A Pledge of Silence

by Flora J. Solomon

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Flora J. Solomon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477820865

  ISBN-10: 1477820868

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary-Soudant/SOS CREATIVE LLC

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014946875

  For those closest to my heart: Art, Beth, Emily, and Andrew

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  CHAPTER 1

  Little River, Michigan, May 1936

  Margie Bauer hastily scanned the yard and front porch to see if anyone was watching before she kissed her boyfriend good-bye. What was supposed to be a quick peck turned into a lingering buss, but when she pulled back, Abe Carson’s face followed hers, and he planted another smooch. She grinned, liking the sensations his kisses brought. “Call me later?”

  “Gator,” he said in return.

  With schoolbooks in her arms, she jumped out of the Olds and took the porch steps two at a time, then turned to wave before opening the door and stepping into the kitchen. She heard tires squeal as Abe peeled onto the road.

  “Is that you, Margie?” her mother said. “You’re early. Daddy was going to pick you up at four.”

  She dropped her books on the kitchen table and rummaged in a drawer for a ribbon to tie up her curly red hair, which sat hot on her neck. “Abe drove me home, Mama.”

  “You know I don’t like you riding with Abe. He’s reckless. Yesterday he almost hit the Wilsons’ dog.”

  “Abe’s a good driver. The Wilsons should keep their dog out of the road.”

  At the kitchen table, her brother, Frank—all feet and elbows at fourteen years old—taunted, “Abe and Margie sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

  “That’s enough, Frank. Run out and tell your dad he doesn’t have to pick up Margie. And, Margie, as long as you’re here, change your clothes and dig up some new potatoes for dinner.”

  She drew a glass of water from the tap. “I can’t. I have three costumes to finish. The dress rehearsal’s tomorrow.”

  “Don’t say can’t. While you’re in the garden, check the lettuce and onions. There might be enough for a salad. I’ll help you with your sewing after dinner. There’s a magazine and a letter for you on the hall table.”

  Margie glanced at the return address on the envelope and wrinkled her nose. She studied the model on the Vogue cover, then flipped through the magazine’s pages, noting the slim cut of the jackets, the longer length of the skirts, and the muted colors coming for fall. With a sigh, she picked up the letter. She read the message from Grand Arbor Hospital School of Nursing congratulating her on her acceptance into their fall class. She stuck out her tongue and tossed the missive into the drawer of the table.

  The phone rang. Answering it on the first ring, she listened, then said, “Hi yourself.” She chatted with a smile on her face and a dance to her step. Covering the mouthpiece with her hand, she yelled, “Mama, can I go out with Abe tomorrow after dress rehearsal? I might be home a little late.”

  Mama’s voice came from the kitchen: “Don’t say can. Yes, you may.”

  It was the evening before Little River High School’s debut of The Pirates of Penzance. Mangled lines and too many missed cues caused the cast and crew to be stressed. Backstage was frenzied with actors hurriedly changing costumes and throwing the worn ones aside. Margie picked up the flimsy garments and inspected them for damage. Hanging a poufy dress on a rack with a dozen others, she admired the rainbow of colors. With their bright cummerbunds and lacy bonnets, the dresses looked elegant enough for a modern Major General’s bevy of daughters.

  Through a space on the rack, she saw Abe approaching. His clothes hung easy on his frame like they did on the male models in Vogue; he had a certain flair and a cool, loose-jointed walk she liked to watch. She felt warm all over as he came near. “Boo,” she said as she popped out from behind a pink dress.

  He jumped, then brushed a forelock of blond hair out of his eyes. “Have you heard? Alan broke his arm.”

  Adding to the drama of the night, Alan, who played the Major General, had fallen into the orchestra pit during rehearsal and was taken to the hospital. Margie covered her mouth with her hand, and through her fingers she said, “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah, well. The idiot doesn’t know left from right. Are you about done? Let’s get out of here.” He helped her with her jacket and led her out the back door. A fine mist made the muddy parking lot slippery and transformed the streetlights to fuzzy orbs against the dark sky.

  Abe revved the motor of his dad’s Olds and peeled out into traffic, weaving around slower-moving vehicles. As he adjusted the wipers and opened the side vent to clear the fogged window, he missed seeing a red light and accelerated toward a car in the intersection.

  “Abe!” Margie screamed as she grabbed for the dashboard.

  He jerked the steering wheel to the left, causing the car to fishtail and the tires to squeal. A horn blared, and Margie caught sight of a panicked face.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, Abe scoffed. “Aw, I missed it by a mile. You all right?”

  “Yes,” she said, though shaken, and thinking her mother may have been right about Abe’s driving.

  When they arrived at the diner, he trotted around the front of the car and opened her door. They hurried through the drizzle, their shoulders hunched up and their heads tucked in turtle-style. Inside, they snaked past occupied tables and display cases of creamy desserts to a red vinyl booth in the back. Margie hoped they wouldn’t be discovered by their friends. Tonight, they were celebrating.

  The waitress, a classmate who had recently dropped out of high school, provided paper place mats and cutlery. She looked tired, and a swell under her apron revealed her pregnancy. Margie glanced discreetly at the bump and wondered what it would be like to sleep with a man. She’d let Abe get to second base once, which both excited and frightened her. She said, “Hey, Candy, how y’doin’? Haven’t seen you around.”

  Candy smiled thinly. “Hangin’ in there. What can I get for you two?”

  Abe ordered without looking at the menu. “Two hamburgers, no onions, two fries, and two Cokes.”

  When they were alone, Margie dug through her purse and retrieved a brightly wrapped gift. She place
d it on the table. “Happy ‘going steady’ first anniversary.” A whole year, and Abe was as funny and sweet as ever.

  Abe reached in his coat pocket and produced his own gift, wrapped in white tissue paper and tied with blue yarn. He placed it on the table next to hers. “Bet you thought I forgot.”

  “Not you, fella. I have you trained.” She nudged the gift toward him. “You first.”

  He tore the paper off and tossed it into the ashtray, then opened the box. “Peanut butter fudge! My favorite!” He offered her a piece and took one himself. “Yum. It’s great, Margie. Will you give this recipe to my mom?” He smacked his lips in satisfaction and pointed to her gift. “Here, open yours.”

  She carefully untied the blue yarn. The tissue paper fell open, revealing a swirl of blues and greens, a touch of black, and flecks of brilliant yellow—a colorful silk scarf. She gasped at its splendor. “It’s gorgeous!” Her expression changed quickly from joy to discomfort. “Abe, I can’t accept this.”

  His smile collapsed. “Why not?”

  She loved the scarf. It was beautiful, but her mother would never allow her to keep such an extravagant gift from Abe. It wasn’t proper. She murmured, “This is way too expensive.”

  He blushed. “It’s okay, Margie. It’s my mom’s scarf. She said the colors were perfect for you. She wants you to have it.”

  Margie was touched. She was fond of Mrs. Carson, who gave her piano lessons on the ebony grand in the alcove off the Carsons’ living room. She treated Margie like a daughter. “Thank you. Both of you. The colors are my favorites.” She folded the scarf into a triangle and draped it over her shoulders, caressing its softness. She had never owned anything so luxurious.

  “Hey. Why are you two hiding?” Jim said, and Abe’s tubby friend slid into the booth, scooting Margie over with his hip. She groaned inwardly, wanting Abe all to herself and knowing the conversation would turn to sports.

  Jim helped himself to the fudge. “Have you heard the latest about Jesse Owens?”

  The Ohio State track star had broken three world records and tied another while competing in a track meet at Michigan’s stadium not long ago.

  Margie slid the fudge out of Jim’s reach. “Who hasn’t? He’s on his way to the Olympics in Berlin. I don’t think he should go.”

  “Not go? You kidding? Why not?”

  “Berlin. Hitler. Nazis. Don’t you read anything but the sports page? Hitler won’t even let his own Negro athletes compete. I read in the newspaper that the US might boycott.”

  Jim sniggered. “That won’t happen. Sports is bigger than politics. Isn’t that right, Abe?”

  “Jesse doesn’t care anything about politics. He just wants to compete. He’ll leave those blue-eyes in the dust, and so much for Aryan supremacy.”

  The topic left a pall over the anniversary celebration. Hitler’s name was often in the news. After building up the German army, his troops had entered the Rhineland, breaking the terms of the Treaty of Versailles. Meanwhile, Italy had invaded East Africa, and Japan had declared war on China. Margie had heard her dad say that the Great War he had served in was supposed to end all wars. Apparently, it wasn’t so.

  When the food came, Jim thankfully took that as his cue to leave. Margie and Abe wolfed down their hamburgers and fries, and then lingered over their Cokes. Stirring the ice with her straw, she asked, “When are you leaving for Chicago?”

  “I’m not. My uncle lost his funding and had to close the art gallery. He can’t use me this summer. He hung on as long as he could . . . This stupid economy.”

  “I’m sorry. You loved hobnobbing with the artsy set.”

  He shrugged. “Plans change. I’m not crying. I’ll be taking flying lessons with Donny. His brother has a Taylorcraft monoplane.”

  “Where’d you get that kind of money?”

  “I’ll do grub work at the airfield in exchange for lessons.”

  She applied lipstick without looking in a mirror and blotted it on a thin paper napkin. “And this fall then?”

  “Yeah. That’s a bitch. Guess I’ll live at home and go to the Michigan Normal College. Dad’s almost happy. We’re having this little altercation.” Abe picked up a spoon and balanced it on his finger. It clanged to the table, and he shoved it aside. “I want to major in creative arts, and he wants me to major in anything else. He thinks I should teach, but I don’t want to repeat his life.”

  Dr. Carson was chairman of the History Department at the college and relished a lively discussion. Margie learned more current events from animated debates over dinner with the Carsons than she ever had in a classroom. “You could do worse,” she admonished him.

  “Yeah, teaching’s great, but why just talk about life when you can live it? I want to live life.” Abe’s exclamation drew the attention of the other diners. Grinning, he slouched back in his seat. “Why don’t we run away and live life together? Where do you want to go?”

  “New York City to study fashion design. I’d give my right arm.” Fashion design had been her dream since she was a little girl making doll clothes. She loved sewing, and her teachers said she had a special talent. She pushed her unruly hair back. “But, you know Dad. He’s set on me being a nurse. I’ve been accepted at Grand Arbor. I got the letter last night.”

  Abe reached across the table and took her hand. “It’s not that far away.”

  “No, fifteen miles, but I have to live in the dorm. Dumb school rules.”

  The diner began filling with truckers coming in for the blue-plate special, a piece of lemon meringue pie, and a fifteen-cent shower in the shed around back. Margie watched two waitresses hustle between the tables and the long chrome-and-white counter, taking orders, delivering food, clearing dishes, and depositing dime tips into their red-checkered pockets.

  “At least I’ll be getting out of this town,” she said.

  “Nursing’s not so bad.”

  “No, I guess not. I’ve been patching up sick farm animals most of my life. Can it be so different?”

  “Geez, I hope so. I’ve seen your work.”

  She balled up the lipstick-stained napkin and threw it at him. “Don’t show up on my doorstep in need of stitching up, fella.”

  Their eyes locked, and a brief look of sadness flickered in Abe’s. Margie felt a sudden chill, and she folded her arms over her chest.

  “Look, Margie. You’ll love it in Ann Arbor. You’ll be on the edge of the U of M campus. Think big university, think football games, think about all those beer parties.”

  “Yeah.” She slumped back. “Think living in a women’s dorm, think starched white uniforms, think clunky black shoes.”

  “You’ll be cute in your white uniform.”

  “I’ll itch underneath all that starch.”

  He glanced at the clock on the diner wall. “It’s almost eleven. Your dad’s watching the time.”

  “This year Daddy, next year some old biddy of a dorm mother. You guys have an easier time of it. Sometimes, I wish I’d been born male.”

  Abe laughed and said too loudly, “Love you any way you come, baby, with or without a dick.”

  Margie gasped, though she was not altogether surprised. Abe wasn’t afraid to stir the pot for a reaction. His quirky irreverence made their dates fun and unpredictable. People at nearby tables whipped their heads around. A bull of a man stood and stepped toward them, his hands clenched into fists and his face skewed into an angry scowl.

  Abe threw money onto the table and grabbed Margie’s hand. They skittered around tables and out the back door to escape the diner’s irate patrons. Jumping into the safety of the car and locking the doors, they guffawed at their boldness and careened onto the open road.

  CHAPTER 2

  Little River, September 1936

  Conflicting emotions surged through Margie all summer, making her alternately keyed up and weepy. She sassed her mother, acted sullen with her dad, and found Frank’s antics intolerable.

  “Marry me, Margie,” Abe pleaded. “I l
ove you. I’ll get a job. We can get by.” She agreed. They could get by. But here she was, at her dad’s insistence, standing in the parking lot of Grand Arbor Hospital School of Nursing saying good-bye. She leaned against Abe, not wanting him to leave.

  “Be good,” Mama said with a teary smile.

  “You got enough pocket money?” her father asked.

  She nodded, tears clouding her vision.

  Frank looked as if he might cry too. “Heard this one, Margie? Nurse, nurse, I feel like a vampire. Necks please.” He grinned. “Get it? Necks please?”

  Margie grinned and slapped at the fedora he had taken to wearing. He had been telling nurse jokes all summer long and didn’t ever seem to run out.

  “Did you hear this one? Nurse, nurse—”

  “That’s enough, Frank,” Dad said. “Get in the car.”

  Margie thought herself prepared for this parting, but she had misjudged how hard it would be. She blew kisses until the car and Abe’s waves disappeared around the corner. Her tears turned to sobs. Looking for a place to be alone, she walked to a nearby park, where a young woman pushed a child on a swing.

  “Higher, Mommy, higher!” he shouted.

  Sitting on the merry-go-round, she struggled to compose herself while surveying her new surroundings. The ten-story hospital took up most of a city block on the northern edge of the University of Michigan campus. Behind her loomed the school of nursing and residence hall—twin boxlike, dark brick buildings with narrow windows. Everything looked foreign and unfriendly. Her tears continued to flow.

  The little boy left the swing and ran to her. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and a scratch on his chin. He said, “You got a boo-boo?”

  Margie sniffed. “No. No boo-boo.”

  “Then why you crying?”

  “I’m not going to anymore.” She dried her tears on her sleeve. “You like to swing?”

  “Yes!” the child shouted. “Watch me, I can zoom.” He ran in a circle, flapping his arms.

  She took a drink from a fountain and splashed cold water on her face to wash off the salty tears. Waving good-bye to the engaging tyke, she walked back to the dorm, passing Miss Anita, the matronly clerk in the lobby who answered the phone and kept the students’ time sheets that tracked their whereabouts. Margie’s room was up two flights and left down the hall.