“I’m from Baltimore. My name is Clara Thompson, and these are my fellow nurses, Della and Celestine.”
The three women were various hues of brown, with Clara’s skin being the richest, a velvety sepia tone. She had deep-set eyes, and he couldn’t help but notice how they danced when she smiled.
“Ozzie Philips,” he introduced himself as two of the men from his berth walked over to them.
“Thomas Morgan. Pleased to meet you ladies,” one man said, waving. Morgan had a stocky frame, as if he had played running back in high school. Melvin Thornton nodded hello while shuffling a deck of cards.
Before Ozzie knew it, the men and women were exchanging Negro geography. Who grew up where. Whose family knew whom. Then they heard the loud blast of the ship’s horn and felt the slow motion of the ship drifting away from the port. As they sailed away from America, from everything that they had all known, Ozzie watched a band of seagulls soar into the air. He tilted his face to the clouds, breathing in the salty scent of freedom.
CHAPTER 7Mannheim, Germany, April 1951
ETHEL
Ethel smoothed her white gloves against her Peter Pan collar and then made sure her Jelly Belly tropical bird pin had not shifted from where she had placed it over her heart. As she pressed the doorbell to Dorothy Hansen’s home, she glanced at the handwritten invitation, having the sudden need to confirm that the tea party’s theme was indeed birds. When she did, she noticed for the first time that the tea had started at two o’clock. She turned her gold Bulova watch. She was thirty minutes late. Ethel was never late, but recently she’d had a hard time getting out of bed. Menial tasks like the dishes and vacuuming had been taking her longer than usual to complete. She just could not muster the energy. Was lethargy a symptom of pregnancy?
The wooden door swung open, and Dorothy Hansen greeted her with a toothy smile. “Ethel!” She wore a red gingham dress with large pockets, her hair pulled back tight into a ponytail.
Ethel followed Dorothy past the coat rack and through the foyer. Dorothy’s four-bedroom house was the most spacious living quarters that Ethel had seen since arriving in Mannheim, and itwas twice the size of her home with Bert. Dorothy had two school-age children, and as Ethel passed fingerprint paintings, “I love you Mommy” drawings, “Mathematician of the Year,” and “Student of the Month” certificates pinned to a corkboard in the hallway, her daily longing for children fluttered inside of her. Her menstrual cycle was one day late.
The living room was airy, with two curry-colored sofas and a matching recliner. A few folding chairs were threaded in between. There were about ten army wives seated, all wearing jewelry or clothing that highlighted the bird theme. A few of the women, Ethel had traveled with on excursions to Frankfurt and Munich.
Dorothy Hansen had been arranging monthly teas, luncheons, and socials so that the wives of the higher-ranked husbands could get together to discuss books and charity work, and brainstorm on different ways they could be useful to the army and their husbands while living abroad. Today’s tea was being held to discuss ideas on how to uplift and support the Women’s Army Corps, and as Ethel crossed the room to sit beside Julia Jones, the only other Negro wife invited, she tried to follow the conversation already in progress.
“We all have a role to play while here. We must make ourselves useful.”
“God did not bring us this far just to do the shopping and ironing. We could do that back home.”
“The WAC needs our support.”
“Especially the Negro WAC, who have the humiliating job of caring for the prisoners of war. We need to do something that will raise their morale,” said Julia Jones while throwing her two-month-old baby girl over her shoulder, tapping her back lightly. Two other women had small children on their laps. Three toddlers played blocks on the carpet.
Ethel waved hello and apologized for being late as she took her seat. One of the few women who hadn’t come around to the idea ofmixed company at these teas scooted her chair a bit more into the corner, away from Ethel and Julia. Ethel ignored her.
In addition to being in this group, Ethel and Julia had started the Negro wives of Mannheim, which met on the second Friday of each month. Those women’s meetings were a social space where the Negro wives could relax, discuss issues that pertained to their families, and form community. Most of those women’s husbands were privates or first-class privates, and they looked to Ethel and Julia, whose husbands were chief warrant officers, for guidance on how to navigate living abroad.
Dorothy came around with a platter of cucumber sandwiches, scones, tea cakes, biscuits, and jam. Ethel didn’t have much of an appetite. But to be polite, she took a sandwich. While sipping her black tea, she felt something wet slip between her legs and frowned.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to Julia, then excused herself down the short hall to the powder room just off the kitchen. As she closed the bathroom door, one of the children started to wail. Ethel pulled away her layers and wiped. The sight of the crimson streak staining the toilet tissue made her gag.
She was not pregnant. Again.
It had been a full nine months since she had visited the shrine at Lourdes, and she had thought that her stomach would be full by now. Ethel had been faithful. She had prayed her rosary beads, read Scriptures, fasted, doused her belly with holy water, and asked the Virgin daily to bless her womb and make her fruitful. But Old Lady Flo had found her again and again. In this moment, Ethel didn’t know if it was the presence of so many children in Dorothy’s home, but she felt tears prick her eyes.
Suddenly she didn’t have the strength to return to the women, but staying in the bathroom too long would be impolite. Ethel pulled herself together, padded a handful of tissues between her legs, tucked her blouse in her pencil skirt, splashed cold water on her face, andpinched her cheeks. When she entered the living room, the talk had veered away from the WAC to the accomplishments of the school-age children. Ethel just couldn’t sit through it all again. She looked around for Dorothy but didn’t see her.
“I need to leave, female problems,” she leaned in and whispered to Julia.
“I’m sure Dorothy has a belt she can lend you.”
Ethel put her hand to her chest and whispered, “I’m just not feeling well.”
“You were already tardy. Now you’re going to leave me here with them alone,” Julia hissed while rocking the baby. Ethel knew how Julia felt but would have to make it up to her.
“I’m sorry, but I’m so nauseated. Please give my apologies to Dorothy, and I’ll call you later. Promise.” Ethel squeezed Julia’s knee, picked up her wooden box purse, and scurried for the door.
Ethel hastened away from Dorothy’s with the thought of going back to her unit apartment, throwing a blanket over herself, and curling up in a ball. But she could not let herself sink into the clutches of another dark hole. She had done that twice in the past six months, and it had worried her sweet husband when he could not lift her from the gloom.
Ethel had never shared her plans for a miracle baby with Bert. When they had started dating, she had revealed her illness and shortcoming with him. It was her second marriage, and she didn’t want any unnecessary misunderstanding between them. After her revelation, Bert kissed her hands and spoke. “Just be my faithful wife, and I’ll die a happy man.”
