destroyers. We stood at the ship’s rail under the splendid September sun and looked at the vastness of Utah Beach. Wrecked military vehicles had been abandoned on the sand, and battleships destroyed by German artillery jutted out of the water at frightening angles. I tried to comprehend the massive invasion that had happened just months before.
“Say a prayer for the souls lost, girls. This is hallowed ground now.” The ship’s captain came up next to us. He was a little under six feet tall, with salt-and-pepper hair. He gripped the railing and gazed out onto the beach, his face solemn.
“How many souls?” I asked.
“Don’t know for sure yet,” he said. “In the thousands. And every time I’m back here, I’m moved by the scene. I feel their ghosts.”
I shivered, feeling goose pimples as I made the sign of the cross and said a silent prayer. Viv and Dottie did the same.
“Thousands,” Dottie whispered after a moment, her voice thick with emotion. “Good God.”
“I still don’t know how any of them do it,” Viv said in awe. “Running straight into danger like they do. I’ve been thinking of the Eighty-Second leaving.”
“Me too,” I said.
“They went to Holland most recently, yes?” the captain asked. “Operation Market Garden?”
“Yes, do you know anything?” I asked, aware of the urgency in my voice. “We were with them before they left. We’ve been listening for reports on the wireless and asking—”
“Ah, it didn’t go well,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “They were trying to secure some major bridges and roads deep behind German lines, but the German counterattack was ferocious. They were ordered back to France.”
“Do you know if there were many casualties?” It hurt to even ask.
He looked at me, furrowing his brow, like he was surprised at the question.
“Of course there were, dear,” he said. “There always are.”
“Goddamn it,” Viv said.
I felt sick to my stomach. Dottie squeezed my hand. We were all thinking the same thing. These were our friends. Our boys. Tommy. Patrick. Nelson. And Peter. And too many more to comprehend.
“Fiona, you look like you could use some breakfast, and I desperately need some coffee,” Viv said. “Please, do you know where we might find some, Captain . . . I’m sorry, sir, what is your name?”
“Captain Fisher,” he said, and we all introduced ourselves.
“I’ll be honest, I was expecting tanks, not dames,” he added with a smile. “But all these women on board have done wonders for my crew’s morale, and the ship’s never been so clean. You’re welcome to the mess hall for coffee and some decent navy food, and we have two showers on the second deck. We’re arranging times for you all to use those at a certain hour.”
“But when are we going ashore?” I said. We were so close.
“Oh, not for at least a few hours, if not days,” he said. “The seas are too rough. If we try to get your vehicle on a landing craft barge right now? Well, we could hit a rogue wave, and you’d never see it again.”
“Days?” I said.
“We’ll just have to see,” he said. “Go get some breakfast. And how about this? When it’s time to go, you three will be the first off, I promise you.”
Eggs, coffee, and a fresh shower made me feel human again, and while the waters were a little rough, the sun was strong, so we spent most of the day on the deck, waiting. Dottie even got someone to hook up the Victrola to a loudspeaker for an impromptu dance.
“This is the best time I’ve had in months,” a young redheaded crew member said, as he patiently dealt with my mediocre jitterbugging.
When there was a break in the dancing, Dottie went with one of the men to find us all some Cokes, and we sat down and enjoyed the feel of the sun on our faces. Someone brought out cards to play pinochle, and Viv pulled out a sketchbook she had bought in London. I sat next to her as she sketched a picture of the shore.
“We’re off the coast of a place where thousands of American men died. And we’re dancing,” she said, squinting and tilting her head, looking out across the water. “It feels a little off, don’t you think?”
“I’ve thought about that,” I said, nodding, leaning over the railing. “But honestly? I think any of the men killed here would say, Damn Hitler! Play that American music and dance. It gives these men some hope and cheers them up. Helps them fight another day.”
Viv was about to say more, but we were interrupted.
“Say, you’re really talented,” the redhead, whose name was Phillip, said as he came up behind us. He was looking over Viv’s shoulder at her drawing. “Do you think you could sketch a picture of me to send my mom?”
Viv glanced over at me, annoyed at the request, but I just mouthed, “It’s for his mom.” How could she refuse?
“Sure, Phil,” she said with a sigh. “Why don’t you stand against the rails here where the light is good?”
When she was almost finished with his picture, a few other crew members came up behind her to watch.
“Wow, are you a professional artist? That’s swell!” one of them said.
“No, I’m an underpaid advertising secretary,” Viv said with sarcasm. I walked over to get a better look. It was a beautiful sketch; it captured the soldier perfectly without being cartoonish or overdone.
“Underutilized secretary too,” I said. “Viv, you really are so good.”
“Thanks.” She sighed. “Be nice if I could actually do something with it someday.”
More men started coming over, to admire both Viv and her sketches, and many of them also asked for portraits to send to their loved ones. Soon there was a line of them waiting their turn.
Dottie and her new friend returned with cold drinks and chocolate cake, and after the refreshments were passed out, she went to the Clubmobile and came back carrying Barbara, with her guitar over her shoulders.
A few more Clubmobilers, including ChiChi, Rosie, and Doris from the Dixie Queen, joined us as Dottie played some songs, and soon everyone on deck was sitting around us singing along.
I was on a blanket toward the back of the crowd, near Viv, who was still sketching portraits as fast as she could, when I spotted Liz and waved her over.