by Janet Beard
He passed around a drawing of some kind of a machine with knobs, meters, and levers; none of it meant anything to June. “This is a drawing of the machines you will be operating. The machines may look confusing, but your job is very simple.”
A stern man in Army uniform came in. He walked quickly to the front of the room and began talking. “I’m going to tell you a story about a girl who was working here at Oak Ridge. She knew she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about what she was doing here. But she decided to write a letter home to her mother describing what the town looks like. She mentioned how many dormitories there were, how many houses she supposed had been built in the last month, how many cafeterias there were.” For a moment, he silently paced across the room.
“Another story. A man working in a plant went to Knoxville on his day off. Ran into an old friend in a tavern, who asked him where he works. Now, this man also knew better than to talk about his job. But he told his old friend that he worked at the Clinton Engineer Works in a plant and went on to describe what it looked like.” He shook his head, as though marveling at the man’s idiocy.
“A schoolteacher here struck up a conversation with an acquaintance, another Oak Ridge woman she met in church. Began telling this woman about some of her students, where they’re from, what their parents do. Little did this woman know that her friend was reporting back to Army Intelligence. Her friend knew that by having this sort of conversation, the schoolteacher was putting our project at risk, as well as the lives of our boys overseas. The man in Knoxville didn’t know that a secret agent overheard him at the tavern talking to his friend. And the girl who wrote the letter to her mother didn’t know that all mail going out of Oak Ridge may be examined.”
He stopped pacing and faced them head on. “You are living on a military reservation. Everything about this place is secret. The most inconsequential detail could provide important information to our enemies if it fell into the wrong hands. It is up to you to keep your mouths shut. And it is also your responsibility to report anyone who breaks security.”
He swung around and pointed to a girl in the front row. “Would you turn in your father?” He turned to a man behind her. “Your mother?” Turning again. “Your brother? Remember friendship, even family ties, are no excuse. If you know of someone breaching security, it is your responsibility to the United States of America to report it.”
June had a terrible impulse to giggle. This always happened to her when she was nervous in quiet, serious places. She’d burst out laughing at a church revival once and came dangerously close to giggling at her own grandmother’s funeral.
The man produced a piece of paper from his pocket and held it in front of them. “This is the Espionage Act. It says . . .”—he cleared his throat and began reading—“‘Whoever, with intent or reason to believe that it is to be used to the injury of the United States or to the advantage of a foreign nation, communicates, delivers, or transmits, or attempts to, or aids, or induces another to, communicate, deliver, or transmit, to any foreign government . . .’”
He went on and on. June couldn’t follow the words; all her energy was going toward suppressing the anxious laughter building up in her chest. She bit her cheeks to keep from smiling and stared down at her hands. She knew she must be visibly trembling and could feel her eyes begin to water with the strain.
The man put the Espionage Act down and looked solemnly around the room. “People will ask what you do here. Don’t worry about being rude. If someone asks what you’re making, tell them lights for lightning bugs or holes for doughnuts.”
She lost control, and a muffled giggle escaped.
The man turned to her, and June prepared for him to yell. But instead he smiled. “That’s right. It sounds silly. But it’s better to sound silly than put our boys’ lives in danger.”
She smiled back, the laughter gone. The man handed out declarations of secrecy, which everyone had to sign. When they finished, he sent them across the street for lunch.
The cafeteria was bustling. June piled mashed potatoes and meatloaf onto a plate and looked for a place to sit. It was like high school, except there were three times as many people in this room as there had been in her entire school. The tables were full of people talking and laughing with friends. She wondered where Mary was, wishing for the comfort of a relative, or anyone to eat lunch with, really. Finally resigning herself to being alone, she sat at the end of a long table and ate in silence.
When she was done, she wandered back to the bullpen and found the room for the next training lecture, “Young Woman’s Guide to Oak Ridge.” A lumpy woman in her fifties sat at the front of the room, wearing black-framed glasses and a shapeless brown dress. Gray curls formed an orb around her head. She opened a large handbag and took out a pile of pamphlets, which she began passing around the room.
The pamphlet was called “Between Us Girls and the Gatepost.” June opened it and saw a drawing of a pretty young girl sitting at a desk. A man stood over her as though trying to get her attention, but she was engrossed in typing.
“My name is Mrs. Ransom,” announced the woman in a honeyed voice. “I’d like to welcome all you young ladies to Oak Ridge. I’m going to tell you about working here, woman-to-woman. For how many of y’all is this your first job?”
June raised her hand, as did most of the girls. “You’re going to have a wonderful time working here, I guarantee. But you will have to work hard. And there is some advice I want to give you about the workplace.” She said it as though she were just a good-natured woman who went around dispensing free advice to younger ladies.
“The first thing we’re going to talk about, which I’m sure is on all your minds, is what to wear.” This wasn’t on June’s mind at all. She’d never had much choice in what she wore; she was usually in dresses she’d sewn herself from whatever fabric was available, or hand-me-downs from Mary.
“The word I want you all to keep in mind is decorum. Don’t wear too much makeup. Don’t wear dresses that are too short. Don’t expose your midriff.” She put her hand across her own midriff to demonstrate, and June had a horrible unbidden image of what it would look like bare.
“Imagine your mother is here to keep an eye on you, and don’t wear anything she wouldn’t find appropriate.” Her voice was losing its sweetness.
“You will be working around a lot of men, remember, and you don’t want to distract them. Don’t flirt on the job. There will be dances where you can have fun; save your flirting for then. You have a responsibility to our boys overseas to work as hard as you can and not do anything to keep the men around you from working hard, too. You don’t want innocent boys to lose their lives because you’re wasting time flirting.”
Mrs. Ransom paused. When she spoke again, the sweetness had returned. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t want you to look attractive! You also have a responsibility to keep yourselves looking neat and pretty. Your appearance should reflect well upon the Manhattan Engineer District as a whole. Suits are always a good choice, as are sweaters and skirts. Tailored dresses are fine, especially if you can sponge-press them yourself in the dormitory.”
June owned only five dresses, and they were basically all the same shape. She’d never even seen girls in short dresses or with exposed midriffs. And the thought of flirting mortified her.
***
IT WAS TWO more days before June got her security clearance and was finally allowed to leave the accommodations in the bullpen to move into the dormitory. She was praying for a nice roommate.
The first thing she noticed about Cici Roberts was that she was tall. She stood straight with perfect posture, her navy jacket emphasizing her wide shoulders, which somehow did not look manly, but rather elegant. She carried herself as though she ought to be wearing a crown instead of the small hat that was perched on the dark brown waves of her shining hair, which perfectly framed her stunning face. Her lips were large and round, painted a deep red. She was unarguably beautiful, majestic, out of place in the
drab, militaristic dorm room. Cici looked as though she had never darned a sock or weeded a vegetable garden or scrubbed a floor. She belonged in large rooms with high ceilings, sipping from porcelain teacups, ordering servants around.
And then she spoke. Her voice was coated with sugar, bourbon, and a sprig of cool mint, a perfect southern accent that to June was more recognizable from the movies than from anyone she knew in East Tennessee. Cici drawled out her words so that it didn’t much matter what she was saying; you listened to every note for its music. “Hello there! You must be June. I’m Cici Roberts of Nashville, Tennessee. It is such a pleasure to meet you. Why, you are just adorable! I’m so happy we’re living together and know we will be the best of friends.”
June shook Cici’s long, cool hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she replied, suddenly ashamed of her own hillbilly twang.
“Here, this is your cot,” motioned Cici, and June put her bag down beside it. “Isn’t this room just awful? I’ve tried to pretty it up a bit.” There were postcards decorating the wall over Cici’s bed. “But I’m afraid there’s only so much we can do.”
Cici sat on her bed and June did likewise on her own cot. “Where are you from?” Cici asked.
“Near Maryville.”
“Never heard of it. Is it nearby?”
“Not too far off. My mama grew up here in Oak Ridge.”
“That so? Hard to imagine what this place used to look like.”
“It looked about the same as every place else round here.” June looked around the room to a third bed. Cici followed her eyes.
“One other girl is living here.” Cici gave a quick look at the door and whispered, “I hate to say anything unkind, but between you and me, she’s just trash.”
June wondered what qualified this girl as trash but was afraid to ask. Cici went on: “The dorm is all right, though. They don’t allow men inside—what a nuisance! You should see them all huddled out front on Saturday night, waiting for their gals. The canteen across the street is a decent place, good coffee. We have it all right here. I’m sure you got the security talk in the bullpen. Let me tell you, they mean it. A girl living down the hall got fired last week. Folks said she wrote too much about town in a letter she wrote to her boyfriend overseas.”
“It doesn’t seem right they can read our letters.”
Cici shrugged. “It’s security, is all.”
“How long have you been in Oak Ridge?”
“Just two months, and they have flown by. Work keeps you busy, and the rest of the time we’re busy having fun. There are dances here almost every night—it’s like heaven. And the men! There are more men here than any other place in the country right now, except Army bases. But these men aren’t headed overseas next week; they’re staying right here! I mean, you have to be careful, of course. Some of them only have one thing on their minds, if you know what I mean.” She arched her perfectly formed brow. June nodded.
“Why, we should go out tonight to celebrate your arrival!” Cici beamed. “I bet you could pick up a soldier at the dance.”
June winced at this last comment. “Oh, I hardly know how to dance.”
“I’ll teach you! A pretty thing like you would have no problem getting a boy to teach you, either.”
“Maybe I could just watch you dance.”
“Nonsense! Being here is a golden opportunity; you mustn’t waste it. We will find you a soldier tonight.”
“I had a soldier,” she snapped, her voice louder than she meant for it to be.
Cici’s face deflated. “Oh.”
“My fiancé was killed three months ago.”
“Oh, you poor thing. I’m so sorry, and me going on this way.”
June hadn’t meant to blurt out about Ronnie that way. “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Of course. I shouldn’t have pestered you like that. But still, you should come to the dance. It’s a whole heap of fun, even if you’re not looking for a man.”
“I’d love to.” June felt tremendously glad to have a friend and something to do tonight. But the dance made her nervous, and she was glad to have an excuse not to flirt or try to catch a soldier’s eyes. With that feeling of gladness came the dull pain of guilt, which had become all too familiar.
Ronnie Lawson had lived next door to June her whole life, and they’d been best friends. They saw each other almost every day, running around the woods after school, going to the creek to swim in the summer. A couple of years ago, though, something had changed. Ronnie began to act awkwardly around her, going off to play with other boys that summer and teasing her in front of everyone when they were back at school. One day his taunts about how skinny she was were too cruel. She cried all the way home from school, and Mary found her sulking in the barn. When she told her sister what had happened, Mary acted as though it were the most natural thing in the world, her best friend’s betrayal. “He probably just likes you,” she said.
“Likes me? He sure doesn’t act like it. We always liked each other; we were best friends!”
Mary laughed at her, and June felt her already injured pride take another small blow. “Silly, he doesn’t just like you as a friend anymore. I’ll bet he’s sweet on you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you, so he’s being mean. I remember boys doing just the same thing to girls when I was in school.” She made it sound like that was so long ago, when she’d only just graduated from high school that spring.
June thought her sister was crazy at first, but slowly she did begin to notice things. Ronnie sometimes stared at her in class. One day, she was almost certain, he followed her home from school, walking a distance behind her as though trying to hide. By the next fall, he’d asked her to go steady, and how could she say no?
At first June had been terrified of Ronnie’s visits. But by spring, she was used to them. She felt comfortable in Ronnie’s arms, happy when he arrived on the porch, but never desperate to see him again, never fiery with desire. He only ever pecked at her mouth or cheek, thankfully not trying to go any further. He seemed to think she was too shy and proper to open her mouth or kiss him back. Maybe she was, yet she couldn’t dispel the feeling that if it had been another boy kissing her, she would want to throw her head back, open her mouth to him, and kiss him the way the stars did in the movies.
It was two days before their high school graduation when Ronnie came by to ask if she wanted to go on a walk. June looked to her mother for permission, who nodded, smiling.
“I’ll come back to help you with supper,” offered June.
“Take your time.”
Ronnie was silent as they set out across the field toward the stand of woods behind his house. He wasn’t a talkative sort, but June didn’t mind silence. As they neared the forest, she spoke up. “Mama wanted me to invite you and your family over for dinner after graduation. Do you think they’d like to come?”
Ronnie stopped walking. He shook his head. “I can’t. I’m catching a ride with Ollie to the bus that afternoon. We’re headed to basic training in Alabama.”
The words physically impacted her before she could even think through their meaning. She felt as though her head momentarily filled with hot air. “But . . . it’s so soon.”
“I told you I was going to enlist as soon as we graduated.”
She stared at his chubby pink face, still so childlike, not the face of a man who could fight in a war.
“I want to ask you something important,” he said, thrusting his hands into his pockets, his face growing serious.
June was scared of what the question might be, and looked down.
“June, I want you to marry me when I get back.”
He was facing her now, holding both her hands. She felt cold, even though the air was heavy and hot, and had the desire to run as far as she could.
There was no deciding. She knew the only answer she could give was yes, so she opened her mouth and let the word squeak out. He looked so happy that she couldn’t help but smile. Hi
s arms enveloped her with a new urgency and passion, his mouth fell on hers, and this time she turned her neck up and kissed him like Vivien Leigh.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her cheek.
“I love you, too,” she heard herself saying.
But even as the words hung fresh in the humid air, June was certain that she did not love him, not the way a woman is supposed to love her husband. She loved Ronnie as her best childhood friend, but she felt no passion for him as a lover, no desire to spend the rest of her life at his side.
As he walked her back to the house, she realized that the mystery of her blank future had, just like that, been filled in. She would go on living here, on a farm, with Ronnie. Her life would resemble her mother’s. It seemed simple and, instantly, unavoidable. And the thought of it made her want to cry.
Ronnie’s mother had her over for dinner the night before he was to leave. Suddenly graduation day, which she had looked forward to all year, had become an afterthought, just something else that was happening the day Ronnie left for basic training.
Ronnie lived with his mother and little sister Evie. His father had died of a heart attack a year ago, and his older brother was already overseas. The four of them sat around the table eating a feast of ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls. Maggie Lawson stared at her son as he ate, and June tried not to notice the terror in her eyes.
“Reckon it’ll be even hotter than this in Alabama,” Ronnie spoke in between chewing great mouthfuls. Neither his appetite nor his spirits seemed to be affected by his impending departure.
“Don’t suppose the Army will give you food this good,” said June, smiling appreciatively at Mrs. Lawson.
“They’ll give you Hershey bars!” said little Evie.
“I’d rather have Mama’s shoofly pie.”
Everyone was grinning at Mrs. Lawson, but the poor woman could hardly bring herself to smile back.
