“Hey, with all the men in uniform, you girls might be doing stuff like running factories. You know, them jobs guys do now,” Sal said.

  Rose sniffed. “Our government couldn’t make us do something that unfeminine.”

  “Why do you all assume we couldn’t do it?” Nuala stared at her siblings through narrowed eyes. Her brothers laughed. “You two can laugh, you dumbkopfs, but we can do a lot more than you think.” Nuala sensed tears springing to her eyes, but she blinked them away. They wouldn’t see her cry. She’d withstood rougher teasing at their hands.

  “Nuala, you’re too fragile for anything like a munitions plant.” George looked at her, mouth open in wonder.

  Rose chimed in. “Women shouldn’t be doing that kind of work.”

  “Gee Rose, don’t you remember both of us working in the cracker factory?” Nuala glared at Rose and refrained from getting up from the table to slug her. She was too far to reach, and rising would mean releasing Keith’s hand. He sensed her hostility and pressed his leg against hers. He smiled at her and gave her a gentle warning glance. Nuala shot her sister a murderous glare. “Well, and what would you do while the men are at war? Sit at home eating candy or reading movie magazines?”

  Before Rose could retort, Magda interrupted harshly. “Stop this catty behavior. You sound like—like kinder.” She turned to Rose. “But Nuala is right. Everyone does things in war they normally wouldn’t have to.”

  “Mama, I wouldn’t be reading magazines. When did any of us have that kind of time or money to buy them?” Rose glared at Nuala as Nuala sat back in her chair, seething.

  “I’ve seen bombs and guns, mien Gott. If war comes, you’ll all do things you normally wouldn’t.” Magda glanced from one daughter to the other. Her voice sounded faraway as if she had suddenly remembered a more dangerous time.

  Nuala looked at her mother. Magda sat still at the table after her outburst, not touching her food. The rest of the family were oblivious to her plight, intent upon enjoying the meal and each other’s company. Nuala alone sensed her mother’s agony, but she knew that to say anything would only humiliate Magda. Her mother prided herself on her strength. The rest of them chattered happily. Raucous banter was part of a Comeaux family meal, and everyone usually took part in the debates and comments. Today, Magda clearly had heard enough of war.

  “It won’t take long to defeat the Japanese. Hell, those little slant-eyed jokers couldn’t even play baseball. Remember a few years ago, they came and played some American team? We creamed their guys. The American guys hardly had to think about it. Look how all them cartoons made them look.” George gestured with his fork.

  “Son, I don’t think I’d judge them people based on a cartoon.” David grinned at his son’s enthusiasm. He spoke to George as if he would a child. “Just because somebody draws the Orientals with glasses and makes them look nearsighted ain’t necessarily the truth. Some of them people I’ve met are pretty damned smart.”

  Nuala suppressed a smile at her brother’s naiveté. Even she understood such simplistic generalizations were inaccurate. She held tight to Keith’s hand. She knew on these occasions he still felt like an outsider. Her family were all friendly, but she knew her mother seemed distant. Nuala realized her mother was overwhelmed by the hasty marriages and the possibility of war with her native Germany, but she wondered how Keith took her mother’s long silences. One of six children, he came from a boisterous New Orleans family that talked over each other and finished each other’s sentences. To an extent, Nuala’s family was similar, but her mother often struck strangers as remote, all too foreign. She was surprised when she heard her mother’s voice.

  “Maybe it won’t happen. Col. Lindbergh has talked against the war, and he’s very much admired. So have people like Fr. Coughlin. Maybe—”

  “Ma, Lindbergh’s little more than a spy! He’s taken medals from Germany. He’s nothing but a German lover!” George, always the hasty one, stopped when he saw his mother’s face.

  David, sitting next to his son, reached over and hit him across the head. His wife raised a hand. “No, don’t, David. I see what my sons think of me. I’m not hungry. I’ll start washing the dishes.”

  No one spoke. Nuala, her eyes brimming with tears, watched her mother. Even Sal Pepitone stopped shoveling food into his mouth.

  Close to tears, George said, “Ma, please come back. I didn’t mean anything by that. Don't be mad. I ship out for Pearl after Thanksgiving.”

  “Come back to the table and eat, woman. You simply have sons with big mouths.” David beckoned to her.

  “Yeah Mama, don’t make Georgie’s last days in the Big Easy uneasy.” Will winked at his mother. “He’ll be all broken up before he and Barbara leave to work on their tans in Hawaii.”

  George attempted a scowl at Will but grinned in spite of himself. “Come on, Ma.” David patted George’s shoulder.

  Magda leaned against the door leading into the kitchen. “You boys think this is a game. You think your father’s tales of war are some old wives’ tales from another day. Well, I’ll tell you some things I’ve never really talked about. The sound of bombs is dreadful. I still hear that sound and the warning sirens. Still, even to this day.” Magda pounded her breast as if she were saying a ritualistic prayer. “Mein Gott, I remember the rubble of Berlin. I was a nursing student then. Many people died in those buildings. Not all soldiers either. Don’t you remember my brothers Hans and Pieter when they came to visit? Remember that they, their wives, and their children—your cousins—will be in the bombs. Remember that. Oh, don’t worry, my sons. I’m no lover of this crazy man running Germany.”

  “Nobody said you was, Magda.” David spoke to his wife, but his eyes shifted from one son to the other, as if daring them to make a careless remark. Nuala and Rose stared at their plates. Sal and Keith shifted uncomfortably in their chairs while little Peter’s wide-eyed gaze moved among the adults.

  Nuala sensed her own hand grow moist in Keith’s. The nauseating sense of foreboding she’d fought all day was ripping through her insides. A vise tightened around her bowels.

  Magda bit her lip. Nuala saw that her mother fought back tears. Like Nuala, she never let anyone see her cry. “I can’t even communicate with my brothers any more, that bastard has the Reich so sewn up.” All eyes fell on Magda. She never swore. “Pieter’s letter was the last I received, and it told some . . . some—how do you say it—terrible things. The man’s killing innocent people, but the people who are safe don’t care and the other half of them are terrified of him.” She stared from one to the other. “In the last war, I saw soldiers and civilians die. Don’t think this will be some war game like you played in the school yard.”

  David sent a look in his wife’s direction that only she could read. Nuala had always sensed that her father loved no one like her mother. Magda’s lips formed a smile. “I suppose I can’t let this good food go to waste.”

  Magda took her place at the other end of the table. Peter crawled into her lap. She rumpled his hair and reached over to place a hand on George’s. For the rest of the meal, no one spoke of the war.

  After the meal, Nuala followed her mother into the kitchen. She had indicated that Keith should join her father and brothers in the living room. Rose was placing dishes in the sink. Magda placed leftovers into containers and snapped the covers shut. “Supper tomorrow.”

  Nuala realized with a shock how beautiful a woman her mother still was. Even in her plain striped housedress and cotton apron, Magda was a stunning presence. Her hair was golden in the light, and her slight figure moved deftly around her kitchen. The only indication that here stood a matron of many years was the net that held her hair together. With her smooth, milky skin, she looked as young as her daughters.

  “Rose, I need to talk to Mama.” Rose glanced at Nuala defiantly. Her younger sister never told her what to do. She started to say something but quickly snapped her mouth shut and left them alone.

  “Call me if you two need help.” She swept past Nuala with a questioning look, her heels clicking as she walked away.

  “Mama, maybe this isn’t the time.” Nuala glanced around. How would she broach the subject now that she had her mother’s attention?

  “You can start washing those dishes.” Magda wiped her hands on a cloth and gazed at her youngest child. “A disgrace to wear pants on a Sunday.”

  Nuala reached into the cabinet for an apron. She’d changed since Mass and wore slacks, a short sleeve silk blouse, and a sleeveless vest. “He’s asked me to marry him.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “He’s also enlisted. We talked about it and what it would mean.”

  “Enlisted!” Magda huffed and busied herself with the dishes. “I hate discussing it all.”

  “Mama, did you think the whole world would enlist, including his four brothers, and he wouldn’t?” Nuala shook her head and concentrated on scrubbing a pot.

  “I suppose you two will be the next two young fools to run to St. Joseph’s Church.” Magda opened the icebox and placed in her leftovers.

  “Why not? What’s wrong with Keith?” Nuala stopped scrubbing and faced her mother.

  “Nothing. He’s a nice young man, but you wanted to finish high school.”

  Nuala averted her eyes. She didn’t want to voice her suspicions to her mother. She hadn’t even told Keith that their suspicions were correct.

  “You have to understand what war is like. Marriage isn’t easy, even in ordinary times.” Magda shut the icebox with a thud and shot fiery eyes at her daughter. “There’s always a chance a young man might not come back—”

  “Don’t say that!” Nuala threw off the apron she’d tied around her waist and tossed it in a corner. She leaned against the wall as tears slid down her cheeks. Her mother’s words had more power to hurt than anyone else’s.

  Nuala could see that Magda immediately regretted her hasty words. Nuala knew her mother was somewhat superstitious and wouldn’t want her cruel comments to fall back on her sons. She also liked Keith and wished him no harm. Nuala could tell Magda liked him by the ready smile she gave when he came for a visit. Was her mother’s hurt simply because she didn’t want to lose Nuala? She’d always sensed that she was the most like her mother. Magda took Nuala in her arms. “Keith’s a fine young man, and I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “That’s like wishing it on him.”

  “Oh no, sweetheart, it’s no such thing. I’d never wish such a thing on any mother's son, least of all a fine young man like that. Oh, Nuala, Nuala, you are so sweet, so—how do you say it—echt. Ja, ja, genuine. Are you sure what you feel is love?”

  “What else would it be?”

  “Many things. Lust, for one.”

  “Mama!”

  “Well, have you done anything in that department yet?”

  “Mama!” Nuala stared open-mouthed at her mother. Magda had only discussed such things with her and Rose in the most evasive terms. Nuala hung her head. “Marriage may be necessary now, anyway.” She waited for the torrent of German swearing she guessed would follow and looked up when her mother was silent.

  “Are you sure?” Magda’s eyes brimmed with tears. She bit her lip.

  Nuala only nodded. She wanted to sink into the tile floor. Admitting her indiscretions to her mother was worse than facing a priest in the confessional. Magda had always stressed the need for women to retain their vestal modesty. Her pulse throbbed in her temple.

  “Look at me.” Magda lifted Nuala’s chin with her thumb and forefinger. “Does he know?”

  “I told him that I wasn’t sure. At the time I wasn’t, but you know how regular I am. He wanted to go to a justice of the peace the next day. I was the one who wanted him to be sure how he felt.” Nuala wiped a tear from her cheek. “Oh, Mama, I know you wanted me to finish high school. I’m sorry that won’t happen.”

  “Well, let’s leave that for now.” Magda beckoned for Nuala to join her at the kitchen table. The two women sat across from each other. “Do you think it could be pity you feel for him since he’s going to war?”

  Nuala started to laugh and held onto her mother. “Oh Mama, I’ve never felt like this. I’d gone to the pictures with different boys, but it’s never been like this.”

  Magda moved her chair nearer to Nuala and placed her arms on her daughter’s shoulders. “Okay, then let’s talk. I want to tell you about your name. I saw you were—how do you say it—angry with your brothers’ teasing and with Rose. You were, ja?”

  Nuala shrugged, downplaying her annoyance. “Not angry at them so much as with myself.” Her own doubts suddenly erupted from her lips. “I want to think I could do all those things I say, but I’ve never been as tough as Rose for all her going on and on about being feminine. I’ve never been able to stand up for myself like she can.”

  Magda grinned. “Your father calls her his spitfire.” She turned her attention to Nuala. “But you, you shouldn’t doubt yourself so much.”

  “What does this have to do with my name?” Nuala frowned, staring at her mother. “You said my name was Irish, but you never really told me the full story.”

  “I’m going to tell you now.” Magda leaned forward, elbows on the table. Her chin rested on her interlocked hands.

  “You said you met a girl when you and Daddy stayed in Ireland for a short time on the way back to the States. You said you admired her a great deal.” Nuala leaned forward too, her gaze not leaving her mother’s face. She sensed Magda had waited to reveal the story now for a reason.

  “I thought she was a remarkable woman, and I want to tell you why. She had a great deal of courage, like you. A great deal of loyalty to her family and friends. You’re marrying a soldier. You’ll need that, too. War means sacrifice, liebling.” Magda stared as if far away somewhere. “She was very beautiful, was Nuala.”

  “When were you and Papa in Ireland?” David rarely discussed his time overseas. When he talked of battles, he only spoke to his sons, and then only rarely. He never talked about any of that time in detail with his daughters.

  “Right after the war. We were on our way back. Your father married me on the base. The chaplain was a priest. Of course, we weren’t a rarity. Many American soldiers were marrying German brides. Of course, some people looked at them like they’d married the enemy, but luckily, Americans weren’t in the war for long. I don’t think America will be so lucky this time.” Magda wiped a tear from her eye. She blinked hard. “Foolish, foolish. It does no good.”

  Nuala sighed. She knew her mother often veered from the topic. “Mama, what about Nuala?”

  Magda leaned confidentially toward Nuala, settling in for a long story. “Well, we decided to take a little trip. We were at a base in England by then. Your father had to go through some debriefing there before he was free. We were in Liverpool. Some people told us not to go to Ireland. We were crazy to go into a war zone, but I wanted to go. I wasn’t as calm then as I am now. Besides, I was nervous about meeting your father’s family here. What would they think of me? Ireland was in a war that was both a civil war and against the British. The people who didn’t want the nation split were going against those who were not opposing the British plan. I wasn’t afraid. I’d already been through a war. I’d married an enemy. Your father had fought men in hand-to-hand combat. He doesn’t talk about that time with you, but we were adventurers.” She laughed wryly. “Can you believe that? We went to Ireland and just walked around. Bombs went off, but there was such beauty in the place.” Magda took her daughter’s hand in her own.

  Nuala kissed her mother’s hand. “Nuala, Mama.”

  “We met Nuala in a pub in Ireland. This was County Armagh. Back then, it was all Ireland, not the North and the Republic like you hear them say today. Nuala worked behind the bar. She was very beautiful, but her hair was really close-cropped. Shorter than girls wore their hair then.” Magda paused and then shook herself, as if returning from a reverie. “She was always very pleasant, but she never talked about the political situation. Most of the people in the bar were very into the politics of the place. I asked her about her hair one night when your father and I had gone into the pub for a drink. It was late, and I’d had a few drinks. Most of the time, I mind my business. You know that, liebling.”

  Magda abruptly stood and strode over to a cabinet under the sink and removed a pack of cigarettes and matches. She lit one and pushed the pack to Nuala. Fascinated by her mother’s tale, Nuala hardly noticed the cigarettes, nor did she have any inclination to express the surprise she would have. Magda took a deep draw on the cigarette. “Anyway, this Irish Nuala avoided my question. That struck me as strange because she’d always been rather talkative about popular things. A big fan of American jazz, that sort of thing. I thought it was strange she didn’t answer my question straight.”

  Nuala leaned forward, intrigued. She suddenly wondered if her father was aware of her mother’s habit and realized he wouldn’t have judged her if he had known. Nuala swallowed hard. “She died, didn’t she?”

  “One day, I thought I was walking into a restroom, but instead, I pushed open a door I shouldn’t have. Nuala, her husband Eamon, and some other people were placing guns into what looked like coffins. Instinctively, I knew I’d trespassed where I shouldn’t have. I backed out quickly. Later Nuala walked into the restroom when I was alone. She asked me if I valued how Eamon and she had treated us when we first came to Ireland.” Magda drew deep breaths as she inhaled. She tapped her ashes into an empty cup. “You see, he’d worked at the pub, too. Her Vater owned the pub, I think. Ja, it was a long time ago.” Magda paused, reflecting. “She begged me to keep quiet and told me that her hair was short was because she’d sneaked out messages. Nuala was opposed to the division. She was what they call, I think, a Republican. Anyway the other side caught her and realized the messages were in her hair. They pulled her hair out. It was only because Eamon and his friends found her in a warehouse somewhere that she survived. Eamon killed several men saving her. She was later killed in an ambush before we left.”

 

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