by Joani Ascher
That thought reminded him of his own problem. What would he do about his business? Would it just fold up while he was gone? He could not ask another broker to handle the clients and not take the fees, and without income he could consider himself out of business. Yet there seemed to be no other choice.
He sighed. Everything he had built would be lost. He would have to start over after the war. If he came back.
But his bleak outlook changed on his way to the bathroom. He suddenly realized a solution that propelled him forward to take the next big step. He picked up his shaving mug and started a good lather. His razor had already been stropped, and his large mustached trimmed. With a few quick strokes, he removed it.
Chapter Nine
Everything changed overnight.
Mr. Weaver arrived at the office just after the New York Stock Exchange halted trading to listen to President Roosevelt’s December eighth address. “Jane,” he said, without preamble, looking at her where she stood next to the ticker tape machine, “I must talk to you.”
She had to take a moment to collect herself. Mr. Weaver had shaved his mustache, and he looked very different. Surprisingly, he did not look baby-faced without it. His cheeks had thinned since that old picture of him was taken, and his jaw had become a chiseled line. For the first time, she saw his mouth. Something about his lips pulled at her. But her gaze was drawn to the blue intensity of his eyes. At that moment she could not have refused any request. “Yes?”
“I’ve been watching you these last few months,” he said.
Had he noticed? Could he see the bulge in her middle? Jane felt faint.
“We are going to have to make changes around here. I’m sorry, but it’s just the way it has to be.”
Jane went to her desk and sank into her chair. Tears stung her eyes as she tried to find the words to explain. But she didn’t have a chance.
“I need your help,” Mr. Weaver said. “If you’ll agree, I want to leave you in charge of my business. I can’t afford to let all of my clients go, and neither can I afford to stay here and let others fight this war.” He rushed on, seeming to be trying to convince himself as much as her. “I know you’re smart. Your analyses and intuitions have been right on the mark. And you’ll do the best you can for my clients.”
Once she understood what he was talking about, she felt a sense of relief. But it was short-lived. She could only imagine how hard this was for him, and she had huge admiration for his resolve. She suddenly realized how much she would miss this man. Fighting tears, she asked, “Do you have to go?”
He set his lips together. “William McChesney Martin, the Big Board president, has resigned and will enter the army as a private. Do you really think I’m any more valuable here than he is?”
The tone of his voice, so definite and determined, left no room for doubt in Jane’s mind. “When are you leaving?”
“January second. I’m going to teach you everything I know by then.”
“But,” Jane protested, “I don’t have the necessary licenses.”
“You can use mine. This is temporary, because of the war. I know it will be a lot of work, because I can’t afford to hire someone to do your job, but don’t worry, you will adjust. I have faith in you.” He moved closer. Jane felt drawn toward him, but because she had to keep her distance so he wouldn’t discover her condition, she walked around behind her desk. Now, more than ever, she could not let him find out about the baby. She saw his face had changed when she turned back toward him, ready for his instructions. With his mustache gone, she could see he was gritting his teeth.
****
It was a tense time for the entire country.
The Baldwin girls were plunged, along with everyone else, into the world of blackout curtains and air-raid drills. New York City had its first air-raid alert on December 9 at 1:25 in the afternoon. Olivia was sent home from college, and she worried for hours until Jane came home. The scare was repeated the next day. The people of the United States began to learn some of the lessons the people in England had been practicing for years.
Mr. Johnson, one of the older men in the neighborhood, had served in the Great War, and he painted his old helmet white and became an air raid warden, joining many others around the country. Their presence reminded people daily of what they now faced.
At her request, Mr. Dobbin came to see Jane at her office. It was only the second time he had ever been there. The first time, she’d invited him out to lunch and had him meet her there, so she could introduce him to Mr. Weaver. They had heard so much about each other that it only made sense for them to meet.
This time was different. Jane had noticed how frustrated her friend had become because he was too old to enlist and had not found something he could do to help the war effort. She had figured out a plan that would be good for everyone involved. But she needed help with it, and that had to be handled with care.
Jane had worked on it for two weeks. Things were moving so quickly after America entered the war that two weeks seemed a lifetime. She had all the elements thought out but none of the deals closed, and there was little time left.
Mr. Weaver smiled when Mr. Dobbin came into the office. “It’s good to see you,” he said, extending his hand.
Mr. Dobbin shook hands, smiling in return. “I think Jane has something on her mind.”
Both men looked at Jane, who sat behind her desk, consciously hiding her pregnancy. She took a deep breath. “I found a factory.”
Mr. Weaver’s right eyebrow went up.
“It’s closed. I’m not sure how long it has been, but it’s for sale, very cheap.”
“What kind of factory, Jane?” Mr. Dobbin’s eyes were riveted on her.
“It was a clothing factory. All the sewing machines are still there.”
Mr. Weaver looked at Jane. “Are you interested in buying a factory?”
“Not for me. I have a job. But this war is going to require a lot of supplies, and I think someone,” she looked straight at Mr. Dobbin, “should buy that factory and make whatever is needed. It could be parachutes or uniforms or bedding.”
“Jane,” said Mr. Dobbin. “I can’t.”
Jane wished she could go over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, but she had to stay where she was. “I think you can.”
Mr. Weaver looked at Jane and at her friend. “Can you afford it, Dobbin?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“We can help you find financing,” said Jane, “can’t we, Mr. Weaver? And you have some clients in the fabric business who could help with supplies.”
“I see you’ve thought this all out,” said Mr. Weaver. “Would I be right in concluding that you have a file with all the information?”
Jane handed it to him. She looked at Mr. Dobbin to see if she could guess what he was thinking. He was paying attention, she was certain.
They sat quietly while Mr. Weaver read the file. When he was done, he smiled. “You’ve done an excellent job, Jane. Are you interested, Dobbin? I think this is worth investigating.”
Mr. Dobbin just nodded.
While Mr. Weaver returned to his office, Mr. Dobbin pulled his chair close to Jane’s desk. “This is impossible. I ran a haberdashery before. I know about fabric in yards, not bolts. Where would I get the fabric? How would I even find out about orders? Who would I hire?”
“You will be able to do it, Mr. Dobbin. I’ve made several inquiries. There are two factories in Long Island City that are swamped. You can start by taking up some of their overflow orders, while you get the hang of things. They could also get the materials for you, at first.”
Mr. Dobbin’s cheeks were pink. “Maybe I could. But where will I find the seamstresses?”
“We can place an ad. There are so many men going overseas, and their wives will be looking for jobs to put food on the table. Every woman can sew.”
“Would you be there? I need you if I’m going to be able to do this.”
“No, my place is here. Mr. Weaver
needs me. But I’ll be happy to help you set up your books.”
Mr. Weaver had come out of his office, and it was obvious he’d heard Jane’s promise of help. He smiled at her appreciatively. “I talked to a few people. They think this would be a good idea.”
Mr. Dobbin stood up. “Do you think it’s possible?”
“Yes. But if there is anyone who could help you raise the money, you should ask them. The financing will be tight, at best. It’ll depend what price you end up getting the building for.”
“Would you mind if I took Mr. Dobbin over there right now?” Jane asked. “I can come back later and finish my work here.”
“Go ahead. Let me know how it turns out.”
****
Jane did not return until late. Her face said it all. Their best offer had been refused. She sat at her desk adding the numbers again and again, and swore she had them right. “He must be trying to recoup the losses he’s had over the last ten years,” she said.
Prescott though it more likely that the landlord, a Mr. Brick, was trying to take advantage of the war and Jane and Dobbin’s inexperience. “Go home, Jane,” he said. “You’ve had a long day. Whatever is here can wait for tomorrow.”
When she was gone, he picked up the phone angrily and got Mr. Brick on the line.
Twenty minutes later he had arranged for the man to partially finance the deal himself. Both parties would benefit. At the end of the conversation, Prescott had Brick call Jane himself and suggest the deal.
****
“You want me to what?” Mrs. McGill stood dumbfounded while Jane explained a second time why she wanted the woman to invest in Mr. Dobbin’s factory.
Jane was still amazed at the phone call she had received not ten minutes earlier. Mr. Brick had sounded vastly different from the man she and Mr. Dobbin had visited earlier that day. The deal he put forward would work out well, provided Mr. Dobbin came up with five thousand dollars. “If you invest in the factory, you’ll be a part owner. I’ve already lined up orders, and you should be repaid within the year. You will be first to be repaid.”
“I would have to mortgage this building,” Mrs. McGill said. “If people don’t pay their rents, I could lose everything.”
“The people in this building always pay their rent,” Jane reminded her. “You told me so yourself. Olivia and I are putting in as much as we can.” Jane did not tell her that there was nothing in her own bank account because of her bad investment, but that Olivia had promised two hundred dollars. “And Mr. Weaver told me he would help.”
He had said, “I am investing in you as much as in Dobbin. I know you will find a way to make this work.” His faith in her nearly made Jane cry.
Jane smiled at Mrs. McGill. “I really didn’t think Mr. Brick would do it, but then he did.”
“Jerry Dobbin will be able to make a go of it?” Mrs. McGill asked, obviously relenting.
“I promise.”
“Well, then,” Mrs. McGill said, puffing out her chest. “If it’ll help win the war, I’ll do it.”
****
Until the week before Mr. Weaver’s departure, Jane was busy helping Mr. Dobbin open his factory, and she had little time to think or worry. But that final day, as Jane watched her boss hug each of the secretaries on their floor goodbye, she was filled with fear for him, and trepidation for herself, handling his business. Yet, in some strange way, it was a relief. She had hated hiding her pregnancy, lying to him by her silence. But it was necessary. It was important to her that he respected her and had faith in her ability to take care of his business. She could not risk changing that.
She told herself she would explain it all to him when he came back.
“Please take care of yourself,” she begged him. He stood straight and proud in his uniform. She realized he had become thinner and wondered why she had not noticed before. His lean form fitted the lines of his jacket perfectly, and he looked more handsome than she had ever seen him. His light brown hair had been trimmed short and he had that determined look in his blue eyes that Jane admired. Her breath caught at the sight of him standing there, ready to walk out of her life, and she was flooded with regrets.
****
He was startled by the way she looked at him. It was as if the changes that had come over her in the last few months were reversed and he saw her as she had been. The somber clouds fell away from her eyes and she was beautiful. Her concern for him was evident, more so than he would ever have imagined. In fact, it was the way he had dreamed a woman would someday look at him, not predatorily, as if wondering what he could do for her, but in admiration and—love?
Was it the prospect of war making him realize that he might have wasted his chances for something that now seemed like such a good idea? With clarity, he realized he would very much have liked to see Jane in that way and wondered how she might feel. How much time he had wasted being blind! But this was not the time to explore those possibilities. He had a job to do. Now more than ever, he was anxious to get on with it.
****
Jane struggled to regain her composure.
“I will,” he said, huskily. “And promise me you will take care of yourself, too. I…” His face clouded. “We’ll talk when I get back.” He moved to embrace her.
Jane hastily stepped behind her desk. While she wanted to hug him goodbye more than anything in the world, if he did he would find out about the baby. She watched him leave, fighting tears and knowing he was hurt at her rebuff.
The office was so quiet after he left that it nearly broke Jane’s heart. She missed him, and feared for his safety.
It was the same at home. A parade of uniformed young men, all friends of Olivia’s, came to say goodbye. In uniform, each one looked so different from his former self, standing so straight, bragging about how he was going to help win the war, yet wide-eyed with fear.
Mr. Dobbin vanished in a sea of work. He had managed to get his own contract from the government for uniforms, necessitating his factory operate day and night. Olivia and several of her friends spent time after their classes working shifts. It took their minds off their loneliness, especially as so many of their male friends were getting ready to leave. The extra money Olivia earned served to help Jane relax a bit about the family’s future.
But now Jane’s sleepless nights were filled with fear for Mr. Weaver, Horace, and others off fighting in Europe, Africa, and the Pacific. And a new worry started to niggle at Jane’s fragile story of legitimacy.
She would have to put a name down as the father of her baby. She could not use the imaginary married name she had adopted for a while, because she would need a death certificate to prove that Louis Peters, her “husband,” was gone. She could not put down Lloyd’s name; she would never admit he was the father of her child. She could not write “Unknown,” because how would her child be looked at when he started school and had to show his birth certificate?
The endless worrying took a toll on her. While she maintained her professionalism in the office, answering the phone and expediting requests for stock trades made by Mr. Weaver’s customers, she was nervous and restless at home. Olivia tried to cheer her up by scouting the neighborhood for a crib and bathinette for the baby, and moving the furniture in Jane’s bedroom to make room for the little nursery.
Jane had discarded the phony wedding ring weeks earlier, claiming that her fingers were swollen. She wished she could as easily dispose of the name Peters. She was grateful not to have to use it in the office, where she was still Miss Baldwin. Since no clients ever came in after Mr. Weaver left, and the people in the surrounding offices never saw her without her coat, she had no need to explain. But she was still filled with fears for the future.
On Saturday, March 14th, though, she began to feel better. Much of her tension seemed to disappear, and she decided to give the apartment a good cleaning. She told Olivia to go out for the day, maybe to a movie, or to see one of her friends.
Olivia protested. “You shouldn’t be doing all thi
s yourself,” she said, reaching for the bucket Jane was filling.
“I’m fine,” Jane told her. She turned to look her sister in the eyes. Olivia worked so hard, first in her classes in school, then in the evening in Mr. Dobbin’s factory. She worked nine-hour shifts three days a week and deserved this day off.
“Maybe you should come with me,” Olivia suggested. “You don’t get any time for fun yourself. Your coat covers your stomach.”
“I’d rather stay here. I’d only be thinking about how much this place needs to be cleaned, the whole time I was out.”
“What if I promise to help you later?” Olivia suggested.
“I’d rather you stay out all afternoon and evening, having fun. That will be the best thing you can do for me. And I promise I won’t work too hard.”
“If you insist,” Olivia said, as she picked up her coat. “I’ll see you later.”
Jane spent the day cleaning, polishing, and waxing. At four o’clock, she went to make herself a cup of tea, and picked up a magazine to read while she relaxed. She got as far as putting water in the pot and lighting the gas.
A pain gripped her abdomen, stronger than any she had ever felt in her life, and it knocked the breath out of her. She doubled over and had to hold on to the edge of the sink just to keep herself standing.
When the pain passed, she turned off the gas. Tea seemed less appealing now, and she put the cup and saucer away, emptied the pot, and dried it. There was so much pressure on her back, she wanted to go lie down and put her feet up. She hoped the next week until the baby was due would not be this uncomfortable.
Before she could even get to her bedroom to lie down, another pain forced her to sit down on the couch. That was when she realized the baby would not be waiting a week to make an appearance.
Dr. James had explained to her that it should probably take several hours of contractions before she would have to go to the hospital. He did not want her to wait too long, though, since she needed to travel from Brooklyn to Greenwich Village. But barely two minutes had passed since the last contraction.
