Prologue

September 1979

Pendleton, Oregon

S treamers of sunlight slid through the leaves of the big maple tree in the front yard and danced across the fingers resting on the curve of the rocking chair's arm. The hand, once young and capable, now bore spots of age, wrinkles from a life of labor, and a scar near the thumb. The scar reminded Molly Fitzpatrick of the day she'd acquired it more than sixty years ago in a time that seemed a world away.

She leaned back in the chair she'd pulled close to the edge of the porch, enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun as it enveloped her in a golden embrace. The deep breath she inhaled filled her nose with both the scent of cinnamon and apples from the pies she'd just pulled from the oven and left to cool on the kitchen windowsill, along with the distinctive aroma of the corn her grandsons were cutting for silage that afternoon. The rumble of the tractor running in the pit across the road, where the silage was stored for supplementing the cattle's feed through the winter, carried to her alert ears.

It was the first year her husband hadn't been able to help chop the corn or assist with any of the summer farm work. The fact that he was stuck in the house instead of working alongside their son and grandsons was almost more than Friday could bear. He had never been one who could sit still for long.

Molly smiled as she recalled the first time she'd seen him, standing rooted to the ground like a tree. Oh, but he had been so handsome in his American Expeditionary Force uniform. Even though they were both edging close to ninety, Molly thought him quite good-looking and dashing. Friday's hair remained thick, even though it was white now instead of black. His blue eyes continued to hold a twinkle of mirth. That special smile he saved just for her still made her knees feel weak.

"Granny! Granny! I got the mail!" The young voice pulled Molly from her musings.

Molly waved to her great-grandson as he raced up their lane with a handful of envelopes held up in one small hand.

"That's grand, Fagin," she called, scooting back in the chair and smiling at her great-grandchild.

From the few photographs Molly owned of Friday as a youngster, Fagin was the spitting image of him. It made it hard for her not to favor the boy over his two younger cousins. Then again, Fagin spent a lot of time with them, and he was a loving, thoughtful child who so often touched her heart.

When he rushed up the porch steps, Molly opened her arms and he slipped onto her lap, smelling of sunshine, fruity gum, and little boy. She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek, then he hopped up and handed her the mail.

"You got a lot of stuff today, Granny," Fagin said as he set his canvas school bag on the porch and reached for Chester, the old cat who spent most of his time lounging on a braided rug in the sunshine. The boy gave the cat a few scratches, grinning as Chester began to purr.

"Shall we go inside for a snack while I open the mail?" Molly forced herself to her feet, annoyed by the creaking noise of her knees and the pain in her side that pierced every time she sat or stood. Generally, it took a moment for her joints to settle into place, but Fagin grabbed her hand and tugged, eager for his after-school treat.

"Snacks sound good, Granny. Did you bake more cookies today?" Fagin picked up his school bag and opened the screen door, politely holding it for her.

Molly made a note to commend Fagin's mother on his manners the next time she spoke with Dana, which would likely be Sunday at church unless she phoned her between now and then. Dana worked in Pendleton at a bank, which was why Fagin often came to stay with Molly and Friday after school.

Fagin's father, Brian, worked on the farm, and it was handy for him to pick up Fagin on his way home. At least once a week, Brian and Fagin stayed for supper so Dana could have an evening without worrying about rushing home to fix a meal when she got off work.

Molly loved the time with her grandson and great-grandson, even if she was no longer as thrilled about cooking. Her old bones didn't like to stand up that long anymore, and it left her exhausted to fix big meals like she used to.

Brian's mother was as hopeless in the kitchen as Molly's Aunt Ilsa had been. Family legend claimed Ilsa had once caught a pan of water on fire. Molly wasn't sure if Uncle Tony had made up the story just to tease his wife or if it had truly happened. Regardless of the truth of the tale, Ilsa had been a terrible cook.

Molly's thoughts wandered back to the huge meals she'd help prepare during the wheat harvest. She could hear the laughter of the men as they washed up and smell the fried chicken they passed around the makeshift tables. Those had been long, busy days full of hard work, but not the hardest days she'd endured.

"What kind of cookies did you make, Granny?" Fagin asked as he followed her into the farmhouse where Molly and Friday had made their home since 1920.

"I made chocolate chip with walnuts since they are your favorite." Molly brushed Fagin's thick, black hair back from his face as they sauntered down the hallway.

"They're Poppa's favorite, too," Fagin said, grinning up at her, showing off the gap in his smile where he'd recently lost two baby teeth. He started skipping beside her, bouncing from one foot to the other.

Oh, to have the energy of a six-year-old once again. Molly would have happily settled for having the energy she'd possessed at sixty-six. Lately, she just felt old and tired.

Probably because she was old and tired, she admitted to herself as she stepped into her sunny kitchen. She took a moment to admire her new Harvest Gold stove and refrigerator that looked so nice with the white marble counters they'd installed last year just before Christmas. It had been thirty years since she'd had anything new in the kitchen, and it had been past time for some updates.

"Caught you red-handed, Friday Fitzpatrick!" She grinned at her husband as Friday stood with his hand buried in the cookie jar.

"Poppa! Granny said she made our favorite cookies!" Fagin dropped his school bag on the floor by the round table near the bay window, then ran over to the sink. He jumped up and balanced on his stomach as he hastily washed his hands.

Molly handed him a towel, which he haphazardly applied to drying his fingers, then he jumped down and ran over to give Friday a careful hug.

Friday had broken his left leg in June when he'd missed a step and fallen off the tractor. He'd spent eight weeks with a cast from thigh to ankle, unable to get out and work and hating every minute of it. He could get around well with his cane now, but he was still upset at missing the entire summer while he recuperated. Despite his retirement ten years ago, Friday couldn't seem to stay away from the work he'd done since they'd wed and begun farming in 1919.

"Your granny did make our favorite cookies, and she baked apple pies for dessert tonight. I don't suppose you and your dad are planning to stay for supper, are you?" Friday asked, handing Fagin two cookies as he winked at his grandson.

"I'll ask Dad when he comes in. Mom won't care. She said we were gonna have hotdogs for dinner. Again."

"Hotdogs?" Molly said, shaking her head. Dana often worked late and was pressed for time, but Molly thought the young woman could find something better than hotdogs to feed Brian and Fagin. They ate hotdogs three, if not four times a week.

Molly left the mail on the table, took the milk from the refrigerator, and poured two glasses. After placing them on the table for Friday and Fagin, she poured a glass of sweetened iced tea for herself, grabbed a dinner knife from the utensil drawer, then sank onto a chair. Before it could escape, she swallowed a groan as the pain in her side poked at her again.

Friday eased onto a chair, and Fagin plopped down in the one next to him. They both broke a cookie in half, dunked it in their milk, and then held up the soggy pieces in a toast before each taking a big bite.

"You two are too much alike," Molly scolded, but her smile gave away her pleasure in seeing them together. She could so easily picture Friday sitting in his mother's kitchen wearing the same rascally grin Fagin sported as he took another bite of the cookie.

"Ain't it grand?" Friday teased, then leaned over and kissed Molly's cheek. He pointed to the stack of mail. "Anything in there besides bills and bad news?"

"Let's see." Molly took a sip of her tea, then began sorting through the mail. "Here's the newspaper." She handed it to Friday and he set it aside to read later. "A bill from the power company. It seems like we just paid that bill, but I suppose it is that time again. There's a postcard from the church reminding everyone about the fundraiser next weekend. Oh, and a letter from our niece."

"Which one?" Friday asked, dipping the other half of his cookie in his milk and taking a bite.

"Lila."

"It'll be good to catch up on her news. She's so much like her mama, I enjoy hearing from her," Friday said, taking the envelope from Molly and setting it on top of the newspaper.

Molly tucked a few catalogs and her new issue of Good Housekeeping magazine aside, then picked up an envelope that looked official. Her name was on the outside of it, so she turned it over and slit open the flap with the dinner knife. She quickly scanned the letter, then read it through carefully. A drop of something splashed onto the paper, and she realized she was crying.

"What is it, Mame? What's wrong?" Friday asked, placing a hand over hers as he called her by the name he'd given her so many years ago when despair had hung with a heavy weight in the air, and the world had felt as though it were aflame and burning down to embers.

"My discharge. It finally came." Molly's fingers trembled as she handed the letter to Friday. He fished his bifocals from his shirt pocket and settled them on his nose before he read the letter. Friday gave her a look of delight, then let out a whoop that caused Fagin to choke on the milk he slurped from his glass.

Friday took the glass from the boy and softly thumped him on the back, then handed him a handful of the paper napkins they kept on the table to mop up the milk on his chin.

"If I thought I wouldn't break my other leg, I'd swing you around the kitchen, Molly girl, like we used to at the dances held at the grange hall. I didn't think this day would ever come. After sixty years of fighting, it finally has." Friday whooped again.

Fagin mimicked him, then got up on his knees and leaned across the table. "Why are we yelling, Granny?"

"To celebrate. Today is a momentous day." Molly tried to blink away the tears filling her eyes, while joy filled her heart. Overwhelmed with emotions, she wasn't entirely certain what to feel in the moment beyond relief.

"What's ‘momentous'?" Fagin asked, looking from her to Friday.

"It means a day that is special and memorable. Unforgettable." Friday reached across the table and squeezed Molly's hand. "It shouldn't have taken this long for you and the girls to be recognized, but I'm glad you finally have been."

"What girls?" Fagin asked, appearing confused.

"The Signal Corps Girls," Friday said, grinning at Molly. "Your grandmother was one of the incredible, special women who served in the Female Telephone Operators Unit of the U.S. Army Signal Corps in the first World War. Most of us called them Hello Girls."

Fagin's eyes widened in surprise as he stared at Molly for a long moment. "You were in the Army, Granny?"

Molly smiled and nodded her head. "I was, honey. I served for a year in the American Expeditionary Forces under the direction of General John J. Pershing. But we preferred to be called Soldiers of the Switchboard or Signal Corps Girls rather than Hello Girls."

"Wow, Granny!" Fagin looked properly awed as he glanced from Molly to Friday, and back to her again. "What did you do? What did a switching soldier do?"

"Switchboard, honey. We operated the switchboards. It meant without us there, none of the important telephone calls would have gone through. Sometimes, those calls meant life or death to the men out fighting on the front lines, like your Poppa."

"You were a soldier, Poppa?" Fagin asked, looking at his aging hero with admiration. "You carried a gun and everything?"

"And everything," Friday agreed, ruffling Fagin's hair, then motioning to Molly. "But your granny and the women she worked with are the real heroes. The work they did and the lives that were saved because of their sacrifices went unnoticed for all these years. Now the Army has finally discharged them from their service, which means they acknowledge they were part of the Army in the first place."

Fagin looked confused. "But you were in the Army, weren't you, Granny?"

"Oh, I certainly was, Fagin. I was there amid the smoke and mortars and air raids and blackouts and relentless rain and heat bearing down on the little tinderbox shacks we had as barracks. I was definitely there. You see, after the war, the Army claimed we were there as civilians, but there were two hundred and twenty-three women who thought otherwise. We were part of the Signal Corps and proud to serve. This letter that I just received with my notice of discharge makes our service official. No one can ever again say we weren't part of the Army." Molly gave Friday a loving glance. "Besides, if I hadn't been there, I may never have met your poppa."

"You met Poppa in the war?"

"I certainly did. That's a day I'll always remember." Molly tenderly patted Friday's cheek.

Fagin's little face scrunched up with thought as he settled back into his chair. He picked up a cookie and nibbled on it before he set it down and looked at Molly again. "Tell me the story, Granny. Tell me about meeting Poppa and going to war. Please?"

"All right, I will. It started when I saw an advertisement in the newspaper. A call was issued to patriotic young women who could speak French. Specifically, to apply a woman needed to speak French, know how to operate a switchboard, and be in good physical condition. The moment I finished reading the requirements, I knew I had to apply."

"Then what happened?" Fagin asked, his eyes wide with interest.

Molly looked at Friday, and he nodded once, remembering with her. "I went to war."