The Memoir of Johnny Devine (27 page)

“
There were no contacts,
as I’ve told you. And even if there were, my parents are dead and
neither my sister nor I know anything about it. We only just
recently discovered that our parents were Russian.”

“
Is that so?” The agent
smiled. “Funny thing is, the more time I spend looking into your
family, the harder I find it to believe in the growing number of
coincidences. Like your association with John Vincent. His Red file
keeps growing too.”

Eliza turned to him,
stunned. John had received calls asking him to name Hollywood
colleagues who were communists, sure, but were they now
accusing
him
of
communist activity?

“
But that’s another topic.
I won’t waste your time by laying out the details of our
investigation.”

“
Really? Then what
does
qualify as a good
reason to waste my time?”

He shifted in his seat to face her.

At such close proximity, Eliza could see the
tiny red veins in the agent’s eyes. Along with a disturbing amount
of zeal.

“
Just so you know, I’ve
received special commendations from McCarthy himself for flushing
out commies. Want to know why? I
watch
, Miss Peterson. That’s how I
find subversive activity. A classic rooskie tactic is to infiltrate
nice neighborhoods. Slip in quietly, looking like every other
American family. Kids, dog, whitewalls on the Buick, the
works.”

That picture could describe thousands of
families in neighborhoods all across the country.

“
It’s my job to know who
you are. But … let’s say I take your word for it and stop asking
about your family.”

Eliza would take the bait, of course—if not
for his expression. As if he was setting a hook to reel in the
biggest catch of his career. “And what do you want in exchange for
leaving us alone?”

“
You’re sharp. I almost
forgot about that college degree of yours.” He opened a briefcase,
took out a large manila envelope, and handed it to her. “This is
addressed to me. It’s even got postage, see here? You provide me
with a copy of Johnny Devine’s full manuscript, including the names
of his colleagues, his subversive activities, and commie
associations, the whole ball of wax. And this is just between us—he
doesn’t have to know. Then I make a note in your file about your
cooperation on this. That you’ve shown your willingness to do your
patriotic duty. Add some solid points to your defense.”

Give this man a copy of John’s manuscript?
All that flatfooting must have scrambled his brain. “You couldn’t
be more wrong about him.”

With a wave of his hand as if her opinion
was of no consequence, the agent shook his head and smiled. “No
need to confuse your pretty little head with complicated details.
Just send the manuscript, then you and your high-strung sister will
be seeing a whole lot less of me.”

I’ve
often asked, “Why now, God? Why not years ago, before
mistakes were made and damage was done?” But then, who but God
knows what might have been?

~
The Devine Truth: A Memoir

Friday
morning
, Millie opened the door for Eliza
and ushered her inside. Millie’s gait seemed a bit slower and the
catch in her step more pronounced. Probably from the change in
weather. Winter was only a few weeks away.

“
I sure hope that book
gonna be finished soon.” Millie took Eliza’s coat.

“
Why is that?”

Millie peered into the library, then turned
to Eliza with a somber headshake. “He just ain’t been hisself.
Bringin’ up all those old memories like to do him in, I
’spect.”

So even Millie had noticed the toll it was
taking on John. Yes, completing the book and moving on would be
best. For everyone’s sake.

She went to her desk. John was not in the
room, but she hadn’t really expected to see him. As much as she
hated to admit it, they had made tremendous progress with him doing
more of his own writing. And that was good, considering her latest
dilemma. Of course she would never consider giving a copy of John’s
book to that lunatic. As if duplicating an entire manuscript
without John’s knowledge was even possible. And if the agency did
get his book, who knew what those fanatics would read into it?
Robinson seemed to be on some kind of personal mission that went
beyond standard investigation. Besides, she could never do that to
John.

Perhaps it was time to let him know what was
going on. He wasn’t going to like the fact that the HUAC was now
linking the two of them together.

John had left his notebook on her desk with
two new pages, which she typed in no time.

She was just finishing the last few lines
when John came in.

“
Ah, I hope I haven’t left
you in suspense.” John seemed more relaxed than he had been in a
while. He even smiled, which sent goosebumps racing along Eliza’s
arms.

“
No, you’re just in time,”
she said. “And I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I need to
talk to you about.”

“
Of course. Are you all
right?”

Eliza nodded, warmed by his concern. “For a
while now, I’ve been followed and questioned by an agent from the
HUAC.”

John came to the settee near Eliza’s desk
and lowered himself onto it, facing her. “You too? Why didn’t you
say anything?”

“
I haven’t mentioned it
before because he keeps trying to say my parents were … spies, and
I’ve been trying to uncover the truth about them before he does.
I’m … not sure what I’m going to find.” She winced. This was harder
than she thought, hearing herself doubt her own parents aloud. She
went on about the agent following her and the things she had
learned about her parents, including the letters.

“
Is there a way to find
out if your aunt is still alive?”

“
I’ve sent a letter to the
return address in Russia. But her letter was written at least
thirty-five years ago. The country has been so war-torn, and since
Kat said she was relocating, I don’t expect anything to come of
that. It’s just a shot in the dark.”

“
We can pray,” John said.
“God can add divine guidance to your bullet.”

Eliza nodded. “That brings me to one of the
things I need to tell you. I’m hoping the Soviet Consulate can help
me locate any relatives in Russia who knew my parents. I don’t know
how else I can clear their names and get the agents to take me and
my sister off their list.”

John nodded. “Good idea. Do you think the
consulate has the information you need?”

Eliza shrugged. “I don’t
know, but I hope so. I spoke to someone who said I must come in
person. The trouble with
that
is …”

“
You can only go to the
consulate during the week.”

“
I’m afraid so.” She
studied his reaction, but his expression remained even, as usual.
“The good news is, it’s in San Francisco. The bad news is, the
process could take several days.”

“
By all means, take as
much time as you need. Do you want to stay near the consulate? Do
you need help paying for a hotel?”

Blushing at the idea of him paying for her
hotel room, she shook her head. “Thank you, but I can manage.”

“
All right.” John studied
her. “So you’ll go first thing Monday?”

“
Yes, if you don’t mind.
I’m sorry, I know you want to finish the book as quickly as
possible.”

“
Don’t give it a second
thought. I’d want to be doing something too, if I were you. I know
the kind of pressure those maniacs can apply. Believe me, I
understand.”

Which was probably a good time to tell him
that their files were now strapped together in Agent Robinson’s
briefcase. She looked him in the eye, but couldn’t get the words to
come. No matter how she said it, he was sure to be upset. Maybe
even blame her.

No. John was nothing like Ralph. He was
quite different. In fact, he was so—

John’s concerned expression returned. “What
is it?”

“
There’s something else,
and you’re not going to like it.”

“
Go on.” His eyes never
left her face.

“
I’m afraid that I’ve …
led them to you.”

He frowned. “To me? What do you mean?”

“
The agent cornered me on
the bus last night. He knows I’m working with you on your book. He
…” She stared at her fingers intertwined in her lap. “He asked me
to give him a copy of your manuscript.” She steeled herself for his
response and then looked up.

“
I see.” He glanced at the
pages stacked on Eliza’s desk.

“
Of course I would never
do it,” she said in a rush.

John met her gaze. “I know
that,” he said. With a sigh, he rose and went to the window.
“McCarthy’s lost his mind. He thinks
everyone
is a communist until proven
innocent. He and his minions will twist anything into evidence. And
it’s only gotten worse since the Rosenberg executions. Those agents
are like sharks. Once they taste blood …”

So the threat was worse than she thought.
“I’m truly sorry for getting you tangled up in my troubles.”

John turned to her, face softening. “You did
nothing of the sort. They’ve been badgering me for months. And
don’t worry, there’s nothing in my book that will implicate me or
anyone else.” He reached over and ruffled a corner of the stack of
typed pages, then shrugged. “Maybe I’ll just have Fred send them a
copy.”

Was he serious? Eliza could just imagine
Agent Robinson taking some minor detail in the book out of context
and twisting it into evidence against John.

“
Listen, if it will make
you feel better, I’ll talk to Fred Wharton. He’ll get his lawyers
on it. They know how to handle these guys. And in the meantime, try
not to worry. Okay?” He seemed so calm and confident.

If he wasn’t worried about the added
scrutiny, there was probably no sense in her worrying, either. She
studied his expression, just to be sure. “All right, I won’t
worry.” She forced more confidence into her smile than she
felt.

His gaze fell to her lips and lingered for a
moment, then another, then dropped to the floor.

Her heart skittered. How unfair that he
could do that to her without even saying a word.

“
I need to attend to
something,” he said, his brow furrowed. “Perhaps we could just
resume when you return next week. Do you mind?”

“
Of course not,” she said.
With the book so close to completion, was he no longer in a hurry
to finish it?

With a single nod, John turned and left
her.

That
afternoon, Eliza picked up a transit schedule to plan her
trip into San Francisco on Monday. It felt good to be doing
something proactive.

She spent Saturday working on her new
proposal, though she couldn’t finish revising the book until she
talked to Millie about her views on equality. As disturbed as Eliza
was about prejudice, was she truly showing the plight of the
oppressed accurately? Being a white, middle-class American, could
she really understand?

Eliza called Betty and shared her plans to
visit the consulate on Monday.

Betty was all for it,
especially after she’d explained the mission to Ed, who gave his
stamp of approval. It was good that Betty sought her husband’s
opinion and approval. But sometimes, Eliza wondered how happy her
sister and brother-in-law actually were. Of course, they
always
appeared
happy, which was of critical importance to Betty. Eliza just
hoped her sister had other goals in life besides keeping the garden
club ladies’ tongues from wagging.

Sunday morning, Eliza woke to Mr. Darcy
yowling at her door, apparently miffed by the fog. She hurried to
let him in, chuckling. “A little spoiled now, are we?”

The cat headed for his bowl, purring. Being
the night owl that he was, he’d become content to sleep in the
center of her ironing board during the day. He’d developed a habit
of sleeping with one eye open, and whenever she walked past the
ironing board, he would reach out a paw, and if she stood close
enough, he would tug her closer.

What was a little cat hair on her clothes
when such affection was to be had?

Full
surrender is frightening. It’s like taking a blind leap into
a deep hole, headfirst, hands tied behind your back. And yet,
ironically, total surrender to God brings peace, because His love
and mercy are bottomless.