Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington (30 page)

The supervisors sidled up to the bottom of a step ladder, and Rosalie’s heart dropped to her gut. Her friend Doris perched on the top rung, working as a bucker.

Doris was oblivious to the many eyes on her as she tucked a light brown lock beneath her floral bandanna, then grasped the metal plate for her partner on the other side of the plane’s tail.

Her partner spied the men first, and Doris continued holding the plate, waiting. She finally peered at her riveter, whose eyes must’ve held an unwelcome message. It was then Doris’s gaze shaded. She glanced behind her, and her face immediately registered fear. The supervisor steadied her back as she lowered herself, climbing down the ladder with trembling steps.

Like a silent movie, Rosalie couldn’t understand the men’s words, but she watched the scene unfold.

Rosalie could see her mouth form the word “No” and her shoulders tremble.

The man wouldn’t tell her here on the floor but would take her to the back office.

Motioning to Kenny, Rosalie led him back toward a side hall, where it was quieter. Finally, away from the chaotic noise, Rosalie answered his unspoken question. “That’s how they tell you if your man’s hurt or—”

Kenny’s eyes closed as he nodded his understanding.

“It’s not always bad news, but we all dread it.”

“Do you know her?”

Rosalie pinched her bottom lip. “Yeah, we work together, and her husband was friends with Vic.”

She paused and moved steepled fingers to her lips. She hadn’t meant to mention Vic. But now she recognized the uncertainty in Kenny’s gaze.

His eyebrows squeezed toward center. “Vic?”

Rosalie’s hands dropped to her waist. “My fiancé,” Rosalie said, simply, “who passed away. I’ll tell you about him. I have a lot to tell, actually.” Shedding the Rosie the Riveter strength for a moment, she let her gaze linger on his eyes, imploring him to trust her, like he’d asked her to trust him.

“Engaged?” His voice was drenched with questions, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he became the reporter again. He pointed to a section where a dozen women wired radios. “Tell me, uh, about them.”

Rosalie understood, as he did, that this wasn’t the time to delve into their fledgling relationship.

“It’s incredible, actually,” she started, speaking slowly, inspecting his reaction. “Many of those women are deaf mutes. Since they use their hands to speak sign language, they have amazing dexterity to work with the intricate wires. Their pastor got them jobs here, and he comes with each one when she’s first hired to help her find her way around and get adjusted.”

“Interesting.” Kenny’s gaze was directed at his notebook, but Rosalie knew his mind pondered something else.

His confused disquiet caused panic to rise within her. She thought about explaining it all. More than anything, she wanted to dispel the tension between them, but Birdie was waiting.

Her stomach ached, and she placed a hand over it. The last thing she wanted to think about was rolling up her sleeves and getting to work.

Would her past sins change the way Kenny thought of her? He cared about her, she knew that, but what if this dampened his attraction? What if he was waiting for someone pure, untainted by previous relationships?
Oh, Lord, give us a chance to talk, soon. In the meantime, please help Kenny to trust me.

Rosalie pressed her fingers against his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I promise I’ll tell you about Vic. I want you to know.”

“Rosalie Madison,” a voice behind Rosalie rasped, startling her. She dropped Kenny’s hand and swiveled around. Her supervisor’s tall frame loomed. He was glowering. Next to him stood another man she’d only seen once before—her boss’s boss, Mr. Sterling.

“You’ve been playing show-and-tell,” Hawkins growled. “You need to come to the office.”

Rosalie’s stomach clenched. Mr. Hawkins had given her permission to show Kenny around. Had she taken longer than she was supposed to? She glanced at Kenny, whose eyes darted between Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Sterling.

The ache in her gut grew as she remembered that she’d been late to work twice in the last few weeks. First, because of Victory Square, and then yesterday, because of lingering at the bus stop to talk to Kenny. Had Hawkins had enough?

“Follow me,” Bullhorn said, turning and stomping down the hall with Mr. Sterling by his side. “You may as well come too, Reporter,” he called over his shoulder.

Oh, Lord, she was engaged?
Kenny’s mind reeled as he followed Rosalie and the two men up the metal stairs racketing under their movement. Did she still brood over a love stolen away before the long years of life allowed it to blossom? Was he just an attempt to fill the gap left open when her fiancé died? Did she even care for him the way he was beginning to care for her? How could he ever compare with a dead war hero that she’d promised to commit her life to?

She said there was “a lot to tell.” What did that mean? He needed answers to these and countless more questions. An ache coiled its way through his veins, poisoning his thoughts. Kenny’s hand crept to the back of his neck. Tension turned his muscles into stone.

With so many women deeming it their patriotic duty to give the GIs someone to come home to, Kenny should’ve guessed Rosalie had a past relationship. Perhaps she just wanted to do her part. After all, Rosalie was the most patriotic woman he’d ever met. Peering through Kenny’s clouded vision came the image of Rosalie at the USO Club slinging eggs to the hungry GIs.

Maybe she’d just wanted to give Vic the will to survive. Kenny was surprised they hadn’t married before he left. Many couples did. Kenny had written one of his “enthralling” articles about the flurry of war brides. The county had even run out of marriage licenses for a while.

Rosalie’s deep brown eyes glanced back, full of concern, remorse. And Kenny read in them that she longed to explain her relationship. But even if she did, Kenny still wrestled with the ultimate question:
can I trust her?
He’d just learned about her dad being a reporter today. And then, added to that, she finally clued him in on Vic. Was there anything else she was trying to hide?

A rush of doubts rumbled as echoes from his past. He thought about Alicia. He considered the many ways he’d been lied to before.

But also stirring inside were the memories of how Rosalie was different. He remembered Rosalie’s red face as she swallowed air after racing to tell him his dad was here. He considered her patience when he snapped at her. He remembered the pride of her friends as they’d gazed at her this morning.

Alicia didn’t possess half of Rosalie’s strength, courage, heart. None of the reasons Kenny esteemed Rosalie had changed because she’d once given her hand to another.

As he whiffed in the lingering rose scent that trailed behind Rosalie and viewed the dark curls that sneaked from beneath her bandanna, Kenny’s coiling doubts ebbed.
Who am I to judge Rosalie’s past relationships?

She cared about Kenny. He didn’t doubt that. But would his love always be compared to that of a guy long gone?

He hoped not.

Rosalie’s heartbeat drummed against her chest. Bullhorn stomped up the stairs in front of her, and Kenny skulking behind—questions unanswered—made her feel like the steel waiting in between Birdie’s bucker and her own rivet gun. For now she’d focus on Mr. Hawkins.

Supervisors escorted workers to the offices for many reasons—mostly to give demerits or bad news, like with poor Doris. Rosalie didn’t have any loved ones overseas—anymore—so she assumed she’d done something wrong.

But what?
Was it her recent rash of tardiness? Rosalie grasped the cold railing as she hiked up the steps.
Surely Mr. Hawkins is not
giving me another demerit for taking too long with Kenny today.
She examined her memory as if she were inspecting her riveting job.

Did I do anything wrong?
Nothing. She couldn’t think of anything.

She sighed and followed Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Sterling, but rather than lead her to the supervisor’s office, he passed it, entering the conference room instead. Rosalie stole a glance through the window on the door of the office as she passed. Doris sat curled in a chair, shoulders trembling, pink hands covering her face. A sob rose in Rosalie’s throat.
Dear Lord,
she started to pray, but everything she wanted to say felt trite.
Help her
…
help her.

Shifting her gaze back to Mr. Hawkins’s bald head, another question gushed to mind. Why’d he let Kenny come? She gripped her hands into fists and grimaced at her palms’ chilly sweat. If she was reprimanded, she doubted that Kenny would write about it, but just knowing that he knew was bad enough.

Yet all that was nothing compared to her desperation to smooth things over with Kenny. The room faded slightly, and she told herself to stay strong.

Lumbering into the conference room, chin held high to camouflage her fear, Rosalie gasped out loud when she saw two other bigwigs waiting in the room. They stood as she entered, and Mr. Hawkins joined them on the other side of the table. She recognized one—a stout, gray-haired man with bushy eyebrows—as Mr. Sterling’s boss, Mr. Stafford. She didn’t recognize the other man. His long fingers twirled an unlit cigarette. He reminded her of the actor Edward G. Robertson, shifty with his hair combed back. Rosalie snuck a gander at Kenny, but he looked as confused as she felt.

“Sit down.” Mr. Sterling pointed to two seats opposite the suits.

Rosalie sank into the hard chair, and the men sat down. She palmed over the nicks in the wooden table, then moved her hands, still damp with cold perspiration, to her lap.

Kenny sat next to her, his chair screeching as it pushed in. She sent him a quick non-verbal plea:
Oh, Kenny, please don’t be mad at me. Not now.

Rosalie felt a soft, warm presence on her arm. Kenny’s hand. A river of stress, pent up as if blocked by the Grand Coulee Dam, slowly seeped out. Her shoulders loosened as Kenny’s hand moved to hers, interlocking fingers and not seeming to care about their clammy state. Feeling his support, Rosalie bustled up her confidence and gazed at the muckamucks gaping at her.

“So.” She slid an elbow onto the table. “Are you fellas gonna tell me why you made us hotfoot it up here? My bucker Birdie’s waiting for me.”

“Well, Miss Madison,” Mr. Stafford said, his deep voice echoing around the room. But his bushy eyebrows rose, and his eyes smiled.

“Yes, sir?”

Kenny squeezed her hand, and she sat up straighter. Rosalie’s gaze scoped to Mr. Hawkins, and surprisingly, the side of his mouth curled in a grin as well. Then Mr. Hawkins produced a black velvet box.

“We called you here—and we wanted you to see this too, Mr. Davenport—to tell you how proud we are of you.” Mr. Stafford’s thick fingers folded together as he inclined forward.

Relief warmed her. Rosalie blinked. “What did you say?” They didn’t march workers up here to say they were proud of them. She zeroed her stare on Mr. Stafford.

“Not only did you break the national record for most rivets, you’ve been a model employee since you started. We appreciate that, Miss Madison. You encourage other workers—men and women—and we’ve noticed how you help with recruitment. Some ladies told us that you even helped them find housing in Victory Heights.”

Mr. Stafford’s fingers, still folded together, tapped against his hand. “Because of your faithful service to Boeing and your country, we want to give you this.” He fired a glance to Mr. Hawkins, who opened the black box, revealing a silver pin.

Rosalie’s hand flew to her mouth. The Outstanding Service award was the highest honor a plant worker could receive. She shifted in her chair as a grateful stream of tears lined her face, defying her tough demeanor. She glanced at Kenny.

His lips formed a tight smile, accentuating his dimple. “That’s great, Rosa—uh, Miss Madison.” Kenny tilted toward her as if he wanted to embrace her but held back.

“Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. Mr. Sterling, Mr. Stafford.” She nodded at the fourth man.

For the past year and a half—even before Vic left—her life had centered on supporting the war effort at the plant and everywhere. Then, after Vic died, she’d cast her whole heart, mind, and riveter’s biceps into it. For her efforts to be acknowledged was more than she’d ever expected.