They picked up their suitcases, took one last glance around the room and left their bay for the last time.


Twenty-two and a half weeks earlier these women stepped onto Avenger Field for the first time. They were all so very different from one another, different backgrounds, education, families, pasts, but with one thing in common—they were fly girls. That day they all left the base in WASP uniforms with a common purpose, a common dream and wings.

Solemnly, the women climbed into the cattle car to take the three mile ride to Sweetwater. There they would board trains and buses, or climb into an automobile to take a ten day leave before they began the next chapter in their lives. The newest batch of Women’s Airforce Service Pilots didn’t talk but sang their song softly to one another.

Major Trent watched from a distance as the graduates disappeared into the trailer and the truck pulled away. War complicated life, and life complicated war and an urgency to do something brave ran through him.


The trailer rolled out the front gates of Avenger Field and bumped and shimmied over the ruts in the road. Joy Lynn and Marina broke the somber mood in the car when they started battling with one of their crude and proper bits. The gals laughed and soon the dreaming and bragging picked up speed. The trailer filled with celebration as the women reveled in their accomplishment.

A mile or so back, a cloud of dust was kicked up behind an Army jeep and gained on the WASP cargo by the minute. The trainees heard the honking of a horn and looked out the window to see the jeep lining up with the cab of the truck.

“It’s Major Trent,” Bet reported.

“Hey, Hall, looks like they forgot to give you a pink slip,” Carla Vanell cracked. The gals all hooted and joined the tease.

The cattle car driver hit the brakes and rolled to a stop. Trent skidded alongside, parked the jeep and walked to the back of the trailer. He stood at the end of the car and called out, “WASP Liddy Hall.”

The women’s eyes widened with surprise—had their prophecy come true? All attention was on Liddy as she left the bench and opened the door. She stood in the opening and looked out at Trent who was out of breath and glistened with sweat.

“Miss Hall, can I see you for a moment?” He walked to the side of the trailer and waited for her.

Liddy took the steps to the road, walked around the corner and stood in front of him. Even in her confrontations with him, the Major had always had an air of calm and it had aggravated her. Standing here in front of him now, he was anything but calm. He had the glow of someone who just did the exact thing he wanted to do—and was surprised that he had done it. She saw the twinkle and sensed the current, and the smirk was about to break through.

Major Trent pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “You left this in my office.”

Liddy looked up and saw face after face peering through the windows from inside the trailer, and she turned her back to the nosey WASPs. On the inside of the envelope was the telegram from the hospital, bringing her the news of Jack’s death. On the outside was written, Please write to me: Maj. Reidburn Trent, and the address where she could send letters to him overseas.

Liddy looked up at him, smiled and said simply, “Thanks.”

She slipped the envelope inside her jacket and took in as much as she could of the man. His smirk jeweled his face and she stored it in her mind as she climbed back into the trailer. When she sat down on the bench, the heat of curiosity zinged at her from every side, back and corner of the space.

“Hey, Georgia, you were telling us about the first thing you were gonna do when you hit civilization, don’t leave us hanging girl,” Louise demanded.

Joy Lynn chomped on the bait and kicked right in where she had left off. Soon the gals were laughing and sharing their own plans. Liddy looked at Louise with thanks.


When the sister-friends parted to go their separate ways, the goodbyes were purposefully brief. Bet would be driving to Dallas with her parents and flying back to Boston, and Joy Lynn would drive home with Calli and her folks in the Calbert Caravan.

The cattle car dropped the women at the Blue Bonnet Hotel, and Bet and Joy Lynn met up with their families. Liddy and Marina walked together to the station, but left Sweetwater on different trains. Marina was going to California and Liddy home to Missouri. Louise took a bus home to Colorado, so she had waited with some of the other gals in front of the hotel.

Liddy’s train had its share of WASPs and servicemen, but she kept to herself for most of the trip. She wasn’t sure what to write, but she wrote a letter or really more of a note to Major Reid Trent that day:

October 28, 1943

Dear, (what should she call him?)

My ride into Sweetwater was bumpy, of course, kind of like flying the Vultee. I hope to be home by the end of the week. My father’s funeral will be on Saturday and I will spend the rest of my leave at home in Missouri.

Wishing you safety overseas,

Liddy, (should it be just Liddy, or Liddy Hall, or LLH—she couldn’t decide.)

Liddy held the note for over a day and past many stops where she could have mailed it. It was pretty impersonal, very short and she thought, kind of pointless. But she did write something, and didn’t know how she could write more. She wanted to but couldn’t.

Liddy wanted to tell him that she wished he wasn’t going back to the war. But that was something she would never tell a man who was going to fight for his country. She wanted to blather on, thanking him for chasing down the cattle car. She wanted to tell him what the first day they met had meant to her, had done to her and how miserable and thrilled she had been since then. She wanted to explain things, ask him things about himself, about everything that had happened at Avenger, about how he felt about her. But finally, she settled on the pathetic little note that she kept reading and cringing over.

When she gathered a big scoop of courage and filled in Major Trent and Hall, she decided the next stop was where she would post it. When the train rolled to the platform, she left the car and dropped it in the mail slot like it was on fire.

Back on the train, she thought more about the letter she would like to have written and got out a pen and wrote five pages. But that letter stayed tucked into her pocket and it did not get mailed.

Chapter Nineteen

Crik and Celia stood with Liddy by Jack’s graveside on a crusty layer of frost. She was in full uniform and knew how pleased Jack would have been at the sight of her. Daniel had managed leave, but he wouldn’t be home until the afternoon train.

Crik squeezed Liddy’s hand. “We’ll wait for you in the truck.”

“No—you go ahead. I’d like to walk back.” Liddy waited till she was alone. “Hi, Daddy.” She tugged at the hem of her jacket. “Fits pretty good, doesn’t it?” She cleared her eyes with her sleeve. “Remember when Mama died and you said I should talk to her whenever I felt like it. I know I was only twelve, but I’m gonna go ahead and keep talking, but to both of you now, Okay?”

The pain was so great. Liddy crouched down and ran her fingers in the grooves of Jack’s name on the headstone—JAQUE “JACK’ NATHAN HALL, and ‘BELOVED HUSBAND, FATHER, FRIEND AND PIONEER OF THE SKY, was etched below.

The marble that held Edda’s name was dusty and had no sparkle, but Jack’s was polished and new. A marble headstone was a luxury that Jack didn’t question when he buried his wife, and Liddy and Crik had decided Jack’s would be a match.

Liddy thought of the two of them side by side in this place and how, as a child, she had worried about her mother being alone when she died, while Jack and she still had each other. Now it was she who was alone, but Liddy was happy that they were together. This was how Edda had felt so many years before—Liddy was sure of that.

She told her parents all about graduation, her command to ferry pursuits and about the other WASPs. She told of Joy Lynn—the big tough beauty queen, dear proper Marina, steady Louise and sweet Bet. She didn’t leave out her fifth roommate, and she saw her mother screw a silly face when she said that Calli claimed she would be naming her baby Betsy Joy Marina Liddy Louise Duncan.

She laughed out loud when she realized she was leaving a pause here and there for Jack to interrupt her. Liddy’s mother had been a good listener, or at least appeared to be. Maybe it was that some people just don’t have the need to say a lot. Edda and Jack Hall would be a good match for eternity.

Liddy surprised herself when she hesitated telling her parents certain things. If they were alive, she would have kept from them anything that might make them worry, and she wouldn’t have told them about Major Reid Trent, not yet, maybe never.

But she decided to open up and let it all go. She told them how many women had died at Avenger, and about her ups and downs in training. And she told them everything she could think of about the Major and how she wished they could have met him.

Her fingers kept returning to the metal wings on her chest. They truly were Jack’s wings too. She wouldn’t have them if it weren’t for him.

“I’m still waiting to be militarized,” she said, “They keep saying it’s gonna happen any day, but I’m beginning to understand that doesn’t mean any day soon.” Liddy floated her fingers over the wings. “But I do have wings. Now we all have wings.”


It would be a week before Liddy had to report for pursuit training in Palm Springs, and she didn’t take for granted a minute of her time at home. She flew the old Jenny and scratched on Muck. Crik listened to every story that Liddy had collected the past few months, and she did her best to do justice to the delivery. She, Daniel and Celia ran around the county kicking up their heels and steering the conversation from talk of Daniel going back overseas. She drove over to Clayton Airfield to see Jerry, and he insisted on taking Liddy up for an unofficial checkride. Liddy’s flying had gained a precision that took every bump from the air. Jerry was impressed but only said, “Okay, Hall. I’m giving you an S this time, but work on that take-off. You don’t need to punch a hole through the floor of the pit ya’ know?”

Liddy received a letter from Major Reid Trent that had been sent the day she left the base. Crik had picked up the mail when he was in town. He handed Liddy the letter and watched her as she read the return address. Of course Crik didn’t ask about it, and Liddy was glad her uncle wasn’t a prier. She went into her trailer and sat in the corner on the bed. She studied the handwriting before she opened it and as she read the letter, her heartbeat quickened:

October 28, 1943

Dear Liddy,

I hope you had a safe trip and are enjoying your leave. I am truly sorry about your father’s death. He must have been quite a man to have raised you.

I realized I never actually told you congratulations on getting your wings, so, “Congratulations!” The Army is fortunate that you will be flying for them. I’m sorry that I said Avenger may not be the place for you. I regretted it the moment I said it and I didn’t mean it. You were right where you were supposed to be the last few months, I hope for more reasons than to become a WASP.

The base is quiet today, but the new class and replacement base command are arriving in numbers, so that isn’t going to last long. Captain Charles and I leave tomorrow morning to report to Long Beach for briefing, and then we will join our squadrons and board a carrier.

My tour will last until spring. I would like to see you when I get leave. I hope you will write to me and be safe.

Sincerely, Reid

When Liddy finished reading the letter for the third time, she tried not to dwell on what Reid would think when he read the empty note she had sent from the train; instead, she pulled out some stationary and immediately answered his letter:

November 5, 1943

Dear Reid,—Calling you that is going to take some getting used to.

I received your letter today. Thank you. I don’t know where you will be when you finally get this, but I hope you’re well. I’ll look forward to your leave in the spring. It will be nice not to worry that you might have a pink slip for me when I see you.