Page 31 of The Women of Oak Ridge

I didn’t know where Clive lived. Sissy only mentioned going to his trailer in Happy Valley once in her diary, but she didn’t include an address.

There were thousands of trailers in the housing community not far from K-25.

If I couldn’t discover the name of the street where he lived, I’d have to resort to canvassing neighborhoods, knocking on doors, asking if anyone knew Clive Morrison.

That could draw a lot of unwanted attention.

My brain was as exhausted as my body by the end of the day.

Garlyn was working the late shift, so he wouldn’t be at the portal waiting for me.

I had to confess I was glad. I hadn’t shared Sissy’s fears or my plans with him.

He wouldn’t approve of my idea, and I couldn’t sit across from him at the cafeteria and pretend all was well.

If I went through with my scheme and discovered anything incriminating in Clive’s trailer, I’d tell Garlyn as well as Mr. Colby.

On weary feet, I made my way to the bus stop amid a nippy breeze, glad for the headscarf that kept my ears somewhat protected against the biting air.

Instead of joining the group of employees waiting for a bus to take them to Townsite, I walked toward the larger group of people going to Happy Valley.

I wanted to see the neighborhood again and get my bearings before tomorrow.

More people joined the throng, and I was pleased to find Velvet near the back. It had been weeks since I’d last spoken to her.

I wound my way to her. “Hello.”

“Mae,” she said, a genuine smile on her face. “It’s nice to see you.”

“And you. How have you been?”

“Busy.” She chuckled. “But I guess we can all say that, can’t we? The Lord has been good to me, so I can’t complain.”

We chatted about the chilly weather and the upcoming Christmas holiday, all the while inching forward in line to board the next available bus.

“Are you visiting someone in Happy Valley?” she asked.

I bit the inside of my lip. What story should I give her?

“A coworker lives there.” I forced my voice to remain normal. “I need to pick something up from him, but I didn’t write down his address. Maybe you know where he lives. Clive Morrison. He’s staying in one of the trailers and drives an Army sedan.”

She looked thoughtful. “I’m not familiar with the name, but it seems like I’ve seen military vehicles parked along Wheat Avenue. The bus sometimes takes that route, dependin’ on the driver.”

A full bus pulled away, making room for an empty one. People ahead of us began to board, and we followed.

“See you later, Mae.”

I bid her goodbye and watched as she moved toward the back of the bus where other Black people sat.

I was tempted to join her, but I didn’t need the unnecessary attention it would bring.

Other than Velvet, no one on the transport knew me, so no suspicions would be raised when I got off on Wheat Avenue, the street Velvet mentioned.

It seemed the best place to begin my search.

Velvet sent me a small smile when she passed down the aisle and exited the bus at the hutment residential area.

It bothered me that she and the others lived in such crude conditions, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

Jim Crow laws were still in place, which meant legal segregation.

From living areas, to dining options, to schools.

It seemed ludicrous to me, especially considering we were fighting a war in Freedom’s name.

The bus started up again and made a left turn, away from the hutments.

Soon, a vast sea of small trailer homes filled the view, all looking nearly identical, with very little to distinguish one from its neighbor.

Some residents had attempted to make the fabricated house a home, with planters that no doubt held flowers in the warmer months.

Some had awnings over the windows and front door, and others had wooden porches added to the exterior, but mostly they appeared tiny, dreary, and impossible to tell apart.

My shoulders slumped the farther we went into the housing area.

How would I ever find Clive’s trailer without an address?

The driver soon announced Wheat Avenue. I disembarked with two women at a four-way stop.

They chatted as they walked down the street, completely ignoring me.

I contemplated which way to go, ultimately deciding in the opposite direction of the women.

The road wasn’t paved, and the yards of each trailer were dirt with dead weeds.

Long wooden walkways ran behind the homes and led to community bathhouses that appeared to service a full block of trailers or more.

While the privacy that came with having your own place would be nice, I was glad I lived in a dormitory and didn’t have to go outside to get to the restroom, especially in inclement weather.

I passed dozens and dozens of trailer homes lining both sides of the road.

Numbers were stamped on the outside of each one, but I wasn’t certain if they were addresses or manufacturing information.

Each had a wooden walkway leading from the street to the front door.

Those situated on slopes included wooden stairs.

Clothes flapped in the chilly breeze on lines behind many homes, and children’s toys lay in the yards of others.

A handful of cars were parked in front of various trailers, but none were the vehicle I’d seen Clive in when he picked Sissy up for their dates.

When I reached the end of the street, I huffed out a breath. It was going to be impossible to discover which trailer was Clive’s. They all looked the same. Only those with feminine touches or children’s items could be ruled out.

I hunkered down into the collar of my coat and started up the opposite side of the street just as the sun dipped behind the hills.

It was getting late and would be dark soon.

I didn’t want to be in the unfamiliar neighborhood at night.

I knew Clive worked the following day, although I wasn’t certain which shift he was on.

If I couldn’t determine which trailer was his, I’d have to take a bus back to Happy Valley late tomorrow morning and continue my search.

I’d just turned a corner, going toward the nearest bus stop, when headlights approached from behind. I didn’t turn to look but kept moving forward. As the car went by, I peeked up.

An Army sedan.

I couldn’t see who was driving, but it appeared he or she was alone.

The vehicle continued down the street and crested a rise.

Without thought, I took off running. I had no idea if Clive was driving the vehicle, but I needed to know where the sedan ended up. Even if it wasn’t Clive’s, I’d have one less trailer to investigate.

Cold air stung my throat by the time I topped the rise.

My heart skidded to a stop, or so it seemed, when I found the vehicle parked on the road in front of a trailer in the middle of the block. The headlights were still on, indicating the driver remained inside the car.

I dropped to my knees. There wasn’t anywhere to hide, no trees or shrubs to conceal me should anyone look in my direction. I held my breath, hoping the owner of the home I crouched in front of didn’t peer out the window and mistake me for a thief.

After long moments, the engine cut off. Everything went still. Muffled voices from the trailer behind me rose and fell. An owl hooted from woods at the end of the neighborhood.

The driver opened the car door and exited the vehicle. I felt certain the person was a man, because he had on the customary hat, trousers, and long coat most men on the Reservation wore. Whether it was Clive or not, I couldn’t tell.

Yellow light soon shone through a tiny window on the front of the trailer he’d entered.

What should I do now? Sneak to the house and peek inside? It seemed bold and dangerous, yet I had to know if the man was Clive. I had to know if this was his trailer.

My legs felt like jelly when I rose and quickly made my way down the street.

A car passed by, but it wasn’t military issue and kept going.

I crossed to the opposite side of the road down from where the Army sedan was parked.

Should the man look outside, I didn’t think he’d be able to see my features in the waning evening glow.

When I was directly across from the trailer in question, I ducked into the shadows. No light came through the windows of the trailer where I hid, giving me hope the residents weren’t home. My brown coat and military-green rubber boots blended in with the darkness, offering protection.

Minutes ticked by. The smell of woodsmoke filled the chilly air. Another car drove past.

My tense muscles began to cramp. How long would I have to stand here, waiting for the driver of the car to show himself in the window?

The thought of peeking through the glass made my stomach flip with nervousness, but I couldn’t wait all night.

The owner of the home where I hid could arrive at any moment.

Besides, the temperature continued to drop, and my fingers, toes, and nose were starting to tingle from the cold.

I squinted at my wristwatch, but it was too dark to make out the hands.

I resorted to counting to sixty in my head, repeating it five times.

I’d give him five more minutes, then I’d have to make a decision about what to do.

Peek in the window or return in the morning and hope I could determine if the home was Clive’s or not.

I’d just begun counting again when a small light outside the trailer’s only door blinked on. I held my breath. A moment later, the door opened.

Clive Morrison stepped out.

I pressed my lips to keep from making any noise.

He glanced up and down the street, then leaned against the trailer before striking a match to light a cigarette.

Minutes passed while he smoked, something I hadn’t known he was in the habit of doing.

At one point, he looked across the street in my direction.

I stood completely still, not even breathing, until he looked away.

After one last puff, he squashed the cigarette on the ground with his shoe and went inside.

As soon as I heard the door click shut, I bolted down the street. A dog barked from somewhere nearby, but I didn’t slow until I reached the bus stop. Thankfully no one else was there.

I bent to catch my breath. Nervous laughter bubbled up.

Good gracious, what would Mama say if she could see me now?

Wandering around a strange neighborhood at night, spying on a man?

But it worked. I’d found Clive. I hadn’t been able to read the number on his trailer in the dim light, but I remembered the number of the one across the street where I’d hidden.

A bus soon arrived, and I boarded. Even at night, most of the seats were occupied. As we traveled the eleven miles to Townsite, I stared out the window into darkness. Stars blinked in the cloudless sky. The moon was nowhere in sight.

A sense of purpose replaced the anxiety I’d felt since Sissy disappeared.

Tomorrow’s the day, I silently declared, my chin lifted in stubborn resolve.

Tomorrow I would discover the truth. Sissy had clearly been afraid of something.

Whether it was Clive himself or the knowledge that he could possibly be working for the enemy, I wasn’t certain.

Like me, she’d been inundated with instructions from the moment we set foot on the Reservation about what to do if someone spoke out of turn or acted suspicious.

Informants lurked everywhere, from the dorms to the cafeterias, to K-25 and beyond.

Everyone knew they were to report odd behaviors and shady suspects.

Sissy had been infatuated with the fellow in question, which seemed to act as an obstacle for her good sense.

I had no such qualms.

If I found out Clive was indeed involved in espionage, I would report him immediately.

And if I discovered he had threatened Sissy in some way, forcing her to leave Oak Ridge, he’d be sorry he ever met Maebelle Willett.