The base seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the coming change, while in the canteen Miss Farleigh had gathered us together to prepare for the arrival of the new Officer in Charge of Flying. Not only were Rosie and I there, but the four new girls just down from Paris, as well as Gabrielle counting on me to translate whatever ‘Mademoiselle la Directrice’ said.
I looked over my new charges in a proprietary manner. All were in clean uniforms with neatly starched coifs. Judy, Margaret, Helen and Fay. It was hard to believe that just a short time before Rosie and I had looked just as lost and bewildered as these four.
Rosie and I were now on a footing that I could not quite describe. She no longer interreacted with me on a personal level. She worked hard on her shifts, but her current contentment with the status quo came from somewhere else other than work. We spoke politely to each other, cleaned tables, ground coffee, and served the men, but her interests lay somewhere else. More than once I had awoken in the night to find her bed empty, although she had pulled up the covers and placed a pillow underneath to fool the casual observer. I thought she might be jealous about my promotion, but her only comment was thrown over her shoulder as she climbed into bed, “Better you than me. I have better things to do.”
The new group looked as if they still did not know where they were, but they seemed to be willing workers. In any case Rosie and I were united in this one thing. We were relieved to have them here, especially with the opening of the new dining hall. There was some hope that we might actually get a few hours off during the day and maybe even catch up on our sleep.
With all of us assembled Miss Farleigh, in full Directrice mode, was addressing her troops. “It’s a good omen, having the major arrive just when the new mess is up and running. We’ll make a little ceremony of his first meal tomorrow. Gabrielle and I will plan something special for dessert.”
At the mention of her name, Gabrielle seated beside me, begged for translation. When she understood she nodded, delighted to be part of the great event.
“Riz a la crème,” she said. “One has already the rice in hand and cream should be for the asking at that little farm over there.”
“Valerie,” Miss Farleigh continued. “Immediately after the noonday meal, you will scrub and set the staff table, and I’ll get a few flowers to put in the center. We want to make a good impression on Major Brandt.”
I looked around the new dining room. It was so fresh, still smelling of the new lumber. It was a long room with a row of tables on either side, a door at one end, and at the other a platform one step up for the staff table. That table was longer and narrower than the others, with eight chairs lined behind it facing the room, their backs to a bank of allied flags. The massed colors and the bright red and blue of the chintz curtains at the windows were in sharp contrast to the gleaming white oil cloth that covered the table. To me this mess was more beautiful than my memory of the dining room at home with its soft light, silver, crystal and damask.
My tables were the three on the left of the staff platform. Margaret had the other three which were for the officers who ran the fields. Bazz was over there, and I was glad. It was less distracting having someone else serve him. I also served the staff table, and I thought poor Major Hardy would be glad of some company. He must be tired of sitting up there all by himself.
The next morning, I had no trouble getting out of bed even though I could not really start getting ready for the evening meal. But it was good just to begin moving through the day. I lit the fires with hard-earned ease and got things ready for our staff breakfast at six. The dining room, in accordance with Major Hardy’s orders, opened at five-thirty, but no one ever came until much later. It seemed best not to have the coffee ready too early. All of us canteen workers just had tea.
Humming to myself, I cut bread and butter and arranged it on plates and set the plates on the counter. After stoking the fires once more, I slipped under the counter into the dining room and began putting plates on the tables. At the staff table I stopped behind Major Hardy’s chair to view the room. It looked so bright and clean with the early spring sunshine streaming in at the windows. Matthew would be here this evening and would look out on this room which now encompassed my life. I did not know how I felt about that. In some ways his presence was an intrusion of the past into my new life. But there was also that one night in Paris which lay at the back of my mind like a small treasure.
I shook myself. It was five-thirty and I had better unlock the door. I placed the key in the lock and just as it turned, the door was flung open by a man who stopped on the threshold. We stood staring at one another. For a space we were both mute. His face looked older, the lines more deeply etched. His mouth looked bitter. His voice sounded like a shot in the empty dining room. “I’m glad to see that you live up to your advertisement.” He pointed to the sign on the door. “Breakfast at five-thirty.”
He stepped in and closed the door. I felt unable to move. He too stood still, and then said in the same harsh tone, “Will you show me to a table or ----“
“Yes ---- yes. Of course.” What was wrong? I opened my mouth to say something but he was already striding down the room.
I turned and hurried after him. “We didn’t expect you until this evening. The train doesn’t get in until late afternoon.”
“I came by air. It seemed appropriate,” he said in the same harsh monotone.
“Your place is up there on the platform at the staff table, the chair next to the end. Major Hardy has the end.”
“On the platform? Whose idea was that?”
“Miss Farleigh --- the Directrice. She thinks it a good idea for the Commanding Officer and his staff to overlook the room.”
“And everyone in it I suppose. No rest even during the meal. I will feel like Louis XV.” He looked at his watch. “Will you be so good as to tell my waitress ---“
“I am your waitress.” My back stiffened and my tone was now as hard as his.
“Then may I please have breakfast?”
I gave him a long look and then said in a measured voice, “Of course Major, how do you like your eggs?”
“You do them to order? Then I’ll have mine sure le plat.”
I turned on my heels and marched, head high into the kitchen. This was not even the same man. He had to know me this time, but he was not going to say so. He was rude and cold, and I wished he had never come to disturb my new hard won life. Well, he was going to get breakfast, and the best service he had ever seen. Breakfast. I faced the empty kitchen. At that moment Gabrielle came into the kitchen.
“Gabrielle, pour l’amour de Dieu,” I whispered. “The major, the new major is here.”
“Mon Dieu.” The cook made a dash for the stove dropping her shawl in a heap on the counter.
“An egg ---- quick. Sur le plat.”
“Quelle malheur.”
The egg was in the dish. Why was the fire not hotter? I heard a chair scrape. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him lean over and put his cap under the chair. The sunlight glinted on his hair.
“Hurry Gabrielle.”
“All ready,” Gabrielle placed the sizzling little brown dish on a thick plate and thrust it at me. “Such surprises are not good.”
I hurried to the table, stepping up on the platform and setting the plate before him imitating Josie’s best style.
“Thank you,” he said but did not lift his fork.
“Is there anything else ----- Major?”
“Yes.” There was a long pause as he took a deep breath, and then he turned a wooden face towards me. Everything Bazz had said about him was true. He was a stuffed shirt, a martinet. How could I have even spent an evening with him? Bazz at his most sardonic and pressing was better than this.
“Do you by any chance serve coffee for breakfast in this place?”
I stared at the empty spot on the table where his cup should have been. I was so mad that I did not want to admit I could not produce it. “Yes --- that is --- we do have coffee --- lots of coffee, but this morning----“
“I gather it isn’t ready.”
I felt my face flushing and was irritated at myself. “You see ----nobody’s been coming in till ---- We can make it early if it’s needed but there was no one to drink it at five-thirty. The men…”
“The boys you mean. The boys who came to the big football game with the world out there to admire their dash and daring. The boys who are sleeping late instead of getting the training that they need, that we need. Losing flying hours that can never be made up.”
“But they didn’t know --- you weren’t supposed to come this morning.” Bazz was right. He thought he was God.
“I know. Come when you’re not expected, and you learn a lot.”
He had picked up his fork and was bolting his breakfast the way James used to do when Papa was not looking.
“If you’ll wait the coffee will be ready in a few minutes and tomorrow----“
“Tomorrow it will be ready at five-thirty and there better be plenty of it. The boys will need it.”
He looked at his watch, stepped off the platform, and strode rapidly down the room. The door opened and closed. A motorcycle coughed to life and roared nosily as it dashed off.
I sank into a chair in the empty dining room, the plate and the pushed back chair the only evidence that he had really been there. He was selfish and cruel. His cold indifference made me ashamed of the evening we had had in Paris. How could I have so misread him?
I might not wish to think of him, but the rest of the base talked of nothing else. All day the dining room and the canteen buzzed with opinions. He seemed to be the sort of person about whom only strong ones were held. He was cruel; he was kind. He was fair; he was unfair. He was a tyrant; he was efficient. There was general agreement on one point, however, he knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it or else. That was enough to set Bazz off. He told the group around the piano that evening, “It’s all right to know what you want, but when it conflicts with what the majority wants, it ceases to be right.”
What the hell,” said Len. “You want the Army to vote before they give orders? Hey, Bosches, hold your fire till we decide whether we want to fight or not.”
“Quit it you two,” said Gil. “This is his first day. Give him time.” He laughed. “I’ll admit he got us monitors together first thing this morning and gave us hell. We were sleeping late because the students did, and there was no one to teach. He told us we weren’t here to make them like us, we were here to teach them how to fly. He’s got a point.”
‘Well, I’m an officer,” said Bazz. “I’m bossing a field, and I’m doing it my way. If he comes around to me ----“
“Don’t worry,” said Len. “He’ll get around to you. He got to me this morning.”
“He sure did,” Gil said punching him in the arm. Len smiled ruefully.
Bazz set his jaw. “Let him try his stuff on me. I won’t be as easily intimidated as the rest of you.”
“Wish I could have been in on his heart-to-heart talk with the cadets,” Gil said. “There are some of those birds I would like to see slapped down.”
Len nodded. “I know what you mean. Some of them think they invented the airplane. They don’t want to learn anything because they think they know it already. The Jennies they learned on in the States aren’t anything like the Nieuports they are flying here. It’s dangerous to be in the air with some of these prima donnas.”
“Dual controls and a cocky fool. Short life for a monitor,” Gil said, and they all laughed. Then he turned to Len. “Never mind old man. You and I have almost served our term here. We’ll be going to the front soon where it’s nice and safe. Hey,Val. When Len goes up front, I’m inheriting his milk. Remember?”
“I shall. You’re next on the roster,” I said.
Dear Gil. I wished that someone above him on the roster would be ordered away so he could have the milk. Milk was almost as scarce as pilots and airplanes. The daily supply was enough for ten men to have a bowlful at lunch and dinner. We used canned milk for all the cooking.
Bazz had moved over to a corner and waved at me to stop and talk to him. I shook my head and hurried to the sink with my load of cups. I did not want to get into a conversation with him tonight. I found I was on neither man’s side. Matthew seemed cold and heartless, but Bazz looked stubborn and selfish. Not much to choose between, and I was not in the mood to entertain either one of them.
Before going to bed that night, I asked Margaret to come over at five-thirty to help serve breakfast. After hearing the talk in the canteen about Matthew’s first day, I thought there might be more early business than usual. Breakfast was going to be his first test. As I snuggled under the blankets, I wondered who would win. Gil and Len were on his side, but what about all the others? Bazz was a formidable opponent.
At four-fifteen I got up, dressed and raced to the kitchen. In record time I had a fire roaring in the stove. There would be oceans of coffee at five-thirty. I would show that straight backed man that I could meet any challenge he laid down.
At five Gabrielle rushed in, her full skirts billowing about her ankles. “Mon dieu. Up already?”
I gave her a mock salute.
Gabrielle laughed. “C’est un vrai militaire this major. We do exactly as he says, hein?”
Gabrielle’s words gave me an idea. We would beat him at his own game. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Five minutes before opening time, you start cooking his egg. While I’m unlocking the door, you put the coffee and egg on the counter. I’ll run back, get them and follow him to the table. His breakfast will arrive as he sits down.”
Gabrielle laughed. A small plaisanterie would liven up the morning. At five-fifteen, the big marmite of coffee was ready. I ate a hearty breakfast, and then Gabrielle put the egg on to cook. At five-thirty I walked to the door, turning the key as noiselessly as possible and then ran back to the counter where Gabrielle had the breakfast waiting.
Before I even reached the counter, I heard the door open, and the sounds of footsteps resounding in the room. It was not the tramp of one pair of boots, but the staccato commotion of a mob. Grabbing the plate in one hand, the cup in another, I turned to see a sight that took the fun out of our joke and sent Gabrielle rushing to the stove.
Matthew was striding down the room, stern faced, straight as ever, looking neither to right nor left. Behind him followed a column of monitors and cadets, equally absorbed in getting to their tables. They scattered and sat. I fell in behind Matthew, and as he rounded the end of the table placed the plate and cup in front of him.
Quickly, sharply he looked up at me and for a moment I held his eyes before he turned to pick up his coffee cup. “All ready this morning I see. How’s the coffee supply?”
“Enough to drown them all.” I raced away, and soon became involved in feeding the stampede. Eggs were coming across the counter as fast as Margaret and I could serve them. Racing back and forth between tables and counter I could not help glancing up at the staff table. There he sat ----straight, stiff, alone. That moment he had held my gaze…. Had there been almost a plea there? No, no more imagining. But in spite of myself I was glad. He had won this first round, although I imagined there were more to come.
Bread, butter, coffee, eggs. Back and forth. Len stopped me on his way out.
“Thanks a million, Val for getting us out of here so fast. This is the early flying shift. We’ll be here every morning at five-thirty. The second shift will come in at six-fifteen. There’s a deadline now on how long anyone may stay in the bunk.”
Is ----- is it better now?”
“Better. My God. If a guy like this hadn’t come along in another month this place would have shut down.” He hurried out followed by the rest of the dining room.
The late shift came, but I didn’t see Bazz as I rushed about. By seven the late shift cleared, and still no Bazz.
Margaret looked over at me. “This coming in early is a lot of work, but you know it gives us more time, and frees the stove earlier for cooking lunch. The only thing that’s going to spoil it is that Lieutenant Carter. You know he is doing it on purpose. I heard him say that Major Brandt’s orders weren’t going to make any difference to him.”
“Perhaps he isn’t going to come at all. Maybe he got up too late to make the deadline and has just gone to work without breakfast.”
I was walking over to lock the door when it swung open, and Bazz came strolling into the room with an air of forced nonchalance.
“Hi, Val. Where’s everybody?”
“You know as well as I do. At work.”
“I see. Reformed, huh? All but me. Well, that suits me just fine. My breakfast, and no hurry.”
I was as mad at him as I had been with Matthew. I went over to the counter where Gabrielle who had seen the latecomer was already cooking his egg.
“Mais voyons. What to do with this little lieutenant? Does he think himself of the staff perhaps?”
I shrugged. Irritated at the self-absorption that seemed to blind him to every need but his own. I marched over to his table with his breakfast. “Here it is. You’re lucky we waited for you.”
With deliberate insouciance his said, “Then change your sign. It says breakfast from five-thirty to eight.”
“As you well know everyone has come and gone a long time ago. We don’t need to keep this place open for one lone person.”
“A long time ago. Hmmm. They must have really been scared,” he said buttering his bread with deliberate slowness.
I turned around and headed for the kitchen saying over my shoulder, “Let me know when you are finished so we can clean up.”
He called after me, “All right. I get it. Tomorrow I’ll come in earlier but not until the others have gone. I am not going to let the Branding Iron think he is running my life.”
A week went by, and the Third AIC began to take on a different air. The men joked about their reformation and would tease each other as they left the canteen at night about who would put out the cat, and who would tell bedtime stories now that they were leading such model lives. Yet their jackets were neatly buttoned with belts buckled. Their shoes were shined, and they carried their caps in their hands until they reached the door. But most important of all there had not been a three o’clock funeral the entire week. They still did not like the new major, but no one was sorry when they did not have to take the three o’clock walk.
It was the end of the dinner shift. The monitors and cadets had wolfed down
Gabrielle’s attempt at an American apple pie and had departed en masse.
The two majors sat over the empty dishes, Major Hardy staring straight ahead, Matthew turned in his chair, one arm resting on the table. He was talking earnestly and now and then the hand on the table would become a fist. I had to clean and scrub the table just below where they sat, and as I walked over with the basin and rag, Matthew’s words became audible.
“God, Hardy. It’s the worst I’ve struck yet. After I got them on the line the other morning, I went and inspected the barracks. Took a police detail with me. Places were filthy. We took out a truck load of liquor.”
“I told you it would be bad. There’s no managing this mob.”
“But not this bad. Last night I made three test trips around the post. I was challenged only once. The guard was a cadet. I said ‘Friend’ and he said, ‘Cadets have no friends.’ I had him arrested as an example. He was drunk on guard duty. As you know he could be court marshaled for that, but I won’t go that far. If an infantry unit lived like this ……”
“There, you put your finger on it,” Major Hardy rushed in. “He sounded eager to defend what he had handed over to Matthew. “You’ve got to remember Matt, these men aren’t infantry. Never before has the Army had to deal with a large group like this. It attracts a special type --- the college-bred, devil-may-care guy who wants to make a name for himself without going through the grind of a foot soldier. They expect to have wings and bars handed to them like candy.”
Matthew’s voice was bitter, “And I get to be the one to tell them that those wings and bars take some work. I’m an experienced pilot who has been stuck with spanking little boys. Hardy, all I want to do is fly, and I am stuck here with this mess. This is the third one I have been handed, and I just can’t do this anymore.”
I walked towards the kitchen, but the pent-up desire and anguish in those last words rang in my ears. A chair scraped the floor and Major Hardy passed me with a cheery goodnight. I moved around the table and looked up at the platform. Matthew sat, oblivious, slumped in his chair, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. I would go up there quietly and gather the empty dishes so the washers could finish up the last of their work. I picked up the first plate and he stiffened, sitting up.
One look at his face and I bit off the icy comment I was ready to make. For a moment his guard had been down, and I looked into a face that seemed suddenly young and vulnerable. How old was this martinet, this pusher of men? Only three years older than I was, and with all the responsibility of the world on his shoulders, and no one to help him carry it. He was alone. The others might tease and jostle at the long tables, but he had to sit up here isolated by his job and his rank and face them all. I was staggered with what he had to face every day. Suddenly nothing else mattered. I would speak to him. I was filled once more with the warmth and comradeship we had shared in the Paris café.
I smiled, but before I could say anything, he pushed back his chair and stood up. His eyes were hard once more, his face like stone.
“I wouldn’t want to be accused of keeping the Red Cross from its work,” he said. And jamming his hat on his head he strode from the room.