A Star for Mrs. Blake (12 page)

A waitress in a Dutch apron took her order and the pastry basket was passed her way. Minnie was ravenous. She wanted to eat everything on the table.

“I’ll be accompanying you on the pilgrimage,” Lily said.

“But I’m not sick.”

Lily laughed. “Every party has a nurse. We want to take good care of you and be sure you have everything you need. It can be a strain,” she added. She was an attractive girl with gorgeous cheekbones, a fair
complexion, and a serious air. Her hair was pinned up under her military cap. She had a self-assured way of speaking that put Minnie at ease, relieved to be off that bus and in the arms of the U.S. Army. When breakfast arrived, it was a huge plate filled with scrambled eggs, whitefish, and a waffle with a square of melting butter. No matter what else Abraham thought of the government, they gave big portions.

“Who is coming to the Empire State Building?” Nurse Lily asked cheerfully.

Cora, Katie, and Selma raised their hands.

“We already said as much on the train,” Katie said.

“Nobody’s afraid of heights, I hope.”

Mrs. Russell said, “Wouldn’t know. Never been higher than a ladder.”

You’d expect a grandmother who’d worked all her life to take things seriously, even bitterly, but those cloudy old eyes had a sly angle on life. She’d come out with dry little comments that caught you by surprise. Cora didn’t notice that Selma was the only dark face in the room except for some of the help. Right now she was laughing to herself over eating ordinary fried eggs off fine china on a white tablecloth.

“We’re awfully lucky,” Nurse Lily was going on. “You know, the Empire State Building was just recently opened to the public.”

Mrs. Seibert asked, “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Might be best to wait,” Mrs. Russell suggested. “Case it decide to tip over.”

Nurse Lily took a ladylike bite of toast. “It has to be safe, or the army wouldn’t let us go.”

“All right, count me in.” Minnie shrugged. “What the heck.”

She was feeling strangely giddy. All of this was different—not just the angels looking down, or the thin gold crosses Nurse Lily and Mrs. McConnell wore prominently around their necks, or the lake of syrup she’d recklessly poured over the waffle, but an altogether new feeling of acceptance. Every woman at the table—everyone in this enormous room—fat ones, skinny ones, ugly, whatever—wore a Gold Star badge. Abraham of course had refused, but Minnie had dutifully worn the torn black ribbon of the mourner for seven days after they
got the news that Isaac had been killed—but thirteen years later you didn’t go around wearing a badge. Here, you did. Because, like the rabbi from Bangor had said, the consolation for a mourner is that she shares with others not only this loss but all the misfortunes that come of living a full human life. Here, among those others, Minnie knew she belonged.

“Is that all you’re eating?” she asked Katie McConnell, spying the remains of one boiled egg on her plate.

“Had my fill of oatmeal, thanks.”

“How was it?”

Katie leaned close and whispered, “Mine is better.”

Minnie scrunched up her nose. “Thin?”

Katie nodded.

“Nothing worse.”

“Lumpy’s worse. And there’s no earthly reason. All it takes is a drop of patience.”

“That I would agree with,” Minnie said.

A man’s voice interrupted: “Good morning, ladies.”

Lieutenant Thomas Hammond had appeared at the table. The presence of strong male youth, especially in uniform, caused eyes to brighten and posture to improve. He introduced himself and made the rounds, shaking hands and pausing to chat with each of the pilgrims, bringing in biographical anecdotes about them and their sons that he had memorized from the files. Training sessions had been held for this purpose. Last night at the final staff dinner, General Perkins had taken him and Lily Barnett aside with instructions on how to handle the Mrs. Russell mess according to the quartermaster general’s orders—“with the least interruption to the normal lives of the pilgrims”—and Hammond was doing his best to be diplomatic.

“Nurse? Are we all ready?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Lily stood, ready to follow the plan. She was raised Catholic in an Irish enclave of Granite Falls, Minnesota, one of seven children, the next turn of the page in the story of the Mrs. Katie McConnells, who’d been part of the migration that left because of the great
hunger resulting from the potato crop failures. There was nothing for girls in Ireland—no work, and only sons could inherit land. But second-generation Lily was able to graduate from the Presbyterian School of Nursing in Chicago. She worked as a visiting nurse in the Sleepy Valley section of the city, named for a population of drug addicts, which had given her the maturity that made Minnie feel she was in good hands, even though Lily was Hammond’s age, barely twenty-three.

Her olive-drab uniform was a feminine version of his, with a skirt and a fitted jacket. They both held the rank of second lieutenant, although hers was a “relative rank” given to female contract workers, meaning they did not have an officer’s privileges or pay. The two were similar in build, and attractive in the same young unencumbered American way—clear-eyed and undefended.

“Nurse? Is everybody going to the Empire State Building?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Shall we?”

Lily grabbed her medical satchel with the Red Cross insignia and stewarded the group into the lobby, where hundreds of pilgrims going to different destinations were milling around the plaza looking for the right bus. Just before reaching the door, Lieutenant Hammond gently took Mrs. Selma Russell’s arm.

“Madam, may I ask a favor? Would you mind coming with me?”

“Where’re we going?”

“General Perkins would like a word,” Hammond said.

“With me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What’d I do?”

“Nothing!” he said quickly. “No reason to be concerned.”

She seemed confused. “Is it about my boy, Elmore?”

“Not at all. The general’s office is upstairs. He just wants to speak to you, personally.”

She instinctually resisted. “Ain’t we suppose to get on a bus?”

Cora said, “I’ll go with you, Selma.”

Hammond was firm. “There’s really no need.”

Cora looked directly at Mrs. Russell. “I don’t give two cents for the Empire State Building—”

Nurse Lily intervened: “This way, Mrs. Blake.”

“She doesn’t understand what’s going on—”

“The general will explain.”

Cora planted her feet. “Explain to us.”

“There’s been a mix-up,” Hammond said. “Mrs. Russell has been placed in the wrong party. We apologize, but it’s better to fix the problem now—”

Minnie and Katie both stopped in their tracks. This sudden breakup of their party disturbed the bonds that had just begun to crystallize. It was an uncertain beginning that threw everyone off.

“But she’s part of our group,” Katie said.

“Are the rest of us still in?” Minnie wondered.

“Yes, everything is the same,” Hammond assured her, adding, “I’m glad to see you’ve all become friends. It’s unfortunate.”

Cora made a stand. “I’m staying with Mrs. Russell.”

“It’s all right, Cora,” Selma said. “You go on along.”

“Where are you taking her?” Cora demanded.

Lily and Hammond exchanged a glance.

“Mrs. Russell is changing parties,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“There’s been a clerical mistake. There’s another pilgrim who is registered to be in your party. She’s waiting to join you later.”

“How can that be true?” Cora asked. “I’m the member coordinator. This other person wasn’t on my list.”

“Her name is Mrs. Russell, too. Mrs. Wilhelmina Russell.”

Cora realized that was true. Selma. Wilhelmina. She’d been so distracted looking for Katie in the women’s lounge, and so relieved to have found someone in her party, she hadn’t paid attention, and out of politeness they had not exchanged first names.

“I know it’s silly, but these things happen. The important thing is to give her a warm welcome when she arrives,” Hammond said.

Katie and Minnie had already accepted the change. They hadn’t been the ones to discover Mrs. Russell standing in the doorway, afraid
to enter the women’s waiting room. They hadn’t sat with her and gotten to know her and provided an ear for her troubles.

“Fine,” said Cora. “I’ll change parties, too. She’s older and needs companionship. I don’t mind. We’re friends.”

“We ain’t friends,” Selma said.

“What?”

Cora watched Selma’s face close down, losing its sparkle.

“You a nice lady,” Selma Russell told Cora Blake. “But we ain’t friends and never could be.”

“Come along now and say goodbye,” Lily interrupted with authority, “so we can all sit together on the bus.”

Cora was stunned. Nurse Lily drew her along with Katie and Minnie as Hammond took Mrs. Russell in the opposite direction to the service elevator. They got off at the mezzanine above the grand ballroom. She held on to the handrail as they walked slowly along the balcony above the war room.

“This is our HQ, you might say.”

Hammond pointed down to the secretaries, the telegram and radio stations, waiters in white coats pushing coffee carts. Selma ignored him, staring straight ahead. They went through a fire door and down a service corridor that led to a maze of offices in the belly of the building, one giving onto the other with no windows.

Hammond offered Selma a steel-backed chair near a filing cabinet and an empty desk.

“The army took over the payroll department. The hotel wasn’t too happy with us. Kind of a bare-bones operation up here. No secretaries, unfortunately. We use the typing pool downstairs. Can I get you some water?”

Selma paid no attention. She took a blue-and-yellow afghan from her bag and resumed crocheting.

“Isn’t that pretty?” said Hammond. “You must have a lot of patience.”

Selma took her time in answering.

“Patience … ain’t always a virtue.”

Hammond stood awkwardly in the bare room until a door opened
crisply and General Perkins stepped out. Hammond saluted. The general shook Selma’s hand and introduced himself.

“Well, we’ve solved the mystery,” Perkins said. “There are two Mrs. Russells on this tour. What are the chances of that? The woman who belongs in Party A is Mrs.
Wilhelmina
Russell, not Mrs. Selma Russell.” He smiled. “Which is you.”

“Just tell me where to catch the bus.”

“Madam, please, don’t give it a thought. We’ll take care of everything. A typist downstairs made a mistake and I deeply apologize. I’m sure you can understand that in an operation of this size, it’s impossible to keep track of every detail.”

“What exactly are you tryin’ to tell me?”

“Somehow you—Mrs. Selma Russell—have been separated from your party and this
other
—Mrs.
Wilhelmina
Russell—is waiting uptown, in the YWCA in Harlem. You follow me?”

Selma nodded. “Very well.”

“Good. The nurse will help pack your things and then she and the lieutenant will escort you.”

“Harlem,” she mused. “Well, that’s the first good thing you said! They got a lot of wealthy folks up in Harlem. Nightclubs, too. Always wanted to see Harlem. I think I got peoples lives there.”

“Probably not enough time for a visit.” Perkins smiled.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Again, our apologies. It’s standard procedure for the colored mothers to go on separate tours and separate ships.”

“Call it by it proper name,” Selma said. “Segregation. I heard about that happening, but I thought, well, maybe it just ain’t true. You know they tell all kinds of lies. Some of the black women like me, they refuse to go on the pilgrimage because of segregation, but I said, Nothin’ gonna stop me from seein’ my boy.”

Hammond fought to remain perfectly still. Perkins was smiling and relaxed.

“As I said, a clerical mistake.”

“Maybe I’m just old and slow. Didn’t our boys all fight together? Ain’t they all buried in the same place?”

“Yes, of course the black soldiers are buried with the white. The bodies were buried as they arrived—no distinction was made. In fact, we’ve got the American Buffalo Soldiers and the Bloody Bucket from Pennsylvania—both Negro divisions—right in Meuse-Argonne. Please understand, these traveling arrangements are for your own comfort.”

“My own comfort would be to have my boy with me today.”

Selma gathered her work and stood. As she left the room, Perkins spoke quietly to Hammond.

“Is the other one ready for transfer?” he asked.

“That’s my understanding.”

“No more mistakes.”

“Understood, sir.”

Having wrangled Cora onto the bus, Nurse Lily had come back upstairs and was waiting for them outside Perkins’s office. As the three circled back around the balcony overlooking the ballroom to the service elevator, Hammond had a wild thought that Mrs. Russell might throw herself over, but it was he who was embarrassed and distraught.

“How do we get uptown?” Hammond asked through gritted teeth.

“Taxi,” Lily told him. “I’ve got the petty cash.”

Although the Empire State Building was just a dozen blocks from the hotel, the bus ride was tedious stop-and-go, with nothing to look at but glaring store windows and hordes of grim-looking people racing each other to the next traffic light. The bus was packed with war mothers and wives, chattering, making friends, apprehensive, alert. Cora sat with a woman from another party. They didn’t speak. She watched the city pass: pawnshops and newsstands, tucked-away playhouses and movie theaters where people who had no homes could sleep for thirty cents a night, sightseers, slummers, sailors, sidewalks filled with sandwich boards, Turkish restaurants. She didn’t know where Harlem was, and wondered what her former friend was seeing on the way there. Selma’s words still stung.

Three private buses pulled to the curb on Thirty-fourth Street and pilgrims wearing badges took over the sidewalks in a dense parade,
but Cora felt alone. She’d lost track of Minnie and Katie and was being pushed along anonymously in a tight group, crammed inside the bronze art deco lobby of the world’s tallest building, waiting in a long line, and then stuffed into a tiny elevator—like the hot sardines she packed in cans—indecently close. The lift went up, and Cora closed her eyes while her ears screamed. Finally she stepped out onto the observation deck.