by Cat Gardiner
“Wow. What a handsome couple. I love how she’s sitting on his lap and that bathing suit she’s wearing, positively an early Jantzen knit, sort of a Wedgwood blue … fabulous fashion. He’s as gorgeous as she is—a real Hollywood-type couple.”
Lizzy and Will sat poolside on an armchair, both beaming for the camera. Maxine turned the photo over and read the notation. “Where is this place, Rosebriar Manor?”
“That’s what I mean. I’d really like to take the time to look into these details. I don’t even know her last name. As for where she lived, I guess Glen Cove, Long Island is as good a place to start as any. Maybe stop by their public library, ask a few questions, and check out their local history room if they have one. Inquire about a Mrs. Tinsdale who might lead me in the right direction to a family with five sisters from obvious affluence.”
Maxine continued to admire the photograph, noting the luxury swimming pool beside William and Lizzy. “Definitely wealthy, and if she lived in Glen Cove, that’s the Gold Coast. We’re talking Great Gatsby wealth.”
“Max, I understand if Allure won’t support me on this, but I was kind of hoping that you would—if you can. Maybe over a weekend you can travel with me or you can reach out to a couple of your contacts. Do you think Andy could part with you from time to time?”
“Andy?” Maxine rolled her eyes. “Please, that man won’t notice if I’m not at home. Now that summer is here and he’s not teaching, he’ll be spending every weekend on the golf course. I’d love to help you, if for no other reason than to spend some time with you and get my ass out of boring Dobbs Ferry. It’ll be fun, but don’t lose hope in what a magazine can do for this article, Julie. While it may not be appropriate for publishing in Allure, that doesn’t necessarily mean it may not be suited for one of Conde Nast’s other magazines, the New Yorker, for example.”
She stared back down at the snapshot held in her fingers. “He’s too dreamy to dismiss, and she’s completely besotted with him. I adore the way her hand is resting on his chest, almost threading through that sexy patch of chest hair. I love the way his arm possessively wraps around her waist. They were so in love. I can feel it jump off this snapshot. It’s tangible. Makes me want to jump in a cab and head downtown to Andy’s office to shag him senseless.”
“Yeah, apart from the Andy thing, I feel it, too. If only real life in the nineties produced love and men like …” Juliana’s hand flew to her mouth. She didn’t mean the slip, didn’t mean the insult to Maxine’s brother whom she had dated for six months. “I’m sorry. That sorta just came out.”
Maxine chuckled. “It’s okay. You and Rob weren’t meant to be. It’s not your fault that women fall faster and men fall harder. Don’t worry, he’s gotten over his heartbreak. Took him awhile, but he’s back in the swing of dating.”
“Is he? I’m glad to hear that. He’s a great guy, and I know I wounded him pretty bad. It’s just that he wanted more than I could give at the time, emotionally. I know it sounds strange, but I really felt unworthy of all the love he wanted to give me. I might have truly fallen had I let myself.” She played with the edge of the pilot wings. “I’m in therapy now—I’m working on that—I’ve recently confronted one of my demons over lunch the other day.”
“I’m glad, darling. You deserve …” Maxine raised and shook the photo, “… this kind of love.”
Juliana humbly smiled. Touched by her friend’s unusual tenderness, she got a little choked up because, in truth, she wanted that kind of love but remained skeptical that it really existed. She wanted a large family and an adoring spouse. She wanted children and laughter in her life, and she wanted to make Primrose Cottage the home it never had the chance to become. One day, forty-two years from now, she hoped her grandchild would find the attic bursting with memories made and dusty, keepsake items.
“Thanks, Max. That means a lot to me. At the moment, apart from a silent grandfather, you’re the only person to actually care.”
“I do care. One of the best decisions I made was hiring you, Julie. What began as a need to hire only the best for Allure, grew into this unexpected friendship between us. I suppose, my fixing you up with Rob and mayybeee pushing a bit too hard for you to make more of your relationship than you were able to, is only because of how much you mean to me … personally.”
“Thank you. And I, truly value our friendship, too.” With a sincerely brilliant smile Juliana promptly changed the subject, afraid to open her heart further. Reaching into her backpack again, she retrieved the steno pad filled with the notes she had made in the attic.
“Here are the major questions I’d like to answer first. I assembled this list while going through his footlocker and a hope chest in the attic. There was also a box filled with the most beautiful Limoges china, which I brought down, arranging all the pieces in the empty dining room breakfront. Most of the items in the hope chest appeared unused. You would love the tons of French lace, antique English Battenberg, hankies with the embroidered initial, E. I know I fell in love with the different table linens: Scandinavian folk patterns, Belgian lace doilies, and a silk brocade table throw. There was even an old christening gown, the likes of which I have never seen. It had a matching baby pillowcase of cotton and lace. Just wonderful, antique stuff, predominately European imported textiles.”
“A baby christening pillowcase? That’s unusual.” Maxine read aloud the first question. “So—first question: What is Lizzy’s surname?”
“I know it begins with R because I found a burned letter with embossed initials in the fireplace.”
Before removing the next letter from the top of the stack, Maxine fanned the envelopes to glance at the corner of each where only the initials L.R read back “Curiouser and curiouser. Let’s see what else Lizzy has to say.”
“June 13, 1942
Dear Ducky,
I have just arrived home and couldn’t wait until the morning to write, so here I am curled up in my favorite place on the estate, my water tower. I know you noticed it when you came for Memorial Day. How could you miss it? Even though the blackout shades are drawn, it is still at least ten degrees cooler up here when the breeze blows off the coast. Given the unusual heat of today—not to mention the excitement and the crowd—it’s a fine place to sleep tonight, undisturbed and left to my sweet dreams of a certain flyboy and his dimple. Don’t worry, no one will miss me or become worried. I let our butler, Mr. Howard know I arrived home safely, and as far as I can see from my perch, the Odin has yet to return to dock, so my father hasn’t returned home from his visit in New Jersey with my Aunt Helga, his sister.
You are such a gentleman to have seen me all the way home to Long Island on the train. You really didn’t have to, you know, but I was over the moon that you did. Thank you! I hope you arrived back to Park Slope without difficulty. I had such a wonderful time today and felt honored that you would want me as your date for the remainder of the parade. Why, you’re not a fuddy duddy at all! I was correct—underneath that proper exterior of yours, you really are quite the jokester and, dare I say, as mischievous as I am. Only, you’re such a terrible tease and with that dry humor of yours, I could barely tell when you were joking! I haven’t laughed as hard as I did in your company today. I hope you had fun, too. Thank you for such a swell time: The parade, the carousel, and the torchlight procession. The pistol in me would be remiss if I failed to mention our memorable kiss. It was all so romantic and a date like I had never had before.
Will, I am only sorry that you are leaving in a few days for Tampa, but I’m so happy we have this opportunity to get to know one another before your departure. I’m greatly looking forward to our date out on the Sound on Tuesday! I hope the weather is perfect because I’m planning quite an afternoon for us. Don’t worry, I am not so much a hotrodder in the boat!
Perhaps, you’ll telephone me but if not, I hope you get this letter in time to confirm that I’ll meet you at eleven in the morning at the Hempstead Harbor Yacht Club at the end of Garvies Point. Don’t
be late, Ducky.
Sincerely yours,
Lizzy the pistol”
Maxine lowered the letter. “He moved fast, didn’t he? A kiss on their first date in 1942 was very forward. Obviously, he was interested.” She reached over to her phone, picked up the receiver and began to dial excitedly.
Covering the mouthpiece she spoke quietly, “I have a friend who can help you. Give me a minute and I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting.”
Juliana nodded, and the butterflies of anticipation and excitement went crazy in her stomach, definitely not the result of the onion bagel. It was evident to her that Maxine’s creative mind was immediately at work.
“Hi, Cassandra, It’s Maxine Grant at Allure magazine. I’d like to speak with Jack if he’s available.” Again, Maxine covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Newsday.”
“Hawaii? For how long?” she asked the secretary on the other end of the receiver.
“Well, I’d like to leave a message for his return. It’s rather important, a story we’re working on for fall publication, and since he is from the North Shore of the Island and Newsday’s travel writer, I need to pick his brain. My style writer and I would like to arrange a meeting with him when he gets back.
“Yes, that’s right. He has both of my numbers, home and work. Let him know we may need to do a little digging in Newsday’s archives. Thanks, Cassandra.” Maxine hung up.
“Newsday? That’s perfect, Max. What did she say? When will this Jack guy be back?”
“Not for another week, but don’t worry if there are answers out there, he’ll help us find them. He’s a great guy. In fact …” Maxine raised an eyebrow just as a playful smile appeared.
“Don’t say it!” Juliana laughed. “Both your track record for fixing me up and my track record for dating someone longer than six months leave a lot to be desired.”
“Trust me on this one, Julie. Andy’s on-again, off-again golf buddy is perfect for you! Perfect, absolutely, perfect!”
Juliana continued to laugh at her friend’s enthusiasm. “All right, what’s his name?”
“Jack Robertsen and he is gorgeous!”
~~*~~
Eight
Anchors Aweigh
June 13, 1942
After months of preparation and training with the Abwehr in Berlin, four men embarked on a mission expected to cripple the United States of America. It seemed the perfect, moonless night for the beginning of Operation Pastorius. Thick fog clung to the sandy coastline and dunes along the Atlantic Ocean on Long Island’s South Shore, near a beach community called Amagansett.
At ten minutes past midnight the Nazi saboteurs, all of whom had previously resided in America, came ashore bearing four wooden crates containing sophisticated sabotage “gifts” they would later deliver and deploy at strategically planned locations, beginning with the Big Apple. The plan, formulated by the Nazi Intelligence project leader, a former member of the German American Bund in New York City, was to perpetrate coordinated bombing attacks over the next two years. Another group of saboteurs planned to come ashore four days later at a similar sleepy beach community in northern Florida named Ponte Vedra. The mission’s expected result would deliver a blow to America’s formidable war production. No target would be spared: bridges, factories, canals, Jewish-owned department stores, train depots and even railroads, but more specifically—and hopefully—American morale.
The slender, cigar-shaped Nazi U-boat still sat in wait—or so it would have appeared if anyone could see beyond the zero visibility. Stuck on a sand bar two hundred yards from the beach, it was temporarily rendered immobile until a rising tide could change its fate. That was the first sign that the operation was destined to go to hell in a hand basket as fifty men panicked inside U202, afraid of discovery.
Nevertheless, the saboteurs’ mission was underway as they buried the trunks and changed their clothes from Kriegsmarine uniforms to civilian apparel. One hundred thousand dollars strapped to each man would cover their expenses over the course of the operation, money provided by the continued, generous financial support of friends of the Third Reich, donors whose loyalty to the Fatherland was as secret as their acts against America. Comprised of former members of the Bund as well as agents of the Reich, their lives, for many years, were deeply embedded in the fabric of American society: politicians, lawyers, businessmen and even a pastor or two. Not all were agents but many acted as such.
The group leader breathed deeply, enjoying the salty sea air. He dug his white socks into the sand and reveled in the feel of being back in New York. He had long had a taste in his mouth for a hot dog and a five-cent Coca-Cola from a Manhattan street pushcart. Proximity to the great metropolis fostered his nostalgic desire to visit Horn & Hardart for a slice of huckleberry pie. It felt good to be home.
The misty gray fog rolled in from the water evoking a Bela Lugosi movie—thick and concealing. In the far distance, the saboteurs heard only the occasional bell clang of a buoy offshore and the nearby gentle rhythmic lapping tide breaking. Even the U-Boat sat silent before stressing its diesel engines in hope of dislodging from the sand bar holding it captive. Busy at the task of burying the munitions crates, duffle bags and their uniforms, the saboteurs never heard the approach of a lone Coastguard “sand-pounder.” His presence wasn’t expected since the Navy and the Coastguard had yet to ramp up security along the eastern seaboard, even following the fire aboard the SS Normandie and all the other U-boat torpedoing activity over the past five months.
Suddenly, a blinding light broke the blackness of night. The white beam shined upon them, illuminating their crime. A thick Long Island accent rang out, “You there! What are you doing on the beach? The coastline is off limits at night.”
“We are fisherman. We’ve run aground,” one of the four said.
Immediately, the group leader, Dasch, stepped forward after one of his cohorts foolishly said something in German. All craving for New York’s famed food vanished from the leader’s focus. Grabbing the Coastguardsman’s arm, his threat was simple. “Do you have a mother?”
“Yes.”
“A father?”
“Yes.”
The Nazi spy removed a rolled stack of money from his pocket and handed it to the young sentry. “I wouldn’t want to kill you.” He shone the flashlight at his own face. “You’ll be meeting me again. Would you know me?”
Fighting would have been fruitless. The sand pounder was unarmed. “No sir, I never saw you in my life.”
After long, tense minutes, more money and more threats, the twenty-one year old sand pounder took the greenbacks and hurriedly left for the lifeboat station a mile away. He was anxious to telephone his superiors that Nazis had landed on Long Island.
~~*~~
Hot was an understatement. The Big Apple boiled like a melting pot in the unusual heat, but the sweltering afternoon sun didn’t stop the city’s residents who turned out for the “New York at War Parade.” In support of the war, they had come in droves. Men, women, and children of all ages stood in close quarters, packing body heat onto Fifth Avenue, yet they seemed unaffected by the temperature. They had traveled from every Borough to line the sixty-five blocks of the parade route, awaiting the passage of over three hundred floats.
Lizzy stood on the curb at the corner of 39th Street and Fifth Avenue, two blocks south of the New York Public Library, with her view partially blocked by one of the city’s finest policemen. She knew, she would never forget this day and was thankful for the Lieutenant’s invitation to be a part of it. If he hadn’t asked her for the date, she never would have attended, and now she understood what a tragedy missing such an incredible opportunity to experience true patriotism would have been. Being here—standing beside John amidst the vast crowds, in the heat of the sun, watching a float of President Roosevelt’s head pass by, was forming one of the most exciting moments of her life, and that alone surprised the heck out of her.
“I’ve never seen so many people in one place and at one
time before. How many do you think are here?”
John continued to watch the parade, admiring the lead Sherman tank slowly rolling by. “I don’t know. The New York Herald estimated about two million to turn out.”
A palette of color passed before them with an impressive procession of women volunteers from the American Red Cross, Army and Navy nurses, and trainees in the newly created WAAC. They marched along the avenue from curb to curb, some wearing capes, others military uniforms, but all wore smiles. Lizzy’s heart swelled with even more pride as she looked for Lillian in the ranks of the Red Cross.
Plant workers and air-raid wardens paraded side-by-side with other Civil Defense and volunteer groups who had turned out in support of the war—five hundred thousand in all. Norwegians, Japanese, Greeks, Italians, and Germans dressed in colorful traditional apparel, advanced carrying and waving American and other national flags. Behind their ranks of loyal patriotic display, WWI Veterans marched with their VFW and American Legion Posts followed by ambulances, jeeps, and dignitaries.
Lizzy felt immense excitement in being both a New Yorker and an American. The overall sentiment among the spectators around her was palpable and as proud as the flapping dance upon the air of every Old Glory waving in the resplendent afternoon light. Upon the faces of parade goers, she could see the raw emotion and confidence in the Allies’ ultimate Victory. She felt it, too, especially when that pride became steely determination with the passing of War Bond, Victory Book and other educational platforms. The grim floats depicting Hitler’s maniacal treatment of European citizens and the militarization of Germany’s youths served to stoke her dormant, if not ignorant, call for defeat of the Axis. She didn’t know all the players in the Axis but was determined to learn.