I was unsure about how Rosie and I were going to get along together after the revelations of the boiler room. But Rosie seemed bent on a semblance cheerful forgetfulness, and I was happy to go along with her. We had had moments in the last few weeks in which I thought we were beginning to build some sort of a friendship. Rosie was in her element in the kitchen in the way she had not been on the ship or in Paris. Now she was the one with the knowledge, and I was the one who was out of her depth. It evened us up somehow.
But it was the day I found her in our room, seated on her cot, weeping that we moved beyond mere surface acquaintanceship. She was holding a crumpled letter in her hand when I came into the room.
“Rosie, what happened? What is the matter?” I sat down on the cot beside her. “Is there anything I can do?”
She turned away from me, mumbling, “You would never understand. I struggled for something to say as I tentatively reached out to pat her hand. “I may not know, but maybe I can help in some way.”
After a long silence she turned towards me a little and said, “I told you my father did not want me to join the canteen service.” I nodded, encouraging her with my silence. “He was so mad he refused to even come down to the boat to see me off. He told my brothers they would get a beating if they even thought about it. And now he has written me --- the first letter I have gotten from him although I have written home every week.” At this she burst into tears again, and it was a while before she calmed down enough to speak. “He has remarried, and he tells me I am not welcome home -- ever.” Her voice turned bitter all of a sudden. “He has found someone else to cook and keep house, and I am no longer needed. I would just be one more mouth to feed if I came home now, and the Red Cross is just the excuse he needs to get rid of me. Oh, Val. What am I going to do?’
This hit me like a ton of bricks. I might not want to return home, but I always had that as an option. My life in that house might be stifling, cold and unfulfilling, but the front door would always be open to me. The gulf between Rosie and me yawned even wider, and I desperately wanted to bridge it.
“You can always come home with me,” I said impulsively, and then almost immediately regretted it. I could see Nanny’s and Papa’s faces as Rosie plopped herself down in the dining room, chatting away gaily, waving the wrong fork in the air. I beat the image down, and thought of Rosie serving in the canteen, scrubbing marmites, and making endless sandwiches. She deserved more than she was getting.
Rosie turned towards me with a smile that suddenly made me feel very young. “I will always remember that you asked, but you and I both know that there is no way I could fit into your life. I’ve always wondered --- does your family have any idea of what you are really doing?”
I shook my head slowly, willing myself to open up to this girl a little. “No, they don’t, and they would heartily disapprove. Do you know what my father wrote to me?” And I told Rosie about my position of authority in Paris and visiting Madame Lagrande’s salon.” Suddenly, sitting on an army cot in wartime France, it seemed not tragic, but very funny. I began to laugh, and before long both of us were convulsed. After a few moments we were just calming down when Rosie managed to gasp “…a salon in Paris” and we were off again. But that healing laughter did not last.
I found myself carrying the image of Rosie in the boiler house through the next day. It was still with me on Thursday when I peeped through the window in back of the staff table to watch the departure for Bourges. Matthew drove up in a staff car and Margaret and Fran immediately hopped in the back. Rosie, however, waited for Matthew to walk around the car, and help her into the front seat.
I was in the dining room all afternoon and evening. I dawdled over the dinner cleanup, hoping that everyone would be asleep by the time I got to the barracks. I did not want to hear about the trip to Bourges, although I could not exactly say why. However, the novelty of the day had kept everyone awake, and they were still all talking when I got there, the kind of girlish banter that Trixie had conducted with her friends. I could only hope to be left out of whatever was being discussed. But it was not to be.
“Here’s Val,” Margaret said. “Now we can find out about the major’s appetite. Did he or did he not eat his dinner?”
I unpinned my coif and sat down on the edge of my cot. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“If he doesn’t eat, it’s a sure sign that he’s in love. Rosie’s got to know.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” I tried to hide it but I felt an unreasonable anger..
Rosie stopped brushing her hair and turned to me. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find out soon enough. I know I’m in love with him.”
I uncoiled my long braid and let it fall over my shoulders. “That must have been a very profitable car ride,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster.
“It was,” said Rosie turning to the mirror once more her back to me. “I told him you were having an affair with Lieutenant Carter.”
Stunned, I could only stare at her. Margaret looked stunned as well. “That’s not right Rosie and you know it.”
“No, I don’t. All I know is that Val is going out with him tomorrow, and to get Bazz you have to make concessions.”
“But Rosie, I don’t want to get anyone, not Bazz, not anyone.”
“And I am supposed to believe that?” The brittleness of our first few days was back. “Why else come? I have no intention of returning home without a ring on my finger. What other choice do any of us have?” She looked around the room defiantly. “You can either be an old maid like Miss Farleigh, or you can get married. And the higher up you marry, the higher up you will live.” With that she climbed into her cot and turned her back on the room. The girlish chatter had been cut as if with a knife, and the silence was complete. Margaret and I, without looking at one another turned out the light, and climbed into bed as well.
I lay there in the dark staring at the ceiling. I knew that what Rosie said was true. But it seemed like such an unfair choice. Marriage or not marriage. Was that all there was for women? I thought of Miss Farleigh, unmarried certainly, and I felt an admiration for her that I had not felt for my mother, well-married and with a family. I thought of the house in which my mother lived – my house --- filled with all the comforts that money could buy. It was just before dinner. I would be in the tower room with Trixie while she primped in front of the mirror as Nanny urged us to the twin virtues of neatness and promptness. Downstairs Mamma would be at her dressing table smoothing her hair, the violet scent from her power filled the air. Although it was his room too, Papa did not come there anymore. Now he was down in his music room and would come into the dining room when the bell rang.
I knew then that the bedroom was Mamma’s domain, but only now could I see what I had not then, that Papa’s withdrawal from the Chicago social round had turned my mother into a disappointed woman. She had turned from that sparkling woman in Papa’s arms to a wilted flower kept in a box and denied light and water.
Yet, once I had seen that sparkle in person if just for a few moments. I had slipped down to Mamma’s room one night after I was supposed to be in bed. The music coming from downstairs told me that Papa was still entertaining his guests. I could tell it was Miss Dienst at the piano, Straus I thought.
I carefully opened the heavy paneled door to her room so that I would not disturb her if she was asleep, and also so that Nanny’s sharp ears would not hear that one of her charges was out of bed, although now that Trixie and I were 11 and 12 she listened less closely. As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, I became rooted to the spot. Mamma must have thrown aside the afghan under which she lay, for it was on the floor. She was in the center of the room, dancing to the waltz that came from the rooms below. Round and round she whirled, her hair flowing over her robe in soft waves, her green eyes alight, and a faraway smile on her face. I was filled with feelings I did not understand --- yearning, passion and yet hopelessness. I could feel that the dance was all from things past. It had nothing of the present or future in it. I stood bewildered until Mamma spotted me standing by the door in my nightgown, and for a few moments we just looked at one another.
“Mamma. How beautiful.”
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I was. Nanny was reading to us. Trixie went to sleep so Nanny put out the light. I couldn’t sleep. I ----,” I took a tighter grip on my night gown. “There’s something I want to know.”
“What is it dear?” A wave of unusual tenderness swept over her face as she reached out and drew me close.
“It’s about being married.”
“Married? You don’t have to think about that for a long time. You are just a little girl.”
“But I want to know about it. What is it like?”
“Oh, it’s just part of being grown up. There are children and a house to run and, well I don’t know.”
“What about the man, the husband?’
Mamma drew back. ‘You’re too young to know about such things.”
I thought about the picture in the poetry book of the beautiful girl dead in the men’s arms. “It’s terrible then, isn’t it?” My eyes held Mamma’s. “Whether I’m too young or not, I’d rather know now. I have to sometimes.”
“Yes,” Mamma nodded slowly. “Every woman has to know.”
“And does every man?”
“For men it’s fun, amusement. They like it --- all of it.”
“You mean there isn’t anything bad for them?”
Mamma shook her head. “Only pleasure.”
“Then I don’t see why is has to be bad for us too. Was it bad for you?”
Mamma dropped her eyes before mine and said nothing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go on, but after a few moments I took a deep breath. “Then did they make you marry Papa? What about the white dress and the piano?”
“N-no, they didn’t make me, but I had to marry someone.”
“Why did you marry Papa?”
“Because – because he was such a gentleman when we were courting, and I knew my life would be good here in Chicago. The house, the carriage, the dances and parties. They would make up for--- and then your father….” And her voice trailed off.
She did not finish her sentence, but I knew what she was going to say. It was all right until Papa gave up his job at the mill and buried himself here with his music.
“I won’t have to get married, will I?”
Mamma stroked my hair. “No, I don’t think you will.”
“That’s because I’m not beautiful like Trixie, isn’t it?”
“Be glad darling. Be glad. You can live to have peace and tranquility and --- self-respect.” Mamma sighed. “But with Trixie it will be different. It is for you who are so safe to look after you sister and protect her.”
“But how can I protect her if she will have to get married someday? Anyway, she won’t mind me. She doesn’t even mind Nanny sometimes.”
“She will if you try hard. Just watch over her Valerie, and perhaps you will be able to help her. If only …” and then she was silent for a long time.
Finally, I asked, “If you had not married Papa, who would you have married?”
Mamma paused. “I’m not really sure. There was someone, but he had no prospects.”
Impulsively she turned and opened the drawer of her dressing table. From beneath the paper that lined it she took an envelope. “This came to me --- the first piece of mail that I got after my marriage. It came from Paris and was written by one I might have married.”
“Are you going to read it to me?” I was surprised.
Mamma shook her head. “Only the last sentence so you may see how important things can sometimes be between a man and a woman. This is written in French.”
“Le navire qui t’importe, emporte aussi une partie de ma vie.” She read and then looked up at my puzzled frown. “Can you translate? We’ll see how well you know your French.” She held the letter so that I could read only the last sentence.
“What is ‘le navire?’
“The ship.”
Leaning on Mamma’s knee, I translated slowly: “The ship that carries you away, carries away also a part of my life.” I thought a moment and then looked up at Mamma. “He loved you and you went from him on a ship forever.”
“Forever from him. But the thing I was going away from went with me on the ship. If only it could stay courting and dancing and moonlight walks it would be wonderful, but once you are married…” With that Mamma started walking towards her bed. “Now go to sleep, Valerie. It’s very late.”
Stunned, I watched Mamma for a moment, and then turned and left the room closing the door very quietly on its dimly lit silence, the same profound silence that surrounded me on my Army cot in France.
How unfair the women in my life had been. They had let two little girls grow up into a world that they had poisoned with their own mistakes and disappointments. I was older now with hard won knowledge of the ways of men and women, although I had not been when it mattered most. Mamma with her disappointed romanticism, and my beautiful, talented aunt who choose a stifling marriage and finally alcohol and drugs. The only honest one had been Nanny. She had made a life for herself as a single woman and had told me she had not wanted to be married. But if I really thought about it, what she had told me was that she would not want the marriage that Mamma and Papa had. But perhaps there was another kind of marriage to have?
And what about Rosie with her determined program to find a husband, the higher up the social ladder the better? Was she any different from my mother who had also chosen to give herself to the highest bidder? And then there was Trixie, who rebelled against the rules because she thought those rules would give her a marriage like Mamma’s and Papa’s. She had not understood what Nanny had continually told her, that some of those rules were there for her own safety. We were two young girls, uniformed and stupid beyond belief, bound by our ignorance and the choices of those around us. If only either Trixie or I had known more she would not be gone.
After tossing and turning with my thoughts, I finally got to sleep to awake to a beautiful morning and the promise of my afternoon off. Bazz came for me after lunch and with a wonderful sense of freedom I left the cleanup to the three that had been off the day before.
Out in the open with the sky blue above me and the grass springy and soft --- the narrow limits of roof and walls removed, the hard clacking floor gone, none of it seemed important. The world seemed so big and open and full of fresh air. I stretched out in a long swinging walk with Bazz beside me. He looked over at me, grinning at the pace, and then picked it up forcing me to go faster. I laughed, almost breaking into a run as I tried to outstrip him. We were almost across the meadow, and the woods loomed ahead, the tree trunks dark and thick against the green of the open country.
With a laugh I fell down into the sweet-smelling grass panting from the exertion.
“Come on, get up,” said Bazz. “Let’s go explore the woods.”
“Later.” I took a deep breath. “It’s so quiet here. It’s nice to see the sky overhead.”
Bazz dropped down beside me. “It’s just nice to be alone --- just the two of us.”
Yes, I thought dreamily. It was nice to be alone. The days were so busy, I had not noticed how filled with people they were: the men all day in the canteen and dining room, and the girls in the barracks at night.
“Bazz, I want you to tell me what the secret is.”
“Secret?”
“The secret that all of you keep whispering about. Something that Major Brandt had done.”
“Oh, that.” He made a face. “It’s typical of him. He closed the town.”
“The town? Issoudun?”
He nodded.
“He has the power to close a French town?”
“Sure – to us. He’s put MPs on all roads outside the town with orders not to let any uniformed Americans in. I don’t know who is madder the Americans or the French.”
I thought about Issoudun as I had seen it on my way in – a dreary little place, with only a few shops, most of them seeming empty. “Why is a town like that important? Why do any of you care?”
“It’s a place to go on Saturday nights. That’s the only time we have off and that --- that man has taken it away.”
“Well, I don’t see why you want to go there. It’s silly of him to close it when there’s nothing there.”
Bazz leaned up on one elbow and looked down at me for a long time, and then leaned down and kissed me. This was not the light brushing kiss of the infirmary but a passionate kiss, full of things that were urgent and pressing. I felt my pulse leap, and I found myself kissing him back. He sat up and continued to look down at me his face slowly draining of all expression except desire. “There is something in Issoudun that is in short supply at the base. And if you will walk with me into those woods, I will show you what it is.”
I paused for moment, the blood pounding in my ears, wanting that kiss, my first, to continue forever. But then I looked at Bazz’s face, and something inside of me closed down. This was not about me. I felt at that moment that I could be anyone, anyone at all. Then I heard Rosie’s words ringing in my ears, “To get Bazz you have to give concessions.” I was not going to be Mamma, but I was not going to be Trixie or Rosie or Aunt Elizabeth either. I was going to find my own way, and I still had not figured out what that was. And some man, Bazz in particular, was certainly not going to decide it for me. I had had a lifetime of living what others had decided. No more.
I stood up and brushed the grass off my skirt and looked down at him still seated on the ground. “Then I am sorry for you that Issoudun is still not an option, for I am off limits too.” And with that I marched across the field heading back towards the confines of the canteen and work. I did not dare look around at the burning bridge I had left behind me. Had I made a mistake? Would going into those woods have bound Bazz to me in some way? No, the ropes that bound a man to me should be something else, something that would enhance that intimacy when it came. And if I never found that unique rope, then I would have to figure out the life I could have on my own. I reached the canteen in time to help with the set up for dinner.