And so Lena went back to her job at the Physics department. It had never been a quiet place, but it was positively bustling now, a frantic urgency sweeping the air. Ever since America had entered the war, each day felt like a race against the clock.
Compton was at the helm, spearheading experiments in fission from coast to coast. Each project, from Enrico Fermi’s at Columbia University in New York, to J. Robert Oppenheimer’s at Berkeley, would hopefully forge a path to a nuclear device. Lena and Sonia, the other secretary, kept busy sending frequent letters, sometimes telegrams, to the scientists; typing conclusions and analyses by other physicists; even corresponding with government officials. Lena was thrilled to be interacting, albeit indirectly, with the most famous scientists in the country. Bit by bit, she started to emerge from her shell of grief.
Shortly after she returned, Compton decided to combine some of the research programs into one location. He appointed Leo Szilard head of materials acquisition and convinced Szilard, Fermi, and others to move to Chicago. He snagged some unused space beneath a racquetball court under the west grandstand of Stagg Field and created what became known as the Metallurgical Lab. It was here that the department would build the machinery to conduct experiments with graphite and uranium that, when bombarded with neutrons, would, hopefully, produce a chain reaction.
At home life seemed to fall into place as well. Max enjoyed his days with Mrs. McNulty, whom he called Mrs. M.
“All he wants to eat are apples,” Mrs. M said.
“That’s not necessarily bad,” Lena said.
Mrs. McNulty smiled. “And when he’s not munching on the fruit, he plays with Lincoln Logs. I think he’s going to be an engineer when he grows up. Or a scientist.”
“Like his father,” Lena said softly.
She tried to spend as much time as she could with Max after work and begged Mrs. McNulty to let him nap long hours so she could keep him up at night. He was chattering non-stop now, and Lena loved teaching him new words and ideas. But even with a three-hour nap, his little head drooped by nine in the evening, so she would sing him some of the German lullabies her mother sang to her, tuck him in bed, then fall asleep herself.
Between food, rent, and Mrs. McNulty, Lena was barely making it financially. Every week she plunged deeper in debt. The kindly grocer extended endless lines of credit, Mrs. McNulty, too. Still, Lena worried she could never repay what she owed. She feared it was just a matter of time until it all unraveled.