A Woman's Place (26 page)

It astonished Ginny to learn that her bright, responsible sons had been so afraid of Nazi soldiers and enemy bombs that they had played hooky from school to try to protect themselves—and her. Why hadn’t they shared their fears with her? The war had certainly turned her own life upside down, but she’d never realized how much it had upset theirs. She didn’t know how to reassure them, but she had to try.

“I know that everything seems different from the way it was a year ago. I wish we didn’t have to hear so much about the war every time we turn on the radio. I’m sorry if you’ve been worrying about it, but you should have talked to your father and me. We would gladly do whatever we could to—”

“Why do you have to leave us and go to work all the time?” Allan asked. “I wish you could be home again.”

Ginny was speechless. Was that what their disappearing act was all about, a cry for her attention? Or was Allan cleverly manipulating Ginny, using her guilt to wiggle his way out of trouble?

“Start walking,” she said. “Let’s go. Up the bank.”

Herbie led the way up the hill, and Allan followed behind Ginny with the wagon. Her knees still shook, making it difficult to climb the steep slope. She reached the top out of breath and waited beside the road for Helen to return with the car. What would she ever have done without Helen? Ginny would have had the police out searching by now while she was home having a nervous breakdown. Who knows how long it would have taken the police to find them?

“Let’s put the wagon in the trunk,” Helen said when she arrived.

“Would you mind doing me a favor?” Ginny asked her. “Could you drive us to the shipyard?”

Helen didn’t question why but simply nodded. They drove across town, following the curving river road, and pulled into the factory’s parking lot. Helen and Ginny still wore their identification badges, but Ginny didn’t think they would need them. She led the boys around to the back of the parking lot where they could see one of the nearly completed ships inside the huge, open bay doors, waiting to be launched.

“That’s one of the ships Miss Kimball and I worked on,” she told them. “It’s a landing craft that can go into shallow water and ferry soldiers from place to place. When it’s finished, it might be used by the marines to help fight the Japanese in the Pacific Islands, or maybe it will carry soldiers to the European mainland to fight the Nazis when the time is right.”

“It’s big!” Herbie said.

“You made that, Mom?”

“Not all by myself. It takes hundreds of people, working all day and all night to build one. But Miss Kimball and I helped. I’m building ships so we can win the war. I’m doing this for you, so the Nazis and the Japanese won’t ever come here to hurt us.”

“Tommy Parker says that men are supposed to work in factories, not women. He says it’s the dad’s job.”

“That was true before the war, but so many men went overseas to be soldiers that there aren’t enough of them left to work in the factories. That’s why I decided to work. If all the mothers stayed at home, who would make ships and tanks and guns? I’m not the only mother who is working, you know. There are a lot of others, too.”

The boys stared at the ship as if awestruck. “I’ll bet it’s fun to make something like that,” Allan finally said.

“It’s hard work—but you’re right, it’s very satisfying. Your father’s work is even more important than mine is. This is just one factory. He keeps dozens and dozens of factories running smoothly.”

“Are you still going to tell him we played hooky?”

“Yes, Herbie. But I think you should tell him the reason why.”

“Could I work here, too?” Allan asked. “I’d like to help.”

“I’m afraid you’re too young,” Ginny said as she herded them back to Helen’s car. “But I know something else you can do to help. It said in the newspaper that everybody on the home front should plant victory gardens this spring. If we all grow our own vegetables, then the food that the farmers grow can be sent overseas to our soldiers. Do you think we could do that?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Ginny thanked Helen once again when they reached home, but it would have taken an entire dictionary full of words to tell her how truly grateful she was.

“I’m glad I could help,” Helen said simply.

Losing the boys had been the last straw, Ginny decided as she opened a can of soup for their dinner. It was bad enough having Harold upset with her, but now the boys were upset with her, too. She couldn’t have her family in turmoil any longer. She would have to resign as soon as Rosa returned so things could return to normal here at home. It would be a relief not to have Harold angry with her anymore, but she felt sad at the thought of spending the long, lonely days at home again. She wouldn’t go back to the women’s club. Ginny supposed she could find something else to do, but she’d miss the satisfaction of seeing a completed ship. Housework was never finished.

“I know it has been hard on you with me working,” she told the boys at dinner. “I don’t ever want to lose you again, so I think I’d better resign from my job. I was going to quit a few weeks ago, but Rosa Voorhees needed some time off to see her husband before he was shipped overseas, so I decided to work for a little longer. But now, after today, I can see that I’m needed at home.”

Allan stared down at his bowl, stirring his tomato soup in slow circles. She wondered what he was thinking. He surprised her when he finally looked up and said, “I don’t want you to quit, Mom.”

“Do you mean that?”

He nodded. He looked so much like his father when his expression was somber. “Who’s going to build ships if you quit?” he asked. “I don’t want to lose the war, because then the Nazis really will come here.”

“What about you, Herbie? What do you think about me working?”

“I’ll try not to be scared anymore when you’re gone. I want you to make more ships, too.”

She stood and went around the table to hug each one. “If you’re really, really sure,” she said, “then maybe I’ll think about it some more before I resign.”

CHAPTER 22

*
Helen
*

“And so Helen saved the day,” Ginny said as she finished telling Rosa and Jean about her runaway sons. They sat around the lunch table, relaxing after a busy morning’s work.

“I think you’re exaggerating just a bit.” Helen tried to brush the accolades aside, uncomfortable being cast as the heroine. “Your boys would have turned up eventually without my help.”

“But not before I would have had a nervous breakdown,” Ginny said. “You can’t imagine how frightening it is to have your children go missing until it happens to you. The world suddenly seems so huge and dangerous—your children so small and vulnerable.”

Helen sat back and opened her Thermos of soup, determined to quietly listen and not comment as she and the other women ate their lunches. The aroma of tuna fish drifted out as Ginny unwrapped her sandwich.

“Ever since this trouble with my boys,” she said, “I’ve been trying to decide if I should resign. My entire family has been affected by my decision to work, and I feel so selfish for putting them through grief just so I can have my own way.”

Helen noticed that Jean had been unusually quiet today. Her lunch sat untouched. She hadn’t seemed her buoyant self for several days, but now she looked up at Ginny with a worried expression on her face.

“Could I ask a favor, Ginny? Could you please keep working for just a few more weeks until I can train someone else? Because after I train your replacement, I’ll need to train someone to replace me.”

“Replace
you
?” Ginny asked. Jean nodded, blinking back tears. “Oh, Jean, why?”

Jean leaned forward, speaking softly, as if unwilling to let the table full of men alongside them overhear. “I’ve been waiting until you got back, Rosa, so we wouldn’t be shorthanded. But I need to move back to Indiana.”

“You can’t leave us!” Rosa said. “We need you!”

“You’re wonderful at what you do,” Helen said. “Why would you want to resign?”

Jean re-wrapped her uneaten sandwich and pushed it to one side. “When I went home to visit Russ, he had arranged for me to apply for a job at a factory in town. He wants us to be together so badly, so I told him that I would move back home. Then I found out about Rosa needing a leave of absence, so I wrote and told him I was staying another month until she got back.”

“That was awful nice of you,” Rosa said. “I’m sorry if I kept you away from the guy you love.”

“That’s just it,” Jean said, her tears finally spilling over. “I’m not sure if Russ still loves me or not. He hasn’t answered any of my letters since I wrote and told him I wasn’t coming home right away. I think he’s really, really mad at me.”

“I know how that feels,” Ginny murmured.

“Me too,” Rosa added. “Not with Dirk but with his father. He sure can dish out the silent treatment when he’s peeved.”

“The only way I can make it up to Russ is to quit and go home. But I suppose Ginny wants to resign so she can patch things up with her husband, too. Maybe we should flip a coin to see which one of us gets to quit first.”

“Now wait just a minute, Jean,” Helen said. “I don’t think you and Ginny should let other people manipulate you this way. I never had a husband or a boyfriend telling me what to do, but my father certainly did—even after I became an adult. He used anger and threats to control my life, and I was foolish enough to let him. I wanted to please him, just like you and Ginny want to please the men you love, but I ended up losing everything that was dear to me. You might be paying a very steep price for your compliance.”

“But what if I lose Russ?” Jean asked.

“Good riddance! Don’t you see that he’s using emotional blackmail to get his own way? Ginny, your boys tugged on your heartstrings by running away. And your husband is manipulating you into quitting by withdrawing his affection. Now Jean’s boyfriend is doing the same thing—refusing to answer her letters, refusing to concede to her very simple request to wait a few weeks so she could help Rosa. All of these men are going to pout and maneuver until they get their own way—and you think
you’re
being selfish, Ginny? Rubbish!”

“But my household is in turmoil, and it was my decision to work that caused it.”

“I don’t believe that, either. Albert was right when he told me that people are responsible for their own choices. Harold and Russell are
choosing
to be miserable; you aren’t causing it. There are plenty of other husbands, like Rosa’s, for instance, who are very happy that their wives are helping out with the war effort.”

“Who’s Albert?” Ginny asked, looking confused.

“He’s the guy Helen’s father wanted her to marry,” Rosa said before Helen could reply.

How had she allowed his name to slip out? Helen hated it when everyone knew the details of her personal life. Next thing you knew, one of them would ask why she’d never married him.

“It doesn’t matter who Albert is,” Helen said quickly. “The point is, he was right. We all know that our jobs are important to the war effort. We all know that we aren’t acting selfishly by working here. If Russ and Harold and Ginny’s two sons want to make themselves miserable over it, that’s their choice, not yours.”

“My mother said I should ask God what to do,” Jean said. “Ma told me He has a plan for my life—but it’s so hard to know what that is.”

“Well, I’m certainly not about to speak for God,” Helen said. “As far as I’m concerned, God derailed my plans as thoroughly as my father did.” She sat back in her seat and crushed saltine crackers into her soup to signal that she was finished dispensing advice. But Jean wouldn’t let her withdraw.

“Then what do you think I should do about Russ?” she asked. All of the women looked at Helen, waiting.

“Since Russ is the one who stopped writing,” she found herself saying, “then he obviously should be the one who takes the next step and restores the lines of communication. If he chooses to break up with you simply because you helped a friend, then good riddance to him, Jean. You’re obviously a much better person than he is. I wouldn’t want to be married to him if that’s how he behaves. But if you give in and go running home to him, then he’ll do this sort of thing every time he wants his own way.”

Jean stared at her as if this was a brand-new idea.

“My father manipulated and bullied everyone to get his own way,” Helen continued. “In the business world and at home. I’m sorry I didn’t have the wisdom to see it back when it might have made a difference in my life. I’d hate to see you and Ginny make the same mistake.” She returned to her lunch, quickly downing the remainder of her soup, eager to end this conversation. She stowed the empty containers in her lunchbox and snapped it shut.

“Now, if you’ll please excuse me,” she said, rising from the bench, “I need to gather some more signatures for my petition before the lunch hour ends.” She gazed around at the other tables, trying to decide where she had left off yesterday, then strode to the nearest table.

“Excuse me for interrupting your lunch, but might I have a moment of your time? Are you aware that the government has created a German prisoner of war camp just outside our community, near Stockton Lake? If you are, and if you’re as outraged by it as I am, I’d like to ask you to consider signing this petition, demanding that the government remove these dangerous prisoners immediately.”

Helen was able to gather a dozen more signatures before the lunch whistle blew, then a few dozen more from workers arriving for the evening shift. After work, she drove to the elementary school where she’d once taught to gather still more signatures. Oddly enough, the teachers she had worked with for so many years seemed like strangers to her and she to them. She had wanted it that way at the time, determined to avoid personal entanglements like the ones she was currently mixed up in at the factory. She had eaten lunch in her classroom every day and shunned the teachers’ lounge during recess. Now the other teachers listened politely as she explained her petition, but her visit evoked no warm greetings or inquiries about when she might return to teaching.

By the end of the week, Helen counted over one thousand signatures. Surely that would impress the state officials. Before the war, a thousand names represented a sizable percentage of Stockton’s population. She hurried home to change her clothes, then drove downtown to deliver the petitions to the mayor’s office. He teetered on his chair as usual, his sleeves rolled up and tie askew. As he thumped his chair forward onto all four legs, Helen marveled that the two hind legs didn’t break off beneath his weight.

“Well, Helen, I understand you’re still determined to stop the internment camp,” Archie said before she’d spoken a word. He smiled at her look of surprise. “I’ve heard all about those petitions you’ve been circulating all over town. My sister-in-law works at Lincoln School, you know.”

“You’ve heard correctly. I’ve collected pages and pages of signatures—well over a thousand. Now, can we please do something about those disgusting Nazis?”

“The first batch of prisoners is already living out there, Helen.”

“I don’t care. They can pack up and leave just as easily as they came, can’t they?”

“I suppose that’s true…. Okay, then. I’ll bring this issue up at the town board meeting later this week. The other members and I will draft a letter and send your petitions to the state. I’ll call you when I get a response.”

Helen waited two weeks. In the meantime, Ginny and Jean seemed to have heeded her advice, because neither one of them had resigned yet. Now that spring was here, the women spent every lunch hour talking about planting victory gardens.

“Mr. Voorhees already had a garden before the war,” Rosa told them. “But he dug up even more of the yard and is making it even bigger. I hope he don’t think that
I’m
gonna work in it.”

“My sister wants to plant one, too,” Jean said, “but I told her it’s too much work. We were raised on a farm, and I’ve had my fill of hoeing and weeding.”

“Well, I really wanted a victory garden,” Ginny said. “I thought it would be a wonderful experience for the boys, but Harold didn’t go for the idea. I still think I’d like to grow a few tomatoes, though. Are you going to have a garden, Helen?”

“I’ve been considering it.”

“Have you seen her yard?” Rosa asked the others. “She could grow enough food to feed the whole town!”

Helen was at home one evening, gazing out at the backyard, wondering if she could get anyone to help her with a garden, when the mayor telephoned.

“We finally got a response, Helen. Someone from the state is going to come and talk to us about the internment camp this Saturday. They’ve invited you and me and all of the town board members out there to tour the facility. They’ll try to answer our questions and concerns.”

“You sound as though you don’t think it will accomplish anything.”

“You’re right, I don’t. I told you from the get-go that the decision had already been made and that my hands were tied. The camp is on state-owned land, outside the town limits.”

“I’ll be there on Saturday, Archie. Thanks for including me in the invitation.”

“It’s the least I could do after you collected all those signatures.”

Helen arrived at the mayor’s office on Saturday morning for the excursion to the internment camp, ready to do battle. She was the only woman. She knew all of the town board members who were going along, but she was surprised to see Mr. Wire from the shipyard. They parked their cars outside the barbed-wire enclosure and waited for an armed guard in a U.S. Army uniform to let them through the gate. The government had built guard towers overlooking the camp since the last time Helen had visited with Rosa, but otherwise, the place looked much the same.

Once inside, Helen felt her stomach turn in revulsion when she saw the Germans. Some three hundred prisoners milled around in the warm spring sunshine, clothed in blue uniforms with the letters PW stenciled on their backs and trousers. The men appeared so ordinary. Who would ever think that they had unleashed such horror on the world—twice! Two dozen of them worked to cultivate a square of land that looked as though it was going to be a garden. They turned over the earth with spades and used hoes to break up the clods.

“I’m surprised they’re allowed to have hoes and shovels,” Helen told the guard. “Things like that could be used as weapons.”

“Our guns are loaded, ma’am.” He lifted his rifle to emphasize his words, offering Helen a close-up look. The dark, satiny steel—or whatever it was made from—looked sinister to her. She couldn’t imagine a gentle young man like Jimmy or Albert carrying one of those guns, much less firing it. Nor could she imagine boys like Dirk Voorhees and Larry Wire and all the others she had taught in school toting weapons. She felt her anger rising as she walked with the mayor and the others to the warden’s office.

“How did the world’s leaders ever allow the Germans to engulf the world in a second war?” she asked aloud. “We should have killed all of them the first time.”

The board members crowded into the warden’s office, which was little more than a hut. Helen listened with mounting unease as the state official introduced one of the blue-clad prisoners to everyone.

“I’d like you to meet Meinhard Kesler. His English is very good, so we’ve put him in charge of the other prisoners and assigned him the task of interpreting for us.”

Kesler extended his hand in greeting to all of the men, but Helen folded her arms across her chest in refusal. The German was in his fifties, a slightly built, unassuming man with short, graying hair. Helen would have expected a Nazi officer to be stern and severe, but this prisoner had a friendly smile and a gentle expression in his blue eyes. He looked more like a kindly shopkeeper than a ruthless Nazi. Helen wouldn’t let herself be fooled by him.

“You seem a bit old to be a common soldier,” she told him. “The state specifically promised us that no officers would be sent here.”

“I am neither, ma’am.” His voice was soft, his English strongly accented. “The Nazis make me a soldier because they need me in their army to fix the … how do you say? The connections—the wires and so forth. My age does not matter to them, only my skills.”