by Tricia Goyer
“C’mon, Rosalie.” Tilly patted the patch of dirt beside her. “I can see from your face you’ve received some not-so-good news as well.”
Rosalie ambled toward them. “Oh, Tilly, I’m afraid after all the work we’ve done, it’s not going to be good enough.” She sank to her knees, not caring that she’d be a mess when she got to work. “But I can’t stay. Kenny’ll be waiting at the plant. Today’s the day we’re doing the interview.”
“Don’t worry, Rosalie. I’ll give you a ride.” Iris attempted to offer a smile.
“See, an answer to your first problem.” Miss Tilly patted her hand. “Now with that matter taken care of, let’s talk to God and tell Him about the rest…all of it.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Rosalie’s thighs clung to the worn leather motorcycle seat, and she loosely gripped Iris’s waist as her friend zoomed up one of Seattle’s many hills. Cool splashes of late-morning air enlivened Rosalie’s cheeks, forehead, chin. Summiting the hill, Rosalie felt the metal horse’s engine wind down.
Even though the scene was beautiful and peaceful, nothing could settle down her heart. Today was the day she told Kenny she’d do the story.
“Nothing like the view from here,” Iris said as she pulled to the stop sign. Iris put her feet down, taking a moment to appreciate the view. Rosalie did the same.
Rosalie scanned the vast valley below. Houses and businesses created color splotches amidst the tapestry of green. “No wonder they call it the emerald city.” She allowed a smile. “Oh look, there’s the Boeing plant.”
“Where?” Iris took off her leather helmet and shook out her brown hair. “I can’t see it.”
“You know about the camouflage, right?” With a hand on Iris’s shoulder, Rosalie inclined her head next to her cheek and pointed. “Right over there. See those houses and roads? They’re all fake. That’s the airplane plant underneath. They camouflaged the top to make it look like any other Seattle neighborhood.”
It was still amazing to her. From the hill—and from the air—no one would guess they were looking at the roof of the Boeing plant. She wondered how long it had taken to build those houses, to create roads and trees, and even place automobiles up there.
Today, Rosalie could relate to the desire to be hidden. On the outside, she appeared her normal strong, all-sufficient self—like the Rosie the Riveter in the posters. But underneath she felt more panicked than when her legs dangled from the attic. In the last day she’d confessed to Kenny that she liked him. He liked her too. More than that, she agreed to the articles. She did it to help him save his job, and she wanted to, but her thoughts kept roaming to unmapped territory—and the more she dreamed about Kenny, the more she longed for a future with him.
So how am I supposed to stay focused during the interview? Like Birdie said, take the time to get to know him. Rosalie’s palms began to sweat thinking about spending this week with him. I really can’t dwell on this. She commanded her thoughts to change course. I’ll be material for the loony bin before we do the first interview.
“Oh, wow, I still can’t tell it’s the plant,” Iris commented, pulling Rosalie back to the moment. Iris squinted; then a slight smile of recognition emerged. “I’ve never noticed it from this far away before. Those trees and yards are part of it too?”
“Yep.”
“Looks so real. The Japs could never see it from the air.”
Iris tried to act like her heart wasn’t surging pain and frustration, but Rosalie knew her strong friend’s facade was like so many others hurting during this season of national loss. The strong demeanor arose from not wanting to worry those around her, knowing that, for the sake of victory, she must quell her own pain and forge ahead. Iris’s heart cries left her like a desert, needing water. Now was the time for prayers, encouragement, hugs.
But Rosalie didn’t push. Instead, she spent the ride waiting for Iris’s lead. Until she wanted to talk, Rosalie would pray.
Rosalie pointed over Iris’s shoulder. “If the Japs did figure it out, those barrage balloons wouldn’t let them maneuver close enough to bomb anyway.” Rosalie pointed to the large gray balloons in the distance, near the harbor, and she couldn’t help but relate to them too. Part of her was filled with hope, which lifted her. But another part wanted to keep herself protected from anything, or rather, anyone who could hurt her.
Iris’s situation reminded Rosalie of how quickly something good could turn around.
And keeping herself protected would be harder to do once her name and face were splashed all over the papers.
“Is it true FBI agents live in those little houses?” Iris returned the helmet to her head, tucking her hair up inside.
Rosalie laughed. “I can’t imagine they’d let anyone make their digs in a fake town designed to disguise our famous Plant 2 from enemy fire. And I can’t imagine wanting to live there. Probably just a tall tale someone thought up.”
“Oh.” Iris’s voice softened as if slowed by a hot, oppressive wind. “Just another rumor.” Her forefinger found an angry tear and quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m such a crybaby.” She heaved in a deep breath, palmed her cheeks, and emerged with a brave smile. “Hey, maybe we can move in there if the Victory Heights house doesn’t work out.”
Iris had meant it as a joke, but a sinking feeling hit Rosalie’s gut as she was reminded again of the overwhelming obstacles of getting into the house by the rapidly approaching due date of its scheduled demise. They’d all worked so hard, but would their efforts be enough?
“Ready to go?”
Rosalie nodded and clasped her arms around Iris’s waist once more.
Then Iris let out a deep sigh. “If only the enemy flying overhead was the only thing we had to worry about these days.”
Rosalie’s palm edged across Iris’s back as if it were an open wound she didn’t want to agitate. Her leather coat felt smooth under her touch. “I can only tell you about the one who dove into the flooding river of my darkness and breathed new life into me. Jesus, my friend. Only Jesus can help us.”
The motorcycle growled as Iris shifted it into gear. “I don’t have much else to turn to right now.” Her eyes zeroed in on the road as the motorcycle tipped to a balanced center, then set off down the hill.
“You can come to church with me tomorrow,” Rosalie hollered over the rushing wind and whirring motor. “Since I’ve asked God to help guide my life, it’s not perfect, but I’ve discovered I can turn to Him. Tilly says church is the best place to learn about God. I’m going with Miss Tilly. You can join me.”
“Yeah, I’ll consider it,” Iris hollered back.
Rosalie prayed her friend would accept the invitation. This morning wasn’t the only time Rosalie had walked alongside her friend through marriage heartaches. Seeing how hard Iris and Jake struggled to keep their relationship strong gave Rosalie a real-life education on the difficult journey. And war just made things harder. Maybe Rosalie should take note of that. Maybe she shouldn’t hurry things along with Kenny.
Fifteen minutes later, Iris zipped the motorcycle to a swift stop in front of the Boeing gate. Rosalie climbed off the back, then turned to thank her friend.
Before Rosalie got the words out, Iris pointed. “There’s that word slinger of yours.”
Rosalie turned and followed Iris’s gaze, freezing in place when she saw him.
“It’s Kenny, isn’t it? He’s quite the bee’s knees in his suit coat and hat.” Iris snickered. “Don’t see that kind of get-up at the plant every day, I bet.”
Rosalie inspected Kenny’s back as he stood alongside the queue of bandanna-clad women waiting to show their IDs and pocketbooks to the check-in guard.
“Yep, that’s Kenny.” Her stomach churned as an overwhelming fright claimed her. They hadn’t talked since yesterday at the bus stop, when their attraction and care for each other had been so evident.
Iris waited, a tease growing in her smile.
“I’d recognize hi
m anywhere.” Rosalie forced a chuckle. “Even his back.”
“I bet you would.” Iris’s lips nipped together, and her eyes grinned. “Well, I’m off to work.”
Thank you for not teasing me, Iris. Rosalie heaved in a breath. “I’ll be praying for you today.” She gave her friend a quick hug.
“Thanks.” Iris revved the engines, then zoomed away.
Gazing at Kenny, excitement embraced Rosalie. Kenny’s here. It’s going to be a good day.
But following those thoughts rushed in a blitz of doubts. I’ll be in the paper. People will recognize me in public. They’ll want to talk to me. Worries whipped at her heart.
She placed a hand on her stomach, attempted to breathe in her Rosie the Riveter courage, and then marched forward to where Kenny stood. The laughter and chatter of ladies lining up for work filled her ears.
“Maybe the articles will encourage more women to join our ranks.” Birdie and Iris had both mentioned that. By letting Kenny into her own little world, she’d also be informing King County residents of the struggle of women workers. Tens of thousands of people would better understand the hard work women put in, their struggle with housing, and the other numerous issues they faced on a daily basis.
She approached Kenny and eyed the white collar of his work shirt. My hands felt that fabric. I breathed in his musky scent. The memory of his cologne ushered in yesterday’s flowering emotions like a waterfall, washing over her. There was too much going on inside to understand. She didn’t try. Instead, she kept her eyes on his broad shoulders.
In her mind’s eye, she drifted next to him and slipped her hand in his, like she was his gal. But as soon as that picture emerged, she shook her head and shooed it away.
Instead, she brushed her palms on her pants, then folded her arms over her chest. No, Rosalie, he’s here to interview you—not so you can make beautiful music together.
She took in a deep breath, preparing to greet him, when she saw that he was already engaged in conversation.
Rosalie’s eyes flitted past him to Lanie, whose eyelashes fluttered as she maneuvered herself nearer to him, giggling. Even worse was the smile on Kenny’s face as he seemed enthralled by her story.
Jealousy nipped at Rosalie’s heart.
Why would she flirt with Kenny, both now and at the diner, but show interest in Nick as well? Rosalie eyed the girl’s innocent features. She couldn’t possibly intend to cause pain, but she needed to be more careful.
Birdie caught sight of Rosalie first. Her pretty head popped up as she waved. “Hiya, Rosalie!”
A skipping breeze whisked Kenny’s light-brown hair across his forehead as he swung his gaze over his shoulder. Catching sight of her, his dimple appeared. His eyes took her in as she ambled toward him. “Hi, doll.”
Doll? Birdie’s and Lanie’s eyes rounded, and Rosalie’s neck heated up. She rubbed her palms together and flashed an equally playful grin his direction. “Hi, dear. Sort of dressed wrong for a day like today—all prettied up and such.” She playfully walloped his arm. “Are you ready for the hardest workday of your life?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it, as if unsure what to say. Then he merely nodded. Lanie may try to flirt, but Rosalie could clearly see Kenny only had eyes for her.
Kenny passed through the gate, and his heartbeat quickened as the sounds of women at work filled the large building. Women talking. Machines making all types of racket. Huge rows of plane parts lined up. The scents of metal, and the heat of iron joining iron.
Kenny followed Rosalie to her boss’s office.
“Do you promise not to expose any manufacturing secrets in your articles or photos?” Mr. Hawkins growled in a surprisingly quiet voice.
“Yes, sir, I promise. My father—well, he just returned home after losing a leg to the Japanese. I’m not going to give those Japs one smattering of information to help their cause.”
“You’re a good boy. I normally don’t let reporters in, but your boss Bixby was convincing. He promised you’d provide good publicity—and the prospect of new recruits.”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“And I can’t let you be with Rosalie here, as she works—much too dangerous for the likes of you—but she can give you a tour.”
Kenny noted the glimmer of amusement in Rosalie’s eye. She liked the idea that Mr. Hawkins thought her work too dangerous for a soft reporter.
“Of course, I understand.”
He walked out of Mr. Hawkins’ office with a guest pass in hand and followed Rosalie down the hall. He eyed the other women who walked alongside her. Pride and respect were clear on their faces. He could see they felt Rosalie wasn’t just one of them. She was tops in their book. Kenny pulled the small notebook from his shirt pocket and jotted down notes.
The truth was, if he’d been attracted to her before, it was nothing like the feelings that surged through him now. Kenny had always thought he’d marry a sweet church girl someday—the kind who wore pastel dresses and wide-brimmed hats. That type of girl no longer interested him. He’d take a hard-bodied riveter any day. He placed a soft hand on Rosalie’s lower back as they walked together. More than anything he had to suppress his longing to pull her aside and kiss those delicious lips. Boeing Airplane Company seemed like the perfect place for a first kiss.
The previous night, as he lay in bed, he’d convinced himself that to make his boss happy, he’d have to go slow. To make sure he didn’t mix business with pleasure.
But now that he saw her slim form again and felt the tenderness of her presence, the idea he’d settled on of going slow in their relationship bugged out the escape hatch. Yet, he’d have to tug it back, at least for now, while on the job.
Rosalie paused at the door to the locker room. “Wait here, okay? I have to go powder my nose.”
“Uh, sure.”
She scampered inside and Kenny scrutinized the immense room. The plant’s thunderous hum amazed him the most. And he figured the noises would pierce even louder when distinguished from each other in the various work areas. But from his spot at the entrance, the clashing sounds combined into a deep rumbling that vibrated his gut.
A herd of weary workers, peppered with both men and women, slogged toward the time clock. Kenny figured it was the end of their shift. A burly man with a bulging middle along with a skinny, younger fellow straggled behind the crowd.
“I don’t know if we’ll ever live it down, Pop,” the younger one, apparently the other man’s son, said. “At least ten ladies who weren’t here the day we gave the official apology demanded payment from me today. Are we going to have to keep apologizing forever?”
The older man shrugged. “I know how you feel, George.”
A couple women, one with short red hair and the other donning a flower-patterned bandanna, apparently overheard and tramped back toward the men.
“Hey, Bill, hey, George,” the redhead said. “I can answer that question for you. You’ll apologize until you’ve spoken to every woman on every shift. That’s what you promised our Rosalie and Birdie.” She glanced at her friend. “Isn’t that right, Em?”
Her friend nodded. “That’s right, and hey, I didn’t get my apology yet. Did you?”
The redhead shook her head. “Nope.”
Both the men’s shoulders slumped, their eyes rolled, and exasperated sighs flowed.
“Fine,” Bill said. “We’re very sorry we treated you women like you weren’t as good at working here as the men.”
George repeated his father’s words in the same rote tone. Then they moved toward the time clock.
Kenny, watching it all, swelled with an unexpected pride. Those women spoke so highly of his Rosalie. He already thought of her as his girl, but seeing her respected and admired strengthened his connection.
Just then he noticed Rosalie, who’d been hidden by the other workers. She sauntered to Bill and George.
“Hey, you two.” Her eyes held their feistiness but also displayed sincerity. “I hope if yo
u say that enough times it might actually sink in.”
Bill and George rolled their eyes and stomped past her.
Rosalie’s eyes searched, and when they landed on Kenny, she smiled and pointed toward the time clock.
Walking amidst the other workers, Rosalie smiled and laughed as they praised her, then a couple began pointing his direction. Kenny relished the pink that rose to her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes.
Kenny approached, taking a photo as she lined up with the others, preparing to clock in. “Well, this is where it begins,” she said.
“How many times have I seen this building from the outside? A thousand. But it feels so much bigger in here.” He looked up. All the way up. The height of the ceiling alone made him feel like an ant in a sandbox.
“I don’t think about it much anymore, but when I first started…” She eyed the huge room and let out a big breath. “Wow.”
He again pulled out his notepad and took notes. “Who works up there?” he asked, pointing to the scaffolding.
Instead of answering him, Rosalie eyed the notepad. Her eyes tittered with nervousness.
He guessed he knew the problem but tried to play it off, sidling up to her. “What’s eatin’ you, doll?” He smiled and then shrugged. “I must really appear like a reporter today, huh?”
She nodded.
A childlike trepidation lingered there, and he longed to comfort and reassure her. “Can I tell you something before we get started?”
Rosalie glanced at the clock. “We have five minutes.” Her fingers jostled the timecard, and she granted him a weak smile.
“You seem to know your onions about reporters. I’m not sure what your particular beef is, but I’d guess shady word jockeys populate every newspaper in every burg in the country.”
Rosalie slanted to the side, her shoulder resting against the wall.
Kenny propped an elbow on the time clock. “I’ve met fellows who’ll publish a story for their own gain, not caring one iota about the masses they leave bloodied along the way. But doll,” he saturated his gaze with as much sincerity as he could, “I’m an honorable man.”