She readjusted her grip on the suitcase and pushed the purse strap higher on her shoulder. Her feet hurt from being stuffed into high heels she was unaccustomed to wearing, and her hose were slipping.

  “Ugh. This is ridiculous.” She’d half a mind to turn around and go home. Instead, she decided to make one last pass through the terminal. She turned left at the flower vendor, and that’s when she saw him. He was a stern-looking gentleman in a business suit and hat, and he held a sign that had her name on it. She broke into a run.

  “I’m Nora Lindstrom.” She skidded to a halt in front of him, nearly decking him with the suitcase. She put it down and fumbled in her purse for identification.

  He glanced at the ID, nodded, picked up her suitcase, and pivoted on his heel. “Come with me. We don’t have much time.”

  Just like that, he was on the move. He hadn’t even told her his name. She jogged to keep up. She couldn’t even get close enough to ask him a question. When he stopped short, she nearly ran into the back of him.

  “This is your train.” He reached into his suit-jacket pocket, pulled out a train ticket, and handed it to her. “I’ll come with you and get you settled.”

  They crossed through three cars until they arrived at an empty berth in a sleeping compartment. He stepped inside and placed her suitcase next to the wardrobe.

  Nora read the ticket. “There’s no destination listed.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Someone will fetch you when you’ve reached your stop and a car will be waiting for you when you get off. The driver has your name.” He turned to go.

  “Wait!”

  He paused.

  “This is a sleeper car.”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I to understand that the trip will last through the night?”

  “So it would appear. Get comfortable, Dr. Lindstrom; you’ll be riding for a while.”

  When he was gone, Nora folded herself into one of two small chairs that would convert into the bottom bunk for sleeping.

  “Here you are, miss.”

  Nora jumped up. A luggage-carrying Pullman porter escorted a young woman into the car.

  “There must be some mistake. This is way too posh for my blood.” The woman’s dress was neat and well-pressed, but somewhat worn around the edges.

  “No mistake, miss. We’re full up everywhere else. This is where I was told to put you.”

  The woman shrugged. “I guess it’s okay, then.” She turned and seemed to notice Nora for the first time. “Hi there, I’m Josephine.”

  “Nora. Nice to meet you.”

  The two women shook hands as the porter stood by waiting. “Miss? Shall I put your suitcase over there?” He indicated the space next to Nora’s suitcase.

  “Oh, my. Where are my manners? Yes, please.” Josephine waited until he had retreated from the compartment. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  “You’ve never traveled by train before?”

  “No.”

  “You’re in for a treat. I love trains.”

  Josephine cocked her head to the side as if sizing her up. “You look as though you might do this a lot.”

  Nora wasn’t sure how to take the comment, so she remained mum.

  “Where are you headed?”

  She’d been dreading this question. How could she explain it? Keep it honest and simple. “I don’t know my destination yet.”

  Josephine’s eyes opened wide. “You too? I thought maybe I was the only one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My brother-in-law works for the War Department. He heard they were hiring a lot of clerical staff for some big project and he got me an interview here in New York. They hired me on the spot and told me to show up at the train station today. They wouldn’t tell me where I was going, only that it was for the war effort, and that I should pack as if I was moving. So here I am.” Josephine sat down opposite her.

  Nora processed this information. In addition to scientists, they were hiring secretaries. Who else might they be hiring? What did secretaries have to do with uranium-isotope separation?

  “Are you a secretary too? You don’t look the type.”

  Nora tuned back in to the conversation. “I don’t?”

  “Nah. You look too smart for that.” Josephine stared so long that Nora squirmed in her seat. “Definitely too smart to be taking dictation.”

  “T-thank you. I think.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Nora braced herself as the train lurched forward.

  “What was that?” Josephine gripped the armrest so hard her knuckles turned white.

  “Relax. We’re pulling out of the station.”

  “Oh.” She followed Nora’s lead and leaned back in her chair. The train whistle blew and her hand flew to her chest. “My heavens that’s loud.”

  “It will stop in a minute. Don’t worry, that’s perfectly normal.”

  Josephine pointed at the window. “It’s pitch black.”

  “We’re in a tunnel. Once we’re clear of the station, you’ll see the scenery pass by.”

  “I’m sure glad you’re here with me. I’d probably have died of fright already if I’d been by myself.”

  They fell silent as the train picked up speed. Nora felt sorry for her. Her skin was pallid and her pupils were big as saucers.

  “There’s a toilet and sink behind that door.” Nora pointed. There, that was helpful advice.

  “Thanks.”

  She detested small talk, and what more was there to say, anyway? Nora collected the journal and a pen from her suitcase. She opened to the first page. For a long time, she sat with the pen poised over that blank sheet of paper. What could she say and stay within the rules? It isn’t as though anyone but you is going to see this.

  “Writer’s block?”

  Nora’s head snapped up. “I’m sorry?”

  “Writer’s block. It’s what my brother calls it when he can’t figure out what to say. He’s a playwright. Well, he was a playwright. Now he’s a Naval intelligence officer, serving God knows where. He’s a sensitive guy, you know? I hope this darned war doesn’t change him.”

  “Mmm.” Nora didn’t know what else to say. If she didn’t write something soon, Josephine likely would keep talking.

  May 7, 1943

  Dearest Diary,

  We are underway. I still do not know our destination, but I can tell you that we’re headed south. There is at least one other woman on the train who appears to be bound for the same destination. She is similarly ignorant of any details. Truly, I imagine she has even less information than I do about what lies ahead.

  I have to admit to a bit of trepidation. My parting with my parents and brother was less cordial than I would have preferred. I don’t worry about Bill—he’s a horse’s behind. But Mor and Far… I shall miss them. Far isn’t as young as he used to be, and the stress and strain of keeping the shop running is taking a toll on him.

  I know he says he helped Bill avoid service because he needs him at work, but I also know my brother. He’s a coward through and through. He led Far to believe he’ll ease the burden at work. The truth is, he’s afraid to serve and too selfish ever to put himself in harm’s way. Put country before self? Not Bill! He’ll be of no use to Far, and he’ll bolt as soon as he sees a better opportunity. Poor Far. Poor Mor. They’ve poured everything into Bill and their return on investment, I fear, will be pitifully low.

  Still, I regret the harshness of my words in front of our parents. I would have preferred to say a private goodbye without Bill’s noxious presence, but that was not to be. Perhaps once I’m settled, I’ll be able to write a letter to Mor and Far and mend any damage I might have done.

  Enough of that. It’s time to focus my gaze forward. What kind of environment awaits? Am I to settle in a big city? A small town? Is the setting rural or cosmopolitan? Have I brought the right clothes? Enough books to read? Will I be living by myself or with other young women? Will we be sorted by education? By job? By age?

  I have so many questions and not a single answer, save for the knowledge that wherever we are going, we are, I expect, all of us anxious to make a difference. Our objective is singular—to win the war. Whatever our roles, I trust the words of Groves, Oppenheimer, and Lawrence.

  I suspect the mystery of why they chose me will eventually be answered by the surroundings and the circumstances. For now, how about a game of solve this puzzle? I know we are headed south. I know I’m in a sleeper car, and the voyage will last at least one night. That rules out Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C., as none of those destinations would require an overnight.

  I suppose it’s pointless to guess beyond that. Who knows? We might veer west instead of south, or hug the coast all the way to Florida. Florida? Dear God, I hope not. It’s so buggy and humid down there.

  The train slowed and Nora peered out the window.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Looks like we’re making our first stop.”

  “Are we supposed to get off here? What are we supposed to do?” Josephine stood, then sat, and then stood again.

  “First, I suggest you sit down. If you’re standing when we stop you’ll become unbalanced.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” Josephine sat down. “Should we prepare to get off?”

  “No. If this was our stop, someone would’ve told us by now.” Nora squinted at the sign as they chugged into the station. Philadelphia. Well, she’d been right so far. They were headed south.

  More later, dear diary. For now I must sign off with a promise to write as often as I can.

  All my best, dearest diary.

  Nora

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mary finished packing the basket she and her mother had prepared. She still hadn’t seen Phyllis since that awful day. When she’d called to check, Phyllis told her that she wouldn’t be walking to school with her for the remainder of the school year; she couldn’t leave her mother alone. They weren’t going to hold a funeral until her father’s body was shipped home, and no one seemed able to tell them when that would happen.

  Mary found her mother out back hanging the laundry on the line. “I’m going to take the basket over to Phyllis’s house now.”

  “Let me see what you’ve got in there.” Mrs. Trask peeked underneath the gingham cloth.

  “I’ve got the casseroles and pies we baked, plus I went out and picked some vegetables and fruit from the victory garden.”

  “That’s nice. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. One of the gals at bridge club lost her son at Pearl Harbor. She said the hardest part was a few weeks after she got the news. At first, lots of people came over and they had plenty of support. But after a while, everyone moved on with their lives. She said rattling around the house by herself when there weren’t any distractions was the worst.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “What I’m trying to say is that I think your timing is good. It’s been a couple of weeks. What you’re doing is very thoughtful. I’m certain Phyllis and her mother will really appreciate it.”

  “I’d better get going. I’ll be back for dinner.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Mary cut through the side yard and let herself out through the front gate. She made it to Phyllis’s house in no time flat and knocked on the screen door. A minute later, Phyllis’s mother answered the door.

  “Hi, Mrs. Campbell. I came by to see how you and Phyllis were doing.” Mary noted that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and several strands of her normally perfectly coiffed hair were out of place.

  “Well, isn’t that nice. Thank you, Mary. Come in. I’ll let Phyllis know you’re here.”

  Mrs. Campbell held open the screen door, and Mary stepped into the foyer. “I brought you both some goodies. Mother and I made the casseroles and the pies, and the veggies are from our garden.”

  “That’s mighty neighborly of you, Mary. Make sure to thank your mother for me.”

  “I will.”

  Mrs. Campbell disappeared down the hall. When she returned, Phyllis was with her.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself.” Mary wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Want to come to my room? We can talk there.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll take the basket and put it in the kitchen,” Mrs. Campbell said.

  Mary followed Phyllis down the hall. Her wall was plastered with magazine pictures of movie stars, including Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart, and Gary Cooper. As always, Mary wondered why she didn’t have any pictures of some of her female idols. If Mary’s mother would’ve allowed her to hang magazine pictures in her room, she would’ve put up pictures of Gene Tierney, Vivian Leigh, Ingrid Bergman, and Katharine Hepburn. They were exquisite.

  They settled on the bed—Phyllis with her back against the wall, Mary sitting near the foot of the bed.

  “How are you?” Mary shook her head. “Never mind, that’s a stupid question.”

  “No. It’s okay. It’s hard, you know? I worried from the second we said goodbye to him that he wouldn’t come back. I always anticipated the worst, and then it happened. Now I feel so…hollow, I guess. Like there’s never been a before and there won’t be any after.” She paused. “That probably doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

  “No. It does. It’s like being suspended in time.”

  “Yeah. It’s hard to know what’s real and what’s in my mind. Mom cries herself to sleep every night. She hardly touches her food and I can barely get her to get out of bed in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t go to school. I can’t leave her. I don’t know what she’ll do.”

  “You don’t think she’d try to hurt herself, do you?”

  Phyllis shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know what to think. Dad was her entire world. Without him…” She stared out the window.

  “What are you going to do? You can’t watch her every second for the rest of your life. And what about school? You have to finish.”

  “I know. I haven’t figured it out yet. I have to earn some money. Otherwise, how will we live? Mom could be a seamstress; she’s good enough. But I’m not sure she’ll recover from this enough to work.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “Truman is determined to marry me, but I wonder how he’d feel if I told him my mother would have to come live with us?”

  Mary’s ears perked up. “Did he propose?”

  Phyllis nodded. “I was about to tell you when…”

  “How did he do it?”

  “You mean, how did he propose? Oh, it was dreamy. We went for a long walk, and then he took me out for dinner. At first, I was confused, because the sign on the door said the restaurant was closed. He knocked on the glass, and the chef let us in. There wasn’t another soul in the place. Turns out the chef was Truman’s uncle. We had a private dinner for two and he proposed over dessert.”

  Mary hung on every word. “Did you say yes?”

  “Uh-huh. We were going to get married right after graduation, before Truman gets called up, but then this all happened.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. Truman still wants to go ahead with it, but I’m worried about Mom. Besides, how would it look, us getting hitched right after Dad passed away?”

  “A lot of girls are marrying their fellas before they ship out. I think it would be fine. If you wanted to, I mean.” Mary bit her lip. This probably wasn’t the best time to ask, but she might never get a better opening. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “How did you feel?”

  “How did I feel about what?”

  “When Truman popped the question.”

  “Are you kidding? I was in Heaven. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. I would’ve married him right there if we’d had a minister.”

  Mary frowned.

  “Why are you asking me this? Is Sam going to propose?”

  “That’s the trouble. He already has.”

  “Oh, Mary! You’re kidding me? Why are you only now telling me this?”

  She shrugged.

  “You said yes, of course.”

  Slowly, Mary shook her head. Quietly she said, “I haven’t answered him.”

  “How long ago did he ask you?”

  “I don’t know, a few weeks?” She couldn’t make eye contact.

  “Have you lost your mind? Sam is about the most handsome guy in town and he’s never going to have to go to war. What are you waiting for?”

  What was she waiting for? I’m waiting to fall in love with him. “I don’t know. I guess… I’m not sure I feel for him what I should feel for the man I’m going to marry.”

  “How do you want to feel?”

  “How do you feel when you’re with Truman?”

  “That’s easy. Like nobody else in the world exists. Like if the two of us were stranded all alone on a deserted island, I’d be perfectly happy. Like if I never saw him again I’d just die.” Phyllis sighed dreamily.

  “Have you…? You know.”

  “Not yet,” Phyllis whispered, “but we’ve come really close a couple of times.”

  Mary’s mood continued to plummet. “Did you want to? I mean, was it hard for you to hold back?”

  “Heck yes!” Phyllis threw her head back and laughed. “I thought I would combust on the spot. And Truman? Oh, boy. Let’s just say he had a hard time coming back from the edge.”

  “And all that felt good to you? The kissing and…stuff?”

  “Better than good.” Phyllis narrowed her eyes. “Why all the questions? Isn’t Sam a good…kisser?”

  “No… I mean, yes. I mean… I suppose.”

  “Maybe he needs more practice. None of the guys our age are any good at this stuff. They need to do it more to figure it out. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”