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“Well, in that case, I might as well try to catch up.”
She asked him more questions on the way back—yes, the false name was why he hadn’t wanted to show her any ID; no, the eyepatch wasn’t part of a disguise.
“And how about your parents? Do they know why you’re here?”
“Shh,” Freddy cut her off as they climbed the stairs to the apartment. “Let’s talk about that later.”
“Why?”
But when he opened the door, she understood.
There were people in her apartment. Just making themselves right at home, like they owned the place.
Avis, looking up guiltily from where she was rising with a full dustpan, spoke first. “Just cleaning up a bit.” Mrs. Whitson didn’t even try to contain her smile and kept right along folding a rumpled basket of sweaters.
“So,” Ginny said, swiveling to confront Freddy, who didn’t look one bit apologetic, “this was all a trap.”
“Only slightly,” he protested. “I did want to talk to you.”
“This is breaking and entering, you know,” she accused.
“The door was unlocked,” Delphie’s voice countered from the kitchen. “So it was just plain entering.”
Ginny marched over to find the old woman, a gingham apron wrapped around her sagging figure like a machine gun belt, stirring a pot of something warm and inviting with a wooden spoon.
“It’s a good thing we thought to bring food with us. Goodness, child, the shantytown in the hollow has better-stocked pantries than yours.” Delphie gestured at the open cabinet. “C’est pas vrai!Is that ... canned ham?”
“It’s none of your business what I eat.” Good golly, weren’t old ladies supposed to be covered in cat hair and offer hugs and peppermint tea?
If they were, Delphie had clearly decided to take a hard leftwhile everyone else went right. “We’ll see about that,” she said primly. “Now sit down, keep your elbows off the table, and eat.”
Avis shot her an apologetic glance, but Freddy pulled out a chair for her, and Ginny plopped down into it. When Delphie dished the chowder into the bowl, swimming with cream and vegetables and shrimp, she couldn’t keep her mouth from watering. And as Mrs. Whitson said grace over the impromptu feast, it felt like God was listening after all.
She still wasn’t sure anyone here needed her, like Freddy had said. But, well ... maybe she did need them. At least a little.
From Russell to Avis
August 27, 1942
Dear Avis,
Today, I keep thinking about what our British friend said during training: “That’s the trouble with you Americans. We learned back in ’39 that self-reliance isn’t a virtue. Not at sea.”
He scowled then, and we all cringed, thinking we’d done something wrong, but it turns out his ire was aimed elsewhere. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell your navy, but they seem determined to let your entire merchant marine fleet get blown to bits before listening. Escorts, convoys, power in numbers–those are the strategies that work. We must stick together. War is no time to isolate yourself.”
He was a bit raw, I think, because Admiral Ernest King wasn’t much for accepting British advice. But we heard him, we ragtag fellows with our commandeered yachts, and we’ve stuck together ever since. I’ve never felt so much like I’ve belonged before. Not with my family, notat college or at the bank. Here, I’m one of the team. My crewmates—Stephen, Lester, even Captain Sherman—are like brothers now.
Maybe you’re asking why I’m telling you all this. Well, they announced yesterday that we have an option to renew our term for six months, until April. And I want to do it. I’d come home for Christmas still, but Hitler won’t let his men retreat when the weather gets cold. Someone’s got to stop them.
Listen, Avis, it was probably awful of me to leave when I could tell you were upset, but I thought you might grow into the idea of me joining up. That’s why I told you about everything I was doing here, so you could see that it matters.
But I haven’t committed to anything, and this time, we need to talk about this like a husband and wife should.
Once I explained, the captain gave permission for leave. That means I’ll be back home for ten days, starting September 1, arriving on the 5 o’clock train. I know this is sudden and a lot to think about. But we can think about it together.
Yours hopefully,
Russell
