Searching for Pemberley

Before December 1941, no one would have hugged and kissed in as public a place as Scranton’s Lackawanna Station, but since the war, people were used to returning servicemen kissing their loved ones, so I gave Rob a big hug and kiss.

Walking to the car, he told me he had joined the Air Force Reserves. “I haven’t actually reported, but I was able to grab a seat on a flight to an airfield near Philadelphia anyway. As soon as I signed the papers, they told me I could get on any flight that had space available. They’re moving planes all over the country, and some are being sold to private contractors. I flew in on a twin-engine job that was used for photo recon that’s being sold to a real-estate developer.”

I asked Rob if he was hungry, and he said he was starved. “There’s no in-flight service on these planes,” he said, laughing. After sliding into a rear booth in a West Scranton diner, Rob informed me that he had gone on an interview with Delta Air Lines in Atlanta for the position of flight engineer. The personnel manager who interviewed him was a former B-17 pilot and liked to hire Air Corps vets.

“I thought you said you didn’t like Atlanta.” He also said that I would most definitely not like Atlanta, so why was he acting as if this was good news for me?

“I wasn’t real keen on the idea of staying in Atlanta, but this guy told me not to make up my mind until I had seen the city from Delta’s point of view. Since the war, thousands of servicemen who had been stationed in the South went back to look for jobs. It might be hot in Atlanta, but for some guys, it beats shoveling snow in Des Moines.

“Maggie, this is a great company,” he said, placing his hands over mine. “I could support a family on the salary I’d make. They’re building houses left and right, and the apartments are air-cooled — the bedrooms, anyway. What better place to kick off your shoes and cool down on a hot summer’s night?” I knew he was flirting with me, but I said nothing and just nodded my head. “They have routes from Atlanta to Chicago, Miami, and New Orleans, but that’s just the beginning. Why would anyone want to spend four days on a train when you can get on an airplane and be wherever you want in a matter of hours?” Doing a drum roll on the table, he said, “This is big. Really big. The guy even mentioned possible pilot’s training for me. Do you know how exciting it would be to fly a plane where your cargo is a group of passengers instead of bombs? I can do this.”

His enthusiasm was infectious. Was this what he needed — a challenging but interesting job? It just might be.

“I have a second interview on January 24th. What I’m thinking is that the regional airlines are going to be popping up all over the country. Once I get a few years under my belt, it’s possible I could end up flying for an airline in California. How about Phoenix to Los Angeles? And then we could spend some time up in the High Country in Flagstaff.”

What did he mean when he said that “we” could spend some time in the High Country? Where was this Rob McAllister when we were together in England?

I was wondering what my grandfather’s reaction would be when he heard Rob’s last name. He’d want to know if Rob was one of the “teeving Scots who stole all the land in the north of Ireland from the Irish.” But after Rob explained that he was mostly German with some Swedish and Scots-Irish thrown into the mix, Grandpa had nothing more to say. It was obvious he was suffering from a case of the “dwindles,” and no longer had the energy to argue. Most of his time was spent sleeping in a chair near the stove or in his room.

Once the dishes were washed and dried, Rob, Sadie, and I walked down to Bobby’s station where Marty Walsh, Eddie Sullivan, and Joe Mahady were drinking Cokes. The war had been the defining moment in their lives, and more than three years after VJ Day, it was still a frequent topic of conversation. After they had learned that Rob had been a navigator on a B-17, Eddie started in right away.

“You got yourself a flyboy, Maggie,” Eddie said. “Cruising up in the clouds while us dopes in the infantry were down in the mud digging foxholes.”

Not to be outdone, Marty complained that the Army and the Air Corps had gotten all the glory when it was the Navy and Marines who had beaten the Japs in the Pacific with very little help from the other services. Rob hated this kind of talk. He called them “pissing contests,” like little boys who lined up to see whose stream could reach the farthest.

“You’re both right. Flying in a B-17 meant taking off in the morning, dropping my load, and coming home to some pretty decent grub and the same bed every night. I always admired the guys in the infantry and armor, and I can tell you, I never even gave the Navy a thought. At least if I had to bail out, I’d hit land.”

This seemed to appease Army and Navy, and Rob closed the deal when he offered to buy a round at Judge’s. This was the bar where my father had once done most of his drinking, but since the war, the usual crowd was largely made up of friends of mine. The beer mug had been passed to a new generation.

After what seemed like hours, Bobby, Sadie, Rob, and I managed to break loose from the “How I Won the War” group and crossed the street to Bobby’s house. Sitting in his front parlor, Bobby told Rob that he had been a pilot on a B-26 Marauder, a medium bomber.

“A plane a day in Tampa Bay,” Rob said. “I was glad when they assigned me to the Fortresses.”

Bobby slapped his knee. “I was in on those early training flights. I nearly parked one in the bay myself.”

Both Rob and Bobby had more than their share of close calls, and because of that, they changed the topic to the Chicago Bears versus the New York Giants. Sadie rolled her eyes and indicated she was leaving. I caught up with her and asked what she thought of Rob.

“Marry him,” she said, walking quickly in the cold. “He’s handsome, intelligent, and he doesn’t live here. He’s perfect for you.”

I was wondering if Sadie was being facetious when she said: “If you’d give him a chance, you’d probably fall in love with him all over again. If you don’t, you’ll go back to England, and the only time I’ll ever see you is when someone dies.”

Sadie was starting to cry — something she rarely did. “I don’t think you should go back to England. Forget about that other guy.”

Rob’s visit with the Monaghan family had gone so well that he had been invited back to attend Pat’s sister’s wedding. Before leaving for the airfield to catch a flight to Omaha, Rob and I went to a nice restaurant near the train station. While waiting for our meals to be served, Rob held my hand the entire time.

“Maggie, I feel I’m finally on the right road. It took much longer than it should have. After Omaha and my interview in Atlanta, I want to come back here. I think it’s time that we started planning our future together.” He took both of my hands in his and kissed them, which was exactly what Michael had done when he had asked me to come back to him. Rob noticed the change and asked if something was wrong.

“No. Nothing’s wrong.”

“What do you say? Can I come back?”

“I’d be very hurt if you didn’t.”

A few days after arriving in Omaha, Rob called to say the city had been slammed with a major snowstorm, and there were no flights out. He mentioned he had a chance to talk to Mr. Monaghan, but he would share that with me when he was back in Minooka in a week. A week? How much snow did Omaha get?

To pick up some extra money, Sadie had arranged for me to work as a temp in her office in downtown Scranton. The job involved phones and typing and little else, which was why the pay was so bad, but I needed money so that I could pay my mother for my room and board.