too,” Tish said and kept right on scribbling.
“But…personal about what?” Kitty said.
Now Tish did look up. “You gotta make ’em feel better,” she said. She raised an eyebrow. “You know? You gotta get their minds off the war!”
“But what are you
saying
to get their minds off the war?” Kitty asked, and Tish said loudly, “You’ve got the guidelines right there! I’m not telling you what I wrote! Make up your own letter!”
From the parlor came their mother’s warning voice.
“Girls…”
Kitty tapped her pen against her paper and Louise looked up, irritated. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, tell him how you want to get a cat, or how fierce that thunderstorm was, or how much you liked some movie or book. Say what you’ll do when he comes home. Gosh, Kitty, I never knew you were so…so…”
“So what?” Kitty asked. “You never knew I was so what?”
“Dumb,” Tish said, and Louise laughed and said, “No, not dumb! Just…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I mean, you and Julian! Anybody would think you would have tons to say to him!”
“We do better in person,” Kitty said. And she started a new paragraph about how annoying her sisters were. Yes. Julian used to laugh when she did that. But…She put down her pen and picked at a cuticle. Maybe it would be bad to say that now. Maybe she shouldn’t complain about anything. Maybe he needed to hear only happy things. Had she already told him the salvage joke about how all the housewives were bringing in their fat cans, ha ha? She was pretty sure she had. In fact, now that she thought of it, she remembered it was Julian who had told it to her.
Kitty wound a lock of hair around her finger and sniffed at it. That Kreml shampoo smelled good; Margie Hennessey, who’d told her about it, was right. Margie said the John Robert Powers models used Kreml, and they always married millionaires. Kitty wrote,
Margie Hennessey says hi,
then shifted her eyes to the kitchen clock. Had it not moved at all since she last looked? She went over and smacked it.
“What are you
doing
?” Louise asked.
“The doggone clock’s broken,” Kitty said. But it wasn’t. She came back to the table, flung herself into her chair, and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Well, fine, I can’t think of a single thing more to say! Nothing ever happens here! It’s all happening there! And I’ve gotten only one letter from him! There’s nothing to respond to!”
Neither of her sisters dignified this outburst with an answer. Kitty leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. Swung it. Then she remembered something, and she sat up and bent over her page to write,
Susie Anderson left work to go and live with her aunt in North Carolina. She’s painting airplanes. Can you imagine? She paints them white on the underbelly, blue on the sides, and green on the top. So if you look from underneath they look like clouds, and from the side they look like sky and from above they look like—
Here she stopped to think. What was it Susie had written to Maureen?—
like water!
she wrote, and then wondered if that was right. And wait—was it North Carolina or South Carolina? Oh, Julian wouldn’t care, and anyway he surely already knew all about camouflage techniques.
I wish Ma and Pop would let me get a defense job,
she wrote. But she’d told him that before. So she added,
I still do wish that.
Then she sat lightly tapping her heel against the floor and staring into space while her sisters’ pens scratched and scratched and scratched away.
They heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and their mother appeared in the kitchen to wash out her teacup. “Hey, Ma,” Kitty said. “What should I write to Julian?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Margaret said and turned to look over her glasses at Kitty.
“Well, if Pop were overseas and you were writing to him, what would you say?”
“I’d ask him how we were able to produce such
“But…personal about what?” Kitty said.
Now Tish did look up. “You gotta make ’em feel better,” she said. She raised an eyebrow. “You know? You gotta get their minds off the war!”
“But what are you
saying
to get their minds off the war?” Kitty asked, and Tish said loudly, “You’ve got the guidelines right there! I’m not telling you what I wrote! Make up your own letter!”
From the parlor came their mother’s warning voice.
“Girls…”
Kitty tapped her pen against her paper and Louise looked up, irritated. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, tell him how you want to get a cat, or how fierce that thunderstorm was, or how much you liked some movie or book. Say what you’ll do when he comes home. Gosh, Kitty, I never knew you were so…so…”
“So what?” Kitty asked. “You never knew I was so what?”
“Dumb,” Tish said, and Louise laughed and said, “No, not dumb! Just…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I mean, you and Julian! Anybody would think you would have tons to say to him!”
“We do better in person,” Kitty said. And she started a new paragraph about how annoying her sisters were. Yes. Julian used to laugh when she did that. But…She put down her pen and picked at a cuticle. Maybe it would be bad to say that now. Maybe she shouldn’t complain about anything. Maybe he needed to hear only happy things. Had she already told him the salvage joke about how all the housewives were bringing in their fat cans, ha ha? She was pretty sure she had. In fact, now that she thought of it, she remembered it was Julian who had told it to her.
Kitty wound a lock of hair around her finger and sniffed at it. That Kreml shampoo smelled good; Margie Hennessey, who’d told her about it, was right. Margie said the John Robert Powers models used Kreml, and they always married millionaires. Kitty wrote,
Margie Hennessey says hi,
then shifted her eyes to the kitchen clock. Had it not moved at all since she last looked? She went over and smacked it.
“What are you
doing
?” Louise asked.
“The doggone clock’s broken,” Kitty said. But it wasn’t. She came back to the table, flung herself into her chair, and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Well, fine, I can’t think of a single thing more to say! Nothing ever happens here! It’s all happening there! And I’ve gotten only one letter from him! There’s nothing to respond to!”
Neither of her sisters dignified this outburst with an answer. Kitty leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. Swung it. Then she remembered something, and she sat up and bent over her page to write,
Susie Anderson left work to go and live with her aunt in North Carolina. She’s painting airplanes. Can you imagine? She paints them white on the underbelly, blue on the sides, and green on the top. So if you look from underneath they look like clouds, and from the side they look like sky and from above they look like—
Here she stopped to think. What was it Susie had written to Maureen?—
like water!
she wrote, and then wondered if that was right. And wait—was it North Carolina or South Carolina? Oh, Julian wouldn’t care, and anyway he surely already knew all about camouflage techniques.
I wish Ma and Pop would let me get a defense job,
she wrote. But she’d told him that before. So she added,
I still do wish that.
Then she sat lightly tapping her heel against the floor and staring into space while her sisters’ pens scratched and scratched and scratched away.
They heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and their mother appeared in the kitchen to wash out her teacup. “Hey, Ma,” Kitty said. “What should I write to Julian?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Margaret said and turned to look over her glasses at Kitty.
“Well, if Pop were overseas and you were writing to him, what would you say?”
“I’d ask him how we were able to produce such
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