The Last Government Girl. Ellen Herbert

the train.

      A knock on the glass startled them. “Lower the window, Rachel,” Mr. Margolis called. His voice carried as if he was on the loudspeaker at his store calling for a clerk to come to house-wares.

      Rachel fiddled with the window latch. “Sorry Papa, it won’t budge.”

      “Call me tonight. Understand? Tonight. Reverse the charges. I need to know you arrived safely. Do you still have the paper I gave you?”

      Rachel took an envelope from her alligator purse and pressed it to the glass.

      “Our cousin’s address and phone number,” he said. “And his factory’s address. I told him you would come for Shabbat so—-”

      The train let out a shrill whistle and chuffed forward, slowly then faster, faster. The most beautiful sound Eddie had ever heard. Rachel’s face opened in an astonished grin, her dimples deep with delight. Mr. Margolis yelled more instructions lost in the noise and smoke.

      Once they left him behind, they hugged hard, silenced by joy. In one swift motion, they peeled off their gloves, unpinned their hats, and smoothed each other’s hair. Like monkeys, Eddie thought, deliriously happy monkeys.

      Rachel ripped the envelope in two and was about to rip further.

      “Don’t.” Eddie grabbed the pieces, still large enough to read. “You’re going to have to visit your cousin eventually.”

      “I’m tired of being under Papa’s thumb. And I wish we didn’t have to stay with your aunt. The last thing we need is some old biddy watching and reporting on what we do.”

      “True.” But the only way Eddie convinced her father to let her go was to agree that she and Rachel would live on Georgia Avenue with his stepsister, Viola Trundle.

      Aunt Viola was living up to her reputation as a cheapskate. In her letter, she informed Eddie she would charge each girl ten dollars a month for the room they would share and insisted they send her a month’s rent in advance. And for housing government girls, Aunt Viola would get extra ration coupons from the Office of Price Administration.

      “Hide me,” Rachel said. “I want to change shoes.”

      Eddie held her sweater wide like a curtain, so no one could see Rachel reach under her dress and tug down her woolen hose. Rachel pushed off her saddle shoes and slipped on white anklets and high heels, sexy ones she’d used all her shoe coupons to buy.

      “Hello, ladies.” A dark-eyed soldier leaned over them. “How would you two like to have cocktails with us in the club car?” The blond soldier behind him said, “I second that.”

      Ah, temptations already, liquor and men. Eddie laughed inside. This train, the Crescent out of New Orleans, was packed with military men traveling north from bases all over the South. Able-bodied men had been scarce in southwest Virginia. Under her father’s gaze, Eddie had ignored the men aboard, but at this moment, she felt as if she’d landed in a candy factory.

      Still she said, “No, thank you.” She needed to sit and feel the miles grow between her and Saltville. This was the greatest day of her life. Even when she went to college, she didn’t leave home. She went to Emory and Henry seven miles from Saltville. While life on campus was another world, every night she hurried to board the bus, relieved when they rounded the corner into town and she saw their house was still standing, that Mama hadn’t set it on fire.

      “Is there a piano in the club car?” Rachel asked Private Dark Eyes.

      “Yep, there is.” He winked. “What’s your favorite song, honey?”

      “Rachel.” Eddie had promised Mr. Margolis she would look after Rachel, a recent graduate of Saltville High, where Eddie had been a teacher. Because a friendship between a teacher and student wasn’t allowed, they had kept theirs a secret.

      “You’re barking up the wrong trees with them two,” a female voice called behind them. “They’re snooty as all get out.”

      “Says who?” Rachel got on her knees and turned backward to look into the seat behind them. Eddie rose to see who was speaking.

      “Pearl Ballou, that’s who. Remember me, Miss Smith?” Pearl sat in near darkness, her window shade pulled down. A kerchief covered her hair and obscured her face.

      At the sight of her former student, Eddie groaned inside. “Hello Pearl. Where are you traveling to?” Pearl, a bony redhead, had been in Eddie’s remedial English class last fall until she dropped out because she was pregnant. Pregnancy was also not allowed at Saltville High.

      “To Washington City.” Pearl lifted her chin. “Gonna be a government girl.”

      Eddie wondered who was caring for Pearl’s baby, not that this was any of her business. “We’re going there, too, Pearl. We took the Department of the Army’s test two months ago at the bank. I don’t recall seeing you there.”

      Pearl’s expression soured. “You always did put a lot of store in tests, Miss Smith. Not ever body has to take one. If I need testing, they’ll do it when I git up there.”

      Eddie had learned not to trust anything Pearl said, but Pearl was no longer her student—hurrah. No need to argue. “We’re not in school anymore, Pearl. Call me, Eddie.”

      “Okay, Eddie.” When Pearl untied the kerchief, her faded blouse rode up showing a thick cloth pouch tied around her middle. What was it?

      And where had Pearl gotten the money for a train ticket to Washington? Eddie remembered Pearl sneaking into the pool in summer and into Saltville’s movie theater through the exit door. At school, she ate from other students’ lunch pails. Pearl had been raised by a bootlegger uncle who never gave her anything except his daughter’s hand-me-downs. Eddie felt sorry for her.

      But if Pearl had sneaked onto the train, she was about to get caught.

      “Ladies,” the conductor gestured to Rachel and Eddie, “sit in your seats. Ticket, please,” he said to Pearl.

      Eddie listened intently. His ticket punch clicked, meaning Pearl had a ticket.

      After he punched their tickets, Rachel said, “I’m making one of your dreams come true this evening, Eddie. I’m treating you to dinner in the dining car.”

      Eddie had told Rachel about her nights spent watching trains, longing to be on the inside, looking out the dining car’s window. “Thank you,” she said and felt the pull of tears.

      “Don’t cry, Bubula.” Rachel’s dimples appeared. “Our real lives started…” she checked her watch, “seventeen minutes ago. Nothing but blue skies ahead for us.”

      She lowered the window, so they could feel the wind in their faces.

      For fun, they played a word game Eddie had made up. “Aufregend,” Eddie said and waited for Rachel to give her a synonym in German. Rachel had been Eddie’s only advanced German student. While Eddie helped Rachel write in German and translate Goethe, Rachel taught Eddie some Yiddish, a language akin to German, but more fun.

      Once a silver twilight descended, Rachel said, “Our reservation is for six. Let’s go.”

      Eddie turned in her seat. “Pearl, I brought fried chicken for our dinner. Since we’re eating in the dining car, I hate for this to go to waste.” She offered the box over the seat.

      “Happy to oblige, Eddie.” Pearl brought the box to her nose. “Saltville folks say your mama’s a right good cook.”

      Eddie let this pass. Her mother was in the asylum at Kingsport again. Months before the rest of the family knew, Eddie sensed Mama’s mood turning blue. She tasted it in her mother’s heavy biscuits and felt it in the buttons she broke in the wringer washing machine. By the time Mama did nothing but rock on the porch, sometimes in her nightgown, all of Saltville knew. At the asylum, she would be given electric shock treatments that left her hollow-eyed but eventually more like her former self when she would return