by Lynn Austin
The schoolteacher nodded, and Rosa decided she wasn’t so bad after all, even if people back home would call her prim.
“So you’re a newlywed!” Ginny gushed. She looked neat and well-pressed, every curl in place—the type of woman who would give Rosa’s mother-in-law a run for her money in a contest for Housewife of the Year. Both Helen and Ginny looked out of place here. But then, so did Rosa—not just in this factory but in this godforsaken, backwoods town. Well, Rosa had wanted a change and boy, had she gotten one!
“Are you originally from the Stockton area?” Ginny asked.
“Heck, no! I’m a city girl, street-smart and street tough, too. You have to be in order to get by in my Brooklyn neighborhood, or you don’t last too long.”
They were interrupted by a young, clean-cut guy who strode into the waiting area. “Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies. I’m Earl Seaborn, foreman of your division. Come right this way, please.”
Rosa stood with the others, hardly able to comprehend that she really was starting a new job. What would Dirk’s parents say about that? She’d be willing to bet that at this very moment Tena Voorhees was washing Rosa’s bedsheets. It was no skin off Rosa’s nose. No matter how hard she scrubbed, they’d never be clean enough for her mother-in-law.
Mr. Seaborn opened a door that led into the factory, and there was such an explosion of noise and bright lights that Rosa didn’t know whether to cover her ears or her eyes. The steady banging made her head feel like the clapper of the Liberty Bell on the Fourth of July. What a dumb idea to start work in a noisy factory with a hangover! Mr. Seaborn had to shout at times to be heard as he led them on a brief tour, describing all the stages in the construction process. Rosa passed row after row of machinery and tools and workers in coveralls. Some of the giant hulks of metal resembled boats, but a lot of what she saw looked like complicated piles of junk. The factory went on and on forever and stank of hot metal and enamel paint.
After several minutes, Rosa wondered if this was a bad dream. She glanced at the other two women, and they looked like they wanted out of here, too. The schoolteacher was trying to keep a stiff upper lip, her chin high in the air, but she looked like somebody had put her in a tub of hot water and shrunk her a couple of sizes. The housewife, Ginny, was fighting tears. If her shoulders slumped much more she would bend in half. No backbone at all, that one. Sweet little Ginny wouldn’t last two seconds in the city—they’d eat her alive. Rosa was willing to bet that neither one of them would last the week out in this place. Then again, she might have bitten off more than she could chew, too.
She decided to give the foreman, Earl Seaborn, the once-over to take her mind off her pounding head and jittery nerves. He looked to be about Dirk’s age, in his mid-twenties, and she wondered why he wasn’t off fighting. It galled her to see men shirking their duty when her Dirk had to go and fight. Then she noticed that there was something wrong with Mr. Seaborn’s left hand. He held it funny, when he wasn’t stuffing it into his pocket as if trying to hide it. When she did glimpse his hand, it looked thin and shriveled. As she followed him down the assembly line, she also noticed that he limped, favoring his right leg, dragging his left one. Polio, she guessed. Too bad. He’d be a nice-looking guy otherwise, even if he wasn’t a hunk like Dirk.
As Mr. Seaborn continued the tour, some of the men along the way stopped working to give Rosa the once-over. “Hey, baby …” someone called. She thought she recognized one of the guys who’d bought her a drink last night. She heard a wolf whistle.
“Keep your eyes on your work, please,” Mr. Seaborn ordered.
“How big is this place?” Rosa asked after walking for what felt like miles. She was so tired by the time they came to the end of the line that she tripped over a toolbox and nearly fell into the test pond where a huge boat was floating. Ginny grabbed her arm to steady her.
“This is the last stage, where we test-run the ships,” Mr. Seaborn said. “Then they’re ready to launch. They’ll go down the river to Lake Michigan, then out to sea.”
“How often do you complete one?” the schoolteacher asked.
“Not often enough. We’re way behind schedule. But if we can hire enough help and gear up to three full shifts, working around the clock, we hope to launch one every month.”
“Yeah, right!” Rosa said. “How can we put a whole boat together in a month? It’s like working a gigantic jigsaw puzzle with a million pieces.”
“We break it down into small steps,” Mr. Seaborn said, “and everyone builds a small part of it. You ladies will be wiring the ship’s electrical systems.”
He escorted them back to what he called the harness shop, where a young girl who looked as though she was barely out of high school sorted through piles of cables and wires and electrical switches. She strode forward to greet them, towering over Rosa. The girl was as tall as Mr. Seaborn!
“This is Jean Erickson,” Mr. Seaborn said. “She’s going to train you ladies.”
“Yeah, right,” Rosa said without thinking. Jean looked peeved. She was pretty in a plain sort of way, very blond with blue eyes and fair skin and a boyish figure. She looked exactly like the kind of blah hometown girl that her in-laws would have picked for Dirk—the complete opposite of the curvy Italian beauty he’d chosen. Tough luck for them.
“Hey, no offense,” Rosa said quickly, “but you look too young to be bossing everybody around. How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
“I’m eighteen. And we’ll start today by learning to solder wire.” Jean’s voice told Rosa that she wasn’t taking any guff, in spite of her age. “Eventually they’ll assign our four-woman crew to the assembly line, where we’ll be expected to wire a certain quota of the ship’s electrical systems in an eight-hour shift.”
“What happens if we don’t finish on time?” Ginny asked in a worried voice. She had finally taken off her white gloves, but she still looked like she wanted to run home.
“Any work we don’t finish overlaps into the next shift,” Jean replied. “But it causes a lot of trouble if the entire production line has to stop while they wait for the ship to move on to the next stage.” She gestured to another crew, working on a later stage of construction.
“It sounds like there will be a lot of pressure on us,” Ginny said.
“Even more so because we’re women,” Jean told them. “There are a lot of men in this place who resent women working here and who would love to see us fail. The only way we can succeed is by becoming a team. We have to work together just like the guys in the army do, cooperating as a unit, helping one another and picking up each other’s slack. With a war on, there’s no time or place for individuals who want to go it alone. We have an important job to do. Soldiers’ lives depend on us. I have five brothers in the armed services, and I’m sure you have loved ones fighting, too. Our boys need these ships so they can invade Europe when the time comes. Our marines need these ships in order to take back all the Pacific islands from the Japanese. Do you think we can pull together and do that?”
“Yeah, sure!” Rosa was surprised by her own enthusiasm. She imagined Dirk and all his navy buddies riding in one of her boats, winning the war because of her hard work, then coming home safe and sound again. She felt tears in her eyes.
What had begun as a terrible day was turning out to be the start of something really good in her life—something that just might make a difference. Rosa couldn’t wait to begin.
CHAPTER 4
* Jean *
Jean Erickson could tell by the dazed look in everyone’s eyes that her new crew had absorbed enough information for one day. They reminded her of an electrical socket with too many appliances and extension cords plugged into them. Any more and the fuse would blow for sure.
“Okay, I think that’s enough for today,” she told them. “We’ll quit a few minutes early so I can show you where to find your time cards and how to punch in and out. Don’t forget you’ll need to wear the coveralls I gave you, starting tomorrow.”
The three women trailed behind Jean, clutching their folded coveralls as she strode to the time clock. Jean remembered feeling weary and overwhelmed, too, when she first started working here nearly four months ago.
“Sometimes when I punch out at the end of the day I feel like I’m running the gauntlet,” she told her new crew. “Especially since Mr. Seaborn promoted me to crew chief.”
“Why’s that?” Rosa Voorhees asked.
“Well, most of the men don’t like working alongside women. They’ve worked at Stockton Boat Works—or, I should say, Stockton Shipyard—their entire lives, and we’ve invaded their territory. The fact that I’m only eighteen and a crew chief makes me an obvious target for harassment.”
“That must be very hard for you,” Ginny said.
“I try my best to ignore them. I grew up surrounded by brothers who excelled at ribbing me, so I’ve had plenty of practice. Besides, the shipyard is hiring more and more female workers every day, so the men will soon be outnumbered.”
Jean showed them how to punch their time cards, then took them to the women’s locker room. “You can change in and out of your work clothes here, and lock up your coats and purses and things. Any questions?” When they shook their heads, she led the way out of the locker room and back through the factory, fighting the flow of workers arriving for the next shift.
“I gotta catch a bus home,” Rosa said. “Any of you coming along?” She turned to Helen Kimball first. “You going my way?”
“No, thank you. I rode my bicycle.”
“You? On a bike?” Rosa said with a laugh. “That I gotta see!” Helen exhaled. “I would have preferred to walk, but I live on the other side of town.”
“So you ride your bike all over the place? Wearing a skirt? Did you use to ride it when you taught school?”
“No, I lived close enough to walk to the school where I taught for the past twenty years.”
“What’re you gonna do when it snows?”
“I’ll have to drive my father’s beast of a car—assuming I can get gasoline rations for it.”
Rosa started to ask another question, but Jean could see that Helen Kimball was getting fed up with her. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Kimball,” Jean said, steering Rosa away. “I’ll take the bus with you once it snows, Rosa. But for now, I walk every day to save money.”
“What’re you saving up for? You got a boyfriend you’re gonna marry?”
“Marriage is the last thing I want!” Jean replied. “I’m saving for college. As soon as the war ends, my twin brother and I are going to go together.”
“You must be real smart, going to college.”
“I’ll take the bus with you, Rosa,” Ginny said, linking arms with her. She glanced at her watch. “Hopefully one will come along shortly. My boys will be home from school soon.”
Jean waved good-bye to the other women and set off at a brisk pace. The two-mile walk felt very long after being on her feet all day at work, and she came through the back door of her sister Patty’s bungalow, wanting nothing more than to sit down and kick off her shoes.
“Hey, you’re home,” Patty said as Jean walked into the kitchen.
“How was work?” Patty had her baby propped on one hip as she stirred a pot of tapioca pudding on the stove with her free hand. One of her toddlers clung to her leg, whining, while the other one emptied pots and pans from the cupboard onto the kitchen floor. A pile of clean diapers filled one kitchen chair, and heaps of clothing that needed to be ironed filled two more.
“Work was very tiring. I’ve been on my feet all day.” Jean pulled out the only vacant chair and sat down to untie her shoes. “They just hired a crew of greenhorns, and I’m supposed to train them. Yikes, what an odd bunch! There’s a middle-aged schoolteacher who’s old enough to be our mother, a housewife in her thirties who has never worked a day in her life—”
“Hey, watch it!” Patty interrupted. “Housewives never stop working!”
“You know what I mean. She’s the type who has to look pretty when her husband comes home from work and who believes that a woman’s place is in the home—”
“You’re really asking for it!” Patty said, raising her fist in a mock threat.
Jean laughed. “Sorry, but it’s true. And last but not least there’s a pinup girl who asks a thousand nosy questions per minute. Honestly, Rosa is beautiful enough to be a movie star, but she’s very rough around the edges. Kind of slinky and slithery, if you know what I mean. She got wolf whistles from the welders. I’ll bet none of these three makes it through the two-week training period. I know how hard those first two weeks are; there’s so much to learn. And when these three ladies quit I’ll be stuck training a whole new crew.”
“How come you’re doing the training? You’ve only been working there for a few months yourself.”
“I know. But nearly everyone is new. Most of the original work force either enlisted or got drafted. And the men who’ve stayed behind aren’t real pleased to be working with women. You know what the man who trained me said? ‘You’re not bad, for a girl.’ I asked him, ‘Why did you add, for a girl?’ and he said, ‘Because this is men’s work.’ I felt like saying, ‘Well, it’s women’s work now, buddy!’ Guys like him infuriate me! Anyway, that’s why Mr. Seaborn made me a crew chief. He figured the training period would be easier on women if they didn’t have to put up with that kind of an attitude.”
“Boy, I’d apply for a job down there in a minute if I had someone to watch the kids. At least you have people to talk to. You should spend all day with a baby and two toddlers and a husband away in the service.”
“No thanks. That’s exactly why I’m going to college. The domestic life certainly isn’t for me.” Jean decided to change the subject before Patty got the bright idea to work piggyback shifts with her. Jean loved her three nephews, but she had no desire to baby-sit solo for them after working for eight hours. “Did the mail come? Did I get a letter from Russ?” she asked.
“No, but I got one from Bill.” Patty looked as if she’d beaten Jean in a footrace. She was four years older than Jean and turned everything into a contest. “Bill says it’s miserable over in England. It rains all the time, there’s no heat in any of the buildings, and the Germans are trying to wipe London off the map with all their bombs.”
“Any other mail?” Jean asked. “Did we hear from Johnny? Or Danny?”
“No, but there was a letter from Ma to both of us.” She handed the baby to Jean and began spooning pudding into dessert dishes. Jean pretended not to notice that the baby’s pants needed to be changed.
“Good old Ma. Where does she find the time?”
“She says that money is tight, as usual, so she’s trying to get jobs for the boys after school—delivering newspapers, running errands, working as telegraph boys or delivery boys at the grocery store. She said that Danny—”
“Don’t tell me everything, you’ll spoil it! I want to read it myself.”
Jean put her nephew in his high chair, then took the letter into the living room and sank down on the sofa with it, marveling at her mother’s endurance. Ma had written the letter unhurriedly, leaving out no detail, telling about life on their small Indiana farm. She never seemed overwhelmed by her huge brood of children but treated each of them as if he or she were her only child. She had written personal words to both Jean and Patty to encourage them: Cherish your time with your little ones, she reminded Patty. You are a natural-born mother. The housework can always wait. Have fun with them. Give Bill my love when you write to him. I’m praying for his safe return.
And to Jean she had written, I’m not at all surprised to hear that they’re going to give you a position of responsibility at the shipyard. You are such a smart, capable young woman, and I know you can do anything you put your mind to. Reach for the stars!
Her words brought tears to Jean’s eyes. She tucked the letter back into the envelope when she finished reading it and went into the kitchen to help Patty with supper.
Afterward, they washed and dried the dishes together, listening to Frank Sinatra and the Andrews Sisters on the radio while they worked.
“So what are you doing with yourself tonight?” Patty asked. “Writing another letter to Russell?”
“I don’t know. I’m very annoyed with him.” Jean tossed a cooking pot into the cupboard and closed it with her foot. “I’ve written three letters to him, and he hasn’t answered a single one of them.”
“He’s probably busy with farm work. It’s that time of year, you know.”
“He could spare a moment to scribble a line or two, couldn’t he? Even a postcard would be nice.”
“Be glad he isn’t overseas. I wish Bill could have qualified for a farm exemption.”
“That’s what I don’t get. Johnny could have taken an exemption, but he didn’t. He and Russ were best friends. They did everything together—until now. And all of the other farm boys from school enlisted, too. In fact, every eligible guy I know was eager to join up as soon as he finished high school—everybody except Russ.”
“Boy, you really are annoyed with him!” Patty drained the water from the sink and grabbed the towel from Jean to dry her hands. “I have to put the monsters to bed.”
Jean got out her box of stationery and sat down at the kitchen table to write another letter to Russell. She got as far as the date and Dear Russ when someone knocked on the front door. She opened it to find Earl Seaborn, her foreman from work, standing on the porch.
“Mr. Seaborn! What brings you here?”
“Hi, Jean. Sorry to bother you after work hours—I hope you don’t mind. I … uh … I got busy today and never had a chance to check back with you about your new crew. Do you have a minute? Am I interrupting something?”
“No, not at all.”
“Listen, I’d be glad to treat you to an ice-cream cone or a milk shake or something down at the drugstore while you fill me in—to make up for bothering you at home.”
“You don’t have to bribe me with a milk shake, Mr. Seaborn.”