“Ahhh…that’s the stuff. Warm and cozy, as my mom would say.” William slipped on the first sock, and then the second. His face wrinkled in confusion.

“Wait—what’s this?” He slipped his finger down the tube of it and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it, grinning as he read.

“What do you know? A letter. A letter from a girl.”

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

October 1943

Margaret paused over her sewing machine halfway through stitching a star on the flag. The corners were tricky even for someone with experience. Some girls slid by with shoddy work knowing that their stars and stripes would be flying high up on ship masts where no one could scrutinize the details. And though Margaret didn’t care to pass judgment, she was determined to set herself apart and be considered for that promotion.

Inferior work would not be tolerated in the mechanic’s wing, where precision was vital to safety. Even the tiniest miscalculated measurement could result in a leak. Or a torpedo sent off course.

The flags were symbols of a nation’s pride and prowess. But the engineering of such mighty battleships was a matter of national security. Small details made big differences.

She looked up from her handiwork in time to see Dottie rubbing her lower back. Her friend sat kitty-corner to her, one row ahead and one over.

Four rows of seven stations filled the vast space, flags in varying stages of completion draping over their fronts. The room was lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling cabinets that held their supplies as well as the half-done handiwork they’d store at the end of their shifts. Margaret was one of the lucky ones who was assigned to a table closest to the wall of windows, an administrative miracle that allowed her to squint less than others did as light shone in.

Though when winter came, she suspected that it would also be the coldest spot, as the single-paned glass was a poor insulator.

“Dot,” she called over the humming all around them. “Dot—are you feeling all right?”

Dottie turned around and Margaret was alarmed to see the pale tones of her skin.

“I’m fine, Margaret. It’s probably just from sitting for hours and hours. I’m going to take a walk on my break.”

“I’m coming with you, then.”

“I’d be glad for the company.”

Margaret could hear the fatigue in her voice, and it worried her. These early shifts were hard enough, but Margaret couldn’t imagine doing them while trying to grow an entire baby. She wished she could persuade Dottie to cut her hours back or quit altogether, but Dottie would never hear of it. And with her future uncertain, she needed every cent she could earn.