AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Did Gio deserve to have his father taken from him so brutally?
“Maybe he’s only cheating the ration system. Taking extra fuel.” That, while illegal, wasn’t serious.
“That wouldn’t make a profit worth bragging about,” Ginny pointed out, “just let him travel farther for his fishing. Not worth the risk.”
“We don’t have any proof. Only suspicions.” The authorities might search the trawler and find nothing, leaving Patrick angry and suspicious of who might have turned him in.
“Who cares? Lew told me the coast guard is doing random searches already, at least down near Portland. Maybe not so much up here.”
What had Patrick said, the first time he’d stopped in unannounced at the trailer?“Crew likes smaller towns. Safer that way.”How long had he been involved in black marketeering?
Long enough to pay for the suit, cuff links, and car, that much was sure. And she’d simply accepted his story that fishing prices had risen, like he’d known she would.
But would Patrick really sell fuel to Nazi submariners?
Yes, if the price is right.
Still, it wasn’t that easy. “The police would never listen to me.”
Ginny considered that for a moment. They’d reached their station again, back to the hustle of the core room. “Russell Montgomery’s home on leave, and he’s part of that coast guard patrol. He’ll know who to talk to, and his word’ll hold weight.”
Something like hope fluttered inside of Martina. Yes. Avis would vouch for her. That wouldn’t be so hard.
She nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Good. As soon as our shift is over, I’ll find a telephone and call Avis.”
“But it’ll be midnight by then. What if she’s asleep and doesn’t hear? Or doesn’t get out of bed to answer?”
Martina hadn’t considered that. Not everyone’s home was the size of her trailer, where a loud noise from any corner could be heard in all the rest.
She had no watch, and no clocks were visible in the core room, but supper break ended at seven thirty. Avis would still be awake and likely at home. And yet, she couldn’t just step away from her station. They were making gears the size of dinner plates today, for use in a new defense industrial plant. Important work that couldn’t be slowed for...
For matters of national security? Surely that was a good enough reason.
“You’ve got to do thisnow,” Ginny said firmly, putting her hands on Martina’s shoulders, like images of boxing coaches with their contenders in Gio’s magazines. “Listen, you just march up to Mr. Devons and demand to use one of the telephones in the foundry offices.”
This, finally, was something she could do. Like the heroines on the propaganda posters in the cafeteria who stopped rumors and reported suspicious activity and kept on the lookout for saboteurs.
But when Martina actually walked across the room to Mr. Devons, going over production schedules with the men who hauled in molds, her resolve seemed to drain away with one curt “What doyouwant?”
She took a deep breath, and when she released it, she pushed out, “I need to use the telephone.”
Mr. Devons’s face seemed to glow red, though she knew it was just the temperatures of the foundry. “You what?”
“It’s an emergency.” He waited, as if expecting her to give more details, but what could she say that wouldn’t sound absurd? “A ... family emergency.”
“An emergency would be falling behind our quota while every mother who wanted to check on their children jawed on the phone.”
She winced. There were posters about that too.Don’t Be a Production Slacker, they warned.
“Please, sir. I promise I’ll never ask about anything like this ever again.”
He looked at her, and Martina could almost see what he was thinking.Lazy Italian. Probably trying to slow down the war effort.He shook his head ponderously before turning away. “No, ma’am, I can’t allow it. Back to work, now.”
She could explain that she needed to report potential black marketeering.
No, that would just look like the babbling excuse of a desperate woman. It was too late to change her story now.
So Martina obeyed, slinking back to her station. She was no heroine. She couldn’t even do this one simple thing.
