by C. E. Murphy
"It's all right," Rosie told her. "He got lunch. I can handle a car door."
"Oh, you did!" Mrs Vaughn's disapproval fell away into a delighted smile for her son. "Thank you, darling. I knew you remembered your manners, somewhere under all that crusty police business. Five minutes," she promised Jean a second time, and escorted them into a foyer that stopped both the girls in their tracks. Rosie breathed, "Golly," and Hank crinkled his face in something barely shy of a wince, muttering, "It's something, isn't it."
"Golly, I guess so." The foyer rose three stories, overlooked by curving stairs that led to balconies separating into two distinct wings of the house. A dark-skinned Negro maid with her hair in a bun carried linens up to the top left balcony and disappeared down a hall. Afternoon sunlight chased her a little way and fell down the balconies, creating shadows and streaks of brightness that didn't dare highlight dust in the air, not in this house. Rosie thought the balconies must be carpeted, because the maid's footsteps had been silent, but the stairs and the foyer floor looked like caramel-swirled marble. An impressionist painting of a woman with a parasol hung on the foyer wall, with orange lilies offering color beneath it. Rosie let out a breath of laughter and turned to Hank's mother. "I think I need to go home and change into something fancier to come any farther in, Mrs Vaughn. Gosh, this is beautiful!"
"It's kind of you to say so. Please, come in. The sitting room is this way. Oh, dear, the living room. I never will learn to use those American phrases."
"You shouldn't," Rosie said with a smile. "It's more fun to hear rooms called what other people call them than the same-old-same-old that we use all the time."
"You're playing it up, Mum," Hank murmured as he passed Mrs Vaughn on the way to the living room, and she followed him with a fond smile.
"He's right, you know. I am. But it's so rarely that I get to meet his friends, and I feel that I ought to do my best to offer some of that old-world pizzazz."
"I thought the British were supposed to be very reserved." Even Jean seemed reluctantly charmed by Mrs Vaughn, whose eyes sparkled as she tucked her arms through both the girls'.
"Perhaps Americans have rubbed off on me more than I care to acknowledge, then. I have lived here a long time, after all."
"How long is that?" Jean asked.
"Oh, dear, I couldn't say without betraying my age, could I? Is it enough to admit that Hank was born here?" Mrs Vaughn smiled again as color crept up Jean's cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, Mrs Vaughn."
"No, no, not at all. Oh, Hank, you've asked Bertha for the tea, good lad. Girls, please do sit down?" Mrs Vaughn escorted them down two steps into a deep living room with a bold diamond-patterned rug covering most of the hardwood floor. Big couches and armchairs would have overwhelmed any house Rosie knew well, but fit right in to the over-sized room. The ceiling rose to ten feet or so, not all the way to the house's roof, but the sunken floor made it feel like it went that high. Rosie sat in one of the armchairs and gazed upward in silent astonishment. Crystal light fixtures caught the sunlight and gleamed, casting bright shadows around the room. She followed them around with her gaze until she found herself looking out the windows at a view of a far more extensive yard than Rosie had seen, coming up the drive. "Gosh, I could live here forever without getting tired of that view!"
"You should see it at night, when it's lit up with the garden lights," Mrs Vaughn said with another smile, then brought her hands together in something to refined to be a clap, but still expressed enthusiasm. "Oh, you must see it at night, and we have the perfect excuse. Hank, you must bring the girls to the gala Tuesday evening. A little soiree for charity, nothing too much, although between you and I, Daniel Franklin will be there. He's only just finished filming his latest movie—oh, what was it called, Hank?"
Hank muttered, "Mom," in embarrassment, and Mrs Vaughn's expression filled with mock dismay.
"Oh, dear, I've horrified him and he's punishing me by using that dreadful American Mom," which she said with such a long O it sounded nasal and made both Rosie and Jean smile. "Uncertain Stars, that's it. Errol had intended to play the role, but there was all that terrible business with that young woman. Fortunately, Daniel was able to step in. Anyway, he's a delightful man, so very handsome, and single too. I simply must have the opportunity to introduce you. The party is themed, of course. ‘The Way We Were.' A perfect chance to dress like it's the Roaring Twenties, or the glamorous thirties, before things changed so much with the war. Do you darling girls have beaus? You must. Soldiers home from the war?"
Rosie exchanged a glance with Jean, who looked down with the air of someone determined not to be drawn into the conversation. A wry smile curved one side of Rosie's mouth as she looked back at Mrs Vaughn. "No, ma'am. No one home from war yet."
"Then Hank can escort you," Mrs Vaughn said in delight. "You will come to the party, won't you? Of course you will. Oh, you must be looking forward to your soldier coming home, Rosie. It will be a relief, won't it? To put all this unpleasantness behind you. The business at the factory, and all the strain of being a working woman. I don't know how I would manage in your position."
"But Hank said you were a nurse in the Great War," Rosie said with slow astonishment. "An independent woman, yourself. How can you not imagine carrying on that way?"
Mrs Vaughn laughed. "With Harry to take care of me? Goodness, dear, why would I want to? Oh, Bertha, there you are. Is that coffee I smell? Hank, I asked for—oh, you Americans. And you brought tea for me, didn't you, Bertha? Thank you."
The maid, a small, light-skinned Negro woman with a downcast gaze and a polite smile, nodded to Mrs Vaughn and poured tea and coffee for everyone before quietly leaving the room. Rosie picked her coffee cup up, looking after the maid. "I've never even met anybody who had staff before."
"Oh, only two for the house, and the cook, of course. And the gardener and the driver, not that Harry ever lets anyone drive him around," Mrs Vaughn said. "You Americans have driving in your blood, I think."
"Well, we did invent the car. Here's to Mr Ford." Rosie lifted her coffee cup an inch or two, then sipped the hot liquid. "Say, this is really good. I wish I'd told Bertha so."
"Anyone can make a good cup of coffee if they have quality beans." Mrs Vaughn dismissed the topic with a sniff. "Now, do you girls have costumes for the gala? Oh, dear, you wouldn't, would you? You'd have been children in the twenties and hardly more than that in the thirties, wouldn't you? Well, I'll just have something sent over. It won't be any trouble."
Rosie hesitated, a thought striking her as she glanced first at Hank, then at his mother again. "Mrs Vaughn, we couldn't impose—"
"Nonsense. There will be dozens of stuffy old people here. A little youth will lighten things up and ensure Hank enjoys himself. You must invite a few other friends as well. Young ladies, to get the older gentlemen onto the dance floor and make them happy to write some checks for charity."
"Irene would be thrilled," Jean murmured. Rosie shot her a dirty look, but Mrs Vaughn smiled.
"Indeed, invite your friend Irene. Please do, girls. Does she have a solider coming home?"
"No, ma'am. She only wishes she does."
"Then a party will be just what she needs. You just call me tomorrow morning with all your measurements, girls, and I'll get you sorted out. It should be lovely, girls. A chance at some old-fashioned romance. I wish you girls could remember what it was like before the Great War. Things were so much more peaceful then, with everyone having such a settled sense of place. Of course, I was very young myself, but I hope so much the world will calm back down to how it was. Perhaps a soiree like this will help people to remember, and help us to return to that happier time as we recover from this terrible war."
"But …" Rosie set her coffee cup aside, gazing at Hank's mother in astonishment all over again. "But women didn't even have the vote then, Mrs Vaughn. At least not in America. I don't know about England," she admitted.
"Oh, it came in sta
ges at home, from just before the end of the war up through the twenties, but really, my dear, with a home to take care of and a husband to care for you, what real need is there for such nonsense? I hate to think of women getting involved in politics. It's just not appropriate."
"But you were a nurse," Rosie repeated. She sought first Jean, then Hank's, eyes for support, and found them both studiously examining their coffee. Traitors, she thought, and turned her attention back to Mrs Vaughn. "You must think education is good for women, if you were a nurse. And if education is, why not politics? Why not anything a man can do? We've sure as heck proven ourselves working in the factories! In your own husband's factories!"
"Oh, dear." Mrs Vaughn smiled gently at Rosie. "You're a real modern girl, aren't you, Rosie? Well, I admire that. I just hope it doesn't break your heart. Hank will pick you up at seven on Tuesday, won't you, Hank? Very good. Now, if you'll excuse me, girls, I'm afraid I have some old-fashioned household business to attend to. Oh, yes, even on a Sunday. A woman's work never ends." She rose with a smile, leaving Rosie and Jean to scramble to their feet and say goodbye.
Hank kissed his mother's cheek, then turned an apologetic expression on the girls once Mrs Vaughn had left the room. "I'm sorry about Mum. You don't have to come to the party. It really will be full of dull old men and their pinch-faced wives."
"And Daniel Franklin," Jean said. "Irene's got a crush on him like you wouldn't believe. If she misses the chance to meet him, she'll never forgive us."
Rosie wrinkled her nose at Jean. "Whose side are you on?"
"Irene's," Jean said with a brief smile. "And a party might be good for me too. I feel like I better keep busy or I'll just fall apart forever."
"Aw, honey." Rosie slipped her arm around Jean's waist. "Come on, it's been a crazy day. Why don't we go home?"
"What about Pearl?" Hank's voice dropped to secrecy levels and Rosie stomped her foot.
"Oh, darn it. All right, Pearl and then home."
"Forget it, Rosie. I'll see to Pearl. You head back with Jean. Rest up and I'll come by later so we can finish yesterday's conversation."
"Yeah." Rosie pursed her lips. "Wait a second. Senator Haas was visiting? That was the family thing you couldn't get out of?" Hank shrugged one shoulder and Rosie huffed at the strangeness of it all. "I guess that's how the other half lives. All right, library man. Next time I see you, I expect you to tell me how to save the world."
THIRTEEN
Jean dropped Rosie off at home. Irene came running out the door before Rosie even got to it, and flung a worried hug around Rosie's neck. "Where've you been? Did you go to the factory? I expected to hear from you hours ago, Rosie! Your parents have called three times and the third I could hardly keep them from coming over to make sure I wasn't hiding you from them or something. The girls are all agitated—"
The girls were, in fact, hanging around the doorway, making no bones about listening in. Only Marge remained out of sight, not that the other three left much room for her to watch too. Rosie hugged Irene, mumbling, "I'm fine, I'll call Mom and Pop in just a minute—"
"You can't, Marge is on the phone with Evan right now—"
Rosie muttered, "I wondered why she wasn't in the door with everybody else. Well, as soon as I can, then. I was with Jean. We got lunch and things." She sighed and let Irene guide her through the door before confessing, "I got fired, Rene."
She might've dropped a bomb, the way the room fell silent. Even Marge, curled up on the floor between the couch and the wall, where she could pretend she had some privacy, stopped talking into the phone and looked toward Rosie.
Barb, who'd led the pack of questions earlier—yesterday, Rosie thought in dismay. It had been a whole day of chaos since she'd seen her housemates. Anyways, Barb broke the silence with a sharp "But how're you gonna pay rent?"
"Barb!" Irene snapped. "Gosh, can't you think of anything else but rent and bills? Rosie, what happened? That's just awful!"
"It's not awful," Dorothy whispered loudly. "It's no surprise. She's a killer. A real killer-diller, just like the gangster girls back in the twenties. I bet she coulda run with Al Capone and everything."
"But I'm not," Rosie protested. "Not like that. And I have some savings, Barb, plenty to keep paying rent while I find another job."
"There's not going to be another job," Marge put in, in her deep voice. "Come on, Rosie, you know that." She hung up the phone, having said good-bye to Evan under the others chattering, and got up from the floor. "Factory work is slowing down already, and as soon as the boys get those Japs dealt with we'll all be out of work anyway. What're you thinking, that you'll go wait tables at Big Bob's? Like you're sixteen and want extra cash for the pictures or something?"
Rosie lifted her chin, suddenly as angry as she was scared. "That's not a bad idea. Not for a full-time job like working in the factory, but—but I was gonna quit this fall anyways, and go to college," she blurted. "Working part-time at Big Bob's might be real smart. I—"
"College," said three voices at once, including Irene's. The others fell silent as Irene continued, "You never told me you were thinking about college! Gosh, Rosie! What's Rich gonna say?"
"What's it matter?" Barb stuck her nose in the air. "Rich isn't going to want to marry a murderer anyway."
"Oh, my gosh, Barb," Irene said in shock. "She didn't murder anybody. He was plumb crazy and trying to kill her. She was just protecting herself, and Rich is gonna understand that just fine. Oh, sweetie," she said to Rosie, whose eyes had filled with tears again. "It's gonna be just fine. How could you?" she barked at Barb, and put her arm around Rosie's shoulders to guide her into their bedroom. "It'll be fine," she promised again, as Rosie sat down on her bed and put her face in her hands. "Gosh, hon, they fired you?"
"For being dangerous and making the other girls uncomfortable."
Irene closed the door and leaned on it. "But that doesn't make any sense, Ro. You weren't the dangerous one."
An awful little laugh burst through Rosie's fingers. "Everybody keeps saying that. Everybody but the supe. He didn't care. I'm a bad influence and a distraction and I give the factory a bad name and I'm welcome to try to do something about it but they're never going to take the word of a factory girl over the story about the poor wounded solider just barely home from wa-aa-aaarr …!"
"Oh, honey!" Irene ran from the door to Rosie's bed, sitting to pull her into another hug. "Oh, honey, they're right, aren't they? You're just going to come out looking awful if you push it, and that's just wrong! But I don't know what to tell you to do. At least—" She caught her breath and popped her lips shut, loud enough for Rosie to hear it over sobs and give a snotty, unhappy laugh.
"At least Rich is coming home? That's all anybody says. It doesn't help, Rene. It doesn't help at all."
"I managed not to say it… . I'm sorry, Ro. I know that's not the answer you want. Especially if— College, Rosie? For real? How come you never told me?"
Rosie's shoulders slumped. "I thought everyone would say I was crazy. Who do you even know who's gone to college?" At Irene's hesitation, she said, "See? And I bet the ones you do know are all boys. And I'm not book smart, Rene, I know that. I'm not dumb, but I listen to Hank and all his big words and the things he knows and I know I'm not like that."
"But that's just education," Irene protested loyally, then ducked her head against Rosie's shoulder and smiled. "I guess that's kind of the point, huh? Wow, Ro. You've got hidden depths! College plans! Oh my gosh," she said after a moment. "Oh my gosh, you're not going to marry Rich, are you? What's he going to think of an educated wife?"
"I don't know," Rosie wailed, then took a shaking breath, trying to regain control of her emotions. "I don't know, Rene. I haven't talked to him about this. I haven't talked to him about anything! What was I supposed to say in a letter that wouldn't seem like I was throwing him over? I don't want to dump him, Rene, I just want time to figure out where things stand, to see whether we still fit together! And I'm scared to dea
th he'll hate me going to college, but I can't give that idea up either, not and still feel like—like I'm being me!"
"Okay. Okay, hon. We won't talk about Rich right now." Irene hesitated, casting around for something to say, and they both looked up as voices sounded in the hall outside their room. Irene made a face. "I'm sorry Barb's such a beast, jumping all over you for rent like that when she knows you've been saving like crazy, just like all of us. How much do you have saved up? Not for rent," she said hastily. "For your own peace of mind, sweetheart."
"Just about three grand." Rosie straightened, the number giving her some confidence. "No, wait, Supe said he'd pay me three months' salary to keep quiet and leave, so just a bit over three grand."
"Three— Rosie, you could rent this house all by yourself for five years with that!"
Rosie laughed quickly. "Not if I want to go to college. I want a four-year degree, Rene, something that means something. That'll cost most of what I've got saved, between rent and tuition and food, but if I can find another job, I think I can do it."
"You've been thinking this out," Irene said with admiration. "Gosh, I wish I had half your discipline! You'll find some kind of job, I just know you will, even if it is at Big Bob's. Can you type?"
"No, but I'll learn if I have to. I'd rather rivet. Can you imagine them keeping girls on—or hiring them fresh—to build cars? I bet that would be fun."
Irene shook her head. "You have a crazy idea of fun, hon. All right, listen, here's what I'm going to do, Ro. I know you don't need me to, and you can pay me back under the table, but I'm going to go tell that awful Barb that I'll cover your rent until you're back on your feet again, just to smooth it out. I still have a job, so she can't complain about that, and if she does, I'll get New York tough on her, you hear? I know I look like a doll, but I'm tough underneath."
Rosie laughed and hugged Irene's ribs. "Of course you are. You lit out, didn't you? Came all the way out here to Detroit instead of marrying that wife-beater boy your mother wanted you to. Just because you're pretty doesn't mean you're a pushover. Oh, Irene! Oh, wait until I tell you! We got invited to a party, a really classy affair, you and me and Jean, and guess who's going to be there!"
