“Yes. I feel rather foolish reacting like this. My sisters would say my behavior is proving them right…that I should stay home where I belong.” She spoke through clenched teeth.
“Nonsense. The first time I experienced turbulence, I almost lost my lunch.”
She giggled. “I doubt that, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“What?” He widened his eyes in mock innocence. “You don’t believe me?”
“No. I was warned about pilots. Always weaving stories in an effort to impress the girls.” She smirked. “Although I guess claiming to get sick isn’t exactly awe-inspiring.”
The airplane touched down and raced down the tarmac before rumbling to a stop near the terminal.
In Gerard’s peripheral vision, Miss Strealer hunched into her seat, eyes closed, and lips moving. Praying? Was she a believer or just a desperate flyer grasping at straws?
A bang sounded on the hull, and the stewardess opened the hatch, fresh air filling the cabin.
“We made it.” He tapped her shoulder.
Miss Strealer’s eyes popped open, and a tentative smile tugged at her mouth. “Yes, we did. Thanks again for being such a good sport. Babysitting a Nervous Nellie was not on your to-do list.”
He chuckled, and she pinked as she stood. Stepping into the aisle, he gave her room to precede him out of the plane. They descended the steps, and she stumbled, falling against him. The floral scent of her shampoo invaded his senses as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder to steady her. She fit against his side perfectly. He gulped and released her as if burned.
Had she tripped intentionally? Was she being coy? He froze. Maybe she was a test, a part of his new assignment. Was he being watched? Now, who was being nervous?
Chapter Three
A chilly wind lifted Emily’s hair as she walked across the forty-acre campus. Unseasonably blustery, the temperature hovered just above frigid. She drew her coat closer and hunched into the collar. Two weeks had passed since her arrival at the training facility, located somewhere in Virginia. Or was it Pennsylvania? Everything was so secretive, students were given information on a “need to know” basis. Apparently, the instructors didn’t think she needed to know much, including where she was.
The days were long and packed with lecture after lecture, the nights with memorization and homework. Her eyes burned from all the reading, and her brain ached from studying. College had been a lark by comparison.
She approached the small creek that ran through the property. Her roommate sat on its banks tossing stones into the water.
“Mind if I join you, Martha? I’ve got about twenty minutes before my next class and couldn’t stand being inside one more minute.”
Martha smiled and gestured to the ground beside her. “Me, too. I’m a farmer’s daughter. My life before this was spent outdoors. Too much time between four walls isn’t healthy.” She shuddered. “How’re you holding up?”
Emily shrugged. “I’ve always been a good student, voracious reader, and all that, but there are times I feel overwhelmed and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. Am I smart enough to see this through?”
“I’m holding on to the fact that they wouldn’t have selected us if they didn’t think we could do the job.”
Birds chirped overhead, and chipmunks chattered in the bushes. The river water gurgled and danced in the sunshine that warmed Emily’s back.
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “That’s true as far as getting into the program, but four people have already washed out, one of whom departed on the second day. This is a difficult course. Certainly the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I don’t want to borrow trouble, but I think it’s only going to get tougher. We haven’t touched codes and ciphers yet or done any fieldwork. I may be strong, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for climbing trees or hiking over mountains.”
“You’re supposed to be making me feel better.” Emily nudged Martha’s shoulder.
Martha chuckled. “Right. Sorry.” She skipped a rock across the water’s surface. “Hey, did you like Mr. Smith’s class? And by the way, we have too many professors named Smith and Jones. If they’re going to practice all this cloak-and-dagger stuff, just assign letters. You know like Professor Q.”
“Or Mr. X.” Emily smoothed her slacks. “What did you think the job was going to be? I assumed they were hiring me for my ability to translate French. I don’t see why I have to learn police procedures like how to search a house or conduct surveillance on a person.”
“What about me? My claim to fame is animal husbandry and crop rotation. Why would they possibly have a need for those skills?”
“Why did you apply if you were skeptical they could use you?”
“I have eight brothers and sisters, most of them younger than me. That’s a lot of mouths to feed even on a farm. Government and war industry jobs pay well. So, I filled out the paper and took the test. This is where they sent me.” She rubbed the dirt from a small stone. “I do have a head for figures; you know math problems.”
“Ugh. You mean like those awful word problems I struggled through in high school? If two trains left two different stations twelve miles apart, how long until they ran into each other, or some such nonsense? Who needs to know that?”
“Maybe these folks.”
The sky darkened, and gray clouds scudded overhead. Emily shivered. “The classes on disguising myself were interesting. And not just wigs and clothing but how to develop habits and mannerisms. I could become a whole different person after the war.”
“What would your family think about that?”
“Same as they always do. I made a wrong decision.” She huffed out a breath. “Enough about me. What’s your favorite class so far?”
“Propaganda. The psychological aspect of trying to influence people. Fascinating. Talk about a skill that comes in handy. I could get my husband to do whatever I wanted him to.”
“You’re married?” Emily’s gaze whipped toward Martha.
“No. I mean when I get one.”
“Good luck with that. I’m going it alone. I don’t want a husband. Just one more person telling me what to do.” She shook her head. “No, after we’ve won this war, I’m not going home. Maybe I’ll stay overseas. I wish they’d tell us where we’re going to be stationed.”
“They’ve got to see who’s left at the end before they can do that.”
Emily glanced at her watch and leapt to her feet. “And if I don’t get going, I’m going to be the next victim kicked out.”
“What’s your class?”
“Tactics and field craft. A fancy name for fighting...” She shuddered. “And killing. Necessary skills if they send me behind the lines, but frightening to think about.” Would this be the class that washed her out? She licked her lips, then waved over her shoulder, and trotted toward the two-story brick house, her legs eating up the distance in moments. Racing up the steps, she yanked open the door and hurried down the hallway, coming to a stop a few feet before the classroom.