by Kate Norris
But if Father could say yes, why couldn’t he have said yes here?
Seeing a better world made it so much harder to live in this one.
Before Winnie could get sucked in by her self-pity, she was distracted by a shift in her vision. The split-scene changed. Now she was in a different laboratory, not the familiar basement one at home. A lab on campus, maybe? She and Scott were wearing different clothes from the ones they were in now. It must be the same splinter, but sometime in that other world’s future.
Winnie and Scott were not alone.
The two of them were talking to an unfamiliar boy. No, not a boy. A young man Scott’s age, although he was slight, and there was something boyish about him even beyond that—a certain softness to his face and the quirk of his smile, tinged with worry, that made Winnie feel instantly fond of him with the strength and senselessness of emotions that spring up inside dreams.
And although Winnie didn’t recognize him, in that splinter future she knew who he was, and so she knew here too: this was James. When he reached out to shake her hand—they must be meeting for the first time—he saw her notice the bruises that ringed his wrist. He hastily pulled down his sleeve.
The bruises looked like fingermarks to Winnie, the ghost of someone’s too-hard grasp.
Then her vision was over. Winnie’s awareness was back in her own world, which carried on now without skipping a beat.
But what on earth had she just seen?
Winnie usually just caught a little peek at the “what if?” of another world. Her glimpse had never extended so far before. Why now? What had changed? Sometimes, Father called her ability to see splinters her “gift.” This was the first time it actually felt like one. James was in trouble; she was sure of that now. But if she went to that mixer—if she defied Father—it would set her down a path that might allow her to help him.
The thought of disobeying Father made Winnie’s stomach tremble with nerves, but this was what their night experiments were all about, wasn’t it—Winnie using the splinters to shape her own reality?
She’d never felt such a clear way forward from a splinter before. Maybe her ability defied the artifice of Father’s experiments. Or maybe Father was right. Maybe she’d never wanted it badly enough. But now . . . she longed to help Scott—to impress him into loving her.
Those bruises on James’s arm—how far into the future was that? Was someone hurting him right now? What was Project Nightingale, and why did Scott suspect their involvement?
Winnie hoped some of her curiosity would be sated at the party the next night, but she had a feeling that this mystery would deepen before it unraveled.
CHAPTER FIVE
They finished with their experiment for the evening soon after.
“Father, you look tired,” Winnie said. “Why don’t Scott and I finish cleaning up?”
She wanted an excuse to talk to Scott alone, but the suggestion didn’t come out as casually as she had hoped. Winnie started disassembling the cathode ray tube with intense focus so she wouldn’t have to meet her father’s eyes.
She mentally braced for Father to reject the idea, or worse, to question her motivation, but he just said, “Fine. Give that a good dusting and pack it with the chamois when you’re done.” Then he left.
Once Father was up the stairs and out of earshot, Scott smiled and said, “Oh well. It was worth a try.”
“But what about James?”
Scott’s face grew serious. “I don’t want you to worry about that—I might be jumping to conclusions. In any case, I’ll get to the bottom of it myself.”
For a moment, she was tempted to tell Scott that she could see splinters and explain what she’d just seen. But although she often fantasized about confiding in Scott, the reality of sharing her oddness with anyone was terrifying. What if he didn’t believe her? Or worse, what if he did, and started looking at her the same way Father did—like a scientific mystery, or a tool for his own ends?
And that wasn’t even considering the danger she’d be in if more people found out about her ability.
The world was at war, and every action was now measured on a single scale: did it help the Allies, or hurt them? The groceries you bought, how often you drove your car, even how you disposed of tin cans and bacon grease—all of it was a weapon, either against the Germans or for them.
As a German immigrant, those scales were already set against Winnie. If people knew about her ability, they might expect her to be able to control the splinter possibilities, just like Father did. They might expect her to sway the war in the Allies’ favor. When she told them she couldn’t, that she had never seen a splinter beyond the scale of her own small life, what would people think then? What if they thought she was choosing not to help? Or worse—what if they thought she was trying to help the Germans?
No. Her ability had to remain secret. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d seen anything that would help them find James. She’d just seen enough to know that for once she needed to be brave.
“I’m going to the party with you,” Winnie said. “Sometimes my friend Dora and I go see a picture on the weekend. I’ll say I’m doing that, but I’ll go with you instead.”
“I can’t let you—”
“Scott, I know you,” Winnie said, cutting off his objections. “You wouldn’t think your friend was in danger if he weren’t. You wouldn’t think there was something suspicious about this Project Nightingale if there weren’t. So, I’m going with you, and we’ll get to the bottom of this together.”
He looked at her for a moment. Winnie could see uncertainty on his face, and gratitude—and some other feeling she couldn’t quite name, one that made her heart jump into her throat with giddy excitement.
Finally, Scott smiled and spoke.
“You’re risking a lot for some kid you don’t know.”
“Not for a kid I don’t know,” she said. If she could work up the nerve to defy Father, then she could say this. “For you.”
I would do anything for you. Winnie thought this so strongly that she felt like maybe he could hear it, even though she didn’t dare speak it out loud.
Scott looked at her so intently, and they were standing so close to each other, that for one wild moment, Winnie thought he might be about to kiss her. But instead of leaning in, Scott took a step back and allowed the moment to harmlessly discharge.
And yet, there was a little hitch in his breath that let Winnie know he’d felt that electricity too.
* * *
• • •
That evening, Winnie had dinner in the kitchen with Brunhilde while Father worked in his study, as usual. She might have seemed calm from the outside, chitchatting with Brunhilde and eating mashed potatoes, but inside Winnie thrummed with excitement. She was going to defy Father! She was going to a party with Scott!
After they finished eating, Brunhilde retreated upstairs to get ready for bed, and Winnie set about washing their few dishes. She had just finished drying the last glass when Father came in, footsteps nearly silent in his suede-soled slippers.
Winnie’s stomach gave a nervous twist. Father usually worked in his study later than this. Was Mama alive for him tonight too? Would this be a night of splinter experiments?
“I’m making some tea,” Father said. He sounded calm enough. “Would you like a cup?”
Winnie nodded cautiously. “Yes,” she said, then added a hasty “Thank you.”
He gestured to the kitchen table, and Winnie took a seat. She watched as he took a tin of loose-leaf tea from the cupboard—some herbal concoction their German greengrocer swore by for calming the mind—and measured a few scoops into the pot, then set the kettle to boil.
Once it was ready, he put two cups of tea on the table, adding a heavy pour of kirsch to his own.
“You think me overly strict, I imagine.”
Yes! Of cour
se she did! But she couldn’t just say that.
Winnie added a small spoonful of sugar to her cup and stirred, trying to buy time as she considered how to respond.
“It isn’t like we want to go out dancing. It’s just a university event.”
“I’d rather see you at some nightclub than around those people. These professors are all vultures—and Hawthorn is one of the worst.”
But it was fine for Scott to take their classes? Fine for Father himself to work with them? Winnie was certain that if she were male, he would already be planning which courses she should take when she was inevitably admitted to Columbia.
It wasn’t fair.
“When she was my age, Mama was allowed—” Winnie stopped when she saw the look on Father’s face.
He took a breath, seemingly to calm himself, then a long sip of his tea.
“I know you don’t understand the dangers young women face in this world. I consider it a triumph that you don’t. Honestly, Winifred? I hope you never do.” He shoved his chair back. “Goodnight,” he said, then left without another word.
Winnie frowned. He wanted to protect her. He wasn’t trying to make her unhappy; he was trying to keep her safe. But his concern was misplaced. She wasn’t the child he seemed to think she was.
Winnie picked up the kitchen telephone and dialed Dora.
“Vandorf residence,” Dora’s housekeeper, Louisa, answered briskly. “May I ask who’s calling?”
The woman had been Dora’s nanny when she was younger, but with Dora’s parents gone so frequently (and a bit helpless even when they were there), Louisa had been kept on, becoming something like the household sergeant, managing the various drivers and cooks and maids needed to keep daily life luxe for the Vandorfs.
“Hello, Louisa! It’s just Winnie. Could I talk to Dora for a minute? I promise I won’t keep her long. I know it’s late.”
Louisa got Dora on the phone, and Winnie explained what Scott had asked her to do.
“You’ll help?” Winnie asked, a bit breathless with the excitement of it all. “I can pretend we’re at the movies together tomorrow night?”
“Oh! Oh yes! You can even get ready here. This is so exciting! I’m sure Mother has a cocktail dress you can borrow. She’s tiny, like you.”
“She won’t mind?”
Dora gave a sad little laugh. “They’re abroad, as usual. I don’t remember where. Switzerland? Somewhere Mother wanted to bring her furs. So no, I don’t think it’ll be an issue.”
Dora never let this sadness show at school. She glossed over the loneliness of her parents’ travels, and focused on the freedom their absence allowed her. It was different with Winnie. She supposed it was because she could commiserate somewhat. Both girls knew what it was like to miss their mother.
“Okay. Thank you, Dora.”
“It’s finally happening! I’m so excited for you, Winnie!”
Winnie smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
It felt wrong to be this excited when Scott’s friend was missing. But tomorrow, Winnie would see Scott out of his lab coat. Out of the lab! They would walk down city streets together. The two of them would be partners out there in the world.
It felt like the beginning of something.
It felt like the beginning of something wonderful.
CHAPTER SIX
Winnie and Dora walked up bustling Second Ave. on Friday night, heading toward the soda shop where Winnie had agreed to meet Scott.
“Nervous about your date?” Dora asked.
“It’s not a date,” Winnie said, reminding Dora for the nth time that day. Reminding herself. “It’s an investigation.”
Dora’s excitement about what she insisted on calling a date made it hard for Winnie to keep her own jitters in check, but Winnie was still glad she’d told her friend. There were so many things she had to keep inside. She didn’t want to add another.
“I’ll take that as a yes. But you shouldn’t be! Just be yourself. How could Scott not adore you then?”
Winnie reached out and gave Dora’s arm an affectionate squeeze. For as long as Winnie’d known her, Dora had always had a soft spot for the underdog.
“That’s sweet,” Winnie said, then looked around nervously. “But don’t say his name so loud!” She knew it was silly to worry that a friend of his might overhear, but she couldn’t help it.
Dora wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You aren’t really mad?”
“No. But how I feel—it isn’t a joke to me.”
Dora gave her a squeeze, then let her go. “I know, doll-baby.”
But Dora didn’t really know. How could she? Any boy would be thrilled to find out Dora liked him. As sweet as she was to say that Winnie would charm Scott just by being herself, there had always been people who had no problem disliking the authentic Winnie.
Dora couldn’t understand because she had an ease with people that Winnie did not share, and beauty as the cherry on top. Winnie took time to warm up to people, and they to her. She knew her shyness sometimes made her seem cold, even judgmental, but being aware of this flaw didn’t bring her any closer to being able to fix it. In fact, she wasn’t sure it could be fixed—that it wasn’t just part of who she was, for better or worse.
They reached the soda shop, and Winnie could see it was packed with the typical Friday night crowd. She paused outside the door.
“Well, I guess this is where you leave me,” Winnie said, rocking back on her heels nervously. “Thanks for your help.”
Dora laughed. “Not a chance!” she said. “If you think I’m leaving without even laying eyes on lover boy, you’re crazy.”
Winnie sighed. She knew Dora well enough to know there was no point arguing.
The girls walked into the soda shop and pushed through the crowd of people milling around, sipping drinks, to order at the counter.
“Chocolate egg cream for me,” Dora told the soda jerk, who hurried off to make her drink without even checking to see if Winnie wanted anything.
This sort of response was so typical that it didn’t even register with Dora, but Winnie always noticed.
“What are you going to have, Winnie?” Dora asked cheerfully. “Some fries? A chocolate malt?”
The mention of food made Winnie queasy. Although she had skipped dinner, her stomach was all raw, roiling nerves.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, then don’t do it for your stomach—do it for my ego. That little waist of yours does a number on it.”
Winnie rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure—because your shape just drives the boys away.”
Dora had curves like Mae West. She often got double takes from boys and grown men alike, and she knew it.
“Keep in mind, I have help,” Dora said. “As Mother always says, you can’t land a first-rate husband with a second-rate girdle!”
The soda jerk returned with Dora’s drink. When she paid, he tilted his paper hat back to a jaunty angle and said, “Enjoy!” with a wink.
The girls turned their backs to the counter in search of a table, but none were free. A pair of boys at a corner table saw them scanning the shop. One got up and sauntered over. He was wearing a varsity sweater, and his blond hair was immaculately brushed and shiny with Brylcreem. Winnie took an immediate dislike to him.
“You’re welcome to sit with us,” he said, “if you want.”
Winnie gave Dora’s arm a little squeeze of protest. She was ignored.
“Well, sure!” Dora said, batting her lashes prettily. “That’s awful nice of you.”
They followed him back to his table. Dora slid into the booth after him, and Winnie sat across from her, next to a bored-looking boy who glanced over at her for a second and nodded an unenthusiastic hello. Apparently, he was as thrilled to be there as Winnie was.
“I’m Matty,” the blond
said, “and that’s Roger.”
“Dora, and Winnie.”
“What’s a girl like you doing out alone on a Friday night?” Matty asked Dora.
Winnie resisted the urge to point out that Dora hadn’t exactly been alone.
“I figure any girls who need dates to have a good time must be pretty dull themselves,” Dora said. “And we don’t have any trouble having fun just the two of us, right, Winnie?”
Winnie nodded and glanced over at the clock behind the counter, cursing herself for being so nervous about being late to her rendezvous with Scott that she had instead arrived quite early.
“What, you bored?” the friend, Roger, asked her.
Winnie shrugged, aware that she was being a bit rude, but not really caring. She wished Dora had just left her to wait alone. No boys would have approached her, and she could have waited for Scott in peace.
“She’s a quiet one, isn’t she?”
“She can hear just fine, though,” Winnie said icily, trying unsuccessfully to keep the slight German lilt from creeping into her voice.
“Say, you aren’t a Kraut, are ya?” Roger asked suspiciously.
“I’m an American citizen,” Winnie said haughtily, then reluctantly added, “who immigrated from Germany.”
“So . . . yes?”
Winnie could think of no quick comeback, so she just glowered at him.
Dora gave Matty an annoyed look, and he quickly said, “Aw, leave her alone, Roge.”
“I’m just going to go wait for Scott outside,” Winnie said.
“Stay!” Dora said. “Please?”
“Yes,” Matty echoed disinterestedly, “please stay.”
Winnie shook her head and stood.
“Fine,” Dora said, glaring at her. Then to the boys, she said, “It was nice meeting you.” She paused for a moment—waiting for Matty to ask for her number, Winnie suspected—but the boys just nodded goodbye.
“Gee, thanks a lot,” Dora said, once they were out on the street.
“They were obnoxious.”