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Soar Like Eagles (Promise for Tomorrow Book 3)

By Terri Wangard

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Chapter 1
Dennison, Ohio
Wednesday, December 29, 1943
Carol Doucet unscrewed the bolt and wrestled the meat grinder off the table’s edge. As she scraped the last of the ham sandwich spread out of the grinder, her friend Fran laid out slices of bread.
Fran blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “I still can’t believe you gave up your job.”
Carol pursed her lips. Why couldn’t Fran understand her desire? They’d been over this countless times since she’d received notice from the Red Cross to report to Washington.
“Giving up my job as a society reporter can hardly be considered a sacrifice.” She twirled her spoon in the air. “‘Olive Sullivan wore a crimson gown trimmed with antique lace to last night’s Rotary Christmas party.’” The spoon hit the table with a clank. “That is so frivolous. Who cares, with a war going on? I’m determined to do my part in the war effort, no matter how insignificant it seems.”
“What do you call this?” Fran waved her hand around the train station’s back room before grabbing the bowl of ham salad. She slopped the spread onto the slices of bread. “We’re volunteering our time, our food, and our thanks to the servicemen coming through Ohio. Carol, you don’t have to go overseas to serve coffee and doughnuts.”
Carol added top slices of bread, cut the sandwiches in half diagonally, and stacked them on a platter. “No, but I want to go. The war is having a profound effect on our generation and I want to be part of it, to see it. I want to help. I’m sure I’ll still have opportunities to write while overseas, maybe not as a reporter, but about my own experiences.”
“Wars are deadly, Carol. You could be killed.”
“The Red Cross won’t send us to the front. I’ll be safe.”
“Are you sure you’re not just running away from Sally and Mike?”
Fran’s quiet question stopped Carol’s hand from draping a tea towel over the sandwiches. “I can’t believe you would think that.”
Someone started a phonograph record, and the melancholy strains of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” flooded the train station. Carol winced. A song about a soldier dreaming of being home with his loved ones for the holiday was not going to cheer the soldiers and sailors crisscrossing the country in training and preparation for shipping out to the war zones.
Another canteen volunteer poked her head in the kitchen door. “A train arrives in five minutes, ladies.”
Five minutes. Good. The song would be finished by then.
Carol hoisted the platter, careful not to topple the sandwiches, and headed out for the serving tables. If she was honest with herself, the opportunity to leave Sally behind was a joyful thought. She bit her lip. Someday, the events that had transpired last fall might be funny, but for now they were still too shocking to be believed.
After three dates, Mike had asked her to marry him before he reported for naval training. Carol didn’t regret saying no. He possessed a wild streak that scared her. Wartime marriages might be patriotic, sending off a sailor happy in the knowledge he had someone at home waiting for him. What about when he came back to a stranger? How many of those quickie weddings would lead to lifelong love? Carol envisioned her parents laughing together as they washed the supper dishes and sighed. She couldn’t imagine sharing intimate moments with Mike.
She’d been shocked when her good friend, Sally waltzed in four days after the rejection and announced she would marry Mike. What was Sally thinking? They’d had five days together before Mike shipped out, and now Sally was pregnant. Carol shuddered every time she thought of it.
Fran followed her out with a heaping basket of apples. “I know you’re relieved not to be in Sally’s shoes, but I heard someone ask if you wish you hadn’t turned your back on a husband and baby. Busybodies can get annoying real fast, and the timing of your departure suggests a desire to avoid them.”
Long tables groaned with goodies set out for the troops in transit. Carol shifted a bowl of someone’s homemade divinity candy to make room for her sandwich platter. She accepted a rack of quart bottles of milk from a neighbor and began pouring the milk into glasses.
“A coincidence. You know I’ve wanted to join the Red Cross all year, but they have that minimum age requirement. Next month I’ll be twenty-five and eligible. As it is, I’m surprised I’m allowed to report for training before my birthday.”
The train whistled in with a squeal of brakes and a hiss of steam. A deluge of young soldiers and sailors raced into the station. Carol smiled. It was always the same. Some of the boys stepped right up while others stopped and stared at the abundance of food. She grabbed a knife to slice one of the cakes on her table.
“I hope you boys brought your appetites.” Mrs. Wills served as president of the Dorcas Society at the church Carol attended. “Help yourself. We’ve got all kinds of sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, fruit, cookies, cakes, pies, coffee.” Her voice faded into the din of hundreds of voices.
A tall, quiet officer dressed in an airman’s uniform stepped up to the table and hesitantly selected a sandwich he placed in an empty box marked with a “K.” Carol scooped up a slice of cake and offered it “How about some delicious, prize-winning cherry cake?”
He smiled and accepted the dessert. With his first bite, his eyes brightened. “Mmm, I can see why it’s a prize winner.”
Carol grinned. “My neighbor made it. Another slice for the road, or should I say, the rail?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Holding out his box, he plucked an apple from the basket and added it to his meal. “This is really great, what you’re doing here. Do you use up your own ration stamps?”
“It’s our way of thanking you for what you’re doing. Communities from all around take turns providing food. Today it’s a ladies group from a church in Canton.” Carol removed an empty plate and helped Fran slide in a new tray of cupcakes.
The airman lingered nearby, sipping a glass of milk, watching the hubbub, and nodding in time to “Angels We Have Heard on High.” After pointing out to a trio of sailors which sandwiches were ham, chicken, or egg salad, Carol came back to him. “Are you traveling cross country?”
He grimaced. “No, thank goodness. That’s not a fancy Pullman car we’re riding in. I can’t tell you how good it feels to walk around.”
He snatched an egg from a platter being carried to the table, and his jacket gaped open. Carol spotted navigator wings adorning his shirt. The only planes she knew of that employed a navigator were the big four-engine bombers. She shivered as though someone had allowed the winter breeze to sweep in.
The airman didn’t seem to notice as he finished the slice of cake and wiped his fingers on a handkerchief. His eyebrows lifted. “What does the C stand for?”
“The C? Oh!” Carol touched the flowery initial embroidered on her blouse. “Carol. And you are?”
“Chet.”
“All aboard!” The stationmaster’s call echoed through the station.
Chet handed her his empty glass. “Sure doesn’t take long to get the train watered when pointthere’s something worth getting off for.” He dipped his head. “It’s been nice talking to you, Carol.”
“Godspeed, Chet.” The farewell slid off her tongue as though she said it every day. She’d heard it explained in church as “May God prosper you.” As she watched the handsome brown-eyed airman stride outside, the expression seemed most appropriate.
The canteen emptied as the servicemen ran back to their train. A moment of silence reigned as the ladies caught their breath.
“Whew. I don’t know what they feed them in the military, but it must not be enough.” Fran materialized beside Carol. “We’ll be lucky if our food holds out until the next shift arrives.”
“I’ve heard they subsist on K rations or C rations, or some little box of canned stuff they have to eat cold. This is a smorgasbord in comparison.” Carol stared out the window as the train chugged away. Chet’s box must have held K rations at one time.
“Carol? Come on, we have to get ready for the next train.”
“Right.” She looked at the glass in her hand. “I’ll wash coffee cups and glasses this time.” She turned toward the kitchen, but Fran stood in her way.
“You want to wash dishes? What’s gotten into you?”
Carol leaned back against the table and grinned. “Did you see who I was talking to? Three dates with him and I might have to change my mind about saying no.” She straightened up with another shiver. “Seriously, I wouldn’t mind getting to know him, except he’s on a bomber crew. In Europe, they’re dropping faster than autumn leaves.”

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