by Janet Beard
Otis let out a low whistle. The girl sat up tall and lean, with long legs stretching out from under her red skirt. Joe tried not to stare. He tried to think of Moriah and not notice the girl’s perfectly sloping breasts.
“I know her,” said Ralph. “She comes to the Colored Camp Council meetings.”
“Maybe I should join the Colored Camp Council!” said Otis. “I didn’t know there were women there.”
“She the only one.”
“You know her name?”
Ralph shook his head. “Never talked to her. Just seen her around.”
“Damn,” said Otis. “Colored Camp Council! What goes on there, anyway?”
“Folks complain about all the things wrong with this place,” said Joe. “Then write letters about it.”
Ralph went to the meetings once a week and talked Joe into coming with him once. About ten men sat in a circle smoking and talking about all the things they didn’t like about Oak Ridge. Joe agreed with what they said. The hutments were a disgrace, crime was out of control, and the fact that married colored couples couldn’t live together was awful. But he couldn’t figure out what these men wanted to do about it. Afterward he asked Ralph, who said they wanted to change things.
“How?” Joe had asked.
“We organize ourselves just like the white folks’ unions. We make ourselves heard.”
Joe hadn’t seen this girl at the meeting, that’s for sure.
“Let’s ask them to join us,” said Otis.
“I don’t know,” said Ralph, suddenly shy.
Joe chuckled. “Don’t look at me. I’m a married man.”
“If I don’t talk to that woman in the next two minutes, some other man will.” Otis took a gulp of his Coke and walked over to the table.
Joe looked over at Ralph. The man who had been itching for a fight earlier now looked like a nervous boy, his wet clothes still clinging to him. Joe tried to be encouraging. “They look like real nice girls.”
“How can you tell if they’re nice?”
“Reckon I can’t. But they’re pretty.”
They couldn’t hear what Otis was saying, but the girl’s face was unimpressed. Her friends glared protectively at him. Otis finished, and the girl said something back to him and glanced over at Ralph and Joe.
“What you think she saying?” asked Ralph.
“I know better than to guess what a woman got on her mind.”
Otis crossed back over to their table, still with a grin on his face. The girl and one of her friends followed him over. Joe figured he should stand as the ladies got near and Ralph did the same, knocking his knees on the table as he got up.
“This here’s Shirley and Sarah,” said Otis. Shirley was the one he was after.
She extended her hand toward Ralph. He paused for a moment, then shook it. “I’m Ralph.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’ve seen you at the Colored Camp Council.”
“Yeah, I’ve gone a couple times to the meetings. When it ain’t during my shift.”
Sarah smiled at Joe, who nodded to her, trying to be friendly. They all sat back down. Shirley hardly glanced at Otis or Joe. She was focused on Ralph. “What got you coming to the meetings?”
“Um, well, it was our foreman, Mr. Brown, who told me about it. He’d seen me reading colored newspapers on my break and asked if I was interested.”
Otis tried to break into the conversation. “What’s a lady like yourself doing at them meetings?”
Shirley gave him an icy look. “Trying to improve working and living conditions for my race.”
Otis raised an eyebrow and grinned at Joe, who tried not to look at him. Shirley turned back to Ralph. “Where are you from?”
“Oh, me and Joe are from Alabama. We came up together for the work.”
“Where you ladies from?” asked Joe.
“I’m from Knoxville,” said Sarah in a soft voice.
“Atlanta,” said Shirley.
“Well, you ought be careful in a place like this,” warned Otis.
“I’ve been in worse places,” said Shirley.
“Y’all work in construction?” asked Sarah. The men nodded. “We work in a laundry.”
“What’d you do back in Alabama?” asked Shirley.
“Sharecropping,” answered Joe. “What did your father do in Atlanta?”
“I don’t know,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “Never met him. I was raised by two of my aunts. They were seamstresses.”
Otis, either giving up on Shirley or trying to make her jealous, leaned over toward Sarah. “Would you like to dance?”
“No one else is,” the girl said.
“Don’t matter,” said Otis. He stood and reached out a hand to Sarah. She giggled and he escorted her to the empty side of the room, where they started swaying in time to the music.
“You been friends with Otis long?” asked Shirley.
Ralph shook his head. “He’s not so bad. We just haven’t been spending much time around ladies.”
She didn’t reply. They all glanced over to where Otis and Sarah were dancing. Joe looked at Ralph, hoping the boy would ask this lovely girl to dance. Finally Ralph blurted out, “I don’t know any dances.”
For the first time since coming over, Shirley smiled. “I can teach you.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Sure I can. Do you mind, Joe?”
“No, of course not. You young people have fun. I’m gonna head on home for the night.”
Ralph stood slowly and walked Shirley off to the side of the room. He began awkwardly jerking back and forth. Shirley laughed. Ralph looked up at her and began to laugh, too. As Joe watched them, he thought of Moriah at that age, so soft and firm and warm to touch. He got up to go. A night like that he worried he’d go crazy in the hutment, listening to the sound of rain pounding on the roof and the hum of mosquitoes circling his head.
And now it was almost winter; the mosquitoes were gone, and already the hutment was unbearably cold at night. The cold came earlier here than in Alabama, and of course the hutment was no better insulated now than it had been a year ago. Another season come and gone here in Tennessee. His children growing taller by the day, and he not there to see it. It drove him crazy to think about how they were changing, how he was missing it all. But being a parent meant always being nostalgic for how your children used to be. Joe missed his girls’ baby coos when they became toddlers, and then missed their toddler gibberish as they learned to talk. Change was so constant with children that you never had time to catch up.
Joe needed to talk to Ralph, he decided. He should be glad the boy had a girlfriend—it was only natural at his age. But he couldn’t help but think that Shirley and Otis were turning Ralph against him. It was silly, a childish thing to think. And yet it was true, wasn’t it? Ralph had better things to do with his time than pal around with an old man. Joe found Otis’s glamour suspicious, but the boy seemed to like it; and he was drawn to an independence in Shirley that Joe didn’t understand.
It wasn’t just the fact that he couldn’t work out Ralph’s young friends that made Joe feel old these days. His muscles ached more and more. His knees creaked, and at night, his lower back pulsed with pain as he tried to sleep. His body was wearing out, and it frightened him. He’d always relied on his strength to get by in life, whether it was in the cotton fields in Alabama or the construction sites here in Tennessee.
Joe was lying in bed, still awake, when Ralph showed up at the hutment an hour or so later. He sat up, happy to finally have some company. “You have a nice time with Shirley?”
Ralph shrugged.
“Is she your girlfriend now?”
“I don’t know.”
Ralph sat on his bed to take off his boots.
“You going for walks together late at night.”
“Shirley and me got common interests.”
“That’s usually how romance starts.”
“We’re both members of the Colored
Camp Council. You wouldn’t understand.”
The words stung. Joe was used to Ralph’s dissatisfied tone, but it wasn’t usually directed at him. “I ain’t stupid.”
Ralph sighed, as though Joe were indeed very stupid and it was a struggle to speak to him. “No, of course not. But you’re not concerned with our work.”
“I’ve got my own concerns.”
“I know, I know. Don’t you worry about it.”
Joe lay back in his bed, angry now, even less likely to sleep. He tried to forget Ralph and focus on reconstructing his children’s small, chubby faces in his mind. He subtracted baby fat, added height and maturity, but it was useless. He didn’t know who they were becoming.
(Courtesy of the Department of Energy)
(Courtesy of the Department of Energy)
Chapter 7
CICI HAD TO WORK CHRISTMAS MORNING, BUT SHE DIDN’T MIND. June had invited her to dinner at her family’s house, and she’d been glad to have the excuse to stay in Oak Ridge. She planned to stay as far away from farms as possible for the rest of her life, and she might as well be doing something useful today rather than wasting time at church or getting fat on June’s mother’s pie.
Anyway, Christmas had never been much to celebrate at Cici’s house—if she was lucky, a few hard candies would appear in the bottom of her stocking, and occasionally an orange. A day like any other with a little extra church. Since she’d left home, Cici hadn’t once contacted her family. Occasionally, in her darkest moments, lying in bed listening to the roller rink, she would think of her poor, pathetic mother. Did she also lie in bed at night, wondering where Cici had gone? Who knew? The woman had fed her and clothed her as best she could but never seemed to have the time or energy to want anything more to do with her daughter.
When her shift was over, Cici went straight to the cafeteria. Normally she would have gone home first to change and freshen up. You never knew who you might meet in the cafeteria—she’d been asked out on two dates there. But the town was dead today, and she wanted to eat quickly, by herself. The staff had tried to jolly up the dining room for the holiday. Some tinsel hung over the door, and they were serving turkey and mashed potatoes. A group of volunteer carolers stopped by as she ate her dinner. Cici smiled politely at the women as they sang “Jingle Bells,” but really wished they would keep on moving.
Midway through the performance, Cici saw her roommate Lizbeth approaching her table. Cici stiffened and glared. Lizbeth didn’t usually talk to her—Cici treated her so coolly that she surely couldn’t want to be friends. But here the girl was, taking a seat across from her with a wide grin.
“Merry Christmas, Cici!”
“Hi, Lizbeth.”
“It sure makes you miss home being here on Christmas!”
Cici sawed at a piece of turkey without looking up. “I am happy to be here, doing my part for the war effort.”
Lizbeth raised an eyebrow. “Sure, I am, too, but I do miss my home on a day like this.”
“I don’t miss anything.”
Lizbeth took a swig of milk and considered Cici. “You from Nashville, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t miss living in such a big, pretty city? I used to love to visit Nashville when I’s little.”
“Nashville seems big and pretty only if you’ve never been to New York or Chicago.”
“Wow. When did you go to New York?”
Cici preferred to keep her lies as unspecific as possible. “Before the war.”
“Well, I miss everything. My mama and daddy, my big brothers, even the cows.”
Cici was eating fast, hoping to finish before Lizbeth, so they didn’t have to walk home together. The girl seemed completely oblivious to her antipathy, rambling on about her family back in Lewis County. Cici stared at her plate, refusing to look at her.
“You know, they can’t even imagine where I live at now. Last week I wrote to Mama and told her ’bout how big the factory is where I work—and you know what she wrote back?”
Cici looked up, a sudden happy thought coming to her.
“She asked if it was bigger than Mr. Ingles’s barn!” Lizbeth laughed aloud at the memory. “Poor Mama—the biggest building she could imagine was a barn.”
“You wrote to your mother describing the top secret facility where you work?”
Lizbeth’s face fell. “I just . . . I just said it was big.”
“I could report you.” Cici could barely suppress a smile.
“Oh, Cici! You wouldn’t! You know I ain’t meant nothing by it!”
The girl was more stupid than Cici had realized. “Move out.”
“What? Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t care. You must know someone you can move in with.”
Lizbeth was beginning to cry. “I ain’t meant no harm!”
Cici stood up. “Move out. Or I’ll report you.”
She turned and walked away without another look back at Lizbeth, letting the smile she’d been holding back spread across her face. She must have looked like a grinning idiot when the tall soldier standing by the door first saw her. He opened the door wide for her. “Merry Christmas.”
Cici turned her smile toward him as she walked out the door. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Cecilia.”
“You make a guy homesick on Christmas!” he was now shouting after her.
She stopped and turned back. “Why’s that?”
The soldier gave her a teasing half-smile. He was quite good-looking, she realized, with light brown hair and liquid blue eyes. “You remind me of a girl I used to know.”
Cici raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know me.”
“Not yet.” His grin widened. “What do you say? You don’t want to spend Christmas all alone, do you?”
“You think I’m that easy to ask out?”
“No. But it was worth a shot. Come on, don’t tell me you aren’t a little homesick, too.”
He should ask Lizbeth out, Cici thought, they could go on about missing home together. “Home . . .” Cici began. “Father would be carving the turkey, and Mother would be playing carols at the piano.”
“I knew you didn’t have a heart of stone! What do you say, Cecilia? I’m a good guy, I promise. Let me buy you a Coke at least.”
“I have plans tonight.” Cici turned back toward the boardwalk, away from him.
“Oh. Can I call you at least?”
Without looking back, she said, “I’m in West Dormitory. Cici Roberts.”
She took a long route home, hoping to give Lizbeth plenty of time to consider her threat. The town was almost quiet, though there was still construction going on somewhere, and she could hear the rumble of engines in the distance. She pushed her hands deep into her coat pockets for warmth. The pockets were satiny smooth inside, woolen and warm outside. She’d bought the coat two months ago—the first decent coat she’d ever owned.
The thought of that soldier lit her up. You really never did know who you might meet, and she hadn’t even done her hair. It was always good to have a new prospect on the horizon. Not just in terms of her ultimate goal, but also because it gave her something positive to focus on. She tried to occupy herself with her plans, with the next thing, with the thrill of being chased, the satisfaction of conquest. Otherwise, a thing like Christmas could get you down.
By the time Cici got back to the dorm, a note was waiting at the front desk from Private Tom Wolcott. And up in her room, Lizbeth had just finished packing all her belongings into a trunk.
***
MARY’S BOYFRIEND BILL volunteered to drive her and June home on Christmas. June had wrapped store-bought presents for her parents in store-bought tissue paper. Mary, of course, did the same, but that hardly diminished June’s pride. Bill wanted to meet their parents, and June figured he was going to marry her sister soon. Mary spent all her time with him; June had hardly seen her since she had arrived in Oak Ridge. He had a job with the Army Corps of
Engineers, and looked grand in his green wool uniform with shiny brass buttons. He always went out of his way to be polite to June, which she knew was meant to impress her sister. Today he was acting more relaxed, like the brother he wanted to be. He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Hey, June, what’s the name of that girl you always hang around with?”
“Cici. She’s my roommate.”
“Cici, that’s right.” He let out a low whistle. “That one is trouble.”
Mary gently slapped his arm. “Bill! That’s not nice to say. She’s June’s friend.”
“Then June should know better than anyone. I’ve seen some of my boys go after her. She eats ’em right up and spits ’em back out.”
June didn’t really feel like talking about Cici. “She likes to flirt,” she said noncommittally.
“I’ll say! Hard to find a man in my company who hasn’t gotten flirted with by her.”
“Can we change the subject?” asked Mary.
“Sure,” said Bill, grinning at her. “What’d you get me for Christmas?”
“You’ll find out soon enough!” Another gentle arm slap.
June was impatient to get home. She watched houses go past, lights on, smoke spiraling from chimneys, and couldn’t wait to be in her own parlor across from Mama and Daddy. As they pulled into the hollow, she smiled without even realizing it. The familiar fields and hills were covered in frost. On one side of the road, a small stream flowed at the bottom of a steep wooded hill, while on the other, rolling farmland spread out across the small valley. She knew who owned and lived on each piece of land and had been in most of the houses at some time or another. This was home. They were almost to their own farm when she noticed a figure in the yard of the Jacksons’ place. She could only see his side, silhouetted against the morning sun, slumped forward on a pair of crutches. She squinted. “Mary! Is that Ollie Jackson?”
He turned to look at the passing automobile. In an awful instant, June recognized that it was indeed Ollie and that he was missing his left leg. “Oh, poor Ollie!” said Mary. “Bill, stop the car. We should go say hello.”
June knew her sister was right, but dreaded getting closer to her former schoolmate. The last time she’d seen Ollie, he’d been a normal kid, playing football with the other boys. He’d also been Ronnie’s best friend.
