Nora processed this information. In addition to scientists, they were hiring secretaries. Who else might they be hiring? What did secretaries have to do with uranium-isotope separation?

“Are you a secretary too? You don’t look the type.”

Nora tuned back in to the conversation. “I don’t?”

“Nah. You look too smart for that.” Josephine stared so long that Nora squirmed in her seat. “Definitely too smart to be taking dictation.”

“T-thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

Nora braced herself as the train lurched forward.

“What was that?” Josephine gripped the armrest so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Relax. We’re pulling out of the station.”

“Oh.” She followed Nora’s lead and leaned back in her chair. The train whistle blew and her hand flew to her chest. “My heavens that’s loud.”

“It will stop in a minute. Don’t worry, that’s perfectly normal.”

Josephine pointed at the window. “It’s pitch black.”

“We’re in a tunnel. Once we’re clear of the station, you’ll see the scenery pass by.”

“I’m sure glad you’re here with me. I’d probably have died of fright already if I’d been by myself.”

They fell silent as the train picked up speed. Nora felt sorry for her. Her skin was pallid and her pupils were big as saucers.

“There’s a toilet and sink behind that door.” Nora pointed. There, that was helpful advice.

“Thanks.”

She detested small talk, and what more was there to say, anyway? Nora collected the journal and a pen from her suitcase. She opened to the first page. For a long time, she sat with the pen poised over that blank sheet of paper. What could she say and stay within the rules? It isn’t as though anyone but you is going to see this.

“Writer’s block?”

Nora’s head snapped up. “I’m sorry?”

“Writer’s block. It’s what my brother calls it when he can’t figure out what to say. He’s a playwright. Well, he was a playwright. Now he’s a Naval intelligence officer, serving God knows where. He’s a sensitive guy, you know? I hope this darned war doesn’t change him.”

“Mmm.” Nora didn’t know what else to say. If she didn’t write something soon, Josephine likely would keep talking.

May 7, 1943

Dearest Diary,

We are underway. I still do not know our destination, but I can tell you that we’re headed south. There is at least one other woman on the train who appears to be bound for the same destination. She is similarly ignorant of any details. Truly, I imagine she has even less information than I do about what lies ahead.