Tension unknotted from Delia’s shoulders as they left, although women at the tables nearby cast sidelong glances her way as they whispered behind cupped hands.
Although Delia remained steadfast to her principles, it never got any easier to be a pariah.
2
Finn Delaney leaned heavily on the cane as he limped down the gangway in New York Harbor. He wanted to kiss the ground, but the splint encasing his leg made it impossible. The best he could do was stand at attention and salute the Statue of Liberty. Ever since he caught sight of Lady Liberty as the troopship neared the harbor, he’d been struggling with emotions that careened between joy and some other feeling he couldn’t name. Guilt? Grief? Whatever it was, he needed to get back to his squadron in France as soon as he could convince the Army he was fit to fly once again.
But first he had been ordered to report to Camp Mills, the training and embarkation site for the American armed forces. A sergeant had been sent to drive him to the brand-new installation that had been hastily constructed on Long Island.
“I read about you,” Sergeant Lewis said, admiration in his gaze. “It’s an honor to drive you to the base, sir.”
Finn suppressed a grin. “Thank you, Sergeant.” He leaned heavily on his cane as he limped alongside the young soldier to an open-air Ford Model T painted army green.
Finn sat in the back seat as the automobile navigated aroundvendor stands, dockworkers, and lumbering carts. The harbor was a chaotic mess. Flatbed wagons rolled along embedded railway tracks to deliver cargo to ships. The smell of exhaust fumes mingled with those of salty air and warm tar.
A wiry man ran toward the automobile, waving a stack of pages and shouting, “No more war!” He panted as he tried to keep up with the car, shoving a flyer at Finn that he instinctively grabbed.
“Back off, yellowbelly filth,” Sergeant Lewis growled, and then he increased the car’s speed by means of the throttle lever, leaving the protester behind.
“Sorry about that, sir. You can throw that trash away. Or use it at the latrine.”
It was an antiwar flyer filled with lies and claptrap about the war. Finn held the document aloft. “Is this common here?”
“Not at all, sir. Just a handful of cowards afraid to do their duty. Everybody hates those people.”
Finn didn’t hate the pacifists; they were just ignorant of what was going on over there. Nobody who’d seen the horrors Germany was inflicting upon Europe would spout such claptrap. He tossed the flyer over his shoulder, letting the wind carry it into the bay.
Soon they were out of the city and on their way to Long Island. Every bump and jolt over the uneven road shot pain up his leg. Medical facilities weren’t all they could be in France, and the fracture in his leg wasn’t healing properly. It ached all the time now, but he’d eat nails before complaining. The guys in the trenches had it worse than he did, although he thanked God when their automobile finally turned into Camp Mills an hour later.
The camp spread before him in an overwhelming panorama. Thousands of olive-green tents stretched as far as the eye could see. Though the hastily constructed camp was only three months old, the grass had already been worn away in the aisles cutting through the sea of tents.
They rattled along a dusty dirt path, kicking up clouds of grit that made his nose twitch. They veered around a supply truckladen with rolls of canvas for more tents and squadrons of men marching in formation. Other soldiers were laying down boardwalks over the dirt paths, the noise of their clattering hammers filling the air.
“How many people are here?” he hollered to Sergeant Lewis.
“About ten thousand,” he called back. “A ship with three thousand men from the Nebraska National Guard left for France yesterday, and we’ve got another five thousand arriving from Ohio and Indiana this weekend.”
It was entirely different from what Finn had experienced in France. The old excitement he once felt took root. This was where he belonged, among men joined together in a common cause. After being trapped for six weeks in Belgium, followed by another week on a troopship, it was time to join the Army and fight for freedom.
Their automobile cleared the tent city, moving toward a row of wooden buildings housing the medical station, command headquarters, and the supply depot.
“That’s the administrative building,” the driver said, pointing to a boxy structure with two wings stretching out from a central hub. “We’ll have to go in through the back entrance since they’re laying concrete for the front steps.”
Everything about this place was new and smelled of fresh paint, sawdust, and wet concrete.
An orderly with a wheelchair awaited them at the back door, and Sergeant Lewis hopped out of the driver’s seat to open Finn’s door for him.
“I’ll be okay,” Finn said, grasping the handle of his cane and waving the wheelchair away. He wasn’t about to meet his new commanding officer looking like a cripple.
For the last two years, Finn had been flying for France as part of the Lafayette Escadrille, a squadron of American volunteer pilots who had no patience for President Wilson’s spineless stance on German aggression. Now that the United States had formally entered the war, the Lafayette Escadrille had been disbanded. He’dhave to sign up with the aviation section in the U.S. Army before he could be sent back to France.
His commanding officer had a different idea. “Why aren’t you in the wheelchair?” Captain Romano said the moment Finn limped into the office. Unpainted wood framed the tiny room, which hadn’t been wired for electricity yet. The only light came from an open window, where the tent city could be seen in the distance. Captain Romano stood and pointed Finn to the chair opposite his desk.
“I’m not that bad,” Finn said.
Captain Romano frowned. “I sent that wheelchair for a reason. From now on you will be expected to obey orders. The rules here are different from what you were used to in France, Lieutenant Delaney. The French were so grateful to have you volunteer pilots helping out that they overlooked the rowdy behavior of the Lafayette Escadrille. Now that we’re finally in the war, the aviators from the Lafayette Escadrille will be folded into the 103rd Pursuit Squadron, answerable to the U.S. Army.”
“Understood, sir,” he replied. “I’m looking forward to returning to France and helping the 103rd get up to snuff.” Finn and his fellow pilots from the Lafayette Escadrille were the only Americans with aerial combat experience. They were sure to be an essential asset to the new squadron.
