Julia, page 11
And that was how Jane Foster integrated herself with people.
Next thing Julia knew, they were sitting at a table together while Patty told them every piece of intel she’d collected on her fiancé. Jane listened in rapture, although Julia wasn’t surprised. Jane Foster had an interesting background. In 1938, she’d joined the Communist Party in California, though she’d later dropped out. She’d lived on Java Island while working on her master’s thesis on the Batu Islands. Languages came easy to her, and she spoke Malay as well. Jane was on her second marriage, currently to a Russian-American man, George Zlatovski.
Paul brought his plate over and sat across from Julia. He nodded at her but didn’t interrupt the current conversation. Soon, Gregory and Jack joined them, along with Ellie and Mary.
Peachy sat at another table, chatting up a couple of officers. Thankfully, Peachy had abandoned her crush on Paul and now pined for another man, but at the moment, Julia wasn’t sure which one.
As the conversation swirled about the table, Julia noticed that Paul was unusually quiet. Maybe he didn’t have anything to add to Patty’s plight?
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked him after several moments.
Paul looked over at her as if realizing he was surrounded by conversation. “It’s a migraine, I’m afraid. I felt it coming on this morning, and it’s not letting up.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Julia said. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Nothing really works except for quiet,” Paul said with an ironic smile since they were currently surrounded by noise. “I’m going to try to leave the War Room a little early this afternoon.”
It was a good plan and should have eased Julia’s worry. He’d told her once that he’d been in a serious accident in 1941, and ever since then, he’d come down with random migraines. But the pain seemed to have chiseled fine lines about his mouth and eyes.
With Patty’s help the rest of the afternoon, Julia finally saw progress in her workload. Since it was Patty’s first day, Julia let them end on time. But instead of hanging out with the group for the evening, and knowing Paul would be absent, she decided to visit him to check on how he was doing. She brought along some canned orange juice. Maybe at the very least, it would be refreshing.
She might have spruced up a little by changing into a pressed cotton dress and adding a strand of pearls. And she might have also quickly painted her nails and put on a fresh coat of lipstick.
When she arrived at his hut, he answered the door with a book in hand.
“You’re feeling better, then?” she asked.
“Much.” Now he ushered her inside, and he motioned to the single chair next to a table stacked with books and a pile of photographs.
“Oh, don’t let me take over your evening,” Julia said, perching on the edge of his army cot. “I’ve brought you some orange juice, but I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding.” Paul settled into the chair and picked up a stack of developed photographs. “Remember the elephant?”
Julia took the photographs. “He was adorable. So talented in bathing himself.”
Paul smirked. “I suppose if something that should be natural to every animal could be called a talent.”
Julia leafed through the rest of them, then handed them back. “You’re a gifted photographer. I mean, you pick the best angles and are patient enough to wait for the right lighting.”
“If something intrigues me, I’m willing to wait.” His gaze had locked onto hers, and she realized how alone they truly were—probably for the first time.
Her heart did a little leap, but she ignored it. “What have you been reading?”
Paul tapped the book he’d set on the top of his stack. “Dubliners by James Joyce.”
“Sounds frightfully above my intellect.”
“Nonsense.” Paul picked up the book and held it out. “Here, you can borrow it. Then we can discuss it. I’ve read it more than once, so I’ll not miss it . . . much.”
Julia took the book and opened it to the first page. “There was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. Night after night I had passed the house (it was vacation time) and studied the lighted square of window: and night after night I had found it lighted in the same way, faintly and evenly. If he was dead, I thought, I would see the reflection of candles on the darkened blind for I knew that two candles must be set at the head of a corpse. He had often said to me: ‘I am not long for this world,’ and I had thought his words idle. Now I knew they were true . . .” She paused. “Well, I’m intrigued.”
Paul picked up another book. “Do you like poetry?”
Julia peered at the title. “I haven’t read much since college. Who’s the poet?”
“Edna St. Vincent Millay. Have you read her?”
She shook her head, then he did something unexpected. He opened the book and began reading aloud. “This is from Renascence . . .
All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I’d started from.”
Julia tried to remember when a man had ever sat and read a book to her—there wasn’t a time. Paul seemed perfectly content to read to her, and well, she liked the sound of his voice. He made the words interesting—adding inflection and different tones. So, she settled back on his cot and listened. But mostly she watched him read.
After turning a couple of pages, he looked over the top of the poetry book and eyed her. “Are you going to fall asleep?”
Just then, a yawn rose, and Julia covered her mouth. Then she laughed.
Paul didn’t laugh though. Instead, he said, “Don’t move. I want to take a photograph. I’ve been meaning to send my brother a photograph of the layout of my room.”
“With a woman on your cot?”
Paul didn’t even crack a smile. He simply collected his camera, found his aim after a couple of moments, and took her picture.
Julia couldn’t help but smile because it was rather absurd to pose on his dumpy army cot, with her in a dress and pearls, her long legs stretched out.
“What will you say to your brother about the photo?” Julia asked, sitting up straighter and facing him.
Paul settled again in his chair. “Oh, I’ll tell him all about my hut. The typical ten-by-eighteen-foot space, the woven Cadjan walls, wooden shutters, and an army bed with a folded-up mosquito net above.”
“I mean what will you tell him about me?”
Paul gazed at Julia for what seemed like a very long moment, then he said, “He already knows about you.”
“What? What did you say?” Julia felt both surprised and pleased.
“I told him that you’re a six two bien-jambée from Pasadena and that you have a ragged but pleasantly crazy sense of humor.”
“Are those compliments?” she asked, trying to remember what jambée meant—it was French, she at least knew that much. And did Paul like her sense of humor? They seemed to laugh together plenty, so maybe?
“Do you want me to read more, or are you too tired?”
So, he wasn’t going to answer her? “Read more. Unless you’re too tired?”
His mouth quirked, but his smile stayed hidden. He continued to read, and she was perfectly content listening to him.
Eventually, he lit a cigarette. “Do you want one?”
“Sure,” she said.
“When did you start smoking?” he asked.
“Technically?” She paused. “As a kid, I had a friend named Orian Hall, whom we all called Babe. We would sneak my father’s cigars, climb our oak tree, and try them out.”
Paul’s brows lifted. “Did you get caught?”
“Of course we got caught,” Julia said. “The smoke rising from the tree was a big clue. I’ll never forget when my father sat me down with my younger brother and sister. Told us if we didn’t smoke until we reached twenty-one, he’d give us each a thousand-dollar bond.”
Paul lowered his cigarette. “Did it work?”
Julia grinned. “It certainly did. I didn’t smoke again until one minute after my twenty-first birthday.”
Paul chuckled and shook his head. “You were a precocious daughter, I see. What’s the craziest thing you did as a child?”
Julia had a long list to choose from. “Well, everything seemed to involve Babe. She was a year older than me, and we brought out the wild side in each other the moment we got together. My poor brother, John, got dragged along on most of our adventures.” She paused. “I’m not boring you?”
“Far from it.”
She took courage at that. “We once sent for a mail-order blank cartridge gun under Babe’s brother Charlie’s name, which we fired from the roof and, of course, got into trouble. Another time, we dropped rocks on the Santa Fe passenger train. And more than once, we sneaked rides on milk wagons and streetcars.”
Paul was laughing now. “You were incorrigible.”
“I grew out of it, mostly.”
His smile was still in place. “I’ve heard about the pranks you’ve played around the plantation. I don’t think you’ve grown out of it at all. My brother and I were well-behaved in comparison. We only did injury to each other.”
This reminded her about his partial blindness. “Does your eye ever hurt?”
“No . . . at least, not directly.” He tapped his temple. “I didn’t start getting migraines until after that accident.”
She was still curious about one thing and had to ask, “What else did you write to your brother about me?”
Paul took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze on her, as if contemplating whether to tell her more.
“Never mind, I don’t want to know.” She rose from the cot, the book still in her hand. “I should head to my place. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” She crossed quickly to the door and stepped out.
Paul caught her hand before she could get very far. “Julie.”
She didn’t know if he’d called her Julie before, but a few others about headquarters did. Beyond his hut, the sun had sunk low, disappearing beyond the horizon, creating a maze of violet and peach colors above the tree line.
“I told my brother everything about you,” he said, his hand still holding hers, his gaze intent. “I told him that Julia McWilliams is very tall and has lovely legs. She’s thirty-two years old, and she’s a darling, warm girl.”
“Oh.” She breathed out and looked down at their clasped hands. “That’s . . . sweet of you.”
“It’s the truth.” He released her hand, but he didn’t move away. “You’re beautiful and lively and intelligent, and any man would be fortunate to have you in his corner.”
At this, Julia couldn’t even come up with a reply.
Fortunately, Paul was never short on words. “You know that I’ve been dating off and on while over here. Nothing has been serious since Edith though. I don’t know if I have it in me. And I don’t want to get in too deep when who knows how it will translate to life after the war. So if you feel like you’re wasting your time on me, I understand, since I can only offer friendship.”
He’d cracked open everything, right then, right there. She swallowed against the tightness of her throat. “I want friendship too,” she managed to say. “Friendship is worth a lot more to me right now anyway. None of us knows when this war will end or what will happen when we all return stateside.”
“Agreed.” Paul’s gaze didn’t leave her, and even though they were both agreeing on the same thing, she saw a flicker of longing in his eyes.
She only recognized it because she knew she was half in love with him. Friendship would have to suffice for now, and if that was all their relationship amounted to, it would ease the heartache later on. He was a man with plenty of experience with women, while Julia had never gone beyond kissing a man. She knew somewhere, deep down, that Paul could truly break her heart if she gave it to him and he rejected it.
“Good night, then,” she said.
“Good night.” Still he didn’t step away, and she didn’t either.
Paul grasped her hand again, and he squeezed her fingers. Then he did the most extraordinary thing. He kissed her. It was light and brief. More of a friendly peck on the mouth, but it was something.
What it meant, Julia couldn’t guess or define. But she was going to cling to their friendship and be ever so grateful for Paul’s absolute honesty. She didn’t want games or pretty platitudes, because those would absolutely lead to a broken heart. As she saw things now, she might be casting her net over the wrong man, but she was willing to be patient. If there was one thing she’d learned from Paul Child, it was patience.
Chapter 11
Kandy, Ceylon
December 1944
“There are three curries: one meat, usually lamb; one fish, usually shrimp; and one fowl, usually chicken. One first lays down a good bed of rice all over a plate, takes generous helpings of each of the three curries, and then covers this all over with as many condiments as the human imagination can devise: chopped coconut flavored with curry powder, paprika, pepper, cardamom, crumbled bacon, crumbled fried bananas, and chutneys of every hue and flavor.”
—Louis Hector, OSS Staff
Julia awakened to a dim and muggy bedroom, which could only mean it was a cloudy morning. She felt so well-rested that she knew something was wrong. She sat up and parted the mosquito netting.
“The electricity’s gone out again,” Peachy said, sitting at the vanity table she’d rounded up from somewhere.
“What time is it?”
Peachy checked her watch. “Nearly noon.”
Julia’s head spun. It was a Saturday, but still, she’d been planning on working a full day today. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” They’d had this routine for months. Peachy woke up Julia in the mornings because Julia struggled to crack her eyes open.
Peachy turned to look at her. “You’ve been exhausted all week. You work too much. I thought Patty was going to help you cut down on your crazy hours.”
Julia stifled a yawn. “She has, but I still need to get through some paperwork today.” She swung her legs over the bed, and a crack of thunder pealed overhead. “More rain?”
It had rained most of the past two days, and Julia was sure that if she tried, she could drink from the sky. According to Gregory, it was the start of the monsoon season, so they wouldn’t see any letup soon.
“There’s flooding at the end of our road.” Peachy turned back to the mirror and applied lipstick.
“Plans?” Julia asked.
Peachy flashed a smile. “Yes.” Her gaze met Julia’s in the mirror. “You and Paul sure spend a lot of time together.”
“He’s a friend, like I’ve told you and everyone else.”
Peachy shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Julia quickly washed and dressed, then headed out of the room with her umbrella.
“Wait for me,” Peachy suddenly called after her.
“You’re not getting picked up?”
“No. I’m meeting a certain someone at headquarters, but I don’t want to walk through this rain by myself. Plus, I’m hungry now. I’ll come with you to the mess hall.”
The two of them hurried along the street as the rain started in earnest. More than their road was flooding. “Should we be worried about how high the water is getting?”
Peachy gingerly stepped around a large puddle of water. “I don’t know—I mean, the rain has to stop sometime, right?”
The wind had started, tugging at Julia’s clothing and blowing rain into her face, despite the umbrella. She could appreciate the beauty of the monsoon weather, with mists surrounding the mountain peaks and making the trees look like they were out of a fairy tale. Oh, except for the four-foot lizard she saw climbing one of the trees. Another reason, in addition to leeches, to avoid walking under all trees.
When they reached the plantation, they veered toward the mess hall, and Julia shook off as much rain as possible before entering. The heavenly smell of curry greeted her when she walked in. She dished up a plate of rice, topped it with curry, then added the toppings of paprika, cardamom, and crumbled fried bananas, with Peachy making her selections behind her.
A group of OSS huddled near the radio, listening to the reports coming in about the Battle of Leyte Gulf that the US had fought a few days ago. The air and sea battle had severely crippled the Japanese Combined Fleet, and the US, Australia, and Mexico had invaded the Philippines, removing Japan from their stronghold.
“Join us,” Jane Foster called out over the radio broadcast.
Julia looked over at the table, where Jane sat with Jeanne Taylor and Paul. Julia pushed down the rising questions she had about Jeanne, who chatted easily around Paul—Julia didn’t know how to read that. Jeanne was her same age, an art school graduate, and much more sophisticated than Julia would ever be. Was she more Paul’s type?
“We’re sharing the geranium jelly that Paul’s brother sent him,” Jane continued in a cheerful tone. “It’s delightful.”
Paul’s gaze settled on Julia, and she wondered what he was seeing—besides her rain-soaked clothing and wind-blown hair.
“Looks delicious,” Julia said as she neared their table with Peachy right behind her.
Paul pushed the jar of jelly toward her, then a plate of flatbread. “Have all you want. Might as well use it up in one sitting.”
