by Lynn Austin
“I’ll do my wash later,” she mumbled, pulling the covers over her head.
“There won’t be hot water later. And we do not do the washing again until next week … .”
Rosa groaned. Would it break one of the Ten Commandments to do laundry on a different day—or at a time later than dawn? You never knew with her in-laws. According to them, God had more rules than Rosa had ever dreamed of.
“And I need to wash your bedsheets,” Mrs. Voorhees insisted. Rosa almost swore aloud but stopped herself in time.
“Right now?”
“Yes … please.”
“Oh, all right. Give me a sec.”
She lay unmoving for another minute, eyes closed, wishing she could open them and be back in Brooklyn. What was the point of getting out of bed so early when there was nothing to do all day after the laundry? But Mrs. Trientje Voorhees—or “Tena” to her husband, Wolter—ruled her household with a strict routine. And every time Rosa had tried to help out this past week, whether peeling potatoes or sweeping the porch or washing the dishes, her mother-in-law had come along behind her and done it all over again. She had even gone into Rosa’s bedroom every morning and remade her bed.
All day long Tena never stopped working, cleaning every last inch of the bungalow, scrubbing the floors until they shone, cooking three huge meals a day, and tending the vegetable garden. If this was daily life as a housewife, Rosa wanted nothing to do with it. Besides, at twenty-three years old she was much too young to be a housewife. She had better things to do, a life to live.
Then she remembered that she was a married woman now. Dirk expected her to learn things from his mother, like how to cook and keep house. His parents had gone easy on her all last week, not asking too much of her, allowing her to sleep late and get settled in, but this morning she had a feeling her real initiation was about to begin.
Rosa climbed out of bed and got dressed; Mrs. Voorhees had already spoken to her about “parading around” in front of Mr. Voorhees in her nightclothes. She stripped the sheets from her bed as if she had a grudge against them, then kicked all the dirty clothes that lay scattered around the room into an untidy pile on the floor. She tied her long, dark hair back with a red scarf and staggered out to the kitchen.
The dawning sunlight made her headache worse. It wasn’t even six o’clock, but the day was well underway in the Voorhees’ household. Tena had set a huge breakfast on the table for Wolter, who would leave for work shortly. He sat in his place at the kitchen table like a kingpin in coveralls, his toolbox waiting on the floor near the back door. Wolter and Tena Voorhees, now in their sixties, had raised two daughters before Dirk had come along as a late surprise. Rosa knew that Dirk’s new Italian wife from Brooklyn had been an even bigger surprise.
She glanced around the spotless kitchen, saw the bread dough rising on the stove, the kitchen table neatly set, the laundry tubs waiting on the back porch, and she stifled a groan. She had wanted this, she reminded herself. After living in tenements all her life, Rosa had often dreamed of a cozy cottage like this one. It was everything that Dirk had described to her, everything he’d promised her it would be. Just goes to show you’d better be careful what you wish for.
She slumped into her chair at the table. “You would like some eggs?” Mrs. Voorhees asked. Rosa gagged at the thought. How could anyone eat food at this hour of the day—let alone eggs?
“Just coffee. Black.” Gallons of it.
Her father-in-law cleared his throat. “There is something I must ask you, Rosa.”
She cringed. Mr. Voorhees rarely spoke, communicating with gestures and grunts that Tena seemed to understand perfectly. When he did speak, his stern voice and stiff accent made Rosa feel like she was in the principal’s office. He never quite looked at her, as if he thought it was a sin to gaze at his son’s beautiful young wife.
“Where were you last night—or should I say early this morning?”
“Down at that place on the next block … the Hoot Owl,” she said with a shrug. “I wanted a bite to eat, a few laughs … you know.” She also knew, after going to the Voorhees’ stuffy little church last Sunday, that having a drink and a few laughs was frowned upon.
“We are happy to share our home with you since you are the wife of our son. Dirk loves you and he has asked us to make you welcome here. But you should not bring shame on our family.”
“I haven’t done anything shameful!”
“But you have. It brings shame to our family when you spend your evenings in a bar, drinking alcohol and carrying on with the wrong kind of people.”
“Hey! I wouldn’t have to ‘carry on’ in a bar if there was something else to do in this godforsaken town.” She saw them both flinch at the mention of God and was sorry for her choice of words. “Listen, I’m not doing anything wrong—just hanging out, dancing a little, having a beer or two. It’s no big deal.” But Rosa saw by the way that Tena’s hands trembled as she placed a saucer and a cup of coffee on the table in front of her that it was a big deal.
“Since you now bear our name, you must try to adapt to our way of life,” Mr. Voorhees continued. “This is the life that Dirk will have when he returns home. You must get used to it so you will live here happily with him after the war.”
“What makes you think we’ll stay in this crummy town when he gets out of the navy?” Dirk had liked New York. He had gone with Rosa to all the clubs, danced to Big Band music, drank his share of beer. He would look for a job someplace fun after the war.
“But he will want to work as a plumber with his father,” Tena said in alarm—as if Rosa had spoken blasphemy. “This is his home.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not my home.”
She was sorry as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She didn’t have a home, and if she lost this one she didn’t know where she would live. She had wanted out, and Dirk had been her ticket—out of the diner, out of New York, out of a life that was going nowhere. Sweet, wholesome Dirk Voorhees had helped Rosa imagine a better place than the streets of Brooklyn, a place with green grass and blue skies and cows.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not used to getting up this early. It makes me crabby … and I don’t feel up to snuff this morning.”
She saw them exchange glances, probably wondering if she was pregnant. Rosa knew very well that she wasn’t, but to admit that she had a hangover would prove Mr. Voorhees’ point.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I won’t stay out so late next time.”
“There cannot be a next time.”
“Yeah … all right … sure.” She would just have to sneak out of the house after the old sourpuss was asleep, then sneak home again. “What did you want me to do today?” she asked Dirk’s mother. “Besides the laundry?”
“This afternoon there is a Bible study meeting at church, and—”
Rosa groaned aloud. She couldn’t help herself. She had gone to church with them last Sunday—morning and evening—and didn’t think she could stand to go there again. But groaning had been the wrong thing to do.
“Our faith is very important to us,” Mr. Voorhees said, “and to Dirk, as well. Why do you belittle it?”
She could have told him that religion certainly hadn’t been part of Dirk’s life when she’d met him. Wouldn’t they be shocked to know what their son had done before he’d eloped with her? But she wasn’t going to snitch on him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle your faith. Church is fine for you. It’s just not for me.”
“You must try to understand how we feel—”
“You’ve made it plain as the nose on your face how you feel. You don’t like me. You wish your precious son had never married me.”
Mr. Voorhees’ face turned as red as a stoplight, but he didn’t raise his voice. “Nevertheless, Dirk has asked us to give you a home and make you part of our life. We will do that in the best way we know how. But you have not tried to fit in with us.”
“I’ll never
fit in to your world.”
“That is up to you, Rosa. But I think there is one thing that we do agree on: We all love Dirk—at least, I hope it is true for you.”
“Are you saying you don’t think I love him?”
“Dirk must return home safe and sound,” he said, ignoring her question. “We must not say anything in our letters or do anything that would upset him and put his life in danger. He needs to put all his thoughts into fighting this war, and he must imagine that we are all getting along and keeping a happy home for him to return to.”
“I do love him! I want to spend my whole life with him!”
“Your actions while he is away don’t show me that you care about him. You were out until two o’clock last night, and—”
“What gives you the right to keep tabs on me?”
“You live under my roof. We have opened our home to you until Dirk returns.”
Rosa scraped back her chair and stood. “I don’t have to take this.”
“Rosa, please,” Tena begged. “Don’t be angry—”
“I can wash my own clothes, you know. I been doing it all my life—maybe not to your prissy standards, but I do okay. Just leave my stuff alone. I’ll wash them when I’m good and ready.” She grabbed her purse from the chair where she had dumped it the night before and strode to the door.
“Where are you going?” Tena asked.
“Out!”
Rosa slammed the door and stalked down the street to the bus stop. It was what she always did after fighting with her own mother. Rosa would ride the New York subways awhile so her mother would know that she wasn’t taking any of her garbage. Maybe Wolter and Tena Voorhees would mind their own business and treat her a little nicer, too, after this.
She boarded the first bus that happened along and slouched down in a seat beside the window. At first she paid no attention to her surroundings as she replayed the fight with her in-laws. She had lived with them for only a week, and she already knew she couldn’t stand living there much longer. But what else could she do? She really, truly did love Dirk and didn’t want to lose him. What if he took his parents’ side?
The bus lurched through the downtown area, stopping every block or so to let people on and off, then it continued toward the river on the other side of town. The erratic motion, along with the exhaust fumes, made Rosa’s headache worse. Finally the bus stopped in front of a sprawling factory—Stockton Shipyard.
“End of the line,” the driver announced. “Five-minute break, then we turn around.” The bus emptied as all of the men and women on board made their way toward the brick building. People streamed out of the factory, too, and boarded the bus. A tired-looking woman no older than Rosa sank down in the seat beside her with a weary sigh. She wore dark-green coveralls that were coated with grease, and she carried a shiny metal lunch pail.
“You work in there?” Rosa asked in amazement.
“Yeah. I started two months ago. It’s not bad—I like the graveyard shift.”
“What’s that?”
“Eleven at night until seven in the morning.” She yawned, then laughed at herself. “I’m on my way home to bed.”
It was the perfect solution. Rosa knew a godsend when she saw one. She had always been a night owl. Not only could she avoid her in-laws by working all night and sleeping all day, but she could earn a little money, too.
“They pay good?” she asked.
“Thirty dollars a week to start.” Rosa’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “They’re still hiring, if you’re interested. They got a government contract to build ships and they need a lot more workers if they’re gonna produce on time. My foreman told me they’re training another group, starting today. You got kids?”
“No, not yet. Me and Dirk have only been married a month and a half.”
“If you tell them you’re willing to work the graveyard shift, they’ll hire you on the spot. A lot of women have families and can’t work those hours.”
“Thanks for the tip. I think I’ll apply.” Rosa stood and stepped over the woman’s outstretched legs, which were shod in heavy work boots, then made her way down the aisle to the back of the bus. The driver ground the gears and released the brakes with a hiss just as Rosa hopped off.
The workers had been going in and out of the factory’s side entrance, but Rosa strode straight up the walk to the main door. She went inside, then halted in front of a Negro janitor who was mopping the foyer.
“Hey, can you tell me how I apply for a job around here?”
“Yes, ma’am. You can talk to Mr. Wire’s secretary, ma’am. Right down at the end of that hallway.” He pointed to the left.
Rosa found the secretary and got an application form. She sat down to fill it out and quickly decided that she needed to lie about finishing high school. They’d never call all the way to Brooklyn to check up on her, would they? When she came to the part that asked her to list two references, she stopped. Should she put down her father-in-law’s name for one of them? Rosa decided against it. He would probably have a fit, saying women shouldn’t work in a factory—although it was okay for his wife to slave away at home fourteen hours a day, six days a week, scrubbing his clothes and cooking his meals without pay.
She wrote Dirk’s name instead, and the name of the cook in the diner where she’d worked in New York. When asked which shift she preferred, she checked all three boxes: 7 A.M.—3 P.M.; 3 P.M.—11 P.M.; and 11 P.M.—7 A.M., just to let them know she was willing to work any time.
The secretary showed Rosa into Mr. Wire’s office when she finished. He looked up from his desk when she entered and stared at her, google-eyed—but Rosa was used to men staring at her. Mr. Wire looked like he was about to give her a wolf whistle when he caught himself and cleared his throat.
“Please, have a seat.” Rosa sat. He peeled his eyes away from her figure and studied her application. “I know your husband,” he said when he looked up again. “My son Larry went to school with him. Played on the varsity baseball team together. Great ballplayer, your Dirk. And he sure found himself a pretty little wife.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Which branch of the service did Dirk join?”
“He’s in the navy.” She gave him her prettiest smile, careful not to lay it on too thick.
“My boy joined the marines. I know your father-in-law, too.” He cleared his throat again. “So … you moved here from New York recently?”
“Yeah. Brooklyn. Me and Dirk met there. We got married a month and a half ago, then he got transferred to Virginia for more training. I sure could use this job, Mr. Wire.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. We’re starting to train a new team of electricians today, in fact. The job is yours if you want it.”
“You bet I do!”
Rosa’s head spun as she stood up to shake his hand, but she wasn’t sure if it was from her hangover or the speed at which everything was happening. An hour ago she’d been sound asleep; now she was accepting a job. She felt a brief moment of panic, wondering what she might have gotten herself into, then realized that she could always quit again if she didn’t like it. She’d had a whole string of jobs after dropping out of high school. What was one more? If things didn’t work out she could be out of here as fast as she had come in. Maybe by then she’d have saved up enough money to get out of town.
Mr. Wire stood, too. “You may step out here, Mrs. Voorhees, and have a seat with the other ladies. Your foreman, Earl Seaborn, will be with you momentarily.”
“Yeah, great. Thanks a million.”
Two other women sat in the waiting area, and Rosa could tell by the conversation she interrupted that they already knew each other. It burned her up that every last person in this stupid town seemed to know everybody else. These ladies probably knew her in-laws, too. In fact, Dirk’s mother had probably told the whole town about the sleazy wife their darling Dirk had sent here from New York City, and how she was an “Eye-tal-yun” girl who never stepped through the
door of a church before. The stares she had gotten last Sunday had been more than Rosa could stand—not admiring stares like Mr. Wire’s, but as if she were on loan from the zoo. She would never belong in a million years. She tried to tell that to Dirk when he first came up with the idea of sending her to live with his parents, but he wouldn’t listen.
“Oh no, Rosa,” he’d insisted. “You’ll charm their socks off just like you charmed me. You’re so funny …” Blah, blah, blah. Rosa could see that moving here while Dirk was in the service had been a big mistake. Yeah, they could save money on rent and all that, but he would have to pick her up in the loony bin by the time the war was over and cut her out of a straightjacket. This factory job might get her out of the house for a while, but judging by the way the two hens sitting alongside her were chewing the fat, it looked like Rosa was doomed to be the outsider again. Then the older lady surprised her.
“Forgive us for being rude,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Helen Kimball.”
“And I’m Virginia Mitchell,” the thirty-something lady added, extending her white-gloved hand to Rosa, too. “Call me Ginny.”
“Rosa Bon—” She started to say Bonelli, her maiden name, then caught herself. “Rosa Voorhees. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh, are you any relation to Mr. Voorhees, the plumber?” Ginny asked. “I always call him when I need work done.”
Rosa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah, I married his son, Dirk. A month and a half ago, in fact.”
“I taught Dirk Voorhees in the second grade,” Helen Kimball added. “It’s hard to believe so much time has passed, and that he’s grown and married now. Is he in the service?”
“Yeah, we met when he was in corpsman school at the navy hospital in Brooklyn. He walked into the diner in New York where I was working, and boom. Two weeks later we got married.”
“Dirk was a very bright student. Well-mannered, too,” the teacher said.
“Yeah? He just got transferred to another navy hospital in Virginia to finish learning to be a corpsman.”