Hattie had come up north from her daddy’s farm in Mississippi. “When they asked him ’bout growing peanuts,” Hattie continued, “Daddy said hell, he’d grow elephants if it would help! We’re all of us kids helping in the war: one brother, he serves food to the officers on a Navy ship. ’Nother one is in North Africa somewhere, driving a truck. Third one’s on one of those islands, he drives a truck, too. Me, I left Miz Jamison’s house and came up here to Chicago to get me a good job. That old lady was fit to be tied, shaking her fist in my face, telling me I didn’t appreciate how good I had it there, what a nice salary she paid me, though it wasn’t but a dollar twenty-five a week. She said she treated me good, too, but that wasn’t true, either; she treated her little poodle dog better than she treated me. I miss my folks, but I like it here much better than home.”
“Where do you live?” Laura asked.
“Oh, I share a place on the South Side, six of us in a one-bedroom apartment. It’s pretty crowded! But half of us work nights, and half days, so that helps.”
“Still,” Lala said, putting down her sandwich (she didn’t eat the crusts, Kitty noticed), “it must be nice to live with people your own age, ones who have the same interests as you.”
“Oh, yes,” Hattie said. “We share patterns to make our dresses, cook our dinners together, talk our heads off. We’ve got the place fixed up pretty cute, too. When we go to USO dances, we really have fun. Only thing we have to be careful of is: don’t compete for your roommate’s man. I met me a Tuskegee flier at a dance a few weeks ago, and I told every one of those girls, ‘Hands off!’”
Kitty knew of the Negro USO dances. All soldiers were welcome at all USO centers, but the Negroes seemed to prefer their own. “What’s your flier’s name?” she asked.
Hattie looked down, smiling. “Will. Will Duncan. And I was gone the minute I laid eyes on him.” She looked up at the other girls. “Honest I was.”
“I was gone the minute I heard Ricky’s voice,” Lala said. “You should hear that man’s voice. And he’s easy on the eyes, too. He could be in the movies, I swear. I fell like a stone.”
“Me, too,” Laura said. “They say there is no such thing as love at first sight, but there is. Did you feel that way about your Julian, Kitty?”
“Oh, sure.” Kitty looked at her watch. “I guess we’d better go back.”
Lala looked up at the sky. “It’s going to rain, anyway. I’d better get in before I shrink even more—I used to be six feet tall. Race you all!”
They ran back toward the factory, laughing and shrieking and bumping into one another. How wonderful, Kitty thought. New friends already! What fun it was going to be to work here!
The women reached the doorway just as the rain began. The drops fell furiously, hitting the dusty ground like tiny bombs. They all stood at the doorway for a moment, watching, then started back to the orientation room. A man leaning against the wall spoke around the toothpick in his mouth. “Back from recess, girls?” he asked, then said angrily, “This ain’t no playground. You’re going to learn that in a hurry.” The women looked at one another and burst out laughing.
“Go ahead and laugh now,” the man called after them. “You won’t be laughing long!”
“Come on, Gunderson,” another man said. “Lay off.”
“Lay off? I’m going to lay on,” the man said. “How about that pretty one, looks just like Rita Hayworth, I think I’ll lay on her. If she’s lucky.”
Kitty had a thought to turn around and say something. But she followed the other women’s example and acted like she hadn’t heard a thing.
“
“OH, NO. OH, NO!” KITTY SAID.
“Hush!” Tish told her, buried in a letter from Donald Erickson, her pen pal from Madison, Wisconsin. It was the sisters’ standard practice now to read to themselves any letters they’d gotten that day, then share selected parts with one another before they began their own correspondence.
“Oh, no,” Kitty said again, though more softly. “Louise?”
“What.” But her sister didn’t look up.
“Something terrible happened.”
Now both sisters looked up.
“I mixed the letters up,” Kitty said.
Louise frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I mixed the letters to Julian and Hank up.”
“You mean you sent Julian Hank’s letter?” Tish asked. “And vice versa?”
Miserably, Kitty nodded.
Tish sighed. “I told you to always write the address first!”
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Louise said. “You don’t seem to get all that intimate with Julian.” Her eyes narrowed. “Unless…What did you tell that Hank?”
“I don’t really remember,” Kitty said, though she did remember saying that it had been a Fra Angelico sky that day, which now mortified her. Also, she remembered she’d asked Hank to tell her what he’d been like as a boy, something she’d also asked Julian. But maybe Julian wouldn’t remember, Julian wasn’t so good at remembering things like that. Oh, poor Julian, suffering away in the middle of the Pacific Ocean while she complained all the time about how hard it was to write to him. Shame on her! From now on, she’d read a book if she had to, so she could quote from it. She’d tell him what she’d done at work. She’d watch people on the street, and then tell him funny things she’d seen. She, like Louise, would talk about all the things they’d do when he came home and recall, in a very romantic way, things they’d done together. Why had it been so hard for her to write Julian? Because she was lazy, that was why.
“Well, if you don’t even know what you wrote to Hank, what are you so excited about?” Louise asked. She scratched her arm agitatedly. “Jeez.”
“I told you she liked Hank better,” Tish said. “Didn’t I say so, a long time ago, didn’t I tell you?”
“First of all, it wasn’t so long ago,” Kitty said. “And, no, I don’t like him better.”
“Poor Julian,” Tish said, sighing. Then she sat up straighter and blinked. “Gosh, but really. Poor Julian!”
Louise snatched away the letter that was in Kitty’s hand. “It’s from Hank,” she said and began reading aloud. Kitty had a thought to grab the letter back, but the truth was, she wanted another opinion. Even from Tish, whom she also wanted to choke.
“Dear Kitty,” Louise read.
“I believe there’s been an error of some sort. I have received a letter addressed to me, but the salutation is to ‘Julian.’ I would like to say I am a man of such outstanding character that I stopped reading right there, but alas—”
“Alas?” Tish said. “Alas?”
“Quiet!” Kitty said. “He doesn’t mean it like that!”
“Like what?” Tish asked.
“It’s not…It’s just sort of tongue-in-cheek!”
“Be quiet and listen,” Louise said.
“Alas, I shall, most eagerly,” Tish said.
Louise looked at her. “That doesn’t even make sense. If you say ‘alas,’ you’re not doing it eagerly.”
“I know that!”
“No you don’t,” Kitty said.
“Do you want help fixing this problem?” Louise asked, and Kitty nodded.
“Then…” Louise raised her eyebrows.
Tish folded her hands on the table. All right. She was done, now.
“I would like to say I am a man of such character—”
“Outstanding character,” Tish said, and then, when Louise looked daggers at her, “Sorry! But say it all! Just in the interest of accuracy!”
“of such outstanding character that I stopped reading right there, but alas, I did not. I read the letter through, and I hereby send both it and my most sincere apology back to you. May I assume that Julian got a letter intended for me? If so, I certainly can’t complain if he read it, but will hope that he, too, will make an effort to have the right man receive the right missive. I await, rather anxiously, I confess, for same.”
“What’s he
talking about missiles for?” Tish asked.
“Missive,” Louise said.
“What’s that?”
“It means ‘letter.’”
Tish sat back in her chair, exasperated. “Well, then, why doesn’t he just call it a letter? I don’t like this guy. He’s a big show-off.”
“He’s just a good writer,” Louise said. “He was using alliteration.”
“For what?” Tish asked. “It’s a letter! What, is he trying to get a good grade or something? Oh, poor Julian, being jilted for such a creep.”
Kitty opened her mouth angrily to speak, then shut it. And then, suddenly, something occurred to her. “Tish? Do you have feelings for Julian?”
“He’s your boyfriend!” she answered.
“I know,” Kitty said. “But do you?” Image after image was popping up in her brain: Tish hanging on Julian’s arm and begging for a ride in his car; Tish lighting his cigarette; Tish pointing out how the two of them looked alike, her hand lingering on top of his blond head. Once, driving away from the house with Julian, Kitty had looked back and seen Tish standing at the bedroom window, watching them go. Kitty had smiled and waved gaily at her, but Tish hadn’t waved back. She hadn’t been smiling, either.
Louise was rereading Hank’s letter and shaking her head. “Boy. It’s going to be interesting to see what Julian writes back.”
Tish bent her face to the letter she was holding. “Listen to this,” she said. “This guy in combat? He put on a clown hat, instead of his helmet. He said it made him look nuts and the Nazis are afraid of crazy people, so he thought he wouldn’t get shot at. But he did. He got shot in the shoulder.”
Louise spoke softly, staring into space. “He’ll come home then. He’ll get to come home.”
“Is Mrs. O’Conner the same?” Kitty asked. She knew her sister was thinking of Michael coming home.
“She was worse. I was going to tell you guys about it later. She can’t…She doesn’t talk anymore. Mostly she sleeps. Gosh, she’s gotten so thin. I don’t see how she can go on much longer. And poor Michael, having no idea.” She read from his letter: “I’m going to bring you breakfast in bed every morning. You always said that was a dream of yours, and darling, I’m going to make it come true. Two eggs, bacon, and toast every day but Sunday, when I’m going to bring you waffles and a real rose. Guess you have to teach me how to make waffles first, though.” Louise smiled sadly and put the letter down. “He wrote this before he heard,” she said. “I wonder what he’ll say after he hears.”
“’TIS ENOUGH, NOW,” MARGARET SAID at dinner the next evening. “You’ve got to eat more, Tommy.”
“I did,” he said. “I ate as much as I could!”
“Eat more,” Margaret said. “You may not like it, but—”
“I like it, Ma. I do, it’s real good. I’m just full.” But he picked up his fork.
“May I join the Marines?” Tish asked.
A shocked silence. Then, “No, you may not join the Marines,” Frank said.
“You free up the men to fight when you do!”
“Wonderful,” Frank said. “No.”
“You train at a college, and if you’re an officer candidate, you get to go to Smith or Mount Holyoke!”
Frank raised his eyebrows, made a noise deep in his throat, and chewed, chewed, chewed.
“The base pay for officers is up to two hundred and fifty dollars a month!”
“Really?” Kitty asked.
“All right,” Frank said, putting down his napkin and pushing himself from the table. “I’ll say this once and once only. None of my girls will join any branch of the service. ’Tis bad enough, Kitty doing a man’s job at a factory.” He held up his hand to silence Tish. “And don’t be asking me can you do that, either, for the answer is another resounding no, spelled capital ‘N,’ capital ‘O.’”
“I don’t want to work in a factory, I want to be a Marine.”
“You’re not even old enough,” Kitty told her.
“I will be in January!”
“And by that time, you’ll be suitably employed at Carson’s cosmetic counter, just as you planned,” Frank said. “You’re lucky you’re being given the opportunity. Your job now is fine for the summer, but come fall, you’ll take that paying position. We all must do our part for the family.”
“Pop, may I just ask you one more thing?”
He sighed. “If I say no, you’ll only ask me why not.”
“You’d be proud of your sons if they enlisted, wouldn’t you?”
“With God’s help, they won’t have to. But yes, I’d be proud indeed.”
“So why—”
“It’s a man’s place to fight the war. And that’s all. Now pass me the beets and let’s talk about something else.” He pulled his chair back up to the table. “Who’s got a scintillating nugget to inspire conversation?”
Silence.
“A pithy idea from one of my gifted offspring!” Frank said.
Silence but for the slurping sound of Binks drinking his milk.
“Some uplifting anecdote! A heartwarming story about a boy and his dog!”
“Are we getting a dog?” Binks asked. “Oh, boy! Are we getting a dog, Pop?”
“No, son.”
Margaret cleared her throat. “Well, here’s something I’d like to talk about. I’m getting awfully tired of Imogene Samuelson needing a pat on the girdle every time she bothers to come to a Red Cross meeting. And her the treasurer!”
“Ah!” Frank said. “Girdles! There’s a captivating subject if ever I heard one. Now, who do you think came up with that idea?”
“Not a woman, I can assure you,” Margaret said.
“Absolutely right!” Frank said. “’Twas a French designer, and he—”
“May I be excused?” Tommy asked, and Margaret nodded, then watched him go outside. The last few evenings, he had taken to sitting on the front steps after dinner, quietly watching the boys in the neighborhood play stickball in the street, rather than joining them. “I’m asking Dr. Brandon to come over, and look at him tomorrow,” Margaret said. “He’s not eating enough and he—”
“The lad’s all right,” Frank said. “He’s just going through a reverse growth spurt. Sure, Kitty did the same thing at almost the same age. And weren’t you worried to death then, too, nothing for it but Dr. Mayfield had to come right over, and then it was nothing. Nothing at all. Do you remember?”
“No.”
Kitty recalled Dr. Mayfield putting his cold stethoscope to her chest, how embarrassed she’d been at him seeing her new little breasts sprouting there. “I remember,” she said.
“There you are,” Frank said. “And now, Margaret, may I have some more of your fine…?”
“Cabbage Delmonico,” Margaret said and smiled primly in spite of herself. But then she said, “Still, Tommy’s so quiet, Frank, and—”
“Margaret! The boy is fine! He’s always been quiet. He’s sensitive, our own family philosopher. He’s worried, that’s all. He takes everything too much to heart. Don’t let him hear the radio anymore. Next Sunday, we’ll go on a family outing. We’ll take him somewhere and get his mind off things.”
“Hey, Pop,” Billy said. “Did you hear about that boy who enlisted in the Army Air Force when he was fourteen?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He went on twenty-one combat missions over North Africa and Italy and won four citations, and then he retired, at sixteen. Now he’s working at an airplane plant until he’s old enough to enlist again!”
“That’s not true,” Frank said.
“It is!” Billy said. “Anthony cut it out of the Chicago Daily News. June sixteenth. He showed me the article; he saved it.”
Frank laughed. “You don’t say. I’m sorry I missed it.” He laughed again and shook his head. “There’s a young man I’d like to meet!”
“How did he enlist when he was underage?” Louise asked.
“False ID,” Tish said. “I hear about
it all the time. Guys change the dates on their birth certificates. Hey, Pop, did you hear about the USO shows in North Africa, where some of the girls went onto the battlefield with the boys? One even fired a mortar shell at the enemy.”
“Both Greer Garson and Bette Davis were basket cases just from doing bond drives,” Margaret said. “And Rita Hayworth, she broke down, too. Show business isn’t all it seems.”
“Well, they’re not strong,” Tish said. “They’ve gotten soft from all their pampering. I’m strong. If I—”
Frank spoke with his mouth full. “No.”
KITTY SAT OUT ON THE FRONT PORCH steps in the heat of the late July evening. The family had gone to a novena together, then come back to hear FDR deliver another fireside chat. It was always soothing to imagine him sitting there in his cardigan with his cigarette holder, to hear him speak calmly and with great assurance about events that were so very frightening. He had a way of making you feel as though he were in the room right with you, reaching over to put a steadying hand on your shoulder. People all over the country wrote to him as though he were their friend: “Take lemon for your cold, I keep telling you!” one man had reportedly written him. “If you could just send us thirty-five dollars,” wrote another. Margaret always said that, next to the rosary, FDR was the best tonic for the times.
Kitty liked Mrs. Roosevelt even better. She was so intelligent—and so honest! Her monthly column for the Ladies’ Home Journal was called “If You Ask Me,” and in it she had vowed to answer whatever question she was asked—about anything. Sometimes the questions were about etiquette. Sometimes they were about relationships. Once she was asked about her taste in music. (She preferred classical, but only because this was the music she’d been raised with; it was most familiar to her.) This month, a woman had sent her a letter asking if soldiers from the midwestern states, which were normally Republican, were sent into combat zones before soldiers from Democratic states. Mrs. Roosevelt began her response by saying, “I have never heard anything so idiotic as your question.”
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