What if Chauncey was right? What if the Germans had gotten the jump on them? What if, right now, they were creating enough U-235…Tubealloy… She admonished herself and shook her head to clear it. Even in her thoughts, she should avoid using forbidden terminology. Forget about what the Germans are doing. You can’t control that. Focus on what’s in front of you.

  It wasn’t peak lunch hour, so she was able to procure a table to herself over in the corner. When she was settled, she set down the attaché case she carried over her shoulder, withdrew a folder and opened it. She reviewed the roster of cubicle operators. She would have to shift the operators from Alpha-1 over to Alpha-3 as soon as it was up and running. If the modifications to the magnets in the newer racetracks worked, things should start to go much more smoothly, with fewer glitches and greater production. Whenever Alpha-1 came back on line…

  Nora paused to take stock of the room. It felt as though someone was watching at her. You’re losing your mind. She refocused on the paperwork in front of her. Several moments later, when the feeling hadn’t dissipated, she scanned the room again. This time, her eyes settled on Mary. Although she averted her gaze, Nora could’ve sworn that she’d been staring a second ago. Reading people isn’t your strong suit. Stick to what you know.

  She focused once again on her work and made a notation in the margin to talk to Jane Greer about the output calculations. She’d met Jane for the first time the other day and they’d clicked immediately. Jane had wanted to be an engineer, but she’d been told that wasn’t an appropriate career for a woman. Instead she turned to statistics and became the first woman to graduate with a degree in statistics from the University of Tennessee. In terms of their experiences as women in male-dominated fields, they had a lot in common. Now, Jane was in charge of all statistical analysis and documentation for the project. She had the same clearance as Nora—the only other woman ranked so highly—and thus they were able to converse in ways Nora couldn’t with any other females on the Reservation.

  It wasn’t Nora’s purview to keep up with the data on the amount of Tubealloy produced—not directly, anyway. Still, how was Nora supposed to measure whether her girls’ efforts were succeeding if she couldn’t know whether the amount of material collected matched expectations? That’s foolish. You know full well that you haven’t come close to hitting the necessary quantities. But how much was needed? And what if she was wrong altogether in her assumptions about what they were doing here and why? You’re not wrong. You’re a physicist. We’re enriching uran…Tubealloy. How else are you to interpret the end goal? With a sufficiently large quantity of enriched material, presumably the chain reaction would be powerful enough to… Nora’s eyes popped open wide. To do what? Annihilate an entire people?

  “Excuse me. Hi.”

  Nora’s head shot up. Mary stood directly in front of her, looking pretty as a peach. Quickly, she shoved the papers back in the folder and tucked them in the attaché case.

  “I hate to interrupt what I expect is a fascinating conversation for one.” She smiled tentatively. “But you look positively awful. You’re terribly thin, and that furrow in your brow doesn’t suit you at all, and…”

  Nora blinked. “Did you come over here to insult me?”

  “What?” Mary took a step back. “No, not at all.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, uninvited. “You haven’t touched your lunch, and you’re clearly distracted. I simply wanted to help. Sometimes a friendly face can make all the difference in the world.”

  “I’m sure you mean well, but I’m perfectly fine.”

  “No, you’re not. That much is clear.”

  Nora frowned. The impudence! Who did this girl think she was?

  “Come to another dance with me. It’ll do you good to cut loose a little.”

  Nora’s pulse quickened at the idea of spending time with Mary. She’d watched her surreptitiously the other night, dancing with Betty. She’d been jealous that Mary’d been smiling and laughing and having a good time with her friend. Jealous! What did she have to be jealous about? They were all friends out having a good time. “I-I can’t. I’ve got too much to do, and besides, I’m not a very social person.”

  Mary leaned in closer, and Nora sat back as far as she could in her chair. “Well, you should be. You can’t work all the time. I’m really worried about you. Please? Come dancing with me tonight. It’s my last day on first shift until Christmas, so it’s my only free night.”

  She looked so hopeful. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you can find someone else to keep you company.” Even as she said it, the idea of Mary out on the town with someone else nauseated her. She closed her eyes.

  “I apologize for bothering you.” Mary’s face was crestfallen and her voice quavered. She pushed her chair back deliberately and took her leave.

  Nora stared after her. Mary was unlike anyone she’d ever met—vibrant, confident bordering on brash, and alluring. Alluring? Where had that come from? Maybe you really are working too hard. She cleared her place. She would run over to the Pilot Facility and find Jane. Jane certainly didn’t make her feel the way Mary did. She would find safe, nice, reliable Jane and talk numbers. Yes, that’s exactly what she would do.

  Nora propped her pillow against the wall and sat up in bed. She opened the journal to a fresh page and sat with her pen poised for a long time before she began her entry.

  Dearest Diary,

  I’m not really sure where to start. My feelings are a jumbled mess. Perhaps it’s the stress from work, which is enormous, but somehow, I don’t think that’s it. As much as I’m loathe to admit this, even in the privacy of these pages, it’s about a girl, and it’s not Anna. Her name is Mary.

  What can I say about her? She’s petite and pretty as can be, self-possessed (especially for one so young), outgoing, and effervescent. In other words, she’s my opposite in nearly every way. Still, there’s something magnetic about our connection, and I sense that’s true not only for me, but for her too. When I’m near her, I experience this queer feeling in my body, unlike anything I’ve known before.

  With a word or a glance, she flusters me, leaving me floundering and tongue-tied. I’ve had crushes before, dearest diary (at least that’s how I would categorize them), but nothing compares to what I feel when her eye catches mine. It’s as though I’m rooted to the spot, without the slightest desire to move. I find myself lost in the depths of her gaze.

  I know I’m prattling on, dear diary. I wish I felt an eighth for Del, who makes his interest plain even in his restraint, what I feel for Mary. Why must I feel this way about a girl? And what I am supposed to do about it? Nothing, that’s what.

  Now, I’m answering my own questions. Truly, I’ve gone stark-raving mad. Time to lose myself in a good book, dear diary. More soon.

  Ever faithfully yours,

  Nora

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Christmas Day dawned sunny and crisp, which should have made Mary happy. Instead, she moped through the morning, bemoaned the fact that she had no presents to open, and ignored the carolers crooning, “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” outside her dorm room window. In the distance, she heard the bells of the brand-new, non-denominational, Chapel-on-the-Hill. Church never had held much appeal for her, but perhaps she should consider attending the noon service, if only to pray for her father’s safe return.

  She hadn’t gotten a letter from him in weeks, and the memory of Phyllis and her mom crying inconsolably on the sidewalk played like a bad movie in her mind’s eye. You have to be okay, Daddy. You just have to be. She should call her mother and wish her a Merry Christmas, she knew. But every call ended in an argument and her mother insisting that she’d gone daft for “running away,” as she termed Mary’s departure. Maybe she had run away, but surely her mother could show more gratitude for the money Mary sent home on a regular basis. It was far more than she ever could’ve earned at Meyer’s—enough to ensure her mother’s comfort until her father returned home.

  She dragged herself to the phone in the lobby and made a collect call home.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mother. It’s Mary. I-I just wanted to say Merry Christmas.” She closed her eyes and gripped the receiver tightly. She hadn’t expected to get emotional. “Mother? I miss you.”

  “Merry Christmas, Mary Elizabeth.”

  “Is everything okay?” You sound so frail.

  “I’m lonely, I guess. My husband is away at war, and my only daughter has run off God-only-knows where, to do God-only-knows-what…”

  “I’ve told you before. I’m in Tennessee, working for the war effort.” You had to ruin the moment, didn’t you? I will not feel guilty, I will not feel guilty…

  “So you’ve said. Frankly, I find your evasiveness highly suspicious, young lady. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  “W-what?” Mary fumbled the receiver. She put it back to her ear. “What in the world would make you ask such a thing? And what kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “I don’t know. You disappear suddenly; you won’t say exactly where you are or what you’re doing; you won’t say when, if ever, you’re coming home; you abandon your mother at a time when she needs you… It’s as if you’re covering something up. What else am I supposed to think?”

  “You’re supposed to think I’m a morally upstanding, independent, capable young woman who takes time to call her mother, sends home a regular paycheck, and is doing her country proud. That’s what you’re supposed to think. Merry Christmas, Mother.” Mary hung up the phone without waiting for her mother’s reply. A sob escaped from her lips. How could she think and say such awful things?

  “Is everything all right?” Betty stood several feet away.

  Mary sniffed. “Y-yes.”

  “Homesick?”

  “I was… Until I talked to my mother.”

  “I understand how that goes,” Betty sympathized. “Why don’t you come to services with us? Rosalie will be down in a minute.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not much in the mood.”

  “Well, suit yourself. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.” Mary returned to her room, flopped onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Why did everything with her mother have to be so darned contentious? And why did her mother always think the worst of her? She’d never done anything wild or crazy. Perhaps refusing to marry Sam made her seem a bit willful, but she had legitimate reasons for her decision.

  Shake it off, Mary Elizabeth. Stop singing the blues and make the most of the day. Idly, she wondered what Nora was doing today. Was she working, even on the holiday? Had she gone home to be with family, as some of the other girls had? Betty and Rosalie had gone to services. Did Nora go with them? Was she home reading a book? That’s a depressing thought.

  She sat up and gazed out the window. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Stop being a gloomy Gus and take yourself for a walk. She changed into a pretty dress to make herself feel better, donned a comfortable pair of saddle shoes, threw on her winter coat, and grabbed her picnic basket. Maybe she could collect some pine cones and make something from them. If she happened to contrive a means to run into Nora along the way, that would be fine too.

  Nora never paid much attention to religion growing up. Then, as a college and graduate student, she hadn’t had the time to spend several hours in church on a Sunday. Her energy was devoted to her studies, her experiments, and the occasional visit home to see her parents.

  But it was Christmas Day, she had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do, and the Alpha-1 situation had her feeling just desperate enough that even she was willing to pray for a Christmas miracle. The Chapel-on-the-Hill was brimming with folks as interested in the fellowship as in the hymns. A kinship born of the circumstances that brought them all to this anonymous town, invisible to the outside world, drew them together like a family of misfits and orphans.

  Nora glanced around her at the faces of the worshipers. Some of these men and women she recognized from the bus. She knew dozens of the girls because they were under her supervision. Still others were familiar because she’d seen them around town. Some, however, she’d never seen before. She found herself looking for one face in particular and was disappointed to realize that Mary wasn’t there. Either that, or she was hidden from view. Who are you kidding? She’s probably off with someone who didn’t stupidly refuse her invitation to go dancing.

  The idea of Mary spending time with someone else depressed her to no end. By the time church let out, Nora felt good and sorry for herself. She started down the hill toward Townsite, with no particular destination in mind. Families filed out and children, no doubt still flush with the memories of presents opened that morning, expelled excess energy by playing tag with one another. Several times, Nora had to sidestep a young one rolling like a log down the hillside.

  She hopped to the side to avoid a five-year-old boy as he dove out of reach of the older boy who chased him. As she did so, she bumped into another body. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sor...” The rest of the phrase died on her lips as she looked down to see Mary, half-sprawled on the ground at her feet, a basket of pine cones spilled beside her. Immediately, she bent to help her up. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Gently, Nora lifted her to her feet and brushed her off.

  Mary laughed. “Don’t look so concerned. I may be small, but I’m not that fragile.”

  “Good thing.” Nora reached down at the same time as Mary to gather the pine cones, and their hands brushed. She withdrew her hand as if it were on fire.

  “Better let me get those,” Mary said. She winked. “Were you on your way somewhere special?”

  “Who, me?”

  Mary corralled the last pine cone and returned it to the basket. “There. No harm done.” She situated the basket handle back on her arm. “You’re the only person I’m talking to, so yes, you.”

  “I was leaving church.”

  “So I gathered.” Mary glanced in the direction of the building and Nora blushed.

  “I guess that was obvious.”

  Mary laid a hand on her arm, and the touch seared Nora’s flesh. “Don’t be embarrassed. I asked the question.”

  “You asked where I was going, not where I’d been.”

  “Close enough.” Mary released her hold. “You look very pretty, by the way. I love your dress.”

  Nora’s blush deepened. “Thank you. You look quite fetching yourself. That coat is pretty.”

  “Thank you.” Mary twirled around. “It’s a little something I picked up in Knoxville on my last day off.”

  “It suits you.” Nora bit her lip. “Do you have any special plans later?” Her heart hammered in her chest. What could she be thinking?

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

  “I’d like to make up for running you over. There’s a brand-new movie opening at the theater tonight. It’s Mrs. Miniver with Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon. Would you like to go with me?”

  “You like the movies?”

  Nora laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. I adore the movies. I especially can’t resist a good war movie. How about you?”

  “Are you kidding me? I love the movies! Yes, I’d love to accompany you. What time and where shall we meet?”

  “You live in W-1, right?”

  Mary’s eyes grew large. “You know where I live?”

  “Let’s see… You were out in front of the dorm talking with Rosalie and Betty. They live in W-1. Then you came to the dance with them. Ergo, I deduce that you must live in W-1.”

  Mary clapped her hands delightedly. “Very observant. I shall have to be careful not to give away any state secrets with you around.”

  “So, as I was saying, you live in W-1, which is closer to the theater than my place, so why don’t I swing around and get you at, say, six o’clock and we’ll walk to the theater together. That way we’ll have time to pick up refreshments before the movie starts.”

  “That sounds perfect. It’s a date.” Mary winked, waved, and once again was on her way.

  Nora stared after her. It’s not a date, it’s a movie, isn’t it?

  Mary stifled a scream when the Nazi soldier brandished a gun at Mrs. Miniver. Reflexively, she grabbed hold of Nora’s hand and squeezed. Nora returned the squeeze. Her hand was soft and warm, her skin smooth and supple. For a moment, Mary forgot all about Mrs. Miniver’s dire predicament. She snuck a peek at Nora’s profile. Every feature of her face from her intelligent blue-green eyes to her aquiline nose, to her perfectly formed lips, worked together to create a vision of beauty unlike any Mary had ever seen before. I could look at you like this forever and never get tired of the view.

  Mary swallowed hard. This. This was how she expected to feel when she fell in love with someone. This was what she’d never felt for Sam. Mary’s breath quickened. You hardly know this person. Besides, she’s a woman. Women don’t fall in love with other women. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe she was caught up in the heady moment of helping to win the war together. Maybe it was a passing crush.

  Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t relinquished Nora’s hand. Then again, Nora hadn’t let go of her hand, either. What did that mean? Was Nora feeling what she was feeling? Was she wondering too?

  On screen, the end credits began to roll. Quickly, Mary withdrew her hand. The lights would be coming up any second now. What would happen if someone had seen them holding hands? Then, another thought, equally terrifying, crossed her mind. What are you going to do if Nora wants to discuss the movie? Panic welled within her. She hadn’t seen or heard a thing after the Nazi in the garden. You’ll look like an idiot. A woman like Nora wouldn’t be the least bit interested in someone who can’t hold a conversation or talk intelligently about a movie. Well, it was too late now. It wasn’t like she could rewind the last two hours and watch it again. She would have to fudge, that’s all there was to it.