The Beantown Girls

by Jane Healey

  Monty sat with us under the apple trees in the afternoon sun, telling us all about his plans to marry his high school sweetheart when he got home.

  “Thelma’s waiting for me to come back,” he said, sipping coffee. “Such a great gal; you’d love her. We want to move to Boston or a bigger city; New Hampshire’s kind of a snore.”

  We heard some noises in the field about a couple hundred yards beyond the apple orchard, and Monty stood up. He dropped his coffee cup on the ground, and his whole demeanor changed.

  I caught sight of some children playing in the field.

  “Nothing to worry about,” I said. “Just a couple kids.”

  “No. They shouldn’t be over there. It hasn’t been cleared. It hasn’t been swept yet.” Monty dropped his doughnut on the ground. “Why don’t they know that? There might be mines; they could get killed.” He ran to the field.

  “Hey, hey!” Monty yelled, waving frantically at the children as he approached them. “Danger! Run away! Danger!”

  The first mine went off, the blast so loud it shook the ground underneath us. In that instant, I saw Monty grab one of the kids and throw him as a second mine exploded. The boy Monty had thrown was badly injured and started shrieking, the lower part of his right leg shredded. In one horrible moment, Monty was there and then he was gone. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard people around me start screaming too, and soldiers came from all directions trying to save Monty and the injured children.

  I looked down at Monty’s coffee cup and half-eaten doughnut on the ground, ran behind the Clubmobile, and threw up. Then I wiped my face and rushed over to see how I could help. Martha had already commandeered a jeep, and Frankie was carrying a little girl with long black hair. I went into the Clubmobile and grabbed a bunch of clean rags to help Frankie wrap the little girl’s arm. A soldier was carrying the little boy with the injured leg, which was now in a tight tourniquet. There was a third boy with white-blond hair who was not hurt but still in shock. Blanche had taken a blanket and wrapped it around him.

  A group that included Frankie and Martha sped off to bring the children to a nearby field hospital. Captain Guy, who spoke French, walked over to the village to find the children’s parents.

  Several soldiers surrounded Monty’s body. He wouldn’t be going to the hospital. I felt like I might be sick again. His girlfriend, Thelma, would get the news that nobody ever wanted.

  “Uh, Fiona?” Blanche called to me, as she sat next to the blond boy. I looked up, and she pointed to Dottie, who was sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees. “It happened to Martha too, the first time we . . . the first time something like this happened.”

  “Dottie?” I said. Dottie was staring into space, her teeth chattering, her skin ashen. I called for Viv to bring me a blanket.

  “Honey.” I patted her face. “Let’s get you some coffee; you’ve had a shock, we all have. For the sake of the soldiers here, we’ve got to pull it together. Remember we’re no use to them if we don’t.” I echoed Peter’s words to me before he left.

  “He was just here,” Dottie said in a whisper. “Jesus Christ, he was just here with us. And those poor children.”

  “The kids are going to be okay,” I said. “Monty saved them. He saved their lives.”

  I gave her a hug as Viv came over with a blanket and handed her Barbara, who instinctively snuggled into her arms. Viv sat down next to us and lit a Lucky Strike, and I noticed her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

  “We’ve got to stay strong,” I said. “That really dark place in your mind? Don’t go there, Dottie. That’s one thing I learned when Danny first went missing. If you go there, you might not come back.”

  Dottie took some deep breaths, and we sat there in silence for a time. I looked over, and Blanche had her arm around the little boy, who was still crying and nibbling on a doughnut.

  A group of five soldiers had wrapped Monty’s body up. Their faces were dirty, their expressions resigned; some of them had his blood on their uniforms.

  “I keep thinking about how he ran toward danger like that to save those kids,” Dottie said as we watched them walk away. The color had returned to her cheeks. “He didn’t even think. He just went. How the hell does someone become that brave?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think being here brings out strengths in people they never knew they had.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  December 1, 1944

  I heard the sounds of mess kits rattling and a rooster crowing in the distance before I opened my eyes. Someone had already made coffee. It was a little before seven on a chilly December morning, and we were on a farm near a village twenty miles outside of Paris.

  For eight weeks, we had traveled like nomads from camp to camp, serving grateful soldiers mountains of doughnuts and rivers of coffee as we camped all over the French countryside, in barns or bomb-damaged châteaus, but most of the time in our tents.

  Planes continued to roar overhead, and tanks often barreled past us. More than once we had been forced to move because of nearby shelling. Every night, the sky was filled with the flashes of battle.

  We had worked in the mud and the rain as temperatures got colder by the day. And the Cheyenne had gotten stuck in the muck on the roads at least once a week. Mercifully, there had been no accidents as horrific as our first day, but we had visited a few of the field hospitals and seen the injuries that these men endured. There were men with missing limbs, men who were blind, men on crutches and in wheelchairs, to say nothing of the psychological impact that you couldn’t see at all.

  We would be packing up and heading to Paris in the afternoon, staying in beds for the first time in forever, and I could hardly wait to take a real shower. Having to wash my hair using a water-filled helmet was something I would never really get used to.

  In the dim light of the tent, I could see Dottie still asleep and was surprised to find Viv already up and out. I put my long johns on under my uniform, threw on a sweater and my field jacket, and peeked out of the tent. Viv was standing in front of the Clubmobile with her pad, sketching a young GI’s portrait with her charcoal pencils. He was leaning against the Cheyenne with a nervous smile on his face. Our Clubmobile exterior now included the painted emblems of all the outfits we had visited. The Seventh Armored Division. The Eighty-Third Infantry Division. The Fifth Infantry. And the Eighty-Second and Twenty-Eighth, of course.

  “You’re up early,” I said to Viv.

  “I know, but I promised Ronald here that I’d sketch his portrait before we left for Paris,” she said. Ronald nodded to me.

  “Don’t move, Ronny, I’m almost done,” she said. “There’s coffee in the truck, Fi. After you get some, I’ve got some gossip to go with it.”

  I quickly fixed myself a cup and sat down next to Viv. She handed Ronald his portrait.

  “Thank you. My mom is going to love this,” he said, giving her a huge smile before he headed off.

  “Okay, spill it,” I said.

  “Guess,” she said.

  “Oh no, you can’t do that. What is it?”

  “Let’s just say you won’t be shocked.”

  “Blanche and the captain?”

  Viv smiled, and I knew I was right.

  “Yup,” she said. “I was up extra early, too excited about Paris to sleep, which as you know never happens to me. I got up to make coffee, and that’s when I spotted her sneaking out of his tent.”

  “Are you joking?” I said, nearly spitting out my coffee.

  “No!” Viv said, laughing. “He’s got to head back to London today.”

  “I say it’s about damn time. Honestly, the way they’ve been pretending since Cherbourg?”

  Blanche and Captain Guy had shared a laugh about their flirtation at the café in Cherbourg on our first day on the road, so there hadn’t been any awkwardness between them. However, since then, it had become clear that they had real feelings for each other. The signs were obvious, like when we were all sitt
ing around a fire with some of the guys, and you’d catch them gazing at each other, or during one of Dottie’s evening concerts when the captain always ended up sitting next to Blanche.

  “Are you going to tell her you saw?”

  “Of course I am,” Viv said with a wink.

  “Did you ever hear from Harry Westwood?” I said. “Can he see you in Paris?”

  “I sent that note a while ago, but haven’t heard a thing back from him, damn mail here,” Viv said.

  “Tell me about it,” I said. “Nothing from home, nothing from Peter about . . . anything.”

  “Do you regret not getting in touch with him, telling him we’ll be in Paris for a couple days?” Viv asked after a moment. “You know, in case he could see you there?”

  I paused before answering the question. I could feel the Purple Heart in the bottom of my pants pocket.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know, Viv. I guess. But then just the thought of seeing him stirs up so many emotions about Danny. It’s probably better to just let things be . . .”

  Viv opened her mouth to argue my point, but I started walking to the tent before she could. I wasn’t in the mood.

  “At least Dottie knows she’s going to see Joe,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m going to go get packed up. I can’t wait for a couple days of civilization.”

  Dear Deidre, Darcy, and Niamh (and Mum and Dad!),

  Hello, my dear family. We’ve been on the road in France for eight weeks, and I was beginning to think you all had forgotten me. But when we arrived in Paris (yes, Paris!) yesterday afternoon, I received a bundle of mail and packages, and it’s like Christmas came early. That tends to happen with the mail here—nothing for weeks, and then it all catches up to us in a deluge.

  Thank you so much for the care packages. It’s getting colder, and I love the red wool scarf and mittens. I’m so glad you got my note about the fur-lined boots—they fit perfectly.

  For two nights, we’re staying at the Hôtel Normandy, which the Red Cross has turned into a women officers’ club. I have my own wonderful room with a real bed, a bath, HOT water, and steam heat. You don’t realize how much you miss the amenities of modern life until you don’t have them. We’ve been living on the road like GIs and looking like GIs as a result—even Viv! It’s nice to feel like a girl again, even if just for a little while.

  Yesterday when we arrived, we borrowed a Red Cross jeep to tour the city. We drove around the place de la Concorde and down the Champs-Élysées and loved every minute. Despite the fact that it’s still recovering from the Nazi occupation, Paris is breathtaking in all the ways that people describe. French flags fly everywhere, and the stores have beautiful red, white, and blue displays in their windows. The people are so happy, and so lovely to Americans. Parisian women are incredibly stylish; their hairdos are very high, as are their wedged shoes, and they wear their purses on long straps.

  We spent today relaxing, having tea in the Tuileries Garden and exploring the city like true tourists. I haven’t had anywhere to spend my money on the road, so I splurged on French perfume and a new dress. Tonight, we’re going to a nightclub that’s popular among the Americans here. Since we arrived in the city, we’ve already run into lots of our officer and GI friends from the road. We’ve also reunited with the other Clubmobile girls and shared our stories. It’s been a nice hiatus from our workdays in the field.

  No more news about Danny from anyone’s sources. Maybe you’ve heard from the Barkers?

  I didn’t know what to write next. I still thought of Danny daily; the grief of his absence had been a part of my life for over a year. But I couldn’t deny that I missed and worried about Peter too, even if ours was just a war-time friendship. And what Viv had said had proved to be so true: being in the midst of this war was a world all its own.

  I was so tired at the end of most days, I didn’t even have time to grasp the devastation, the tales of horror coming from the front, the weight of what all this meant. Sometimes I imagined myself as a grandmother, looking back on this time, studying old photos and thinking about it all with the gravity that it deserved. And then I would start to wonder if I would ever become a grandmother and who would be by my side if I did.

  “Fiona! Fiona!” Frankie knocked loudly on my hotel room door. “Our ride to the club is here. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, one minute.”

  I got up from the bed, smoothed out my new dress, and stood in front of the mirror. The dress was a silvery gray wrapped number with a draping scoop neckline and a flowy skirt. That afternoon, Viv and I had decided we were completely sick of the only dresses we had brought with us from home, so after asking a lovely Frenchwoman who spoke English, we discovered a boutique with reasonably priced dresses in Paris’s Latin Quarter. It was more dramatic than my usual taste, but the boutique owner convinced me I was meant to have it.

  I took a quick glance at myself in the mirror and swiped on some deep-red lipstick. I had twisted my hair up in front with a pretty new silvery purple dragonfly comb I had purchased, but the rest was down, and I had done my best to roll it so that it fell in waves.

  I grabbed the black shawl I had borrowed from Viv and opened the door to see Frankie standing there smiling. She looked adorable, her dark curls bouncing, wearing a black dress that she had borrowed from ChiChi of the Dixie Queen, who was the same petite size.

  “Oh, Fiona, you look absolutely stunning,” Frankie said, giving me a hug just because.

  “Thank you, and so do you,” I said, taking another look and smoothing out the dress, a bit self-consciously. “You really think it’s okay?”

  “It’s better than okay, it’s gorgeous. Come on, you know it is,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s go. Viv, Blanche, and Martha are waiting downstairs.”

  We walked into the hotel lobby, and I spotted Viv standing with Harry Westwood. He had obviously received her letter. They were standing next to the hotel entrance, leaning on a settee, and I was once again struck by how they looked like Hollywood come to life. Viv was wearing her new emerald-green V-neck dress with a narrow waist and flattering beaded peplum detail that tied in the back. Her auburn waves were styled in victory curls under a new black beret with a peacock feather in it. Harry Westwood was in his RAF dress uniform that emphasized his long, lean frame. Other guests in the lobby did a double take, and a few whispered to each other as they passed by.

  Blanche and Martha were sitting at the bar opposite them, looking refreshed and beautiful themselves as they sipped red wine.

  “Is Dots meeting us there?” Blanche asked, and I nodded. Dottie had spent the afternoon exploring the city with Joe and was meeting us at the club.

  “Ladies.” Harry swooped over when we arrived and kissed Frankie and I each on both cheeks. “Our chariots await.”

  “Wait, what chariots?” I said. “I thought we were getting picked up by a Red Cross truck?”

  “Oh no, I made other plans,” he said, grabbing Viv’s hand as he led us all outside. There were two horse-drawn taxicabs.

  “They have wool blankets in the back to keep you warm,” Harry said. “It’s a lovely way to see Paris. Viv and I are going to take the long way to the club; we will see you all there.”

  He had taken off his jacket and put it around Viv’s shoulders. I watched her as she looked up at him, and her expression was one of unguarded joy. Viv, always a cynic about love, was falling for the dashing Englishman.

  “Have fun, lovebirds.” Blanche waved to them as they pulled away from the hotel.

  The driver held our hands as we climbed into the carriage and settled in under a pile of wool blankets.

  “Speaking of lovebirds,” I said, looking at Blanche.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Blanche said, giving me an exaggerated scowl. “The worst-kept secret in France.”

  “So, you figured it out?” Martha said, giggling.

  “Yeah, Blanche, and I think most of the GIs knew too; I heard them talking about it,” Frankie said, biting her lip.
/>   “Viv told me,” I said. “But honestly? It wasn’t a shock. And Viv, Dottie, and I all agreed, Captain Guy proved himself on the road; he’s a good man. How’d you leave it with him?”

  “I left it like nearly everyone does over here, I guess,” Blanche said with sigh. “We’ll do our best to keep in touch, meet up in Paris or London or somewhere if we can ever take a leave. It stinks we’re in the most romantic city in the world and he’s not here, but that’s life in the ETO.”

  “We’ll find dance partners in no time, Blanche,” Martha said. “Let’s have a fun night. We deserve it after working nonstop for so long. I deserve it.”

  “You didn’t even tell Fi about Arthur,” Frankie said to Martha. “Speaking of secrets.”

  “Listen to this,” Martha said, sitting up and slapping my knee, an angry scowl on her sweet face. She was wearing a new red flared shirtwaist dress, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. “Blanche and I were sitting at a café this afternoon, and these soldiers at the next table started talking to us. Turns out one of them is from Topeka. So, of course, I ask if he knows Arthur Reed the undertaker.”

  “Yes, and did he know him?”

  “He said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I know him,’” Martha said, getting more animated. “And then he adds, ‘My older sister plays bridge with his wife.’”

  “What!?” I said, holding my hand to my mouth. “Oh no . . .”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I was careful to make sure it was the same Arthur. But seriously, how many undertakers named Arthur could there be in Topeka anyway? It was him.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said.

  “Aw thanks,” she said. “I thought I would be totally heartbroken, and I am a little, but mostly I’m just furious. For me and his wife. What a wolf.”

  “And as I’ve said all along to her, you can do much better than an undertaker from Topeka,” Blanche said with a nod, putting her arm around Martha.

  “Yeah, you did,” Martha said, leaning into her.

  “I’m just going to miss teasing you about him, though,” Frankie said, and Martha kicked her.