Olivia approached the familiar air base in her mother's black Briscoe. She had taken it without asking her, indeed, she had left the house without telling her where she was headed. It wasn't so much that she was up to no good, but rather, she didn't feel it necessary to explain every action she ever performed. If that came across as being disrespectful, she was sorry, that hadn't been her intent.

The place was less busy than usual but she didn't wonder at it. She knew exactly where all the men had gone, had been forced to go. Some of the remaining labouring men whistled at her as she drove by and she gave them a disgusted look. However once she had passed them, she smiled to herself, secretly pleased by such rare attention. Though Olivia had been born healthy enough, with only minor defects here and there, (as every normal human being is wont to have), there was one affliction that had unceasingly plagued her throughout her sixteen years of life, that of being quite petite. All told she was no more than four feet nine inches and given her meagre frame (and bosom), served to give her the appearance of a child. And people being as unobservant as they were, frequently assumed that she was one, regardless of the usually adult manner in which she conducted herself. This was an issue that continually vexed her but which she was powerless to stop. She prayed every day that a massive growth spurt was just around the corner, (either that or people miraculously became smarter, but she wasn't holding her breath on that score). However, there was one thing that she liked about herself quite a bit, that of her voice. She had been blessed with a very luscious, melodic type of voice and it was very pleasing to the ear.

Olivia continued all the way across the air field and into the middle hangar (there were only three) before coming to a stop and hopping out of the vehicle, in a very unlady like manner. This display was even more scandalous when one considered what she was wearing; trousers for heavens sake! And they weren't just any old trousers, these had come all the way from France where that sort of thing was becoming ever more popular. Mind you, even there the practice of wearing 'men's' clothing was almost strictly reserved for the purposes of bicycling.

She had wanted the pants in order to blend in better here, in the hopes that maybe she would be taken more seriously if she wore them. The idea had come to her when she had recalled an enchanting story of a group of women who had dressed as men in order to get more rewarding work than simply secretarial positions or telegraphers. Olivia had been astonished to learn that her own mother had gone undercover as one, moustache and all! Her mother told her that it had been one of the most liberating experiences of her life and she wasn't just referring to how comfortable the clothing was!

Unlike her mother, Olivia hadn't fully disguised herself because she had felt there was no need for such total deception (there is another reason that we will get to shortly). But judging by many of the strange looks she was getting, and whispered conversations commencing, it appeared that maybe she should have. Should she go home and change into a skirt? The next instant, she was angry at herself for feeling the need to change her appearance just to try and appease the archaic mindset of the supposedly modern man. Why should it matter what she wore? Why was it that a minute ago they had been attracted to her, but the moment she revealed herself to dare wear the same type of clothing as them, she should then be considered a freak, no better than the unfortunate individuals that inhabited the circus? Why should a piece of fabric make her any more or less desirable, or for that matter, capable of a human being? She wanted very much to scream at them but knowing that would do nothing to fix the situation, indeed, would likely only serve to make matters worse, controlled herself with a great force of will and marched onward.

Olivia headed through the noisy minefield of sparks and metal, through an area tinged with the stink of sweat, and over to the man she secretly loved. He was instructing some new workers (young men all told) on how to properly attach the six cylinder diesel/electric engine to the turbocharger (both custom designed by her crush).

"No, no," he said loudly over all the noise, "you're still doing it wrong!" He must have seen her approaching from the corner of his eye for he turned to look at her then, raising an eyebrow at her attire but saying nothing about it. "Miss Murdoch, it's been awhile. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Mr. Pendrick," she said seriously, "I've thought a lot about this...and I've decided that you desperately want to hire me."

He smirked at her and said, "You've decided, eh?"

"That's right," she said nodding, trying not to smile.

Without a single thought he shrugged his shoulders and said, "All right," making the other men gape at him like he'd lost his mind. Olivia smiled widely then and he gestured to the plane, the Pendrick Viper and said, "Could you please demonstrate to these men how to achieve this particular task?"

"With pleasure," she said, reaching for a large wrench and medium sized screwdriver and proceeding to adjust the screws and bolts to the exact right tightness for the design. If this process was overdone, the increase in pressure during flight was liable to cause a gasket to burst, proving fatal for the pilot. In a way it took a gentle touch, one might even say a woman's touch but if she ever made such a proclamation aloud, it would make her no better than the bewildered men surrounding her, watching her perform her magic. For by doing so would be akin to admitting that she was a weak creature, one that was too delicate a being to be doing such a task and therefore by that logic had no right to be there.

Within minutes she finished the task at hand and put the tools back from whence they came. The men continued to be astonished by such a display and she couldn't help but smirk a little, happy in her self satisfaction. Pendrick inspected her work and beamed at her, making her heart flutter. Though he had smiled at her many times throughout her apprenticeship with him, he had never looked at her quite like that before (or so she perceived).

"And that my new found mechanics, is exactly how one goes about performing this job correctly." They discreetly glanced at each other, embarrassed then at being shown up by someone they no doubt deemed inferior. He arched his back then and said, "Oh my! I think I need a bit of rest now. I believe Miss Murdoch can take over for me in the interim."

One of the men laughed and said, "Surely you can't be serious, sir? She's just a little girl! I mean look at her! She's wearing trousers for crying out loud! She's clearly wrong in the head!"

Pendrick and Olivia glared at the young man and the smug smile was instantly wiped from his face (no doubt much more from the former than the latter). "Why shouldn't I be serious? Do you deny what happened in front of your own senses? Did you not just witness that this...little girl as you incorrectly insist on labelling her, was able to perform that which you yourself could not?" He paused briefly, letting that sink in, "And I fail to see the relevance of her clothing on her mind."

The man looked away, red faced in anger, muttering something under his breath.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" asked Pendrick, cupping his right ear. "As you might imagine, my hearing isn't what it used to be and this noisy environment does little to help." Silence from the distraught and seething individual. "Nothing to say? Well, let's keep it that way." Glancing at the four young mechanics in turn, "I expect you to conduct yourselves like proper gentlemen." There were some grumbles. "We are at war, men, this is no time to be squabbling over gender roles. In case you hadn't noticed, we are a little short handed at the moment and are going to need whatever help we can get in order to finish this next shipment on time. You will follow whatever instructions Miss Murdoch gives you without complaint. Is that understood?" More grumbles. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir," they muttered.

Next he took Olivia aside and said, "When you're finished here, come and see me in my office. And Olivia, if you have any problems with them, any at all, I want you to inform Peter straight away."

She nodded that she understood and then watched him go briefly, greatly anticipating their alone time together, and then pulled herself back to the present. The three men who hadn't spoken looked at her uncomfortably, like they'd very much like to be anywhere else than there. The fourth man, the irate one, wasn't quite finished yet and immediately disregarded orders.

Darkly, "You don't belong here, little girl. This is no place for the likes of you. This is men's work. Why don't you do us all a big favour and go back to the kitchen, where your own kind belongs?"

His attitude was too much to be borne! Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached up and slapped him extremely hard, causing him to stagger and leaving an angry red indentation across his cheek. After his stupefaction wore off, he growled and tried to lunge at her but two of the men grabbed his arms and held him back.

As they began dragging him away, he screamed, "This isn't over, you harpy! I'll teach you to show some respect to your superiors! You have my word on that!"

Olivia was no shrinking violet, his threats didn't scare her and she wasn't about to go running to Peter of all people. He was a nice enough man but he wasn't exactly what you would call intimidating.

The remaining man grimaced and said, "Begging your pardon, miss, but Malcolm's always been a bit of a hot head. And he doesn't take kindly to change. I'm sorry you had to witness that."

"You don't need to apologize to me, Mr.-"

"It's George, miss, George Hampton."

She smiled at that and muttered, "Of course that's your name."

He looked at her quizzically, "Excuse me, miss?"

"It's nothing," she replied. She held out her hand and said, "I'm Olivia Murdoch."

He took it lightly as if he were afraid of hurting her. This served to annoy her greatly but she tried not to let it show.

"Are you by any chance related to William Murdoch?"

"As a matter of fact I am, he's my father. Why do you ask?"

"Oh no reason. It's just I've heard an awful lot about your father recently. He's a great man, volunteering to go off to war at his age and all."

Olivia scowled at that last bit and George looked a little frightened as if he feared she would strike him next.

"Something the matter, miss?"

Stiffly, "No, everything's just fine. Let's get to work."

In truth everything was not fine, that was precisely the reason that she had wanted to work here in the first place. Since both her father and brother had gone off to war, it was just her and her mother, something that she had never experienced before. While Olivia loved her dearly, greatly admired her, as she did her father and brother, she had become increasingly difficult to live with in recent weeks. No matter what Olivia tried, she could never seem to get her mother to stop worrying. Of course Olivia was worried as well but not to the extent that her mother was. Her mother had gotten so bad that she couldn't seem to focus on anything but that, had even had to take time off work! Rather than be dragged down with her, she had opted to be a more productive member of society and get a job. She could have chosen many other professions but this one had an obvious perk to it, one that she was willing to face never ending ridicule over in order to attain; that of getting to see James every day.

Her apprenticeship with him had started at any early age, when she was no more than seven years old and shown an aptitude for handling machines (in so far as taking things apart and then putting them back together). She learned all manner of things from him, and when combined with her own parents teachings, had developed into an extremely well educated individual. To her school was a pointless endeavour. Why waste her time with it when she could be doing things of actual value, with real world applications, with something that would actually make a difference? If she could help supply the Canadian and American air forces with planes with which their men could practice on before shipping out, didn't she have a moral obligation to do so? If she could in any way, bring her family back to her faster, wasn't that what mattered? What significance did geometry or Shakespeare have in comparison to that?

But back to the matter of her infatuation. It had come on so gradually that she hadn't even realized it until recently. About three months ago, James had been explaining the finer details of aerodynamics to her, when all of a sudden she found herself daydreaming about him! This particularly startled her because it had been quite a steamy affair! At that instant, it finally dawned on her that she thought of him as more than just a mentor. And now in present day, she had decided that she was in love with him. Rationally she knew that he probably didn't feel the same way, that he probably only thought of her as his loyal pupil, (or even worse, as his daughter), but there was no stopping the way she felt, no easy off switch to make this all go away.

Love was a fickle thing. How could such a beautiful thing be so inconvenient, so inappropriate? Why did she have to be in love with one of her father's oldest friends, with a man who was over forty years her senior, who had accomplished things beyond her wildest dreams, who was a lone wolf that wasn't interested in marriage, had sworn he never would be again? And even if he was, who was she in comparison to him? This man was even more brilliant than her own father and she still had a long way to go to be considered even his equal. Why would James ever take a romantic interest in her, she who still resembled that of a child?

Granted that sort of thing wasn't unheard of, in fact, it was still somewhat common even in current society but it was mostly frowned upon. Nowadays people expected you to marry someone more your own age because that was more natural or desirable, apparently. As far as she was concerned, the boys her age were still infantile and the slightly older ones were no better than boys. Why should that be desirable? Malcolm was a prime example of what she meant. George had more sense but was far too meek for her tastes. No, only someone with a keen intellect and a love of invention, of exploration, of science would ever be able to tempt her.

And so it was that she had succeeded in securing her ruination. How would she cope in the hours, the days, the months to come, suffering the worst symptom known to man, that of unrequited love? Why oh why had she decided to work here?

Over the next few hours Olivia and her team of three (they had thrown Malcolm out) only managed to complete construction on the same airplane that they had started on (and that one had been mostly finished to begin with). She was sure that if she had been working on her own, she would have finished this same task in half the time. Constantly having to explain everything to the fledgling mechanics was a tedious and above all annoying exercise. She hoped she hadn't been that much of a burden to James when she had been learning. The good news about this whole affair: she knew that she would never take the position of school teacher, not unless she were starving and that was the only job she could get.

Once they had finally finished, she was free to go see James, in his office, where it would be just the two of them. It was difficult to walk normally with such an enticement before her but she managed it with aplomb. She knocked on his door and he told her to come in. He was at his desk working away at a new design for what appeared to be a fuselage.

"It's pretty," she said, feeling stupid for such a comment in front of such a man.

"Do you think so?" he responded, frowning slightly. "I was rather going for streamlined." He smirked a little then, looked up and caught her still mortified expression and frowned again. "What's the matter, Olivia?"

"Oh nothing, Mr. Pendrick, nothing at all."

"Did those boys give you any trouble after I left?"

"A little." And then partially lying because she didn't want to show weakness in front of him, "but it was nothing I couldn't handle on my own." She couldn't be certain that she couldn't have tamed Malcolm since she had not been given the opportunity. Hence, half truth.

Suspiciously, "Are you quite sure about that? I'd be happy to dismiss them if needs be. They aren't the brightest bunch I've come in contact with. No doubt you became aware of this very quickly."

The lack of proper mechanics was a direct result of many men crossing the sea in order to be put to better, more immediate use but James knew that she knew that already and wasn't about to insult her intelligence, or unnecessarily bring up a painful topic.

"No, that won't be necessary, Mr. Pendrick. I've got everything under control."

He nodded and smiled. "All right, I believe you." There was a brief silence and he gestured for her to take a seat beside him. She wondered why she hadn't done so previously and then decided it was because she was so nervous being around him. Having never experienced this unpleasant sensation in his presence before, she had been slow to discern it. Was this what it would be like from now on?

"So tell me, Olivia, why is it that I haven't seen or heard from you in three weeks time?"

She gave him an apologetic look. "Mother and I took a trip out of town, to Winnipeg. I thought maybe the fresh air would do her some good, that a change of scenery might take her mind off of..."- She glanced away briefly and then returned his gaze.

His expression was one of great distress. The last time she could recall such an expression was when she was ten years old. She had gotten her hand stuck in a carburetor only moments before the engine was accidentally started by an imbecile employee. James had reacted immediately and yanked her hand out in time, scraping some of the skin off in the process, but protecting her from much worse harm. The man responsible for this would be disaster was promptly let go and James had refused to continue his teachings for months afterwards. It took her father explaining how out of sorts she had been before he reconsidered.

James took her hand in his and she thrilled at his touch, and because of that, she involuntarily began trembling.

He must have mistaken the reason (and really why would he think otherwise?) for he said, "Has there been any word since the last letters?" She shook her head and he squeezed her hand. "I'm sure they are all right. They are smart men, they know how to keep out of harms way."

"I pray that you are right, Mr. Pendrick."

Silence for several moments.

"And now," he said, releasing her hand, making her yearn for him all the more, "let us discuss a more cheerful topic."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know, but I'm sure we can come up with something." He smirked, "After all, we're supposedly quite bright. At least, that's the general consensus. And as we all know, society is always right about everything."

She returned his smile and simultaneously felt more happy and nauseated than she had in many months. Could she ever work up the courage to tell him her true feelings towards him? Would she ever dare do such a thing, knowing full well the likely response? Would she be foolish enough to risk everything on a silly girl's fantasy?

Olivia feared that soon it wouldn't matter whether she made a conscious decision or not, that no matter how hard she struggled against the tide of emotion, it would burst through the ever larger cracks in her armour, drowning out all rational thought with ease and ruining their relationship forever.