The Great Husband Hunt (7 page)

“How proud your father would have been,” she whispered, and her eyes quite shone.

The very next day Miss Ruby was sent for. She was an unfortunate person who had lost her money through unwise investments and so was forced to do mending and alterations for good families. After a brief discussion with Ma, Miss Ruby provided me with a basket of sludge-brown wool and a lesson in turning heels. I was to be a knitter of socks for the American Expeditionary Force.

I confided in Honey my hopes that I might have been sent to the front line.

“There are many important ways to serve,” she said. “I shall be very glad of your help at my War Orphans Craft Bazaar, for instance.”

I said, “But I wanted to go to France.”

“And what use would you be to anyone there?” she asked.

I reminded her that I had studied French for four years, but she laughed.

“Looking into French books doesn't signify anything, you goose,” she said. “Minnie Schwab went to Paris and she found they spoke something quite unintelligible. Besides, if you went away who would take care of Ma?”

I said, “She has Reilly. Or she could stay with you.”

“Isn't that a rather selfish scheme, Poppy,” she said, “to think of uprooting her from her own home?”

Somehow, at the age of nearly twenty, I managed to be both useless and indispensable. My country didn't need me, my mother couldn't spare me, and the French would not be able to understand me. I knitted socks in such a fury of frustration, Miss Ruby could barely keep me supplied with yarn.

We suffered almost immediate casualties. Our parlor maid and housemaid had conspired to inconvenience us by leaving together to work in a factory. Then Sherman Ulysses's day nurse volunteered for the signal corps, and Ma, in the spirit of sharing during a time of national emergency, offered Honey the use of our Irish. Honey wasn't sure. She and Harry wished their son to be cared for by a person of the highest caliber, someone who would truly understand the ways of an exceptional four year old. My nephew was exceptional in a number of ways. His speech was still immature and when he failed to make himself understood he would lie on the floor and hold his breath until he erupted into a howling rage. “Num num,” he'd sob piteously, “num num.” And all around him would try to guess, with the utmost urgency, what he was trying to convey. Also, though he knew perfectly well how to sit nicely on extra cushions and use his spoon and pusher and drink neatly from a cup, he did not always choose to do so.

“I don't know, Ma,” Honey said. “Does your Irish know anything about children?”

“Of course she does,” Ma said. “The Irish are never fewer than thirteen to a family.”

Still Honey dithered, driving Ma to become unusually testy with her.

“I must remind you, Honey,” she said, “that war requires sacrifice. And if I am prepared to make my sacrifice you might be gracious enough to accept it.”

All of this turned out to have been futile because when the Irish was sent for, to be given new orders, she had her coat on, ready to go to Westchester County and be a wartime fruit picker and leave us in the lurch.

Ma was beside herself, but the Irish was fearless.

“'Tis to free up the men, d'you see ma'am?” she said. I studied her as she said it, and often rehearsed to myself later how she had told this to Ma, as cool as you like, and then simply walked out of the door.

It took a week for Ma and Honey to regroup and decide there was a simple choice. Either Reilly had to be seconded to the part-time care of Sherman Ulysses or Honey must suffer a total collapse. Reilly was called upstairs.

She said it was bad enough managing without a girl to help her downstairs, without having to run to another house and play nursemaid. She said she couldn't see the justice of being asked to do the work of three for the wages of one, and not very generous wages at that. She said she thought herself quite unsuitable for the care of a small child on account of an ungovernable temper.

“Then you must learn to master it, Reilly,” Ma said. “Think of it as your war effort.”

Two things occurred to me. The first was that Reilly had a newly defiant look about her. I sensed she would only endure this latest imposition for as long as it took her to make other arrangements. The second was that when she disappeared I might well acquire a new set of shackles. I might have to learn to cook and clean. I might have to endure the flailing feet and slimy top lip of Sherman Ulysses in full spate.

10

No one paid afternoon calls anymore. Mrs. Lesser and Mrs. Schwab were busy meeting troop trains with coffee and cigarettes, one of the Misses Stone was driving for the Motor Corps, and the other was speaking at Liberty Loan rallies when she could spare time from helping the unfortunates. As for Aunt Fish, she had become the very paragon of a committee woman.

Monday was Milk for Polish Babies, Tuesday was the Maimed Soldier Fund, Wednesday was Trench Comfort Packets and Thursdays she alternated French Orphans with Plows for Serbia. The Blue Cross Association were anxious to capture her for their Suffering Horses and Disabled Army Dogs Committee, but Ma counseled against taking on any more.

“You will prostrate yourself, Zillah,” she said, “and however deserving the cause, you may be sure it's not worth paying for it with your health. Besides, think of Israel. When a man comes home to an empty hearth every night…”

But Uncle Israel was busy, too, with his War Relief Clearing House and I believe he found, as I did, that my aunt was improved by war. It distracted her with practical problems and filled her address book with new acquaintances.

“Mrs. Elphick,” she reported, “proposed that we add sewing machines to the list, and Mrs. Bayliss seconded the proposal.”

Ma played with the fringed edge of the tablecloth and yawned.

“And then Miss Landau suggested…” Miss Landau now featured prominently in Aunt Fish's conversation.

“Such a genuine person,” Aunt Fish would prattle. “Quite tireless, and so generous with her time. And helping to raise her nephews, too, since her sister was so cruelly taken. They were Philadelphia Landaus, I believe, and her sister was married to Jacoby the furrier. Only thirty-five when…” Here Aunt Fish would lower her voice. “…it was an obstruction of the internal parts, and she might have been saved if only she had given in sooner to the pain.”

“Yes,” Ma would reply, “I believe you told me a dozen times already. Fatigue must be making you forgetful.”

It was the tireless and genuine Miss Landau who lured Aunt Fish through the door of something called the B'nai Brith Sisterhood, and soon afterwards, onto its war relief committee.

“Don't look at me that way, Dora,” Aunt Fish said.

“I begin to wonder,” Ma said, “why you troubled arguing with Israel about names, if you're now willing to associate so freely with racial factions.”

Uncle Israel had refused to become a Fairbanks, but my aunt had had her cards changed anyway. Harry had given her a special price.

I said, “Is B'nai Brith German then?”

Aunt Fish laughed. “No, Poppy,” she said. “It's just a silly old name.”

With Reilly dispatched to look after Sherman Ulysses every day between the hours of ten and three, Ma had taken upon herself responsibility for preparing luncheon. This led to a series of mishaps with knives, hot pans, gravy browning and corn starch and to a consequent shortage of anything edible between breakfast and dinner. I was hungry, all the time, and I had sore elbows caused, Ma decided, by immoderate knitting.

I said, “Perhaps now I could do something else for the war?”

“Yes,” she said. “Perhaps you could. You have really applied yourself most commendably to socks, so I believe you have earned a change.”

I was so buoyed by the prospect of being sent to France at last, to patrol my wards by lamplight, and adjust the pillows for dashing lieutenants, that I stole two slices of cake and allowed myself to be caught with the second piece jammed sideways in my mouth. Ma had in her hand the official Red Cross list of required items.

“Hot-water bottle covers,” she said. “I dare say they are quite easy to make. Or warming wristlets. And Poppy, you might bear in mind that like charity, the war effort begins at home. Reilly is with us so little now we have given her to Honey, and cake doesn't grow on trees.”

But Reilly and Sherman Ulysses's reign of mutual torture was almost at an end. In September Sherman announced, “Shernum kicked fat Yiley, ha ha,” and Reilly announced she was going to New Jersey to make hand grenades and not to bother keeping her position open.

Ma replied stiffly that she hadn't intended to, and then went to lie down with a vinegar compress, while Reilly packed up her few poor things.

I felt something in me change. A page turned, or a cloud passed. I couldn't quite say. But sitting alone in the parlor, waiting to hear Reilly's footsteps on the back stairs, everything seemed to be shifting and stirring, and I liked it. I heard her door close and then the thunk of her valise on the stairs.

I stationed myself in the stairhall and smoothed down my skirt. She paused a moment when she saw me blocking her way, but then she came on down and took the hand I offered her.

I said, “I wish you well, Reilly. I'm proud to think you'll be doing such important work.”

“You get board and lodging,” she said. “And a day off every week. And it's only a bus ride into Atlantic City.”

I suppose she thought I might ask her to change her mind.

She said, “I can't stay cooking for two and nursemaiding a child that's never been corrected. There's a war on.”

We shook hands.

I said, “I shall soon be doing war work myself.”

I had no idea where those words sprang from. Perhaps it was the thought of knitting wristlets.

As soon as Reilly was gone, I put on my cloth jacket and took the elevated railway all the way to Exchange Place. Uncle Israel was most surprised to see me, but not a bad kind of surprised.

“Someone give you a bang on the head, Pops?”

Uncle Israel always deemed himself something of a humorist.

I said, “It's a turban. I designed it myself. Uncle, I want to do some proper war work.”

I explained that our Irish had gone fruit-picking and Reilly was on her way to a munitions town and everyone in the world seemed to have something to do except me.

“I guess you heard about your cousin Addie?” he said. “I guess that's what's brought this on?”

I always loved my uncle Israel but that day even he seemed condescending. I couldn't endure any more. I banged my fist on his desk and he jumped a mile in the air.

“Nothing has brought it on,” I shouted, “except a war. A great big war where everyone else is doing good works and having fun but I'm not allowed. I'm a grown-up but I'm still obliged to stay home with Ma. It's not fair!”

Simeon the secretary put his head around the door, ready to eject me I dare say or bring in a glass of restorative brandy, or place his skinny body between Uncle Israel and any physical danger. Uncle waved him away.

He was quiet for a moment, weighing up, I suppose, where his loyalties lay. I gave him a little help. I said, “Even Aunt Fish is doing a hundred different things so I'm sure it wouldn't hurt for me to make myself useful.”

“Pops,” he said. “If you want to do your bit you won't find me standing in your way. Not at all. Your pa would have been proud.”

I said, “That's what Ma said about the socks. But I'm through with knitting.”

“Quite right,” he said, “quite right. Well, I wonder what I can do to help?”

How banging on a person's desk can make them change their tune.

I said, “I need you to ask someone. You know lots of people. Tell them I'm a very good worker and I'm available to start immediately. And I know French. And I'm not afraid of blood.”

I didn't think I was afraid of blood.

Uncle Fish stood up and put on his top hat.

“This calls for some thought,” he said, “and thinking calls for lunch.”

So he offered me his arm, and Simeon stood back as I swept by him, in case of continuing fireworks. We went to Child's restaurant for corned beef hash and fried eggs.

I asked about Cousin Addie. Cousin Addie, he told me, was quite the talk of Duluth. She had tried to join the marines, but when she realized all they were offering was work as a stenographer, she had used strong language to the recruiting sergeant and then gone directly to the bank to organize her own war work.

She had bought four large gasoline-powered vehicles for a mobile hospital and was having them shipped to France at her own expense. Better yet, she was going with them. I was hurt that Cousin Addie hadn't thought to invite me along. Especially as I'd written her a letter and explained we were made of the same stuff. Her mobile hospital was going to have an operating theater, with its own lighting generator and a laundry and a disinfection unit, and it was all in trucks that could be driven to forward positions. Uncle Israel said she wouldn't see change out of twelve thousand dollars.

I asked him if I had twelve thousand dollars.

“Not yet,” he said. “Have some peach pie. Girls like pie.”

But I was eager to be off to the Red Cross. It seemed to me that once they realized I was kin to Addie Minkel of Duluth I'd be on the next boat to France.

I said, “Uncle, how long would you say it might take a person to learn to drive a truck?”

“Pops,” he said, “I'm going to introduce you to Max Brickner's wife at Surgical Dressings. I can't be party to anything that might lead to getting shelled or sunk, so don't ask me. As it is, I have the feeling I'm never going to hear the end of this from your ma. And anything that incommodes Dora has a habit of turning right round and incommoding me.”

Red Cross headquarters was all comings and goings. Telephones rang, vehicles arrived and left, and Isabel Brickner's hair had worked loose from its pins.

“Of course I can use you,” she said. “Why don't you answer that telephone?”

I took a message about surgical scrubs while Mrs. Brickner searched for shipment manifests and sent an avalanche of papers onto the floor. Uncle Israel looked on, smiling.