Chapter Five
Five
One Day Gone
“Mrs. Mitchell, do you believe your husband is alive?”
Vivian glanced up, a flashbulb exploding in her face, the brightness momentarily obscuring her vision.
“Look over here, Mrs. Mitchell,” a photographer shouted at her.
Her head swiveled more out of reflex than anything else.
Another flashbulb.
“Frank,” Vivian murmured, reaching out to grab hold of his arm, searching for something to steady her in this melee.
Frank had assured her that he had spoken with the press in advance, that the questions would be friendly, that she had nothing to worry about. Judging by the frenzy of reporters and photographers camped out on her front lawn, Frank had severely misjudged the situation before them.
“Can we have a picture, please, Mrs. Mitchell?” another photographer asked, his tone a bit gentler than the first. “A smile to reassure everyone.”
“Do you think your husband is alive, Mrs. Mitchell?” the first reporter shouted again, his tone more insistent now.
She understood they were just doing their jobs—how many times had she found herself covering a story that represented the most difficult moments a person could face?
Countless. And yet, now that she was on the other end of the camera, she hoped she had exercised more care in those moments than was being afforded to her now.
“Do you believe that this was an accident?” another reporter shouted. “Was there perhaps some operator error involved? After the last safety incident—”
“Back off,” Frank growled, putting his hand out to fend off the reporters circling around them. “Give her some space.”
Vivian ducked her head, reaching into the little clutch purse Polly had thrust into her hands, searching for her sunglasses, her fingers shaking as she tried to slip them on her face to shield her from the flashing bulbs and prying eyes.
If Joe were here, he would be furious.
From the beginning, there had been a tension between the amount of access that the press wanted to have to the astronauts’ wives and the women’s willingness to be constantly put on display.
When the space agency held the cards and an astronaut’s family life could affect his ability to go up in space, could threaten his livelihood and ability to support his family, the spouse often felt pressured to play along.
A few times, though, the astronauts themselves had gotten involved, standing up for their wives or banding together to ensure some protection for their families from the intrusive eyes of the press.
“What was your husband’s mindset before going into space?” someone else called out to her.
Frank stiffened beside Vivian, and then he moved forward, placing his hand on her arm as though signaling her not to answer the question.
“Was he nervous at all?” another reporter shouted. “Did he get good rest the night before the flight?”
“Were things happy at home?”
Vivian’s head whipped up, and she felt grateful for the dark sunglasses shielding her expression.
“Could your husband or one of the other crew members have made a mistake?”
There it was.
Anger filled her, piercing through the haze. She should have known they would start pointing fingers this early, that they would introduce operator error as quickly as they could. After all, it had happened before when there had been other mishaps and accidents.
How quickly they turned from praising the astronauts for their heroism, bravery, and ingenuity to blaming them when something went wrong.
And then—because it was inevitable, of course, now they were looking at her, at their marriage.
When Joe first joined the space program, Vivian had been made aware in no uncertain terms by the powers that be that her role was to maintain a household that was a haven for her husband.
She was to wake far earlier than Joe in the mornings, preparing a full, hearty breakfast that gave him the energy he needed to go out and conquer space.
When he returned home from a hard day of work, he was to be greeted by a wife whose hair was perfectly coiffed, clothes pressed and elegant, makeup flawless.
Vivian was to ask him about his day but understand that due to the sensitive nature of his job, there were certain topics that were off-limits, and she was never, ever to pry or hold it against him when he refused to tell her certain things.
Above all else, the astronauts were not to be bothered by the minutiae of daily life.
Unhappy spouses were meant to keep their frustrations to themselves, to paste a smile on their faces and offer a supportive ear for their astronaut husbands.
Because at the end of the day, as a wife you were constantly reminded that your husband could die at any moment in his job.
Going to space was a dangerous endeavor—even the training missions.
Flying around the country in the T-38 they piloted between the Cape, headquarters in Houston, and the various contractors’ offices brought its own set of dangers.
They’d already lost astronauts in both training and in cross-country flights.
No wife wanted to be the reason her husband was distracted and made a deadly mistake, that their children lost a father.
And yet—
It was an impossible load they were asked to carry. An impossible standard no woman could achieve in the face of all she was forced to contend with as an astronaut wife.
“My husband—” Vivian took a deep breath, those two words evoking a great deal more emotion than she had bargained for.
Tears pricked her eyes.
She would not cry.
She would not lose her composure in front of them.
She would not give them this private piece of herself.
When President Kennedy was assassinated in 1963, Vivian had been glued to the television screen like the rest of the world, had first learned of his death when she was in the newsroom and the story that he had been shot during the parade first broke.
The image that stayed with her from that time wasn’t of the parade or the panic that had befallen the crowd that day, the collective grief that had swept the nation and the world.
It was of Jackie Kennedy standing by Lyndon B.
Johnson while he was sworn in as president hours after her husband was shot while riding next to her in what should have been a happy occasion, her husband’s blood staining her pink suit.
When Vivian faced difficult times in her life, when she thought that she was being confronted with something she simply could not bear, she was reminded of that moment, and of the unimaginable grace and strength Jackie showed in the face of such a devastating loss.
Vivian channeled that courage now.
“My husband Joe is a great astronaut. He is an even better husband, an even greater man. Paul and Michael are great men. My husband was honored to command this mission with them.” Vivian removed her sunglasses, giving the press what they wanted, allowing them to take the photograph that would grace newspapers and magazines around the world.
Allowing them to propel Joe’s plight to the front of the public’s mind despite the urge inside her to flee.
“I don’t know why we lost contact with the spacecraft.
” She glanced over at Frank, who by now had realized that she was deviating from the agreed-upon script and had paled considerably.
“I’ll leave it to the experts to decipher why there are problems with the telemetry.
I have every faith that they’ll be able to restore communication with the spacecraft.
After all, if we’re going to send men to the Moon, maintaining communications with the astronauts undertaking this important mission must be their top priority.
They sent these men to space. They have an obligation to get them home. ”
A tremor threatened her voice, but she pushed it out, her tone firm, resolute. She glanced over at Frank once more. His mouth had slackened, and a glimmer of panic entered his gaze as though he’d realized the error in giving her such a public platform.
“I ask every American, everyone around the world, to pray for my husband’s safe return, to pray for Michael and Paul and their families, who are surely worried sick, and to pray for the brave men and women who are working so hard to bring them home,” Vivian continued, hoping that the emotional appeal would tug at the world’s heartstrings and keep the astronauts’ plight at the forefront of everyone’s minds.
“I am heartened by the commitment and promise NASA has shown to doing everything in their power to bring Joe, Michael, and Paul home to us and by the knowledge that they will not give up until the crew is returned safely. Thank you all.”
“Mrs. Mitchell—”
“Mrs. Mitchell, look over here.”
“Do you think the agency is committed to bringing your husband and the others home?”
“Are you worried that they’ve been gone so long that the likelihood that they were able to survive what happened to their spacecraft diminishes with each hour?”
Frank took hold of her arm, pulling her away from the reporters, and their questions, and likely whatever else she had to say that was not among the prepared lines the agency’s media office had given her.
Vivian had read the words they wanted her to repeat in the comfort of her bedroom, Polly beside her. There had been more mentions of going to the Moon than of Joe, the mission before the man.
One of the reporters came a little too close, his arm connecting with hers, and Vivian stepped away, the frenzy building around her filling her with a sense of unease.
Frank pivoted from her, telling a photographer to his right to step back, and a voice whispered in her ear—
“I have some information about the capsule. There were problems well before the launch.”
Vivian whirled around, her heart pounding. A man pressed a piece of paper into her hand before she was swept up in the crowd and she lost sight of him completely.