Tom laid the pen down and reread the words, surprised that there was an almost poetic tone to them. He’d earned high grades in his literature classes at University of Virginia, but not until now did he realize how the lyrical writings of the classic books he loved could permeate a man’s thoughts when they were bent toward such musings.

He thought again that there was such freedom in this exercise. The favor to William was a gift to Tom as well, and he was almost envious that his friend had this outlet of writing to the girl in Brooklyn. Maybe Tom would find a pen pal of his own as soon as William had recovered enough to resume his correspondence.

Tom looked at the large clock on the wall. Ten till seven and the mail plane left at seven-thirty. He scribbled Your friend, William at the bottom, disappointed that there was no time to ask her how she was doing. Surprised that he would really like to know.

He thought about the garden around the Browns’ house and sketched a quick water violet at the bottom. They were nearly all white, so he could make it beautiful without the benefit of the colored pencils he had back at the house.

He addressed the envelope, having memorized Margaret’s address from the previous letters.

Satisfied that it was the best he could do for William, he hurried out of the medic’s office and dropped the letter in one of the mailbags just as they were being loaded onto the propellered plane.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

November 1943

Margaret had been working in the engraving department for several weeks when a new letter from William arrived at her house.

Her mother had begun to notice the air mail letters that arrived with frequency. And that they put a smile on Margaret’s face. Although not the smile, as her friends had pointed out. In fact, the discussion at Gladys’s apartment had caused her to scrutinize her facial reactions ever since. To their credit, she became aware that the movement of muscles was a symphony unto itself. And that indeed, the very word smile was a rather generic term for something that had endless variations.

It made her wonder—would she ever meet a man who garnered that reaction? Now that she was aware of it, it was apparent that Dottie had a special look when talking about John. And Gladys—though she would deny it—had a particular expression when talking about Oliver.

Until then, she had her friendship with William. Which was really all she wanted at the moment. New opportunities for women were opening up every day, and she felt she was standing at the dawn of a new age that she dearly wanted to be a part of.