Emily - May 1944
"Do you speak French?"
Emily leaned perilously over a nearly complete sand table upon which she had labored patiently the last couple weeks. A thin tipped paint brush was poised in her left hand as her right hand clutched a small jar of sage green paint. She was afraid to even breath for the risk of disrupting any detail of her work. It took all of her core strength and concentration to add the final touches to the terrain that was positioned at the center of the four by eight table. Nixon's aimless commentary was not helping her along.
"What?" she grunted out.
"Do you speak French? Any at all?" Nixon was perched on a stool on the opposite side of the table.
Emily dabbed another dot of paint to a field then straightened herself. She exhaled with relief, surveying her work. "What are you on about?" she said finally turning her attention to her bothersome friend.
"I'm just wondering since you've done all these signs in French," Nixon gestured to the table, his eyes wide with an almost juvenile innocence.
"No, I don't speak French." Emily circled the table, her sharp eyes scanning every papier-mâché tree, bush and ditch.
"Hm," Nixon's mouth turned down.
"Do you?" Emily raised an eyebrow at him. She could easily guess that answer.
"I don't want to say."
"Because you're afraid I'll call you a snob again," Emily giggled.
"I should be used to it by now," Nixon pulled a cigarette from his chest pocket.
"Hey, not here! I don't want the smoke degrading the paint and paper!"
"What? That's ridiculous." Nixon lit his cigarette.
"No! Go away to smoke that!" Emily jostled him off the stool.
"Are you serious? All the men are going to be smoking when they're studying these."
"Well, I want them to stay preserved until they do! Shoo!"
"Bossy," Nixon grumbled as he exited the hanger. Emily turned back to the table, her hands on her hips. She was proud of the work she had accomplished here. She was confident that this little world she had created was an accurate representation of where the men would be dropping down. The question was, when would they be. A pit grew in Emily's stomach. The involuntary feeling of dread was the consequence of how close she had grown to these men over the past months.
Emily wasn't thick, she understood the realities of the war - or thought she did. She had seen it first hand hadn't she? Emily shuddered at the memory of the convalescent hospital where she had last seen John. John had been a sorry sight, so were all the poor soldiers wandering around the grounds on crutches or in wheelchairs. Emily had seen young men, some younger than her, with missing limbs, disfigured faces, and wounds that still looked so fresh Emily's skin crawled with dull pain just looking at them. She dreaded the thought of George and Frank, of Harry, and even Nix dropping into a world that would do that to them; and that was best case scenario.
"Excuse me?" A raspy voice came from behind her. Emily shouldn't have startled as she had considering it was mid-day and staff had been in and out of the hanger all morning.
"Oh!" she immediately relaxed when she saw who it was, "Joe, hi." Joe Toye sidled up to where she stood beside the table, "Hi Miss Rooney."
"Emily, please Joe." For some reason Emily blushed.
"Emily, so what's this you been workin' on? There've been some rumors going around."
His brow was creased and his dark eyes were heavy with- what was that? Nervousness? Anxiety? There was an uncertainty about his demeanor she hadn't seen before. To be fair, their interactions had been limited but she had always considered Joe one of the toughest and most intimidating G.I.s.
"Are we gonna have to do anything with these?" Joe gazed down at the sand tables, a tone of vulnerability in his voice. Emily felt her heart melt at his uncertainty.
"Yes actually, I probably shouldn't say but these maps are are for every soldier to memorize. Not just battalion staff."
Joe nodded thoughtfully, still peering down at the carefully sculpted landscape. "So it's important we know everything on here? Or just the roads and stuff?"
The heaviness in Emily's stomach grew even more as she imagined Joe and the others stumbling around this landscape with German fire raining down on them. "You should know everything, Joe. Memorize every single detail of this map, if you can."
Emily couldn't look away from him. He didn't seem to notice, or mind, her blatant stare because he was so focused on the map below him. His apprehension seeped out from his daunting features like a coded message. There was something intriguing about him and this immediate fixation on the map she had so lovingly, so carefully, created. Finally, Joe looked up at her with wide black eyes.
"Would you mind if I- if I came a few times to study the table? I'm not so good- I'm not the best at brainy stuff like this and it might take me a little longer than the others to get it all down."
"Yeah, absolutely Joe. As long as you don't mind me working on the other tables while you study?"
"There's others?" Anxiety hijacked Joe's voice.
"Just one, and then I have to replicate this and the other." She smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
Joe hesitated before smiling back, "hopefully I can get that one memorized once you're done with it too."
"Oh I'm sure you will, I bet you're smarter than you're giving yourself credit for!"
If Emily were being honest, she had expected Joe's presence to be a bit uncomfortable. Of course she didn't mind that he used his free time to study the tables, but she had enjoyed working in solitude the past couple weeks; she was relaxed in her own company. But to her surprise she didn't feel uneasy at all with him being there. He slipped in quietly, only to exchange a few polite words before they both settled into their work in comfortable silence. It was almost nice having him there. Joe Toye had a powerful presence about him that Emily found unexpectedly calming.
The job at hand provided for a lot of time to daydream. As Emily sculpted the local flora of Normandy she would steal glances at the dark featured man who's eyes scanned the roads, trenches, and tree-lines she had arranged. Emily wondered if he had someone back home. She wondered if there was a picture of someone special he had tucked away in his chest pocket at that very moment.
A pang of embarrassed hurt interrupted her more pleasant fantasies as the intrusive memory of John entered her mind. The simple thought of him made her feel embarrassed enough to blush. She felt like such a fool for thinking, once upon a time, that it was a picture of her he had carried.
John had kept up the pretense for appearances sake. But in his private moments, when he was feeling lonely or scared, he wasn't looking at a photo of Emily. It would have been a photo of his child - not the one he and Emily had shared - but the son of his other girlfriend. They were probably married by now, Emily thought bitterly. It wasn't that she missed John, not one bit. The hurt came from the humiliation that she had been so easy to write off, so easily forgotten about and discarded. He had had no intention of starting a family with her. He was living his dream elsewhere and had stuck with her only out of obligation.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Harry Welsh sauntered into the hanger.
"Harry!" Emily jumped slightly in surprise. Things had been so quiet with her just and Joe there. "What are you doing here?"
Harry tested the strength of the table before leaning against it. "I was just passing by on my way to lunch. I thought I'd check in to see if I could drag you away to eat a meal with me."
"Oh," Emily looked down at her paint and ink stained hands, a paintbrush and map clutched between them. "Uh, yeah sure, this as good a stopping point as any."
"Great!" Welsh edged towards the exit.
"Joe, you alright?" Emily wiped her hands on a tea cloth she'd been keeping nearby for quick cleanup.
"I'm gonna stick around a bit longer," Joe barely looked up from the table.
"Okay, see you later." Emily said. He responded with a half-hearted wave goodbye and Emily followed Welsh out of the hanger.
It was significantly warmer the first step out of the cool, concrete hanger and it took a moment for Emily's eyes to adjust against the sun.
"Nice isn't it? Finally getting a little sun in this country!" Welsh said.
"Very nice, I'm quite warm though!"
"Well, I'll bet you are. A bit of an outfit change you're sportin' there." Welsh allowed his eyes to roam over her.
Emily blushed at his attention, "I kept getting stains on my skirts, I didn't want to ruin them so I asked for a set. This is all they had to offer."
"Hey, gets the job done right?" Welsh said. A slightly awkward silence fell between them as they both searched for a new topic to pick up the conversation.
"So Joe Toy-,"
"How is-,"
"Sorry," Welsh chuckled, "go ahead."
"No please, you go ahead!"
"Alright. So is Joe Toye your assistant or something?"
Emily giggled, "not quite, although he should be. He probably knows the tables as well as me now."
"But he still doesn't know where we're going?"
"Do you?" Emily smiled skeptically at him.
Harry grinned back a gap tooth grin, "do you?"
"I asked first!"
"I can't give away my position, if I do or do not know that is."
"Nor can I," Emily retorted playfully. They held each others gaze just a moment too long, causing Emily's stomach to flurry with a swarm of butterflies.
"Hello there." Nixon clueless, interrupted their flirtatious banter. They had arrived outside the officers mess where Nixon was enjoying a pre-lunch cigarette.
"Hi Lew," Emily said.
"Wow, you can really dress down can't ya?" Nixon chuckled. Emily stood in front of him a slightly oversized pair of O.D.s, a sweater now tied up around her waist, with her face screwed up against the sun.
"What?" Emily asked, missing his meaning.
Nixon gestured up and down her body with his hand.
"What?" She demanded, her face turning red.
"I gotta say, I preferred the stockings and skirt."
"I'm sure you did, sir," she bit back.
"What? So you lose your boyfriend and stop trying?"
That felt like a gut punch. Was Harry thinking the same thing? "Shut it, Nixon. I'm just trying to get my work done."
Nixon clearly realized how harsh his words sounded. "Em, that was- that was uncalled for, I'm sorry it just slipped out" Nixon tried to extend a hand to her but she brushed him off.
"Fuck off. You gonna eat with us or what?"
"Meet you in there," Nixon said.
Emily barely waited for him to respond before she entered the mess hall, Harry right behind her.
She could feel Welsh's eyes watching her cautiously. She grabbed a tray from the stack. "I'm fine Harry, I can deal with Lew."
Welsh bit his lip, "you sure?"
Emily shot him a perfunctory smile, "I'm sure, he'll be feeling bad about it and will apologize to me later. He's just an idiot."
Welsh chuckled, "well, you should come to the pub with us tonight. Get an apology in the form of a drink."
"You know what, that's not a bad idea!"
And Emily did just that. Her prediction had been right, Nixon did feel bad and he apologized at lunch like a guilty school boy. Emily accepted his apology and solicited the promise of a drink later that night. Nixon was more than good on his word and Emily drank for free that night; not beer, but her favorite French 75s, a real treat in the rationing world.
George Luz barreled up to the table where Emily sat with Nixon, Welsh and Moose Heyliger. "Em, I need you." George wasn't afraid of dramatics, especially when he had been drinking.
"How may I assist, George?" Emily did not match his urgent tone.
"We got a thing goin' with these F company yokels, we need you to come play."
"What? Darts?" Emily asked in confusion.
"Yeah, of course darts. Come on, they'll never see ya comin'! This is our chance!"
Emily laughed and shook her head, but she stood up anyways. "Lew, watch my bag will you." She dropped her clutch into his lap. He looked down in shock at the cream-colored leather as if she had just dropped a viper on him. "Oh wait," she snatched it back from him and pulled out a compact and her golden tube of lipstick. Emily cursed under her breath; the cherry red wax was right down to the nub. Soon she would be fighting the metal casing just to get the last bits of color out of it. "Okay, thank you!" she lilted with a flourish of the bag. Then she was gone into the crowd, leaving her bag behind with a dumbstruck Lewis Nixon.
"I can't carry this around all night," she heard him say to Harry as she walked away. She smiled to herself, one of those intoxicated smiles where one feels all the simple joy of the world they're in. Not a single dark cloud hung over her in that moment. The lurking fears and daunting tasks that lay ahead of every single person in this pub could not penetrate her happiness. She was warm, surrounded by and desired by her friends. "Em," George clapped in front of her, "focus up. You're not drunk are you?"
"No, I'm fine!"
"Okay," George seemed to relax a bit, but only a bit. He was on one tonight. These F company men had him riled up.
"Oh hi Barry," Emily smiled at the radio operate from F company whom she recognized.
"No, not hi Barry," George said playfully, but Emily could tell he was kind of serious. "Okay Em, it's you and me against Barry and mac over here." Emily smiled and turned to greet her other opponent but George pulled her back by the shoulders. Frank Perconte, Skip Muck, and Don Malarkey were crowded behind them, forming a tight audience with some of the other F company guys. Chalk tally's filled both sides of the dart board. It appeared that this game was potentially a tie breaker.
"George, what have you got riding on-,"
"Don't worry about that, just focus!" George reassured her, "here, you go first." He placed the heavy darts in her hand. Emily adjusted one of the green flags that had slipped slightly out of its notch.
"Come on, Emily!" The men cheered behind her.
They won, but only by a hair. Thank goodness they won. George was so pleased, and so relieved, counting his stack of cash beside the bar Emily couldn't imagine how he would be acting had the game not gone in their favor.
"That was impressive." Harry Welsh was propped up against the bar, her cream clutch tucked under his crossed arms. His eyelids drooped, a sure sign that he was heavily intoxicated. But he wore that cheeky grin that made Emily's stomach do somersaults. "Here," Welsh held out her purse, "Nix decided to head back so I told him I'd take over handbag duty."
"Oh, thank you! I appreciate you saving it from his abandonment!" Emily said, her gratitude sincere. She trusted Nix, but wouldn't have been surprised if he had surrendered her belongings to the security of the first random soldier he saw in order to leave.
"Anytime," Welsh said smoothly, "you make any cash off that win?"
Emily rolled her eyes, "no, but George did offer to buy me a drink. I'm not really in the mood though. I think I'll probably head back too."
"Mm that's a good idea," Welsh wobbled slightly. It was good that he had the wooden counter to lean against.
Emily smiled cautiously at him, "you alright?" Welsh nodded but didn't say a word.
"Do you want to walk back with me? I could use an escort." Emily was only flattering him. If anything, she would be escorting him.
"That's a good idea," Welsh repeated.
"Come on, then." Emily made her way to the exit, careful to go slow so that Welsh didn't get lost in the crowd.
They erupted from the raucous warmth of the pub into the sweet spring night. The town was dark with blackout precautions; only the faintest of lights peeped through the landscape.
"You want to know something, Em?" Welsh slurred as they made their way down the graveled path.
"What's that Harry?" she looped her arm through his, helping him to walk steadily.
"You're the best."
Emily giggled, "oh is that so?"
"The best, just the best," Welsh repeated.
"Well thank you, Harry, kind of you to say."
"I mean it, I really do. I'm so happy you came to England, you're my favorite person here."
Emily did her best not to read too much into Welsh's words, but wasn't a drunk self the most honest version of one's self? "More than Winters?" Emily challenged playfully.
Welsh snorted and Emily laughed, "Winters doesn't look as good in a set of greens," he confessed.
"Now that," Emily said, "I have to disagree with."
"No," Welsh insisted, "you're the best lookin' soldier in the regiment!"
Thank goodness for the dark because Emily flushed a darker red than she ever had. "Come on you," she tightened her grip on Welsh, "let's get you to bed."
