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“Everything was, or so it seems, but people found ways to make do. I read in a book somewhere that women used boot polish for mascara and beetroot for lipstick.”
“Goodness.” Abby couldn’t imagine it; she never wore makeup, not even a slick of lip gloss or hint of concealer. There usually wasn’t any point, and she hadn’t even thought of it for today.
“‘Beauty is a Duty’, I believe the phrase was,” Simon remarked.
“That sounds a bit sexist.”
“I suppose everything was a bit sexist back then, but that was the amazing thing about the war—it gave women the opportunity to do things they never were able to before.”
“That sounds like another book.”
Simon smiled at her. “Maybe it is.”
“Here we are,” Helen announced as she came into the room with a tray of lemonade and the ubiquitous cheese platter—a seeming necessity when entertaining in Wisconsin. She distributed the drinks as Simon and Abby murmured their thanks, and then she settled herself in an armchair opposite them before nodding at the photo Simon had put back on the table. “That’s my parents. Douglas and Stella Bryant.”
“They look like a lovely couple.”
“They were.” She smiled fondly. “And so in love, right till the end.” Laughing self-consciously, she dabbed at her eyes. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? For your marriage?”
Abby glanced at Simon, who had a strangely serious look on his face, something close to sadness. Looking at him, she felt jolted, as if she’d missed the last step in a staircase.
“I would think so,” she said when he didn’t seem as if he was going to respond. “Although, I must admit, I don’t have any experience, myself.”
“Oh…” Helen glanced between the two of them with confusion. “You’re not…”
“No, no,” Abby said quickly. “I only met Simon last week. He’s researching my grandfather as well, who fought in the war.” She could feel herself speaking too quickly. “So how did your parents meet?”
“Sorry, I just assumed…” Helen shook her head and then sat back, settling herself more comfortably in her armchair. “It’s such a sweet story. My dad was sent to England in 1943, before the D-Day invasion. He was in the artillery, kicking his heels up somewhere in the Midlands before being mobilized. From the stories he told, you’d think it was a party every day. Dances, going to the pictures… he was a good-looking man, as you can see, and although he never said it quite so bluntly, I think he could have had his pick of women.”
“I’ve heard it was tough on the poor Tommies,” Simon said with a small smile. He had recovered his usual relaxed and engaging manner. “The GIs had everything—smart uniforms, more money, cigarettes, chewing gum.”
“Yes, I suppose they did. Although my mother always said she fell for his smile.”
“I’m sure she did.” Simon nodded towards the photo. “He had a good one.”
“Anyway, they met at a dance put on by the American Red Cross, in Wolverhampton. They used to do that for the soldiers—they’d been away from home for months, or sometimes even years, and they got homesick. They had all sorts of things to help them feel more at home. I remember my dad used to tell me about Rainbow Corner in London, where he went when he was on leave. It had everything—a movie theater, a barber’s, a corner drugstore, an endless supply of Coca-Colas.” She smiled. “I’d have liked to have seen it. In any case, my mother wasn’t going to go to this dance—she wasn’t much of one for things like that, but her friend dragged her along. My father knew how to cut up a rug for sure—he was on the floor with a different girl for every dance. They couldn’t have been more different.”
“So what happened?” Abby asked, genuinely curious.
“My mother caught my father’s eye. Not with anything she’d done—she was standing against the wall, wishing she could go home! But my father liked the look of her, and he asked her to dance. She decided she liked his smile and so she said yes. They danced every dance together after that, even though my mother had two left feet. And the rest, they say, is history.” Helen sat back, satisfied.
“That’s lovely.” Simon nodded towards the war medal on the coffee table—the same kind of Purple Heart that was now in her father’s bedroom. “That was his?”
“Yes, he was shot in the shoulder during the Normandy landings. Put him out of action for two months. He was so annoyed he got shot, but he was proud too. Always liked to tell the story.”
Which was about as different from her grandfather as could be, Abby thought, who had never talked about it and given away his medal besides. “What about your mother?” she asked. “She didn’t mind moving all the way to America?”
“No, she’d lost both her parents in the war, and she didn’t have any siblings. I think she was more than glad to go. Dad’s family took her in, and they stayed right here in Genoa City their whole lives.”
They chatted a bit more, and Simon gamely took a cracker and an orange cube of cheddar cheese from the platter, but there wasn’t much more to learn, and there was certainly no mystery. Still, it was interesting to hear about Helen’s memories of her parents’ experiences during the war, and it made Abby wonder even more about her grandfather… and Sophie Mather.
“Maybe she had family who could tell you more,” Abby said when they’d said their goodbyes to the Wegmans. Ralph had come in for the last few minutes, shaking their hands and seeming pleased they’d come.
“I know she did,” Simon answered as he opened the passenger door for her. Abby felt strangely pleased that he knew immediately whom she’d been talking about. “She had parents, of course, and a sister, Lily—I believe her name was—although I think they lost touch a long time ago, maybe even right after the war. At least, I think that’s what Mum said. She met her once, when she was a little girl, but I think Lily died a while ago, I don’t know how or why, or whether she had family.” He shook his head helplessly as he slid into the driver’s seat.
“Why do you think she and Sophie lost touch?”
