Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington (27 page)

He moved to the chair, but it was occupied with a stack of newspapers open to his articles—every one. Victory Square, with the photograph of Rosalie and Kenny on stage with Lana Turner, topped the stack. It only made sense since his dad had already met Rosalie. He wondered if Dad liked her, approved. She was so different from the church girls back home.

His dad stirred slightly, a low moan escaping his lips. A heavy weight, confusing and arduous, settled on Kenny’s chest. His dad lay before him, softly snoring, unlike the wild roars he used to unleash to the rafters—and neighbors—at home. A part of Kenny wanted to wake him, look in his eyes, and see the acceptance and love he so longed for. And then spend the afternoon playing checkers, laughing about old stories, and sharing their dreams for the future. He’d missed his father so deeply over the last two years.

But the weight restrained Kenny from acting on his desire, because he dreaded a disappointed gaze even more. Holding his position, he waited, but Dad didn’t wake.

After a moment, Kenny pulled his notebook from his shirt pocket.
I’ll leave a note, so he’ll know I was here. He obviously needs to sleep.

Dad,

I came by but you were sleeping. I’ll stop in again tomorrow or maybe the day after. It’s good to know you’re here—safe on American soil. I’ll call Mom and let her know. I can picture her excitement. I’ll tell her you’ve already met my girl too. That’ll really get her excited.

I love you, Dad, and I know you’ll be up and around in no time. I’m proud of you.

Your son,
Kenny

Kenny glanced over his words, wondering if he should say more. He padded to the bed and gently touched his father’s strong hand. Memories of those hands flooded his mind.

“And I’ll work to make
you
proud,” Kenny whispered.

The next day Rosalie’s paintbrush swished a coat of white paint over the dining room wall at Tilly’s house. Beyond the room, many of her soon-to-be housemates’ voices echoed across the wood-paneled hallway. A crew of them had gathered in the kitchen, wrenches in hand, to replace a rusty pipe. If they could pound out B-17 bombers in record time, surely a rusty pipe wouldn’t defeat them.

As brilliant white covered over dingy yellow paint, Lanie hustled into the room from the front living room, her hair tied up in a yellow bandanna. “There you are.”

From the look of her pristine work getup, Lanie wasn’t planning on getting her hands dirty. Rosalie glanced across the room at the grandfather clock, its face the only part uncovered by sheets. She’d need to leave in fifteen minutes to catch the bus.

“Yes, here I am. Busy at work. Trying to get the house all ready for us to move in.” Rosalie forced a grin, reminding herself this house was a gift, and it didn’t really matter that some people put in more work than others. Rosalie gave one last stroke and then placed the paintbrush in the tray next to the can.

“I’ve been wantin’ to talk to you.” Lanie leaned on a chair, her manicured finger accidentally plunging into a plop of paint. She wiped it on the sheet covering the table, then tilted her head. “I heard from my brother stationed on the same base as Iris’s husband, Jake. I was talking to him, and it seems Jake has a girl down there. I just don’t know how to tell Iris.”

Knowing Iris was a few feet across the hall in the kitchen, Rosalie shook her head and waved her hands. But it was too late. A loud clang sounded from the kitchen, like a pipe dropping to linoleum. Rosalie’s heart fell.

Rosalie left Lanie and raced to the kitchen. Confusion lurked in Iris’s eyes—along with disbelief. Birdie stood next to her like a protective pit bull.

Footsteps approached, and Lanie peered in. She moved to Iris and took her hands. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her Southern accent dripping with remorse. “I didn’t know you were here. I never would’ve—”

“Lanie! How could you repeat such things?” The words spurt from Birdie’s mouth.

Lanie’s head jerked away from Iris toward Birdie. “I just wanted to figure out how to talk to her about it.” She stood taller, her voice firm but not harsh. “I was hopin’ Rosalie could help.”

Iris pushed away from Lanie, her hand rubbing her forehead. “What did you hear, exactly?”

Everyone looked at Lanie, whose shoulders slumped. “My brother said he saw Jake keepin’ company with a beautiful English lady. I didn’t even know it was your husband, until he told me the fellow’s last name, and that he was married to a motorcyclin’ parts carrier in Seattle. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

“Hold on a second.” Stepping forward, Rosalie eyed Lanie. “You say your brother
saw
Jake with this woman?”

Lanie’s eyes flit upward, and she coiled a strand of hair around a finger. “I think so. Or was it his friend who saw him?” She scrunched her lips together. “Does it really matter?”

Rosalie knew Iris and Jake had struggled in the past. This kind of rumor would kindle doubts Iris already had about her marriage. And for Lanie to even bring it up when the evidence was so weak was another example of Lanie’s lack of common sense—or was it sheer spitefulness?

Placing a hand on Iris’s back, Rosalie kept her gaze on Lanie. “You should’ve been more careful, talking about this kind of thing.” Lanie’s eyes drooped, and she looked at her hands, so Rosalie softened her voice. “I suppose you didn’t mean to hurt Iris.”

With a quick turn, Rosalie focused on Iris. “Listen.” She grasped her friend’s shoulders. “It’s only a rumor. Lanie doesn’t even know who exactly saw them. Maybe she was someone he worked with, or a friend’s wife. There could be a hundred reasons he was seen with her, if he even was. You know how rumors are.”

“I know, but—” Iris’s chin quivered, and she lowered her head. “I guess I’m not surprised. I mean, the way things have been lately. It could be true, Rosalie.”

“No. There’s no reason to think it’s true until you know for sure.” Rosalie thumbed away a tear on Iris’s cheek. “Keep your chin up, hon. Keep smiling. Be the strong woman I know you are. We’ll find out the truth, and then we’ll work it out.”

Birdie sidled up next to her. “That’s right. We’ll be with you whatever happens. But I don’t think it’s true.”

Clara joined in the hug. “We’re on your side.”

“Miss Madison?” A male voice broke the girls from their moment and caused Rosalie to jump. She looked up to spot Phil from the lumberyard standing in the doorway where Lanie had stood a moment before. Lanie was nowhere to be seen.

The man cleared his throat, removed his cap, and twisted it in his hands. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but can you spare a few minutes?”

“Of course.” She gave Iris’s shoulder one last squeeze.

Rosalie hurried toward the waiting man. She led him through the dining room, where Lanie had picked up the painting where Rosalie had left off.

“I need to talk to ya about the roof,” the man said as they moseyed through the living room. “Wanna follow me outside?”

Reaching the front yard, they swiveled and gazed at the house. “You’ve been doing a swell job cleaning up the inside, but there’s a bigger problem.” He pointed toward the roof. “You’re going to have to replace it.”

“Replace the roof?” Rosalie shook her head.

“Yep, and the attic. Too much dry rot up there.”

Rosalie’s hand moved to her chest, remembering the time she’d dangled from a hole in the attic. Thank goodness Kenny’d saved her. “I tried to clean up the attic and almost broke my neck. There’s no way I’m going up there again—and especially not to the roof. How can I ask my friends to?”

“We have folks who can do that. Skilled carpenters a little too old to join the military.”

“But we have no money. Almost all of our materials have been donated, and we’ve been doing all the work ourselves.”

“That’s a problem.” The man crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Don’t know what to tell you. But I wouldn’t live in that place with that roof. ”

“Well, thank you, I’ll have to talk to the others and the owner.” Even as she said the words the idea of them coming up with any amount of cash seemed impossible. She looked up to see Birdie striding out of the house.

“Hey, sweets,” Birdie said, struggling to sound chipper, but obviously still upset by the incident with Iris and Lanie.

“Don’t worry. I’ll catch up. I just need to talk to Tilly. I need to ask her to pray.”

Birdie gave Rosalie a quick hug. “Nothing is impossible with God,” she said, and Rosalie wondered how she knew.

Rosalie thanked the man, then headed around the house to find Tilly, who was trying to tame the weeds in her victory garden. As Rosalie approached, she saw that Iris was already there, pouring out her heart.

“C’mon, Rosalie.” Tilly patted the patch of dirt beside her. “I can see from your face you’ve received some not-so-good news as well.”

Rosalie ambled toward them. “Oh, Tilly, I’m afraid after all the work we’ve done, it’s not going to be good enough.” She sank to her knees, not caring that she’d be a mess when she got to work. “But I can’t stay. Kenny’ll be waiting at the plant. Today’s the day we’re doing the interview.”

“Don’t worry, Rosalie. I’ll give you a ride.” Iris attempted to offer a smile.

“See, an answer to your first problem.” Miss Tilly patted her hand. “Now with that matter taken care of, let’s talk to God and tell Him about the rest…all of it.”

Rosalie’s thighs clung to the worn leather motorcycle seat, and she loosely gripped Iris’s waist as her friend zoomed up one of Seattle’s many hills. Cool splashes of late-morning air enlivened Rosalie’s cheeks, forehead, chin. Summiting the hill, Rosalie felt the metal horse’s engine wind down.

Even though the scene was beautiful and peaceful, nothing could settle down her heart. Today was the day she told Kenny she’d do the story.

“Nothing like the view from here,” Iris said as she pulled to the stop sign. Iris put her feet down, taking a moment to appreciate the view. Rosalie did the same.

Rosalie scanned the vast valley below. Houses and businesses created color splotches amidst the tapestry of green. “No wonder they call it the emerald city.” She allowed a smile. “Oh look, there’s the Boeing plant.”

“Where?” Iris took off her leather helmet and shook out her brown hair. “I can’t see it.”

“You know about the camouflage, right?” With a hand on Iris’s shoulder, Rosalie inclined her head next to her cheek and pointed. “Right over there. See those houses and roads? They’re all fake. That’s the airplane plant underneath. They camouflaged the top to make it look like any other Seattle neighborhood.”

It was still amazing to her. From the hill—and from the air—no one would guess they were looking at the roof of the Boeing plant. She wondered how long it had taken to build those houses, to create roads and trees, and even place automobiles up there.

Today, Rosalie could relate to the desire to be hidden. On the outside, she appeared her normal strong, all-sufficient self—like the Rosie the Riveter in the posters. But underneath she felt more panicked than when her legs dangled from the attic. In the last day she’d confessed to Kenny that she liked him. He liked her too. More than that, she agreed to the articles. She did it to help him save his job, and she wanted to, but her thoughts kept roaming to unmapped territory—and the more she dreamed about Kenny, the more she longed for a future with him.

So how am I supposed to stay focused during the interview? Like Birdie said, take the time to get to know him.
Rosalie’s palms began to sweat thinking about spending this week with him.
I really can’t dwell on this.
She commanded her thoughts to change course
. I’ll be material for the loony bin before we do the first interview.

“Oh, wow, I still can’t tell it’s the plant,” Iris commented, pulling Rosalie back to the moment. Iris squinted; then a slight smile of recognition emerged. “I’ve never noticed it from this far away before. Those trees and yards are part of it too?”

“Yep.”

“Looks so real. The Japs could never see it from the air.”

Iris tried to act like her heart wasn’t surging pain and frustration, but Rosalie knew her strong friend’s facade was like so many others hurting during this season of national loss. The strong demeanor arose from not wanting to worry those around her, knowing that, for the sake of victory, she must quell her own pain and forge ahead. Iris’s heart cries left her like a desert, needing water. Now was the time for prayers, encouragement, hugs.