The Secrets of Flight by Maggie Leffler

our logbooks and pilots’ licenses—me, additionally anxious about my age. But the assistant to Jackie Cochran told me not to worry; she’d seen my scores from flight school; Jim had written me a fine letter, and they would keep all my credentials on file.
    I returned to Pittsburgh, bursting with hope and suspense, only to be met with nearly four months of silence. Fall semester started at Pitt, where I studied stenography and bookkeeping—and one Shakespeare class for Sarah—and bagged groceries at the general store on the weekends, until at last, another telegram arrived: If you’re still interested in becoming a Women Airforce Service Pilot, report to Indian Town Gap, Pennsylvania, for an Army Air Forces physical on December 18th, 1943 . Once again, I had to find my own way across the state, this time to stand in a line with a hundred men in their undershirts and skivvies—gawking at me, before the doctor slipped me behind a curtain—only to be told absolutely nothing. It’s been ten weeks, five days, and nine hours since I passed my army physical—but I tell Sarah, “I’m trying not to think about it,” as though I’ve been able to stop.
    â€œAren’t you coming tonight?” I add, realizing she’s wearing her gingham belted dress. The Old Sarah wouldn’t be caught dead at an evening party in gingham.
    â€œSomeone needs to be here for Rita,” Sarah says, shaking her head and coughing into her fist. “Besides, I can’t go to a party alone. At least you have Tzadok.”
    â€œWe’re just friends,” I say, and she gives me a look. “What?It’s true.” Despite my parents’ conviction that Tzadok is a good match, despite that I asked for—and he gave me, without hesitation—the ultimate favor of driving five hours across the state and back again, I’ve spent the last two years avoiding formal courtship. At times, I accompany him to family events, but I’ve never held his hand, never looked into his eyes and kissed him, nor has he ever made any such advances. On the way home from Indian Town Gap, I was even so blunt as to mention that I’m never getting married.
    â€œYou’re too busy chasing your dreams, Little Bird,” Tzadok said, using his pet name for me ever since I confessed the truth about what I was training for. “I admire you for wanting something so badly,” he added, staring at the road, making me pity him for his own lack of ambition. “Sometimes I think, ‘I will never speak German again.’ There used to be more to my country than Nazis.” He gave me a sad smile and, once again, I felt guilty for chafing against his gloom.
    â€œYou could do worse,” Sarah says tonight, and she’s right. He has a tiny apartment, a working vehicle, a formal education, and perpetual job security working for Uncle Hyman. But the only thing I feel when he looks at me intently is an urge to flee from his kindness.
    â€œRemember when we both wanted to marry Dickon from The Secret Garden ?” I ask, struggling with the zipper of my clean frock. “He could just blow his whistle and birds and squirrels and bunnies would come greet him.”
    â€œWe’re not living on the moor in England, and Dickon’s not real. Here, let me help,” Sarah says and, gratefully, I let her take over. She even lets me borrow her comb, since mine is missing. The joke is that for the few years she was gone, I didn’t brushmy hair once. “Tzadok will be mesmerized,” she says, when I’m finished with my hair.
    â€œYou marry him,” I say, and as soon as the words slip out, I think, Too soon .
    Luckily, she sounds amused when she says, “But he only has eyes for you,” and it seems, for a moment, the Old Sarah is back.
    â€œMiriam!” Mama calls from the bottom of the stairs, making me hesitate.
    â€œBe nice,” Sarah says. “The