Page 25 of The Women of Oak Ridge
He extended his arm. “Shall we?”
I happily accepted.
My schedule changed the following week, which meant Sissy and I were now on different shifts. She was usually asleep when I arrived back at the dorm, and I slept soundly while she readied for work inthe morning. I wasn’t a night owl, so these odd hours would take some getting used to, that’s for certain.
I quietly changed into my nightgown. I wasn’t sleepy, but I didn’t want to wake Sissy by stirring around the room. I crawled into bed, thinking about Garlyn. We’d met at the K-25 cafeteria on my dinner break earlier this evening. His work hours hadn’t changed, but he’d figured out that I ate an hour after his shift ended. With a twinkle in his eye, he said he didn’t mind waiting for me. I wasn’t sure where our friendship was headed, but after the galoshes, I’d come to the conclusion I wanted to find out.
I reached to switch off the lamp on the bedside table when I noticed a small, leather-bound book. The cover was plain, with no title or author’s name. Thinking it might be something interesting I could read for a while, I reached for it.
I was surprised to find neat handwriting filled the page instead of printed words.
It was dated the day we arrived on the Reservation.
Dear Diary,
I’m in Tennessee! Mama thought it’d be fun for me to write down my experiences and share them with her later, so she bought me this diary. But the man who gave us a stern talking-to today said keeping diaries and journals was discouraged. I can’t figure why, considering I ain’t got nothing interesting to write about yet. I figure I’ll just jot down some things here and there for Mama so’s she’ll be pleased I used the diary.
My roommate Maebelle is a nice gal from Kentucky and...
I quickly closed the book.
I hadn’t known Sissy was keeping a diary. I vaguely recalledbeing told not to maintain journals and such, mainly due to the threat of them being found by enemy spies.
I stifled a laugh.
Anyone who stole Sissy’s diary would surely be disappointed with the contents. She didn’t know any more than I did about why we were in Oak Ridge or what was going on here. I imagine her most recent entries were about Clive, but whatever she wrote, it wasn’t any of my business.
I returned the book to the bedside table and shut off the light. My thoughts, however, wouldn’t settle. Just yesterday Mr. Colby informed me one of the clerks I’d worked with at K-25 was fired because she spoke out of turn. Acreep, the nickname Oak Ridgers used for someone who worked as an informant for the FBI, overheard the young woman share information about the layout of the massive plant. I hadn’t known the girl well, but she’d seemed as nice and normal as anyone else. That she’d been fired because she talked about the building where I worked every day left me feeling anxious. One slipup to the wrong person and I could lose my job too.
It was easy to forget everything on the Reservation was classified information. It wasn’t just the buildings and the equipment inside, either. We were never to discuss the number of employees we worked with, the neighborhood or dorm where we lived, even the food at the cafeteria or the shortages at the local market.
Everything—everything!—was to be kept secret.
I mulled that over for a minute.
I still didn’t know what was being manufactured within the walls of K-25. Since I’d begun working there, I’d become familiar with the various buildings that housed different machines, storage tanks, and pipes, yet I hadn’t seen even one product come out the doors. It became obvious in my first days that military tanks, guns, and weapons for the Army weren’t being assembled in theenormous building. Because that was as near to the truth as I could determine, it seemed more likely the machines processed something, but what, I couldn’t imagine. I had a suspicion Garlyn knew the answer to the mystery, but asking him wasn’t something I considered doing. Even if we continued to see each other, I wouldn’t let my curiosity risk putting him in jeopardy of losing his job.
I rolled onto my side and looked out to the night sky.
The window faced north, toward Kentucky. Mama came to mind, and I whispered a prayer for her, Pa, and Harris. I missed them, but I had to admit I enjoyed living in Oak Ridge. I may not know exactly what was happening on the Reservation or even what my part in the whole thing was, but I knew we were doing something important. The government wouldn’t’ve spent millions of dollars to build Oak Ridge if it wasn’t vital to the war effort. Enemy spies wouldn’t be interested in the work taking place behind the fence if it wasn’t essential to us winning the war. I was convinced that whatever was going on here would allow us to defeat our enemies and bring our boys home.
Bits of President Roosevelt’s speech from December 1941 trickled through my mind. I couldn’t recall everything he’d said in the radio address, but his passion and confidence in Americans had stirred something deep inside me that day. Something patriotic. The president needed each of us to do our part. I hadn’t known what I could do from my tiny corner of the universe, tucked in a holler of Kentucky, far from Europe or Japan, but I was determined to dosomething.
I could have never imagined thatsomethingwould take me to a secret city in the hills of Tennessee, hidden away from the world, working on a project that promised to help bring the war to an end.
I pressed my lips.
Pride was something Mama declared vain and wicked, but thefeeling of it welled up within me anyway. Me, little ol’ Maebelle Willett, would have a part in bringing Hitler and Mussolini to their knees.
President Roosevelt himself would commend me if he could.
