When Lottie looked in the mirror, she could barely see any difference between the two laces at all. One was delicate and frothy, the other handmade, faintly ivory. As far as their effect on the dress, or how either one looked on her, she was at a loss.
But it was as she looked up, from the lace to herself, that she got the real shock. For some reason, when her eyes met the eyes of the girl in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself.
She looked down at the dress, and the girl in the mirror looked down at her dress. She fumbled nervously with the skirt, and the girl in the mirror did, too. But when she looked up, back into that girl’s eyes, Lottie still felt as if she’d never seen her before.
Her chest began to feel tight and her head dizzy. She took a step back, to steady herself.
“Honey?” her mother said. “Are you all right?”
“I think the Alsace,” Madame said, raising one eyebrow over her practiced eye.
Lottie began to fumble with the pins that held the lace at her throat, as if removing it might make her recognize herself again.
“Oh, no, no,” Madame said, rushing forward. “I will do.”
But Lottie held her hands out, fending her off. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just need—”
She looked at her mother helplessly, her heart racing. She was at her wits’ end with the wedding planning, especially in the face of this war, which made everything else seem so unimportant. She didn’t want to ruin her mother’s happiness. But she didn’t know how much longer she could just stand here, acting like some kind of doll, when there were American soldiers dying abroad.
“Madame,” Lottie’s mother said, rising to her feet. “Could you give us a moment?”
Reluctantly, Madame backed away from the dais, somehow managing to shoo her assistant along behind her. “Of course, of course,” she said with utmost politeness, which somehow still managed to register her absolute disapproval. Then she slipped out between the velvet curtains that hung over the door to the dressing room, and Lottie and her mother were alone together.
Lottie stepped down from the dais and immediately found her feet stuck in an ocean of silk and tulle.
“I can’t—” she said, putting her hand over her chest, which felt so tight now she was having trouble taking even breaths.
Quickly, her mother was at her side. With deft fingers, her mother unpinned the lace from either side of Lottie’s neckline, turned it quickly into neat rolls, and then unzipped Lottie’s dress.
When the stays released from around her ribs, Lottie was suddenly able to breathe again. But tears sprang to her eyes. She willed herself to keep them at bay.
“Thank you,” she said, hugging her mother’s neck. “I don’t know what happened. I just felt like…”
As she trailed off, her mother continued to help her out of the gigantic confection of her dress. Then she handed Lottie her blouse.
“I think you just need a little break from all of this,” her mother told her. She nodded at the small service door that led from the dressing room out to the back parking lot. “Why don’t you go for a little walk? I’ll handle Madame.”
“But the lace…” Lottie began.
“Did you really love either of them?”
Lottie looked from the delicate wisp of Alsace lace to the more homespun, then shook her head.
“Well, that settles it, then,” her mother said, and swept them both away.
By now, Lottie had slipped into her blouse and skirt. She turned so her mother could fasten the hook and work the zipper in the back. Then she smoothed her hair down and looked in the mirror. With a sense of relief, she finally felt she recognized the girl who looked back at her, with her familiar shoulder-length russet hair and brown eyes.
Lottie’s mother turned back from hanging the dress up on a nearby rack. She threaded her arm around Lottie’s waist and gave it a squeeze. Then she nodded at the delivery exit.
“Go on,” she said. “Get out of here.”
Lottie kissed her mother’s cheek.
“Thank you, Mom,” she said.
As soon as she stepped out onto the street, she felt like a new woman. The weight she had felt in the dress shop fell away from her shoulders. But in its place she didn’t feel peace or calm. Instead, she felt a sense that there was something she was supposed to be doing, or someplace she was supposed to go.
But she had forgotten what it was.
She ran quickly through all the events of the coming week, between now and the wedding. There was no way she had actually forgotten anything. Her mother was running the wedding like clockwork, and Lottie wasn’t in charge of any of the details.
Lottie cut through the parking lot in the back of the dress shop, then up through a narrow alley to one of Detroit’s downtown streets.
In the first shop window, she saw a sign advertising war bonds, with a picture of a soldier, jaw set, looking up at the flag.
He looked so much like Robert had the other night that Lottie felt a twist of shame at her thoughtless comment. She felt worried for him all over again.
He was right, she thought. The war had been far from her life. Her father was building trucks for the troops, and Eugene’s father had converted over half his operation to supply planes to the air force. But that had actually kept the war even farther from Lottie.
It meant that nearly everyone in her life—including Eugene—was exempt from going to the front.
But now every store on the street seemed to be filled with posters urging people to join up, to find ways to work within the rations, to buy more war bonds to fund the war effort.
And with every one she saw, Lottie felt even more strongly how distant it had all been kept from her—and how much she wanted things to be different.
She suddenly saw three small faces in her mind’s eye—sporting Eugene’s hazel eyes and her russet hair. A feeling low in her belly told her instantly that she wasn’t ready for that kind of life. Not for children. Not for any of it. Maybe she would never be ready. The thought made her shudder.
But in the back of her head, she could hear Eugene’s gently mocking voice. What did she actually think she could do for the war effort? Was she actually going to go load ammunition into artillery or march through the mud at the front?
Perhaps I could plan lavish parties to lure in the Nazis? Lottie thought bitterly. It was just about all she was qualified to do.
A few blocks away from the dress shop, she came to the Downtown Theater, with its huge, bulb-studded marquee.
Without thinking twice, Lottie stepped up to the ticket booth and bought a ticket for the next show, desperate for some kind of escape.
She passed through the movie palace’s gaudy entrance and sat down with relief in the darkness of the theater, just as the first of the opening newsreels began to flicker across the screen.
With a sinking heart, Lottie realized she couldn’t escape the war, even in here. Black-and-white images of the war filled the whole screen.
An airplane took off from the deck of a gigantic aircraft carrier as it cut through the broad ocean that stretched away on either side. A woman saluted smartly from the deck of a battleship at anchor.
Lottie’s mind ground to a halt because the image was so strange.
A woman… saluting?
Suddenly, Lottie found herself leaning forward in her seat as the announcer’s voice came in over the patriotic background music.
He was saying something about women serving in the war.
Then the face of a handsome seaman came on the screen, with a square jaw, sandy blond hair, and blue eyes turned clear gray by the black-and-white film. “Hello, I’m Captain Luke Woodward. Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service play a vital role in the war effort,” he said. “Now more than ever, we need women to help win this war.”
Then a banner flashed across the screen: Navy WAVES, it read, followed by an image of two women in smart white uniforms walking along the shoreline of a big city. Don’t miss your grea
t opportunity.
Lottie’s mind flashed back to the white suit she’d ruined the other day, fixing the old Bearcat. Then she imagined herself in a similar uniform, hunched over the engine of a military truck. Suddenly, the nagging sensation inside her vanished. And suddenly, she had an answer.
The newsreel ended and she sat through the rest of the movie. But when she left, she couldn’t have told anyone what had happened in even one scene.
Instead, another movie had been playing in her head: all the possibilities of what it might mean for her to sign up for the Navy WAVES. The hard work, the comradery with other women, the boats and planes, the sparkling sea—and all the things she couldn’t imagine, and would never know about, unless she went there to see for herself. The chance to do something that really mattered, to make a difference, not just staying in the safety of home and playing dress-up, but working to serve and help others. She saw all of it in clearer focus than she’d seen anything for ages.
When she got home, she found her mother sitting in the den that she had quietly turned into her own private library, with giant shelves of her favorite books. These books, unlike the dusty, collectible volumes stored in the cavernous formal library, were ones that someone might actually want to read.
When Lottie came in, her mother laid aside her book and held her hand out. Lottie went over and sank down beside her on the comfortable stuffed window seat where her mother loved to sit and while away the afternoon with a new story.
Lottie’s mother took Lottie’s hand and squeezed it. “How are you doing, honey?” she asked.
Lottie looked down at their intertwined fingers.
“Do you remember when you got married?” Lottie asked.
Her mother laughed. “How could I forget?” she said. “And I was younger than you, remember. By a few years. We thought girls of twenty-two were already old maids.”
Lottie smiled. “How did you feel…” she asked. “Before?”
Her mother didn’t answer right away. For a moment, her eyes darted out the window.
“Were you nervous?” Lottie asked.
“I think everyone’s nervous before their wedding,” Lottie’s mother said. “How could you not be? Getting up in front of all those people.”
“Were you nervous about… Dad?” Lottie asked.
Her mother shook her head firmly. “I knew he was a good man,” she said.
Lottie felt a bit of comfort at this. She felt the same way about Eugene. And after all, her parents had been happy.
But as she thought about it, she realized that her questions weren’t really about Eugene. They were about something else.
“Did you ever want to do anything… else?” Lottie asked.
“What do you mean?” her mother said gently.
“Anything you could have done,” Lottie said. “If you hadn’t gotten married.”
Lottie’s mother’s eyes widened slightly, as if she suddenly understood something about what Lottie was asking that she hadn’t before.
“I didn’t mean…” Lottie began, then trailed off.
“I think I know what you’re feeling,” her mother said before Lottie could find the words. “I know you wouldn’t guess it from looking at my life, but there are all kinds of things I dreamed about doing, besides what I’ve done. I still do, sometimes,” she said with a smile. “And who knows?” she asked with another glance out the window. “I still might.”
“But you don’t regret this one?” Lottie said. “The life you have?”
Her mother squeezed Lottie’s hand. “I don’t regret marrying your father,” she said firmly. “After all, if I hadn’t married him, I wouldn’t have you. And I can’t imagine that. If I had it all to do over again, I’d do it all exactly the same, just to have you.” She kissed Lottie’s cheek. “But I do regret one thing,” she said.
“What’s that?” Lottie asked.
Her mother looked into her eyes. “When I was making the decision to get married as a young woman, I didn’t think I had any other choice,” she said. “Getting married felt like my only option. But it wasn’t. I wish I’d known that. Because you always have a choice in life, Lottie. You always do.”
“Thank you, Mom,” Lottie said, giving her a hug.
The warmth and strength of her mother’s embrace lingered with her long after they parted. But her mother’s words stayed with her even longer.
That night, as Lottie washed her face and put her hair into rollers, she looked at herself hard in the mirror. Her mother’s words echoed as if they were bouncing around the walls of a cavernous valley, first far, then so near it felt as if her mother were right there with her again.
You always have a choice in life, Lottie. You always do.
Four
“THIS DRESS IS SO beautiful,” Mrs. Hancock said, remarking on the delicate sky-blue silk of the gown Lottie had chosen for her rehearsal dinner. “I can’t imagine how you will be any more beautiful tomorrow.”
Lottie bit her lip to keep from snapping back that she couldn’t see what being beautiful had to do with anything. Her unease with the first parties celebrating her wedding had long ago turned to impatience, but now she was feeling an urge to dash out of the place, and it was so strong she could barely hold herself back.
Her dress was a throwback to the days before the war, with a long cascade of blue silk gores that swirled like clouds around her silver pumps. That kind of styling hadn’t been seen in years, since the war had made it so much more difficult to get the yards and yards of fabric that it required.
When Lottie’s mother had first picked it out, it had seemed like the perfect celebration dress to her, and a relief from the grinding monotony of the severe wartime designs, when all the relaxed frippery of the debutante’s dresses had suddenly been fashioned into lines as simple as those of a man’s military uniform. Her mother had planned a lavish dinner in their banquet room and on their back patio, and Lottie had imagined herself twirling the night away, under the large oak tree she’d spent so many afternoons climbing as a child, in this perfect dress.
But when she’d put it on earlier that day, she’d immediately hated it. She couldn’t even walk down the steps from her room without having to gather it up so she wouldn’t trip on it. It seemed like it had been designed to keep her from doing anything. Then it hit her. That’s the only reason you’d wear a dress like this. To show that you didn’t have to do anything.
She gave Mrs. Hancock, who was waiting for her chauffeur to bring the car around, a wan smile.
But Eugene, as he always did, knew exactly the right thing to say. “I always think she couldn’t be any more beautiful than she is,” he said with a quick peck on Lottie’s cheek. “But every day, she somehow still manages to surprise me.”
Mrs. Hancock’s face lit up as if Eugene had paid the compliment to her.
“Oh, you two,” she said as the lights of a car spun around the circle drive. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
“Thank you for coming,” Lottie called as Mrs. Hancock hurried down the steps.
Eugene sighed as her car slipped away into the night.
Behind them, the doors to the banquet hall swung open as a waiter hurried through. The babble of the voices of all the guests who were still milling around and chatting inside leaked out into the hall.
“Do we have go to back in?” Lottie asked.
Her mother had been the one to plan this party, the final one in the endless whirl leading up to her wedding tomorrow. And because her mother had planned it, it didn’t feature any of the ostentatious displays some of the others had: no giant towers of flowers; no flaming canapés; no live animals, like the peacocks that Anastasia Fremont had thought would lend a classy touch to the festivities at her riverside estate.
She’d been unaware, apparently, that the giant birds could actually fly, and instead of class, they’d lent a bit of comic relief when several of them wound up on the roof of the Fremonts’ carriage house. They’d then begun to dive-bomb gu
ests, making their eerie calls, until one of them knocked off Mrs. Anderson’s wig, and Anastasia Fremont called the peacock handlers to come collect them.
But despite the simple, elegant gathering in Lottie’s own home, featuring her favorite lemon ice cream and some of their closest friends, Lottie felt a sense of dread at returning to the house.
“Come on,” she said, pulling at Eugene’s hand. They were standing beside the door to the kitchen, which a servant had just passed through and where most of the family servants, as well as a few dozen who had been hired just for that night, were busily entering and exiting, clearing the hall of the night’s plates and silver. Inside was a little vestibule, designed to give servants a place to wait for guests to arrive at the front door and then quickly disappear again while members of the family greeted the newcomers.
It had always been a favorite haunt of Lottie’s, and when they were kids, she had introduced it to Eugene as their special secret: a place to disappear for an instant when the big gatherings her family was always throwing got too boring, or noisy, or overwhelming.
Eugene hesitated. “People are waiting for us,” he said. But he gave in as Lottie pulled him into their hiding place.
Inside, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, then sank down on the little wooden bench built into the wall just inside the door.
He sat down beside her.
“So?” he said, an edge of impatience in his voice.
Lottie took a deep breath.
“Eugene,” she said in a rush. “I saw an ad for the Navy WAVES when I went to the movies. Earlier this week.”
“What’s that?” he asked. His tone was polite as ever, but she could tell he thought she was just making small talk—and barely paying attention himself.
“It’s women,” Lottie said. “Women in the Navy.”
“Women in the Navy,” Eugene mused, his tone shifting to disapproval. “It’s about time this war got over.”
For Love and Country Page 3
