by Lynn Austin
“Yes, I know.”
“Then if we’re friends, why is it nosy to—”
“We’d better punch in, Rosa. We have a lot of work to do.”
Helen watched the clock all day, thinking about her decision, wondering if she should sign the teaching contract or not. Who knew how long it would be before another teaching position opened up? Near the end of her shift she saw Mr. Seaborn escorting a solider and a crew of blue-clad prisoners from the interment camp along the assembly line, the letters PW stenciled conspicuously on their backs.
“What are they doing here?” she asked Jean Erickson.
“Earl told me that some German POWs might be coming to work here. Mr. Wire has been negotiating all the details with the state officials. He said that a lot of the prisoners worked on area farms this summer and they did a good job. We sure could use the extra help here. We’re falling behind on our quotas.”
“They make me nervous. How can we be sure they won’t sabotage something?”
“The crew chiefs will have to inspect their work, I guess.”
Helen made up her mind to come early and help Jean doublecheck all their work if any of them got jobs as electricians. Then she remembered that she wouldn’t be working here much longer. Once again, the thought made her feel a little sad.
As Helen stood in line behind Rosa to punch the time clock at the end of the day, the Germans and their guard suddenly halted a few feet away from her. The English-speaking prisoner, Meinhard Kesler, was among them. To Helen’s dismay, he recognized her.
“Good day,” he said with a shy smile. “You are Miss Kimball, right?”
She didn’t reply. It galled her that he was here instead of behind barbed wire, and she was appalled that he would have the nerve to speak to her.
“Yeah, she’s Helen Kimball,” Rosa said, butting in. “How’d you know?”
“We met before when she comes to visit our camp. They tell me you are a schoolteacher, Miss Kimball, yes? I did not know you are working in a factory.”
“She is a teacher—and a good one, too,” Rosa replied. Helen turned her back to punch her time card, then walked away. Rosa caught up with her a moment later.
“Hey, what’s the matter? Why didn’t you want to talk to that guy?”
“I have nothing to say to him. I toured his camp because I was trying to get it closed down. I wanted him and all the rest of them out of Stockton, remember? Unfortunately, they’re not only still in town, they’re here in our factory.”
“Mr. Seaborn says they might work here from now on.”
“That infuriates me!” she said, turning on Rosa. “They won’t allow honest, respectable colored people like Thelma to work in production, but they’ll allow Nazis? That’s absurd!”
“But Mr. Seaborn said—”
“Excuse me, Rosa. I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to go home.” She needed to cool off before she snapped at Mr. Seaborn or Mr. Wire the way she was snapping at poor Rosa. And she could no longer delay her decision about the teaching contract.
Helen felt much more calm by the time she arrived home. The contract lay waiting for her on the coffee table in the den. Beside it was a pile of newspaper clippings she’d collected that mentioned some of her former students who were away at war. Four of them had been killed in action already, including Larry Wire. It seemed like a lot of casualties for a small town like Stockton.
Helen remembered taking the job at the shipyard to support young men like them and to do her part for the war effort. She had helped fight the war by working there—not only against the Nazis and the Japanese, but she had fought for equality for the Negro workers. She had started all the unrest in the first place by recommending Thelma, so it seemed wrong to stop fighting for her now. And for her other friends, as well.
Helen would need to help Jean keep an eye on the German prisoners, she told herself. She needed to help Ginny remain strong and not give in to her husband’s pressure. And Rosa still needed Helen’s guiding hand, too, even though she’d passed her equivalency test. All of them would need to work together with Earl Seaborn to help Thelma get the job she deserved. How could Helen desert everyone now when the battle had just begun? It would mean another year at the shipyard, maybe more. Who knew how long the war would last? In the meantime, Helen’s friends needed her.
Her friends. Yes, that’s what Jean and Ginny and Rosa and Thelma and Earl were—her friends. Helen might be making a huge mistake, but she tore the teaching contract into pieces.
CHAPTER 28
October 1943
“American Fifth Army troops occupied the city of Naples, Italy, today.”
* Rosa *
Rosa forgot all about teaching Mr. Seaborn to dance until he called her aside after work one day. “I’d like to take you up on your offer of dancing lessons, if you really meant it. I’d like to learn how.”
“Oh, wow! Are you gonna ask Jean out?”
“Maybe …” he said shyly.
“Sorry, that was none of my business. But that’s great news, Mr. Seaborn! I’ll be glad to teach you!” Excitement raced through Rosa until she could hardly stand still. Not that she cared about her boss’s love life, but the lessons would give her an excuse to go out on the town—and with a really nice man, too. It wouldn’t be a date, because Mr. Seaborn would never make a pass at her. He liked Jean.
“How about Friday night?” she asked. “Come pick me up at Dirk’s house, and we’ll go to that dance hall they have for servicemen.”
“Well … I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to be seen in public when I’m just a beginner.”
She waved her hand to brush away his concerns. “Hey, it’ll be so crowded in that place nobody will even notice you. We can start with a slow dance. The worst you can do is stomp all over my feet, and nobody will notice that except me.”
Rosa took her time getting spruced up on Friday night as if she were going on a real date. She was so excited to be going someplace fun, even if it was with her boss, that she tried on three dresses before choosing a bright red one. Her clothes were getting very tight now that her pregnancy had started to show a little bit more. Mrs. Voorhees had helped her rip out some of the seams and re-sew them.
When Rosa emerged from her bedroom, all dolled up and wearing high heels, Mr. Voorhees threw his newspaper aside and nearly leaped out of his chair. “Where do you think you’re going?” He looked like a junkyard dog that had finally snapped his chain.
“It’s none of your business where, but if you must know, I’m going to a nightclub with my boss, Mr. Seaborn. He wants to learn how to dance.”
“I’ll bet he does!”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You calling me a liar?”
“Please, please …” Tena begged. “Don’t fight …”
Wolter ignored her. “Have you no shame at all? You are a married woman with a husband overseas. You have no business going out to a nightclub, especially in your condition. You’ll ruin your reputation.”
“For your information, I’m helping a friend from work learn how to dance so he can win the girl he loves.”
“You should care more about your husband than these people from work.”
“You find fault with everything I do. There’s just no pleasing you, so why should I even try?” Rosa grabbed her purse and stalked from the house, banging the door shut. She waited outside on the street for Earl, pacing up and down the sidewalk. When he finally arrived, she flopped down in the front seat beside him and slammed the car door. “Boy! Some people!”
“What’s the matter? Am I late? Didn’t you say eight o’clock?” He kept the car in neutral, idling in the driveway.
“No, you’re okay. I got in a fight with Dirk’s father. He just about called me a liar when I told him where I was going and why. He says I should be ashamed and that I’ll ruin my reputation. He always says stuff like that, and I’m sick and tired of it! Boy, if there was an apartment I could rent in this stupid town, I’d move out ton
ight!”
“You know, he might be right,” Earl said quietly. “Maybe it’s not such a great idea for me to be going out with a married woman. I mean, what if somebody from work saw us together? They might get the wrong idea.”
“You taking his side?”
“No, but I do see his point, Rosa. He doesn’t know me from Adam. I’m sure he’s just looking out for you.”
She huffed in anger, upset that no one sympathized with her. “But I really, really wanted to go dancing,” she said, trying not to cry. “And you’re such a safe, harmless guy to go out with because you won’t try to make a pass or anything.”
“Thanks—I think. Listen, Rosa, I have another idea. You have a radio at home, don’t you? Or a record player? How about if you teach me to dance right here at your house? Would your in-laws mind? That way they’ll see that you’re telling the truth about me, and I’ll still get my dance lesson. Who knows? It might even be fun.”
“It won’t be nearly as much fun as going out someplace. I was looking forward to it so much. I haven’t been out in ages and ages.”
“I understand. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as self-conscious if we stayed home. Please?”
He really was a sweet guy. And she’d sure show Dirk’s father how wrong he was to jump to conclusions. “Okay, come on in,” she said with a sigh.
Earl turned off the engine and followed Rosa inside. Mr. Voorhees looked as if a belly dancer had just jumped out of his birthday cake when Rosa led Mr. Seaborn into the living room. Mrs. Voorhees looked worried, as if expecting another argument.
“This is my boss from work, Mr. Seaborn,” she told them. “He’s the guy who wants dance lessons. And these are Dirk’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Voorhees,” she told Earl.
Wolter stood up to shake hands. “How do you do. Aren’t you the fellow from the shipyard who was attacked? They had a story about it in the newspaper. Did they ever catch those two men who did it?”
“No, and I doubt they ever will. Please, call me Earl. Rosa told me you had some … uh … concerns about our going out tonight. I understand how you feel, Mr. Voorhees. I hope you don’t mind, but I suggested that Rosa could teach me here, with a radio. Would that be okay with you?”
“That would be fine.” Wolter looked so pleased he actually smiled for once. Was it because he’d gotten his own way? Well, he may have succeeded in getting Rosa to stay home, but she refused to put on a show for him by dancing in the living room.
“Come on. Let’s go out in the kitchen, Mr. Seaborn.” He helped her push the table and chairs out of the way, and she hauled Dirk’s old phonograph from his bedroom, along with the stack of hit songs she’d bought with money from her paycheck.
“I’m kinda nervous—can you tell?” Earl asked. “Good thing I’m not in public or I’d be stepping all over you and snapping your dainty little toes like pretzels.”
Rosa sorted through her records, picking a good, slow song to begin with. This wasn’t as much fun as going to a nightclub, but it beat sitting home all alone. She pulled Mr. Seaborn to his feet as the music began to play and showed him how to hold her. He seemed embarrassed about his withered hand, the one he usually kept in his pocket, so Rosa decided it would be best not to say anything about it.
Earl learned quickly, and after the third song, Rosa told him, “You can try holding Jean a little bit closer, if she’ll let you.”
“How will I know that? Should I ask her?”
“No, just try it once. Believe me, she’ll let you know if she wants to get close or not. And I still say she’s pretty dumb if she doesn’t fall for you.”
“It’s a question of chemistry, Rosa. People are either attracted to each other or they aren’t. Can you really put your finger on what made you fall for Dirk?”
“Well, yeah. It’s because he’s so … He’s …” She tried to talk, but her throat tightened as her tears started to fall.
“I’m sorry, Rosa. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. It’s just that I miss him so much! And this song always makes me cry. It makes me wish that the war would hurry up and end so Dirk could come home. Sorry—I’m dripping all over you.” She grabbed a dish towel and wiped her eyes, leaving a smear of mascara on it.
“Maybe you should play a different song.” He sat down on a kitchen chair to wait while she pulled the needle off the record and looked for a different one.
“You know, Jean held my hand that day I wound up in the hospital,” he said quietly. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“It’s a great sign!”
“I sound like a love-struck teenager. How pitiful is that? I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’ve seen a lot of girls come and go—in high school, here on the job, and when I was in business college in Cleveland—but I’ve never met one as wonderful as Jean.”
“I hope you win her heart, Mr. Seaborn. I really, truly do.” They danced to three more songs until he was relaxed and at ease leading Rosa around the tiny dance floor. She decided it was time to try a faster song. “Okay, we’re going to speed things up. Just listen to the rhythm of the music and then start moving to it. That’s it … Good!”
He would never be able to cut up a dance floor the way Dirk did, mainly because of his crippled leg. But Earl had a good feel for the beat and he got the hang of it quickly. They fell onto their chairs, laughing, when the song ended.
“You’re no Fred Astaire yet, but any girl would be happy to dance with you,” she told him.
“Thanks,” he said, puffing. “That’s hard work. How long until I’m any good?”
“You know what? If a girl likes to dance as much as Jean does, she won’t care how good you are. She just wants a guy who’s willing to take her out someplace—trust me.”
“Can I ask you something?” he said, turning serious. “Do you really think I’d ever stand a chance with Jean?”
Rosa hesitated. Ginny was trying really hard to teach her to think before she spoke. She liked Mr. Seaborn and wanted to encourage him, but she didn’t want to get his hopes up too high, either. She knew that Jean didn’t see Earl in a romantic way, only as a friend. Besides, Jean was still stuck on her boyfriend from Indiana.
“You’ll never know unless you try,” Rosa finally said. “And right now you got nothing to lose, really—but everything to gain, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Will you do me another favor, Rosa? Please don’t say anything to Jean about these lessons—or about me liking her.”
Rosa gestured as if zipping her mouth shut. “My lips are sealed, Mr. Seaborn. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it the way a gentleman would. “Thank you, kind lady. And thank you for the lesson. I think I’m going to need a few more, right? How about the same time, same place, next week?”
“Fine by me.”
Earl stuck his head into the living room to say good-night to Mr. and Mr. Voorhees and to thank them for letting him use their kitchen. Then he left. He sure was a nice guy. If only Jean would open her eyes and see what was right beneath her nose.
On Monday, Rosa brought her church bulletin to work, as usual, filled with all the scribbled questions that she needed to ask Jean. She pulled it out of her lunchbox during the break and slapped it down on the table with a sigh.
“I’m getting nowhere with all this stuff. The more I learn about how good I’m supposed to be, the more I feel like quitting. Now the minister says I’m supposed to let people push me around? Uh-uh. Somebody lays a hand on me, I give it right back to them—pow! I’ll never make it into heaven.”
“That’s not exactly what the minister was talking about,” Jean said. “Turning the other cheek is an attitude of the heart. It doesn’t mean we should let people push us around.”
“It did when I went to church,” Helen said. “That’s why I stopped believing in God.” Rosa stared at her. So did all the others. It was as if Helen had thrown a bucket of ice water over all of them, shocking them into sile
nce. “I’m sorry,” Helen said, rising to her feet. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll sit someplace else so you can continue your discussion.”
“No, don’t go,” they all said at once.
“We can talk about other things,” Ginny said. “Please stay.” But Rosa couldn’t remain quiet.
“You mean you used to believe in God and now you don’t? Why not?”
“It’s none of our business,” Ginny said quietly. “Helen doesn’t need to tell us unless she wants to.”
Helen sank down in her seat again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken at all,” Helen said. “Please continue your conversation and I’ll sit here quietly and listen. Go ahead, Rosa. Ask Jean your questions.”
“Now I forgot what they all were,” she mumbled.
“Your questions all come down to the same thing,” Jean said quietly. “You keep insisting that you have to be good enough before God will accept you, and I keep trying to explain to you that none of us are good enough on our own. We come to Jesus the way we are and then He changes us.”
“But none of the other women in church are as bad as me,” Rosa said. “They’re all so nice and good—like a big, happy family. The people in the Bible were all goody-goodies, too. I’ll never belong in a church.”
“Whoa, hold on,” Jean said. “There is a list in the Bible of some of the women in Jesus’ family, and believe me, they were not all nice, sweet women. There was a woman named Rahab who was a prostitute and worshiped false idols, and she even spied on her own people. But the minute she decided to trust God, He accepted her.”
“Is that for real?” Rosa asked in surprise.
“Yep. She converted and became part of His family. In fact, Jesus was one of her descendants.”
“Jesus’ ancestor was a prostitute?”
“Yep, many generations removed, of course. Maybe that’s why He had a heart for sinners and outcasts. And then there’s an entire book in the Bible about his ancestor Ruth. She was an outsider who left her family and her homeland and married into God’s family.”
