The Wartime Sisters

by Lynda Cohen Loigman

  Ruth was mortified. “I’ve never worn it before tonight, Millie, I swear. It was just this once,” she mumbled. “I promise.”

  It would have been easier if Millie had caused some sort of scene—if she had shouted or cried or stomped away in a huff. But she was no longer the impulsive girl that Ruth remembered, and her silence was more painful than any outburst could have been.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Millie said softly. “It looks good on you.”

  Arietta

  When the afternoon lunch crowd cleared, Arietta told Fitz she had an errand to run. She took off her apron, pulled out her compact, and carefully painted on a fresh coat of lipstick. The fact that her dress smelled of the Tuesday lunch special couldn’t be helped.

  In Armory Square, the spring grass was luxuriant. Shrubs of golden forsythia lined the narrow walkways, and the leaves on the trees were a buoyant shade of green. Two men she did not recognize were hitting balls on the tennis court, and a group of women had gathered for archery practice. They stood, strong and straight in the center of the square, squinting at their targets in the afternoon sun. Arietta held her breath as they pulled back their bows. She had no time to linger, however, so she pulled herself away and continued along the path to where Ruth’s house was waiting.

  Millie’s sister seemed puzzled to find Arietta standing in her doorway. “Didn’t Millie tell you? She and Michael don’t live here anymore.”

  “I know,” Arietta answered. “I came to speak with you.”

  With its bright yellow wallpaper and cozy wood-trimmed fireplace, Ruth’s living room should have felt more cheerful. But gloom gathered in every corner, invisible to the eye, coating the sofas and tables like dust. Ruth was the same. On the surface, she had multiple reasons to be happy: her husband had returned to her, ahead of schedule and unharmed; she had two beautiful daughters and a large, lovely home; she was intelligent and respected—her colleagues in the payroll department were still bemoaning her resignation. Yet despite all her blessings, her misery was palpable. Arietta wondered whether it was due to Millie’s absence.

  She decided it was best to be straightforward. “I’m worried about Millie,” the cook began. “Lenny sent her a letter. It came last week.”

  Ruth frowned when Arietta said Lenny’s name out loud. “So, she told you about him, then? I wasn’t sure.”

  “Millie told me everything after I was questioned about the fire.”

  “I didn’t realize Captain O’Brian brought you in too.”

  “Well, I didn’t get dragged out of my house in the middle of the night the way Millie did. He didn’t come to see me until the next afternoon.”

  “What did the letter say?”

  “It was a threat, mostly. Lenny said he’d be back and that he wouldn’t be as nice the second time around. From what Millie told me, he’s in a bad spot.”

  “Lenny was always a bit of a lost soul; he went from job to job, he didn’t have any real ambition. Still, he was always devoted to my sister. I never thought he would mistreat her. I never thought he could be dangerous.”

  “Well, it sounds like he’s changed.”

  Ruth’s tone turned defensive. “Do you think I don’t know that? I saw him, Arietta. I spoke to him myself.”

  “I understand. I don’t pretend to know anything more about Lenny than you do. But his letter isn’t the only reason I came. I also wanted to talk about your friend Grace Peabody.”

  “Grace isn’t my friend. I know it may have looked like that when you saw us the other night, but our husbands work together, and that is the extent of our relationship. Fred invited us to dinner to celebrate Arthur’s homecoming. Besides, I really don’t see how this is any of your business—”

  “It’s my business—and yours too—because of the way Fred Peabody attacked your sister.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The night of the Walshes’ Christmas party, he followed her outside and grabbed her before she made it home. If I hadn’t come along, I don’t know what would have happened. He wasn’t happy to have been caught, that’s for sure. He said that if either of us reported it, we would both be sorry. Millie didn’t tell you; she didn’t want you to get involved.”

  Ruth’s face drained of color. “Are you sure it was Fred?”

  “I’m positive. The same way I’m positive it was Grace who called Captain O’Brian to accuse Millie and me of sabotage.”

  “How could you be so certain that was Grace?”

  “Because I had a run-in with her inside the ladies’ room at the Victory dance. She said some awful things, and I told her what a jerk her husband was to Millie. She told me I would regret saying what I did and that Millie would too. A few hours later, O’Brian took Millie into custody. Do you really think that was only a coincidence?”

  “I … I don’t know what to think.” Ruth placed her hand on her stomach as if she might be sick. “Millie attracted a lot of attention from men when we were young. She got herself into some … uncomfortable situations.”

  “Look, I don’t know what ‘situations’ you’re talking about, but Millie didn’t ask for Fred Peabody to follow her home.”

  “You don’t understand. My past with Millie is complicated.”

  “I don’t give a damn how complicated it is!” Arietta had lost patience with Ruth’s flimsy excuses. “I came here today because I want to protect Millie and I thought that as her sister you would want to do the same. I never dreamed for a second that I would need to convince you.” She reached for the doorknob to let herself out. “You need to figure out whose side you’re on.”

  Lillian

  Springfield, Massachusetts (May 1943)

  They decided to have the concert on Armory Hill—the soft-sloping area behind the old arsenal. Everyone in Springfield was clamoring to attend, but tickets were limited to armory employees and one guest each. Even with the restrictions, more than five thousand people were expected.

  Security was a major concern, of course, requiring all kinds of coordination among Captain O’Brian, the armory guards, and the Springfield police. It was decided that concertgoers would enter through the gate on the corner of Byers and State streets, in the hopes that the smaller entry point would make for a more orderly entrance. With spies and saboteurs on everyone’s minds, tickets would be carefully checked, and extra guards would be posted.

  Lillian supervised the construction of an elevated stage where the featured entertainers, orchestra, and production crew would assemble. But as the concert date grew closer, she began to worry about the weather. The early-May evenings had been unusually cold.

  On the morning of the concert, the newspaper predicted a gusty evening, with temperatures dipping into the forties. Lillian called the carpenters and asked them to erect canvas flaps on the sides of the stage to protect the performers from the wind. The rest of the afternoon was a blur of activity, from greeting the crew to wiring and sound checks. The head producer arrived late and in a terrible mood. He had just gotten word that his opening act had canceled.

  Ignoring Lillian, he turned to his assistants, a trio of young men clutching clipboards and pencils. “Get me somebody! Anybody! I don’t give a damn who it is, do you hear me? We need an opener to warm up this crowd! We go live at nine thirty—we only have five hours!”

  The last-minute snafu had thrown the men into a panic, but Lillian knew exactly who to call. She cleared her throat to get their attention. “I have someone,” she announced. “A singer—she’s perfect.”

  The men looked up from their clipboards in unison and stared. “Who is she?” the producer asked. “What’s her name?”

  “Arietta Benevetto. She’s a cook at the armory, but she used to sing professionally. You might not know her, but everyone in Springfield does. If you put her on the stage, the audience will go wild.”

  “You want a cook to open for the King of Swing?” He was mocking her, she knew, but she didn’t care. This man’s idea of catastrophe was a vac
ancy in his show. She knew too many men—her husband included—who were all too aware of what real catastrophe was. She wasn’t about to be intimidated by someone who flustered so easily.

  “She’s not just a cook, and it seems to me that she’s your only option. So, what will it be? Yes or no?”

  * * *

  A few hours later, Lillian walked home to get dressed. She fixed her hair and makeup and set out clothes for the children. “Daddy will walk you over before the concert starts. I have seats saved on the side of the stage for all of you. It’s going to be cold, so wear your winter coats.”

  “Our winter coats?” Margaret whined. “But it’s already spring.”

  “It may say spring on the calendar, but it’s going to be freezing. Now, be a good girl and do as I say.”

  Lillian was on her way out the door when Millie returned.

  “I just came from Arietta’s,” Millie said, beaming. “I don’t know how you convinced them to let her perform, but she’s absolutely beside herself! I promised I’d go back and help her finish getting ready. Michael is going to stay over at Ruth’s tonight. I was surprised, but she offered to have him stay.”

  “You know, I’ve been so busy, I haven’t even asked—how have things been between you and your sister?”

  Millie raised her shoulders in a good-natured shrug. “Lillian, you don’t have time for this now—you have a show to put on! We can talk about me later.”

  “Do you promise? You’re a part of our family now, you know. If you ever need to talk, I hope you’ll come to me.”

  “I appreciate that. But you need to go!”

  “Just do me a favor and be careful tonight. With five thousand people wandering around, there are bound to be a few rotten apples in the bunch.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Fitz and I are going to watch Arietta together.”

  “All right, then.” Lillian smiled. “As long as you’re not alone.”

  Millie

  The evening was unusually chilly for spring, but most people were so excited that they barely even noticed. What did a little bit of wind matter anyway? They would have braved a blizzard to see the King of Swing.

  People began pouring through the gate more than two hours before the show—thousands of workers and guests waving their tickets at the guards. The radio program would be broadcast live at nine thirty, but the opening act would entertain the crowd first. Millie marveled at Arietta’s ability to stay calm. After all, she was about to sing for the largest crowd of her career.

  Millie and Fitz waited with her behind the stage until it was time for her to make her entrance. Since the concert was outside, there were no dressing rooms. Arietta wore a heavy coat and scarf until the very last minute to ensure that her body and her voice stayed warm. Her satin shoes sank into the dirt, and the bottom of her gown grazed the newly mowed grass. Millie worried that it might be an inauspicious beginning.

  But when the announcer called her name, Arietta was ready. Beneath the frumpy coat and scarf was a shimmering red sheath, cut just low enough in the front to showcase a double strand of pearls. Arietta threw her shoulders back and flashed a confident grin in Millie’s direction. “Wish me luck.” She winked and blew Fitz a quick kiss before she climbed the stairs.

  “Isn’t she something?” Fitz sighed.

  “She certainly is,” Millie agreed.

  Millie was grateful to have Fitz by her side. Without the benefit of his height and bulky frame, she doubted whether she would have been able to make her way through the mob. They finally found an area where the crowd was slightly thinner and settled in a spot with a partial view of the stage.

  Fitz was anxious to get closer but reluctant to give up the place they had already secured. “I think I see a spot up ahead with a better view!” he shouted. “I’ll come back in a minute and let you know.”

  Only when he was a few feet ahead of her did she fully realize the folly of his plan. As tall as Fitz was, he disappeared from Millie’s sight. She scanned the area in front of her, trying to pick out the top of his head or the slope of his shoulders, but there was no way to spot him in the crush of the crowd. Before the concert began, Millie thought she might run into Charlie. But if she couldn’t find Fitz, there was no hope of finding anyone. She began to feel uneasy.

  Her apprehension lessened as soon as Arietta took the stage. When the announcer explained that she was not merely a singer but a cook at the armory cafeteria as well, the roar of the crowd was absolutely deafening. Arietta smiled and waved until the hollering died down. Then she took two steps forward and cued the band leader. As the music swelled, she began her first song.

  Millie had never been prouder of her friend. She knew Arietta could woo any audience, but to watch her command a crowd of thousands was something she couldn’t have imagined. She began with “Moonlight Cocktail”—one of Millie’s favorites—and moved on to other songs Millie recognized from her repertoire. Five thousand sets of eyes were glued to the stage until it was time for the cook to sing her final number.

  “It has been my absolute honor to perform for you tonight,” Arietta said into the microphone. “Before I go, I’m going to sing one last song. This tune was made famous by Mr. Benny Goodman himself. Now, I know you’re used to hearing Peggy Lee do these vocals, but I hope you won’t mind if I give them a try.” A familiar melody wafted through the air, and the audience grew silent.

  You had plenty money, nineteen twenty-two

  You let other women make a fool of you

  Why don’t you do right, like some other men do

  Millie had never cared for the song. She found the tune ominous and the lyrics unnerving. Until that moment in the evening, Arietta’s performance had captivated her completely. But now, Millie’s mind began to wander. A sudden gust of wind cut straight through her coat, and she felt an overwhelming desire to get away from the crowd.

  Millie pushed past the people around her, her panic rising with every elbow and shoulder that blocked her path. Layer by layer, she made her way through the mob. When she finally reached the edge, she walked in a circle around the back of the stage until she found a tree to lean against. She could still hear the music, but at least she could breathe. She leaned her body forward, shut her eyes, and put her head between her knees to stem the wave of nausea that ran through her.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” said a voice in the dark. It was what Charlie had said when she’d first seen him at the rifle club, and in the minute before she lifted her head, she thought it might be her friend. But when she opened her eyes, she saw she’d been mistaken.

  The first thought she had was that the song had somehow conjured him. The second was that he was almost unrecognizable. The scar on his cheek was even more pronounced, and his face was a pulp of greenish-blue bruises. His nose had been broken in who knew how many places. What Millie had once thought to be the most handsome face in Brooklyn was now a hollow remnant, the face of a ghost.

  She stepped away from the tree, but her legs were shaky. “How did you get through the gate without a ticket?”

  “What’s the matter?” He smirked. “You’re not happy to see me? I met a gal last night—sweet little broad. I showed her a good time, and she gave me a ticket. It was easy enough to ditch her once we got inside.”

  Millie knew just the kind of woman who would fall for him—young, overeager, too easily impressed with a tough guy from New York. The poor girl was probably looking for him right now, calling his name into the wind, wondering where he was.

  “But there are so many people here. How did you find me?”

  Lenny began to chuckle—he was as surprised as she was. “Damn if I know. When I saw the size of the crowd, I figured it was hopeless. But when that last song started, I looked up and—bam!—there you were, walking away from the audience all alone.” He took a step closer, but he was no longer laughing. “I guess I was meant to find you, Millie. Isn’t that something? Now, what do you say you play nice and give me that ring.”
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  She held up her hand. “I already told you, I don’t wear it anymore.”

  The pain when he grabbed her wrist ran all the way up her arm. He pinned her against the tree and pressed his face to hers, so close that she could smell the cheap whiskey he’d been drinking. Just like old times.

  “I’ll bring you the ring tomorrow,” she promised.

  “Ha!” The spray of his spittle on her neck made her shiver. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to fall for that again? This time, I’m not letting you out of my sight until you give it to me.”

  She tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. “What happened to your nose?” she asked, pretending to be concerned. “Did those fellows come after you again?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” He fingered his scar and then pulled out a small blade. “I’ve got protection now,” he hissed. “Hey, how’d you like a nice little scar to match mine? I bet I could give you one almost as pretty.” He drew a flask from his pocket and took a few gulps.

  Think, Millie, think. She contemplated bringing him to Ruth’s house for the ring, but the idea of leading him to Michael was far too risky. Who knew what kind of argument Ruth might start if she saw him, or what he might do with that knife if he got angry. She couldn’t put her family in danger like that. No, she would have to come up with something else.

  If only someone would walk by, someone who might help her—but everyone at the armory was attending the concert. Screaming would do no good; no one would hear her over the roar of the crowd. In fact, now that Arietta had finished her set, the live radio show was about to begin. From the other side of the stage, Millie could hear it.

  The Coca-Cola Company presents The Victory Parade of Spotlight Bands. And here’s tonight’s Spotlight Roll Call. Benny Goodman? Here! The Benny Goodman Spotlight Band? Here! The officers and men and civilian war workers of the Springfield Armory? Here! All present and accounted for in Springfield, Massachusetts, so start the victory parade marching right about here!