Page 43 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

“And I escorted her back immediately,” Maggie said. “Other than one bared shoulder, I assure you everything was proper.”

“Nothing proper about Hollywood floozies—”

“I beg your pardon.” Maggie’s chest stiffened, and so did her tone. “These ladies passed the same screening as your volunteers, took the same training. They signed contracts promising to behave in a manner consistent with public decency and morality. Please do not insult them.”

“I’m calling Mr. Anderson.” Mrs. Laverne stomped away.

Ria gripped Maggie’s arm. “I’ll call him first. I run faster than she does.” Indeed, Ria passed Mrs. Laverne before she reached the door.

“Go, Ria. Go,” Maggie muttered, and she rubbed her forehead.

Prescott stood close to Vi, talking low, and an ugly pang added to the throbbing in Maggie’s head. After so many pleasant days typing together, she’d thought something special was developing between them. Apparently, she was mistaken.

And apparently, quite selfish. If she truly cared about Prescott, she’d want him to be happy, even with Vi.

But was it wrong to want happiness for herself? And for Frank?

Prescott and Vi came up to Maggie, and Vi laid her hand on Maggie’s arm. “We’re sorry this is happening. Is there any way we can help?”

They were such good friends, and she gave a rueful smile. “Help Carol learn her lines?”

Vi glanced away. “I’ll talk to her right now.”

“Thank you.”

After Vi left, Prescott stepped closer. “I’m praying for you. That’s the best help.”

“It is. Thanks.” Maggie rubbed circles on her temple. She’d been so busy, she hadn’t sat down with her prayer notebook for days. And listening took even more time than listing.

“About Carol,” Prescott said with his smooth voice. “She sings for the hospital shows. She’s excellent, but she could use that time to study. What if Vi took her place?”

Maggie’s throat closed off. A nurse served as Prescott’s liaison within the hospital, but Frank escorted the singers to the hospital.

“I told Frank about Vi’s star quality. She’d be a huge hit with the fellows.” Warmth filled Prescott’s brown eyes. “He thinks it’s meant to be. The street he grew up on was called Violet Lane.”

So that was where Vi got her stage name. How utterly romantic! And how utterly unromantic to meet again at the park gate. And with opening night only a week and a half away.

“Maggie?” Prescott said with a frown.

She raised a smile that felt fake. “It’s a great idea, but Vi has the largest female part in the show.”

“Too much, huh?”

“I’ll ask another girl to take Carol’s place. I’ll do it myself if necessary.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Prescott winked at her.

Maggie managed to smile despite the twisting in her stomach. Now she was officially meddling.

eight

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love sent to me . . . eight maids a-milking.

Sunday, December 5, 1943

It was one thing to read about the immensity of elephants and giraffes and hippos, and another to actually see it.

Prescott leaned on the rail, squeezed beside Maggie and Mr. Curtis. A male hippo named Rube, according to the sign, lounged at one end of the pool, with only his eyes and ears poking above the surface. Closer to the rail, his mate, Ruby, lay on her side underwater while her baby nursed.