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“And so no one ever gets close to them.” When he looked at her, she realized they’d stopped talking about lighthouses.
Sentimental nonsense, of course. What greater calling could a woman aspire to than being useful? Here at last was her chance to make things right, to serve those in great need.
And every night, she prayed that somewhere another mother was caring for and protecting her child since she could not.
thirty-one
GINNY
AUGUST 26
Most days now, Ginny slept past noon, rising only to get ready for the swing shift. Harder to get to sleep at nights, thinking about Mack and all. Besides, what was there to do when she woke up? She hadn’t felt much like reading lately.
Today, though, she scooped the newspaper from the apartment door as soon as it was delivered. Instead of slapping it open to scan for pancake breakfasts or charity luncheons, she ran a finger over the Help Wanted section.
It had taken some thinking, but Ginny decided Lew was right. Maybe it was time to move on from Derby. After all, the book club was shutting down soon thanks to Louise, and the hotter it got in the foundry, the more she remembered those mornings out on theLady Luckwith Pa, free from shift bells and midnight schedules and mindless work.
A change of pace, a change of scene. That’s what she needed to help her forget and start over.
Pitch in and help!one ad proclaimed in bold letters.
Farm labor shortage means our crops won’t be harvested—not without you! Women welcome. Must bephysically fit and ready for vigorous labor, September to November. Good pay, housing provided.
Sounded promising enough. She circled it, along with the number to call. It wasn’t lobstering, but it’d be better than being cooped indoors all days. She could spin her time spent weeding with Freddy and Gio into experience if she didn’t mention she’d been reading a book to them most of the time.
She’d just started reading an ad for a stenographer when a knock stopped her pencil midway through circling.
Another telegram?
Maybe this one would tell her they’d gotten the dog tags mixed up and Mack was really alive, recovering in a field hospital somewhere and charming all the nurses with his tales of derring-do.
Or maybe it was news that her mother had slipped back into her old ways and needed bail money, or Pa had gotten in an accident at a construction site, or one of the boys ran into the street without her to look after them...
Stop it.She stood, the old floor creaking under her, and took a hesitant step toward the door. Probably just the landlady, come to collect the week’s rent.
But instead, she opened the door to see Freddy Keats, a paper bag in one hand, cleaned up from garden dirt. The part of her that wanted to grin and welcome him inside clashed against the part that wanted to slam the door in his face and lock it, so instead, she stood there dumbly, trying to sort things out.
“I come with greetings from the Blackout Book Club,” he said, bowing. “And condolences too, but I didn’t think you’d want to spend much time on those.”
At least he was smart enough to know that much. “Thanks, I guess.”
“People have been worried about you, you know.” His voicewas kind, as always, which took away the option of telling him she didn’t want to talk to anyone, so please get lost.
Instead, she tucked her arms around her middle and tried not to worry about her unkempt hair and the pile of dirty dishes visible behind her. If she’d known she was going to have company, she’d have straightened up at least a little. “Did you get drafted to come here?”
“Nope, I’m a proud volunteer.” He held up the bag, stained in the corner with a spot of grease. “Though I didn’t make these shortbread cookies. Avis did, if it helps.”
That did help, but when she reached for the bag, Freddy pulled it away, like he might tease Jeeves with a bone. “Want to take a walk down by the cliffs?”
That sounded suspicious. “Are you bribing me?”
“Almost certainly.”
She considered for a moment. This would have been easier if Freddy had dropped off the cookies and split. Then again, if she didn’t give the book club proof she was doing fine, they’d just send someone else.
Anyway, wasn’t she the one always telling Avis to get outside before winter came? Everybody native to Maine worth their sea salt knew that much. “Fine,” she grumbled, tugging her favorite bandanna off the heap by the door to keep her hair from blowing in the wind. “But I don’t have long.”
They walked clear out of town, down quiet streets now that the summer people had left for the season, leaving behind faded signs advertising photo development and five-cent ice cream cones.
