“I’m sure they won’t take him right away,” Kitty said. “We’ll find him.” But she wasn’t so sure. She had heard from one of the men at the USO dances that he had been taken the very afternoon he’d signed up. And she also knew the usual procedure was that the men got their paperwork done one day, then headed off for basic training camp the next. There was so very little time.
“MAY I HAVE MORE OATMEAL, PLEASE?” Tommy asked. Margaret mindlessly passed him the bowl. It was two weeks after Billy had disappeared. Tommy had begun eating again—with a vengeance—and that was the only good news the Heaney family had enjoyed. There was little conversation; mostly mealtimes consisted of the clinking of silverware against the dishes.
“May I be excused?” Tommy asked.
“Yes, go,” Margaret said irritably. And then, “Where is that father of yours?”
Every morning, Frank went early to the post office to check through the mail before their carrier set out, looking for some word from Billy. So far, nothing.
Kitty pushed away from the table without excusing herself. Who cared now about such formalities? She went to the bathroom and found the door locked. “Tommy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you almost done? I have to get in there, honey. I’ve got to go to work.”
“Okay.” Kitty heard the toilet flush, and then Tommy opened the door. He looked up at her and smiled. Kitty stepped into the bathroom, stopped, and came back out into the hall. “Tommy?”
Nothing. She called louder and then heard his thin reply. She went down the hall and into the boys’ bedroom. It wasn’t a place she liked to go very often, for despite Margaret’s insistence on cleanliness, Billy was a slob—messes seemed to follow him wherever he went. But now, in his absence, the room was clean—the bed made, all the toys and books and papers put away, the model cars and airplanes neatly lined up on the shelf. It was awful.
Tommy lay on the bed, his back to Kitty. She sat beside him and touched his shoulder. “Are you sick, honey?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“But…Didn’t you just throw up in the bathroom?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
She smiled. “Oh, Tommy, you don’t have to apologize! Turn over, let me see you.”
He turned toward her, embarrassed. Despite having begun to eat again, he didn’t look well. He had circles under his eyes, and even his freckles seemed pale.
“Did you just eat too much? Is that it? Got a little too full?”
He nodded.
“Are you trying to eat more to make Ma feel better?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, that’s nice, but just take it easy, okay? Just eat normally, and that will be fine. Okay?”
“Kitty?”
“Yes?”
“Will Billy get killed in the war?”
“Oh, sweetheart, no. If he hasn’t been found out already, he’s off in some training camp—he hasn’t gone overseas yet. We’re going to find him and bring him home. Don’t worry. You worry so much, and you’ve got to stop! I know everybody’s upset about Billy, but believe me, we’ll find him.”
Tommy stared at her. “Do you promise?”
“I promise!” she said, with a hearty conviction she didn’t feel at all. Who knew where Billy was or what had happened to him? All the efforts Frank had made to find him through the armed services had thus far failed.
She leaned in closer to Tommy’s face. “You know what? I have something up my sleeve that I’m going to tell Pop as soon as he gets home. And I’ll bet you we find him right away after that. One thing I really know for sure, Tommy, is that Billy is fine. I just know it.” Oddly, she did feel sure of that.
“What about Julian, and Michael?”
“Them, too.”
“But every day guys get killed. More and more.”
“I know. It’s awful. But Julian and Michael and Billy won’t.”
“How do you know, though?”
“You have to have faith. Okay?”
“Okay.” He sat up, and Kitty rubbed his back. She could feel his rib cage, his knobby vertebrae.
“I want you not to think about these things so much, Tommy. You’re making yourself sick. I’ll tell you what. I’ll worry for you. Whenever you start to feel bad, you think to yourself, Hey, I don’t have to do this! Kitty’s worrying for me! Okay? Can you do that? I’ll worry for you.”
“What’s your plan?”
“My plan?”
“Yes, you said you had something up your sleeve. About Billy.”
“Oh!” she said. “That’s absolutely right. But it’s top secret. I have to go to work now. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Kitty sped down the hall to get into the bathroom before it became occupied again. But she was too late. She knocked on the door and heard Tish’s “One second.”
Kitty sighed and slid to the floor. One second. More like one hour. “Hurry up!” she yelled. “I have to get to work.”
“So does everybody,” Tish yelled back.
“I have to go the farthest!” Kitty yelled. To this Tish said nothing.
Kitty crossed one ankle over the other and tried to relax. Nothing would make Tish linger more than telling her not to. Kitty looked down the hall toward the boys’ room. She felt bad telling Tommy she had a plan about Billy when she didn’t. Only suddenly, she did have an idea. She got up and ran down the stairs, calling for her mother.
A FEW DAYS LATER, MARGARET STOOD on the porch with the rest of the family, watching Billy come down the block. She was crying, her hands over her mouth, and her hands were trembling. She’d come outside without taking her apron off, something she’d never done before.
When Billy at last stood before them, Margaret embraced him, though she’d said the first thing she was going to do when she laid eyes on him was beat him senseless. But how could she? It was a Sunday morning, the church bells were ringing, a coffeecake in the oven was scenting the house with cinnamon, and the missing son had returned unharmed to stand before her with his crooked smile and his bright blue eyes.
Kitty’s own eyes filled with tears as she watched her mother hold Billy close to her, swaying and sobbing. Then, abruptly, Margaret stepped back from him and pointed to the front door. “Inside. I might as well tell you, you’re going to get the licking of your life.”
Billy grinned.
Margaret grabbed his ear. She wasn’t kidding.
The rest of the family waited uneasily on the porch. Binks pressed his nose to the window and cupped his hands around his eyes. “She’s still got him by the ear,” he said, adding, “That really hurts. Now she’s…Wait. Billy dropped his duffel bag. Now she’s coming out of the kitchen with that big wooden spoon and she’s…Uh-oh. She made him turn around and now…Oh. boy. she’s giving it to him now.”
This they knew. Billy’s howls made it to the front porch and beyond. But they were more like howls of joy, Kitty thought.
She sat on the top front step in the morning sun. She was overjoyed to have her brother home, but she was a little miffed that she hadn’t been recognized enough for her sleuthing abilities. Billy had used his friend Anthony’s birth certificate to enlist. “Of course!” Frank had said, smacking his forehead. But do you think he thanked his daughter? Do you think he acknowledged her excellent reasoning ability? No. He got on the telephone, and now, three days later, here his son was, back from his Louisiana boot camp. And in spite of Frank’s worry and his anger, Kitty could see that her father admired his son’s derring-do. Well, let him calm down, her father. She needed his full attention to tell him the next bit of great news: she was quitting the airplane factory. She was going to sell gloves at Carson’s, Tish had told her about an opening. Tomorrow she would let the factory know, via telephone. And then she would once again dress prettily for work. And grow her fingernails and keep them painted. And browse in department stores after a lunch she’d had with girlfriends who all smelled like perfume. And be treated as the lady she was.<
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“Ow!” Billy cried one last time, and then there was Margaret at the door, her face flushed, her apron askew, exuberantly waving them all in to have sour cream coffeecake made from Gert Nelson’s excellent recipe. It had taken a blue ribbon at the state fair three times, and if you ever forgot that, don’t worry, Gert would remind you. No matter; the cake was so good, it was worth it to have to offer congratulations over and over again.
AT SUPPER (ROAST BEEF!), BILLY REGALED THE FAMILY with the story of his adventure. Apparently the punishment phase was over, and now everyone had moved on to adulation. Well, not Kitty. She knew what behavior should be admired and what behavior should not be.
“There was this really crabby sergeant?” Billy said. “And one guy, he did something wrong and the sergeant kicked him and made him do fifty push-ups. It was a terrible place. We had to take fifteen-mile hikes. Our clothes that they gave us didn’t even fit. We had to get up real early and then lights-out at nine. If you got up after that to go to the bathroom or something, you had to walk on tiptoes. They made me practically bald, you should have seen me when they first cut my hair. You had to clean everything so much it was ridiculous. We even had to wash windows!”
“’Tis a wonder you survived,” Margaret said wryly.
“Don’t I know it,” Billy said.
“I SEE,” FRANK SAID. He was sitting in his chair in the parlor, and Kitty stood before him, waiting for him to congratulate her on coming to her senses. “Well, if you think that’s the right thing to do…”
“What do you mean?” Kitty said. “You didn’t even want me to take that job!”
Frank sucked at his pipe. “’Tis true.”
“You said it wasn’t right for a woman to work in a factory.”
“I did.”
“So…?”
“Well, you took the job anyway, didn’t you? And now you want to quit. I don’t like to think of any of us in this family as being quitters, including Billy; sure he’ll enlist when it’s time, should the war still be on. If you believe it’s right to leave the factory, you must do it. Never be afraid of doing the thing you know in your heart is right, even if others don’t agree. Just be sure that your decision sits well with your conscience. If you leave that job, make sure you can look yourself—and your country—in the eye.”
“Pop,” Kitty said. “It’s hard. I don’t even want to tell you some of the things that go on in that place.”
“I’m sure you’re not quitting because your fingernails get broken.”
Kitty stared at the floor. That certainly was a part of it.
Frank’s voice grew gentle. “I think all the time about our boys, Kitty. Sometimes I imagine them in their foxholes, all those young men in all those foreign places from which they might never return. I wonder what they talk about before they go into battle—or if they talk at all. I wonder how many of them look up at the stars and try to realize what their young lives have meant, and if they don’t come home, what their deaths will mean. I know they realize one thing more than any other: there’s no turning back. They’ve got to carry their mission through.” He tapped his pipe against the ashtray. “But the person with a bleeding finger doesn’t hurt less for the person next to him with the bleeding arm. You do what you have to do, Kitty. There’ll be no blame coming from me.”
IN THE MORNING, KITTY ROSE before anyone else and made her way downstairs. She telephoned the factory and spoke quietly into the mouthpiece, identifying herself. Then she stood tall to say, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I…”
“Yes?” The woman on the other end of the line was impatient-sounding. No doubt she’d worked all night shift and was tired, ready to go home.
“I…might be a little late this morning.”
“Well, get here as soon as you can,” the woman said. “And don’t think you won’t be docked, either.” She hung up.
Someone from the party line picked up his phone. “Hello? Hello?”
Kitty hung up.
So, then, off to work. Jeez, how much was a person supposed to sacrifice, anyway? How did you decide when it was enough? When she was little, Frank had told her something she’d never forgotten: If you win something, it feels good. If you help someone else win something, it feels even better, because it lasts longer, it might even last all your life. Uh-huh, she’d said at the time, not believing him for a second. And just the other day, a woman at work who was selling war bonds had said, “People say you should give till it hurts. I say you should give till it stops hurting. Know what I mean?”
“I do,” Kitty said. But here was something Kitty meant: she was going to buy herself a pretty dress now and then, even if she hardly ever got to wear it. A girl had to live.
“I DON’T FEEL LIKE GOING TO A DANCE any more than the man in the moon.” Kitty sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing her feet. She’d taken a shower in cold water, hoping the unpleasant jolt would wake her up, but it was no good: she was still thoroughly beat, and now she was freezing, too. She understood the need for oil to be conserved at home so that it could go toward fuel for the boys. But because she had taken a cold shower in the middle of November to wake up and do her part as a morale booster at a USO dance (in addition to doing her part as a defense worker!), she was sitting inside her own house shivering, unable to get warm. When the temperature was kept at sixty-five degrees, keeping warm at any time was hard to do. But now!
Besides that, she was working harder than ever in the factory; there was a mania to get things done and get them done even more quickly than before. The Italian surrender had helped throw everyone into high gear. Hitler was reportedly depressed and staring silently into his soup; Himmler had set up a special SS team to destroy evidence of the mass murder of Jews; new offensives had been launched in the Pacific. Everyone was galvanized, but there was a price to be paid: she and Hattie were often so tired at lunch they hardly spoke. When Hattie’s birthday had come last week and Kitty had given her false fingernails as a joke, neither of them had laughed. Instead, Hattie had started crying, and then Kitty had, too. They’d both been embarrassed. Ruined hands did not in any way compare with the ultimate, horrifying sacrifices the men were making, Kitty knew that, and she felt guilty for complaining. Still, at such times she also remembered her father’s words about the hurt finger not hurting less because of someone else’s more seriously injured arm. She’d offered a hankie to Hattie and told her to come on, she’d buy her a Coke. Hattie had said fine, she’d buy one for Kitty.
“Don’t go to the dance, then,” Tish said, pinching her cheeks to raise some color. “Louise is coming; she can ‘chaperone.’”
“I’m not so sure I should go, either,” Louise said. “After what happened last time.”
Louise had danced with a young man from Boise who made Fred Astaire look like an amateur. Also, his looks reminded her of Michael, and when he’d held her close during “You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To,” she’d closed her eyes and imagined that it was indeed Michael holding her. Then, to her horror—for the girls were there above all else to cheer up the soldiers—she’d started crying. When the boy had pulled back from her and asked her what was wrong, she’d confessed that she’d been pretending he was Michael. He’d told her that was all right, he’d been pretending she was his wife. He had a young wife and a little son, only six weeks old when he left. And then Louise had begun to cry harder, thinking of how that baby might never know his father. The man had told her not to worry, he wasn’t scared, all his life he’d been a very lucky fellow. “Tell you what,” he’d told her. “When I get home I’ll send you a sign. Four four-leaf clovers—I’m always finding them everywhere I go. And then you’ll know that the lucky man you danced with got home safe and sound.” Louise had disobeyed the rules and given him her address. It didn’t seem to be so much of a risk—the men in his unit were taking the train out the next morning.
“Oh, let’s both go,” Kitty told Louise. “I’ll dance; you do something else. Why don’t you help th
e guys make records to send home?”
“That’s dangerous,” Louise said. “You never know when a guy’s going to send a record to a girl who sent him a Dear John letter. That’s even worse than the guys who are telling their parents they’re coming home amputees. I don’t see how anyone could do that, send a guy who’s fighting a war a Dear John letter. What kind of person would be so cruel? At least wait until he gets home! I’ll come to the club. I’ll just serve coffee again.”
Kitty didn’t want to go to the Kelly Club, but she didn’t want to stay at home, either—what was there to do at home but go to bed early? She’d had enough of that. Despite her fatigue, she was young, she wanted to do things. And she wanted a man to look at her that way. Surely all women did. There were rumors that flew around at the factory about married women who were apparently having relations with men there as well as outside the factory. One such woman, a thirtyish redhead named Dellrene, had admitted openly that she wasn’t going to deny herself. She’d told Kitty, “What he don’t know won’t hurt him. I got needs. And don’t tell me he ain’t helping himself to whatever he can find. When he comes home, we’ll be with each other. For now…” She’d shrugged. “It’s war, honey.”
Another reason to go to the dance was that, so far as Kitty was concerned, Tish needed two chaperones. She was always on the verge of getting in trouble; she was a terrible flirt. She was doing very well at her job, and any money she didn’t give to the family went toward clothes or the fabric to make them. She loved showing off her Charmode dress-up frock, with its figure-molding drapery, and her whirl skirt in fine rayon crepe, and her pleated dress with an elongated bodice and lowered waistline. Kitty had a few new things as well, her favorite being a classic line dress with a shirred bodice and jeweled buttons, but it didn’t feel the same to dress up when your fingers were callused, your face too thin, your hair dry from overshampooing.
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