“I am going to join the Wrens,” she said. “I’m going to sign up on Monday.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure? Do you think it’s the right thing for you, dear? From your sister’s letters, it’s a lot of work.”
“Like I said to Dad, no. I don’t think it’s the right thing for me, but I do think it’s a good thing. I want to prove to you and Dash that I can do it, and to myself as well. I want to make you proud.”
“Sweetheart! You make us proud every day.”
Dot closed her eyes when her mother came to hug her, and she inhaled the flowery powder she always used. She would miss this smell. That and a thousand other things. But then she thought of Dash and her porkpie hat, and she dared to believe that she would discover so much more.
tenDASH— Toronto, Ontario —
You sure this is the right place?” Dash asked Ginny.
Tall and a little awkward, but with fingers long enough to reach the most impossible engine parts, Ginny was an observer and a thinker. And a heck of a mechanic. She studied the paper in her hand then squinted at the building across the street.
“Yep. This is it. Eisen’s Garage.”
Both girls could hardly wait to get into the garage and return to doing what they really enjoyed. They were counting on this job being very different from the one they’d had at GECO, the top secret munitions building where they’d been employed for the past couple of weeks. That job had been unexpected in itself, since it was a civilian company, but evidently they’d been given special dispensation since they had a military contract. The General Engineering Company of Ontario was massive, with miles of hidden tunnels underground that the girls hadn’t even begun to explore by the time they left. GECO operated twenty-four hours a day, six days a week. It was almost entirely run by thousands of women who filled fuses and shells with explosives for $19.60 a week. Since a munitions plant obviously posed a risk of explosions, the factory was in Scarborough, away from most of Toronto’s population.
“You ready?” Dash asked, wiggling her fingers in the air. The chemicals in the explosives had stained them yellow, and she was looking forward to replacing the yellow with black engine grease.
“Am I ever. I don’t suppose they’re going to make us sign another oath of secrecy here.”
“Ha! I doubt it.”
The Canadian government had mandated the oath at GECO. They said everyone had to be wary of a Nazi invasion, and the company had to be sure no employees ever gave any hints as to where the munitions factory was located. Security was tight. At the beginning of every shift, the women had to show their identification, and their names and employee numbers were embroidered on their uniforms. The company was also careful when it came to safety measures. To prevent dangerous materials, even dust, from entering the factory, Dash and the others had to wash when they arrived, then put on their spotless white coveralls and wrap turbans around their hair.
Dash’s supervisor—thank goodness!—had given Dash and Ginny the ticket out of there. She knew the two of them were mechanics, and when her brother and a friend left their jobs at a garage to serve in the war, she let Dash know about the openings. Fixing engines suited both Ginny and her just fine, and working together was even better.
Dash straightened her friend’s collar. “Let’s make a good impression.”
They crossed the street, and Dash knocked on the door beneath the sign. No one answered. She tried again, a little louder, but there was still no response.
“I hear them in there,” Ginny said. “Maybe they just can’t hear us over all the noise.”
They exchanged a nervous glance, then Dash opened the door. After the bright sunshine, it was difficult to see at first, but shapes soon began to appear in the gloom. The clanging of tools and the sudden revving of an engine echoed around the place, and Dash took it all in. It was a big garage; there looked to be ten bays, and all were occupied by vehicles under repair. She spotted three men bent over inside the car hoods, their hands busy within.
“Well, well, well,” a man said, approaching from the side, his hands sunk in his trouser pockets. “Look what we have here.”
Dash and Ginny turned toward the voice, smiling politely. He was about Ginny’s height, about a half foot taller than Dash, with dark hair and dark eyes. As he came closer, Dash thought he wasn’t particularly handsome, but he wasn’t awful to look at. An older man trailed behind him, and he did not look the least bit pleased to see the girls.
“We’re from the Wrens,” Dash told them, aware of the sudden silence in the garage. She wasn’t overly surprised that they were the only two women in the place, but having spent most of her time surrounded by women lately, she felt more conspicuous than ever.
The younger man gave them the once-over. “I never coulda guessed, considering those fancy uniforms you got on.”
The older man’s gaze traveled up from under heavy lids. “You’re the two so-called mechanics?”
Dash bristled, but Ginny responded, her voice even. “Yes, we’re them. Petty Officer Wren Margaret Wilson and Petty Officer Wren Ginny Thomas.”
“Petty officer,” the older man scoffed. “Is that right? Girl officersandmechanics. The world’s a crazy place these days. You got anything else to wear?”
Ginny held out her bag. “We have everything we need.”
The younger man’s attention was on Dash. “Feel free to change in my office,” he said, indicating the glass-enclosed space at the far end of the room. Dash saw a desk, a couple of chairs, and no privacy.
“Youroffice?” the older man asked.
“Sorry. My dad’s office. Ladies, meet Mr. Eisen, your new boss. I’m his son, Jim. I’ll be looking after you two.”
