by Lynn Austin
“Well, I wish you luck,” Helen said, rising to her feet. “But I expect you’ll have a difficult time reconciling, no matter how many new dresses you buy. Your husband was cut from the same stubborn mold as my father, and he always had to be the boss. He refused to give in until he had his way. I hope I’m wrong, but I just don’t see Harold Mitchell ending this estrangement until Ginny quits her job.”
“I hope you’re wrong, too,” Ginny murmured, but she saw the truth in what Helen had said.
Ginny went all out getting ready for the party. She didn’t have time to shop for a new dress—her appointment at the hairdresser had taken hours—but she applied her makeup carefully and chose a dress that Harold had admired on her in the past. She made sure she was ready on time, too, knowing how much he hated to be late. But his cold expression didn’t soften when she came downstairs looking her best. Harold barely glanced at her. Maybe he was blind, but surely his nose worked, and she had lavished on the perfume, following Rosa’s advice. His reaction—or lack of one—disappointed her. She retrieved her coat from the closet, but he didn’t help her with it.
Then, just as Harold opened the door to leave, he halted. “Let me ask you something, Virginia. Did everybody except me know that you were working at the shipyard?”
“I didn’t tell anyone, Harold, not even Betty Parker next door. But she knows now. She found out during Christmas vacation when the boys told Tommy that they were going to a baby-sitter’s. And if Betty Parker knows—”
“The whole world knows. That’s just great.”
They drove to the party in silence. Ginny began to wish that she had never accepted the invitation. Helen Kimball was probably right; this idea would never work with a man as stubborn as Harold. Now Ginny would have to spend the next several hours trying to hide their strained relationship from everyone else at the party.
“Ginny! It’s so good to see you,” Gloria, their hostess, gushed as she met them at the door. “It’s been so long since anyone has seen you. We all miss you at the women’s club. There’s a meeting next week, in fact. Will you be there?”
“I … um … I won’t be able to make it,” Ginny said. Gloria probably knew perfectly well that she was working at the shipyard.
They made their way inside, and once again, Harold made no move to help Ginny with her coat. “Should I put my coat in the bedroom, Gloria?” she finally asked.
“Yes, and then you two go hunt down my husband—he’s handing out the drinks. Poor Harold looks as though he could use something to cheer him up.”
Harold disappeared into the crowded living room with a sullen expression on his face while Ginny walked down the hall to deposit her coat. The bedroom window was open a crack for fresh air, and she fought the urge to climb out of it and run home. All of the self-confidence she had gained during the past six months seemed to be dissolving rapidly.
When she returned to the party, she stood in the living room doorway for a long moment, searching for Harold. The women outnumbered the men, but even among the few, he stood out: He was the only man his age who wasn’t wearing a uniform.
The party was in full swing, with the lights dimmed and the radio playing music in the background above the sound of laughter. Two serving girls in black uniforms and white aprons walked around with trays of appetizers. Gloria’s husband presided over a cartload of drinks. Harold had plunged right in, cocktail in hand, joining a group in the corner that was discussing the war. Ginny went to his side, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, content to listen quietly as he talked about the North African campaign and tank warfare.
Everything seemed to be going well until the radio began to play the newest song craze, “Rosie the Riveter.” Betty Parker shushed everyone so they could listen to it. When it ended she announced, “The Stockton Women’s Club has our very own ‘Rosie,’ right, Virginia?”
Ginny smiled nervously as everyone turned to stare at her. “Well, I don’t actually rivet anything. I’m an electrician—”
“At Stockton Shipyard! Can you imagine?” Betty’s tone conveyed shock, not respect.
“No, I really can’t,” Gloria said. “That’s an awful place, with the worst sort of men working there.”
“It’s a wonder the men can do any work at all,” Gloria’s husband said, “with pretty girls like Virginia running around the place.”
Ginny smiled nervously as she glanced at Harold. He looked furious, not jealous.
“I could use a refill,” he said, holding up his empty glass. “Excuse me.” He slipped away from the group, but Gloria held Ginny’s arm, keeping her captive.
“I see that women who work at the shipyard still get their hair done,” she said. “And is that a new dress you’re wearing, Virginia?”
“No. And I got my hair done for the party,” she said, “not work. I have to wear a kerchief at the shipyard and baggy coveralls that—”
“Everyone knows why the younger girls take jobs like that—to meet men,” Betty said. “What are you there for?”
Ginny had to raise her voice to be heard above their laughter. “I’m there to build ships.” She looked around for Harold, wishing he would come to her defense. He knew the critical need for workers. She felt like a criminal locked in the stocks so everyone could throw rotten fruit at her. But Harold’s withdrawal hurt more than their taunts.
“We have to win this war,” she said. “None of us is safe from Hitler and the Japanese. I’m only doing my part.”
“I suppose you think we aren’t doing our part?” Betty asked.
“No, that’s not what I meant at all—”
“What would happen to America’s children if every woman abandoned her responsibilities at home and went gallivanting off to work?”
“But my sons are in school all day—”
Gloria laid her hand on Ginny’s arm. “Surely you don’t plan to work this summer when they’re home from school?”
Ginny didn’t bother to reply. It was none of Gloria’s business what she did this summer. Ginny wondered if the club women had always been this catty, and if so, why she hadn’t quit sooner. If she had known they would attack her and make her feel ashamed, she never would have come tonight. She tried to remember how proud she’d felt as the ship—her ship—had been launched. It seemed like ages ago. She looked around for Harold, but he had disappeared.
Eventually the others grew tired of ribbing Ginny, and the conversation changed to another topic. She was able to drift away and go in search of Harold. She found him in the den with Ruth Harper, one of the younger club women whose husband was away in the navy. They stood very close to each other, talking and laughing. Ruth was flirting with Harold, and Ginny was horrified to see that he was flirting right back.
Ginny fled to the bathroom. The evening was a total disaster. She closed the toilet lid and sat on the seat so she wouldn’t have to see herself in the mirror as she struggled to control her tears. She would have no way to repair her makeup if it all washed away, and she didn’t want to face further humiliation if everyone saw she’d been crying.
A long time later, with her tears under control, Ginny rejoined the party. She looked at her watch and saw that she would have to stay at least another hour before she could politely leave. She didn’t bother searching for Harold, knowing it would be better to avoid him since he seemed determined to hurt her feelings. She drifted from group to group, not saying much, watching the clock until it was time to go home. She could understand why Rosa tried to drown her sorrows with alcohol, but every time the host offered to refresh her drink, Ginny politely refused.
She sighed with relief when the first person bade everyone good night and left the party. She hurried to the bedroom to retrieve her coat, then searched for Harold. She found him in a corner of the living room, dancing with Ruth. He was holding her much too closely. When the song ended, he kissed her on the cheek. He seemed surprised when he looked up and saw Ginny.
“Why do you have your coat on?”
“He’s in New Guinea.”
“New Guinea. That’s right. Let’s hope the war ends soon so he can come home to you and the kids, right?”
Through an act of sheer will, Ginny managed to keep herself together as she and Harold thanked their host and hostess, said good-bye to everyone, and left the party.
“Are we supposed to pick up the boys?” Harold asked as he started the car.
“No. They wanted to spend the night at Jean’s house.” Ginny had planned it that way so she and Harold would have the house to themselves, but she already knew that the romantic evening she had hoped for would never come to pass. She was furious with Harold. And judging by the silent car ride home, he was equally furious with her. When they finally walked through the kitchen door, she could no longer hold back her tears.
“You were flirting with Ruth Harper just to hurt me, weren’t you?”
Harold yanked his tie loose. “I wasn’t flirting. She reminded me of you—the way you used to be.”
“Are … are you going to divorce me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t want another wife, I want the one I married back!”
“I haven’t gone anywhere, Harold. I’m right here.”
“You know what I mean. I want things back the way they were. I remember when we used to have people over like Gloria and Al did tonight. We used to do things together on Saturdays, too. Now you’re up to your neck in housework every weekend and every evening instead of sitting with me and listening to the radio. You fall into bed exhausted every night.”
“That’s because this country is fighting a war. Doesn’t anyone care that Hitler and the Japanese are trying to take over the world? I don’t understand how Ruth and Betty and all those other women can go on living as if nothing has changed.”
“I want things back the way they were, Ginny.”
“For your sake or for mine?”
“If you’re implying that my motives are selfish, you’ve got a lot of nerve. I let you have your own way for the past six months, hoping you would get it out of your system and come to your senses and stay home. Or else that you’d tire yourself out and finally quit. I’m losing my patience.”
“Why didn’t you defend me tonight? You know how important the war industries are. And you know how badly they need women workers. Yet you didn’t say a word about any of those things. They were mocking me, Harold.”
“They were mocking me, too!” he said angrily.
“How? No one said a single word against you.”
“You should have heard what the men were saying behind your back. The implication was that I had lost control over you. That my household was in chaos.”
“That isn’t true. This household isn’t in chaos.”
“You know what I think, Virginia? I think you went to work because you’re ashamed of me for not fighting.”
“What? That’s not true—”
“You’re always rubbing it in my face, how you’re working to help to win America’s freedom—as if I’m not.”
“How can you say that? Your work is vitally important! That’s why the government gave you an exemption.”
“I was the only man under forty who wasn’t in uniform tonight. Do you know how many questioning looks I get every day? How many snide comments I hear wherever I go? I get strangers coming up to me and asking, ‘Where’s your uniform, Bub?”’
“Oh, Harold … I had no idea.”
“Several men implied that we must need the money, that my business must be on the rocks since I had to send my wife out to work to support my family. How do you think that makes me feel? And then there’s the fact that you’re working in a shipyard, of all places! What kind of a man gives his approval to a job like that? They know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t want my wife working there—so what kind of a husband lets his wife rule the roost?”
“A patriotic husband, one who wants to stop the Nazis and the Japanese. A man who loves his wife and gives her freedom.”
“You had all the freedom in the world when you were home all day running our household.”
“Not to do what I wanted to do. You don’t want to have any more children, you won’t let me mother the two we have—what else can I do to feel useful? Do you even care how good I felt when I watched that ship being launched the other day? I had played a part in it!”
“The life I’ve given you isn’t enough?” he asked quietly. “This home? Me? I’m not enough for you?”
Ginny didn’t reply. She didn’t know the answer. She watched her husband turn his back and walk away, aware that they were even more estranged than ever before, and she made up her mind to resign from her job on Monday morning.
CHAPTER 18
* Helen *
“What? They can’t do that!” Helen tossed the Saturday morning newspaper down on the kitchen table in disgust.
“Something wrong, Miss Helen?”
She looked up in surprise. Used to living alone, Helen had forgotten that Minnie’s granddaughter, Thelma, had come to clean the house today.
“Did you read the morning paper, Thelma?”
“Not yet.”
“It says that the government is setting up an internment camp to house German prisoners of war at Stockton Lake, of all places! Listen to this: ‘The site has been chosen to be one of several branch camps under the control of the Army’s Sixth Service Command at Fort Custer.’ Well, I’m not going to sit by idly and allow this to happen. They can’t bring those filthy Germans here!”
“Them prisoners got to go somewhere, don’t they?” Thelma asked. She was a pretty, soft-spoken girl, about the same age as Rosa Voorhees, and a very hard worker. She had begun cleaning the moment Helen had let her in the door—sweeping, dusting, mopping, scrubbing—and she hadn’t let up since.
“Well, I certainly don’t want any Germans here,” Helen said. “As far as I’m concerned, they should be sent to a deserted island somewhere.”
“You know, there’s people feeling that way about us colored folk, too. They don’t want us living in their towns or going to their schools.”
Helen looked at Thelma in surprise. “I’ve heard that’s true down south, but surely not up here?”
“Up here, too, Miss Helen. I graduated from high school over in Detroit, then took an electrician’s course and got me a first-class certificate. But I couldn’t find a factory job in Detroit or anyplace else. That’s why I’m still cleaning houses.”
“Did you apply at Stockton Shipyard?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure did. They’re saying there’s no openings right now.”
“That’s absurd. Earl Seaborn is always complaining that we’re shorthanded. I’ll talk to him about it first thing Monday morning.”
“Thank you, Miss Helen. I’d sure appreciate you putting in a good word for me. But I don’t think it’s gonna help. Not unless the color of my skin changes between now and Monday morning.”
“Do you really believe there’s racial discrimination here in Stockton?”
“I know there is, Miss Helen.”
“Well, I’ll talk to Earl Seaborn and see what I can do. And you can be sure that I’m going to speak to someone about the German prisoners, too. In fact, I think I’ll go downtown right now and speak with the mayor.” She rose from the table and headed toward the front closet to fetch her coat. She was still a Kimball, and her name still wielded power in this community. She had known the mayor, Archie Walton, for years.
The front doorbell rang, interrupting Helen’s momentum. She yanked it open and found Rosa Voorhees on her front porch again.
“Rosa! Now what?”
“I got to thinking about what you told me,” Rosa said, talking as if she and Helen were already in the middle of a
conversation. “How I should figure out what I want my future to be? But you said your father forced you and Jimmy to break up because he didn’t like him, and that got me worrying about Dirk’s father. What if he tries something like that?”
“My situation was completely different from yours, Rosa.”
“But I know his father doesn’t like me, and—”
“What about Dirk’s mother? Didn’t you say you were getting along better with her?”
“I guess so, most of the time. But Mrs. Voorhees is like two different people. We get along okay when it’s just the two of us, but she would never, ever go against her husband. She does whatever he says.”
“Look, it’s too cold to be standing here with the door open. Come in.” Helen knew she sounded ungracious, but she had neither the time nor the patience for Rosa’s problems. Helen let her in as far as the front hall, but she didn’t offer to take Rosa’s coat. “Listen, Jimmy and I never had a chance to get married. But you’re Dirk’s wife. I can’t imagine that his parents would try to change that.”
“But what if Dirk changes his mind? What if he decides that his father is right and that I’m no good for him? What if he starts seeing me the way his father does, and—”
“Rosa, Rosa … when I said to think of the future, I never meant that you should imagine all the bad things that might happen.”
“I can’t help worrying. Dirk and me didn’t get to know each other for very long before we got married. It was kind of a quick thing. To tell you the truth … we were both a little drunk the night we decided to elope.”
Helen suppressed a shudder. This was dreadful. She didn’t want to hear about Rosa’s private life, and she certainly didn’t feel qualified to give advice. Why had Rosa come here, of all places? Then Helen remembered that Ginny had planned a special night with her husband this weekend, and Jean was going home to Indiana. Was it simply that Helen was the only person left?