A Woman's Place (3 page)

“… in Pearl Harbor where the United States was attacked early this morning. The battleship
Arizona,
the
West Virginia,
and as many as nineteen other ships in the U.S. Pacific Fleet have been damaged or sunk. The Japanese also destroyed more than one hundred eighty American fighter planes parked on the tarmac. The death toll is close to one thousand and rising … .”

“Holy smokes!” the cook breathed. “We’re in this war for sure now. I may as well head on down and enlist.”

Rosa leaned against the counter, her strength draining from her legs for the second time that day. But Bob’s clumsy attack was nothing compared to this one.

“I don’t want to believe it’s true,” Lorraine said. She and Rosa clung to each other, listening to the grim news.

“… The attack on Pearl Harbor has effectively crippled the American fleet, leaving the United States vulnerable to further attacks. President Roosevelt is expected to ask Congress for a declaration of war—”
The cook shut off the radio in disgust.

“I’m a mess,” Lorraine said, wiping her tear-streaked mascara on her apron. “Come on, let’s take a break.” She pulled Rosa into the ladies’ room.

Rosa leaned against the tiled wall, staring at her hollow-eyed reflection in the dingy mirror. “You know what, Lorraine? I’m sick and tired of not knowing which way things are gonna go when I wake up every morning. My life is like riding the Scrambler at Coney Island: All I can do is hang on tight while it spins me in circles and shifts direction every other second.”

“The Scrambler’s great if you got a cute guy to hang on to.”

“Yeah, but at the moment, I got no one. I’m sick and tired of all the bumps and turns, tired of working dead-end jobs and fighting off creeps like Bob. I can’t count on anyone or anything to be there tomorrow. Sure, some of the sailors I dated swore up and down that they loved me, but they didn’t stick around any longer than my mother’s worthless boyfriends do. And now this—a sneak attack, another war. Everything’s gonna change.”

Lorraine blotted her lipstick with a paper towel. “Maybe we should join the WACs or something.”

“Nah, they make you keep your room clean and get up real early in the morning.” Rosa poked at her hair, tucking some loose strands beneath her hairnet. “I know life isn’t a fairy tale with a happy ending, but I’m really not asking for much in life—just a nice guy who loves me.”

“Yeah, and maybe a cottage in the woods, like Snow White.”

“With my luck, I’m gonna wind up with the seven dwarves instead of the prince.”

“Hey, Rosa, your customer needs more coffee,” one of the other waitresses told her as she and Lorraine emerged from the bathroom.

“So what else is new?” Rosa sighed and picked up the coffeepot. Even when life threw curve balls, some things never changed. If only the carnival ride would end so she could go home with her handsome prince.

*   
Jean
   *

Jean Erickson sat in the Majestic Theater, holding her boyfriend’s hand, but her thoughts kept straying from the Sunday matinee movie to the essay that she needed to write for tomorrow’s history class. She silently composed her arguments as the film
Sergeant York
played across the screen.

She’d told Russ that she couldn’t go to the movies after he’d driven out to her family’s farm to invite her. “I still have homework to finish, and then I have to study for a chemistry test, and—”

“Why? So you can get an A instead of a B?” Russ asked. “Would the world come to an end if you only got a B?”

“I need straight A’s so I can get a college scholarship for next fall. My parents don’t have any money to pay for college and—”

“Come on, Jean. It’s only a two-hour movie. You’ve got all night to study.” Russ had turned to Jean’s twin brother, John, seated across the kitchen table from her. “Help me talk her into it, buddy. You should come, too. We’ll stop by Sue’s house and make it a foursome.”

“Great idea.” John had closed his history book with a slap and stood up. “Let’s go, sis. We can finish studying later.” Jean might have been able to refuse Russ, but her twin could talk her into anything. That’s how she’d ended up in the Majestic Theater sharing a box of Jujubes with Russ, worrying about her essay.

All of a sudden the movie screen flickered, then went dark. The soundtrack ground to a halt. The audience groaned. Someone in the balcony booed as the house lights blinked on. The theater manager blew into the microphone several times and asked, “Is this thing on?” He blew again. “Testing … testing … Can you hear me?” More people booed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the manager finally said, “we apologize for interrupting the show, but we’ve just received an important news bulletin. Early this morning, the Japanese launched an air attack on the U.S. fleet in Pearl Harbor.”

Jean caught her breath. The theater grew deathly still.

“Early news reports say that more than three hundred Japanese aircraft were involved, including dive-bombers, fighter planes, and high-level bombers. Eight U.S. battleships have reportedly been damaged or sunk, along with three destroyers. As many as two hundred U.S. aircraft have been damaged or destroyed on the ground. Casualties are estimated at hundreds of lives.”

Jean gasped. “Russ, my brother Danny is stationed in Pearl Harbor!”

“I thought he was at Great Lakes.”

“No, he finished there. He came home on furlough last month, then they shipped him to Pearl Harbor.” She hadn’t feared at all for Danny’s safety until today. America wasn’t involved in the war. She leaned forward to face her brother John at the same moment that he leaned toward her. “Is this for real?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. We’d better go home and see.”

All over the theater, people were standing and putting on their coats to leave. Jean hoped she was dreaming as she grabbed her jacket and hurried outside to Russ’s truck. Her legs felt weak and shaky.

“Maybe this is another hoax,” she said as she climbed into the seat, “like that radio broadcast a few years ago, remember?”

“You mean ‘War of the Worlds’?” John asked. “That caused an awful lot of panic. I don’t think they’d dare pull another stunt like that.”

They took John’s girlfriend home first, then Russ drove his father’s pickup truck at breakneck speed down the country roads to Jean’s farm. The three of them bounced on the worn springs like popcorn in a hot pan. Powdery snow blew across the barren fields and onto the dirt road as they sped past.

“We just got a letter and photo from Danny,” she said, picturing him with his white sailor hat tipped jauntily on his head. “He went on and on about how beautiful the islands were, how balmy the weather was.”

“I don’t understand how Japanese airplanes could get close enough to attack Hawaii without being spotted,” John said as they drove. “Why wasn’t there any warning?” No one knew the answer.

Please, God. Don’t let anything happen to Danny,
Jean prayed.

She ran inside the farmhouse as soon as they reached home, not even bothering to remove her boots. “Ma!” she shouted, “Did you hear the news? The Japanese attacked—”

“Shh!” Her siblings hushed her from the living room. Jean found everyone gathered around the radio, listening intently. She sank down on the arm of the sofa beside her mother.

“… More than three hundred Japanese aircraft participated in a coordinated attack against American military installations on the island of Oahu, including Wheeler Field, Hickham Field, and Pearl Harbor. All military personnel and civilian defense workers—excluding women—have been ordered to report for duty immediately. Women and other civilians have been ordered to seek shelter and stay inside until further notice.”

The family listened in silence until the announcer began to repeat himself, then all of Jean’s sisters and brothers began talking at once.

“Did they say anything about Dan’s ship, the
California
?” Jean asked her mother.

“They mentioned the
Shaw
and the
West Virginia
,” her younger brother Howie said.

“They can’t get a clear view of the other ships,” her father added. “There’s too much smoke.”

Jean struggled to control her tears. “I hope Danny’s all right.”

Ma took her hand, squeezing it to comfort her. “God is in control, Jeannie. Don’t ever forget that. The leaders and nations of this world aren’t running things, God is.”

“But Danny—”

“He’ll let us know he’s safe as soon as he can. There’s no sense worrying about something until it happens. I leave my worrying to God.”

Jean wished she had even half a measure of her mother’s faith. “I don’t know how you can sit here so calmly after what just happened, and—”

“I’m going down tomorrow to sign up for the air force,” John interrupted.

“You can’t do that! We’re going to college together next fall, remember?”

“College isn’t going to happen, Jeannie. If this news bulletin is true and America really has been attacked, then our lives are about to be turned upside down. I may as well enlist before I get drafted.”

“Me too,” Howie said. “I’ll go with you.”

“You’ll both have plenty of time to enlist after you’ve finished high school,” Ma said calmly. “You can’t enlist until you’re eighteen, Howie. And they won’t allow either one of you into flight school without a high school diploma.”

“You don’t have to fight at all, you know,” Russell said. He had followed Jean into the house without her realizing it. “We can all get draft exemptions because we’re farmers.” Everyone stared at him as if he’d spoken in Japanese. “It’s true. I already read up on it. We’re exempt if we stay home and run the family farm.”

“But I want to fight for my country,” John said.

“Me too,” Howie echoed.

“I’d gladly enlist if I were a guy,” Jean said. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt the frustration of being born female.

“You could join the Women’s Army Corps,” John told her.

“And be a glorified secretary? No thanks! They don’t let women do anything in the army except wear a uniform and type letters.”

“Of course they don’t,” Russ said. “You don’t really think women belong in combat, do you?”

Any other time Jean would have argued with him, but not today. She was much too worried about Danny to launch into a debate on equality for women. “Well, I’m going to do
something
useful for the war effort,” she said aloud. “I don’t know what, but I’m going to do my part.”

“The Japanese don’t stand a chance with Jeannie on our side,” John said. She punched his arm.

“I’d better head home,” Russ said, turning toward the door. “I don’t know if my folks have heard the news yet.” Jean walked out to the kitchen with him. Her schoolbooks still lay open where she’d left them on the table, but the Japanese had just wreaked havoc on all of her plans.

“See you tomorrow, Jean.”

She kissed Russ good-bye and tried to return to her essay, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her brother Danny and the devastation at Pearl Harbor. And if her nation did go to war, and if Johnny did enlist, would she ever get to college? Jean wished she knew the answer.

PART ONE

Stockton, Michigan
Fall 1942

“No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated

invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win

through to absolute victory. … With confidence in our armed

forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will

gain the inevitable triumph—so help us God.”

P
RESIDENT
F
RANKLIN
D. R
OOSEVELT

CHAPTER 1

September 1942

“A German submarine laid mines
off Charleston, South Carolina, today.”

*   
Virginia
   *

Ginny’s morning began with the same old routine: fixing breakfast for Harold and the boys, packing their lunchboxes, retrieving all the things they’d lost or misplaced, reminding them to wear their jackets and to tie their shoelaces. But today she watched herself perform these tasks as if detached from it all, almost as if observing from a distance. And what she noticed was that everybody took her for granted. They never seemed to notice
her
, only her mistakes—and they always noticed those.

“I don’t want this egg,” Allan said, pushing it away. “I like the yellow part hard, not all runny.”

“This coffee is too weak,” Harold said as he dumped it down the drain. “I’ll grab a cup at the office.”

“You put oleo on my toast,” Herbie complained. “I wanted jelly.” She made him a new slice of toast with jelly, but later, when she tried to wipe jam off his face, he squirmed away.

“Stop smothering them,” Harold said. “They aren’t babies anymore.”

Ginny watched as each one grabbed his things and hurried out the door. The family dog lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, but everyone stepped around him or over him, ignoring him as if he were part of the furniture. Poor Rex. They’d loved him as a puppy, but now nobody even saw him. If he ran away from home, how many days or weeks would go by before anyone even noticed? Was it the same for her? No, her family would certainly notice if there weren’t any meals on the table.

“I’m a real person!” she felt like shouting. “Not ‘Mom’ or ‘Dear’ but a real-live woman!”

Rex’s legs twitched as he lay stretched out on the green-speckled linoleum, as if he dreamt of running through fields, chasing rabbits. Did dogs dream of traveling to other places, doing interesting things, challenging things? Ginny had never dreamed of any other life except this one and now it had become meaningless. Tears filled her eyes. Stupid tears! She bent to pet Rex and he startled awake, tail thumping.

“Well, boy, I guess it’s just you and me,” she said aloud. His tail thumped again, and he licked her hand.

Virginia cleared the breakfast table, washed the dishes, and tidied the kitchen. She spotted an advertisement as she refolded Harold’s morning newspaper and paused to read it. Ads for defense workers were everywhere these days, thanks to the Office of War Information—in magazines, on billboards, on posters in every store window—but she saw this one as if for the first time. It sang out to her:
You are needed!

She fought the impulse to grab her purse and take a bus over to Stockton Shipyard immediately. They would certainly notice her hard work—notice
her
. But it was Monday, after all, and she had laundry to do. Ginny shoved her daydreams aside and dragged the laundry baskets downstairs to the basement. She pulled the string on the light bulb above the washing machine, and a pale circle of light bloomed around her. The furnace and hot water heater rumbled in a distant dingy corner, performing their tasks, and it occurred to her that she was just like those machines: working behind the scenes to keep the household functioning and comfortable but completely forgotten until something went wrong.

She listened to the chugging washing machine, imagining that it was the sound of factory machinery, and she began to dream of a more purposeful life, building tanks and ships and armaments, becoming part of the Allied war effort as the tantalizing advertisement had promised. Doing her part on the home front had challenged Ginny at first, learning all the rationing rules, juggling coupon books, saving waste cooking fat, adapting her recipes to cope with sugar rationing. But it no longer seemed like enough.

She was still dreaming of a more interesting life as she emptied Harold’s shirt pockets and found the ticket stubs. Two of them. Ordinary torn ticket stubs that said
Admit One
—or in this case, two. They could have been for a movie, an amusement ride, a coat check—anything. Except that there were two of them, and Ginny hadn’t gone anywhere with Harold this week that used tickets like these. She dropped the shirt and ran up the basement steps as if trying to escape from her discovery, collapsing onto a kitchen chair.

If she hadn’t just realized that very morning that no one noticed her, Ginny might have done nothing at all about the tickets. But the evidence that Harold might indeed be having an affair prompted her into action.
You are needed!
the advertisement told her. And so she shut off the washing machine, grabbed her purse, and took a bus to Stockton Shipyard. Anger fueled her as she filled out all the paper work.

“The job is yours, Mrs. Mitchell,” the personnel director told her. “You can start tomorrow morning.”

On the bus ride home, she thought about all the rules the director had outlined and hoped she could remember them all: her hair must be covered, she couldn’t wear nail polish, she should wear sturdy shoes, and so on. When she got home her neighbor, Betty Parker, was taking her wash off the clothesline already, and Ginny still had two loads to finish. She had supper to fix, too. Thank heaven there was pot roast left over from Sunday dinner.

Later, the laundry still felt damp when she took it down mere moments before Harold arrived home. He’d be shocked to learn that she had taken a job without asking him. She should confess to him tonight. And she needed to ask him about the two ticket stubs, as well. But Harold always needed time to unwind after his busy day at work, and he wouldn’t want to discuss either of those things in front of the children. She waited until the boys were in bed, then sat down with him in the living room, searching for a way to begin.

“Harold … I was looking through the newspaper this morning, and—”

“And it’s all bad news, I know.” He turned another page in the magazine he was reading without lowering it or looking at her. “Hitler’s invading Stalingrad, the Japanese just sank another one of our aircraft carriers. … That’s the third one so far.”

Ginny’s heart speeded up. “Yes … our factories will need more workers to build new ships, and—”

“It’s been nine months since the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor,” he said, shaking his head, “and the Axis powers are still dominating the world.”

“Yes, and so while I was doing the laundry today, I—”

“Isn’t it time for ‘Lux Radio Theater’?” he asked, laying down the magazine. “Turn it on for me, will you?”

Somehow the evening flew by. When it was time to go upstairs to bed, Ginny was still searching for a way to tell him. She was a grown woman, thirty-three years old, a wife and mother. … Why was this so difficult?

She lay in bed, listening to the sounds Harold made in the bathroom: turning the tap on and off, brushing his teeth, gargling with Listerine, blowing his nose—sounds that she found either endearing or obnoxious, depending on her mood. She would tell him as soon as he finished his nightly routine. She drew a deep breath, preparing herself, rehearsing the words in her head.

Harold … I applied for a job at the shipyard today. … Harold, I found two ticket stubs in your pocket today. … Are you having an affair?

“Virginia?” Harold called from the bathroom. “We’re out of soap.”

She knew that couldn’t be true. She had just purchased three new bars last week. She didn’t say the words out loud. Harold hated it when she contradicted him. She got out of bed and padded into the bathroom. He was looking in the wrong place—the medicine cabinet above the sink, for goodness’ sake! She reached into the linen closet where she kept the soap and held up a bar without speaking. Harold frowned.

“Why did you put it way over there?”

Honestly! That was where she had stored it since they’d moved into this house eight years ago. Again, she didn’t say the words aloud.

“We can keep it in the medicine chest from now on, if you’d like,” she said. She unwrapped one bar and handed it to him, then put the other two in the cabinet where he’d been looking. The tile floor felt cold beneath her bare feet, so she hurried back to the bedroom and climbed into bed. She drew a deep breath, grateful for the reprieve—but now she really had to talk to him.

“Harold, I went across town today to—”

“That reminds me. I have to go downtown to the rationing board tomorrow and complain about the ration book they gave me. I should have been issued an unlimited
E
card since I drive all over the state for the government. Instead they gave me a
B
card for commuters.”

Maybe Virginia should postpone telling him for one more day. Tomorrow. She’d tell him tomorrow. But she was supposed to show up for training at Stockton Shipyard tomorrow.

“Virginia …” He interrupted her thoughts again. His voice sounded muffled as he called to her from inside their clothes closet. “Virginia, where did you put my blue tie?” Harold, a creature of habit, always laid out his clothes the night before.

“Isn’t it on the tie rack with all the others?” she called. He stuck his head out of the doorway.

“If it were on the rack, I wouldn’t have asked you where it was.”

She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed to help him, worried that she had lapsed in her wifely duties. She found the tie on the closet floor where it had slipped off the rack. Harold grunted his thanks and stood aside as she helped him lay out his clothes. His skin felt warm and a little damp from his bath as she brushed against him. He smelled clean and powdery, the way her children had when they were babies. How she missed those days when she could inhale their soft skin without them squirming away. She reached to caress Harold’s arm and wished he’d do something totally uncharacteristic like sweep her into his embrace and kiss her the way the hero always kissed the heroine at the end of a movie. But Harold did no such thing.

Virginia climbed back into bed for the third time. Her feet felt like two blocks of ice, and she buried herself beneath the blankets, pulling them up to her chin. She watched her husband putter around. He was still a fine-looking man at thirty-six, in spite of too many frown lines. His hair was still dark brown and thick, his body trim and muscular. She loved the dark evening shadow that colored his chin and the way it prickled when he held her close. She could never quite get over the fact that handsome, bright, successful Harold Mitchell had chosen her for his wife.

She had been in awe of him from the first day they’d met—and she was still in awe of him, even though she knew all of his faults after eleven years of marriage. Her love for him had grown steadily over the years, undiminished. She felt it now as she gazed at him, a relentless ache deep in her chest. The fear of losing his love choked off her words, making it impossible to ask him about the ticket stubs or tell him about her new job.

He was examining the shirt she’d chosen for him, holding it out in front of him with a look of displeasure. He carried it over to the bed, offering it for her inspection.

“Did you starch this?”

“Yes, of course I starched it.”

“It doesn’t feel as stiff as it should. Did you use the right amount?”

Her mistake sprang immediately to mind. “I bought a different brand last week. It was ten cents cheaper. I’ll switch back to the old brand, if you’d like.”

“It isn’t worth saving a few cents if this is the result. It isn’t stiff enough. Can’t you feel the difference? Feel it.” She obliged, pulling her arm from beneath the covers and nodding her head as she rubbed the fabric between her fingers. But to be honest, she couldn’t feel any difference at all.

Was she really that stupid? And if men could perceive minute differences that she was incapable of detecting, how would she ever survive in a man’s world down at the shipyard? Anxiety swelled inside her like soap bubbles in an overflowing tub. What had ever possessed her to hop on the bus this morning and ride over there? At the time, she had liked the feeling of independence, as terrifying as it had been. For once in her life she was doing something on her own, with no one to answer to, no one to order her around.

“Can’t you feel that? The shirt isn’t stiff enough,” Harold insisted. “I don’t care for it at all.” Ginny hoped he wouldn’t ask her to rewash all of his shirts. She didn’t want to point out that he’d worn improperly starched shirts all last week.

He finally hung it up again and walked over to the bed, pulling the blankets all the way back as if throwing open a door. His frown of disapproval worried her. If this shirt annoyed him, what would he say about her taking a job? Maybe it would be better to delay telling him until she was certain that she really wanted to work—or that she was capable of doing the work. She had never held a real job in her life.

She wondered if what she’d done had been
injudicious
. That was her new word this week. It meant,
“showing lack of judgment, unwise.”
She whispered the word a few times, enjoying the rustling sound of it, if not the meaning.

“Buying a cheap brand of starch was
injudicious
,” she said. “Do you want me to throw it out or use it up?” It should have been a simple decision, but she couldn’t seem to make it. It was Harold’s money she was wasting, after all.

“Buy a new bottle of the regular brand,” he said with exaggerated patience, “and save the cheaper brand for emergencies—in case you run out.” He sounded irritated with her. She felt stupid for not thinking of it.

“Oh … of course.” Then the full weight of today’s decision struck her: She’d accepted a job at the shipyard, building boats for the war effort. What on earth would Harold say when he found out? Would he lose his temper? Rant and rave? No, he would probably respond with that quiet, deadly anger of his that reminded Ginny of banked coals—innocent looking, yet filled with heat, capable of deep burns. He would speak slowly, pronouncing each word carefully as if she were too slow-witted to comprehend if he spoke any faster.

What if he ordered her to quit?

I won’t do it,
she thought with a burst of daring. He could hardly tie her to a chair all day to keep her at home, could he? What if he took away all of her shoes or her clothes so she couldn’t leave the house? No, Harold wasn’t that imaginative. She chuckled at the thought.