Great or Nothing, page 9
She busied herself with helping chop wood outside—hopeful that Mrs. Wilson wouldn’t ask her to help in the kitchen if she was otherwise occupied—and so lost herself in the task that by the time she was called inside to clean up for supper, she had a towering pile ready for Mrs. Wilson’s stove. When she went up to her room, she found Peg stationed near the phone, watching it like a hawk. She was almost in the same position as she had been hours earlier, when Jo had tugged on her gloves and woolen cap to go outside.
“Are you all right, Peg?”
“Just waiting for my sister to call,” Peg said. “She was supposed to phone from the train station before she left, but I suppose she forgot. Which means I don’t know what time she’s arriving.”
“Is she coming for a visit?”
“Well, she was,” Peg said dryly. “She’s certainly not going to make it for supper.”
“I hope nothing’s happened.”
“Oh, no, she probably got distracted chasing a story or interviewing someone and had to catch a later train. She’ll call me from the station when she arrives. You could buy my sister a watch for each wrist, and she’d still find a way to be late.”
“What are you two doing gabbing in the hall when there’s a whole spread downstairs?” Anna demanded, bursting out of her room as soon as the dinner bell that Mrs. Wilson was so fond of ringing clanged through the boardinghouse.
“We’re going to need the energy for all the dancing we’ll do tonight!” Molly added, hurrying after her.
Jo groaned at the mention.
“Not a fan of dancing?” Peg asked, following as Jo went to the bathroom at the end of the hall and washed her hands and then splashed water on her face hastily. Peg took her own turn at the sink, taking the proffered towel Jo held out to her.
“Parties at the hall are good for the airmen’s morale,” Jo said, almost like she was reciting a rule from a manual.
“They’re good for all of us,” Peg said, with a good-natured nudge at Jo as they made their way downstairs. “Good music, good company, a night of good dancing…what more could a girl want?”
“Quiet and a good book,” Jo said, and Peg laughed.
“I didn’t take you for the nunnery type.”
“I’m not suited for a nunnery!” Jo was insulted at the thought, and it made Peg guffaw harder, which made Jo roll her eyes and smile reluctantly as they walked through the narrow halls of the lower levels of the boardinghouse.
The dining room was a narrow affair as well, but the long table they all sat around was always cheerful…sometimes downright raucous. Mrs. Wilson believed in flowers on the table whenever she could grow them and winter greenery when she could not, good, hearty food—none of that fancy French stuff; that was too rich for her blood—and conversation that never dulled.
With the crowd that lived at the boardinghouse, Mrs. Wilson always got her wish for lively conversation. Jo had once witnessed Ruth and Anna almost come to blows over the last of Mrs. Wilson’s biscuits. Though she could hardly blame either of them. Mrs. Wilson’s biscuits were worth fighting for.
This afternoon, the table was set with Mrs. Wilson’s best china, and she had outdone herself, with not just a turkey, but baby potatoes and carrots that Evelyn had pulled from the sparse winter Victory Garden she and Mrs. Wilson had nursed through the snow. Plus, the famous biscuits and plenty of honey and butter. Jo’s stomach rumbled as she sat down next to Anna.
“What’s the topic du jour tonight?” Peg asked as she took a seat near the head of the table—and closest to the biscuits. Jo wished she’d have done that!
“The Casablanca premiere is tonight,” Molly said, never one to be without some Hollywood gossip. “I can’t wait to read about it in the magazines.”
“Why do they have the premieres so early? It’s not out for ages. Next year,” Ruth complained.
“The coming attractions makes it look too violent for me,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “So many guns!”
“But it’s Bogie,” Anna countered. “And there’s got to be a love story. That’s why Ingrid Bergman is there and weeping so.”
“And they talk about her strange fascination with him,” Mrs. Wilson added, much to the girls’ delight. “If that doesn’t hook you, I don’t know what will.”
“You should come with us to see it, Mrs. Wilson!” Ruth said.
“I’ll go to anything with Paul Henreid in it,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I may not like French food, but I do love a French man.”
“Ooh,” Anna teased.
“I’m still not sure,” Evelyn said. “Ingrid’s holding a gun on Bogie in one of the scenes!”
“Now I’m sold,” Jo joked, and the table laughed before quieting so Mrs. Wilson could say grace. Once that was over, the girls fell on their food with appreciative noises and the careful clink of silver against good china.
“This is delicious, Mrs. Wilson,” Peg said.
“We owe our thanks to Evelyn and her green thumb. And Ruth helped me with the cooking.”
“To our Hestias,” Jo said, raising her glass, and the women laughed and cheered at the reference, glasses tinkling together in the chorus of camaraderie and thanks.
“It’s strange and sad, to think of all the men overseas right now,” Ruth said, pouring gravy on a slice of turkey breast with an elegant little flourish. “What must they be eating for tonight’s meal? Are they even celebrating?”
“Of course,” Anna said encouragingly. Everyone knew Ruth’s fiancé was serving overseas, though she rarely spoke of it, or him. But twice now, Jo had found her staring out the boardinghouse window at the end of the hall, holding on to the locket she wore around her neck like it was the only thing keeping her there. It was a lonely sight, one that Jo had no business intruding on, though she wished she could find the right words to comfort Ruth.
“Christmas will be lonely,” Ruth said.
“They’ll find a way to make the best of it,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Just like we will.”
“We must put on a good front for the boys tonight,” Anna said. “Their training will be coming to an end after New Year’s.”
“They’ll be leaving,” Molly added. “A pity. There were a few of this bunch I liked.”
“There’s always a few of each bunch you like,” Ruth said.
“Ruth!” Molly tossed a biscuit at her, which Ruth dodged with admirable reflexes.
Mrs. Wilson tutted. “Don’t you be getting into any trouble, now, Molly.”
“I’m a good girl, Mrs. Wilson. I’m just the best dancer and the prettiest of this lot, so the airmen will miss me the most.”
The other girls crowed in protest, and Jo just laughed as Ruth rolled her eyes and the table descended into chaotic, good-natured debate over Molly’s claim.
Once dinner wound down and they all pitched in to clean so Mrs. Wilson could rest her feet, Jo was starting to feel the effects of spending her morning chopping wood. A soak in the tub for her sore muscles while all the girls were at the dance sounded like heaven. More than ever, she wanted to beg off, but when she got upstairs with that plan in mind, she found Molly standing in front of her door with a pack of bobby pins, a hairbrush, and several tortoiseshell combs that would for sure pop out of her unruly mane at some point in the night.
“You promised,” Molly said before Jo could protest, and there went any idea of begging off the dance.
“I did,” Jo said.
“You mustn’t look so skeptical. I’m very good with hair! Doesn’t mine always look fantastic?”
“It does,” Jo said, and Molly pushed her into her room and made her sit at the vanity. Molly began to unbraid Jo’s two plaits, and Jo caught Molly’s frown in the mirror.
“What?”
“You’re going to give Veronica Lake a run for her money, with all this length,” Molly said, combing her fingers through Jo’s hair.
Jo rolled her eyes at the absurdity at being compared to the glamorous, long-haired star. “Her hair is practically platinum,” she said.
“She’s so beautiful,” Molly sighed wistfully. “I wish I were that stunning.” She began to brush Jo’s hair out, taking care not to yank it, which Jo appreciated. “But you would be able to style your hair easier if you cut it. It’s very long for the modern styles.”
“I don’t need a pageboy or a poodle,” Jo protested. “Where did you learn all this anyway?”
“Oh, here and there.” Molly shrugged. “My mother was a pianist before she married my father. Very elegant, you know. She used to do my hair. I guess I got it from her.”
“You also got her musical talent,” Jo pointed out. Molly made the slightly out-of-tune piano in Mrs. Wilson’s parlor sing like no other.
“That’s sweet of you to say, but I won’t be distracted! If your hair were shorter, it’d be more fashionable.”
“And if it’s long, it’s easier to plait and tuck into my kerchief.”
“But, Jo, you won’t be tucking it into a kerchief forever, will you?” Molly frowned. “Don’t you want to find a fella? Get married? Beauty is pain.”
“That’s bosh,” Jo scoffed. “Or if it’s true, I don’t want any part of it. I think I look better when I feel comfortable.”
Molly frowned at the idea. “If you say so…,” she said. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back to survey Jo’s hair. And then she got to work. Jo let her do whatever she wanted, succumbing to the combing and the pulling, and when Molly was done, Jo had to admit the girl did have a flair for hair. And she had seemed to take Jo’s comment to heart, because she had arranged Jo’s hair into simple braids pinned around her head, a tortoiseshell comb tucked into the braids giving it a little prettiness.
“Well, don’t I look fine,” Jo said. “Watch out, Veronica.”
Molly giggled. “What are you going to wear?”
“I hadn’t thought much about it,” Jo confessed, and Molly sighed in an entirely annoyed way that made Jo’s heart ache, because it reminded her so much of Amy.
“Honestly, Jo.” Molly hurried over to the tiny closet, which was more of a cabinet than an actual closet. She began to rummage inside before letting out a triumphant squeal and handing Jo a dress with a flourish. It was her black rayon one, with the taffeta plaid ribbon threaded across the chest.
“Wear this one,” Molly ordered.
“Are you sure?” Jo asked. “My little sister always told me it was plain.”
“The way the rayon’s cut will make the skirt spin up when you dance,” Molly said with a smirk.
“Molly!” Jo clutched the dress to her chest, and Molly’s mischievous smile grew.
“You deserve to have some fun, Jo,” Molly said seriously.
Jo felt a stab of alarm in her stomach. Had her maudlin mood been that obvious?
“You should go get ready,” Jo said. “I’ve wasted enough of your time.”
“It’s not a waste. You look beautiful,” Molly said. “But I should do my hair, and all my other pins are in my room. I don’t want to be late! I’m dreadfully excited about tonight’s band. See you in about twenty minutes?”
“I’ll be ready,” Jo said.
She managed to keep her smile on her face, even after Molly left the room.
Dear Jo
You’re the bravest
of us all, but are you
brave enough to fail?
Over and over
in your wild life,
will you be brave enough
to run aground?
Flounder, fall flat on your face
when you venture onto a dance floor.
Write terrible stories.
Char the roast.
Disappoint your loved ones.
I hope you muster the courage
to speak to someone
who’s caught your eye
only to be disappointed.
Be late.
Be wrong.
Be loathed.
Rip your best coat.
Get a traffic ticket.
An overdue notice.
An angry letter
from someone you’ve offended.
And maybe, if you’re truly lucky,
drop a tray full of coffee
all over someone
you love.
CHAPTER 9
AMY
As luck would have it, Laurie leapt out of the way before the coffee tray dropped onto the street with a crash. His boots missed most of the deluge, but a puddle soon pooled in front of the Clubmobile, giving off tendrils of steam.
“You all right there?” Edie called out.
“That’s twenty cups of coffee!” Marion exclaimed at the same time.
“I’m fine!” Amy blurted. Everyone was staring at her now—not only Laurie, who still looked shell-shocked at finding her in London. “I’ll get that cleaned up straightaway.”
Ripping off her apron, she grabbed the broom and hopped out of the truck to sweep up the broken cups, feeling Laurie’s eyes following her the whole way. What in the world was he doing in England—and at this hospital of all places?
She hadn’t seen him in months. After he and Jo graduated from high school, he had attended a music conservatory for a term, but dropped out to enlist following the attack on Pearl Harbor. Amy had written him faithfully while he was in training with the Army Air Forces, where he’d put in over two hundred hours in the cockpit and finished near the top of his class. He was awaiting his first piloting assignment when his grandfather had called in a few favors with an old military friend to keep his only grandchild safe, effectively grounding Laurie stateside. The last that Amy heard, he was stuck at an airstrip out in Utah, slapped with desk duty.
Laurie stooped down to help her gather up the broken cups. “What are you doing here?” he asked, bewildered. “I hardly recognized you.”
She could’ve said the same thing about him. His hair had been cropped short, and his body had grown lean and muscular from all those military drills. And his uniform? Dear Lord. Amy had always thought Laurie handsome, but seeing him in that jacket and with his cap sitting atop his head at a slanted angle, he looked as debonair as Cary Grant.
He pointed at her lapel, looking even more confused than before. “Captain Pace?”
“I said that I can explain,” Amy whispered before straightening up fast and shining a nervous grin at Edie and Marion, who were peering at them curiously. “This is a friend of mine from home! Small world, isn’t it?” She tried to sound breezy but couldn’t hide the shakiness in her voice. She knew she’d better make her escape before Laurie said anything suspicious, like calling her Amy. “We’re going to do some catching up!”
“ ‘Catching up,’ hmm?” Edie said with a hand on her hip before she looked Laurie up and down. “Say, what’s your name, soldier?”
Amy stepped in front of him before he could get a word out. “Can you cover the rest of the shift for me, Edie? I’ll catch a cab home later,” she said before dumping the cups into the bin and dragging Laurie through the rest of the soldiers who were hooting at them.
“Looks like Laurence nabbed himself a Doughnut Dolly!” one of them snickered.
Amy ignored that and hurried up the block, determined to put plenty of space between them and the Clubmobile.
“Will you slow down for a sec?” Laurie said, trying to wriggle his arm free.
But she had to keep moving, full steam ahead. If he breathed a word about her true identity to anyone here, Supervisor Owens would send her packing on the next ocean liner home.
“Amy, wait! You’re going to make me pull a stitch.”
That finally made her stop. Glancing back, she saw his face twisted in pain. “Stitches? Are you hurt?”
“I had a burst appendix last week.” He winced, and his hand dropped toward his abdomen, where his shirt must’ve been hiding his bandages. “I’m actually stationed north of London, but since there’s no military hospital there, I had to come here for the operation.”
“Burst appendix?” she said, blinking. “That’s major surgery! What are you doing out of bed?”
“The nurses said that I could get some fresh air, and I heard that there were free doughnuts and coffee downstairs,” he said wryly. He eyed her lapel again. “So are you going to tell me why your name tag says “ ‘Pace’?”
Amy scrambled for an explanation. Any explanation. “One of the other girls and I switched our tags for the fun of it,” she said, attempting a lighthearted laugh.
Laurie didn’t look convinced, though. “I thought you had to be twenty-two to join the Red Cross.”
Shoot. “They make exceptions from time to time.”
“Aren’t you sixteen, though?”
“Seventeen, actually.” She’d had her birthday back in Washington, but there’d been no candles or cake since the real Rosemary Pace was born in February. It had been Amy’s dullest birthday yet.
Laurie went quiet, his gaze toggling back and forth between her face and her name tag until his eyes went wide. “Did you use a false name to get in?”
Amy squirmed. That wasn’t entirely true. It was more like a stolen name, but she doubted that sounded much better.
“You did, didn’t you?” He swore under his breath. “If anyone finds out, you’ll be in a heap of trouble.”
She shushed him. “No one’s going to find out.”
“I don’t know what you were thinking but—”
“I’m serving our country, just like you are! Who cares if I’m a March or a Pace?” she said fiercely. “And what good would I be doing stuck at home and telling the neighbors to go buy war bonds?”
Laurie yanked off his cap to jam his fingers through his hair. He muttered to himself, “I go halfway across the world, but I can’t seem to shake the March girls.”
