As Tom, he might be inclined to let his thoughts go where they shouldn’t. Not if he planned to stay on after the war and make a career of it.

William knew him well.

As it was, when he read Margaret’s letters, he found himself spending hours composing responses in his head. Responses that never made it to paper. He wanted to tell her about Virginia and the peach pies he made with his mother and about the way the rain smelled when it drizzled onto the Chickahominy River. He wanted to share with her new words and admit that he’d taken up studying them because of her and tell her about the English countryside he’d come to love on his walks from Chilton Foliat to Aldbourne. He wanted to describe the peppermint tea that Mrs. Brown steeped in the evenings and the lightness of her Yorkshire pudding. He wanted to confess that he’d kept her picture where William had pinned it on his pillow and that waking up to it every morning made him want to survive this war.

Yes, he’d thought about it plenty.

He had a lot to consider. But one thing was for sure—if William was too busy to write Margaret back, Tom would make sure that she got a reply.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

April 1944

The engraving room was unusually silent, as the lunch break had taken some of the other girls outdoors into the glorious spring weather that had befallen the city. Margaret would join them after she finished the last letters of her project.

She could almost taste the pastrami sandwich she’d packed from a trip into Manhattan to go to Russ & Daughters. She’d read that it was the first business in the country to add & Daughters to its title, so she and Gladys had taken the subway to East Houston Street yesterday to give them their patronage. Gladys said they needed to support women’s businesses as much as possible in order to encourage more of them. She and Margaret had been saving their extra pay for little splurges that reminded them of what normalcy felt like.

While there, they walked the two blocks down Ludlow Street and went to Economy Candy to buy some Red Hots for Dottie. She’d been craving spicy foods, a vast departure from her normal palate. Margaret was continually amazed at how such a tiny being could bring about such drastic changes.

They’d been worried about leaving Dottie alone as her due date was just a couple of weeks away, but she dismissed their concern.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Dottie had insisted when Gladys and Margaret had first discussed the outing. “You both treat me like I’m some delicate piece of porcelain. And I’m not.”

Gladys ignored her. “I know!” she’d said. “Let’s ask George if he can sit with her for a while.”