Two Blackbirds (16 page)
“Now that the weather is clearing, we're going to be busy replacing the losses from all of this fighting,” Sharon said.
“So we won't be home for Christmas?” Linda had a smile on her face.
Douglas laughed and raised his cup. “Again!”
Walter smiled. “When Edgar and me were ten, it was Christmas, and we'd saved up enough to buy a cigar at the corner store. Somehow, his mother heard about it, and she found us around back just as we were lighting up. Edgar's mom was a tiny woman. She had to stand on her toes to grab him by the ear. I can still see him leaning toward her with her hanging onto his ear and him askin' her to let go.”
This started a series of funny Christmas stories that had everyone laughing.
Mother walked over to Sharon and leaned close to her right ear. “Lady Ginette has left. She spent a very theatrical thirty minutes in the dispersal hut, telling everyone who would listen about how she was wronged and falsely accused of being a Nazi sympathizer. When I left, there were only two people left to listen to her. The rest came here to join the party.”
Sharon turned to him. “Do we have another duty pilot available to replace her and fly the Anson?”
Mother nodded.
“Good.” Sharon looked around at the smiling gathering.
Enjoy this.
It won't last very long.
Ten minutes later, a Jeep pulled up in front of the hangar. Sergeant Beck stepped out and came inside.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Ernie asked.
Beck pointed a white-gloved finger at Walter. “Time to go, Coleman.”
Walter stood up and followed the sergeant back to the Jeep. Sharon stepped outside and watched as Walter clambered into the back seat. She looked around and saw that all of the people who had been inside the hangar were now outside waving to Walter.
Beck frowned.
Sharon turned and saw Ernie standing back. Despite the rum's effects, she recognized the undisguised hatred in Ernie's eyes.
“Phone call for you.”
Mother held the phone's heavy black receiver in the air and pointed it at Sharon. She stopped eating her breakfast, stood up, and walked to the phone. Mother held his hand over the receiver. “Colonel McBride.”
Sharon swallowed. “Lacey here.”
“This is Colonel McBride. I'm Airman Coleman's commanding officer.”
Sharon heard a southern United States accent. “What happened to Colonel Wilson?”
“Transferred to the continent. Unfortunately, he was reported killed in action two days ago. But that's not why I'm calling.”
Sharon waited. There was something in McBride's tone that made her wary.
“Yesterday evening, Sergeant Beck was in a traffic accident.”
“And?” Sharon looked out the window at the side of the White Waltham hangar.
“He was killed in the accident.”
Sharon closed her eyes and recalled the look she'd seen in Ernie's eyes when Beck picked up Walter on Saturday evening. “Did you know Beck?”
“No. But I do have some questions I would like to ask. Colonel Wilson left extensive notes about you, Airman Coleman, and an Airman Washington. Washington is deceased?”
“Murdered, actually,” Sharon said.
“According to Colonel Wilson's notes, he was told to stop fighting and did not.”
“I was there. Edgar Washington was unarmed, moved to protect me from a drunken paratrooper, and was shot in cold blood by Sergeant Beck.” Sharon had a flashback of the life vacating Edgar's eyes.
“That is why I would like to speak with you in person. There are several inconsistencies I was hoping you might clear up.”
“When?” Sharon asked.
“Tomorrow?”
“With the German offensive and Allied counterattacks, I'm afraid we are stretched very thin. Would you be able to come here tomorrow morning before dawn?” Sharon looked at Mother. He nodded.
“Say zero six hundred?” McBride asked.
“We'll meet over breakfast.” Sharon hung up and held the phone out.
Mother took it. “Wilson's replacement?”
Sharon nodded.
What is McBride after?
At dusk, she could smell supper as she opened the front door of the cottage. It was a medley of ham, potatoes, carrots, and peas. Her mouth began to water.
Sean stood up from his chair. “We were beginning to think you might not make it.” He handed her a package wrapped in red paper.
Sharon took the package and caressed the crepe paper with her fingertips. “What's this?”
Linda and Honeysuckle stepped into the room. An atmosphere of expectation permeated the air.
Sharon unwrapped the package. She found a black wooden box and opened it.
Honeysuckle said, “The earrings are from us. The ring is from Cornelia.”
Sharon saw the gold earrings with white pearl insets. The ring was also made of gold with a sparkling red ruby. “How?”
“Michael found the earrings,” Honeysuckle said. “Cornelia, your niece, brought the ring over. She told us that her father was away on business. And she said that your grandmother wanted you to have that ring. I was very impressed by your niece, by the way.”
Sharon changed out her earrings and slipped the ring on next to her wedding band. The ring fit perfectly. “Thank you.” She felt the warm presence of her mother.
“Can we eat now?” Sean asked.
They moved into the kitchen and crammed around a table where bowls and plates competed for space. Sharon savoured the vegetables and ham Honeysuckle had brought with her. She glanced at her fifteen-year-old brother, who was tucking away food at an astonishing rate. Sharon looked at Honeysuckle, who was watching Sean eat. Then Sharon looked at Linda.
This is the first Christmas without
Harry. Michael couldn't get away from Bletchley Park because of the
Battle of the Bulge, and Milton is somewhere in France or Holland.
Maybe we'll all be together next Christmas.
Sharon gathered her hair at the back,
held it there with a rubber band, then flipped it back over her shoulder. She felt and found a gritty bit of sleep in the corner of her right eye, and removed it with the nail of her pinky finger. She sipped from her second cup of coffee and looked out the window of the White Waltham dispersal hut.
A grey Buick stopped on a patch of gravel. The car had white stars on the front door and hood. A man stepped out of the driver's door, looked around, saw Sharon watching him through the window, and walked toward her. He opened the door and took off his cap. He looked to be in his late forties. He had grey hair on the sides, and thinning hair on top. He was a bit taller than her and broad across the shoulders. He opened the door and stepped inside.
“Flight Captain Lacey?”
Sharon nodded. His uniform was clean, his tan pants pressed, and his brown uniform jacket buttoned up. He bore himself with practiced dignity. He offered his hand, and she shook it. He said, “Colonel McBride. Thank you for meeting me during such a busy time.”
“Coffee?” Sharon asked.
“Yes, please.”
Sharon pointed to the coffee urn and cups. “Help yourself.”
“Of course.” The colonel walked over and poured himself a cup.
“Bacon and eggs okay?” Sharon sat down at a table. She lifted her chin as a signal to the cook who waited at the door and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Of course. Eggs sunny side up, please.” Colonel McBride turned and saw that Sharon had sat down. He sat down across from her. Sharon waited as he settled himself in and checked that his tie was knotted neatly at his throat.
“Where would you like to start?” he asked.
“Where are you from?” Sharon studied the man's reaction. He looked a bit surprised by the question. His grey eyes studied her for at least ten seconds.
“Richmond, Virginia. How about you?”
Sharon smiled. “Calgary, Alberta.”
“Where's that?”
“You know where Montana is?”
McBride nodded.
“North of there.” Sharon looked right and saw the cook open the kitchen door. She got up and was handed two plates. She returned to the table and set a plate down in front of McBride and the other at her spot.
“Want a refill?” McBride lifted his cup.
“Yes, please.”
I wonder how long the civility will last?
“I have a daughter your age.” McBride sat back down with the coffees, then used his fork to cut into one egg.
Sharon folded a piece of bacon inside a slice of bread.
“She's a nurse like her mother.” McBride lifted a forkful of egg to his mouth.
Sharon put her elbows on the table and looked at him. “Are you patronizing me?”
McBride had a mouthful of egg. He frowned at the disadvantageous spot she'd maneuvered him into.
“You know what I mean,” Sharon continued. “Women shouldn't be in the Air Force. It's not the
right
kind of feminine pursuit.” She studied his facial features and the smile that appeared in his eyes.
McBride chewed and covered his mouth. “My other daughter is a
WASP
â a Women's Air Service Pilot.”
I really put my foot in it this time.
“Where is she flying?” “Back home. She loves to fly. That's probably how I ended up here. I had to learn to fly so that she could.” He lifted his cup to sip some coffee. “I'm actually a lawyer by trade. I'm here to gather some facts. You see, there are a variety of opinions about Sergeant Beck. His supporters say he was simply a patriot doing his job as a military policeman. There are others who say he was a racist and a murderer. I suspect by your previous comments about Washington that you will fall into the latter category. I also thought that you might be able to shed some light on his character. You are, after all, a Canadian with a slightly different point of view.” McBride picked up a piece of bacon and popped it into his mouth. The smile continued to light his eyes.
“Beck treated Edgar like he was subhuman. He shot Edgar for no other reason than that he was black.” Sharon sat back and cradled her coffee in her hands.
How will you react to that?
“You know this for a certainty?”
“I watched the Sergeant's behaviour over several months. And I witnessed the murder. Edgar was only a few feet away from me when he was shot. I heard what was said. I saw what happened.” Sharon lifted her cup to her lips.
“There is a complication you may not be aware of.” McBride looked at his plate and picked up another piece of bacon. “The maintenance chief at the motor pool took a look at the wreck of the Jeep Beck was driving. He found that the brake seals had deteriorated. He checked the brake fluid reservoir and found that it had been contaminated with motor oil.”
“I don't understand.” In another part of Sharon's mind, a memory began to swim its way to the surface.
Maybe you do understand.
“Either a mistake was made and oil was added instead of brake fluid. Or someone intentionally sabotaged the sergeant's Jeep.” McBride picked up his fork. “I've been told that motor oil eats away at the rubber seals of the brake cylinders and that's what caused the brake failure leading to the sergeant's death.”
“You're telling me you think he was murdered?” Sharon asked.
“No, at least not yet. As I said, I'm just gathering facts.” McBride popped bacon into his mouth.
Sharon felt her anger rising. “So a white
MP
dies in what may or may not have been an accident, and you are here to investigate. Yet when an unarmed black man is shot and killed in front of me, I'm told that there is a war on and no action will be taken against the murderer.”
McBride chewed his food and watched her.
This guy is no pushover
.
Now's the time to find out what he's made
of.
“Did you hear about what happened at Malmady?” Sharon asked.
“Over eighty American prisoners of war were executed by the
SS
.” He continued to study her.
Sharon picked up the coffee cup and pointed with her index finger. “Did you hear about what happened near Wereth, Belgium on the same day?”
McBride covered his mouth. “No, I did not.”
“It's a fact that you need to become familiar with. Come and talk with me after you find out.” Sharon stood up and picked up her kit. “I've got a priority delivery.”
She left Colonel McBride to finish his breakfast alone.
“Hello, Sharon.”
Michael sat in a chair at the cottage. Yellow light filtered its way through the lampshade to cast shadows across the floral patterns on the wall. “I thought we might go out for supper.”
Sharon dropped her shoulder bag and embraced her husband. She breathed in the familiar scent of dusty tobacco and wool. She found herself crying.
“I didn't mean to upset you. Linda phoned me and told me that I'd missed Christmas, and I'd better not miss New Year's. She said she'd be away tonight. That she was meeting Milton in Paris.” Michael wiped away Sharon's tears with his thumb.
“Linda phoned you?” Sharon lifted her head to look at Michael. She saw that he'd cut his blond hair short. It made his blue eyes seem bigger.
Michael nodded. “Well, are we going out for dinner?”
“When do you have to head back?”
“Tomorrow morning.” He combed his fingers through her hair.
“Can't we just stay here?” Sharon tucked the side of her face against his chest.
“That would be fine.”
Sharon closed and locked the front door of the cottage,
then waved as Michael drove away in a black saloon car. When the car was out of sight, she turned and walked in the other direction toward White Waltham.
Why didn't you tell him?