The Enemy at Home

The kids are in their rooms. The house is quiet. And I’m sitting at the dining room table, writing a few lines here before I go to bed. I think I’ll be asleep before my head even hits the pillow. You warned me that the first day of work at a new job is always the longest and most draining, and you were oh-so-right, my love. But I got through it, and I think tomorrow will be easier.

Nora paused, looked up and stared across the table at the dining room’s rosebud pattern wallpaper for a few moments. She wanted to tell Pete about how awful Larry Krull had been to her. But why upset him?

She’d spoken a bit more with Ned Sprenger, the older man who had been so kind to her just when she’d felt so defeated. He’d said that she reminded him of his daughter, who was a nurse, currently stationed in Australia. For Nora, it was like having her father nearby, looking out for her—ready to catch her if she fell. But apparently, plant management moved the new employees around from one workstation to another every day. So Nora wondered if she’d be working anywhere near Ned again. Fran and Connie had said maybe they’d see her at lunch tomorrow. Everything seemed so tentative at her new job. Everything was tentative—period.

Sometimes, when she wrote to Pete, she couldn’t help thinking that he might be killed before her letter reached him. Or maybe he was dead already, and she was writing to no one.

Nora self-censored whatever she wrote to Pete. For example, she wasn’t going to tell him that she’d just double-locked the doors and checked the first-floor windows because a Belltown woman had been strangled last night—and the killer was still out there somewhere. She didn’t tell Pete anything that might worry or distract him too much. She wasn’t going to write about the window in the front door being broken last night—or the trouble she’d been having with Chris lately.

She’d read an article a while back instructing women to be cheerful in their letters to their GI husbands and sweethearts, to remind them of home, family and the neighborhood—the things they were fighting for. Nora tried to comply with these guidelines, but it made for some pretty boring letters.

Back when Pete was at the University of Illinois, they had written each other long, candid, pour-your-heart-out, sometimes passionate missives—at least, she’d thought so back then. It had been a while since she’d reread any of those old letters. She still had them in a shoebox in the back of her closet.

They’d met in Chicago when Pete was visiting a friend during summer vacation between his sophomore and junior years at the university. Nora and her brother, Raymond, who was nine years younger, were living with their maternal grandparents in Flossmoor at the time. Both her mom and dad had been dead for years.

Her mother had been beautiful and “fragile.” At least, that was how Nora’s dad had described her when she’d become so withdrawn and strange after Ray was born. “Your mother’s too fragile to handle the baby and housework all by herself,” Nora’s father told her. “You’ll have to help out, honey.”

Every weekday, as soon as nine-year-old Nora came home from school, her mother would point to a wet, hungry and screaming Ray in his crib and say with clenched teeth, “You have to take care of him, because I can’t anymore.” Then her mom would take to her bed—and not emerge again until Nora had dinner ready. Pretty soon, her mother was spending all her time in bed, and Nora’s grandmother had to come look after the baby until Nora took over at 3:30. On weekends, Nora had Ray all day. She loved her little brother, but sometimes she resented his very existence. Her grandmother and father called her “Ray’s little mother.”

Her father worked as a switchman for the Illinois Central Railroad. He made Nora feel cherished with his constant praise. He called her his angel, his lifesaver. In turn, she adored him and never wanted to let him down. He had enough to contend with.

Her mother spent the next four years in and out of sanitariums, where she was treated for melancholia. Nora thought melancholia sounded more like a flower than a mental illness. It was during one of the lengthier stays in a sanitarium that her mother caught and succumbed to the Spanish flu. Nora became fiercely protective of her toddler brother for fear that he, too, would fall victim to the deadly pandemic sweeping the country.

But it was her father who died less than a year after her mom—not from the flu, but in a freak accident in the railroad yard. He was struck and run over by a maintenance-of-way car being switched to the repair track. He was severed in two just below his chest.

Nora was devastated. She and Ray went to live with their grandparents in Flossmoor. Her grandmother was sweet and affectionate, but long-suffering. She was the first to admit that she wasn’t very bright—or sometimes she was the second one to say it. “Stupid woman,” Nora’s grandfather would often mutter as soon as her grandmother left the room. The rail-thin, balding old man was stern and aloof. He’d never completely recovered from a stroke years before and struggled to get around—even with a cane. He spent most of his time sitting in the same chair in the living room, staring out the window or glaring at the two grandchildren he didn’t want in his house. Ray was terrified of him. Nora often wondered if her mother had inherited the melancholia from her father. Was it hereditary? She worried about becoming that way, too, as she got older.

And she worried about leaving her nine-year-old brother alone with their grandparents once she went away to college. At the same time, Nora couldn’t wait to get away—far away. She longed to travel and applied to colleges along both coasts. She figured her father’s insurance would cover her education. She’d been working part-time as a clerk at Diggle’s Drugstore for three years so that she’d have some spending and travel money while she was in college. She’d loved studying geography in school and dreamed of traveling after college, maybe even seeing Europe or the Orient.

But her grandfather had other plans. He claimed her father’s insurance wouldn’t cover the tuition to any of those “fancy” East or West Coast universities. And even if they could afford it, sending a girl to college was a waste of money. Once she finished high school, Nora was expected to get a full-time job and contribute some of her income to the household. It was time she paid back her grandparents for taking care of her and her brother for so many years.

So—the day after she graduated from high school, Nora started full time at Diggle’s. She’d been working there full-time for a year—mostly behind the soda fountain counter—when she met Peter Kinney. She saw this tall, handsome, young man hold the door open for an elderly gentleman. While the old man took his time shuffling through the doorway, Peter’s eyes met hers. Nora smiled at him. He smiled back, and that was it.

Nora thought it would be a summer romance. She had no idea how much she would have to give up.

Pete took the El and two different buses from his parents’ house in Evanston to her grandparents’ place in Flossmoor to see Nora three or four times a week for the rest of that summer. When he went back to school, 140 miles away in Urbana, they wrote to each other regularly. Nora took a bus down to see him as many weekends as she could get away. With her dreams of visiting Paris, London and Hong Kong, she’d never imagined dipping into her “travel fund” to pay for bus trips to Urbana. She always told Ray and her grandparents that she was spending the weekend with her friend, Claire, on Lake Shore Drive. She hated lying to Ray and her trusting, gullible grandmother. But Nora didn’t give a hoot about lying to The Gargoyle, which was Pete’s nickname for her grandfather. (“He looks like something they’d put on top of a building to scare away the pigeons.”) None of them would have understood—or believed—that when she stayed at Pete’s apartment off-campus, she slept in his roommate’s bedroom.

Nora timed her visits for when the roommate, Walter, was away for the weekend, visiting his girlfriend. Pete always changed the sheets on the bed for her because Walter was a smoker and a slob. Nora remembered many a night, lying in that bed, unable to sleep from all the pent-up desire. She’d stare across the darkened bedroom at Walter’s bookshelves—crammed with empty bootleg whiskey bottles that he’d collected, and she’d think about Pete in the bedroom next door, probably still wide awake as well.

Though Pete had “some limited experience,” they were both virgins. Nora had had plenty of dates, almost-boyfriends and opportunities. But she’d decided to save herself for the right guy and marriage. She liked to think of herself as a “good girl,” but a big part of her decision was her fear of getting pregnant. At age nineteen, she’d already spent over half her life looking after a child. She wanted a break from that. Whenever a guy started going too far, all she had to do was think about changing diapers and having her dreams of travel shattered, and she’d find the resolve to tell the guy to stop.

Even though she knew Pete was “the right guy,” and he brought her so much overdue happiness, she still made him stop when things got too passionate in his Model T—and, later, on the sofa in his apartment. She must have trained him well because, pretty soon, Pete was the one to call it quits whenever they started going too far. Nora remembered those nights when they’d stop necking, and then wordlessly go about the tiresome task of stripping his roommate’s bed.

One night in April, after nine months of dating, they didn’t stop and change those damn sheets. They just couldn’t make themselves stop.

After that, they were very, very careful. At first, Nora was uncomfortable whenever Pete pulled out a condom and inspected it for tears. But with medical school ahead of him, he was just as afraid as she was about a pregnancy. They tried to take every precaution.

Nevertheless, Nora still got pregnant.

“Now, we don’t have to wait,” Pete told her. “We can start our lives together. And don’t worry, honey. You’re going to be a great mom.”

She knew that. She’d already been a great mom—to her kid brother.

Their wedding was a hasty little service in an annex of St. Nicholas Church—with two of Pete’s college friends as the only witnesses. The story they gave their stunned families was that they hadn’t wanted anyone trying to talk them out of getting married. They were in love, and their minds were made up. They came across as more determined than impulsive. Actually, it didn’t matter much to Nora how they came across, just as long as no one ever suspected that they had to get married. And she didn’t want their unborn child ever suspecting it later on.

They set up house in a tiny one-bedroom apartment near the university. The college girls dating Pete’s friends seemed to envy Nora. In their minds, she and Pete were a blissful married couple. But in reality, there was a period of adjustment and a lot of morning sickness. Plus, Nora’s travel fund had been drained to help pay the rent.

And then there was Ray. Nora felt as if she’d totally abandoned her eleven-year-old brother. Ray made it known that he resented being stuck alone with his grandmother and The Gargoyle. Nora didn’t blame him. For most of their lives, they’d been there for each other. Now it must have seemed to Ray as if he didn’t matter anymore. Nora frequently invited him to spend the weekend at their place in Urbana, but it was never comfortable with three people in those cramped quarters, and he’d never really warmed up to Pete.

Once Chris was born, there wasn’t any room for guests.

Then Pete started his residency in Seattle. They had another addition to their family with Jane. Nora heard from her grandmother about Ray’s defiant behavior and the trouble he got into at his high school. Some of it was typical teenage mischief. But he was caught a couple of times stealing from the local grocery store—and from Diggle’s Drugstore, Nora’s old place of employment. Fortunately, Nora’s grandmother paid back the store owners and persuaded them to drop the charges.

In a move that irked Nora, her grandparents paid for Ray’s college education. Suddenly, they had money—or maybe they were just desperate to get him out of the house. But Ray quit college after a couple of years—around the time their grandparents died. Nora wondered how he could have thrown away the chance for a college education.

Ray ended up moving around the country and going through several jobs. He visited Seattle from time to time, often showing up at their doorstep without advance notice. The kids adored him, and Nora was happy to see her little brother. But things between Pete and him remained strained. Ray did all sorts of little things to get on Pete’s nerves—often on purpose. Ray never stayed for more than a few days. During practically every visit, there was an incident that made Ray’s departure come not a minute too soon. Once, when he was nineteen, he borrowed their car for the night, then brought it back with a dented fender and a broken headlight. He was too drunk to recall what had happened. Then there was the time when Nora took him to a local haberdashery, where Pete was a regular customer, and Ray stole a couple neckties. When Nora found out, she went back to the shop the next day, paid for the pilfered ties and tried to convince the clerk that there had been some sort of misunderstanding. She was humiliated. On a few occasions, Ray dropped Pete’s name at various local shops so they’d accept a check—only to have it bounce. The maddening thing about it was that no one from any of these shops had a bad thing to say about Ray. He’d charmed each one of his victims and they were quick to forgive him—especially after Pete paid them back. Sometimes, Ray stayed only one night, and then hit Pete up for money before leaving the next morning. But there were also visits when Ray showered them with expensive gifts and made a point of paying Pete back. Nora and Pete would wonder where he’d suddenly gotten his money.

Nora would also wonder how, when he had all his freedom and mobility, Ray could make such a waste of his life. Three months after Pearl Harbor, he knew it was only a matter of time before he was drafted, so he joined the navy.

Nora still longed to see the world, and she was oddly jealous of Pete and her brother, whose stints in the armed forces took them to faraway places—like North Africa and the South Pacific. It was ridiculous, she knew. But she still envied them.

Nora saved the postcards from Ray when he was stationed in Honolulu for four months. From what she could tell, the navy seemed to have reformed him. But just days before he was supposed to ship out for combat duty, Ray broke his arm and cracked a few ribs in a fall. The injury led to a serious infection that had sidelined him for a month. He was recuperating in a navy hospital in San Diego and would eventually be reassigned to a new ship.

When Nora had written to Pete about Ray’s accident, he’d replied in a letter: Well, it looks like Ray’s really doing his part for the war effort. Nora had decided to ignore the sarcastic remark. But if he’d said that to her in person, it would have led to a big argument. Pete bugged the hell out of her when he made out like he was the voice of authority—simply because he was a doctor. When he insulted her brother, he insulted her family. Still, he had a point, damn him. As much as Nora wanted to believe that Ray had reformed, she couldn’t help wondering if he hadn’t set up that accident to avoid combat duty.

Then it occurred to her that, like her brother, she wasn’t doing much for the war effort either—besides planting a victory garden; helping Jane with various paper, rubber and scrap-metal drives; and buying the occasional war bond.

That was one reason she’d gone after the job at Boeing. She’d wanted to do something. But a few weeks ago, when she’d mentioned in a letter to her brother that she wanted to get a war job, Ray had fired back a note saying she was crazy:

Sorry, Nor, but I just can’t see you in overalls with a blowtorch in your hand, putting together a B-17. You couldn’t even figure out how to work the stupid latch on the bathroom door at Grandma’s house. Remember?

Have you run this past the good doctor yet? I’ll bet it goes over like a pregnant pole-vaulter with him. No wife of his is taking a regular job—especially a MAN’s job. But he probably wouldn’t put it that way. Pete’s going to say he’s worried about you getting hurt . . .

That was exactly what Pete had said in his V-mail after she’d written to him about the Boeing job. Her getting injured had been his number-one concern. Nora had written back that his getting injured was her number-one concern. So now we’re even, she’d written in her letter.

I know you’re not thrilled about me taking this job, honey. But I feel like I need to do my part for the war. I seem to recall someone we both know telling me the exact same thing when he enlisted in the Army Medical Corps. Besides, we could use the extra income around here . . .

They’d gone from Pete’s doctor’s salary of $660 a month to the $54 a month from the army. Nora didn’t want to deplete their savings while Pete was away. Plus, Chris was going away to college next year, God willing, and Jane, not long after him.

Pete eventually came around to her way of thinking. But he still wasn’t too thrilled about his wife working—just as Ray had predicted.

Nora wanted to assure Pete that, after her first day on the job, she was confident she could pull it off.

There’s a big sign overhead when you walk back to the assembly line from the cafeteria, she wrote.

It says: 34 DAYS WITHOUT AN ACCIDENT. If you saw how absolutely huge this plant is, Pete, and how many thousands of people work there, you’d know that’s a pretty remarkable record. And I don’t intend to be the one to ruin it. So don’t you worry—

Nora heard something outside, and she stopped writing. It sounded like one of the garbage cans scraping against the driveway.

Springing to her feet, she hurried into the kitchen and switched on the outside light. Blackout restrictions be damned. She wanted to catch these hooligans in the act. She unlocked the kitchen door and flung it open.

Over on the far side of the garage, a raccoon standing on its hind legs clawed at the top of the garbage can. “Get out of there!” Nora hissed, clapping her hands loudly. “Get!”

The raccoon’s eyes caught the light as it looked at her. Then it lazily returned to all fours and wandered back toward the ravine.

Nora’s heart was still racing as she watched the animal disappear in the shadows. Gazing at the dark, wooded ravine, she suddenly felt as if someone was there amid the trees, staring at her. She thought about the woman who was strangled late last night, an assembly-line worker—like her.

Rubbing her arms from the chill, Nora shuddered and quickly ducked back inside. But as she locked the door, she sensed someone else in the kitchen. She swiveled around.

Chris stood over near the refrigerator, staring back and looking just as startled.

“God, you scared me,” Nora gasped.

“Sorry,” he said. “I heard something outside.”

Catching her breath, Nora fixed the door’s chain lock. “I heard it, too. It was just a raccoon.” She looked him up and down. Chris wore a sweatshirt, blue jeans and his tennis shoes. He rarely wore his shoes in the house. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Why aren’t you ready for bed?”

He looked at her as if she were crazy. “Mom, it’s not even ten o’clock yet. And I was headed outside to check on the noise.”

She took a glass from the drying rack. “Where’s your sister?”

He shrugged. “In her room, doing her homework or clipping pictures from movie magazines or whatever she does in there. I don’t know.” He stepped aside as Nora opened the refrigerator. “Why are you still up?” he asked. “Don’t you have to leave for work in about seven hours?”

“I was writing to your father.” Nora took out a bottle of milk and poured a glass for herself. “I was just about to head up. I’ll finish the letter tomorrow.” Leaning back against the kitchen counter, she sipped her milk and gave him a wary look. “So can I count on you to go to bed at a decent hour and not sneak out again in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, Mom,” he muttered, looking at the kitchen floor.

“For last night’s little stunt, I’ve decided to ground you for just a week,” she said. “But there’s a catch. You’re going to help me clean out the garage apartment and move Tak and Miko’s things to our attic. It occurred to me last night, they’re not coming back for a while, and there’s a housing shortage. I figured we’d rent the place out again. You’ll help me get it ready for showing.”

“So . . . I’m sentenced to one week of hard labor, swell,” Chris said. He seemed to consider it, and he nodded. “Okay, I guess I have it coming. I’ll start clearing out their stuff tomorrow. Well, g’night.” He sheepishly kissed her on the cheek and then started for the front hallway.

“Oh, and, Chris?” she called gently.

In the kitchen doorway, he stopped and turned to her.

“Being grounded means no visitors,” she said. “I don’t want to see Earl around here this week.”

He nodded again. “I figured as much. Night, Mom.”

Finishing her milk, Nora listened to him head up the stairs. Short of tying a cowbell around his neck or handcuffing him to the bedpost, there was nothing she could do to make sure he didn’t sneak out again tonight. She’d just have to trust him.