Winter in June (6 page)

The ship made three stops over the course of the next twenty-four hours. Two of them were under the cover of night, and although we didn't know who left the ship at that time, it was obvious it was the majority of our population. As we arrived at our third and final stop, Carson Dodger knocked on our doors and let us know we would be leaving shortly.

We didn't know where we were, and given the orders we'd received about questioning our destination, we knew we weren't supposed to ask. But when I looked out a porthole and saw nothing but water, it was impossible not to demand an explanation.

“You are going to put us on land, right?” I asked.

Carson led us to the lower deck, where a small gangplank had been lowered into the ocean. Beside it was a motorboat being driven by a sailor with a deep island-tan set off by his summer whites. “The coral reefs won't let us get close to land. Shore patrol's going to take you to the island.”

“And that's where exactly?” asked Violet.

He pointed toward the other side of the
Queen of the Ocean
. “Don't worry—the ship's blocking the view. You're not but a ten minute ride from your new home.”

One by one, he helped us into the boat. Our luggage soon followed, landing with a boom as each bag was dropped overboard.

“There goes my grandmother's antique punch bowl,” said Violet.

As the boat pulled away, we leaned over the edge and took in blue water that was so clean and clear I had no doubt we could see the bottom of the ocean if we looked hard enough. Fingers of coral reef danced beneath the surface, beckoning us to lean a little closer. Colorful fish, traveling so fast their movements seemed choreographed, disappeared beneath the white waves kicked up by the boat.

“Are there sharks?” asked Violet.

“You betcha,” said our suntanned escort. “I think we have them to thank for half the Jap casualties. They've developed a taste for the slant-eyes.”

Within seconds the island came into view, a lush green paradise that looked much more inhabited than I would've thought. For some reason I assumed the South Pacific had been untouched by civilization until the war broke out.

A pulse of electricity passed through me. I wasn't one for intuition, but in that moment I was positive Jack had been here. I knew it as sure as I knew my own name.

“This is it,” said Jayne.

“This is it,” I repeated.

Buildings on stilts faced the water, their roofs made of thatched grasses, their windows empty eyes observing our arrival. As we approached increasingly shallow water, crocodiles disguised as driftwood eyed us suspiciously.

“This is Blue Beach,' said our escort. I tried to figure out why it was given that name, but there was no obvious reason for it. The sand was stark white and peppered with seashells.

We reached the shore, and another man, this time in shorts with a brilliant tattoo of a Polynesian dancer on his right bicep, appeared
to help us out of the boat and onto the utilitarian dock that seemed out of place in this jungle paradise. The air was moist and heavy, so full of rich and foreign scents that I felt as if my head was going to explode from too much stimulation. It was early afternoon, and the sun was still at its highest point, baking us in its oppressive heat. A third man greeted us with a wide smile, his eyes hidden behind the reflective lenses of his cheaters. His skin was tan, his shoulders broad, his legs bare beneath the shorts he'd cannibalized from his khaki pants, showing off an angry scar that covered most of one knee. Instead of dog tags, a camera hung around his neck.

He lifted the viewfinder to his eye and stared at us through the lens. Before we could react, he fired the camera once, capturing our disheveled arrival for all eternity.

“Welcome to Tulagi, ladies. I'll be riding along with you to camp. I'm Ernie Dwyer, but you can call me—”

“Dotty,” said Kay.

He removed his glasses and took her in. “Kay?”

A smile trembled across her lips. “The one and only.”

“Oh my God. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” They took a tentative step toward each other. Their heads bobbed with uncertainty.

“Well, hug him already,” said Violet.

Kay blushed before extending her arms. Dotty grabbed her and swung her around.

“I had no idea you'd be here,” he said.

“You? I didn't even know you were still in the army.”

“I'm not. I'm a war correspondent now.”

“You always were a hell of a writer.”

He flexed his scarred knee. “I'm lucky I had that to fall back on. After what happened to my leg, they decided my soldiering days were over.”

“But you couldn't stay away, could you?” said Kay.

“You know me. But what about you? Did you change your mind and decide to re-up?”

Kay forced a smile. “No. I'm with the USO now.”

“No, sir! You're doing the tour?”

Kay's arm swept behind her to acknowledge the rest of us. “We all are. So I take it you're writing about the Pacific campaign.”

“Partly, sure. But when we got wind Gilda DeVane was coming here, we decided to make a feature of it.”

“That's great,” said Kay. “Just great.”

We all stared at the two of them, trying to make what we could of this reunion. With the forced smiles and reluctant hug, it was clear that Kay wasn't overjoyed to see Dotty. One couldn't say the same for him. I had a feeling that he'd like nothing more than for us to scram so that they could be alone together.

Dotty fiddled with his camera. Kay made a show of rolling up her sleeves. It was getting to be too much for me. Someone had to save them.

“I'm Rosie Winter.” I thrust my hand toward Dotty. He took it in his giant mitt and shook it like he'd been promised a five spot if he could wrestle my arm to the table.

The other girls followed my lead. “Jayne Hamilton.”

“Violet Lancaster.”

Gilda put out her hand to make her own introduction, but before she could get her name out, he said it for her.

“Gilda DeVane,” he said. “I'm a huge fan. I can't tell you how excited I was when I got word you were coming here. The fellows are going to flip when I tell them I got to meet you first. I think you're on half the bulkheads in the Pacific.” Apparently, Gilda's decision to tour wasn't as last-minute as Violet claimed. She had done a pinup poster that was distributed in advance of her arrival. Dotty clapped his hands together. “Well, ladies, your Jeeps await.”

While he led the pack with Violet and Gilda, Jayne and I hung back to talk to Kay.

“You all right?” I asked.

“Fine.” She could no longer sustain the grin. Her lips quivered and she dashed her fingers beneath her eyes. “I just never thought I'd see him again.”

I hoped I got the chance to experience that kind of surprise. “How do you know him?” I asked.

“He dated a friend of mine for a long time.”

I knew there was more to it than that, but I wasn't going to pry. Not until Kay was ready.

She fixed another smile on her face and immediately submerged the despair that had been bubbling to the surface. That was the nice thing about being a performer: you could fake whatever emotion you needed on a moment's notice, even when the real feelings were struggling to be heard.

As we reached the shore, natives wearing army-issue pants and shirts decorated with necklaces of woven grass watched us. Their skin was almost black, their hair frizzy, their features wide and friendly. On closer inspection, I realized they were all men. They welcomed us in surprisingly good English, saying “Hello, Jane. You have cigarettes?”

“How do they know my name?” asked Jayne.

Dotty laughed and turned to look at my pal. “They call anyone in a skirt Jane. And all the fellows are Joe.”

I was relieved that they didn't call them Jack.

“Where are the women?” asked Violet.

“Most of them were taken to another island by the French.”

“Why?”

He winked at her. “For their protection. Apparently the U.S. military's reputation with the ladies precedes it.”

We passed the natives, offering them waves, smiles, and a few cigarettes. In return, they carried our luggage, balancing the smaller bags atop their heads.

“They seem happy to have us here,” said Gilda.

“They are. The marines got the Japanese off their island. The Allies can do no wrong in their eyes.”

It seemed impossible that the military had set up camp here. Vegetation was everywhere: eucalyptus, mahogany, and a strange tree I was told was called a flamboya, which was twice as wide as it was tall and was covered in reddish orange flowers. Instead of Manhattan's skyscrapers, we had banyan trees with their thick, knotty roots and palm trees dropping their yield everywhere for the picking. Fruit
could be had with the mere extension of your arm: bananas, limes, oranges, pineapples, and something called the paw-paw. Where the path hadn't been cleared, there were tall grasses that waved gently in the breeze.

Despite its beauty, it all felt incredibly foreboding, as though nature herself were trying to warn man off. Who could blame her when we could take a place even this beautiful and turn it into a war zone?

Dotty took us down a ragged jungle path. All of us folded into ourselves, trying to keep our arms as close to our bodies as possible. Vines threatened to grab at us, their sharp teeth glinting in the afternoon light. Enormous webs warned of the existence of frightfully large spiders. Bees and blue flies buzzed around us and the thick jungle foliage was alive with the sounds of creatures that buzzed, clicked, slithered, and sighed. Birds with eerie voices that sounded more like men imitating them than the real thing called out their welcomes. At last we reached a clearing, where two vehicles were at our disposal. After the luggage was loaded, we were forced to divide into two groups. Jayne and I ended up with Dotty and a driver named Ace in the first Jeep, while Violet, Kay, and Gilda rode in the second.

“I guess she doesn't want to ride with me,” said Dotty as we claimed our seats.

“I'm sure it's nothing personal,” I told him.

Over a bumpy road outlined by a mishmash of rocks, Ace took us toward the military village that would be our home base over the next few months. As we moved away from the shore, the landscape changed into rocky terrain bordered by craggy hills. A sign made of weathered boards cheekily pointed out the distance to New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. For a moment, we rode in silence, Jayne and I being too awestricken by our surroundings to bat the breeze. It wasn't just the beauty of the place that stunned me. After months of worrying, praying, and suffering, I was going to finally have all the answers to my questions. I wanted desperately to ask Dotty if he knew Jack, but given what had just transpired with Kay, I figured he
had enough on his mind. Besides, I wanted one last moment when I could believe that everything was going to turn out all right.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” said Dotty.

“Excuse me?” Had he read my mind?

“Things seem primitive, but the military's done a fine job making sure we have all the comforts of home.”

“How long have you been here?”

He let out a puff of air that ruffled the fringe around his face. “I've been on Tulagi for about a month now, though I island-hop quite a bit. Got to go where the news is happening.”

“And where exactly is Tulagi?” I asked.

He turned around in his seat. “You ladies have landed yourself in the former capital of the Solomon Islands.”

“Are there Japanese around?” asked Jayne.

“No worries. We took this place over last August and flushed out the Japs at the same time.”

“So if the Japanese aren't in Tulagi anymore, why are we?” I asked.

“Because we want to make sure they don't come back. This is one of our base camps here in the Solomons. We use it as a staging place for the rest of the South Pacific. We got boys from every division working here.”

“Not just navy?” asked Jayne.

“No, ma'am. We got army, marines, air force, navy seabees—we even got some Australian and British troops camping here.”

That was a lot of men in one place. It would be easy for someone like Jack to get lost.

“And what do they do here?” asked Jayne.

“Outfit the ships with supplies. Enjoy some R & R. Survey the island. Code break. Repair the damage the Japs left behind. You name it, they do it.”

“How big is the island?” I asked.

Dotty let out another gust of air as he thought about the question. “Not quite four miles long. You landed in the laguna.” He pointed off in the distance. “Over there is the harbor where the ships come
in for refueling and to take on more ammunition. We'll pass through the village as we head toward camp. To the right of it is the cricket field.”

“That's a cute name,” said Jayne. “Are there a lot of crickets there?”

His face crinkled as he laughed. “Probably, but they call it that because that's were the Brits used to play cricket. The island was under British control before the war. In fact, there's even an Anglican church in town.”

On cue, the tiny village appeared, still bearing the scars of recent battle. The remnants of a private girls' school awaited clearing. Buildings had caved in and pieces of mortar bombs lay scattered on the edge of the street like refuse. People clearly were still living here though. Hand-scrawled signs let us know that we could buy grass skirts for two dollars, beaded necklaces for a quarter more. British-made bicycles leaned before homes. As we kicked up dust on the dirt road, children came to open doorways and waved at the passing vehicle. Dotty waved back, greeting some of them by name. “Hello, Thomas,” he called out to one little boy. “Hello, William,” he said to another.

I stared at these small dark-skinned people, many of whom bore their own physical scars from battle. “I kind of figured their names would be more exotic,” I said.