Dawn of a Thousand Nights Page 2

  In the parking lot, her friend and fellow pilot Rose Wright waited in her parents’ Buick convertible. Libby re-emerged with a wave, relishing the plumeria scents from the flowering trees dotting their complex, and hurried to the car. The Hawaiian sun hung high, glowing like a red-hot furnace in the midafternoon sky.

  “Whew, it’s hot! I have to get wet before my internal organs bake.” Libby slipped into the front seat and tossed her towel to the back. “Hawaii’s beautiful, but I miss the seasons back home. This heat would be easier to take if I knew we’d have cool weather or even snow coming in a few months.”

  “Aloha to you too.” Rose backed up the car, tires squealing. “Did you say snow? I’ve never seen the stuff, but I imagine it’s not half as fun as a mile of white sand … which is just what I’ve ordered up for you today.”

  Libby slipped a pink scarf from her handbag and used it to wipe her face and neck. She glanced over at Rose. With her Hawaiian mother’s thick, dark hair and rich complexion and her American father’s blue eyes, Rose stood out, even among the locals. Her wide smile and outgoing personality made her a favorite at John Rodgers.

  Libby, on the other hand, had medium brown hair that was harder to tame than the numerous sailors who roamed Waikiki, and her eyes were plain brown. She tied her hair into a loose ponytail with the scarf. “I take that back. White sand sounds perfect. Heading for our spot?”

  “Where else? But I think I’ll die if I hear one more pick-up line. The sailors seem to be multiplying by the day.”

  They traveled southwest, leaving the outskirts of Honolulu behind. The car paused at the train tracks. Tourists and sailors alike often rode the “Toonerville Trolley,” the local train that carried them around Honolulu. Most of the baoles, or nonnatives, remained within close proximity to Honolulu. But since Rose was a native, their favorite spot was Ewa Beach.

  The drive itself was worth the trip. Red and yellow hibiscus grew along the roadway, and papaya and guava trees grew wild, their fruit ripe for the picking. But Libby’s favorites were the banyan trees, which sent shoots down from their branches to take root and become new trunks.

  After twenty minutes of visually feasting on the island’s vegetation, they arrived.

  Libby grinned. “No one here; just how I like it.”

  “Me too.” Rose quickly braided her hair, letting it fall like a thick rope over one bronzed shoulder.

  Libby felt the tension slip away as she helped Rose scoop up the picnic basket and blanket. They strode onto the powdered-sugar sand, lined with swaying coconut palms, and spread out their things.

  “A perfect getaway for sky-fliers, don’t you think?” Rose lay down on her back and stretched her arms in the sunshine.

  “Um-hum.” Libby kicked off her sandals and headed toward the water’s edge.

  “Don’t be out long,” Rose called. “My mother packed us chicken lau lau.” She knew that the chicken and butterfish, wrapped in taro leaves, was Libby’s favorite dish.

  Libby breathed in the salt air and gazed at the deep turquoise blue ocean. She dove into a wave just before it broke, kicking as the cool water washed over her. The swimming was perfect, as long as one didn’t venture out too far. The riptide had a nasty way of catching on and not letting go.

  Coming to her feet on the other side, she shook off the water and trudged back to Rose. Diamond Head towered in the distance, deep green and jutting sharply into the sky. Libby had flown over the island hundreds of times and was always awed by the groves of banana trees, endless sugarcane fields, and the lush rain forests that were rumored to host wild orchids.

  By the time Libby came dripping back to the blanket, Rose had laid out a feast of native dishes.

  “Li hing mui! Your mom is a doll!” The sweet-and-sour dried plums were another of her favorites.

  “Enjoy,” Rose said, with an openhanded flourish.

  Despite the fact that both women worked as flight instructors at John Rodgers Airport, it had taken months for them to become friends. Libby was an outsider, after all, but their shared interest in the zippy new military airplanes making their way to the island had created a bond between them. Now Libby was a frequent visitor to the Wright home and an “auntie” to the numerous waist-high neighbors and cousins she couldn’t keep track of.

  “I never thought I’d say it, but I’m tired of the attention of handsome sailors.” Rose broke off a large bite of Hawaiian sweet bread. “Yesterday I received six invitations for dinner. I haven’t been home one evening this week. My mom says it’s inevitable. She married an American, and so did her three sisters. But I told her since I already have my U.S. citizenship, it’s not like I need to marry military.”

  Libby popped a sour plum into her mouth. “Yeah, but it’s not like there’s many other choices. They’re everywhere.”

  Rose stared into the cloudless sky. “All the poor sailors want to talk about is how much they miss their homes and their mamas. It’s the same story told a thousand different ways.” She sighed. “Can’t we just hide here forever?”

  Libby smiled and dug her toes deeper into the warm white sand. “Yes, let’s do. I bet your mom will bring us food. Your dad can stop by to barbecue. After all, a girl needs to eat.”

  “Nah.” Rose laughed. “We can live on coconuts.” She pointed to the trees lining the beach and the many smooth, oblong coconuts that lay on the ground. “Only problem is, you don’t know how to open them.”

  “Does any haole?” Libby grinned.

  While they ate, Rose launched into a play-by-play of her most recent date. Libby kept quiet. Despite the ridiculous ratio of men to women, she hardly received one invitation a week. She blamed it on her busy schedule, or perhaps the baggy coveralls and denim cap she wore around the airfield.

  Suddenly Libby cocked her head and moaned. “Please tell me I’m not hearing what I think I’m hearing.”

  Rose shielded her eyes with her hand. “Two guys in a convertible. Kinda cute, but, oh, yes, military haircuts. They’ve found us.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and plopped back to the ground in a Hollywood starlet’s fainting spell.

  Libby chuckled. “Maybe if we ignore them, they’ll go away.” She tied her scarf over her damp hair and attempted to tuck away the escaping strands.

  “Here they come.” Rose glanced out of the corner of her eye. “One of them looks like a young Clark Gable with blond hair, and …” She pressed a hand to her lips, speaking through her fingers. “There goes his shirt.”

  Libby refused to look, but she could clearly hear their voices and the sound of a football being tossed.

  Rose slid her tortoiseshell sunglasses over her eyes. “As you said, maybe if we ignore them …”

  Her words said one thing, but the soft grin on Rose’s lips showed she meant something completely different.

  For the next few minutes, Libby attempted to relax despite the sound of men’s laughter bouncing across the sand. Was it just her imagination, or were the voices growing nearer? She dared to open her eyes, focusing on the lacy fronds of the palm trees that danced above her.

  She leaned up on her elbow toward Rose, who was still “not looking” at the guys. “Have you noticed the harbor lately? The whole Pacific Fleet’s been moved here from California. Has your dad heard anything?”

  “Could be.” Rose patted her damp hair with her towel. “You know I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Of course not.” Libby studied her stubby fingernails. “I don’t think I could do his job. It would be too much for me to hold all that information inside. At least he knows you won’t tell—”

  The sound of a football thumping into the sand interrupted Libby’s words. A spray of sand covered her legs. She brushed it away, ignoring the soft footfall of someone running up behind her. “My dad says the Japs are a bigger threat than we imagine and—”

  A shadow fell over her. “Sorry, ladies.”

  Libby watched Rose’s eyes lift.

  “No harm.” Rose g
ave a sweet glance from beneath her long eyelashes.

  Despite her effort not to look, Libby found herself meeting the fellow’s deep blue eyes with her own.

  The footsteps receded, and Libby pretended to ignore the exchange. She also tried to ignore the memory of his dimpled cheeks and muscular chest.

  “Anyway, Daddy wrote and asked me to come home. He’s afraid the waters will be too dangerous to cross soon.”

  There it was again, the whoosh of the football and the sand splattering her legs. She sat up straighter and brushed it away. Again, the shadow and the apology. The sound of footsteps in the sand as he jogged away.

  “Guys are so juvenile. Didn’t they outgrow this in junior high?”

  Rose nodded and mumbled an “mm-hmm,” but her eyes continued to dart down the beach.

  “Hello, are you with me?” Libby waved a hand in front of her friend’s face.

  “Of course. I’m listening. So what are you going to do? You’re not heading back to the mainland, are you?”

  Libby shook her head. “Not yet anyway. I mean, I’m getting more flight experience here than—”

  Rose’s eyes widened. “Watch out!”

  Libby ducked just as she heard the whoosh of the ball pass her ear. It thudded on the blanket between them.

  “That does it.” She jumped to her feet and snatched up the ball, marching toward the water.

  Rose leapt up, following. “What are you doing … Libby? Wait!”

  Libby continued forward until the crashing waves broke at her feet. She cocked her arm and let the ball sail—through the air, over the surf, splashing down far out in the mounting waves.

  “Libby!” Rose’s jaw dropped.

  Libby turned, finally giving the two men the benefit of a longer look. They both stared at the ball floating on the waves, then back at Libby in disbelief.

  She clapped her hands together, brushed off the sand, and stalked back to her blanket. Then she plopped down, wrapped her arms around her legs, and lifted her chin in triumph. Libby expected Rose to follow, but instead her friend was approaching the soldiers. She was apologizing!

  The dimpled, muscular man with blond hair rushed into the water. With a small dive he leapt into the waves, swimming with long strokes toward the ball.

  Libby jumped to her feet and glanced to where the ball floated, remembering the riptide. It’s too far out. He’ll get caught in the undertow.

  She took two steps forward. A knot formed in her stomach. He seemed to be doing okay. So far anyway. Within minutes the ball was in reach. Stretching his hand out, he grabbed it, then turned and kicked. Libby released a held breath. The soldier’s awkward strokes, with ball in hand, easily carried his body across the water.

  Show-off, Libby thought as she sank back onto the blanket. She had just begun to relax once more when Rose’s cry pierced the air. Libby jumped to her feet and hurried over the sand. Her heart pounded, and her gaze swept across the face of the water, but the man was gone.

  “Dan!” The second soldier’s shout ripped through the air. He motioned to Libby and Rose for help. “I can’t swim. You have to get him.” He took two steps into the waves, then moved back up the beach.

  “What happened?” Libby’s eyes scanned the water.

  “He was doing fine; then he just disappeared.” Rose’s chin quivered. “He seemed to go straight down. Surely he’s just playing with us. Tell me he’s just fooling.”

  Libby raced into the waves, the water reaching her knees, then waist. Just as she was about to dive, she saw a form surfacing not far beyond her. The man’s face was red from exertion, his breathing labored. She could tell from the frantic darting of his eyes it was not a joke. He stretched his arm toward her, and Libby surged forward to grasp it and pull him toward her. Finally the man caught his footing. He struggled forward with one step, two steps, before straightening his shoulders.

  She thought he was going to walk past her without speaking, but just as he reached her he leaned close and spoke into her ear.

  “Nice spiral.” She felt his winded breath on her cheek. “Not bad … for a girl.”

  “He asked about you.” Rose brushed windblown locks back from her face. She lowered her sunglasses and glanced over at Libby as they drove back toward Honolulu.

  “Who?”

  “That guy you helped rescue. When I went back for my dropped sunglasses, he asked your name and where he could find you. All I told him was that you work for Honolulu’s Flying Service at John Rodgers. I didn’t say you were a pilot—or that you can whip any flier in the air, female or male.”

  Libby glared at her.

  Rose adjusted her glasses. “What? Don’t look at me like that. He wouldn’t let me go till I told him.”

  “Yeah, he’s probably looking for revenge—wants to throw me into the nearest whirlpool to see how well I can swim.”

  “Nah. I saw him glance over more than once. You know the football incident was just a stunt to get your attention.”

  “The sun must be getting to you.” Libby reached over and pressed her palm to Rose’s forehead. “Heatstroke.”

  “I’m not the one with heatstroke, my friend. It’s your face turning a dozen shades of crimson.”

  Three

  STRIKE ENDS IN HAWAIIAN DEFENSE BASES

  The Hawaiian strike, which took place at Wheeler and Hickam Fields and Fort Kamehameha, involved carpenters, electricians, truck drivers, and laborers, the Associated Press reported. It was brought to an end last night when the men agreed to go back to work pending negotiations on their demands.

  Dispatches say that the men were not unionized and that a demand for a flat $1.25 hourly wage was the sole issue of the walkout.

  Alfred Friendly, Staff Writer

  Excerpt from the Washington Post, June 18, 1941

  Morning light tinted the airfield with a touch of pink as Libby arrived for work. It was only a twenty-minute walk from her apartment, and on the rare stormy or cold day she caught a ride with George Abel, the airport manager.

  John Rodgers Airport was nothing fancy compared to Wheeler, Hickam, and some of the other military fields on the island. It was one of two developments set in a more rural area, sprouting up amidst fields of sugarcane and leafy green algarroba trees, which grew leathery pods producing a substance called carob. Not too many nights before, Libby had watched Rose’s mother use the carob in a cake that rivaled any Libby had eaten.

  The only other development along the strip was Joe’s Hawaiian Grill. Libby smelled the familiar scents of bacon frying and coffee brewing as she passed.

  “I’ll be in later for a cup o’ joe, Joe,” she called through the open window. Her words were cut short, and she plugged her ears to block out the blare of a siren. The airfield had no tower, and the small planes, no radio. The siren was their sole warning for incoming aircraft.

  A few minutes later a large silver plane descended, causing the mynah birds in the marsh south of the gravel runway to squawk.

  Libby waved her own welcome to the large plane and then to the ground crew as she hurried past the hangars and past a naval officer on the tarmac. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he inspected her small Piper Cub the way a prizewinning jockey would eye a lame mule.

  “Honey, I’m home!” Libby sidled up to the office counter covered with greasy wrenches, pilot sign-in sheets, and a large tube radio belting out “Green Eyes” by Jimmy Dorsey.

  George stepped over to the counter, wiping his greasy hands on an equally greasy towel, then stuffing it back into the front pocket of his coveralls.

  “What’s he want?” She nodded toward the officer outside.

  “Showed up for a flying lesson. He scheduled with Billy Jackson, but our instructor friend hasn’t shown up this morn. Most likely sleeping away a hangover on Hotel Street.” He picked up the clipboard with the day’s flight schedule.

  George’s gray beard and hair reminded Libby of Santa. Only this Saint Nicholas sported a dark tan and a Hawaiian
shirt under his bib overalls.

  “I’d better tell the colonel there will be no lesson today.”

  “I can do the lesson.” Libby zipped her coveralls up over her girlish frame and twisted her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. “Just give me a second to get myself together.”

  “Don’t think it’s a good idea, Libs. You know these officer types.”

  Libby waved a hand as if brushing away his worries, snatched up her logbook from the counter, and moved to the door.

  “Libby! These guys are from the old school,” George’s voice called to her. “They don’t understand—”

  “I’ve got it under control, George. You worry too much.”

  Libby jogged up to the waiting colonel, who barely offered her a glance. “Hello, sir, ready for your lesson?”

  “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes, young lady. And don’t think your pretty face will smooth things over. Get on the phone and tell your instructor today’s lesson will be free. And if he doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to charge him for my time.”

  Libby ignored his comments and moved through the flight check. “Sorry about that, sir. Change of plans. I’m filling in. So if you’ll climb into the passenger’s seat, we can get started.”

  The colonel’s eyes widened. “You? But I …”

  Libby glanced at her watch. “I’m doing you a favor here. Time is money, sir.”

  The officer stood rooted in place. His eyes bore into Libby’s. She glanced away and climbed into the cockpit, then patted the seat beside her.

  His look of confusion turned to anger. “Now listen here, young lady. Just because you’re one of these modern women who think they can do a man’s job doesn’t mean I’ll have anything to do with it. Females are too … too scatterbrained to fly.”