Scandal in the Secret City (12 page)

M
y limbs felt as stiff as wood as I stepped into the jeep and stared straight ahead. A scream formed in my chest and thrust up into my throat, making me clench my jaw tighter to prevent its escape.

Private Leland grinded the vehicle into gear and took off with a jolt. ‘Miss?’

I heard him but said nothing. Right now, I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

‘Miss?’ he tried again. ‘Miss, I heard most of what went on in that room.’

I blinked rapidly as the kindness in his voice brought tears close to the surface. I refused to look at him and focused on quelling the onslaught of emotions that battled with my self-control.

‘Miss, I need to talk to you.’

Still I did not respond.

‘Miss, I was seein’ Irene for a bit a couple of months ago.’

That statement forced me to react. I turned in his direction. He still looked like a child – a dusting of freckles danced across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. His blue eyes appeared as earnest as those of a boy scout.

‘I don’t think this is right, miss,’ he continued. ‘But I think you need to drop it. No good’ll come of it.’

‘Drop it? Forget about Irene’s death as if she didn’t exist? I made a promise to her family, soldier. You want me to break my word?’

‘I don’t like that either, miss. But maybe, after the war …’

‘After the war? After the war? Do you know how sick I am of hearing that phrase? After the war. It disgusts me. Irene’s death has nothing to do with the war.’

‘Miss, I am not sayin’ any of this is right but I am sayin’ that innocent people might be hurt if you continue.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Remember when they brought up the hutments?’

‘Yes, what about it?’

‘If you keep pushin’, this is what I think they’ll do. They’ll go down to the hutments and grab a few colored boys who they already labeled as troublemakers. Then they’ll haul them in and finger one of them for the crime. Maybe they’ll turn him over to the sheriff. Maybe the sheriff will conveniently lose track of him when the lynch mob comes callin’.’

‘Are you telling me they would convict and maybe even kill an innocent man?’

‘An innocent
colored
man? Yes, miss, I am.’

‘I realize we are in the south, soldier, but most of the managers here are from the north. We don’t treat our coloreds like that.’

‘Right. You don’t. You’re a lot more subtle. You elevate a few token Negros to make you feel good but the rest of them – most of them – what do they do? Join you for tea? Nah. They haul your garbage, clean your house, carry your bags. You’re just like us except you’re bigger hypocrites.’

I was stunned by his forthright, but brutal, honesty. There was so much truth in what he said and yet I’d never really considered the hypocrisy.

‘And if you think the Yankees in charge here are doin’ the colored folks any favors, you should see how they make them live in the hutments. Men and women are segregated – even husbands and wives can’t live together. They’re just all jumbled together – women in the female huts, men in the male huts. And they don’t have any indoor bathrooms and no hot water. If that’s equality, I’m the president of the United States.’

Chastened, I sat still for a moment absorbing the reality of what he said. ‘Perhaps, I should go down to the hutments and see for myself.’

‘Oh, no, ma’am. You don’t want to be doing that. People will get the wrong idea about you.’

‘I don’t particularly care what a bunch of racists think about me.’

‘I’m not just talkin’ about them, Miss Clark. I’m talkin’ about the Negros, too. White folks go down to the hutments for two reasons only: to engage in somethin’ illegal or to arrest somebody for doing somethin’ illegal. They will not even consider that you might have good intentions. They’d all assume the worst about you.’

Recalling the leer on the faces in the room when a reference was made linking Irene to the hutments, I knew he was right. ‘But what about you, private? You’re a Tennessee boy, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Sure am.’

‘Your attitude toward the coloreds seems out of character for someone born and bred in this state.’

‘Well, ma’am, as a kid, I worked the fields with colored folks, right alongside my daddy. Now, he was a preacher on Sundays and he always taught me that in the eyes of God, we were all colored. God was wondrous and pure white from the brilliant light that shone all around him. He said that we might call ourselves white folks but that was just our arrogant pride trying to make us feel like God.’

The theology seemed a bit odd but it certainly explained Leland’s viewpoint. Understanding, though, did not make the dilemma go away. Leland had just made my decision even more complicated. Keeping my promise to Ruth would not just put my career at risk, but it would also threaten the lives of unknown men in the hutments.

Private Leland pulled to a stop by the guard house. ‘Miss, you just stay here till I talk to the guard. Don’t want him gettin’ all worked up before he knows the score.’

A couple of minutes later, Leland jogged back to the jeep. ‘He’s callin’ in to confirm what I told him. Once he does, he will give you your car keys and you’ll be free to go.’

‘Thank you, Private Leland.’

Leland grinned making him look even younger. ‘You’re welcome, miss.’ The smile slid from his face. ‘Please promise me you will think about what I said. I don’t think it’s right. I think Irene deserves justice – her family needs it – but right now, I can’t see how it can be found, no matter what you do.’

I explored the openness of his face. I could not make a commitment to turn my back on Irene and Ruth, but I could promise to think about what he said. In fact, I doubted I could avoid it. I’d probably have trouble stopping my mind from turning it over and over long enough to be able to get any sleep that night. I nodded my agreement.

At a wave from the guard, I got out of the jeep, retrieved the keys and climbed into Hank’s car. Driving home, I couldn’t help contemplating the restrictions on my freedom; the liberty I once took for granted. I expected limitations working as I was at a secret installation. I knew I had to watch my words about my work, and of course, I’d accepted doing without the typical abundance of American life. Those restrictions, those sacrifices had all seemed for the greater good. But now I had doubts. Was it all as necessary as we’d been led to believe?

‘I’ll bring my sons and daughters

I’ll bring my heavy waters

Titanium Uranium

Dance around my atom fire’

Woody Guthrie

O
n Sunday, I tried to put my ethical dilemma out of my mind by listening to shows on the radio but, no matter how hard I tried to focus on other things, my thoughts swung like a monkey through the tree tops alternating between trying to make a logical decision and running away from it all.

Perhaps a walk would clear my head. For a few blocks, I mentally wiped my slate clean and then started over making a fresh assessment of the current situation.

On one hand, I’d made a promise to Ruth and her family to investigate Irene’s death. If only someone in a position of authority would do their job – it didn’t matter who: the local police, military security or even the Knox County Sheriff’s Department could tackle the murder investigation and relieve me of that obligation. But clearly no one would. As long as that didn’t change, how could I not live up to my commitment?

But if I did, what then? Did I have any chance to succeed? I had no experience and the forces of the government were lined up against me. If I moved forward, would they arrest and convict an innocent colored man? If that happened the double burden of not finding the person responsible for Irene’s murder and ruining the life of someone I’d never met would be crushing.

Would that false arrest then lead to my dismissal? Would I be considered a troublemaker or worse yet a traitor? The world was at war and lives were at risk all over the globe. But before now, I’d never considered the dangers that lurked stateside in the middle of the country, far out of reach of kamikaze pilots and U-boats.

I’d sworn to uphold the secrecy at this installation. I had no problem with that; I understood and accepted that I could not talk about my work, the projects underway, or even the identities of the people living here. But this was a personal crime – this was not part of the war effort. Did they honestly believe that it was a security risk or were they simply trying to cover up the truth? And why? Because they feared the effect on morale of the civilians as the men in suits indicated? Or was there a darker purpose? Were they protecting the perpetrator? If so, who could be that important?

I mentally ran through the list of scientists I knew who were in the positions of greatest responsibility. Ruth had said that Irene’s boyfriend was a scientist named Bill. I could think of four or five men named William or Bill in the management group. Bill. My only clue. But where would it lead?

Until I resolved the moral questions, I could not spare a thought for suspicion or investigation. It was one of the biggest decisions of my life. I jerked to a stop when I realized my mindless ramble had taken me behind and above Towncenter and now I was approaching the high school. Did my feet have a mind of their own? Perhaps there’s wisdom in the subconscious drive that brought me here. I continued moving forward to the football field.

I stared over the empty expanse searching for answers but finding none. Where should I go from here? I needed to talk to the one person who had helped me with all the major decisions in my life since I was twelve years old. Even if I could find a telephone to use, all the calls were monitored. I had to get Aunt Dorothy to Tennessee. But how?

Ann Bishop might be able to help. I didn’t want to draw unwanted attention by seeking her out at her desk, so I waited until an opportune moment. When Ann walked in with messages for Charlie, I intercepted her. ‘Ann! Got a minute?’

Her shoulder-length blonde hair swayed as she turned towards me. ‘Sure, Libby, if you’ll tell me who that new guy is in the back of the lab.’

‘Spare your energy on that one, Ann. I found him crying the other day ’cause he missed his mom.’

‘What a waste of good looks,’ Ann said as she looked at him again and sighed.

‘You have a phone in your house, don’t you?’

Ann darted her eyes right, then left, and whispered, ‘Mom doesn’t want me to tell people, but yes, we do.’

‘Do you think she’d let me use it to make a call to my Aunt Dorothy?’

‘I don’t know, Libby. She’s afraid she’ll get overrun by people wanting to make calls. I know she likes you but …’

‘How about if I brought her a gift? Would that make a difference?’

‘I don’t know. She seems to get most everything she wants one way or another. Oh, but there is one thing …’

‘What?’

‘An eye of round roast. She’s craving one like crazy and she never seems to get to the market at the right time. If you can get your hands on one of those, she’d let you make a call and wouldn’t care if it was all the way to China.’

‘Meat? I can bribe your mother with meat?’

‘There’s a war on,’ Ann said with a giggle. ‘But not just any meat – the eye of round. She’s craving it. I think mainly because she can’t get her hands on one.’

How in heaven’s name would I locate an eye of round roast? How many days would I have to stand in line just to find one there when I reached the counter? Mr McMinn. He was from Lynchburg, Tennessee, just like Ruth. He’d set aside some yummy pork chops for Ruth once and we’d cooked them on a forbidden hot plate in the dorm room. Maybe he would help me.

After work, I rushed home, grabbed my ration coupon book, grateful that it was the first of the month and I had plenty stamps. It would mean nothing but spam and canned salmon for weeks, but it would be worth it. Now, if only Mr McMinn would help make it possible.

At the market, I went straight for the meat counter. The ‘No Meat’ sign stood tall behind the glass but I hit the bell on the counter anyway. A white coated man hurried over from produce.

‘Ma’am, we have no meat – see the sign.’

‘I know, sir. I just want to speak to one of your butchers, Mr McMinn.’

He put his hands on his waist and scowled. ‘No one here will accept bribes. We follow the rules. Don’t sell anything under the counter. And besides, we have no meat.’

‘You are presumptuous, sir,’ I said in the most imperious voice I could muster, hating the sound of the words as they left my mouth. ‘I need to speak to Mr McMinn about a family from his hometown.’

The produce man raised both palms up in the air. ‘I am sorry. And you are right. I should not have jumped to that conclusion. I think Mr McMinn is doing paperwork in the back. Let me see if I can find him for you.’

What was I becoming? A liar? A rule breaker? There was that ‘ends justifies the means’ thing again. It seemed to pop up every day. It never seemed to be a problem before the war, now it seemed to haunt every corner of my life.

The hefty Mr McMinn lumbered out from behind the meat counter with a furrowed brow and an unspoken question in his eyes. The tie of his clean, white apron strained at his waist. ‘Yes, ma’am?’ he said, squinting his eyes.

‘Mr McMinn, I don’t know if you remember me or not but Ruth Nance introduced us a few weeks ago.’

The furrows in his brow grew deeper and then flashed smooth. ‘Hey, yeah, you’re that scientist lady. Ruth’s roommate.’

‘Yes,’ I said, nodding and smiling.

‘Is Ruth here with you?’ he asked, his neck craning around as he scanned the store.

‘No, Mr McMinn.’ I stepped forward and lowered my voice. ‘Ruth was dismissed and sent home.’

‘No! What happened?’

‘She was very upset about Irene and she said the wrong things to the wrong people.’

McMinn hung his head and let it sway side to side. ‘That was just awful. Do they know what happened to Irene? Do they know who did it?’

‘That’s just it, Mr McMinn. No one seems to want to know. Ruth asked me to try to figure it out.’

‘What can I do to help?’

‘Well, I’m not sure what to do, Mr McMinn. I really need to speak with my Aunt Dorothy to figure it all out but I don’t have a phone.’

‘Sorry, but I don’t either.’

‘I didn’t think you would. But I know someone who does and I’m sure she’d let me use it if I came bearing an eye of round roast.’

McMinn shrugged. ‘Right now, I don’t even have a scrap of meat big enough for a pair of dogs to fight over. But if you can wait till Wednesday, I’ll have at least one side of beef coming in. I’ll cut an eye roast and set it aside for you. Just make sure you come by after work Wednesday and bring your ration coupons. I can’t hide it for long.’

‘Thank you, Mr McMinn. I’ll see you then.’

On the way back home, I felt a jagged energy generated by the thrill of bending the rules and stepping out of line. I was ashamed at my jubilance. I shouldn’t be so excited by my shady little plans but I couldn’t deny what I was feeling.

I had no problem leaving work a little early. We’d been spending a lot of time just doing work that was as mind-numbing as the endless practice of piano scales. But there wasn’t much else to do since the flaws in design of the Calutrons were uncovered and the equipment was shipped back to the manufacturer. I had plenty of assignments to keep me busy but none of them arrived with any sense of urgency, in contrast to the intensity that had been November and early December. Half the time when I went upstairs to get samples, the Calutron girls were sitting around playing cards. Each day I felt more nervous. We’d never stop the war if we couldn’t get production flowing again.

Despite my early arrival, the line in front of the meat counter stretched a block long outside of the store. I hated waiting in lines and often did without rather than waste all that time. Today, though, I had no choice. I queued up with strangers and neighbors, nodding and smiling at the people I recognized.

After an hour, I finally stepped inside the store and felt the wonderful and welcoming warmth on my chilled nose and cheeks. At first, it stung my skin but felt good all the same. I pulled off my gloves and rubbed my fingers together. In another half hour, I was close enough to the counter to spot Mr McMinn, his white apron now streaked with dried blood.

I caught his eye and he nodded. When I reached the counter, Mr McMinn pulled out a package wrapped in butcher paper and tied with cotton string. ‘That will be forty-eight ration points and a dollar and seventy-seven cents.’

I handed over five ten-point coupons and two one-dollar bills. He returned two ration tokens, two dimes and three pennies. Mr McMinn gave me a wink and we exchanged quick smiles before I walked away. When I got out of the store, I breathed a sigh of relief. I half-expected that someone would call me out and ask unwelcome questions about my purchase. But I got away without incident.

I walked over to Magnolia Drive and knocked on the Bishops’ front door. Ann jerked the door open. ‘What took you so long? My dad will be home soon and we always sit down to dinner as soon as he gets here.’

I grimaced. ‘There was a line …’

Ann sighed. ‘Of course there was. C’mon in.’ Ann turned toward the kitchen. ‘Mom! Libby is here to see you.’

Mrs Bishop came to the foyer, her golden blonde hair pulled back in a bun, her smile blazing bright red. Around her waist, she wore a pink flowered apron with a ruffled edge. She must have bought that before the war – no ruffles were allowed in apparel manufacturing now.

‘Hello, dear. What can I do for you?’

‘I brought a present, Mrs Bishop,’ I said stretching out my arm with the white package.

‘For me?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘May I open it now?’

‘You should, Mrs Bishop.’

‘Let’s go in the kitchen,’ she said, leading the way. She pulled out a pair of scissors, snipped the cord and folded back the paper. ‘Oh my! Look at this!’ She ran her hand over the oval of red, bloody meat. ‘This is glorious. An eye of round? I can’t believe it. How did you ever? I might swoon.’ She patted the roast affectionately. ‘I’ll make this for dinner tomorrow night. Oh, Libby, you must join us. I have some potatoes – I’ll mash them and I’ll make gravy, too. And what else will we have? Oh, green beans. Do you like green beans, Libby?’

‘Yes, ma’am, I do.’

She grabbed my elbow and tugged me toward a cabinet. Flinging open the door, she said, ‘Look! Look at this.’

Inside, gleaming jars of green, orange and yellow filled every shelf, making me think of my mother sweating over the stove, home-canning vegetables every summer for weeks on end. Mrs Bishop stuck her hand in the cabinet and pulled out a jar of preserves. ‘Here take this back with you. They are really good.’

‘I can’t take that, Mrs Bishop, but I would like to use your phone to call my Aunt Dorothy if that would be OK.’

‘Oh, dear, are you homesick?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ It was true – it wasn’t the reason for the call – but still, it wasn’t a lie.

She grabbed my hand and pressed the jar of preserves into it. ‘Here, you take this and go right ahead and make the phone call, too. You can’t believe what your surprise gift meant to me. I must seem awfully silly but it really is more meaningful than the meat itself. It’s like the whisper of the old life gone by,’ she said and sighed.

‘Thank you, Mrs Bishop,’ I said as I picked up the black phone receiver.

‘And Libby?’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘You can stay for dinner tonight, too, if you like.’

‘Thank you, ma’am, but no thank you, I need to be getting back to the house. I will be here tomorrow.’

I dialed Aunt Dorothy’s number, imagining the secret person listening into my conversation, deciphering the number from the spin of the rotary dial.

I heard a click and then, ‘Clark residence.’

‘Aunt Dorothy?’

‘Libby? Is that you?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘What a delightful surprise. I trust everything is going well.’

‘Yes. Well, except for this one thing. I really need to talk to you.’

‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Aunt Dorothy, I just don’t feel comfortable talking on the phone.’

‘Do you have a problem, Libby?’

‘Yes. Well, it’s about a boy,’ I lied, resenting the censors who made it necessary.

‘A boy? I never thought I’d find you flummoxed by a boy.’

‘It’s not the usual thing. I really need to talk to you. I was hoping maybe you’d be somewhere near me and I could come meet you.’

‘Well, Libby, it is your lucky day. I’ve got my assistant working on my schedule for the recruitment trip I am making for the graduate school. I told her to work in the University of Tennessee as one of my stops. I was going to send you a telegram as soon as the date was determined. I should know when by the end of the week.’