Shipyard gals, p.8
Shipyard Gals, page 8
Music and clouds of cigarette smoke surrounded her as she walked towards the dining room of the inn. Freddy stood inside the entrance, wearing his dark blue uniform and fidgeting with his sailor’s cap. His face brightened when he spotted her and he hurried over.
“There you are,” he said. “I was worried you gave up on me.” His eyes lingered on her dress. “Sorry I’m late. There was some trouble at the base. And then the bus took forever.” He touched her elbow and smiled. “And you, Miss Ruby Mae Taylor, look good enough to eat, as my daddy likes to say.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Ruby Mae said. Now that she was finally alone with him, her old worries reared up. Don’t talk too much. Don’t make a fool of yourself. What if he wasn’t as sweet as he seemed? She had a bad habit of trusting the wrong men. “What kind of trouble?”
Freddy took her elbow. “I’ll tell you after we get us a table. I’m starved. I been smelling all kinds of goodness from the kitchen. Onions frying, maybe in bacon fat and some kind of meat roasting. Mm . . .”
They walked into the spacious dining room, where the hostess led them to a table, past couples and groups gathered around tables loaded with tempting dishes. Each table held a tea candle and a small vase with a single rose. Definitely a step up from the barbecue joints she knew back home. The waitress, an older woman whose graying hair framed her tired face, brought menus and recited the daily special, pot roast and a baked potato.
Ruby Mae studied the menu, surprised that the prices were reasonable. Having that first fat paycheck of her own made her feel like a queen. She ordered roasted chicken and mashed potatoes with greens and a Coke. Freddy chose the special, with green beans and a pot of coffee.
“I swear, Ruby Mae,” he said, “I got coffee running in my veins now. Never drank it back home in Chicago, but we get it 24/7 at the base. I’m hooked.” He laughed. “That’s how they keep us working hard, pouring coffee down our throats.”
“So what happened today?” She hoped she looked less nervous than she felt. At least he couldn’t see her heart jumping under her ribs.
Freddy took a sip of water. “We got these officers pushing us to work faster. Today one of the big ammo shells slipped out of a guy’s hands when he was loading it onto the ship.”
“Oh Lord,” she said. “Did it explode?”
He shook his head. “We were lucky. It bounced off the dock and fell into the water. But he got yelled at for being careless.” He fiddled with his fork. “We all know the work we doin’ ain’t safe. An accident waiting to happen.”
“Well, I’m sure glad you didn’t get hurt.” She glanced around the room. “And I’m glad we get to eat at places like this, and . . .” She looked at her lap. “And I’m happy to be here.”
Once their plates arrived, they dug in and let the piped-in music and nearby conversations fill the space while they ate. She needed a break from trying so hard to impress him, as long as she didn’t spill gravy on Marcy’s dress. Freddy paused, knife and fork in hand, and watched her.
“I swear, I do like to see a gal enjoy her food,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed. Was he making fun of her? Peggy once said she ate like a pregnant sow. She put down her fork and wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin.
“I guess I’m done now.” There was still a drumstick on her plate and a small hill of potatoes. She’d devoured the greens first. Leaving food on her plate would kill her. Momma had taught them to always finish every bite. The Lord had provided his bounty and only He knew when their next meal might come. “Yeah, I’m pretty full,” she lied.
“Really?” he said. “You looked like you could keep going. Do you mind if I finish that drumstick? Don’t want to waste it.” He hunched his shoulders. “In our family, we always had to clean our plates. Sometimes my brother and me would slip a carrot or soggy squash under the table to Scruffy, our dog. He’d eat anything.”
That earned him points, a member of the clean plate club. She gave him her plate and watched him eat the drumstick with his hands. When he was done, he dabbed some water from his glass with a napkin and wiped his fingers.
“Tell me more about you, Ruby Mae. What are you working on at the shipyard?”
At least that was something she could brag about. He listened and nodded while she told him about the details of riveting, how much she enjoyed doing her job. “Helping our men fight this war, building the ships to keep them safe. I never did work that mattered before. Lord knows I’m lucky to have this job.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said. “But I should be out there on one of those ships. That’s why I signed up for the Navy. Not to do this grunt work. All that training I got in boot camp is wasted.” He frowned. “Tell you the truth, Ruby Mae, every morning I wake up in my bunk, and wish I’d never enlisted. I don’t want to die loading ammo onto a ship they won’t let me sail on.” He looked down. “Sorry to lay this on you, but that’s how I feel.”
She reached across the table and took his hand.
“Listen, Freddy Parker,” she said, “you can tell me anything. In fact I’m glad you did. I don’t blame you for being frustrated. And scared.”
The waitress came over then and cleared their plates.
“How ’bout some dessert for you two lovebirds?” She smiled, and Ruby Mae realized she still held Freddy’s hand in hers. She inched her hand away, but he held on and squeezed her fingers.
“If you have a slice of pie, I think we’d like that,” he said, looking at Ruby Mae.
“We sure do,” the waitress said. “Apple or peach?”
“Peach,” Ruby Mae and Freddy said at the same time, and laughed. Nothing better than peach pie. She’d have to remember to take dainty bites.
After the waitress walked away, Freddy let go of Ruby Mae’s hand.
“Here’s the last thing I’ll tell you about my job,” he said. “Cause I want to enjoy our time. The truth is, all of us men loading ammo 24/7 know how dangerous it is. The officers don’t care if something happens to one of us. We’re just the dumb Negro sailors.”
He shook his head. “Last week, one of the boxes being loaded off the freight train fell from the hoist. The box caught fire, bullets exploding and scaring us to death.” He drank some coffee. “We were lucky they got the fire out fast, but two guys got burned. Another got hit in his leg by a bullet. They blamed the men doing the unloading!”
“Could you switch jobs?”
“I wish,” he said. “But look at me. The only place where a Negro man gets treated with respect, where he feels like a real man, is in a place like this.” He raised his arm, sweeping his hand around the dining room. “With his brothers and sisters. Out there at the Navy depot or the shipyard, they see us like some kind of work animal. No better than a mule, too stupid to do more than follow basic orders.”
Ruby Mae’s eyes burned. His words rang true. Most of the bosses at the shipyard weren’t much better. She was lucky to have Mr. Graham.
The waitress arrived with a large slice of pie and two forks. A big scoop of vanilla ice cream sat on top.
“I figured you wanted it à la mode,” she told them.
Ruby Mae stared at the plate. The waitress had somehow shaped the ice cream into a smooth glistening heart. The pie and its sculpted heart were about the most romantic thing she’d ever seen.
“Oh my Lord.” Freddy burst out laughing. He had such a nice deep voice and his laughter reminded Ruby Mae of her daddy, who laughed with his whole body. “Ain’t that somethin’?” He handed her a fork and winked. “You too full to help me eat this pie, Ruby Mae?”
“Well,” she said, “I s’pose I got room for a few bites.” She waited, figured she’d only take a bite after Freddy had taken two. Two for him, one for her pretend-full self. And don’t drip ice cream on the dress. She looked up at the clock on the wall. 7:45.
“You know, Ruby Mae, with you sitting here, looking so pretty, and after all that good food, I’m feeling mighty lucky,” Freddy said. “I hope I didn’t talk too much about work.”
Either he was a real good con man, or he was talking with his heart wide open. She wished she had a Bible handy. She’d slap his hand on top and make him swear he was telling her the truth, so help him God.
“Listen, Freddy,” she said, “I’m gonna need to leave by 8:30. Peggy’ll be waiting for me at church. Bible study. Momma don’t know ’bout this.”
He nodded and cut into the pie and forked some of the ice cream heart on top.
“Here, you take the first bite,” he said, reaching across the table. “Tell me how it is.”
She opened her mouth and tasted the fresh peaches and the cold vanilla creaminess and cinnamon and the flaky piecrust. A small moan escaped her lips as she chewed. “So good, it’d be a sin not to eat it all.”
When they were done, Freddy paid the bill and insisted on escorting her back to meet up with Peggy. The church was a fifteen-minute walk away, and she was glad for the extra time with him. Outside the club, the sunset lingered, the sky traced with bits of pale orange and lavender clouds. She’d planned on changing her clothes at the inn, but now with Freddy next to her, she carried the paper bag of clothing on one side, and let him drape his arm around her shoulders. Night blooming jasmine scented the air. It was all a little too much.
“You crying, Ruby Mae? What’s wrong?”
She wiped her cheek. “I’m sorry. I ain’t usually much of a crier,” she said. “I feel like I got split open tonight. Like my heart hurts and feels good at the same time.”
He faced her, lifted her chin, and gently kissed her lips. Her eyes closed.
“There. I been wanting to do that all night,” he said, his voice husky. “Hope that was okay.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Yeah. Do it again.” This time she kissed him back. Warmth flooded her body. A perfect ending. Nothing could ruin this night. As soon as they reached the church, she’d slip inside real quick, change back into her skirt and grab Peggy for the walk home. Momma would never know.
CHAPTER 13
RACHEL
July 7, 1944
By the time Rachel got off the bus and walked up the steep hill of Mandana Boulevard to her family’s house, the summer sun had risen over the treetops. Nearly 8:00 a.m., the beginning of a new day, but for her, almost bedtime. Working nights still felt surreal, like swimming upstream against the normal current of everyday life. Luckily, one of the evening shift nurses had asked Rachel to switch shifts starting in two weeks.
She wanted to talk to Mama or Papa about Chrissy, that horrible woman on the bus yesterday, but her parents would be busy getting ready to start their days. As she opened the front door, she smelled onions frying. Mama was already cooking, getting food ready for Shabbat dinner that night. Their talk would have to wait.
“Hi, I’m home,” she called, and dropped her bag and jacket on the leather couch in the living room. Bending over to unlace her clunky nursing shoes, she felt a twinge in her lower back. When the clinic got busy, she helped patients onto exam tables without thinking how to protect herself from injury. “Use your legs, ladies, when you lift something heavy, not your back.” Her old nursing instructor’s frequent caution. A bad habit she needed to break, along with skipping her mid-shift meal. Low blood sugar led to careless mistakes.
“Come sit down, honey.” Her mother’s voice from the kitchen made her smile. “I’ll fix you some breakfast before you climb into bed.” Mama was happiest when she had an apron tied around her waist, fussing over the seasoning of her pot roast or nibbling the batter of a new cookie recipe. Her latest idea was to put together a cookbook for housewives like herself, one with recipes using very little of rationed ingredients like butter or sugar. Mama hoped to donate the cookbook’s proceeds to the Red Cross.
“Smells great in here.” Rachel stepped close to Mama and gave her a gentle hug. Her faded floral apron had belonged to Rachel’s grandma. Mama’s gray-streaked black hair had been pulled off her neck into a loose bun. “What enormous meal are you planning?” She picked a caramelized onion out of the spoon in Mama’s hand. “Who’s coming, besides The Regulars?”
Mama pushed her hand away. “There’s coffee, still warm. I was able to get some with my coupons yesterday. A little sugar, too. I had to wait in line for almost an hour.”
She looked at Rachel. “No, I forgot. You’re headed to bed, so coffee’s out. I don’t know how you manage these hours. Your father used to fall asleep at the table when he was in training. And we’ll be six tonight, if your father’s able to get out of surgery on time. Uncle Max and Aunt Pearl and your favorite cousin.”
They both laughed. She only had one cousin living close by, Gordon, and he was one of the most irritating young men she’d ever met. He’d been kept out of the draft due to severe asthma, and now worked for the Santa Fe Railroad coordinating freight deliveries to military bases all over the Bay Area. But by the way he boasted, you’d think he manned the front lines of combat.
“Well then, Mama, your chopped liver better be pretty darn good, so my mouth is full when he starts driving me crazy.” And if she really wanted to shut him up, she knew how to rattle him. Gordon hated being teased.
“Oh, here’s my girl.” Papa swept into the room, already wearing his white doctor’s coat over a blue collared shirt and striped tie. “How’d your shift go?” He poured coffee into his thermos.
Papa enjoyed hearing about her clinic work at the shipyard, and would sometimes suggest other ways to treat a certain condition. Lately he had started quizzing her about cases that he’d seen at the hospital, even illustrating on scratch paper the medical oddities that required a surgical repair. Like the large and ominous-looking tumor growing on the side of a young woman’s neck that turned out to be a benign calcified cyst, not cancer after all.
“It wasn’t too bad last night.” She sat down at the kitchen table and yawned. “There was one gruesome case I’ll tell you about later, when Mama’s not listening.” The house rules. Eating and explicit bloody details of the operating room did not mix. But for Rachel, these discussions with her father were a treat, a chance to prove herself.
Before Jesse had enlisted, he had been the one to sit with Papa and talk about the fascinating cases at the hospital. Jesse’s summer job as an orderly had been Papa’s idea, a first glimpse of the world ahead of him once he graduated from Cal and started med school. The war had put everything on hold for him, and she’d taken his place as Papa’s eager student.
“But honestly, Papa,” she said, “I’m tired of seeing injuries that could have been prevented. There’s so much pressure to finish building the ships quickly. I know we’re all trying to give our boys what they need as soon as possible, but these workers are suffering terribly.”
She sighed and picked up the small loaf of challah that sat on the table next to a larger loaf, both sprinkled with poppy seeds and shiny from an egg wash. Always the extra small loaf for nibbling. Mama must have gotten up before dawn to bake, or stayed up really late to prep the dough. Insomnia had stalked the family since Jesse had gone overseas with his unit. Mama’s solution was to keep busy in the kitchen, no matter the hour. Papa and Rachel never objected to her efforts.
The bread was still warm and fragrant. “Okay if I take a little piece?”
Mama put a plate with a scrambled egg and sliced tomatoes in front of her. “You’d bite my hand if I tried to stop you. No butter to be had, though. And you’ll have to share that with your father.”
“Not today,” Papa said, kissing Mama on the cheek and squeezing Rachel’s shoulder. “I’ve got an early case and need to get on the road. But I hope to be back in time to see you light the candles tonight.” He inhaled. “Mm, maybe just a bite.” He leaned over and grabbed the small challah from Rachel and tore off a piece. He winked at her and left out the back door.
While she ate breakfast, she watched Mama work at the counter, chopping up the hardboiled egg and fried chicken liver and onions. What looked like an apple strudel sat cooling near the kitchen window. No one cooked liked Mama. On Shabbat they ate like kings, and then the rest of the week Mama found a way to make what she found in the market taste interesting despite the rationing.
“Any news from Jesse?” She studied her mother’s back and watched it stiffen. The challah and egg tasted divine.
“No,” Mama answered. “We listened to the morning news and they talked about the Allies advancing through France. I wish we knew where he was exactly. I hate thinking of him out there, too close to the front.”
She didn’t turn around, just continued chopping the liver, onions, and eggs into a chunky paste, adding salt and pepper, tasting until she was satisfied. “There.” After she scooped it into a bright orange Fiesta ware bowl and into the refrigerator, she turned to Rachel. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she brushed it off, as if annoyed by a fly. “Go up to bed, sweetheart. What time do you want me to wake you?”
Rachel got up and put her plate in the sink. Out the back window she spotted a red-winged blackbird perched on a branch of the oak tree in the backyard. His trilled call sounded mournful.
“I’ll use my alarm clock, Mama. Maybe you can take a nap, too, before they arrive. I’ll set the table and do whatever you need once I’m up.” She planted a kiss on Mama’s cheek.
The phone rang in the hallway as she passed by, and she answered, hoping it wasn’t for her. But it was Bertie, her best friend, confirming their shopping date on Sunday. Now that Macy’s had expanded their hours, accommodating the needs of evening and night shift workers, you could visit the department store any time, day or night. The two of them planned to shop in San Francisco for dresses to wear to their friend’s wedding.
