RUBY
May 1941
What was Daddy thinking? Ruby could kill the man! Just kill him!
Not literally, of course. But, still. Of all the crummy notions, he picked this one.
“Gas masks!” Ruby said to no one in particular as she yanked a drop cloth off a settee. “Horrific!”
From golf balls to gas masks, in a snap.
As if Sam (and Topper) weren’t keyed up enough about the blessed skirmish, that warmonger FDR announced mandatory conscription approximately three minutes after Sam and Ruby returned from Acapulco. A peacetime draft. Didn’t that just beat it all? Sam’s number had not yet been called, much to his never-ending dismay.
“Perhaps I’ll sign up,” he said—nay, threatened—thrice weekly. “They need good men.”
“Darling,” Ruby responded, her face flat while her heart thwacked. “This will be a long battle yet. If you’re meant to go, you’ll go.”
Then she’d excuse herself and spend the next hour kneeling in the closet, begging God to spare her sweet husband. It’s as though he wanted to be some sort of hero. Baloney. A good man, that was the hero Ruby admired.
To make matters worse, a few weeks before they were to open Cliff House, Daddy announced a change to his business. Young Golf Products would cease the manufacture of golf balls and focus its facilities on gas masks. With one fell swoop, Daddy ruined the summer before it began. Swear to peaches, if a single gas mask found its way to Sconset, Ruby would hurl it right off the bluff.
Cliff House was peace. It was calm, a retreat from the real world. In Sconset, life glittered like the Atlantic beneath the sun. But now the men would toil away in the city during the week and bring to Sconset if not the masks themselves, visions of defense equipment coming off the line.
Ruby tried everything: reason, threats, and good old-fashioned crying. But Daddy remained unswayed.
“It’s only temporary, petal,” he said, just last night during their family’s final meal in Boston before decamping for the summer. “We must do our part.”
“Must we?!”
“Hear, hear,” P.J. cheered.
“That’s the way, Pops,” Topper said. “You shred it, wheat.”
Ruby gave him a swift kick to the shin.
“It’s a man’s duty to support his family,” Mary reminded them all. “And a woman’s duty to support her husband’s occupation, whatever that might be.”
As everyone nodded in agreement, Ruby rolled her eyes and then promptly received a sharp glare from her father. Her impertinence amused and charmed him—to a degree.
“If you ask me,” Ruby’s mother said about the change, “this is a jolly good arrangement. Better a contract with Uncle Sam than with a sporting-goods store that could be broke by next Tuesday.”
They’d gone through plenty of that a decade ago, if you please. Mother was right. The economic decline was certainly no costume ball. So Ruby shut her trap for the rest of the meal, even as she simmered inside.
Now they were at Cliff House, the women anyway, opening the home for the summer. Ruby experienced none of her usual thrill, the giddy anticipation for the next one hundred days. The cloud was thick, the doom too real. She tried not to imagine next summer, or the summer after that.
“We must do our part,” Ruby groused as she polished a floor radio. “I’ve got it! Let’s get ourselves killed for someone else’s problems!”
“Oh Ruby!” Sarah Young said from somewhere upstairs. “Are you still down there? How’s it all coming?”
“Yes, Mother! I’m down here. It’s going splendidly. Working myself to the bone!”
Ruby looked toward a box on the floor and the twenty or so porcelain figurines left to unwrap.
“Have you started on the dining room?” Sarah asked.
“Not quite yet.”
Ruby sighed. Nothing was ever fast enough.
“Soon, though!” she added, already beat.
“Thank you, dear! Couldn’t do this without you!”
With a smirk, Ruby pulled back the floral drapes, whipping up torrents of dust along the way. Mother couldn’t do it without her indeed. As she had so many times before, Ruby wondered why the boys (or, rather, the men) weren’t there to assist, why the opening of Cliff House fell to the women.
In fact, everything at Cliff House fell to the women. Not just the unpacking but every day, all day, all summer long. Through it all, the men came and went like important guests of a finely run, excessively accommodating hotel. But, really, Cliff House was their home, Ruby thought. The women’s, more than the men’s. It was their work. Their fingerprints. Their soul.
“Aw, Ruby Red,” she could almost hear Topper tsk. “Sorry you have to labor a single smidge in your otherwise gilded lifestyle. Must be a real grind! You poor lass!”
Then again, Topper considered golfing in light drizzle a monumental achievement, so he was in no position to pass judgment on residents of Easy Street. He was the doggone mayor of Snazzy Town.
“How’s the view for ya, gents?” Ruby asked aloud, rubbing the salt and grime from the windowpanes. “And the veranda? Has it been properly swept? Yes, please do! Continue to drop your cigarette ashes about! No need to hassle with a receptacle. There’s always someone to sweep it up!”
“Ruby?” said a voice, a pinch to the side.
“God bless it!” Ruby jumped, and then turned to the doorway. “Applesauce! Mary Young, you scared the dickens out of me.”
Her sister-in-law looked wan and mildly depressed, as was customary. Ruby was a touch wan and depressed herself.
“How does Sam stand such rough language?” Mary said.
“He taught me all the best curse words, dontcha know?” Ruby joked.
“Life’s such an endless gas for you, isn’t it? When will you ever get serious?”
“I’m as serious as they come. So, what are you up to, Mare?”
Not opening Cliff House, Ruby hastened to add. The previous year Mary had been of moderate assistance, but now that she was pregnant—a new “scion,” she claimed—it was all convalescing and complaining so far. And Ruby had her doubts about the alleged baby. Mary displayed none of the usual pregnancy signs and anyway the woman seemed about as fecund as a coal mine.
“Can you imagine sticking your pecker into that broad?” Topper once asked a pal, accidentally within earshot of Ruby. Her brother had been three deep in his favored whiskey-and-whiskey cocktails. “The damn thing would snap like a twig.”
Ruby made like a respectable society bird and promptly jumped to her feet and slapped her brother on the cheek. But, facts were facts. It was the most vivid description she’d heard of another human. And despite her knowing very little about peckers, it seemed accurate to boot.
“Just wanted to check on you,” Mary said as she leaned into the doorjamb, winded with indignation. “Before I catch up on some correspondence. The work never ends! By the by, Mrs. Grimsbury has put tea out on the veranda if you care to partake.”
“Swell,” Ruby replied, eyeing Mary’s midsection and noting it was wooden and flat as ever. “Alas, I don’t have time for sipping tea. There’s a house to be opened. But I do hope you enjoy reclining on the very lawn furniture I dragged from the shed last night!”
“No need to be testy.”
“I’m only ragging you. The tea sounds lovely but I’m short on time. Give Mrs. G. my regrets.”
“All right,” Mary said with a shrug. It was the most physically demonstrative she’d ever been. “No tea. Suit yourself.”
As she pit-a-patted out of the room, Ruby shook her head. Good Lord, her brothers had horrible taste in women. They were lucky she brought Sam into the fold. Their gene pool was going to require some degree of help.
* * *
The first night at the club: always with a ten-piece band, the same man and woman at the mike. Both of them were Negroes. A couple, or maybe not. Either way, as the party reached its peak, they were marching the saints right on in.
“What a night! What a night!” Sam said, puffing on a cigarette and drinking like a horse.
He was grinning like a loon, too, his face glossed with sweat. His hair, hours ago slicked back, now dipped in chunks across his forehead, the ends kissing his thick black lashes.
“You said it.” Ruby moved onto his lap. “An utter kick.”
She grabbed the cigarette from between his fingers and took a puff as he kissed her neck. Ruby pictured people gasping. Mary would be notably horrified—that is, if she weren’t out on the floor. How Ruby’s sister-in-law could justify a day of convalescing followed by a night spent jitterbugging was a mystery for the ages. For all her manufactured propriety, Mary sure liked to play by her own rules.
“Sitting on my lap?” Sam teased. “In front of all these people?! You’re bad business, Mrs. Packard!”
Ruby giggled and nuzzled a spot where her husband had neglected to shave.
Remember this, she wanted to say. Remember how happy we are. If you go to Europe, it could be a year before we see each other. More. It’s possible we might not meet again until we’re on some other plane.
“My wife, scandalizing the club like she’s on a mission,” Sam said, and shifted awkwardly.
“Please! We’re married!”
Ruby locked her knees together and batted her eyes.
“I’m just an innocent island girl,” she said. “A near-Quaker, like the ones who founded this place.”
As Sam leaned in to kiss her again, Ruby beamed. God, she was happy. So deliriously happy.
Oh, the night had the potential to end badly, it did. In two hours Sam might be passed out on the marital bed, or making sick in Mother’s roses. But Ruby loved him even more when he was like this, filled with light, not ruminating on battleships or gas masks or that awful Hitler and his bombing planes. This Sam reminded her of the one she’d known since she was a girl.
“Come, my love,” he said, boosting Ruby to her feet. “Let’s take those hooves for a spin.”
“Saaaam…” Ruby said, protesting a little.
Her knees ached, her ankles keened. That iron lawn furniture was no joke and she’d moved it all herself. But Ruby followed him nonetheless. Sam was the most splendid dancer. Whenever his shoes began to bop, the room split in two. Everyone wanted to watch him move.
“Long day, my darling?” he asked, detecting the crackle in her ankles as he spun her about the floor.
“The longest. I think the furniture reproduced while we were away. There are more pieces than ever. And the plumber was three hours late to turn on the water! All the while, Mother barked orders and Mary didn’t lift a single craggy talon.”
Sam tipped his head back and laughed.
“Oh Mary,” he said. “Good old Talons Magee. Well, now, what can you expect from Mrs. Philip E. Young, Junior? She’s gestating a future scion of industry in that steel belly of hers. And steel never bends.”
Sam twirled Ruby once beneath his arm, and then again. She was dizzy from the dancing, and the champagne, and the attentions of her very own Cary Grant. Lord, was Sam ever a dreamboat. When you’d known someone most of your life, it was easy to forget.
“Well, Mrs. Packard,” Sam said after sending her toward the floor in a most beguiling dip. “Sounds like you’ve worked the feathers right off your tail. But here you are, dancing with me. And you’ve cleaned up rather well, it should be noted.”
“Oh I try,” she said. “All for my special man.”
He gave her a few more whirls and Ruby’s insides soared straight to the heavens. Soon the band changed its tempo, “God Bless America” on the docket. Ruby checked the clock on the far wall. Dang it all to hell. The party was about to end.
As if reading her thoughts, Sam frowned. But when Ruby looked over her shoulder she realized it was not the clock causing him to glower but her brother, marching straight at them.
“Hello, lovebirds,” Topper said, affecting a drawl. “Mind if I have this dance?”
“I’m grateful for the offer, but you should dance with your sister,” Sam said.
“A real cut-up, this guy.” Topper offered Ruby his arm. “Shall we?”
“Do you mind?” Ruby asked her husband.
“Of course not. Dance on, you two.”
Sam made a circular motion with his hand and Ruby smiled in thanks. Perhaps the chilliness she saw between the men was squarely in her mind.
“You kids have a nice trot,” Sam said. “I’ll be enjoying a smoke near the valet.”
Though he smiled, Ruby noticed that his eyes seemed lost. The brewing of his inner jingoism, no doubt. Ruby watched as he walked off, singing along to the band.
Stand beside her, and guide her, through the night with a light from above.
“What’s the matter, little sis?” Topper said, and placed a hand at the small of her back. “Blue to be with second place? Listen, I’m no Ducky Shincracker like your boy Packard, but I can cut a rug or two.”
“So you claim,” Ruby answered, casting eyeballs about the room.
She watched Sam brush against a potted palm and then slide through the door.
“You seem to be having a lovely night,” Topper said, gently leading her to the beat. “At least until I showed up.”
“It’s been wonderful,” Ruby said. “Before and now. We’re having a blast. Sam is in a great mood. It’s fab to see.”
Topper cocked an eyebrow.
“Sam’s in a great mood. As opposed to…?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Ruby shook her head. “It’s just that Sam can be so serious. Moody.”
“That he can,” Topper said with a nod.
“It’s nice to watch him reveling in the night, having a drink, dancing. He’s been so worried, lately. Hitler. This war. It’s not even our war. He’s distraught over nothing!”
“Nothing?” Topper threw her a strange look. “Whaddya mean he’s upset ‘over nothing’?”
“The war in Europe…”
“Listen, darling, that ain’t nothin’.”
Topper took to dancing again, this time more slowly, deliberately, a subtle shift between his feet.
“I know,” she said. “It’s a war. And now there’s conscription. But it’s over there.”
She jerked her head, though it was not in the most accurate direction. Essentially she was aiming toward Boston.
“Yes,” Topper said, his brow darkening. “It’s ‘over there.’ For now.”
“It’s like he’s infected everyone.”
“Who? Hitler?”
“No! Why would I bring up Hitler on a night like this? I meant Sam!”
“Whoa, girl,” he scoffed. “‘Infected’? Don’t you think that’s a mite hard-nosed?”
“I didn’t really mean infected, per se.”
“I agree with your husband,” Topper reminded her. “We need to get involved in this war. Am I infected, too?”
“Well, that’s different,” she said. “You’re still in college.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sure at Harvard it’s the very fashion to…” Ruby shook her head. “The thing is, Daddy’s started making gas masks and even Mother is in the blue moods about it all.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She’s thinking of joining the Grey Ladies.”
“No!” Topper let out a fake gasp. “Do-gooding and Bundles for Britain?! Say it ain’t so! We cannot have that kind of philanthropy in our family. We might earn a reputation for being kindhearted!”
“Hilarious.” Ruby gave him a swat to the shoulder.
“This war, Red. We can’t stay out of it forever. By us I mean the United States. I mean you, I mean me.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“I’m going over,” he said. “If I’m not drafted, I plan to sign myself up.”
“Topper! You can’t! Mother wouldn’t survive it. I wouldn’t!”
“It’s a matter of time, the only question being … do I go the army route, or do I climb aboard a ship?”
“This isn’t funny!” Ruby yipped. “Of all the nights…”
“I have to go, Red. It’s the right thing to do.”
“But this war isn’t ours to fight!” Ruby looked up at him, a crick already forming in her neck. At six-four, Topper had a good foot on her. She spent ninety percent of their time together with her face tilted toward the sky. “Lindbergh says they’re making the same mistakes from the first war. You’re going to risk your life for that?”
“Dear God. Don’t even talk to me about Lindbergh.” Topper pretended to spit.
“We were tricked into coming to people’s rescue and lost fifty thousand men in the process! Not to mention we don’t have the power to defeat the Axis right now. A suicide mission is what it is.”
“You sound like Chuck Lindbergh sure enough. That’s not a compliment, by the way.”
“What do you have against Lindbergh?”
“He’s practically a German. Folks call him the ‘number one Nazi fellow traveler.’ And he supports racial purity! That’s eugenics, Ruby. In case I need to spell it out.”
“I don’t agree with him on that front. But he’s a patriot! And he’s been through so much.”
“He’s handsome and had a baby kidnapped. Sorry, Red, that doesn’t make him right. And don’t get me started on that wife of his.”
“Anne is delightful,” Ruby said.
She’d met her once, back at school. Anne Morrow was a Smithie, too, and had made an appearance on campus, enchanting every last one of them.
“Mrs. Lindbergh is so lovely and strong despite the tragedy,” Ruby said. “Why, if I were in her shoes, I’d never step out of my house.”
“Doesn’t give her the right to act like a cretin. For the love of God, Red, that book of hers is a Nazi handbook if ever there was one. The Lindberghs. Christ. I’d welcome their insight even less than I’d welcome typhoid fever.” Topper eyed the ceiling as if in contemplation. “Smallpox? Polio? A knife to the gut? All of the above?”
“I get it. You don’t care for them. I just can’t figure how muddling around Europe’s problems does anything for us.”
“You want it to do something for us?” Topper wrenched up his mug. “To begin, as it relates to Hitler, it’s first stop Europe, next stop the world.”
“But he’s said he has no designs on this part of the globe. I read it in the Times. Your favorite rag.”
“Well, if there’s ever a man to take at his word,” Topper said with a snort, “it’s Hitler. Just ask the Austrians. And even if he were being uncharacteristically honest, you can’t … It’s not morally sound to be an isolationist anymore. I’m a little embarrassed you still have such ideas.”
“Embarrassed? Ouch. And since when do you care about morals?”
Topper flinched as if stung, though he’d jabbed at her first.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Ruby started.
He shook his head.
“No. I know. It’s fine.” He sighed. “The thing is, Ruby, I’m a lover not a fighter.”
“Spare me!”
“I don’t like the thought of getting involved in some far-flung war any more than you do. But we can’t keep burying our heads in the sand. Grievous atrocities are being committed. Last week, five thousand Jews were rounded up in Paris and shipped off to prison camps, to endure God knows what abuse. These places have death quotas, Ruby. Which they’re besting several times over.”
Ruby’s stomach lurched. She clamped her eyes shut. The boy was far too fixated on every iniquity they printed in The New York Times.
“Topper, please…”
“You can’t turn away, Ruby. That man—Hitler—he’s pure evil. He must be stopped.”
Ruby opened her eyes and nodded absently.
She didn’t wholly agree with her brother, or with Sam, but Ruby understood Topper’s heart. For a second she felt a ping, the urge to do more than complain or disagree. For all his claims that the woman was a fascist monster, Ruby quite concurred with Mrs. Lindbergh, who said that her heart wanted to help but her mind questioned the sanity of it.
“I suppose I can do something,” Ruby said. “With the Bundles for Britain program. The Grey Ladies are in the thick of it. According to Mother, they’ve requested more hands.”
Yes, Ruby decided. She could take to knitting socks and hats to be sent overseas. Though she wasn’t in favor of the United States joining the fight, that didn’t mean she couldn’t support Britain and her allies. There was more than one way to think about this war.
“Bundles for Britain?” Topper said with an arched brow. “You’re really going to join up?”
“Why not? You’ve said it yourself. I have an idealistic view of the world. My tinseled cocoon and whatnot. Time to get serious. I’m having too much fun.”
“Aw, hell,” Topper said with a forlorn sort of head tilt. “Ruby, you’re a doll. Bundles for Britain sounds swell but don’t listen to your baby brother. I’m full of bunk ninety percent of the time.”
“That is definitely true.”
“Forget serious, Red. You keep your sunshine. You stay in that cocoon. Everybody loves the la-la girls. In New England you’re the rarest kind of bird.”