Two hours into the festivities, satiated with unending trays of crab meat and canapes, the band started up with a Glenn Miller tune. Gladys pulled Oliver onto the dance floor and Margaret grinned as her friend wore herself to exhaustion with each passing song.
“Golly, they’re good,” Gladys said at last, standing over Margaret as she turned around to applaud the band. “Do ya think they have any gin at the bar?”
“I’ve never known you to drink gin, Gladys.”
“My darling Maaaahgret,” she slurred, already with lips loosened by whatever she had found so far. “It is the most sincere wish of my heart that no one—not even you—know everything that I have buried inside me. I like to keep ’em guessing.”
Margaret grinned. “Keep who guessing, Glads?”
“Them,” she said, pointing to no one. She picked up Margaret’s drink, still nearly full and diluted by the ice that had melted. Gladys took a sip and winced.
“Take a turn with Oliver, honey. My feet are spent.”
Oliver helped Gladys into her seat.
“Would you like to dance, Margaret?”
“You don’t have to ask just to be kind.”
“I’m not being kind. I was going to ask anyway.”
She took the hand he extended to her and he pulled her gently to her feet. They walked hand in hand to the parquet floor and the band switched to a slow song.
Oliver pulled her into his arms. She’d never been this close to a man before, and there was something pleasant about swaying next to his tall, rugged frame. It was something she’d like for herself one day. This feeling that someone was her partner in life, leading as she followed. Following as she led. As much as she enjoyed the horizons that women were nearing and had taken steps even closer to them by working at the Navy Yard, something in her yearned for this kind of relationship as well. She wondered again—could they both be had?
“May I ask you something, Margaret?”
She looked up.
“Of course.”
“I’ve bought a ring for Gladys. Do you think she’ll say yes? Or will she boot me back over the Atlantic?”
Goose bumps popped up on Margaret’s arm. “Oliver, that’s really…nice of you. And I wish I could tell you that I’m confident she’ll accept it. But you know Gladys. She loves to surprise people.”
“That’s what I like about her, Margaret. Love about her, in fact.”
Margaret nodded. “I know. Me too. Life with Gladys will never be dull. She’s been on her own for so long and has well-earned opinions about, well, just about anything. I’ve never thought there would be a man who could tolerate that about her.”
“I don’t tolerate it. I appreciate it.”
“You are one in a million, my friend.”
He tipped an imaginary cap in gratitude and his voice turned somber. “It would mean moving back to England someday. I’m probably here until the war is over. And after D-Day victory, that may be sooner rather than later.”
So many thoughts ran through Margaret’s mind as she imagined what Gladys might say to that. It was really anybody’s guess. Oddsmakers would be at a loss to lay bets on it.
“You know she’s not going to be the type to settle down and have babies, right?”
He nodded. “I know. I have been approached by the London Times for a correspondent job that would take me all over the world. And I wouldn’t consider it if it meant always leaving a wife and children at home. But with Gladys—with Gladys, I think she would rather like joining me. There’s so much to explore.”
“I think Gladys would love to see the world. But I don’t know if the world is quite ready for her. She’ll see injustices that are centuries old and become a one-woman force for change.”
“I rather agree with you there.” He laughed. “But I want it anyway. I want to see it all through her eyes. And hear her opinions. She’ll surely look at things in ways I never would have thought of myself.”
Margaret was glad to hear him say that. Gladys certainly needed a man who loved her in all her totality.
“Here’s what you do,” she decided. “It can’t be your idea. Gladys has to ask you to marry her.”
Oliver grinned, the sheepish kind that had quickly endeared all of them to him. “Why was I afraid that you’d say that?”
“Because you already know it’s true. She won’t stand for feeling maneuvered or provoked. But if she realizes that she may lose you when you leave…I think we’ll see her true feelings emerge.”
“You’re a wise one, Margaret Beck. How come some great guy hasn’t swept you away?”
She shrugged. “I think the war has stolen just about every eligible young man from Brooklyn and beyond.”
The band began another slow song, as if it was inviting her to bare her soul. Everyone had their own problems and Margaret’s felt too trivial to voice.
And yet, he was asking.
“I want love,” she whispered at last, admitting it as much to herself as she was to him. “I want love and marriage and babies and all that comes with it. I also want to take these things I’ve learned at the Navy Yard and…and do something with it. I don’t know what yet. But I think women are teetering on some confusing precipice where we don’t want to throw the old ways out but we do want to walk through the doors that are just beginning to crack open for us. And if it’s hard enough for us to navigate that, how can we expect the men—especially the ones who come home and understandably want their jobs back—to reconcile that? I’ve…I’ve made my own money, and I don’t want to give that up. How do I do that, though? Even if I miraculously find a man who supports that notion, what would that even be like? Torn between motherhood and working? I mean it, Oliver. It’s not just a frivolous notion. How are women actually supposed to do that?”
She could see the wrinkle in Oliver’s brow as he gave her words serious consideration, and she appreciated that he wasn’t the sort to just placate her.
When he finally spoke, it was the exact wisdom she needed to hear. “What about your parents? That may be your father’s name on the cobbler shop, but from what Gladys has told me, your mum has played a big role in it. Did you feel slighted as a daughter by the hours she spent there?”
“No. She would bring me down to the shop. And John. She’d read books to us and play games and let us watch what they were doing. That’s how we began to learn to work with our hands.”
“Exactly. Don’t get swept up in the logistics of the thing. When you find the right man, when you know you’re in love, build something together. Like your parents. Play more of a role than even your mother did. But draw on that example. It may be a new world, but love is like elastic. It can stretch to embrace it.”
Margaret giggled. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m just realizing what a lucky girl Gladys is to find a man who speaks prose like it’s poetry. I think your writing is wasted on the newspapers.”
“I saw him first, you know.” The music had stopped and Gladys came over, a glass of gin in hand.
Margaret squeezed Oliver’s hand and placed it over Gladys’s. “Of course you did. And don’t let him get away.”