49
WALTHAM
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY25, 1942
After almost a month in Waltham, the sight of cars and merchandise still surprised Lucie.
As she walked downtown with Mrs. Aubrey, colorful posters reminded her to buy war bonds. To date, only tires and rubber goods were rationed in the United States.
She passed the store where she’d bought new outfits and the shoe store where she’d purchased real leather shoes. The salesclerk had apologized for the meager selection, but to Lucie it was a cornucopia.
Mrs. Aubrey peered in the window of a drugstore. “I want to buy everything under the sun for Josie’s birthday, but I mustn’t spoil her.”
“What do we have?” Lucie examined the parcels. “The darling yellow dress, four hair ribbons, and drawing paper and crayons.”
“I’d like to buy a doll. All we have are her aunt’s old dolls, and Josie isn’t interested.”
Lucie frowned. Josie wasn’t interested in much except thepuppets, her blanket, and a battered stuffed rabbit that had been Paul’s.
At least she was very fond of her grandparents and Dora, and she’d warmed to Lucie’s parents and the Greenblatts when they’d visited. But the child grieved her father’s absence.
So did Lucie. She hadn’t seen him in almost three months. With each day that passed, his chances of survival diminished.
The sound of his voice had become a dim and elusive memory.
They passed a stationery store with a “Now hiring” sign in the window.
“Have you thought more about getting a job?” Mrs. Aubrey asked. “Not that you need to.”
Lucie had been welcomed into the Aubrey home indefinitely—out of concern for Josie, out of respect for Paul, and out of genuine kindness. She gazed inside the store. “Maybe I could do something for the war effort.”
“They always need volunteers with the ladies’ clubs.”
“I wouldn’t fit in there.”
Mrs. Aubrey chuckled. “They’d love you.”
All Lucie’s worries about Paul and the strain of the past year twisted into a cord, a familiar and strangling cord. “I’m not smart enough for that crowd. I have an eighth-grade education, and I’m eccentric. I have no idea what Paul sees in me or—” Her voice broke.
“Lucie?” Mrs. Aubrey stopped, eyebrows lifted to the brim of her elegant hat. “Whatever do you mean? You’re intelligent and bighearted and creative. I understand why Paul loves you.”
Lucie tugged her handkerchief from her coat pocket, pressed it to her face, and hauled in big breaths. She knew all that. She did. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do.” Mrs. Aubrey patted Lucie’s arm. “You’ve been through a trial, and you’re worried about Paul. It’s natural to be emotional.”
“I just...” Lucie sifted old insecurities away from concerns that had merit. She blew out a breath and lowered the handkerchief. “I love him deeply, but I don’t fit in high society.”
Mrs. Aubrey hooked her arm in Lucie’s and continued down the street. “Neither do I.”
“Of course you do.” Lucie eyed her coiffed hair and tailored clothes. “You’re so polished.”
A sidelong gaze, and Mrs. Aubrey laughed. “I’m a farm girl who fell in love with a mechanic with crazy ideas about building automobiles. As for Paul—he’s had the benefits of wealth, but his head’s in the right place. He’s a sensible man, and I like his taste in women. I liked Simone, and I like you. Besides, Paul could use eccentricity in his life.” She winked.
Lucie laughed, a wet sort of laugh. “Thank you. Meeting you and Mr. Aubrey—well, I understand Paul even better now.” And she loved him even more.
The next building—Waltham Dance Studio. The sign declared “Learn to Dance! Tap—Ballet—Ballroom.”
All Lucie’s talents and dreams and passions flowed together. “I—I wonder if they’re hiring.”
