The old woman’s fingers curled around the faded photograph. She had broken the wood-grained frame just a few days earlier. Her cloudy eyes blurred with tears. It seemed like just yesterday when she had climbed into the airplane and taken flight high above the clouds, where the blue sky reached out and touched the horizon.
“Miss Carol? How are you feeling today?” Jessie Walker, the youngest volunteer, set the tray on the round table near the unmade bed. “Time for your medication…” her voice trailed off as she glanced at the yellowed picture.
“Is…is that you, Miss Carol?” whispered the young woman. Carol Burrell gave a slight nod. “But…you’re sitting inside the plane.”
“Not just any plane…it is a B-24 Liberator bomber. Carried bombs to Germany during the Second World War,” stated Carol in a raspy voice.
“You were a… pilot?” asked Jessie. Her eyes were wide. A tiny grin crawled across the old woman’s face.
“One of the best. I and other women made up the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots–WASPs. We were the first licensed women pilots in the United States,” replied Carol in a shaky voice.
The young volunteer slid the empty chair and sat down next to Carol. “I didn’t know there were women pilots during World War II.”
Carol closed her eyes briefly as her mind swept back in time. “We relieved men pilots for combat.” Her throat was suddenly dry. With a trembling hand, she reached for the single-sized container of orange juice. She sucked the paper straw.
Jessie helped the elderly senior set it back onto the tray. “Please, Miss Carol. I would love to hear more. Are you up for it?” Her smile was plastered across her young face.
Carol took a deep breath. It had been decades since she talked about her time as a pilot. Her heart skipped a beat.
“There were twenty-four of us. We wore Air Force uniforms but were considered civilians. We trained in meteorology, navigation, seamanship, airplane and engine maintenance, morse code, and the medical field.” Carol rubbed her gnarled fingers.
Jessie watched the elderly woman’s excitement grow as she reminisced. “The US government leased a privately owned airstrip outside of Dallas—The Stan Foote Airfield. It was 247 acres with four caliche runways, concrete, and tile hangers.” Suddenly, Carol began coughing.
The attendant rose from her chair and handed Carol the orange juice. The old woman slurped the cool liquid. After a few minutes, she slightly nodded and continued with her story.
“Barracks were built for the WASPs and Airforce personnel. They even built a café!” Carol chuckled.
“You lived at the airfield?” asked Jessie. She gently sat back down.
“Yup…we trained every day until…it was time to put all we learned to good use. A few of the WASPs tested new planes right off the assembly line. Many of the women pilots towed targets for anti-craft target practice. My job was to train the male cadets. The majority came from England. We had a few American pilots.” Carol reached over and grabbed a cookie from the tray. The shortbread cookie melted in her mouth.
“I sure do like these,” commented Carol. She began to hum. Jessie waited patiently for Carol to continue.
“It seems the risk factor would be extremely high for the WASPs.” Jessie eyed the old lady. “Did anyone die while training?”
Carol instantly stopped chewing. Her eyes clouded. A single tear slipped down her wrinkled cheek. Her head dropped to her chest.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to bring back sad memories,” said Jessie in a low tone.
Carol’s head snapped up. She hesitated. With one quick movement, she shoved the rest of the cookie inside her mouth. Tiny crumbs covered her sagging chest.
After sipping at the little remaining juice, Carol wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Death is inevitable,” said Carol, “but…it should not be predictable. Yet, all of us WASPs knew no guarantees when volunteering for what seemed at times like suicide missions. The dangers were just as real as if we were flying over Germany, only here in Texas.” The old woman motioned toward the top of her dresser.
Jessie followed her shaky hand. “Would you like the picture?” The young attendant walked over and picked up the fragile photo.
“Open the top drawer,” said Carol in a raspy voice. Jessie pulled it open and glanced down inside. It was filled with socks and dingy underwear. A round, tarnished frame sat gently on top. Jessie carefully picked it up. Without a doubt, it was a much younger version of Carol Burrell standing close to a handsome male pilot.
“You were beautiful…” Jessie’s voice faltered. “I mean…not that you aren’t beautiful now, Miss Carol.” The aged senior chuckled.
“It’s alright, Jessie. You’re most kind. And that attractive pilot next to me was my late husband, Raymond.”
Jessie’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Miss Carol, I never knew you were married. Your intake papers never mentioned a husband. I’m confused.”
“It was a long time ago. He died in the war. His body was never recovered. I taught Raymond to fly. He learned quickly with efficiency and accuracy…well, he became the top bomber pilot.” Carol’s eyes clouded once again. Her hands trembled in her lap.
Jessie moved toward the grieving woman. She sat down and held out the framed photo. “Is that how he died? Bombing Germany?”
Carol gave a slight nod. “We spent a lot of time together. It would only be natural for us to find comfort with each other. After several dangerous missions, on his return to the States, he asked me to marry him. And there was no doubt in my mind. The chaplain assigned to the barracks married us. We had four glorious days together before…” She didn’t bother to finish.
Jessie could figure out the rest. “Raymond was called out for another mission. And this time…he didn’t come back, did he?”
Carol tried to hold back the tears. She gripped the worn frame tighter. “It was supposed to be a simple air raid. Drop his payload on a railroad depot. Somehow the Nazis got wind of the attack. And this time, they were ready. Anti-aerial attacks were non-stop. Many of those I trained were lost during the night. And Raymond was one of them. Out of twenty-five bombers, only six came back.”
Jessie swallowed. She could not imagine the horror of losing one’s spouse so soon after being married for such a short period of time.
“I’m so, so sorry Miss Carol.” The young woman’s hand felt cool on Carol’s forearm. As Carol stared through blurry eyes at the aging picture, she could only imagine how wonderful her life would have been if Raymond had survived the war. But because of his death, she could never love another—and she didn’t. Carol remained alone. She lived her solitary life, counting the days until they could be together once again.
Jessie knew she had spent too much time on one client. Fortunately, Carol Burrell was her last patient on her shift. And as late afternoon turned into evening, she knew it was time for Carol to get ready for bed.
The elderly woman was emotionally strained. Carol placed the small frame inside her pocket. Both women stood up. Without saying a word, Jessie put the walker in front of Carol. She also placed a cotton nightgown on Carol’s shoulder. She forced a half-grin.
“I got this part,” murmured Carol. “It’s time for you to go home. I am still able to put myself to bed. Goodnight, Jessie.” She slowly pushed the walker forward and then stopped.
“Thank you…it was wonderful taking a trip down memory lane.” And without waiting for a reply, Carol inched into the tiny bathroom and closed the door.
Jessie waited for a moment. How incredible was it that one of her clients, a woman yet, had played such a crucial and instrumental part in World War II? It would seem all the women who made up the WASPs were unsung heroes.
She straightened up the area on the dresser and folded down the old woman’s bed. While Carol brushed her teeth, Jessie slipped out of the room.
***
The darkened room was still. Carol’s bedding was clean and fresh. It had been an emotional day. She could barely keep her tired eyes open. Images of Raymond skirted in and out as Carol drifted into a deep sleep.
It had been years since she had allowed the past to creep in, reliving wonderful memories. Now that the door had been opened, she gladly stepped in.
Dressed in his uniform, Raymond smiled as he leaned against the sleek silver plane. His handsome face glowed as he waved for Carol to join him. It was then she could hear him calling out her name.
How she wished she could join him. Even if only in her dreams. She could feel herself being drawn to his angelic image. Raymond’s voice grew stronger as Carol drew closer.
“Carol, my love, I’ve been waiting for you.” Raymond’s hand touched her outstretched fingers. Could this truly be happening?
Carol stepped into his tender embrace. Her heart fluttered. Suddenly, a peacefulness surrounded them and consumed their very souls. Carol was finally home.
***
Jessie placed her tote bag into the locker. Her shift started in minutes. But she wanted to check in on Carol first. She could hardly wait to hear more about the unknown WASPs.
As Jessie passed by the dining area, she slowed to look for Carol. Many of the residents were busily eating breakfast. But Carol was not one of them.
Minutes later, Jessie was tapping on Carol’s door. “Miss Carol? Is everything alright?” The young attendant shifted on her feet. “Miss Carol…I’m coming in.” And without waiting for a reply, she hurriedly entered the dark room.
Jessie’s eyes struggled to adjust to the unlit area. Then, she saw the shape of Carol lying still in the bed.
“Miss Carol!” shouted Jessie as she rushed to the old woman’s aid. But when she touched the woman’s cold hand, she immediately felt for a pulse, but it was too late.
***
Jessie had been tasked with packing Carol Burrell’s few items. According to the senior home records, Carol had no living relatives. Her will clearly stated that anything of value would be sold and donated to the Veteran’s Memorial Fund.
The young woman’s eyes filled with tears as she wrapped and placed the few antique trinkets in the box. As Jessie began to empty the worn dresser, she held the yellowed photograph of Carol and Raymond to her chest and closed her eyes.
Instantly, she could feel a warm breath near her ear. “Don’t cry, Jessie. I’m where I belong—right beside Raymond. I’m finally home!” whispered the familiar voice.
Jessie’s eyes opened wide. She glanced around the empty room. She thought for a moment she heard a voice—a familiar voice. But she was alone.
Without hesitation, Jessie placed the framed photo into the box with the rest of Carol Burrell’s things. It was then that she noticed how vividly the aged picture had suddenly come to life.
Alice Baburek is an avid reader, determined writer and animal lover. She lives with her wife and four canine companions. Retired, she challenges herself to become an unforgettable emerging voice.
About the Author
