Page 45 of The Book of Summer

“Whoops!” Ruby said, and rushed to retrieve it. “If not for the bush, we could’ve lost that one to the sea.”

“More likely the tennis court,” Hattie observed.

“Ruby Young Packard,” Mary chided. “You need to take more care. We might be under ration soon. Wool doesn’t grow on trees.”

“Nope. Sheep, I think,” Hattie said.

Mary shot daggers at them both. Here was the old Mary, pre–Red Cross style. Pigeons would soon start roosting on her shoulders.

“Mary, just sit down,” Ruby said.

Her sister-in-law gasped.

“Oh brother.”

“Ruby Packard, as I live and breathe,” Mary said. “Look at what you’ve made! Blankets and socks and knit caps.”

She bent to fetch one, appearing quite like a jackknife.

“These are marvelous.”

“Well, thank you.” Ruby blushed. “I still have room for improvement but at least I’ve accomplished something.”

“Yes, buckets of room for improvement. But I’m tickled! All this time we’ve been so worried about you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Oh, you know. Everybody.”

Hattie glanced up.

“Worried about her?” she said, jabbing a needle in Ruby’s direction. “Why?”

“Pish. No one’s concerned.”

“It’s the war.” Mary lowered her voice and plopped down onto a nearby ottoman. “Ruby was an isolationist as of last week.”

“Not an isolationist,” Ruby said. “And I haven’t changed my views, necessarily. Dang it! I dropped a stitch! Again!”

“Isolationist, huh?” Hattie smirked. “I didn’t take you for that kind of gal.”

“Listen, I don’t ascribe to one particular notion or another. I simply feel we should be cautious about the issues we get ourselves enmeshed in. More so when our involvement might result in casualties.”

“Might result?” Hattie balked. “Might’s gone clear out the window, doll. Just ask a European. Especially a queer or a Jew.”

“That’s quite enough of that talk, Miss Rutter,” Mary said. “Let’s just be glad that Ruby is finally seeing things in the correct light. I know her husband is pleased as pie.”

“My husband?” Ruby said. “And how did you get his take? I don’t recall you two exchanging much more than table salt.”

Old Talon-hands,Ruby could almost hear Sam say. Her husband was inexorably polite, but Mary Young was not a person whom he could abide. A walking cadaver, he called her. All the charm of a lamppost.

“The information came to me secondhand,” Mary said. “Philip met up with Sam and Topper for lunch last week. In Boston. Have you heard the latest? Topper’s scratched the naval career concept. He wants to be an airman.”

“Hold on.” Ruby blinked. “Topper? And Sam? In the same room? Voluntarily and without my aid? This war’s good for something, apparently.”

“Heavens, Ruby! What a thing to say!”

Just then Miss Macy and Mrs. Brooks pattered out onto the veranda.