Nona rested her chin on her knees and offered only her undivided attention.
Audrey continued. “Until I met you, and you made me look at myself again.”
“So is that good?”
Audrey shrugged. “It’s . . . uncomfortable. Makes me realize how strange it is to rather be thinking about production numbers and war than to think about what I want in my life.”
“Not so strange,” Nona said. “You got a guy over there in this war, of course you’re thinking more about that than yourself.”
Truth. Just a little, just enough. She deserved that, any good friend deserved that. “I,” Audrey began, but the usual warning caused her to hesitate. She began again. “I don’t have a guy over there.” She watched Nona’s expression change—an opening, a widening—more inquisitive than questioning, if Audrey read it correctly. “A lot of people, like Mac and June and Janice, don’t understand why a woman would choose to work in a bomber plant when she could more easily support the war at home. But, if you’ve got a guy serving, or kids to support, it’s a lot easier for them to justify it. It’s only for now, only until the war is over, and then everything will return to normal. It’s darn close to acceptable,” she said and smiled.
“So you lied to them.”
Audrey nodded. “I lie to a lot of people.”
“But not me?”
“No, I won’t lie to you.” A promise, said out loud now, that she had every intention of keeping. But tonight’s offering of truth was all she was willing to chance right now. “Your friendship means a lot to me,” she said, swinging her legs off the bed. “And I don’t want you to hate me tomorrow if we don’t get some good sleep tonight.” She pulled the extra bedding off the end of the bed. “Jack said that Mac is pushing some pretty crazy numbers for us to meet—and not just for tomorrow. Numbers we’re going to need to meet every day. They need more planes and like Jack says—”
“By God, we’re gonna give ’em to ’em.”
It brought a wide smile to Audrey’s face.
Heavy clouds muted the moonlight finding its way through the slit between the drape panels covering the window. The room was darker than usual, and quieter than usual. The neighbors on the other side of the wall had gone to bed early. The only sounds were the ticking of the alarm clock on the floor next to her pillow and Nona’s soft rhythmic breathing from the bed next to her.
Audrey opened her eyes again, trying to keep the vision from haunting still another night. Sometimes it worked, when she took inventory of her blessings—her own space, her health, her work, her friend, her choices—forcing them to soothe the pain of the memories. Other times she would listen to the radio, and let the company of now-familiar voices distract her. She would fill her thoughts trying to imagine what they looked like while they talked her to sleep. But times like tonight, despite being exhausted, nothing stopped the memory, or the vision.
Blue eyes twinkling with laughter stirred wondrous sensations that she couldn’t stop, started a love they couldn’t stop. An all-consuming love, exciting and toxic. It took them by surprise, sunk its barbs so deeply that neither of them could pull away. They both knew that there would be no other love for them. They wanted nothing more, nothing less. It was this love or nothing. And they claimed it, claimed each other for as long as they could, never believing it would end.
The vision, so close to her that it was almost tactile, tricked her into believing it hadn’t ended. And with the vision came the memories, the only thing that tamed the pain—beginning with those sweetest of all, the beginning of love.
It was her eyes, it had started with her eyes. She used them better than words. They pulled Audrey in, soft blue, sending shocks through her chest. She couldn’t look away as they reached in, asking for permission, answering with a kiss. Audrey closed her eyes. She was there with her in the dim light of Velma’s bedroom, answering the questions for the first time. It would be a woman, yes, only a woman. This woman. Velma.
She had loved the way Velma laughed, light bursts of joy, and the way she whispered her name. She had loved the quickness of her mind and the way her skin felt under her touch. Tonight she would remember the way love felt, and the comfort of falling asleep in Velma’s arms. It would bring her peace until she slept.
Chapter 8
It was totally unexpected, the way being with so many other girls living the same shame, facing the same decisions, had changed her focus and centered Ruth’s world in a different way. The grand Crittenton plan was for her to focus on her own shortcomings so that they could fulfill their mission of reshaping the wayward and educating the ignorant. What she found, though, tucked discreetly between the tight daily regimen and beyond the demeaning atmosphere, was that focusing on something and someone other than herself was what made her stronger.
Susan had been the start of it with her easy manner, talking and listening and winning the confidence of those around her. Ruth, too, was a good listener and it didn’t take long before she knew the stories. The whys repeated themselves over and over—he was going off to war and might never come back; we were, we are in love; it was only one time. Predictable, too, were the questions and the fears. Would people know when they went back home? How painful would childbirth be? Would she ever be able to forgive herself for giving her baby away? Girls from different states with more in common than they were different, except for one girl.
“It’s Amelia,” Susan said, walking quickly past Ruth on her way toward the back entrance. “There’s something wrong.”
Ruth followed on her heels. “What happened?”
Susan shook her head, then spoke over her shoulder. “She left the laundry room crying.”
Ruth caught up with Susan at the back door. “Did someone say something?”
“I don’t know. I was on my way to meet her and saw her running out of the room. At fourteen she’s not going to handle things as well as us old ladies.”
“I never felt so old,” Ruth replied. “It gives me perspective, though.”
“There she is,” Susan said, pointing toward the far edge of the yard.
They walked quickly across freshly cut grass until they caught up with Amelia. Neither of them had to say a word. As soon as she realized they were beside her, Amelia turned into Susan’s arms.
“It’s okay,” Susan said softly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“What has you so upset?” asked Ruth as she stroked the long, honey-colored hair. “What happened?”
Amelia stepped back and wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. “I just want to disappear. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere.”
“Well, you are not the first girl to feel like that,” Ruth offered. “I’ve had those moments, too, and they are only that, moments.”
Susan smoothed the hair from Amelia’s forehead. “Come on,” she said, “let’s walk back and sit outside to talk so that they don’t think we’re trying to escape.”
The corners of Ruth’s mouth curled into a half-smile. “I wonder if anyone has ever escaped from this place.”
The three of them walked slowly, silently back to the blue metal chairs at the back of the building. They seated themselves closely together and spoke in quiet voices.
Ruth began. “The most important thing we can do while we’re here is to watch out for each other. Agreed?” Both Susan and Amelia nodded. “I’ll make a pledge right now,” she said, putting her hand palm down in the circle of space between them. “I will listen with an open heart, and keep to myself anything I’m told, and help you both in any way I can.”
Susan placed her hand on Ruth’s and added, “I pledge the same.”
Her hand hesitated for only a second, then Amelia moved it quickly over the others. “Me, too,” she said. “I pledge, too.”
It had taken weeks, a long time in Crittenton count. Weeks of watching a shy, frightened young girl try to find her way alone in a place that reminded her daily of what an embarrassment she was and how she
was responsible for the condition she was in. And as difficult as it was for Ruth to manage her own adjustment, it was infinitely more difficult to watch someone like Amelia. So, during that time, the two old ladies of the Home had watched out for the youngest. Now, finally, maybe she would trust them with the demons that frightened her.
“When I first got here,” Susan began, “there was only Mrs. Stranton to welcome me and show me around. If I hadn’t already been frightened and unsure, I sure would have been, only minutes after walking in the front door. As soon as I settled some, I promised myself that the next girl through that door would see a friendlier face. Mrs. Stranton didn’t seem to mind, and I found out quickly that making other girls feel better, in turn, made me feel better. I’m going to hope that someone takes over for me after I leave.” She met Amelia’s eyes briefly before they dropped away.
“I can’t imagine my first day here without you,” Ruth directed at Susan. “And every day since, you’ve made it tolerable. More than that, you’ve made me feel like maybe the whole world hasn’t turned its back on me.”
“You make me feel like that, too,” Amelia said. “Both of you do.”
“Then you know you can trust us,” Susan replied.
“Things aren’t as sad or impossible,” Ruth added, “or scary when you share them.”
“And I feel horrible,” Susan said reaching for Amelia’s hand, “seeing you cry, and wondering if there was something I could have done, maybe to stop it or keep it from happening again.”
Amelia shook her head. “There was nothing you could do. It was Mrs. Stranton.”
“She works here only to torture us,” Susan said.
Amelia nodded. “She said no one will ever have sympathy for women full of selfishness who try to ruin the lives of young men.”
“Sure,” Ruth said, her words oozing with sarcasm, “we put ourselves in this condition just to ruin some guy’s life.”
Amelia’s eyes moistened and seemed to beg for belief. “But I didn’t.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Susan said. “I dare say that none of us here did.”
“I was only being sarcastic, Amelia. They can call us what they want, Able Grables, sharecroppers, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make it so.”
“We’re here for a reason,” Susan added, “so that the people back home don’t know. Sometimes it seems like a long time, but if we put up with how they treat us here, we can go home and start fresh.”
Amelia lowered her head. “Maybe you can.”
Words Ruth had hoped not to hear. They all but verified the fear she and Susan had for Amelia. “Are you afraid that the boy is still going to be around? Are you worried that you won’t be able to avoid him?”
“No.” It was a fierceness of tone that they had not heard from her. Still, tears welled in Amelia’s eyes. “You don’t understand. No one does.”
“Then tell us,” Susan said. “We want to understand.”
Amelia wiped the wetness from flushed cheeks with both hands.
“It’s alright, Amelia,” Ruth said. “You can tell us, whatever it is.”
“You won’t believe me,” she said, peering at them through watery blue eyes. “No one will.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t we believe you?” Ruth asked.
“If my mother doesn’t believe me, why would anyone else?”
“We’re going through this with you,” Susan replied. “I think that allows us to believe things that others don’t understand.”
“You can trust us,” Ruth added. “We need to trust each other.”
What had begun as a whisper, connecting Amelia’s age, her slight build, her shyness, was now a belief Ruth could no longer keep quiet. If Amelia couldn’t say it, Ruth would ask it. “There’s a big difference between a boy talking you into doing something, and physically forcing you to do something you didn’t want to do.” Ruth waited but Amelia refused to meet her eyes. “Is that what happened, Amelia?”
Tears now streamed down Amelia’s cheeks. Her eyes remained down, her nod unnecessary.
“Geez,” Susan whispered.
“No, just say it, Susan,” Ruth replied. “Jesus. Because whoever it is, he needs to answer to the Big Man.”
Susan added, “He should be answering to someone. Is he a lot older than you?”
Another nod. Eyes refusing contact. Tears turning to soft sobs.
All of it fuel that sparked Ruth’s need for answers. “And you told your mother, told her who it was? Did she confront him? Did he deny it?”
Tinges of pink now framed the blue of Amelia’s eyes as they met Ruth’s and then Susan’s.
“It’s okay,” Susan said. “You don’t need to say any more if you don’t want.”
Ruth watched what she assumed was relief as Amelia closed her eyes and took deeper, longer breaths to regain control. Susan was probably right, they had pushed hard enough, expected maybe more than a frightened young girl could manage. The anger that had gained its validity needed to stay right where it was, with Ruth.
But her assumption was wrong. And so was Susan’s.
“Nothing will change,” Amelia said. “He’s still going to be there, and they still won’t believe me.”
“Who is he?” Ruth asked.
“My uncle,” she replied. “He lives right next door.”
“Sweet Jesus.” Ruth shot an angry look at Susan. “No wonder.”
Susan leaned close and wrapped her arms around Amelia, who was crying softly. “Thank you,” she said softly. “We’re right here. You can trust us with anything.” Susan met Ruth’s eyes and read her lips, What are we going to do? Her answer, mouthed silently, I don’t know.
Chapter 9
No doubt every girl in the Home held some anger, mostly at herself. Each time they looked in a mirror, did they see the weakness, the indecision, the doubts and fears that put them there? Did they see what Ruth saw? Maybe they did. But could any of them imagine what Amelia must see? And the anger that Ruth felt now had to be harnessed, fashioned somehow into useful, constructive energy, for Amelia’s sake.
For the next few weeks both Susan and Ruth worked to do just that. Their own worries were set aside as they found a new focus—protection took precedence. They had become a force, one that Amelia depended on and one that even Mrs. Stranton couldn’t affect. Every day they claimed their back-row seats in class and sandwiched their young charge between them. With their heads down and pencils deceptively busy they kept Amelia’s attention on mocking notes and drawings and off unwarranted reprimands and demeaning advice. Chat time was religiously kept every evening and questions were answered as if from experience—confident and reassuring. Confidence garnered for Amelia. It was about her, for her.
And it was working. The time had allowed her trust in them to set up solid, for smiles to finally ease into her days. Young fears, different from Ruth’s or Susan’s, now had a place to rest, a place where even probables were hushed. She was comfortable and safe.
But like everything else about being at the Home, it was measured in months, months of separation, months of pregnancy, months of friendship. Measured, anguished over, trusted in, and then gone. That morning, what had only been real in delayed thought, had become gut-wrenchingly real. Susan had delivered, and today she was going home.
Susan sat on the edge of her bed, everything she had come with packed once again in the suitcase next to her. She had readied herself in the ways she could, with traveling dress and open-toed shoes, hair brushed and shiny and pulled up neatly on the sides. But her eyes said the unsayable.
Ruth saw it, the trepidation, the sadness. And the same worry that this day was waving like a white flag. There wasn’t much more Susan would be able to do now. Her support, her strength, her advice would be greatly diminished within minutes. She knew that.
It was up to Ruth to face it, to own the weight of it, to give in to the reality of it. It was her turn to face the fears, the decisions, the unknown. And she would, just as Susan had
. But could Amelia?
“Was it a boy or a girl?” Amelia asked, leaning close to Susan on the bed.
“A boy,” she replied. “They wouldn’t tell me, but Nurse Lillian whispered to me before I left the hospital.” She took Amelia’s hand. “They’re afraid knowing will make us change our minds, and try to find them later.”
“We’ll never know, will we?” Amelia asked. “What their lives are going to be like, what—”
“It’s probably better that we don’t know,” Ruth said.
Susan brought her eyes back to Ruth’s. “I thought so, too, before he was born.”
Ruth’s focus changed quickly. She didn’t believe for a moment what she had just said. She had said it for Amelia’s sake, to in some way lessen the worry and hopefully ease past today with as little anxiety as possible. But maybe Susan was right, to let Amelia start dealing with the inevitable now. It wasn’t anything that any of them could avoid. “Of course we’re going to wonder,” she said. “It’s a natural thing to wonder.” She slid the wooden straight-back chair closer to the bed and sat for what she knew was their last chance to really talk. “Every night I lie awake trying to decide what I should do, what will be best in the long term. Susan, you and I have talked about it a lot and I’ve talked with Nurse Lillian, too. Do I fight to keep my baby, even though I don’t know where I’ll live or how I would provide for a child? Is it fair to keep my baby from having a good home and parents who can provide everything that I can’t? You were right, it’s not fair, it’s selfish.”
“Sometimes,” Susan added, “love just isn’t enough. It’s better that we make the sacrifice than to expect our babies to.”
“We can’t feel bad about our decision,” Ruth said, taking Amelia’s other hand. “We’ll all wonder about them, I’m sure, forever. But we have to remind ourselves that we did what was best for our babies.”
The Liberators of Willow Run Page 6