The Yellow Packard (36 page)

He hung up before she could say anything else. His call had angered her, but it had also given her an idea. She picked up a notebook and started to writing down a series of questions. Tomorrow she was going to not just comfort her fifth graders about the devastating effects of the attack, but she would also challenge them to think about the cost of war.

Chapter 70

I
don’t want you to enlist,” Beverly pleaded. “You’ve got Angel to think about. This year has been the best in our lives. She’s healthy again, and she needs her dad. There are school plays and programs and homework, and you need to be there for all of those things. This is the most important time for you to be the father I know you can be.”

As he searched the bedroom for his gloves, he answered, “I want to be that kind of father, too, but this is bigger than us. This war is going to be won by men like me who know how to fly. I can go into this battle as an officer. I’ll have good money to send home while I’m also doing my part for this country. You shouldn’t want to stop me from doing that.”

“But, Nate, there are hundreds of men like you; let them go.”

He smiled as he found his gloves on a shelf in the closet. They were just where he had left them. Stuffing the gloves into his coat pocket he turned back to his wife and explained, “Those men
will
go, just like me.”

“But who’s going to do the work here?” she demanded. “Who’s going to build all those planes and tanks? Who’s going to deliver the mail? Who’s going to stock the shelves? Someone has to stay home and make the things needed for war and do all the jobs the men are leaving behind.”

He gently squeezed her shoulders as he looked directly into her dark eyes. “The women will step up. Across the Atlantic they are working in the factories, at the post office, in shops … They are doing the work men used to do while their husbands are off fighting. And retired folks will be going back to work, too. That’s the only way we can win.”

He grabbed his billfold and began to pull out scraps of paper. One by one he read them before tossing them onto the bed.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“I’ve got a phone number of a major in the Army Air Corps. He was a passenger a couple of months ago. He’s the guy I need to talk to. With my background and flying experience, I should be in line to become an officer.”

Beverly shook her head. She was beaten and she knew it. There was no use arguing with him. Nate was going to join. He might even be gone before Christmas.

Why, when everything had become so perfect, did it all have to fall apart?

Chapter 71

March 10, 1942

B
everly had been working at Motl Aviation for six weeks. Before the war started she’d never seen herself as a retail clerk or a secretary, much less a line worker in a factory. But the more she’d thought about Nate’s words, the more she became convinced she needed to do her part. Beyond knowing that she was building the very bombers her husband would be flying in Europe, the company took excellent care of the children of employees. A bus hired by Motl took the children to a neighborhood school and picked them up at day’s end, bringing all the kids back to child-care facilities right on the plant site. With the school just three blocks away and the child-care program less than fifty yards down a long hall, Beverly felt as though she was never separated from Angel.

It made it easier that Angel loved school and really enjoyed the time after school hours playing with kids her own age whose mothers also worked at the factory. In a very real sense, because the girl was so social, Angel was happier than she’d ever been just playing by herself at home. And though Beverly knew her little girl missed her father, the letters they received always made both of them smile. So things weren’t as bad as she imagined they would be.

It was just past five. Beverly had already punched out and was heading down the hall toward the child-care department when someone called her name.

“Mrs. Coffman.”

She turned and noted a slightly heavyset, older woman hurrying down the hall in her direction. Though she didn’t know the woman’s name, she recognized her from the lunchroom.

“Mrs. Coffman,” the woman called out again. By the time she was next to Beverly the stranger was out of breath from her sprint down the hall. “I’m Clara Baker. I work on assembly line B. My daughter, Jenny, and your daughter, Angel, play together every day.”

“Mrs. Baker, so nice to meet you. I’ve met Jenny. She is a wonderful young girl. Angel loves her.”

“Thank you,” Clara replied. “I hate to ask you this, but we had an issue on my line today, and I need to work another four hours so we can catch up. I was wondering, as they don’t keep child-care open late, if you could take my Jenny home with you tonight. If you give me your address, I could pick her up later.”

“Sure,” Beverly replied, “Angel would love to have her over.” She pulled a pencil and an old envelope from her purse to scribble down her address and telephone number.

“Thank you,” Clara said, tucking the envelope into her uniform pocket once she handed it to her. “I’ll walk with you to child care so I can tell Jenny where she’s going.”

Jenny seemed genuinely excited as they left the plant and strolled out to the parking lot. She and Angel were giggling as they waltzed along rows of cars. Beverly ushered them to the fourth row and directed them to the right. Halfway to the fence sat their Packard.

Seeing the car, Jenny smiled. “Is that yours?”

“It sure is,” Angel told her. “My daddy bought it for us.”

Beverly unlocked and opened the front driver’s side door, climbed in, and released the lock on the back door. Angel crawled into the rear seat. When the woman looked at her daughter for an explanation, the girl piped up with words that made Beverly very proud. “You always say we are supposed to give the best things to our guests. Jenny is our guest, so she should ride in the front seat.”

Beverly smiled and waved her hand toward the front door. Jenny grinned, pushed her dark blond hair away from her face, and climbed in. Closing the door, the woman hurried around to the other side.

The drive home was uneventful. The girls talked about school, clothes, and radio shows. They were three blocks from the Coffman’s home in Wilmette, when the conversation moved to dolls.

“I’ve got a doll that cries,” Angel bragged.

“I’ve got a couple of dolls,” Jenny replied. “They don’t cry, but one of them has eyes that close.”

“That’s neat,” Angel enthusiastically noted.

“But dolls aren’t my favorite toys,” Jenny explained. “You know what is?”

“No. What?”

Beverly pulled into their drive. Parking the Packard, she shut off the engine and reached for her purse that was sitting between her and Jenny. Just as she did, the little girl placed her hand under the corner of the seat. The bemused woman watched as their guest felt carefully along the seat’s edge. A growing smile indicated she’d found what she was looking for. Jenny pulled her hand up and showed the woman two magnetic Scotty dogs. They were small enough the little girl could hide them in her fist. One was black and the other white.

“Watch what they do.” Jenny almost laughed. “See when I put them nose to nose they look like they’re fighting.”

“Wow,” Angel exclaimed. “That’s swell! Let’s go inside and play with them.”

“Okay,” Jenny agreed as she reached for the door handle.

“Just a second,” Beverly quietly said. “Before we get out, I need to ask a question.”

Both girls looked at the obviously confused and curious woman. “Jenny, how did you know the dogs were under the seat?”

“I put them there,” she immediately explained.

The woman considered the answer. She didn’t know how the girl could have put them there. Yes she’d walked around the car in the plant parking lot, but Beverly had been watching Jenny during that time. She had been standing talking to Angel. Beverly was sure of that.

“Jenny,” Beverly asked, “when did you put them under the seat?”

“A long time ago,” came the puzzling response. “My real mommy gave them to me.”

The woman had no idea what to ask next, so she opened the door and followed the kids into the house. Yet, as she watched the girls play with Jenny’s favorite toys, the troubling question as to how they got into her car and on the bottom of the seat frame continued to prick her mind. Try as she could, she just couldn’t let it go. This was a mystery that she had to get to the bottom of, and she figured there was one sure way to do it.

Chapter 72

I
hope she wasn’t too much trouble,” Clara said as she stepped into the Coffman’s home.

“No,” Beverly assured her, “she was wonderful. The girls are up in Angel’s room playing with one of her dolls. Why don’t you come into the living room and warm up a bit? It’s cold out tonight.”

“It sure is,” she agreed, following her host across the foyer. “I didn’t know the temperature was going to drop like it did. Chicago is just a lot colder than I’m used to.”

Beverly pointed to a large, green chair, and after Clara sat down, Beverly eased onto the corner of the couch. As she did, she reached down to the coffee table and picked up the dog toys. Her guest’s eyes followed her movement, but they registered no signs of recognition upon lighting on the toys.

“Have you ever owned a Packard?” Beverly asked.

“Heavens, no.” Clara laughed, emphasizing her answer with a big wave of her hand. “I’ve never even ridden in one.”

“Have you ever owned toys like this?” Beverly asked, opening her fist to reveal the black and white dogs.

“No,” Clara answered. “I’ve seen them but never owned any. Why do you ask?”

Pulling her fist shut, Beverly explained, “Because you daughter found them in our car. She told us she put them there, and they were hers.”

Suddenly the heavyset woman bolted from the chair as if she had been given a jolt of electricity. Even before she was completely upright she hollered, “Jenny, it’s almost ten. We have to get home.” She then slipped her gloves on and looked toward her host. “Thank you again for taking care of my girl.”

“Clara,” Beverly softly but firmly replied, “you didn’t answer my question. How did your daughter know these dogs were in our Packard?”

“Where is that girl?” Clara said nervously.

“I’m here,” came the answer. A second later Jenny appeared. She’d already slipped her coat on and was buttoning it up.

“We need to go,” Clara said, grabbing the little girl’s arm and pulling her toward the door.

“I have to get my toys,” Jenny argued, pointing toward the dogs that Beverly was holding in her open palm.

“Those aren’t yours,” the woman snapped.

“Yes, they are,” Jenny answered, digging her heels into the carpet. “And I want them.”

Still holding the girl with her left hand, Clara pulled back her right and brought it sharply across Jenny’s face. If it stunned the girl, she didn’t show it, nor did she cry.

A shocked Beverly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t prepared for what had just transpired.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” Angel said.

“Listen, you little brat,” Clara barked, “Jenny lied, and she needed to be taught a lesson. Maybe you do, too.”

Frightened, Angel rushed past the woman and behind her mother. A second later, the door slammed shut.

Chapter 73

B
everly remained unsettled for the rest of the night and all the next day. She couldn’t get the events of the preceding evening out of her mind. They ate at her like a hungry dog gnawing on a bone. The fact that Clara had slapped Jenny was less troubling than the woman’s response to the toy dogs. There was something wrong, but Beverly had no idea what to do about it. After all, was it really any of her business anyway? She barely knew the woman or the child. Yet as much as she tried to convince herself the situation wasn’t something that should concern her, she couldn’t shake it. It consumed her thoughts while she worked that day. At lunch she even tried to find Baker in the cafeteria and ask about the toys again. She later convinced herself that it was good she hadn’t found the woman.

As she and Angel drove home, Beverly remained mute, allowing the radio’s music to entertain her daughter. Finally, after ten minutes of silence, Angel turned down the volume and said, “I sure wish Jenny had been at school today.”

“She wasn’t there?” Beverly asked.

“She wasn’t at the child-care room either,” Angel explained. “Maybe her face hurt too much.”

Her daughter’s words stung. Yes, this was her business. Making a right turn, she drove around the block and headed back for the plant. Leading Angel by the hand, she crossed the parking lot, entered the main building, and took an elevator up to the third floor. She walked down a hall and into the personnel department, where she flashed her work badge and made a very innocent inquiry.

“I need to have the address of one of the line workers—Clara Baker. I took care of her daughter for her last night, and little Jenny left her favorite toy at our house. I need to return it.”

An elderly, white-haired woman with large glasses glanced up from her duties. She studied the badge and then Beverly before asking, “What was that name again?”

“Clara Baker.”

Getting up from her desk, she waddled across the room to a file cabinet. She opened a drawer, leafed through the contents for a few seconds then, pulling a pencil from its resting place on top of her ear and a piece of paper from her pocket, jotted down the information. Closing the cabinet, she waddled back and announced, “Here it is. Seems like a lot of trouble for a toy.”

“Thank you,” Beverly said, grabbing the paper and looking at the address. It appeared to be an apartment house in Evanston. It would only be a few blocks off their regular route home. But even if it had been twenty miles out of their way, she would have gone that distance, too. She was suddenly that deeply troubled.

“Come on, Angel.”

“Are we going to visit Jenny?”