July 14, 1924

            It was raining outside. Gray clouds covered the Georgia sky for miles, and the humidity that the south is famous for made the air thick and hot. It was a miserable day in Dawsonville for everyone except Lillian Barnes. She was only of twenty and one years, and held eyes as brown as coffee beans. Her hair, hanging in loose ringlets, cascaded down her back in waves of gold. Her beauty dictated with a power of one thousand men. But it was on this day, this miserable day in northern Georgia, that she handed her beauty over to someone else.

            "Push, Lillian," She couldn't hear them. Her pain and willpower prevailed over any attempt of theirs to get her to react; She was about to become a mother. "Push, dear!" She didn't notice.

            The midwife's soft touch caressed her sweaty forehead, but still she did nothing to acknowledge her. She was giving her all in to bringing this being into the world. "Almost there," a voice told her. "Almost there."

            She didn't feel the initial exit of the baby; she lay back, practically comatose until she heard the child's wailing. "What is it?" She squeaked. The midwife handed over the small human, who was now carefully wrapped in a blanket. "It's a baby girl, Lillian. You did so well," She smiled again at the young mother. "Shall I send for your husband?" Lillian never once took her eyes off of her daughter. "Not just yet. I want just a minute with her." The midwife nodded and stepped out of the room.

Lillian grinned and wiped a tear away, gawking at the baby in front of her. "Hey there, little girl." She watched, amazed, as the child that she had created out of loving one man just once breathed, and gurgled in front of her. She was alive, finally. For so long, Lillian had wondered if this brilliant mistake would ever come to earth and serve her justice. She had never intended upon having a child; she was just having some fun with Randall Barnes. She was just having fun until it was taken too far, and now she was married with a child all before she had ever wanted a family.

This baby was not planned, nor was her marriage to a man that she was unsure she loved; but she instantly saw the light at the end of this tunnel: this little girl, who had not yet a name. Lillian stopped thinking for just a moment, long enough to christen the baby. "Hi, sweetie. I'm your mommy," She paused to think of what she would call this child for the rest of her life. "And you're Betty. Betty Jolene Barnes." Betty gurgled and opened her eyes for a small second, and it was in that instant that Lillian realized that her daughter had eyes as green as jades. She had eyes that would shimmer when the light hit them; eyes that would light up with vibrancy and youth. She had her father's eyes.

                June 6, 1932

It was a sunny day in Dawsonville; not a single cloud in the sky. A young girl of seven, Betty ran rampant through the corn stalks of her father's fields. It was her mother's birthday, and she had to make it home from her playmates in time for dinner. The depression had hit everyone hard, especially her family. They were farmers from Georgia; there wasn't much that could be done to save them when even stock brokers from New York City were being slaughtered. Because of this, a good meal was scarce. It was oats for breakfast, bread and butter for lunch, and rice for dinner. And of course, water to drink. But today, it was different. Today was one of the two days a year when her family had saved up enough money for some meat, and were able to save some corn and beans. This would only happen on her mother's birthday and her own.

"Betty, is that you?" The young girl took her muddy shoes off at the door to avoid dirtying her mother's rug. She had given almost everything for that piece of carpet. "Yes mama." Lillian watched as her daughter came into the kitchen; her golden hair tangled, her already ragged dress torn and muddy. She smiled, and then looked back to the vegetables she was preparing. "Were you with Margaret?" Betty nodded. "Yes ma'am." Lillian then focused her attention on the 3 cupcakes she was able to make. "Well, why don't you go and wash up? Daddy will be inside soon. Then we can start supper," Betty nodded and slowly began to trod out of the room. "Betty?" The small girl looked up, her awry curls all over her face. "Yes mama?" "I love you." Betty grinned. "I love you too, mama."

She cleaned up. She combed her golden hair that belonged to her mother, and splashed water over the dirty face that, too, belonged to her. She slipped the dirty, torn dress off of her skinny body and put on a dress just as ragged. At least it was clean.

She sat at her place at the table; quietly and shyly, she sipped from her water cup. Her father would be home soon. She loved her father. He was a cold man; never really saying anything, much less ever being witty. But he loved her, she was sure of it. Why would he work so hard to support her and her mother if he didn't? He did love her, and that was all that mattered.

"Lillian?" Betty watched as her mother looked up from her place at the sink, and as she became ever so stiff when her father leaned and kissed her cheek. "Hello Randall." "Happy birthday, love." She smiled weakly. "Thank you." Betty continued to watch her mother, even as her father sat down at the table.

"Hello Betty." She grinned. "Hi Daddy." Nothing else was said. She studied him; his face as hard as a rock. He had shaggy, brown hair that hung all over his forehead, and eyes that were piercing green. He was an attractive man, but work worn. "Watch out, Betty. These plates are hot." Betty felt a sheepish smile creep upon her face. She was excited that she was able to eat, for she was hungry; but even more excited that she was eating a true meal.

"These beans are delicious, Lillian." Lillian continued to concentrate on her plate. "I'm glad that you like them," Randall just looked at her, and though she was only seven, Betty could sense some sort of tense air. Something was awkward. Lillian noticed the tension, and saw her husband staring at her, and her daughter staring between the two. She cleared her throat. "So, how was business today?" Randall threw down a napkin. "Oh, terrible. Old man Jack is selling more of his shit just because his is 2 cents less than mine." "Well, maybe if you lowered the price…" Randall tossed his fork down hard against the plate.

 "Lillian, I need every cent that I can get. If I did that, old man Jack is so competitive that he would lower his right as I lowered mine, we'd start a trend, and sooner or later I'd be giving away free corn. I can't do that, Lillian. It's just hard right now. It's hard for everyone, not only us. There are people who aren't even busting their asses as much as I am busting mine, and they're living in shacks. You have a livable, clean house to be in. No bugs. No fancy furniture either, but it's not dirty. What more do you want from me?"

Betty watched as her mother stood up from the table, taking both hers and Randall's plates to the sink. "Anybody want a cupcake?" She picked up the pan and began carrying it to the table, only to be knocked down by Randall as he went to the refrigerator for a beer. Lillian fell to the floor. Looking at the 3 cupcakes splattered on the wooden panels, she began to quietly sob.

Betty looked at her father as he walked outside to the porch, the beer in his hand. The beer that no matter how hungry she was, or how much her mother needed a new dress, he could always manage to afford.

August 27, 1937

Things were going to get better. President Roosevelt had passed several new acts in an attempt to end America's poverty and economical distress. Particularly beneficial to the Barnes family was the Bankhead-Jones Farm Tenant Act. It was good for farmers and their families, but after a few weeks, Randall had seen nothing. He would give up too soon.

Betty looked at herself in the cracked mirror. She was now thirteen; on her way to becoming a woman, yet still so far away from leaving the realm of innocence and dependence. Her hands found their way to her tangled, ratty curly hair and pulled it back so that she could examine her face. Touching the blue mark just under her eye, she began to regretfully rehash the memories of two nights ago.

"Don't preach to me about my responsibilities to this family, Lillian! I work just as hard as you do to make sure that we survive. All that we need to do is live, damn it. You're just having a problem accepting that!" Lillian smacked Randall across the face. Betty didn't see this, but she was listening through the door. She knew what was happening.

"I can accept that! Perhaps that is all we need! But your daughter is starving, I am starving, she needs new clothes, I need new clothes; and you spend almost every dime you make on your whiskey! How can you do that and then tell me how all you want is for us to survive? Betty is STARVING. Have you not seen her lately? She is merely a skeleton, Randall. All she is eating is enough to keep her alive."

"Good. I've done my job." Randall took another drink from his bottle.

"No, Randall. Your job is not to keep her on the verge of life and death; it is to keep her alive and well. She is not well. She is going to DIE!" Betty heard nothing else but indecipherable screaming and furniture being knocked around harshly. She stood quickly, and carried her weak body into the living room where she would try and defend her mother.

"Daddy, stop!" Randall kept his grip on Lillian's shoulders, and continued to scream and spit in her face. "Daddy, STOP IT!" She felt helpless. Her mother was right; she was going to die soon if she didn't begin to eat healthier. She could never be strong enough to pull his large frame off of Lillian, and verbalizing her pleas weren't doing anything. She wanted to cry, but she knew that it wouldn't help. She did the only thing she could think of to do; she began pulling at her father.

"Get your hands off of me, Betty!" He was struggling to keep his grip on Lillian and to shake Betty off. "Betty, God damn it! Let go!" "Let go of her first!" His drunkenness and anger getting a hold of him, he harshly let go of Lillian and smacked Betty across the face; knocking her down.

She was stunned. Her hand went up to her cheek, and she began to weep. He had always provided for her and cared for her. He had always loved her, she thought. She was a mistake. She was never supposed to happen, and she knew that. She knew that the only reason her parents had ever married was because of her. They never said it, but she was smart enough to gather it on her own. But she still thought that her father loved her. He had been so dutiful for her to doubt it in the slightest. And he had just hit her with force enough to knock her down. She stared up at him, tears in her eyes, and with out saying a word, searched his soul inside and out for a motive.

Randall looked down at his daughter, who looked up at him with such pain, hurt, anger, and betrayal in her eyes that he quickly became sober and realized what had happened. He knew that she was questioning him, and he had nothing to offer her. He had never been able to offer her much, as they had no monetary sources of great dealings and he was never good at showing someone he loved how he truly felt. He loved his daughter, and his wife. Lillian was someone that he had messed around with and made mistakes with, but he wouldn't have done it if he didn't love her. But he loved Betty on a different scale. She was his flesh and blood, and she reminded him so much of the Lillian that he did once love with all of his heart.

"Betty… Honey, I—" Without words, she cut him off by just looking down and silently crying. It was at that instant that he knew no matter how much he loved his daughter, and how much he would ever try, he had messed up. She would never know now; he had ruined all chances.

He stood up and walked out, leaving his daughter to cry and his wife to gaze blankly.

November 23, 1938

He hadn't come home. They were left to fend for themselves, and it was failing. They made it through Thanksgiving and Christmas, and then through Betty's birthday. She turned fourteen. They even made it to when Betty started school. God only knows how they made it that far.

Betty looked at the large ranch house in front of her. It loomed from behind the trees; its deep red brick being something she had never been able to see before. She had known her aunt. She saw her on Christmas every year, and she had come around a couple of times and brought Betty a new dress. But she didn't know her.

"Mama, why are we coming to see Aunt Meryl?" Lillian looked at her teenage daughter with tears in her eyes. She was thirty-five now; thirty-five and still as beautiful as she ever was. She was happy to see that her daughter was becoming just as gorgeous. She led Betty to the porch. "Betty, I have to leave you here." Betty was confused. She didn't know what to say, or what to do. She was being abandoned?

"What?" Lillian wiped a tear away. "I'm sorry, Baby. But I just can't keep up with you. You're a smart and beautiful girl, Betty. You really are. But you have the potential to be so much more beautiful. You need to eat, sweetie." Betty was about to become hysterical. "But Mama, I do eat. We eat everyday. Remember? You fix me my oats—" "Oh, Betty. That is just it. You should be having eggs and pancakes, not oats. It lasted for a while. But your father left us, honey. He left us all alone. And now I just can't do it and keep both of us alive. This is the only way." Betty was sobbing now, as was Lillian.

"How much more can Aunt Meryl and Uncle Walter feed me?" Lillian sighed. "Betty, Uncle Walter is an attorney. He mostly handles small affairs around the county, but sometimes larger deals among the wealthy in Atlanta. He has much to offer his family, even in this time of distress. I'm confident that they can take care of you in the way you should be taken care of. Here," Lillian pulled a ragged teddy bear out of her pocket book. "This was mine when I was a little girl. I gave it to you to play with when you were small, but just as soon as I did you were outside playing in the mud. You weren't interested in playing tea time." Lillian grinned, as the tears continued to spill down her cheek. Betty reluctantly took the bear from her mother and cradled it.

Hearing the door open, Betty fearfully turned around to see her aunt, frumpy and homely, standing at the threshold. She looked to her mother, terror written all over her eyes. Lillian gripped her hand. "I have to go now, Betty." "No, mama!" She grasped on to Lillian's arm, almost in refusal to let her leave. "Betty, remember what I told you? I just can't do this anymore. It's not because I don't love you, Betty. I'm doing it because I do love you. I love you more than I love myself, which is why. Please understand me when I say that." "Can't you stay, too?" Lillian wanted to laugh at her daughter's innocence. "No, honey. I can't. This is your home, now I have to go find mine. Maybe someday we can be together again, just not now." Betty sniffled. "Will you come and visit me?" Lillian let go of her daughter and cried. "I don't know, Betty. It depends on where the wind takes me." Betty nodded reluctantly, but she understood. It was time for her mother to leave.

Turning around, she eyed her aunt. Meryl was a beautiful woman, though you could tell that age was upon her. She never had any children of her own, probably a factor in her willingness to take Betty in. The old woman smiled weakly, and Betty walked towards her, not once turning around to look at her mother.

"I'm ready to go in now."

July 16, 1940

It was quite brisk that summer night in Dawsonville; clouds moving quickly out of the area to reveal a starry sky. Betty sat in the window of her bedroom and looked upon it. She was wishing on the stars, knowing that the stars held wishes so important that never came true. She wanted to see her mother and her father again; she wanted everything to be the way it was. She wanted to be happy; she wanted to see the world. So she looked down at the small bag of belongings at her feet and picked it up. And then she quietly climbed out of the window.

July 18, 1940

Betty had left her home in the stillness of the night with only a few clothing items and some money she had received for her birthday. She put the money to good use, using it to buy a train ticket to Atlanta. And then she was there. She had this city at her fingertips, and she knew what she was going to do. Staring at the large, brick building in front of her, she took a breath and walked in.

"Here you go, ma'am." She looked at the pen that was being offered to her, and then nervously to the lady behind the desk. Anxiously, she smiled. And then she looked to the paper.

It asked for her name. Betty Jolene Barnes. And then it asked for her mailing address. Knowing that they would send information to Aunt Meryl's, she felt she needed to write down a lie. She did; then it asked for her age. She was almost to the brink of sweating, she was so nervous. Why was she signing her life away like this? She wanted to see the world, and she wanted to live a free spirit. But she had never intended upon doing it through such lies. She took the pen and scratched her head, before bringing the ink to the paper. Age, it asked? She wrote. 19.

After completing other information, she took a breath and rubbed her head, trying to remove any noticeable sweat. And then she handed the form over to the United States Naval Enlisting Office desk clerk.

The frumpy woman looked over the paper, and read aloud; "Sub branch: Navy Nursing Corps," She looked Betty over. She froze; fearing she was caught. Then the woman smiled. "With all that's happening over in Europe, they'd be glad to have you."

Betty felt sheer relief, and laughed.

December 3, 1940

Betty was on a train. It was a sunny afternoon in Norfolk, Virginia, and Betty was leaving on this day. She looked at the other women around her on the train. She had finished her basic nursing school in a near record two and a half months, and now she had been assigned to a group. She was to stay with this group of nurses until further notice. She sighed as she realized that she was now a true Navy Nurse. She was in; she was safe. This was her life now. There was no turning back; she had made it, and now she would go to Long Island with women she knew nothing about to give physicals to pilots she knew nothing about. She was meeting new people; she was seeing the country.

December 22, 1940

Betty looked at the chart of the young man. "Joseph Ogle," This was her first 'patient'. She was to give him an inoculation for yellow fever, as he was a pilot and would be traveling to places unknown; for the United States was on the brink of war. A handsome man walked up to her and smiled. She smiled back. "My name is Betty. If you would drop your skivvies for me just a tad, so that I can get this area right here…"

Later on that night, Betty walked out with the nurses from her station. She talked with Barbara, and made fun of Sandra's seriousness. She admired Evelyn's ability, and was unsettled with Martha's crass ways. But this was it for her now; this was her home. It was no longer a brick rancher on a dirt road in Dawsonville, Georgia; it was no longer a wooden shack with a gravel sidewalk up the road from that rancher. It was in the Navy, a place of even more uncertainty than she had ever known in her young years.

January 24, 1941

            It was a new year, but did it hold new beginnings? Betty wondered of this, as she had wondered every year of her life. She kept waiting and waiting, but nothing new would ever find her. Until tonight.

            She was dancing with Martha. She had often longed for a Saturday night in New York, and now she had one. But she had no one to spend it with. Except for Martha, and Evelyn's luck with the men. It wasn't very much fun for her, but she was determined to make the best of it.

            "Hi," She stopped hopping and looked at the pilot in front of her. "I'm Red… Red Sttrraaa-ssttrraaa—sttrraaaaange." She brushed the blonde curls out of her eyes and shot Martha a look of desperation. She wanted out of this right now. "Yeah, she's all yours, Soldier." With that, Martha walked off hastily; much too fast for Betty to stop her. She looked back at the red headed young man, who was not very attractive, nor did he have very good speaking skills. She kind of giggled, worriedly at best. "Your last name's Strange?" "No, it's Winkle." She laughed. That was good.

"Do you always stutter?" He shook his head, "No, only when I'm ner—ner—nerv—" "Nervous?" He nodded, nervously. "Yeah."

She smiled at him, and for herself. Maybe he wouldn't be so bad. It was time for her to meet someone that she could be with.

November 2, 1941

Betty had turned seventeen. It had been over a year since she had run away and lied about her age, but she hadn't any regret or longing to return to her old life. She had made new friends in her nursing comrades, and found a special connection with Red.

He had picked her up with Billy, who was coming for Barbara. Betty always thought it was kind of neat that the pilots in the same squadron ended up with nurses in the same station. She often liked to compare it to twin boys ending up with twin girls. But she felt sorry for Evelyn. Evelyn had lost Rafe; he was her soul mate, and was arrogant enough to leave her and go fight in Europe. America was not even at war and he left her. And he died.

It had been a while since Red had said anything. They were walking from the quarters Betty shared with the other nurses to the downtown part of Pearl City to have dinner with Barbara and Billy.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked him sweetly, her green eyes piercing his blue ones. Barbara and Billy stood in the background, goofing off. To Red, all that existed were he and Betty. "Say, Betty," She looked at him, inquiringly. He kneeled down, and began stuttering. "W—w—" Betty became worried, what could be happening to him? "No, Betty, get up!" She gazed at him with confusion in her eyes. "What's going on, Red?" He looked fearful. "Betty, you've got to get up." "What do you mean, get up?" He looked nervous, and frustrated. She decided to give in. "Just stand up, stand…"

When she looked down and saw the look of love in his eyes, she quickly came to her senses and knew what was about to happen. Overcome with excitement and emotion, she could hardly hold in what she was feeling. "Oh, oh!" "Betty—"

"RED! Come on, we've got a dinner reservation!" He looked over to Billy, who was holding his arms out in question. Red had never imagined that asking the woman he loved to be his wife would be so difficult. "Can I get a minute?" Billy shut up, so he was satisfied. Trying to regain the confidence he had for a split second, he looked down. "What's the matter? Are you sick?" Fed up and embarrassed, he angrily shot back. "Can a guy PROPOSE?!"

December 6, 1941

Betty and Red walked along the beach, hand in hand. They didn't say anything at all, words not being needed to express how they felt for one another. They would stop every now and then and look at each other, smiling at the way the Hawaiian sunset reflected in the other one's eyes. Red was mesmerized by how beautiful Betty was; her golden curls cascading down her back, the exact same way that her mother's did; her green eyes shining like emeralds in the sun; her tanned skin as soft as silk. He rubbed her hand and said nothing, nor did she. They had their entire lives to talk, why ruin this perfect ending with words?

December 7, 1941

Betty ran for her young life as fast as her legs would carry her. She had to make it; she was so young, and she had Red to live for. She wanted to have children, and raise them in a way that she was never able to be raised. She wanted to justify her life to herself. In Red, she had done so; but not to the fullest extent. There was more to be done, there was more to see. There were more people to meet; there was everything.

She started screaming, and ran faster. Faster, and faster. She was almost there… Only a few more feet. Go, Betty. Go. Run, girl. And she kept running… She kept running until she saw the light.

The ships continued to burn, and the men continued to drown. Evelyn continued her duty as the officer nurse; being sent outside to determine whether or not men would live or die. Their lives were in her hands in a way that they had never been before. And then a girl was brought to her; a girl who was dead. Her golden curls were pulled back to reveal young Betty Barnes. Not feeling anything could be done, Evelyn had her sent to the pile. And so she was laid, with many other bodies that had perished that fateful day. She lay on top; her gold hair covering their faces, her eyes slightly open to see nothing… Those green eyes seeing no longer… Those green eyes that were so much like her father's.