Lillian’s father hadn’t liked Patrick, but that was no surprise. No matter that Patrick was at the top of his class at MIT. No matter that he earned promotion after promotion in the ordnance department. “He’s not a real soldier,” Lillian’s father had sneered. She married Patrick anyway, in a quiet ceremony two years after they’d met. Lillian’s mother had died many years before, and her father had sent word that he was too busy to attend. At the luncheon afterward, there had been two desserts—a traditional wedding cake and a strawberry rhubarb pie—her mother’s favorite.
* * *
As she entered through the administration building’s rear door, Lillian was so preoccupied thinking about Patrick that she walked right into a young woman who was on her way outside. The woman’s purse and her papers fell to the vestibule floor.
“I’m so sorry!” Lillian said. “Please, let me help you.” The stack of papers had scattered, so Lillian bent down to collect them.
“You’re applying for a job?” Lillian asked, handing back the application forms.
“Yes … they told me to go to Building 27, but I’m not sure if it’s this way or…”
“It’s that one, right over there.” Lillian pointed to a long brick building off to the right. “They’ll give you an aptitude test when you get there, but it’s nothing to be nervous about.”
“That’s what they said upstairs. But I’m nervous anyway.”
“Oh, don’t be. It’s only to figure out what kind of job will suit you best. They’ll check your hands, see how coordinated you are, things like that. Or so I’ve been told.”
“Do you work here too?”
“Not officially. I really should have introduced myself properly in the first place.” Lillian held out her hand. “Lillian Walsh—my husband is the chief commanding officer here. We live that way, at the far end of the square, to the right.” Lillian pointed across the lawn, toward Byers Street.
“I’m Millie Fein. My brother-in-law is an officer here too. Arthur Blum.”
“You’re Ruth’s sister! She mentioned that you would be staying with her. When did you arrive?”
“Just yesterday.”
“And you’re interviewing already? How industrious of you! You didn’t want to work in the payroll office with Ruth?”
From the look on Millie’s face, Lillian knew she’d said the wrong thing.
“Oh, no,” Millie murmured. “I don’t think … well, we never talked about that. Ruth is the one who’s good with numbers. I’m probably better suited to something else.”
“Well, every job here is important—we need all the help we can get.”
“I hope so.” The young woman clung to her papers and bit her lower lip. When her face turned pale and her shoulders began to shake, Lillian finally realized how close she was to tears. She’d been too busy asking questions to notice.
“Here, come with me. There’s a bench right outside. Let’s sit down for a minute.”
In Armory Square, the air was still and warm. They sat together in the shade, under a canopy of leaves, while Lillian tried to think of a way to comfort Ruth’s sister. When Millie pulled a handkerchief from inside her purse, Lillian couldn’t help noticing that the buckle on the bag was about to fall off. The cuffs on Millie’s sleeves had begun to fray.
Suddenly, Lillian was ashamed of herself. She remembered that Millie had lost her husband recently, and she hadn’t even offered her condolences yet.
“I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m so sorry I upset you.”
“It’s not you, Mrs. Walsh. Before I came here, I was at the child care center. It was the first time I’ve ever had to leave my son—he’s never really been away from me before.”
“If it makes you feel any better, most children cry and carry on the first few times their mothers leave.”
“Michael didn’t cry. He was thrilled with the toys and all the other children. In Brooklyn, he didn’t have a lot of opportunities for that. No, I was the one who was upset by it all. I wasn’t prepared for what it would be like. I wasn’t prepared for any of this.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Ruth told me about Private Fein.”
At the mention of her husband, Millie transformed. She pulled back her shoulders, dried her eyes, and gathered her forms into a neat stack. “Please don’t apologize. I’m sure that Michael and I will adjust very soon. I really should go for the aptitude test now, but thank you for sitting with me.”
“Wait—I’m having some of the officers’ wives over today at four o’clock. It would be wonderful if you could come. You can bring your son. The children will all be home, and they usually end up playing outside together. Maybe Ruth already told you about it?”
“No, but thank you. I’ll try.”
After Millie left, Lillian lingered in the shade, trying to decide who it was that the young woman reminded her of—was it her hair, perhaps, or maybe her lipstick? She was such a pretty girl—maybe it was a film actress or someone Lillian had read about in the newspaper.
It was only later, after lunch, that Lillian figured it out. She was passing the fountain in the square when it came to her—the melancholy eyes, the slightly forced smile. If Lillian thought back far enough, she could picture the same features on her own mother’s face, most often after an evening at home with her father.
Lillian made up her mind before she reached her front door. She would do what she could to make Millie feel welcome at the armory. She would introduce her to the other women and make sure she had whatever she needed. She would be the kind of friend her own mother never had at all those lonely army bases.
No matter how many awful memories it dredged up.
Ruth
Ruth couldn’t understand Millie’s hesitation that morning—the baffled look on her face when Ruth gave her directions to the administration building, the shock in her eyes when Ruth mentioned child care for Michael. What did Millie think was going to happen when she finally arrived in Springfield?
When she got to the payroll office, Ruth had a difficult time concentrating. Instead of focusing on her ledgers and the numbers in front of her, she pictured Millie lounging on the sofa and leafing through magazines. Ruth shuffled her papers and slammed the drawer of her desk.
“Is something wrong?” her coworker asked.
“Sorry, Maryanne. No, everything is fine.”
As the clock ticked toward three, the idea of going home to her sister made her feel queasy. It was Tuesday—the day of Lillian’s weekly meetings. Ruth had planned on skipping this week to make sure Millie was settled, but now she decided it would be better to attend. The twins would be waiting for her at the Walsh house anyway—it was the drop-off point for the corporals who drove the officers’ children to and from the local schools. On Tuesdays, when their mothers gathered in Mrs. Walsh’s living room, most of the children stayed and played together outside.
Like all good hostesses, Lillian Walsh was preternaturally aware of the whereabouts of her guests. She was at Ruth’s side from the moment she entered the house, taking her elbow and ushering her through the foyer. Ruth could sense her giddiness from the grin on her face. “You’ll never guess who I met this afternoon! Look!” She pulled Ruth into the light-filled double living room and pointed to a woman in a familiar navy dress. Ruth hid her dismay as Lillian led her toward her sister.
“Ruth! I’m so glad you’re here.” Millie had been looking at one of the photographs that sat on top of Lillian’s piano, but when her sister approached, she put down the frame.
“What a surprise,” Ruth murmured. “How did you find out about the meeting?”
“From me!” Lillian crowed. “I was on my way to Patrick’s office, and Millie was heading to Building 27. We got to talking, and I invited her. Oh, Millie, I forgot to ask—how did the rest of the interview go?”
“It went well,” Millie answered. “They said I’d be assembling triggers—at least at first. I told them I would start tomorrow morning.”
R
uth’s eyes widened. “You got a job today?” She had a hard time believing her sister had followed through on her instructions.
“I did. I dropped Michael at the child care center, just as you suggested. You were right—he loved it there. When I picked him up, he didn’t want to leave. The only reason he stopped crying was because I told him he’d go back tomorrow.” Millie pointed out the window to the Walshes’ side yard. “He’s outside with the other children now. Lillian’s girls are looking after him.”
“Isn’t it wonderful how adaptable children are?” Lillian said. She checked her watch and scanned the oversized room. Two dozen women were scattered on sofas and conversing in small groups. “It looks like everyone is here. Excuse me just a minute while I bring out some trays.”
“I’ll help,” Millie offered, and Lillian beamed.
“What a gem you are! People don’t usually volunteer at these things.” She winked at Ruth. “You know, if your sister is always this helpful, I might try to convince her to move in here.”
“I’m happy to come too,” Ruth offered, but Lillian insisted that only two sets of hands were needed. “Please, take a cup of tea and enjoy yourself.” Ruth had no choice but to smile as Lillian led her sister away. The sight was all too familiar. When Millie had first started as a freshman at their high school in Brooklyn, girls who wouldn’t deign to speak to Ruth had stopped Millie in the hallways. They had asked about her hairstyle and pulled her into corners for intimate chats—all while Ruth stood to the side, ignored or forgotten.
There had been no secret back then as to why the girls fawned over her sister. Millie had been strikingly pretty, easygoing, and cheerful. In high school, that had been enough for the other girls to make a fuss. But Lillian Walsh was not a shallow teenager. Ruth could only conclude that she had taken pity on Millie; there was nothing else to explain her sudden interest.
Ruth avoided conversation by pouring herself some tea from one of the silver urns set out in the dining room. Dozens of matching cups and saucers had been artfully arranged, along with bowls of thinly sliced lemon and small pitchers of milk. Aside from a handful of older women whom Ruth knew in passing—the wives of military suppliers located in Springfield—the crowd mostly consisted of the other women from Armory Square. The officers’ wives wore dresses and spring suits in patriotic shades of reds, tans, and blues. Suit jackets were short-sleeved, with nipped waists and wide shoulders. A few of the women wore gloves, but most took them off or carried them in their purses—the afternoon had turned warm, and the air inside the living room was beginning to grow stuffy.
“Who was that woman you and Lillian were talking to?”
A familiar high-pitched voice cut through the hum of the crowd. Ruth recognized the speaker before she turned her head. She forced herself to smile. “Hello, Grace.”
Grace Peabody always managed to be the most stylish woman in the room. A navy straw hat with a short, wispy veil was pinned carefully on top of her blond pompadour. She was the only one in pink—a dress of silk crepe, finished with a wide white collar and slim navy belt. No matter the temperature, Grace wore gloves; though her cotton-covered fingers were often curled into fists.
“Who was that?” Grace repeated. “Pretty, I suppose…” The other women in the room hadn’t noticed Millie yet, but Grace had already managed to do a thorough evaluation. The grudging tone of her voice took Ruth by surprise. It had never occurred to Ruth that her sister’s looks could be the source of someone else’s resentment.
“That was my sister, Millie. She’s come to stay with me.”
“You never mentioned a sister.”
The truth was, Ruth mentioned very little to Grace—she had earned her reputation as the armory’s biggest gossip, and Ruth had always found it best to tell her as little as possible.
“Her husband was killed a few months ago. She arrived just yesterday from Brooklyn. I … haven’t gotten around to telling many people.”
“My condolences on your brother-in-law,” Grace said mechanically. But her sympathy was swift. “How long is she staying?”
“Millie got a job at the armory this afternoon, so it looks like she’ll be with us for some time.”
“She’s working with you in the administration building, then?”
“No. They’ve assigned her to the shops, assembling triggers.”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “A lovely young widow on the front lines of production. How patriotic.”
“Yes. Please excuse me. I really should try to find my sister now.”
Ruth tried to slow her uneven breathing. She had known she would have to introduce Millie to the other wives eventually, but she’d been hoping to avoid those conversations for as long as possible. She didn’t want to listen to Millie tell the story of Lenny’s enlistment. She didn’t want to hear the others praise his bravery or Millie’s sacrifice.
Ruth carried her tea to the living room and found an empty chair. Around her, the steady sounds of spoons on saucers settled her nerves. She had just begun to relax when Lillian planted herself in the center of the room.
“Ladies, may I have your attention? I am happy to see so many of you this afternoon. We’ll begin with a few reminders—our music club meets the first Wednesday of every month, and for those of you who knit, Susan’s group meets tomorrow morning. No matter how warm it feels today, our soldiers will need gloves and scarves when winter comes. Now, before Caroline gives us an update on the war bond drive, I want to welcome someone new to our community. Millie, would you please come stand beside me?”
Bewildered, Ruth watched as her sister appeared and took her place next to the commanding officer’s wife.
“I’d like to introduce all of you to Millie Fein. Millie recently relocated to Springfield from Brooklyn, New York, with her son, Michael. She’s the sister of our own Ruth Blum—Ruth, would you stand so everyone can see you?”
With two dozen sets of eyes upon her, Ruth had no choice but to rise from her chair. She made a small wave with her right hand and promptly sat back down.
“Ladies, I believe we can all learn something from Millie’s brave example and Ruth’s generosity. When Millie lost her husband, Private Leonard Fein, a few months ago, Ruth offered Millie a home with her here. Not only did Millie’s husband make the ultimate sacrifice for our country, but now Millie will be doing her part by joining our soldiers of production at the armory shops. As we all know, this work is vital to the success of our troops. I encourage all of you to make her feel welcome.”
When the applause died down, Millie was surrounded by women offering their sympathies and wanting to introduce themselves. While they squeezed Millie’s hands and patted Millie’s shoulders, Ruth turned away and went looking for the powder room. In the line that had formed, she spotted the back of Grace Peabody’s hat a few women ahead of her.
“It’s inappropriate,” Ruth heard Grace complain. “Armory housing is for the immediate families of the officers, not for desperate relatives. What will be next? Renting rooms out to hobos?”
“I’m sure it’s only temporary,” another voice answered. Ruth couldn’t see the speaker’s face, but the tone was sympathetic. “Besides, Springfield has a housing shortage and the poor girl’s husband just died. She isn’t a hobo—she seems perfectly respectable.”
“Respectable for now,” Grace insisted. “But she’s young and unmarried, and she’s the only single woman living in Armory Square. How long do you think it will be before she starts noticing our husbands? How long will it be before they notice her back?”
“Did you see the look on her face when Lillian mentioned her husband? She’s not looking for company. The girl is devastated.”
“She may seem that way now, but just you wait.”
Ruth decided to leave the line before Grace turned around—anything to avoid another confrontation. She walked outside and stood silently on the wraparound porch, trying to piece together the events of the afternoon. In just twenty-four hours, Millie had managed t
o topple Ruth’s routine, to win over her only friend, and to incur the wrath of the armory’s most unpleasant occupant.
Ruth had seen it before—tumult, then shock, followed by a string of too-late apologies. I didn’t mean to, Ruth, I had no idea. It was the refrain of Ruth’s adolescence, the song that played on repeat. It had been years since she had heard it, but she knew the tune by heart.
“Ruth? Are you all right? We were looking for you.” Lillian tapped her on the shoulder, interrupting her thoughts.
“Sorry—I’m fine. It’s so crowded inside.”
“It certainly is,” Lillian agreed, “and the heat doesn’t help.” She lowered her voice so only Ruth could hear. “I hope you’re not upset with me. I realize I should have asked you first before introducing Millie to everyone. You may have wanted to do that yourself. I apologize.”
“Don’t be silly. You handled it much more gracefully than I ever could have.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I hope I didn’t step on your toes. Millie is so lucky to have a sister like you, especially after everything she and Michael have been through. You know, she told me that she met her husband when she was just seventeen. I’m sure he must have been a special young man.”
Ruth paused before answering. Special was not the word she would have chosen for her brother-in-law, but she could hear the voices of her parents echoing in the back of her brain—lecturing, advising, whispering warnings. If you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing at all; whatever you do, don’t speak ill of the dead; speech may be silver, but silence is golden.
If Ruth had felt free to be truthful, what would she say? That Lenny was charismatic, but rough around the edges? That his infatuation with Millie was heartfelt, but his ambition was lacking? That he was a man of limitations, some of which had been obvious to everyone around him, and some of which had been known to Ruth alone? It was impossible, she knew, to say such things. It was safer to stay silent, more prudent to agree.
The Wartime Sisters Page 6