Wanda nodded. She had expected Anna might quit once Reuben arrived. She probably wanted to have more kids. But why would Anna pick her to discuss this with? Because she thought her involvement in a career was equally strong? Wanda was not sure she wanted this intimacy. Perhaps she could develop a sudden allergy to Tide. ‘I think I know what you mean.’ Wanda scraped chocolate frosting from the side of a plate.
‘The problems are so deep. We’ve only started to help by finding decent housing. The traumas continue for months and even years. When you consider what some of those people endured in camp …’
Wanda listened, at first relieved by Anna’s intensity. She stacked plates in the rack while Anna leaned back against the sink, smoking and gesturing with the dishtowel.
‘So I’ve been looking into a psychology program. It’s a long haul, but by the end of it, I would become what they call a clinical psychologist and I could help people in a deeper way.’
‘Like a psychiatrist?’ Wanda leaned against the sink now, looking into the dining room where the children were racing around the table and into the living room where Teddy and Moira were talking intently. She cleared her throat to get back on Anna’s track.
‘Yes, do you think that’s crazy?’ Anna listened to her own hoarse laugh.
‘No, I, I think if anyone has the sensitivity for it, it’s you.’ Wanda studied her. She wanted to ask if the decision had anything to do with Anna’s mother, if she thought that helping other people before it was too late would compensate for … really, she rebuked herself, turn off the journalist.
‘It will take years for the degree, going to school part-time. Living with Papa is cheap.’
Wanda shook her head, thinking how good Anna was to stay with her difficult father. Of course she would have done the same thing.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Anna.
‘Oh, nothing. But what about Reuben? Does this mean he’ll stay here? Have you worked that out?’
‘No, as I said earlier, we have no plans.’ She spoke more slowly. ‘If anything, this is likely to end the possibilities. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hang around waiting for me to finish school. He wants a home and a family.’
‘You already have a home and a family!’ Wanda argued. ‘What more does he expect from you?’
‘You think it’s a crackpot scheme, don’t you?’
‘No.’ Wanda was crying. She turned to the sink to avoid Anna’s eyes, but it was too late.
‘What’s wrong, sweetie?’ Anna put her hand on Wanda’s shoulder. ‘Did I say something? What’s going on?’
‘Oh, nothing, nothing. Everything is so confusing. You giving up on Reuben. Moira having one baby after another without blinking an eye. And me with the job I’ve always coveted, unable to decide whether to have children.’ She hadn’t meant to reveal this, but she felt an immediate relief. ‘How can I bring kids into this world? Would I have the spirit to raise them, after all that has happened?’ She shook her head, refreshed by the tears. ‘I think it would be better to adopt — like you did. But I don’t know if I want to do that. Maybe I’m just selfish. I’ve got everything that I ever wanted and it’s not enough.’
‘Now, hang on, pal.’ Anna watched the suds melting in the greasy water. ‘Do you truly think you have everything you wanted? You are a freelance journalist, right, but you were saying at lunch that you had expected to be working in the South and going to Africa. You fought hard for what you have; it didn’t fall from the sky.’ Anna listened to these words with which she lectured herself every day. ‘It’s OK to sympathize with yourself, to acknowledge the things you’ve been through.’
Wanda stared at the sink for several moments.
Finally, she turned and hugged Anna. ‘Yes, yes, I think you’re right. One thing’s for sure,’ she sniffed, ‘when you open your office, I’ll be the first in the waiting room.’
Teddy glanced over Moira’s shoulder at Anna hugging Wanda in the kitchen. What was going on, she wondered. Such familiar feelings: wanting to be everywhere in the house at once. She had been glad they were slow in clearing up the dishes. Moira was relaxed, chatting about her plans for the new baby, about how her mother would come up and help again. Moira looked so well today, happier than she had been in months. As much as she protested, having children agreed with her. Also, Moira was just as pleased as she with the reunion. Teddy smiled, thinking that they all acted as if they were humoring her, but they all wanted the reunion too. How wonderful to see them at the dinner table, to watch the kids playing together, to have a private time with Moira. Oh, she loved this woman. Dawn would say she was a fool, but she felt alive in a special way with Moira. It wasn’t the same affection she used to feel. Angela lived in that part of her, but Angela didn’t take up her whole heart. What did Moira feel? Did she ever miss the old days? Maybe some time it would be safe to talk about it.
‘So tell me, Teddy, was the apricot wall Angela’s idea?’ Moira teased.
‘Yes.’ Teddy refused to be embarrassed. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Very much.’ Moira reached for Teddy’s hand. ‘Wish I had thought about it, myself. Makes the dining room much more homey.’
‘I always thought it was homey enough. We had lots of good times here. But Angela is strong on color. You should see what she did to the bedroom upstairs.’ Teddy forced herself to keep eye contact. She hadn’t intended to mention it, but now that she did, she would just leave the word between them. Bedroom. With all its softness and hardness. Bedroom. What was wrong with that? Moira had told her how she and Randy kept Clara in their bedroom until she was two years old. Everybody had bedrooms. ‘All blues and greens.’
‘I’d like to see that.’ Moira smiled. ‘You seem happy with her, Teddy.’
‘Yes. She’s a good person, Moi. Solid, reliable.’
‘Like I wasn’t.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t need to.’ She frowned ironically. ‘What I want to know is, does she treat you well?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Teddy laughed. ‘Often she acts like I’m a china figurine! Me, can you imagine?’
‘Yes,’ Moira said, then looked into the dining room after the children.
‘Maybe you can come over for dinner — or lunch would probably be easier for you — some time.’
Moira nodded, understanding that lunch excluded Randy. Well, what did she expect? Randy would have a horrible time and he would never stop teasing her about the ‘old maids’.
‘And Randy,’ Teddy sat straighter, summoning all her good will, ‘he’s treating you OK?’
‘What do you think?’ Moira smiled. ‘Refuses to let me get a job, works overtime at the garage every night. Bought me the most gorgeous sofa for my birthday. A real family man, Teddy. Not the wild boy you knew before the war.’
‘Yes.’ Teddy sucked on her lip. She wouldn’t like her mate working till late at night. Yet Moira did look OK.
‘Teddy?’ Moira reached over for her friend’s hand.
‘Yes?’ Teddy felt as if she were sixteen. Moira could still do that to her.
‘I want you to know I miss you. I hope you understand how much you’ll always mean to me.’
‘Yes.’ Teddy nodded, catching sight of Wanda and Anna bringing in a fresh pot of coffee.
Moira noticed, too, reluctantly removing her hand.
‘I should get going,’ said Anna, setting down the tray. ‘I’ve got shopping and then I have to drop off Leah at her art class. But I can’t resist a final toast.’
Wanda poured the coffee, pleased that she remembered Moira took three sugars, that Teddy took hers black and that Anna — after her time in London — took a touch of milk.
‘To next year’s reunion!’ said Anna.
‘Yes!’ Moira stood. ‘Next spring, in this room.’
Teddy stood and exchanged smiles with Wanda. They al
l clinked cups.
‘But this doesn’t mean,’ Teddy leaned forward, ‘this doesn’t mean we can’t all meet before that — at a restaurant or somewhere.’
‘No.’ Moira rubbed Teddy’s shoulder. ‘It just means that we have a guaranteed reunion here, next spring, with one more baby.’
‘OK.’ Teddy laughed at her own solemnity.
‘Without you, Teddy,’ Wanda smiled, ‘none of us would be here.’
‘To Teddy!’ Anna said, ‘for bringing us together.’
‘Again and again,’ cheered Wanda.
‘Mom, Mom.’ Leah bounded into the living room. ‘Can I play something for Aunt Teddy. Is it her birthday or something like that?’
‘Something like that,’ Anna grinned.
‘Do you like “Heart and Soul”?’ the girl asked Teddy.
‘One of my all-time favorites,’ Teddy answered.
Leah walked over to the piano and proceeded to play. Applause brought ‘Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater’ and then ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’. The next round of applause drew Tess into the act. She climbed on the bench and insisted on a duet of ‘Chopsticks’. The children continued to play, and gradually the adults turned back to their own conversation.
Anna looked at her watch and jumped up. ‘So much for my shopping. Leah will never make her class unless I step on it. I can’t bear to leave. This reminds me of that last morning before I went to England and the breakfast you fixed for me. I always felt bad for not eating the toast.’
She looked up to find them all laughing. ‘Guilt,’ she laughed too, ‘see, this is a family.’
Leah was buttoning her coat and waiting patiently by the door with the salad bowl and the kugel plate. She smiled shyly as her mother was buried in hugs by the three women. Tess walked up and threw her arms around Leah. Then Clara gave her a loud, wet kiss.
‘It’s horrible to rush the good-byes.’ Anna shook her head. ‘Listen.’ She reached for the doorknob. ‘We’ll be in touch. Lunch in two weeks, right, Wanda? And I’ll ring you both, Moira and Teddy.’
Wanda, Teddy and Moira stood at the door, Tess and Clara in front of them, waving good-bye. When the car was out of sight, Moira turned to Teddy, ‘Are you still going downtown? Can you still give us a lift? If it’s out of the way, we can take the bus, I mean …’
‘Of course,’ said Teddy, concealing her disappointment, ‘but do you have to leave so soon?’
Wanda knew it was her card. Teddy would accept her reasons more easily. Actually, she didn’t want to leave at all. She wished she could go upstairs to her room and bury her head under a pillow for the rest of the weekend. But she made the responsible move. ‘Yes, Teddy, Roy is expecting me. We’re going to Betty’s rehearsal.’
Teddy sighed, leaning into the closet for her jacket. ‘OK, gang, all aboard.’ Tess jumped into her arms. ‘Train, Aunt Teddy, we haven’t played train in a long time.’ Moira walked into the kitchen for her dish and gathered up Clara with the children’s clothes and dolls on the way back to the front door.
Wanda walked slowly to her car. She sat there, pretending to organize her belongings on the seat as Teddy pulled away. Tess rolled down the window, ‘Bye, Aunt Wanda. Bye.’ Clara leaned out, ‘Bye-bye.’ Teddy waved. Moira nodded her head, laughing. Wanda watched the circus roll down Stockton Street and told herself to leave. She put her key in the ignition. Everyone had gone; there was no point sitting here.
Her eyes went back to the house, upstairs to the window of her old room. Sometimes she thought these last five years had been the toughest, as they worked out the compromises the war had insinuated. Maybe life would feel simpler next time they met.
She looked down the façade, through the living room window now. Teddy had left the curtains open and the dining room light illuminated the entire floor. Wanda was filled with tender sadness. There was something precious about the late thirties and even about the war itself. Then, you could blame the bad times on history; you could foresee a personal truce. The pain would pass. Some day. But the experiences of the war still pressed down. There was no conclusion. There was no some day. It was twelve years since they had met. Eleven years since they had moved into the house. She shook her head, noticing the shrubs that Moira used to trim. Eleven years since Miss Fargo and the Pacific Exposition and the first day on Stockton Street. There was no telling what lay ahead. What would they be like in another decade? Leah would be a woman in 1960. Anna might be a grandmother. It was going too quickly. She would never catch up. They would leave that to their daughters. Those who dared to have daughters.
In 1960 they would all be in their forties. Ten more years. It was almost unimaginable.
Acknowledgments
Many people have been generous with their time, ideas, experience and support during the five years while I was writing this novel. As a Baby Boom daughter, I was a product of the Second World War, but not a participant in it. So let me first thank some of the older women who have shared their experiences with me; these include Mary Miner, Dorothy Bryant, Margaret Johnson, Tillie Olsen and Peggy Webb.
Marge Piercy proved to be the best of artistic comrades, generously sharing her research and insights regarding a period about which she was also writing.
My research into the lives of Japanese Americans was greatly enhanced and stimulated by Sandra Uyeunten, who teaches Asian American Studies at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Also very helpful was Jere Takahashi, who teaches in the Asian American Studies Program at the University of California, Berkeley.
For background about the Jewish refugee children, I am indebted to the patient assistance of Ruth Wolf, of Birmingham, England — former secretary of the Midland region of the Refugee Children’s Movement Limited.
Many thanks go to those friends who read entire drafts of the novel and provided invaluable feedback. These people include Paula Gunn Allen, Sandy Boucher, Candace Falk, Jana Harris, Deborah Johnson, Helen Longino, Eve Pell, Susan Schweik, Madelon Sprengnether, Sandra Uyeunten and Peggy Webb.
Over the years I have worked with five fine student research assistants who chased after elusive details and provided new perspectives — Katy Irwin, Lori Katz, Jean Mandel, Stacey Ravel and Elizabeth Shelton. I am also grateful to Ida Dunson and Rosario Guerrero who administered the Undergraduate Research Program at the University of California, Berkeley Women’s Center.
Many librarians and archivists have facilitated my research. In particular I would like to acknowledge Lynn Bonfield at the San Francisco State Labor History Archives, Carole Leita at the Berkeley Public Library and John Slonaker at the US Army Military History Institute in Pennsylvania.
Among other writers, scholars and Second World War veterans who have been very helpful are Allan Bérubé, Nat Gould, Judy Grahn, Marlene Griffith, Mary Mackey, Daphne Muse, Heather Reid and Roberta Yusba.
All Good Women is a novel. All the characters are fictional. In fact some of the immediate settings, such as the Lion’s Head Camp and the London refugee office, although informed by historical data, are creations of my imagination.
Finally, I deeply thank Elsbeth Lindner and Leslie Gardner for their faith in this project over the years.
About the Author
Valerie Miner is the award-winning author of fourteen books, including novels, short fiction collections, and nonfiction. Miner’s work has appeared in the Georgia Review, TriQuarterly, Salmagundi, New Letters, Ploughshares, the Village Voice, Prairie Schooner, the Gettysburg Review, the Times Literary Supplement, the Women’s Review of Books, the Nation, and other journals. Her stories and essays have been published in more than sixty anthologies. A number of her pieces have been dramatized on BBC Radio 4. Her work has been translated into German, Turkish, Danish, Italian, Spanish, French, Swedish, and Dutch. She has won fellowships and awards from the Rockefeller Foundation, the McKnight Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts
, the Jerome Foundation, the Heinz Foundation, the Bogliasco Foundation, Fundación Valparaiso, the Australia Council Literary Arts Board, and numerous other organizations. She has received Fulbright fellowships to Tunisia, India, and Indonesia. Winner of a Distinguished Teaching Award, she has taught for over twenty-five years and is now a professor and artist in residence at Stanford University. She travels internationally giving readings, lectures, and workshops. Her website is www.valerieminer.com.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Lyrics from “I’ll Be With You in Apple Blossom Time” printed by permission of Jerry Vogel Music Co., Inc., co-owner of the copyright, 501 5th Avenue, NY, NY 10017.
Lyrics from “Hold Tight, Hold Tight” printed by permission of Mills Music, Inc.
Copyright © 1987 by Valerie Miner
Cover design by Julianna Lee
978-1-4976-2157-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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