December 7, 1941
It was Sunday, and except for the constant rumors of war, there was no reason to go to her office at the White House, so Helen Meeker opted to sleep in. She got up at ten, fixed some toast for breakfast, and went through a stack of mail that she hadn’t opened through the week. One of the nice surprises among all the bills was a Christmas card from Henry Reese. He’d been transferred to Hawaii and used much of the enclosed letter to brag about how beautiful paradise was. Now she was sure he wasn’t going to have a white Christmas, but where she lived the verdict was out on that one, and in truth she wanted snow this year. She wanted anything that would bring a bit of cheer into her lonely life.
Even though everywhere she looked signs of the holidays were around her, she was having problems grasping that Christmas was just two and half weeks away. Yes, the radio was pumping out seasonal favorites, the stores were fully decorated, and Christmas tree lots were sharing space with used car lots, but try as she could, she couldn’t get in the mood. Maybe it was because she had no one to celebrate with. In fact, beyond buying gifts for a few of her fellow staff members at the White House, she didn’t have a reason to go shopping. Maybe even worse was that no one would be remembering her either. The Christmas card from Reese might well be the only really personal and meaningful holiday message to come into her life this year. And then there was the unsolved Rose Hall kidnapping case that still haunted her. Knowing the pain the Halls were going through coupled with the loss of her own sister so long ago had built a wall between her and others. Deep down she didn’t want friends or partners. She didn’t want to get close to someone only to have that person ripped from her.
As she contemplated her loneliness, Meeker brewed some tea, poured herself a cup, wrapped her terry cloth robe tightly around her body, and picked up one of a dozen files she’d brought home yesterday. The one she chose was the profile of a fifty-two-year-old German immigrant. Like all the others in the stack, he was suspected of being a spy.
As she opened the folder she immediately noted that there was nothing menacing about his photo. Put a fake white beard on him and Herman Strauss looked like he could have played Santa at Macy’s. Yet his dossier held pages of reports linking him to suspicious activities in New York City and Boston. As she weeded through the interviews and eyewitness accounts, she was pretty much convinced Strauss very well might be a Nazi plant attempting to form an underground movement in America. At the very least he needed to be brought in and questioned to make sure he wasn’t a part of the fifth column.
Five folders later it was not time nor boredom but hunger that finally pulled her from her work. She couldn’t believe it was already afternoon. How had that happened? Where had the time gone? Setting the files on a coffee table, she got up, switched on the radio and, while its seven vacuum tubes warmed up, walked through her small apartment’s living room to the kitchen. After pulling out some bread, she opened the refrigerator and started searching for something to put on it. Because the radio finally came on, she never finished that simple task. A news reporter’s voice made sure of that.
“Reports are flowing in from several sources now confirming that a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, which is in the Hawaiian Territories, has caused great damage and resulted in great loss of lives. The Japanese struck by air at about eight local Hawaiian time. There was no warning!”
Meeker was so stunned she almost didn’t hear the phone. It was the sixth ring before she managed to cross back into the living room and pick it up.
“Hello.” She paused as she listened to the words coming from her office before saying, “I just heard about it on the radio.” She paused again before adding, “I’ll get dressed and be at the White House as soon as possible.”
Moving to the radio, she cut it off. Whatever her life had been, it was suddenly much different. Being alone at Christmas no longer was the most haunting thought in her head.