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9

Cadence

1942

W e held another book club meeting the next morning, since Margaret had completed a lengthy series of discussion questions we hadn’t gotten to, which caused Bess to scribble me a series of notes saying she wanted to change our address and not tell Margaret. At least Gram had baked some of her Surprise Cookies for us. Those were always a big hit, since each cookie contained a whole chocolate wafer baked inside, resulting in a rapturous comingling of brown sugar and crunch. Thank goodness Gram was a genius at bartering, doing any number of small jobs in exchange for sugar and flour coupons.

We gathered at the kitchen table, for easy access to milk for the cookies. Briar again did not attend, but Gram was there with us and, being a fast reader like my mother, had finished The Song of Bernadette in a flash. How good it was to be in that kitchen, so cozy. Long ago, Grandpa Smith had built that room with his own two hands, an addition onto the back of the house, out of pine from our woods. He wasn’t the best carpenter in the world, and it was uninsulated, so it was cold in the winter, but it almost doubled the size of the house, and we spent most of our waking hours there.

After a short but rousing book discussion, we circled back to our philanthropic agenda.

I took a second cookie and bit into it, realizing the actual surprise was how many you could eat in one sitting.

“I was thinking,” I said. “We know the troops want books but can’t carry them in their packs. What if we made a size that they could bring with them everywhere?”

“Like a paperback?” Bess asked. “They already make those.”

“Even thinner,” I said. “Like a pamphlet, but a full-length book. It would fit in even the fullest pack.”

“I suppose,” Bess said. “You’d need something like tissue paper, though.”

Gram shuffled through a kitchen drawer and then lobbed a pad of her airmail stationery onto the table. “Can you type onto this?”

It wouldn’t be perfect, but at least it would get the idea across.

“I could draw the cover,” Bess said.

“I can type, too,” Margaret said. “I broke all the records in my correspondence class.”

For such a mild-mannered person, Margaret had a braggy side, and I was starting to share Bess’s irritation with her.

“Too bad we didn’t have an Emerson one to give Tom before he left,” Gram said.

We wrote six prospective titles on slips of paper and tossed them into Gram’s empty red cookie jar, and Gram did the honors.

“ The Sun Also Rises, ” Gram read from the slip of paper.

“Hemingway it is,” Bess said.

We spent the next seven hours making our little prototype. Margaret read the text aloud from my personal copy, a well-loved first edition I’d found at a thrift shop, while Bess sketched a matador and bull as a possible cover. Gram fueled it all by making us cheese sandwiches and iced teas.

“If we get this done, can we bring it to the USO dance tomorrow night?” Bess asked. “Maybe Major Gilbert will be there and will take it straight to the top. Bet he’s a good dancer.”

I kept my gaze on my typing, all the anger coming back. He was the last person in the world I wanted to see.

—

It took us all the next day to finally finish our prototype, and it was dark by the time Bess and I flagged down one of the Fisher boys for a ride to the USO dance. The three of us sat up front, me in the middle, the music turned up, and heard the commentator break in with news of Japanese advances in the Pacific.

Ever since Pearl Harbor the previous December, the whole nation had been on edge, and we all huddled in the parlor each day, listening to Roosevelt’s chats; it seemed that Germany alone was an overwhelming force, never mind Japan. And Italy, too. I pushed away thoughts of Tom sailing across the Atlantic to who-knew-where in Europe. Tom would want us to have some fun tonight. I felt in my pocket for the little book we’d made. Bess’s cover had turned out so well—she’d drawn the matador and bull from memory, having been to the largest bullfighting arena in Spain, Las Ventas, with her governess.

By the time we made it to Main Street, the USO hall was lit up and packed with couples dancing, as the strains of “Serenade in Blue” eased out into the sweet night air. Those dances were getting a reputation. Gram didn’t even let Briar walk by the USO and look in while a dance was going on; she made me drop her off at the underage get-togethers, held on Wednesdays and Fridays in the Jive Hive, above Association Hall. I’d stopped taking her there, though, since Briar went reluctantly and sat, wearing sunglasses and a trench coat, reading war magazines, while her peers danced and played checkers.

The USO hall was thick with cigarette smoke, and the scent of shortbread and coffee made my stomach growl as Bess led the way toward the punch table. I looked forward to relaxing a little. Maybe Bess and I would dance with a couple of GIs or, better yet, dance together, since we knew we’d be safe from our toes being trod upon, liquor breath, and wandering hands.

We edged past girls talking with men dressed in every sort of uniform. The island was chock-full of servicemen, from the shooting range at Katama, to the Army station at Peaked Hill, to the new Navy airfield being built in the middle of the island to train aviators to land on aircraft carriers in the Pacific.

We danced a little together and got some punch.

“It’s more crowded in here than Brooks Brothers at Christmas.” Bess searched the room. “I don’t see your future husband.”

“It’s just as well. He’s such a killjoy. Maybe it was the boarding school they all went to so young, where they probably were bullied and worse. Though you are a product of it, and you’re not a horrible boor.”

I felt a presence behind me and turned to find Major Gilbert there. Had he heard me? What difference would it make? I was fine with him knowing how I felt.

Bess offered her confident, wealthy-person handshake. “Good to see you again, Major.”

It was a shame he was such a lout, because he really was a fine-looking human, and that wasn’t just the punch talking. The uniforms made all the soldiers more handsome by half, but in the case of Major Gilbert it was quadrupled, and the girls in the room openly stared at him.

He shook Bess’s hand and then nodded to me. “Miss Smith. You’re looking well. Staying off the roads?” Was he hoping to sweep our acrimonious past under the rug for the sake of public civility?

I returned the nod. “We drive on the right side of the road, Major. Just a reminder.”

“No arguments here.”

“So have you decided if you’re going to allow my family to protect our livelihood or let us descend into poverty?”

He looked around the room. “Usually, I greet acquaintances before launching into…whatever this is.”

I sipped my punch. “Well, you’re in America now, Major.”

“Indeed.”

He stepped closer and leaned down to speak in my ear over the music, and I breathed in his essence, of starch and bay rum. “You might like to know, I’m thinking about directing my men to go around your lower field.”

“Oh.” I looked up at him. “Since when?”

“Captain Feldman over at Camp Edwards suggested I consider it.”

I smiled. “Oh, your boss made you.”

“Not exactly my boss, but he has an idea that he thinks will help community relations.”

I studied my empty punch cup. “I see.”

“Wanted me to ask if you could…” He searched the crowd. Clearly, it was hard for him to beg a favor. “He’d like to know if you’d write something good in your column for us.”

It was fun seeing him squirm. “Depends on the event, I suppose.”

“He has a particular one he’d like to highlight, actually. He wishes to speak to you directly about it. You may have read that some war exercises will be taking place here. Overrunning the island, perhaps.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’d like to solicit the help of the good folks here.”

“So he wants me to write about the maneuvers to make sure people are okay with their land being flattened?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“I’m sure you see the irony here, Major. How can I request that of my readership when my own land is being trampled? You’ll have to do more than think about redirecting your men.”

He studied the dancers and then returned his gaze to me. “Fine. I’ll make sure they don’t cross your fields. But you need to make a genuine appeal. Feldman is worried that the citizens here will raise bloody hell about their gardens getting trod upon by the maneuvers.”

“These islanders are more patriotic than that, Major. But I suppose I can do as he wishes.”

He seemed relieved. “May I give him your number to ring?”

Bess handed me a slip of paper and a pencil.

“And maybe I’ll think of something good to say about you, too, Major,” I said.

He finished his punch. “That may take some doing.” He looked at me and I met his eyes, barely able to look away. Despite evidence to the contrary, I knew we both felt a similar pull of attraction. I’d felt it before from men, like the urgent energy of excited bees.

He scanned the room. “You could say I’m a convert to the idea of my men reading.”

“Why the sudden change?”

“I still stand by my belief that they can’t bring books into battle, but I have to say there have been many fewer fights among the men since you brought those books.”

“How big of you to admit you were wrong, Major.”

He sipped his punch, his gaze on mine. “Even if a horrible boor?”

A warm flush crept up my neck, and I busied myself jotting down my phone number on the paper. “I can also admit when I’m wrong, Major.” I handed him my number.

He took it and started to reply, when a blond woman inserted herself into our threesome.

“There you are,” she said. “I’m famished, and they only offer sweets and punch. Do let’s go.”

And was it my imagination or was the major disappointed at her arrival? Surely she’d seen me hand him my number.

The major nodded toward her. “Miss Smith and Miss Stanhope, may I present my friend Amelia Wilmont?”

Bess and I just stood there and took her in, overwhelmed by her presence. I’d never met an Englishwoman before, unless you counted Virginia Woolf and Emily Bronte between the pages of their books. She was nothing like what I’d envisioned an English rose might be, more Teutonic than Tudor, built with good hips for childbirth, as Gram might say. She wore her platinum-blond hair smoothed back into a low chignon, and seeing her dressed in her ballet-pink skirt and crisp white blouse, her low Capezio heels barely broken in, sapped my strength.

I shook her hand, regretting my choice of saddle shoes and gray pleated skirt. “From the UK?”

“Here writing for the BBC.”

I tried not to stare but could barely take my eyes off her pearl stud earrings, so simple and chic.

“Nice earrings,” Bess said.

“I’m mad about South Sea pearls.” Amelia stroked one earlobe.

“From a South Sea factory, maybe,” Bess murmured to me.

“Well, isn’t she just extraordinary?” Bess asked Gil. “Cadence is a writer, too, Amelia. Has a very successful column in the Gazette. ”

I wanted to run from the building, being compared to the almighty Amelia.

“You don’t say?” Amelia asked, trying hard to look interested. “They asked me to do a story on this little island out here on the front lines. Thought it was a good excuse to see Gilbert.”

A black snake of envy slithered in me.

“That’s Cadence’s dream,” Bess said. “To write and live in a major metropolis.” She sent Major Gilbert a pointed look. “She’d love London, I’m sure.”

“New York City, hopefully, one day,” I said.

Amelia brushed a phantom speck off her sleeve. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

“Amelia makes it all seem easy,” the major said. “Even the queen is a fan.”

Amelia smiled at him. “She does have good taste.”

“How do you know Major Gilbert?” Bess asked her.

“Interviewed him after he escaped from a German POW camp.”

I turned to Major Gil. “You were captured?”

Amelia answered for him. “Battle of Narvik.”

“Norway,” I said.

“Was captured by the Germans, but he outwitted them by being their friend, didn’t you, darling?”

The major handed his empty cup to a USO hostess. “Hardly.” He checked his watch. “If you’re hungry, we should be going.”

“You wouldn’t believe the intrigue,” Amelia said.

“Do tell, ” Bess said, with a glance at me.

“Once he was back on English soil, we compared notes and found that our families were actually close in days past. Lord Gilbert and my mother used to date, before he met Gilbert’s mum, the duchess.”

“You don’t say?” Bess asked.

“He had to endure a terribly deprived childhood, I’m afraid. He was born in a drafty old castle, poor thing.” Amelia turned her weary gaze to me. “And where do you live—Cadence, is it?”

“On a farm. Just downhill from the Army base.”

Amelia linked arms with Gil. “Peaked Hill is mad fun. I had to dress like a nun when I was up there, with all those rowdy boys. You should hear the whistles when Gilbert’s not there to tame them. So don’t venture up there if you value your reputation.”

Bess leaned in and muttered in my ear, “I think she’s dating your future husband.”

Amelia smiled. “Or just wear those farm clothes and they won’t be tempted to look.” She sipped her punch. “Saddle shoes are marvelous for dancing, but they’re absolute man repellents, I think, don’t you? Not that you don’t wear them splendidly, Candice. And one can’t wear one’s best things on a farm.”

“Yes,” I said. “Secondhand clothes don’t get ruined during farmwork.”

“Good on you, putting castoffs to use during wartime. I’d never be able to live on a farm. Couldn’t do without my silk and pearls.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t.”

Had Amelia ever worn denim? She’d certainly never seen a stalk of asparagus outside of a can. She may have been accomplished, but she wasn’t exactly interesting.

I slid the book from my pocket and handed it to Major Gilbert. “Thought you might like to see what we made with our book club.”

The major took it. “Hemingway? Quite a nice cover.”

Bess smiled. “Thank you.”

He flipped through the tissue-paper pages. “You got a whole book in here?”

“Almost. And the foreword, too. So the troops can take books with them everywhere.”

“Impressive,” the major said. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

Amelia plucked the book from his hands. “I’ve been with the men near the front lines, and the last thing they’re thinking about is reading. They want women and food, in that order.”

“You’re wrong there,” I said. “They want books. Need them, I think. As much as food and water.”

“Well, that’s a good one.” She handed it back to me and pulled the major closer. “The boys all do want socks, though. That’s a helpful thing for you to focus on.”

I turned to the major. “If you could mention our book to Captain Feldman, it would help. Give me someone in Army public relations I can talk to?”

Amelia tugged on the major’s arm. “Are you quite finished here? I’m positively boiling. I need champagne and something divine for dinner.”

If she was expecting to find a restaurant in that little town with gold faucets in the ladies’ room and diners who sipped their soup softly, she’d be disappointed.

As they started off, Gil turned back and reached out. “Good to see you.”

I shook his hand. “Same here, Major.” What a lovely handshake he had, warm and just firm enough.

“Thank you for the books for the men and for—”

“Don’t worry, Major. I’ll make sure you get a good mention in the column.”

He was about to reply, but Amelia yanked him through the crowd.

Bess watched them go. “Should we tell them this is a dry town or let it be a fun little surprise?”

“They’ll go to Edgartown,” I said.

“Old Major Gilbert is not so bad after all, am I right? And Amelia is so threatened by you. Like a wildebeest protecting her mate. She could tell he likes you.”

“Those two are made for each other.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t offer more help with the book,” Bess said.

“We can’t give up on it. If he won’t help us, we can write to Washington. I know it’s a good idea.”

The record inside the hall changed, and Bess led me outside onto Main Street.

We walked off arm in arm, up the sidewalk, into the darkness, past the sweet honeysuckle hedges perfuming the night, the sound of “Stairway to the Stars” drifting out after us.

Bess nudged me with her elbow. “That’s a sticky wicket, old Amelia with her mitts all over your future husband.”

“Stop calling him that, Bess. I really don’t care.”

There would be others, just as attractive, when I got to New York City someday.

“Born in a drafty old cah- stle.” Bess mocked Amelia’s accent, which she knew would get me laughing. “You should see some of those places, Candice. My roommate, second year at Brillantmont, invited me home in the height of summer to her Scottish castle, and I had to wear a vicuna coat to bed at night, it was so cold.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, yes, you would. And they had one decent shower in the whole place. For twenty-two bedrooms, can you believe it? Same bar of soap for us all. So don’t date old Gil for the castle. Do it for that chest. I’ve seen the Parthenon Marbles, and the river god Kephisos has nothing on our Gil.”

I’d only just stopped laughing when a car pulled up alongside us and stopped.

Bess clutched me closer. “Who is it?”

The driver’s side window rolled down. “There you are.” It was Winnie Winthrop. “Don’t just stand there, for goodness’ sake. Get in, both of you.”