Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“Now that’s been handled,” Cartwright began. “You should have all read through the new standards provided to you at last week’s briefing. I’m pleased to say that we haven’t had a single WAAF late for her watch since the half-hour policy was enacted. Well done. Are there any questions about last week’s policy changes?”
“Is it true the 71st is to be reposted?” a girl from down the table asked.
Scarlett’s heart stopped. No. Not so soon. Her head spun with every possibility. They hadn’t had enough time yet, and there were only so many favors she could call in to be reposted with Jameson—if they were even headed to a station that had an ops center.
Section Officer Cartwright sighed in obvious frustration. “Aircraftwoman Hensley, I hardly see how that has anything to do with last week’s policy change.”
The younger woman blushed. “It would…change where the aircraft originate from on the board?”
There was a collective groan.
“Excellent attempt, but no.” Cartwright glanced down the table, pausing briefly on Scarlett. “While I understand that many of you have formed emotional attachments—against advisement—to members of the Eagle Squadron, I’ll remind you that it is, quite frankly, none of our business where the unit will be sent now that they’re fully operational.”
A dozen forlorn sighs filled the conference room, but Scarlett’s wasn’t one of them. She was too busy conquering the emotional devastation to sigh as though she suffered from nothing but a crush.
“Girls,” Cartwright groaned. “While I could use this as an opportunity to remind you of your responsibility regarding virtuous behavior, I won’t.” And yet with that line, she surely had.
“What I will say is that rumors are rumors. If we believed or got caught up in every piece of maybe that landed in our ears, we’d be halfway to Berlin by now, and I expect you—”
Constance began to hyperventilate at Scarlett’s side, clutching the letter so hard, she expected to see her sister’s nails pop through the paper.
“Constance?” Scarlett whispered, her breath catching at the horror in her sister’s eyes.
Constance’s scream filled the room, the sound tearing through Scarlett’s ribcage and gripping her heart with an icy fist.
Scarlett reached for Constance’s wrist, but the scream had already morphed into a mournful wail, stuttering with gut-wrenching sobs that shook her shoulders.
“Poppet?” she asked quietly, gently turning Constance’s face toward hers. Tears didn’t just streak down her face—they ran in a continuous line, as though her eyes couldn’t be bothered to fill, then empty.
“He’s. Dead.” Constance’s words came between heaving cries. “Edward. Is dead. There was a. Bombing raid—” Her chin sank as the sobs came faster and harder.
Edward. Scarlett’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. How could the blue-eyed boy who’d grown up with them be gone? He’d been as much a fixture of their lives growing up as her own parents.
He was Constance’s soul mate.
Scarlett tugged Constance into her arms. “I’m so sorry, love. So, so sorry.”
“Assistant Section Officer Stanton, do you need to remove your sister from the room, or can she control herself?” Cartwright snapped.
“I’ll care for her privately if we can be excused.” Scarlett bristled, but the insensitive wretch was right. A display like this wouldn’t be tolerated, no matter how justified. Constance would be labeled hysterical, undependable. Girls had been reposted, never seen again after failing to stifle their emotions.
Cartwright narrowed her eyes but nodded.
“Hold on for just a second longer,” Scarlett begged her sister in a whisper, wrapping her arm around Constance’s shoulder and tugging her to her feet. “Walk with me.” Another whisper.
As quickly as she could manage without tripping them both, Scarlett led Constance from the briefing room. The hallway was mercifully quiet, but still not private enough.
She opened a door to a smaller room—the supply depot—then pulled her sister inside and shut them in before leaning against the only empty wall and holding Constance tight. When her knees buckled, Scarlett slid to the floor with her, rocking slightly as Constance sobbed with ugly, gasping breaths against her shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured against her sister’s hair. If there was anything she could have done to take away her pain, she would have done so. Why her? Why Constance, when it was Scarlett’s love who risked his life every day? Her vision went blurry.
This was something she couldn’t protect Constance from. There was nothing she could do but hold her. Tears toppled from her lids, leaving wet, chilled streaks in their wake.
Eventually, Constance’s breathing evened out enough to manage speech. “His mother told ours,” she explained, the letter still clutched and crumpled in her hand. “It happened the day after he wrote last. He’s been dead for almost a week!” Her shoulders caved in as she burrowed farther in to Scarlett. “I can’t…” She shook her head.
A loud knock sounded at the door.
“Stay here,” Scarlett ordered her sister, standing quickly and swiping at her cheeks as she hurried to the door. She raised her chin as she found Section Officer Cartwright on the other side, then moved into the hallway, shutting the door to give Constance as much privacy as possible.