by Cat Gardiner
Oh, and the answer is no—I am never this audacious. Brazen, impetuous, and a little free-spirited, yes—but never arrogant. I’ll look forward to your correspondence. Did I mention I’m also an optimist?
Sincerely yours,
Hotrod Lizzy
Juliana barely tempered her curiosity and desire to tear into all the other letters right then and there but the attic was now dark with the only light coming up from the narrow staircase. Carefully, she re-folded the letter, retied them then closed the footlocker.
“I’ll be back tomorrow with a steno pad for note taking—Lieutenant William Martel. Your secrets will soon be discovered, and I promise you, yours and Lizzy’s love story will be told.”
With the letters and the photograph of her grandfather in hand, she went back downstairs where she cooked and ate the first of many dinners in her vintage kitchen while devouring the first few letters from Lizzy that her great-uncle received during his service.
~~**~~
Five
Now is the Hour
June 2, 1942
“Don’t cry, Mom,” Louie consoled. Taking his mother Anna’s hand in his, the delicate, familiar touch comforted them both.
The brim of her hat didn’t conceal the tears rolling down her cheeks as she patted them dry with a lace edged handkerchief. Her native Dutch accent still pervaded her every word and phrase, tugging at Will’s heart as he covertly observed the tender scene between his older brother and petite mother.
“I can’t help it. I’ll cry for your broeder, too, when he leaves. You’re both still my babies.”
It seemed a funny thing for him to hear standing in the center of Pennsylvania Station, waiting for a train to take Louie and other uniformed servicemen of the Armed Forces off to war.
“He might be a baby, but I’m a Marine. I’ll be fine.” As usual, Louie gave his mother that trademark smile that caused her to laugh through tears.
“Always the jokester. Keep that humor, Lieverd.”
Louie chuckled at the irony. “Someone else told me that recently, too.”
Anna wiped her tears and her voice broke slightly. “Who, my dear?”
“That girl, Lillian, I told you about. She may write you while I’m away.”
“I hope so. I’d like to know the woman my boy is in love with.”
Also wearing his summer service uniform, Will stood off to the side beside their father, Julien. Both knew their time would come not only to say their good-byes to Louie but also to part ways from one another. Will didn’t even want to think of what that scene would be like. He knew his mother would barely hold it together when her youngest son left New York for G-d knows where. First, he had to get through training down at MacDill Army Airfield in Tampa, Florida.
All around them, similar scenes were taking place. Some mothers wept, some infants prophetically cried, sweethearts hung on for dear life, yet others stoically seemed to fight back the emotion by trying to display impassive faces. Many soldiers sat waiting—alone, perched upon their suitcases against the Servicemen Information Booth or beside the gate entrance. That had to be the hardest, but he imagined some fellows wanted it that way. Some of those soldiers were still boys and perhaps that was the reason for their lack of family—they up and enlisted in secret, lying about their age.
Against the backdrop of American flags hanging from steel pillars and the large, V emblazoned banner suspended overhead, the entire waiting concourse was simultaneously the most patriotic and poignant moment Will had ever witnessed. When his time came to depart for combat, he wouldn’t want it any other way—just his parents and him. He knew Louie would be with him in spirit wherever he went.
Anna reached up and touched Louie’s cheek. “Do you have the food I packed for you? Make sure you eat something. You need your vitamins to remain strong.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. There’s a reason the Marines are first to fight.” He kissed her cheek and she grabbed him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.
Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered something in Dutch into his ear as she hugged him with all the love a mother could have for her eldest son.
Will watched them from the corner of his eye, noting how his brother nodded to appease her request then tenderly replied, “I will.”
The smile and impassivity behind Louie’s dark eyes confirmed to Will nothing beyond the fact that his brother always had a great poker face. He could lie like the best of them when it meant sparing someone’s feelings or taking blame for something he didn’t do. For all of Louie’s grandstanding, mischievous behavior, and in spite of his doll dizzy ways, he really was an upstanding fellow.
Anna kissed his right cheek, left cheek, then back to the right, and Louie laughed. “Enough with the kisses!”
“Shush, that’s the DeVries way. I may be a Martel, but I’m also a DeVries and you are, too. We kiss!” For his objection, he received another three from his mother, willing herself to appear as good humored as her son.
He walked to his father and brother and looked at his wristwatch. “I have to board the train. I want to get a good seat for the long ride down to Norfolk. I’m afraid if I drag this good-bye out, Mom might not let me go.”
Julien put on that stoic face Will had seen displayed on so many other fathers present, but he knew what was in his heart. Like their mother, he was having a difficult time with his son’s departure. He hugged Louie, surprising Will by the unprecedented public display of affection.
“I love you, Pally. I’m proud of you.”
Evident in the way Louie’s Adam’s apple moved, it was obvious to Will that his brother felt the emotion and sentiment conveyed by their father’s simple yet powerful statement, particularly because ‘pal’ was his father’s childhood nickname for Louie.
“Thanks, Dad. I love you, too.”
“Come home safely to your mother and write her often. Sleep whenever you can.” He, too, whispered something into his son’s ear, when he pulled him in for a last hug.
Will picked up his Marine brother’s small travel case and then slung the duffle’s strap over his shoulder, surmising what his parents had imparted in secret.
“C’mon, I’ll walk you to the track,” he said, sad to see how his parents, a good foot difference in their heights now stood arm in arm, watching their boy leave for the Pacific.
It broke their hearts knowing Louie headed to where each day’s news and newsreels reported significant Naval battles as well as the devastating failure of the Battle of Bataan.
Louie gave them a slight wave before the two brothers walked side-by-side through the throng of passengers. Uniformed in different khaki colors, their garrison caps were decorated by dissimilar medallions, one bearing the Army Air Corp gold propeller wings as well as a gold bar and the other with the impressive Marine emblem. Overhead, the unusual occurrence of a woman announcer called out a train’s arrival adding to the loud din in the crowded station’s waiting area.
“Will you write to Mom?” Louie asked his brother.
“Of course. You know I plan to.”
“Well, try to type it if you can. Your handwriting is like chicken scratch.”
Will cocked an amused smile. “Yes, big brother.”
“And write that girl.”
“Which girl?”
“You know which girl. Lizzy. In case you conveniently forgot it—I left her address beside her letter on your desk.”
The brothers stopped before the arched stairwell to the track below, and Will placed Louie’s suitcase at his feet. A shrill whistle carried up from the sub-level below the city, adding to the heaviness of the moment.
“I don’t think I’ll write back to her. It’s a shame because I really like her. It’s just … her family … ya’ know.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d have a problem with that. Here you’re going off to Europe to fight those bastards, and they’re right here in our own backyard, but Lil and Lizzy aren’t like the others, and you need a girl to write to whenever
you exit out of that flying coffin.”
Will smiled thoughtfully. “And a pretty one at that, but there’s a reason the saying goes ‘fools rush in where wise men never go’.”
“Wise? More like numbskull. She’d be good for you, Will. Besides, she’s got great gams.”
“Her letter was pretty audacious.”
“Good, you don’t want some dumb Dora. You like that she’s a pistol and a girl who knows what she wants. If I recall the story correctly, that’s how Mom caught Pop in her trap, too. Lizzy probably thinks you’re a good catch—in spite of that stern countenance of yours. Don’t mess this up, and don’t waste too much time mulling it over or you’ll miss out on a good thing. Try for once to be a little spontaneous.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll write her, but that’s it. I’m in no mood to deal with a family of anti-Semites, not after what Aunt Estella wrote us about Amsterdam and now with things heating up in France ...”
“Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to take out your anger, and I’ll get to enact some serious payback for Pearl Harbor.”
“Yeah, but it still frustrates me when I hear fellas, in their ignorance, say that we’re only at war with Germany because they’re allies with the Japanese.”
“A lot of Americans are asleep, but that’ll change.” Louie held out his hand. “Be safe, Brother.”
Their palms slapped together in a firm handshake, which seemed to meld into one hand for the two thick as thieves.
“Protect your men,” Will advised, his tone serious. “Keep your head down and … and wear a rubber.” He suddenly grinned like a Cheshire cat trying for a little levity although his heart was clenching as he fought the urge to choke up.
Louie tugged his taller brother’s hand, pulling him forward for a hug. “Love you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all soppy on me. Sheesh, some hardboiled Marine you are.” Will rolled his eyes and handed Louie the duffle. “Write when you get where you’re going. They’ll re-route your letter to me in either Florida or England or wherever they send me, maybe North Africa.”
Louie turned, giving a thumbs up. The last thing Will saw was his brother’s quick descent down the stairwell until he disappeared. He turned and, through the crowd, observed his mother sobbing in his father’s arms.
~~*~~
Of all the places to get lost at Meercrest, the seventy-foot teahouse water tower overlooking the Sound was Lizzy’s favorite place of escape, especially when her need to pout was paramount. It was the one place where she was guaranteed solitude. No one ventured up here any longer. The heyday of its usefulness had long passed with her aunt Helga and her notorious, not to mention salacious, private flapper parties held up here during the twenties. Tea was more like illegal hooch brought in from the Sound by her grandfather’s many connections during the Prohibition. Back then, the North Shore was called “Rum Row,” and the teahouse had become Glen Cove’s speakeasy of sorts. Now twenty years later, the silver service tray, sitting beside Lizzy, held steaming hot coffee thanks to the head housekeeper Mrs. Davis and her diligent attention to the girls’ addictions and luxuries. G-d help her if those rumors of putting coffee on the ration came true. Lizzy was sure she would die.
At nine-stories up, the cerulean view beyond the arched windows was spectacular, and Lizzy had a clear view to Connecticut on the opposite side of the water. With her novel tossed to the side and Kay Kyser’s Orchestra “Who Wouldn’t Love You” playing on the console radio behind her, she mindlessly focused on the Coast Guard Reserve ships monitoring for U-boats and mines, which seemed to be cropping up on the eastern seaboard with greater frequency every day. As much as she fought the pull to think about the war, it was everywhere, invading her practically perfect (but definitely sheltered) life. Meeting William and Louie three days prior had certainly increased her awareness that every young man’s life was affected, and she now understood John’s dismay over his classification. Just the other day, she overheard two debs she knew at the Glen Head Country Club, discussing someone who they considered “damaged and undesirable” because the Army declared him 4F. John was not damaged goods and it upset her to think people would be prejudiced against him for something out of his control. He wanted to fight; didn’t that matter?
With a long, deep inhale of her cigarette, Lizzy’s thoughts traveled to Kitty and William’s comment about prejudice. Never had she met a man her age more articulate and noble than he appeared to be, and she hoped she had made her admiration clear in her letter. She felt a heaviness of regret, thinking how she should have phrased her words differently, but she had felt she needed to apologize. Perhaps she seemed too forward, too khaki wacky … too much like Gloria. There was no going back now. The letter had been sent, and hopefully, Lieutenant William Martel had not slipped through her fingers as quickly as when she had shaken his strong grip for that first hello.
Straight away, she had thought him handsome, impressive in his uniform, and highly intelligent. Certainly more intelligent than she, and yet he appeared to still be enchanted by her. Maybe she had read him wrong, but she thought there was a real interest there. She lied to herself thinking that under other circumstances, she definitely would never have been so brazen to write him. At first, Lizzy thought the dreamboat was too shy to ask to write to her or go dancing or to the movies before he left for Florida to train with bombers. Lord knows, she gave him enough opportunities, enough signals, bordering on making passes to indicate her interest. The pervasive thought in her head was that her father’s controversial opinions may have scared him off. But the thought that ate away at her confidence was he stayed away because of her.
The elevator behind her jolted to a loud stop, and she heard the wrought iron gate clanking as it slid open. Finally, she heard the groan of exertion during the occupant’s last tug, pushing the metal to the side.
“Lizzy, are you here?”
Lizzy stamped out her cigarette and unfolded her crossed pant legs. She bolted toward the elevator. “Kitty! Where’s Nurse Keller? What are you doing up here?”
“Oh, that battleaxe? She’s disappeared again, and I didn’t want to wait around for her. Lillian just left for the hospital and said you were feeling poorly. Do you want to talk?”
“You’re sweet, but what’s there to talk about? He didn’t reply. Lillian’s letter from Louie came express, and Flyboy wasn’t interested. If he was then his letter would have been enclosed.” She shrugged, playing off her disappointment although she felt crestfallen.
Pushing her sister’s chair from behind, Lizzy rolled it toward the window and the cushioned seat where she had attempted to read but instead found herself taking in the view, smoking and daydreaming.
Kitty looked up and over her shoulder. “I liked him, and I think he liked you, Lizzy. Maybe he’s just shy. He was very proper, not to mention gentlemanly.”
Lizzy plopped down onto the window seat. Facing her sister, she sighed deeply expelling all the air in her lungs. “No, I don’t think it was shyness. He is a gentleman to be sure, but he speaks his mind about things he feels important … things he is passionate about: this war—and protecting the innocent. I’m afraid he may think I am too much like Gloria. Maybe he doesn’t see me as a woman with any real substance, intelligence, or purpose. He doesn’t want a girl who hasn’t the foggiest idea about what’s going on in Europe or the Philippines. Let’s face it, I’m too wrapped up in the society microcosm of Glen Cove and the yacht club. A killer-diller fella like him, going off to fight, wants a girl who will participate in Victory Bond drives and join that new Women’s Auxiliary Volunteer Service they’re recruiting for. Someone who will knit socks to send to him in England or get a job down at the Brooklyn Navy Yard or Robertsen Aviation as one of those production workers. I don’t know … I’m just not cut out for riveting and blueprint reading, and I’m sure as heck not suited to work as a Farmerette. I’m sorry but making butter and milking cows is beyond my aptitude.” She looked away, her eyes appearing to focus o
n another Coast Guard boat, but in fact were glazed over as she mused.
“He doesn’t want someone like me whose only contribution to the war effort is … is … um … well … I drove the mandatory thirty-five miles per hour instead of my usual fifty.” She looked back at her sister, nodding with a smug grin and feeling that in and of itself was a generous contribution to the war effort.
“You’re not Lillian, Lizzy. Sheesh, not many are, but there are tons of things you can do if you want to. We can do them together.”
Lizzy furrowed her brow, wondering what exactly the two sisters could contribute. “I want to do something.” She took Kitty’s cold hand in hers and rubbed her thumb against the thick callus in her palm. “I feel useless—indulged—and for the first time in my life, I feel extraneous.”
Kitty looked down toward their clasped hands at her sister’s pointed reference to this startling similarity. “Yes … I know that feeling very well, everyone discounting your opinion and your abilities just because your world is so different. Will didn’t make you feel that way did he? He didn’t seem the type.”
“No, I made me feel that way, and I’m sorry that you do too, dear.”
Suddenly, Kitty turned her head with a bright, positive outlook. “Well, let’s change that. Let’s expand our world and make a contribution to not remain slackers because everyone else around us is. We can start a silk stocking salvage campaign or a refugee clothing drive. I could do the writing to our friends and acquaintances, and you can do the collecting. Maybe we can get involved with the new victory book drive I heard about on the radio. You love books. It’s a natural thing for you to do your bit. Later, you can telephone Mrs. Tinsdale the head librarian to ask about volunteering opportunities.”
Lizzy kissed her sister’s hand. “Kitty, when I grow up, I want to be just like you and Lillian.”