O'hara's Choice - Leon Uris [40]
“I work at Müeller’s,” Beth said to Amanda.
“I don’t know that one,” Amanda said.
“Cotton-finishing factory. I do the fancy stitching on bed linens. My sisters work there as well. Where do you work, Amanda?”
“My father has his own business. He has a shop, outfits boats.”
“Lucky you. It took me a long time to get lacework on the third floor, but they’re very strict on us. I’m on a wait list for a nanny’s job,” Beth said, crossing her fingers for luck.
Beth lived in Pottstown, an Irish enclave of Baltimore.
Casper Varnik came from halfway across the country—Chicago!
“How did you two meet?” Amanda asked.
“I was visiting a cousin in Baltimore,” Casper said, “and there was this here social event at the Sacred Heart Seamen’s Mission.”
“I’m a Baltimorean, too,” Amanda said. “You poor fellows should have found yourselves a couple of birds at Riverside Park near your barracks.”
The corporal patted his girl’s hand with sincere affection. “Not on your life,” he said. “You know it ain’t all that bad. We get a forty-eight-hour pass every month. Catch a train to Baltimore, hop the trolley to Pottstown, and hey, we still got Sunday, huh, Beth? Zach, how’s about you and me taking the late train back to Washington tomorrow?”
“I pulled guard duty. I’ve got to be at the barracks early.”
“But last train to Washington’s in an hour,” Casper said.
“I did some extra work at Captain Storm’s house, and in exchange, he loaned me his horse and rig.”
“Jesus, ‘scuse my language, that Captain Storm is more like, you know, a father than an officer. His wife, Matilda, throws a spread for us every month, Chinese food. She’s got this big pan in their galley, and as fast as we can eat it clean, she’s throwing more stuff into it.”
“What does your dad do?” Amanda asked Beth.
“After the eighth kid he went west with the railroad, an old Irish tradition,” she answered, and switched the subject, admiring Amanda’s doll. “Casper never wins the brass ring.” She held up a velvet cushion with a glittering chesapeake park and a painting of a mostly nude woman dancing the hoochie-koochie. “I have one of these already.”
“It’s beautiful!” Amanda said, giving Zach an imploring look. He nodded.
“Let’s trade!” Amanda cried. “My doll for your pillow.”
“Gracious!”
A straw-hatted quartet attired in vertical peppermint-striped jackets gave out with “Ta-Ra-Ra Boom Der-E.”
The Marines took their girls to the dance floor. Casper Varnik and Beth Shaughnessy were no slouches at ragtime. They traded partners, stepping wildly. Now a quadrille with a Norwegian sailor and his girl and a soldier boy and his girl. They danced till their sides ached.
Zach put his hand over Amanda’s glass as Casper poured a round. She’d already had two.
“It’s quite all right. I have a very fine escort,” she said, taking his hand away.
All too soon their witching hour fell.
Oh, to drive a dandy phaeton pulled by a magnificent Hambletonian trotter with the most beautiful girl in the world cuddled up against you.
Amanda ran her hand over the garish velvet pillow. It would be two weeks before Zach got a forty-eight-hour liberty. Maybe she’d slip over to Washington? That would not be wise. She told herself not to fall into a state of sadness.
The carriage turned onto the road up Butcher’s Hill. They could make out the lights of Inverness on its crown. As the carriage passed through a dark stretch of road, she told him to pull over.
“Aye.”
He tied up where the horse could nibble at a patch of tall grass. Amanda asked him to snuff out the carriage lamps and they were in total darkness.
“We’re still early,” she said. “I love this pillow. I really liked Beth and Casper.”
“This was the first time I’ve met her in person, but I’ve been looking at her picture on the wall by Varnik’s bunk for a year. She’s a soft little thing, like an Irish nymph. Varnik isn’t too articulate, but you should see how he takes charge and controls men, and his tactical sense.