The Liberators of Willow Run

by Marianne K. Martin

  Chapter 30

  The notices, with a not-that-close sketch of of Amelia, were distributed in communities along major roads leaving the Jackson area. There was one stuck on the front window of The Bomber, a reminder to Ruth every day that things were not over. Whether she was a runaway or a kidnap victim, a young girl was missing. Every day for the past three days there had been notices in the newspapers and spots on the radio. The attention didn’t rise to the level of the Lindbergh kidnapping, but it was enough to keep Ruth on edge.

  They had taken Lillian’s warning seriously—that the police had Ruth’s name and that she must be prepared for them to find her, and for their questions. And they were prepared—for that, and more.

  Ruth worried about Audrey being implicated, but it only made sense for the car to be kept at Audrey’s. It certainly could not be sitting in Mrs. Welly’s driveway, they couldn’t have the police questioning her about it. It seemed that the best scenario was for them each to stay at their own place and to see each other only at the restaurant. They had thought it out carefully, thoroughly. Ruth was prepared. At least, she thought she was.

  Mrs. Welly had joined the ladies at Mrs. Bradley’s to write Victory letters to the soldiers. What would once have been welcome—an evening alone—now felt lonely and empty. She wondered if nights away from each other felt as empty for Audrey. Nights together had quickly defined their needs, their desires, blending them into a beautiful, heated blur. They depended on those nights, tucked away from the world, stripped of pretense. They bared their bodies and their souls as naturally as a river caressing its destined path. Life was as it should be in their tiny space in the world.

  Ruth wandered into the kitchen for the second time, stood there for a moment, and left again without getting anything to eat. She closed the book she’d been trying to read, left it on the dining table, and settled herself on the davenport in the living room. With a click of the radio knob she attempted to cut the unnerving silence in the house. There was, she decided, a difference between quiet silence and lonely silence. And she had realized something else as well. The freedom she had been seeking from restriction and expectation, the freedom that she had found, breathed its fullest, deepest breath when she shared it with Audrey. Ruth leaned her head against the back of the davenport and took a long, deep breath. There was no feeling like it.

  The rapping on the front door jarred her from her thoughts. She jumped up from the davenport, her heart pounding hard. A quick look between the drapes confirmed her fear. She had gone over the possible questions with Audrey, practiced the answers, practiced how to answer. She was prepared, but still her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob. Not prepared for the shallow, shaky breaths as she opened the door. And definitely not for the tremor in her legs that threatened to fold them beneath her. Facing her was a State Police officer.

  “Are you Ruth Evans?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Ruth replied, and then the reply she had decided on if she was alone. “Is Mrs. Welly all right?”

  Her worried tone and wide eyes softened his stern expression. “Mrs. Welly?”

  “My landlady, Edna Welly, is she okay?”

  “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m not here about your landlady. Are you Ruth Evans?”

  “Yes,” she said, still with a concerned look. “What’s this about?”

  “I need to ask you some questions. May I come in?”

  “Yes,” she replied, “of course.”

  He removed his cap and stepped inside. Ruth struggled to slow her breathing as the officer retrieved a small pad of paper and pencil from his shirt pocket.

  “Do you know a young girl named Amelia Garrett?” he began.

  “Yes,” she said, allowing the concern to return to her voice.

  “How do you know Amelia?”

  She hated the flush creeping over her face, the lack of control to stop it—betrayal of an embarrassment she thought she had left behind. “We were at the Crittenton Home in Jackson during the same time.” Then the tactic Audrey had suggested. “Is something wrong? Has something happened to Amelia?”

  “We’re trying to locate her,” he said. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  And now the lies, the ones she had practiced with Audrey. Don’t hesitate, don’t avoid eye contact. “I said goodbye to her at the Home after I delivered. She wasn’t due for a few more months.” As close to the truth as she could keep it. “She should have just delivered, I think.” Stop talking. Just answer his questions.

  “Were you close to Amelia when you were at the Home?”

  He’s going to know the answer to that from Mrs. Stranton. “Yes. She was so young and so scared that some of us older girls tried to look after her.”

  “Did she tell you about a boyfriend?”

  “No, she was too shy to talk about personal things.”

  “Was there anything she said that would make you think that she wanted to run away from her family?”

  Ruth shook her head and kept eye contact. “No.”

  “Has she called or written to you?”

  “No,” Ruth replied. “I hope she is all right.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might be or who else she may have contacted?”

  Another shake of her head. “No.” The acid in her stomach began to burn. He thinks that she ran away. Isn’t that best? No criminal to look for in a kidnapping, only a boyfriend who will be in a load of trouble if found. Not two conniving women who made sure she ran away. Deep breath, deep breath. This is going to be okay.

  “You say that Amelia hasn’t contacted you,” he tried again and locked his eyes directly on Ruth’s.

  “No,” she said, trying hard to keep from pulling her eyes away from the cool scrutiny. “I mean yes, she hasn’t.” How many more lies? How many more ways can he reword the same questions? He’s looking for a slipup. Of course he is.

  He was unrelenting. “And you didn’t remember her saying anything about not wanting to go back home or wanting to be with her boyfriend? A name she may have mentioned in passing?”

  Don’t hesitate. “No, I never heard her say anything like that.” Not exactly a lie, is it? Reading it instead of hearing it? Did it really matter anymore?

  Her stomach burned, the acid roiled. She was sure that she would throw up before he left. The bitterness bubbled up to her throat. She swallowed to stop it.

  The officer looked up from his pad. “If she contacts you,” he said as if he knew she would, “you need to call us.” He tore a piece of paper from the pad and handed it to Ruth. “If you hear anything,” he insisted, “call.”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied. Anything, she’d say anything right now if it would make him leave. She watched, her breath short of exhale as he turned toward the door. Her heart spiked a beat when he hesitated, the screen door half open, and turned to face her again. He looked at her as if there was one more question he should ask. Ruth refused to exhale.

  “Good night, ma’am,” he said with a nod and left.

  Her relief was audible. She locked the door and leaned her back against it. Not until she heard the car pull away did she scratch out a note and leave it on the table for Mrs. Welly. Getting out of the house, shedding the worry was her only thought. Upstairs she gathered her toiletries and makeup and packed them with a clean uniform in her overnight bag. It wasn’t until she grasped the knob of the side door that a thought stopped her. What if the police were waiting to see if she would leave, to see if she did indeed know where Amelia was? More than anything she just wanted to be with Audrey, to say what she needed to say, to hear what she needed to hear—safe, absorbing Audrey’s strength and her confidence. But it would have to wait, an hour, maybe more.

  More it was, Ruth erring on the side of caution. It was dark and late before she was able to feel the strength of Audrey’s arms around her.

  “You’re shaking,” Audrey said, holding Ruth tightly and pressing her cheek to the sleek, dark hair pulled ti
ght over Ruth’s ear.

  “Am I?” Ruth replied.

  “You are. Are you okay?” She pulled away to look into Ruth’s eyes. “Did he ask the questions we thought he would?”

  Ruth nodded. “Over and over,” she said, “as if he knew I was lying, as if by asking them a little differently he would get the truth.”

  “That’s what he is trained to do. But you stuck to your answers, didn’t you?” Ruth nodded. “Then everything’s going to be fine. Come on and sit down, it’s going to be fine.” She took Ruth’s hand and settled next to her on the edge of the bed.

  “I never thought it would be so hard to lie like that. I was a wreck, Audrey, and not just emotionally. I was a physical wreck.” She shook her head. “I really hate this. I am a terrible liar.”

  Audrey sat cross-legged on the bed facing Ruth, and took her face in her hands. What she saw in Ruth’s eyes confirmed the fear Audrey had only recently been able to override. Not being able to lie, she knew firsthand, was dangerous, emotionally and otherwise.

  “It’ll get better,” Audrey said. “It’ll be easier, it will.” More a plea than a promise.

  “Lying about Amelia? It’s over, isn’t it?” Ruth asked. “Please tell me it’s over.”

  The feeling punched Audrey in the gut and scared the hell out of her. The eyes she saw weren’t Ruth’s, the naivety not hers at all, but Velma’s. Her worst fear coming true, that Ruth like Velma could not, would not understand that lying would keep them safe.

  “Not yet,” Audrey replied. “The lies are keeping Amelia safe. Hopefully those lies have done their job and you won’t have to worry about the police now. But neither of us are done with lies. Lies are what will keep us safe.”

  “But not like this.” Her tone seemed to lack conviction. “Stomach threatening to give up anything it’s got, nerves making my hands shake and my legs quiver. Not like that.”

  “It gets easier, Ruth.”

  “How many lies does that take? And what does that say about us when we do find it easy?”

  Ruth’s voice now had a conviction that made Audrey uncomfortable. It was clear that the lies necessary to save Amelia were singular, and to Ruth, unavoidable. But other lies, those impending, less imminent—did she see them as avoidable? Those lies Audrey knew were not.

  “How ever long it takes,” Audrey said. “And it will mean that we’re comfortable protecting ourselves.” She stood to try to calm the agitation. “It means we know what the risks are if we don’t do whatever we have to, to protect who we are.”

  “So we lie about who we are.”

  “Yes,” Audrey replied. “We lie—about anything that could hurt us, to anyone who could hurt us.”

  Ruth reached out, grasped Audrey’s hand to bring her closer. The worry was evident in Audrey’s eyes, direct and unwavering. “I don’t want to worry you—about me, about us,” Ruth said. “Velma will always be a reminder. I will never risk what we have together. I love you, Audrey. More than anything. I’m just afraid of giving up too much of who we are.”

  “Like?”

  She pulled Audrey down to sit next to her again. “Like not compromising our independence. I like having my own money. I like driving. I like going anywhere I want without a man. I like working.” Ruth gently stroked Audrey’s cheek. “I always want to be the woman you fell in love with that day in the restaurant.”

  Audrey placed her hand over Ruth’s and held it to her cheek. “You will be, always. And I want the same things you do.”

  “Then you can’t worry us into a corner. We can’t let what happened to Velma make us afraid to live our lives.”

  “But there are going to be times when we have to lie, when we have to protect ourselves, even when it goes against everything we believe in.”

  “So where’s the line?” Ruth asked. “Where do the edges of us touch the edges of who we’re supposed to be?”

  Audrey pulled Ruth to her and buried her face into the warmth of Ruth’s neck. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  Chapter 31

  August 1944

  Time passed, weeks into months, without normal measure. Routine markers of work schedules, Monopoly and ice cream nights, and paydays were replaced by more important markers. While Audrey and her coworkers were posting amazing production numbers sending a finished bomber out the door at a clip of one every hour, the news reports from the war fronts marked what was beginning to look like a war winding down. That month alone, Allied forces reached north Italy and breached the Gothic Line, Germany’s last strategic position there; forced the Japanese into total retreat in India; and liberated Guam to gain control of the Marianas.

  It was a wave of high hope, coupled with an emotional high that Audrey would never have predicted—Amelia was safe, and Audrey blessed with a love that had brought her through the fog and the doubt, and filled her days and nights with light and brilliance.

  There hadn’t been a moment yet when Audrey wondered how long it would last, not a night when she lay alone in fear that it was only a beautiful dream. Her life, her love with Ruth was real, and more than she had thought possible. Now her wish would be for everyone to have such love and happiness fill their lives.

  But, of course, it wasn’t always possible. Life, with its ebbs and flows, offered only chances. Promises must face challenges unseen, and happiness must weather the seasons.

  To a person, everyone in the plant knew what the appearance of a Western Union messenger meant. And to a person, they all prayed to whatever God they worshiped that the delivery was not for them. They all waited and watched. Was it their husband, father, brother, friend?

  You could almost feel the air being sucked and held from station to station as the messenger made his way past one after another. Workers donning aprons and readying tools watched intently until he passed.

  Audrey, too, watched. And when he neared their station she turned her attention to Janice and June. The two women stood frozen in place, averting their eyes as if doing so would make the messenger pass them by. To Audrey it seemed somehow wrong that she could watch without personal worry. Only Nona knew that she feigned whatever worry others saw.

  No one moved now as the messenger slowed and stopped. He surveyed the faces of the women, who at this moment were no doubt shouting silent frantic prayers.

  “I have a message,” he said, not knowing which woman his delivery was about to devastate, “for Mrs. June Baker.” He pushed the telegram into the open space before him that no one had wanted to enter.

  Before anyone could respond, June’s knees buckled and she folded into a heap on the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, still holding out the telegram.

  Janice, with a nervous exhale, took it from him, as Audrey moved quickly to June’s aid. She tried to help her to her feet, but June’s legs had no strength. Audrey knelt beside her and tightened her arms around the shaking shoulders.

  She looked up to see Jack shaking his head sadly. “I’m sorry, June,” he said. “We’ll get you home. You need to be with your family.” With Jack’s help they got June to her feet and walked her out to a break table.

  Each of the crew touched June’s shoulder, offered whatever condolence they could manage, and returned dutifully to the station. Jack took the telegram from Janice and handed it to Audrey. “Stay with her,” he said, “until we can get her home. We’ll cover.”

  Covering wasn’t first in anyone’s thoughts. They would do what they needed to do, that was automatic, an imprint set by rote. Expressed or not, each crew member carried their own concerns and sympathy and relief into the day. Tonight they would do what they could for June.

  Right now, though, it was up to Audrey. She began by trying to lay the telegram on June’s lap.

  “No, no,” June said, vigorously shaking her head and pushing the telegram from her lap as if it had burst into flames.

  Audrey picked it up. “June,” she said softly, “maybe it’s notifying you that he’s been wounded. You need to
know. You’ve already imagined the worst, reading it—”

  “Makes it real,” June said, her voice uncharacteristically weak. “I can’t lose him.” Her eyes, wet with tears, frightened and wide, met Audrey’s. “What would I do without him?”

  “We don’t know that you will have to yet. But if you do, you will do exactly as you have been, taking care of your two boys, taking care of your family and yourself. You’ve proven you can do that, June. I think you’ve even surprised yourself as to how well you have done that, haven’t you?”

  “But it’s not right. It’s not what I want my life to be.” Her tears ran a hard course now down her cheeks, forming dark blue blotches as they landed on the thighs of her jumpsuit.

  “I know you don’t. But you’re strong, June. Stronger than you think you are.”

  “I don’t want to be strong. I want my life back, the way it was before this god awful war.”

  “But if that isn’t possible, you have to find a way to look into those little boys’ eyes and make them know that they will be okay. And you will, June, you will.”

  June dropped her forehead to the palms of her hands. She sobbed silently and Audrey put her arm around her shoulders and drew her close. She gently stroked the back of June’s head as she rested against her.

  A little while later, June’s breathing regained its rhythm and the sobs subsided. Softly, against Audrey’s shoulder, she asked, “What does it say?”

  Audrey slipped her arms from June and opened the telegram. She read it to herself first so that she could reform the message in her own words.

  SAE 89 GOVT = PXX NR WASHINGTON, DC 26 111 A

  MRS. JUNE BAKER =

  933 HILLTOP STREET =

  YPSILANTI, MICHIGAN =

  THE ARMY AIR FORCE DEPARTMENT DEEPLY REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR HUSBAND, DANIEL BAKER FLIGHT OFFICER FIRST CLASS IS MISSING IN ACTION IN THE PERFORMANCE OF HIS DUTY AND IN THE SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY WHEN HIS PLANE WAS SHOT DOWN IN A MISSION OVER NORMANDY, FRANCE. THE DEPARTMENT EXTENDS TO YOU ITS SINCEREST SYMPATHY AND ASSURES YOU IF FURTHER DETAILS ARE RECEIVED YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED IMMEDIATELY.