Cherry Ames 05 Flight Nurse (18 page)

“Wade,” Cherry asked, “how can those pilots keep going right back into combat?”

“I did it,” he said indignantly, “until they made a nursemaid out of me!”

Cherry chuckled. “Still griping! But seriously, do you mean to say that, after the dose we had the other day, you
want
more of the same?”

“Sure. That’s my job. Not this namby-pamby—”

“We know, we know,” Cherry said hastily. “But haven’t you any fear? Any nerves? The other boys do.

What are you made of, anyway, Wade Cooper?” Wade grinned. “ ‘Snails and nails and puppy dogs’

tails,’ ” he quoted the old rhyme. “Why, I was mortified the other day! There I was without a gun, and some fighters had to rescue me. Rescue
me
—as if I were an old lady!”

Cherry looked into his lively brown eyes with real curiosity. “You mean to stand there and blithely tell me 178

C H E R R Y A M E S , F L I G H T N U R S E

you weren’t scared when those Messerschmitts came to call?”

“Shucks, no! I wasn’t scared. I was mad. All I could think was, ‘If a bullet breaks the plexiglass nose and lets the below-zero air rush in, I’m going to be one mad pilot!’ ”

“Well, I was scared,” Cherry announced.

“Well, you’re a sissy,” Wade, joking, glanced at her sideways, then put his arm about her shoulders.

“Cherry, I’ll tell you something. I’m asking for a transfer back to combat flying.”

For a moment Cherry could not speak. She hated to think of Wade going back into combat. But he looked so eager, he wanted her approval so much.

“That’s fine, Wade,” she made herself say cheerfully.

“I hope you get it.”

“Spoken like a real sport! Cherry, pal, if and when I get a nice new bomber, I’m going to name it after you.

Going to paint your picture on the side—black eyes, black curls, red cheeks, and all.” He squinted at her appreciatively. “Maybe I’ll have ’em paint a bunch of red cherries in your hair.”

“That’ll be great, just great,” Cherry said weakly.

Well, she had not convinced Wade that flying the ambulances was for him. Apparently it was really not for him, or he would not have had this persistent urge to return to combat flying. If that was what he really
T H E M Y S T E R Y E X P L A I N E D

179

had his heart set on, then Cherry, too, wished for his transfer to come through.

They talked about it at the dance that night, which the Red Cross was giving in the recreation hall. Some black soldiers, just returned from fighting in Italy, volunteered to supply the dance music. Those soldiers were just about the hottest band Cherry had ever heard, beating it out with their whole hearts. It was the first real swing heard at this base in England, and everybody perked up. Cherry was having a wonderful time dancing with the pilots. She was in no mood to talk seriously, or talk at all, with that trumpet wailing plaintively and the drums flirting with the rippling piano.

But Wade wanted to talk. Besides, Wade kept stepping on her feet. Captain Cooper was a better pilot than dancer. Out of courtesy to him, and also out of regard for her feet, Cherry suggested they sit this number out.

They perched on a table beside the band.

Wade was full of hope for transfer back to combat flying. But he was worried about one thing. He was worried about what might happen to Cherry for arranging Mark Grainger’s passage.

“Have you heard anything, Cherry?”

“No, I’m waiting—waiting pretty anxiously.”

“You still feel this man may be innocent?” Cherry said stubbornly, “In spite of everything—yes.”

“Well, heaven help you if he isn’t innocent.” 180

C H E R R Y A M E S , F L I G H T N U R S E

Perhaps the music lightened her worry. Or perhaps that faith she had clung to all these months came to her rescue now. At any rate, Cherry laughed and said,

“Heaven isn’t going to rescue me! This is one time when I’ll have to clear myself,
by
myself. Or would you care to rescue me, Captain Cooper?”

“I’d do most anything for you, and you know it. Jeepers, Cherry, if I do get transferred out of this work, I’m going to be mighty sorry to say ‘so long’ to you. Maybe we could—maybe we—uh—”

The dauntless pilot, faced with making a romantic speech, crimsoned and stuttered.

“Yes, yes, go on,” Cherry teased him.

“I—uh— That is—you and I— We’ve been good pals. So maybe—” Wade broke down altogether.

“How’d you like a Coke?” he asked desperately.

Cherry, frankly laughing by this time, settled for a Coke.

Cherry did not feel lighthearted next day when she received word to go to Mrs. Eldredge’s house. Elsie had taken the message for her over the phone. Cherry cross-questioned her: who had called? what sort of voice was it? exactly what was said? where had the call been made from?

“I don’t know all that,” Elsie said rather impatiently.

“It was a man’s voice, and he said would you please be at that address this evening. Gracious, Cherry, from
T H E M Y S T E R Y E X P L A I N E D

181

the fuss you’re making, you’d think it was Scotland Yard calling you, or something!”

Cherry found that a pretty grim joke, under the circumstances. She immediately secured time off for that evening, from the Chief Flight Nurse, and worried herself through an endless day of debating whether she should report the mysterious phone call to Headquarters at once, or whether she should still follow her in-tuitive belief in Mark. Perhaps this visit tonight would disclose his innocence. By the time evening and the hour for her visit had arrived, she was badly upset.

But she had made up her mind not to report it. She had a strong feeling that tonight she would learn the truth.

All the way over to the village, bouncing in an Army truck, Cherry’s anxiety mounted. What would this evening bring? Would she learn whether her faith in little Muriel’s father was or was not justified?

The soldier-driver let her out on blacked-out High Street, and she hurried through the darkened lanes alone. At Mrs. Eldredge’s garden gate, she paused. The icy bushes and trees looked like fantastic figures threat-ening her. But Muriel’s voice beyond the heavily curtained windows reassured her. Cherry went up the path and knocked on the blue door.

Mrs. Eldredge admitted her without a word, then bolted the door. A curious silence fell as Cherry 182

C H E R R Y A M E S , F L I G H T N U R S E

entered. Here was the familiar, lovely room, with a warm fire leaping in the fireplace. Here were the India cups on the sideboard—the inviting chairs—the clock ticking—everything was the same. Then why was the atmosphere so changed?

Mark Grainger, wrapped in blankets, and with his arm in a sling, was sitting beside the fire. On a little footstool beside him, sat Muriel, adoration in her thin face.

Even Lilac, at her feet, was still. Cherry looked around in dread for other people—military police, British Intelligence, or American Army officials. But there were only the four friends in this quiet room.

Mark broke the uncanny silence. “Come in, Miss Ames, and sit down. You sit down too, please, Mother Eldredge. I have a great many things to say to you both.” Muriel whispered loudly to her father, “May I say hello to Aunt Cherry now?”

Mark whispered back loudly, with a smile. “Yes, but not too much noise. This is a confidential meeting, remember.”

Muriel leaped off her footstool and landed in Cherry’s lap. Lilac also clambered all over her.

“My father’s home! Isn’t that wonderful? Even Lilac is glad.”

“I’m glad for you, too,” Cherry said. “Are you taking good care of your father’s arm?”

“Oh, yes.” Muriel nodded gravely. “I’m a nurse, aren’t I? You know what? The doll Saint Nicholas gave me—

she’s going to be a nurse, too, when she gets big enough.”

“How is your doll?”

“She’s well, thank you, except for a slight sniffle.

Lilac licked off her complexion.” They were all smiling now. Mrs. Eldredge walked over to Muriel and held out her hand. “Time for sleep, dear.”

Muriel wailed. It was earlier than her usual bedtime.

Her father said pleasantly, “Grandmother and Miss Cherry and I have grown-up things to talk over. I would consider it real co-operation on your part if you said good night now, like a good child.”

“Good night,” chirped Muriel promptly. Grabbing Lilac’s collar, she planted a kiss on her father’s ear and skipped off to bed.

Cherry and Mark Grainger chatted, stiffly, while Mrs. Eldredge put Muriel to bed.

“Is your arm improving?”

“Yes, thanks. It wasn’t too bad. I can’t believe our enemy could keep an Englishman down permanently!

And our local physician is very competent.”

“I—er—was wondering how you got home from the air base the other day, in your weakened condition.” Mark Grainger coolly settled into his chair. “I thumbed my way, as you Americans say, in a jeep. Sorry to have strolled out on you without offering my thanks.

I was rather in a hurry.”

184

C H E R R Y A M E S , F L I G H T N U R S E

“I can imagine,” Cherry said dryly.

“With that urgent report, you know.”

“No, I don’t know!”

“Well, here is Mother Eldredge. I’ll start at the beginning.”

The three of them pulled their chairs closer together in front of the fireplace, for this conversation was not to be overheard by any passers-by. Cherry saw how taut and anxious the elderly woman was. Cherry herself was waiting tensely for what might be coming. She was determined to listen to whatever Mark Grainger would say, both with good will and a critical ear for lies.

His very first words, delivered with conviction and offered with proof, filled her with relief.

“I am not a spy. I am not working for the Germans.

I am working for Britain, for the Allied cause, in the British Intelligence—and have been all along. Here is proof.” He rose, and with difficulty reached behind the clock. He brought out a letter and showed it to them.

The letter, indubitably authentic and signed by two high personages, confirmed what he said. Mark Grainger sat down again, smiling now.

Cherry and Mrs. Eldredge could only gasp.

“But, Mark,” Mrs. Eldredge said in amazement,

“what could have been your reason to keep silent while all those horrible charges were being made against you?” Mark Grainger smoothed his blond hair. “When I tell you the whole story, you will see why I needed,
T H E M Y S T E R Y E X P L A I N E D

185

and still need, to keep silence. Why I am unable to defend myself against cries of ‘Spy!’ I am telling you only because Miss Ames has jeopardized her military standing, though I am also glad to have this opportunity to relieve your mind, Mother Eldredge. Please understand that you must keep this secret, for my work must go on.”

Mrs. Eldredge and Cherry both promised.

“You know that in the countries the Germans have occupied—France, Belgium, Holland, Poland, parts of Russia, Norway, Denmark, Czechoslovakia, Austria, Greece—there are brave people who will not submit to Germans coming into their countries and ruling them.

You also know that if patriots were to defy their invaders openly, they would be shot, and so would not be able to accomplish anything against the enemy. So they have to resist the Germans secretly.

“On the surface they seem to obey. But secretly they have organized an underground. It is extremely dangerous, as you can imagine. This underground does work of the greatest importance to the Allied armies—supplies information about the enemy that helps us win battles. And, of course, our winning battles means that we will be able to drive the Germans out of the occupied countries, and free these people to rule themselves.”

“I understand,” Cherry murmured.

“My work is with the underground,” Mark Grainger explained. “You know that I am an engineer. I also 186

C H E R R Y A M E S , F L I G H T N U R S E

happen to speak German and French, fluently. So I was assigned to Belgium, to get in touch secretly with Belgian patriots working for the underground. My task was to learn such things from them as—well, I cannot tell you in much detail. But here are some examples: I was to learn, under the noses of the Germans in Belgium, where the German robot bomb factories were hidden, so that our bombing planes could blow them up. Sometimes, too, we would smuggle out captured Allied soldiers, so they could fight again. Or sometimes we would secretly bring a Belgian into England, train him in intelligence work, and take him back to work for his underground.”

“Fantastic,” Mrs. Eldredge said. “Fantastic.”

“The whole war is fantastic,” Mark replied. “The idea of so-called civilized people killing off one another is fantastic, isn’t it?”

Cherry’s mind was teeming with questions. She hardly knew where to start. “But how did you get from England to Belgium without the enemy knowing?”

“By Army plane. I dropped into German-occupied Belgium by parachute, at night, usually, to lessen the chance of being caught. Sometimes I would wear a uniform and on occasion I would wear civilian clothes.”

Suddenly to Cherry’s mind came vividly the picture of Mark Grainger, dressed in shabby civilian clothes, furtively loitering around the special plane.

“So that’s why I once saw you loitering about a plane on that air strip!” Cherry blurted out.

Mark started. “You saw me? Recognized me? And you didn’t report me?”

“No, I did not report you then. I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

The young man leaned back in his chair once more.

“Thank heavens for that! If you had spoken, you might have undone months of perilous work. When you saw me, I had just come in by plane. I was trying to get away unnoticed, for not even Army people could know my work. Thank you, Miss Ames. Thank you for having had some faith in me.”

“But, Mr. Grainger,” Cherry started to say when Mrs.

Eldredge began to weep softly. “Oh, Mark! Oh, Mark!” she cried, “it was hard to have faith in you at times.