MINNIE DIDN’T RUN OFF on her first night in Pompton Lakes, or on the second night, or the third.
She had her reasons, of course. On the first night, she was simply exhausted over the day’s events and the sudden turn her life had taken. She thought she’d do better on the run if she’d had a good night’s sleep first, and a chance to consult the train-tables. It was also true that she hadn’t a penny to her name. Originally she’d planned to lift a dollar from Edna’s purse—just enough to get her out of town—but then she met Edna, and couldn’t do it. She told herself that it was only the difficulty of riffling through Edna’s purse in such close quarters, but there was more to it than that, even if she wasn’t quite sure, at first, what it was.
On the second night, she was bone-weary from her shift at the powder works. She’d had no difficulty in learning the machine, but she was out of practice and had trouble keeping up. She nearly fell asleep over her supper. By the end of the evening, she remembered that she hadn’t managed to put her hands on a dollar or a train-table, so thought she’d stay just one more night.
On the third night, it occurred to her that she might as well wait and collect a week’s pay, thus remedying the money situation without taking anything from the other girls, who, she could see, needed every penny to get by.
Still, something else was keeping her in Pompton Lakes. She found Edna’s war talk to be strangely intoxicating. Boarding a ship for France sounded infinitely more interesting than boarding a train for New York. She had an idea, already, of how things would work out for her in New York: from the minute her feet hit the pavement, she’d be looking for a way to earn some money, or someone who wanted to spend his money on her. The “someone” would inevitably disappoint. Relations would sour. Work—whatever work there was to be had—would be tedious and unrewarding. She’d be in a city overfull of riches: theaters and tango rooms, dining palaces and smart cafés, dress shops and perfumers. But none of it would be hers. She’d be forever on the outside, trying to maneuver her way in.
But what of France? Here was unexplored territory. She knew nothing of Paris, or London, or of the German front. What did that matter? It was a new world over there. Men were taking up arms, marching against the Germans, and living in the most unimaginable conditions in trenches along the front. Women were working, too—not in factories, necessarily, although there must have been factory work for those who wanted to do it—but in hospitals, Army camps, and training schools. There were women working telephone switches and driving ambulances. Even in the grips of a military campaign, there was a lawlessness about it that Minnie found both terrifying and riveting.
And Edna wanted to be a part of it! Minnie had never in her life met anyone as thoughtful and purposeful as Edna. She was such a slight, mousy girl, with so little to say, but a steel cable of resolve ran through her. The notions of duty and service and country came as naturally to her as breathing. She was entirely sure that Europe had to be saved from the Kaiser, and that the Americans were the ones to do it.
“Yes,” Minnie tried to say one night, “the Americans, certainly. But—you?”
“Well, I’m an American, aren’t I?”
There was no arguing with that.
Minnie found herself attending the meetings of the Women’s Preparedness Committee with Edna. Soon she was sitting next to her in classes on bandage-rolling and soup-making. Late at night, they practiced their French.
“You don’t have to help me study,” Edna said.
“Deputy Kopp said that I was to follow your example,” Minnie said. “Besides, I ought to keep busy. I ought to do whatever you’re doing.” She’d been avoiding the other girls in the house. She saw herself in them, and saw how easy it would be to run around with them, and fall into their ways. She hadn’t entirely abandoned the idea of running off to New York—she’d only postponed it, one night at a time—but she didn’t want to risk being sent back to the reformatory over a silly dalliance with a man in Pompton Lakes.
She would study her French verbs, instead, thank you. And—here was another surprising truth—she would study Edna. Edna was becoming a source of fascination for her. She had the most astonishing ideas about the world, and her place in it. Here was a girl who could see ten miles down the road and ten years ahead, and who knew exactly the way forward, and was prepared to go, unwaveringly, through the hell of war if that’s where her convictions led her. Minnie had never met anyone like her.
She tried not to think about the fact that Edna would be leaving, or to wonder what would become of her after Edna was gone. When Edna and the society girls talked about their upcoming departure at the meetings, Minnie turned her head away and pretended not to hear.