The Liberators of Willow Run

by Marianne K. Martin

  “For you girls who have reached your twenties,” she was saying, “it is fine to accept a dinner invitation at a bachelor’s apartment, but you must balance his attention between the meal and talking about matters that are of interest to him. And you must leave for home by ten o’clock.”

  Ruth’s notebook was open, her pencil moving deceptively on the page. But it wasn’t Mrs. Stranton’s advice leaving its mark, it was her face. It somehow had more of an impact than her words. Susan noticed what she was doing as Ruth sketched the outline and roughed in the features.

  Over the past months Susan had watched many of Ruth’s sketches come to life—the squirrel visiting the feeder in the back yard, the doe that had gradually ventured closer as the girls sat quietly in the sunshine, Janie and her baby boy before they left to join her new husband, and recently Amelia. Their young friend was a study in contradiction—the soft, full cheeks dusted in pink, eyes wide and direct and sparkling with youthful innocence countered by the swell of pregnancy. Images captured before their next blink, caught in the updraft just before exhale.

  Ruth often shared her sketch times with Susan, she welcomed the compliments and the encouragement. Wasn’t there a career for her where her talents would be rewarded? Wouldn’t there be many who would love a portrait of a loved one, or a company that could use her skills in advertising? No one had ever wondered that for her, or if they had they had never voiced it. It made her feel special.

  So Susan watched as the shading set the highs and lows of the contours of Mrs. Stranton’s face. Wide, high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, thin lips defined in bright red.

  “Lack of restraint,” she was saying, “is exactly the thing that spreads disease and drastically weakens morale.”

  Ruth’s pencil began feathering tentative lines in the dark hairline.

  Mrs. Stranton continued. “Ultimately lack of restraint breaks down the moral health of the nation.”

  Ruth’s pencil continued working in the hairline.

  “And we must, each and every one, especially in this time of war, do our utmost to keep our nation strong.”

  Susan grasped Ruth’s drawing hand and stopped its progress. Ruth could feel the quivering against her shoulder as Susan stifled her laughter at the horns emerging from Mrs. Stranton’s hair.

  “Remember, a man will respect you as much as you respect yourself. Let that be your daily reminder.”

  Head lowered, lips pursed, Ruth closed her notebook and waited for Mrs. Stranton to exit the room. As the other girls resumed their conversations and made their way to the door, Amelia leaned forward and asked, “What are you two laughing about?”

  Susan snatched the notebook from Ruth’s lap, flipped it open, and showed it to Amelia. “Oh,” the girl said, quickly covering a rarely seen smile with her hand.

  They were the last in the room, huddled together in giggles. “Well, shame on us,” Ruth said, reaching across Susan and snatching back her notebook. “I’m sure the lack of restraint in this room alone has lost the war for us all.”

  Ruth read the look on Amelia’s face before she heard the words. “You don’t mean that,” Amelia said, “do you?”

  Susan put a reassuring arm around Amelia’s shoulders.

  “No, no,” Ruth replied, “of course not. No one in this building, no amount of pregnancies in this country makes one bit of difference in this war. And restraint . . .” she stopped short of venting a rage that had been building since Amelia had confided in them. The sketch had only touched it, teased it, lightened it enough to allow just a glimpse at it. But there was so much more she wanted to say, needed to say for Amelia.

  Ruth pulled her chair around to face Susan and Amelia. She directed her words, calm and measured, at Amelia. “No one has the right to include you in any lecture about restraint. No one. Not Mrs. Stranton, who doesn’t know anything about you, and not your parents, who should know you. You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. The people who should be ashamed are the ones who have taken advantage of you and who have not protected or believed you. There is where the shame lies, not with you.” Amelia’s eyes never left Ruth’s. “You have to believe that, Amelia. Believe it for yourself. Don’t depend on anyone else believing it or even someone like me or Susan telling you to believe it.” And then the words she had held, the ones that pushed and tested her own restraint. “You should not be ashamed, Amelia. You should be angry, very angry.”

  “Amelia,” the voice from the doorway broke their huddle. “There you are. Your kitchen duty started ten minutes ago.”

  Without a word, Amelia rose and scurried from the room.

  “You know,” Ruth began, “I admit I’m nervous, even a little scared about having a baby, making the right decisions, what I’m going to do after. But, I can’t imagine how scared that little girl is.”

  “You know what worries me most?” Susan asked. “That her parents don’t believe her about the boy forcing her. Why wouldn’t they believe her?”

  “What if the boy won’t leave her alone when she goes back home?”

  “And her parents still won’t believe her,” Susan added. “If I were Amelia that would scare me more than anything.”

  “We need to know. We need to keep talking to her, and figure out how we can help.”

  Susan frowned and shrugged her shoulders. “You and I will be out of here before she delivers. What can we do when we’ll be in three different states?”

  “Maybe I can work something out with Nurse Barton,” Ruth said. “I trust her. Amelia needs to trust her. I know I won’t be able to come back here once I’ve left, but maybe there’s a way I can stay in contact with Amelia until she delivers.”

  “And after that?”

  “One thing at a time. I don’t know exactly where I will be, but it’ll be somewhere close by. I’m not going back home.” The look she received was expected. The decision was one that Susan didn’t anticipate.

  “Why, Ruth? What will you do?”

  “It’s . . . it’s not something I can explain. I’m just not going to be able to do what you will do. I’m not going to marry a boyfriend when he comes home and start my life all over. I’ll start over, but somewhere else, alone.”

  “I think that would be even more scary than being shipped off to a place like this. At least this is temporary. I’ll be going back to people I know, and I know where my life is headed from here. Doesn’t the unknown frighten you?”

  “Surprisingly,” Ruth replied, “not as much as the known does.”

  Chapter 7

  It didn’t matter whether they had been friends or lovers, Audrey’s choices always seemed to be fraught with difficulties. Sarah wasn’t close enough in age to satisfy her mother, Judith wasn’t feminine enough to be acceptable, Mary appeared much too close for everyone’s comfort, and Velma, well, she was invisible. The realization wasn’t new, just shined up and brighter tonight. And no matter who came into her life there seemed little chance of the rules changing.

  So, naturally, in this new place with her new life, she had a friendship neither race would accept and a guarantee that if she were to fall in love again it would have to be a tightly held secret. Secrets and lies. Not something she wanted to think about tonight.

  They sat at the little table against the wall across the room from the bed. “I think this is the best tuna salad I’ve ever had,” Nona said, lifting the last forkful.

  “It’s the goat cheese. Who would’ve ever thought they’d make cheese out of goat milk, and that it would taste good,” Audrey replied. “Or is it that we are just starving.”

  “Well I wouldn’t have thought to put walnuts and grapes in it either, but it’s amazing what you can do with what you’ve got.”

  “My mother works in a Victory Garden back home, and she and some of the other women put together a recipe booklet using non-rationed foods. Some of them are really good.”

  “I’d classify this one as delicious,” Nona said and relaxed against the back of the
chair. “And thank you for letting me stay here tonight.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. But that does remind me, let’s get the news on.” Audrey snapped on the radio by the bed and tuned in the Detroit station. She retrieved Cokes from the icebox and returned to the table. The announcer told them that any woman who tried the Camay Mild-Soap Diet would see a big difference in her complexion before she used up that first cake of Camay.

  Then, “We interrupt our regular broadcast to announce that Mayor Edward Jeffries Jr. and Governor Harry Kelly have asked for help from President Roosevelt in restoring order to the city of Detroit. The Mayor is urging everyone to stay home and off the streets for their safety. The police have reported a number of officers shot and gangs of Negroes looting and burning. I repeat: Stay in your homes and off the streets until further notice.”

  “There sure won’t be any bus tomorrow,” Audrey said.

  “Reverend Jennings is going to be worried, but the phones are so restricted. I know we have to keep the lines open for the servicemen, but ten o’clock is so late to get to a phone.”

  Audrey checked her watch. “We could go to the community building after that, but it’s always packed with people waiting and tonight might be even worse. Maybe I can get Lucy to let you use a company phone in accounting at lunch tomorrow.”

  “The Reverend is a good man of God, he’ll add my safety to the prayers for peace in the city, but I would really appreciate being able to call him tomorrow. Thank you.”

  “Why do people have to fight and cause trouble when we should all be pulling together now? What kind of a world will we face if we lose this war?”

  “My father’s explanation,” Nona replied, “would be that some people can’t see past their own front porch.”

  Audrey smiled. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “The news report made it sound like Negoes are causing all the problems. Do you think that’s true?”

  A test. So clear that even June the Oblivious wouldn’t be able to miss it. “I think I understand why you asked me that,” Audrey said. “But I wish you hadn’t felt that you had to.”

  Nona’s expression morphed from a frown into discomfort. “I had no right to say that, not after how good you’ve been to me. I’m sorry, Audrey.” Audrey was shaking her head, but Nona continued. “I’ve never been actual friends with a white person. I don’t know what to expect.”

  Or trust. Wasn’t she right not to? How would she know without questioning, waiting, testing? After all, wasn’t she being expected to trust a liar right now? “I’ve seen how you are treated differently. There were white people who didn’t even show up to work when the bus didn’t come. I doubt that their job was threatened. It’s unfair. And I believe you when you say that it’s been worse where you come from. If I were in your place, I would be so angry. How do you handle how you’re treated without anger? Or do I just not see it?”

  “We’re all just people,” Nona said, “more alike than many want to admit, all of us trying to make the best life we can for ourselves. Some handle fear and anger by striking out, but I don’t see that it helps make things better.”

  For a long moment Audrey held Nona’s gaze. Her thoughts, the doubt of her own ability to be honest with this woman kept her from saying anything. Nona’s trust certainly deserved the truth, required the truth. Shouldn’t she know who she was being asked to befriend? Nona wasn’t like some casual lover who could, with merely physical desire, shimmy past lies and fears, subduing them with fire-hot heat, leaving them, without concern, to rise like a phoenix the next day. A friend, a real friend, didn’t have that option. Lies must be exposed by truth, fears laid bare. Trust required it. That much Audrey knew.

  Nona frowned. “What are you thinking about?”

  “How much I needed a friend,” she said, without lying. “And how we’d better get some sleep if we’re going to keep up our pace tomorrow.” True, every word. And avoiding what you didn’t know much about was just smart. Audrey flipped off the radio. No Fibber McGee tonight.

  “The sheets are almost fresh,” she said. “I only slept on them one night. If you don’t mind that, then the bed is yours.”

  “No,” Nona replied. “I don’t mind the sheets at all, but I won’t take your bed. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”

  Audrey tilted her head with mock seriousness. “This is my place—the only place where I can make the rules—and in my place no guest sleeps on the floor.” She opened a drawer in a narrow bureau and handed Nona a clean nightgown. “There’s a clean towel on the back of the toilet,” she said, motioning to the door at the end if the bed. “You can shower first while I get my bedding ready.”

  Nona rose without argument. “I hope I can be as good a friend as you deserve.”

  Those words stayed with Audrey the whole next day. They begged to be addressed, especially after Reverend Jennings’ report of armored cars and jeeps and troops with automatic weapons confronting rioters up and down Woodward meant another night away for Nona. Another night testing Audrey’s honesty.

  She wanted so much for those words to be worthy of a smile. She wanted to accept them, accept Nona, free and clear of lies and guilt. But there was only one way that she could do that. Thinking about it sucked the oxygen out of the air, but if there was to be a real friendship, it had to be done. That’s what it would be if she was careful, if her purpose was pure and true and uncontaminated. A friendship. It would be all she needed from now on, a friend, this one. No need for another lover, or putting anyone else in danger ever again. She would learn to be a good friend, to be deserving.

  Somewhere amid accepting the why and worrying about the how, she realized that entering into a love relationship hadn’t been nearly as hard as this friendship. There were no sly lingering looks picked up and returned, or brushes of contact meant to send zings of recognition. No silent familiar nuances asking and answering. Truth understood, not spoken.

  But this—she watched Nona clear the dishes from the table and put them in the sink—this was much harder than she had imagined.

  “I’m doing up the dishes this time,” Nona said, filling the sink with hot water. “Don’t argue with me.”

  “I have learned that much about you.”

  “We’ve learned that about each other,” Nona replied.

  Audrey nodded to herself. Indeed they had. And more. “I’ve learned a lot from you,” she added, as she dried a dish and placed it on the shelf next to the sink.

  Nona handed Audrey the last of the dishes with a look of mild surprise. “What could you have learned from me?”

  “If you really want to know, then dry your hands and get comfortable.”

  Nona’s smile was like that of a young girl waiting for secrets to be told. “Did you have sleepovers when you were a little girl?” she asked, and settled at the head of the bed to hug her knees. “This feels like a sleepover.”

  Audrey claimed the spot at the foot of the bed. She sat cross-legged and leaned folded arms comfortably on her knees. “The bastion for the honesty of youth. Here we are,” she added and smiled.

  “I had a Catholic friend,” Nona said, “who thought of sleepovers as precursors to the confessional without the Hail Marys.”

  “I’m grateful I’m not Catholic, then.” Hail Marys couldn’t have atoned for all her lies, or the guilt, or for her own toxicity. Surely not. Nothing could. “And I’m grateful to know you. It’s made me look at myself in a way I haven’t before.”

  “I hope you see good things, because that’s what I see.”

  “Good or bad, the things I see now are true. Things I have to own now.”

  Nona cocked her head and waited.

  “I watch you deal with things that would make most people give up on their dreams, and end up settling for what others want for them. You have plenty of reasons to give up and no options if you don’t.”

  “Options?”

  “You can’t hide what makes reaching your goals so hard. You can’t cha
nge the color of your skin to make life easier.”

  “No,” Nona replied, “but that’s obvious enough for even Miss Oblivious, wouldn’t you say?”

  “But she doesn’t know my options. No one does. I hide behind my options because I’m not as strong as you are.”

  “I don’t believe that. You’re here working on your own, and making your own decisions. You don’t have to put up with people criticizing what you wear and where you work. You could have stayed home and gotten married. You can go back home any time, or get married and quit working and take care of a family. You have easier paths that you could take.”

  “Ones that are supposed to make me happy,” Audrey said.

  “Only we can decide that, nobody knows but us.”

  “But I don’t know, not like you do. I don’t have a plan like you. You know what you want, and what will make you happy. I envy that about you.”

  “I’m sure nobody’s ever envied me,” Nona replied. “They’ve been proud of me, my family’s proud of me.”

  “I wish I could say that, too. I’m glad you can.” Audrey drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them to match Nona. “How are we supposed to know what will make us happy? How do you know?”

  Nona hesitated for a moment. “I think if you want something enough, even finding a way to get there makes you happy. Being here, this leg of my journey makes me happy because I know it’s getting me closer to the life I want.”

  “I’m here now because I needed something bigger than my own worries. Here, every day, every rivet, every piece we finish is more important than me. I never worry about why or whether it’s the right thing to do. It isn’t about me, it’s much more important. So, I haven’t had to think about me at all.”