Page 9 of The Women of Oak Ridge
Aunt Mae tipped the boy a quarter and sent him on his way. “Good morning, Georgeanne. This is my niece, Laurel. Laurel, this is my neighbor, Georgeanne Stokes.”
We shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Stokes.”
“I wondered who came to visit Mae.It must be one of Harris’sgirls,I said to myself. And I was right. How long are you in town, Laurel? I hope you and Mae will come over for tea some afternoon before you leave.”
I glanced at Aunt Mae, who wore a patient expression on her face. She didn’t indicate whether she would enjoy tea with her neighbor or not.
“That would be nice,” I said. “I’m not sure how long I’ll stay. I’m hoping to get some work done while I’m here.”
“What kind of work could bring you to sleepy Oak Ridge?” Georgeanne asked with a friendly laugh. “The most exciting thing going on here is the opening of a home for senior citizens and the long lines at Fiesta Cantina, the new Mexican food restaurant out on the turnpike.” She smiled at Aunt Mae. “There’s torn-up ground, mounds of red clay, and stacks of two-by-fours all over town. Reminds me of how Oak Ridge looked back when we first came to work here in the forties, don’t you agree, Mae?”
Aunt Mae nodded, but she didn’t elaborate.
“That’s actually why I’m here.” I cast a quick sideways glance at Aunt Mae. I hoped I wasn’t stepping out of line. Even though Aunt Mae didn’t want to discuss the early years after she came to Oak Ridge, I needed to interview other residents for my dissertation. “I’m writing a paper about the history of Oak Ridge. I hope to meet people—women, in particular—who lived and worked here during the war and hear their stories. Would you be interested in answering some questions for me at some point? It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”
“My, that sounds interesting. Do you work for a newspaper or magazine?” Georgeanne asked.
“No, ma’am. I’m working on my dissertation. I hope to get a doctorate in psychology.”
The woman’s brow rose. “A doctorate?” She glanced at Aunt Mae. “You must be brimming with pride.”
Aunt Mae didn’t smile. “I am, but I also told her no one wants to talk about those days. What’s past is past and should stay there. The things we did and saw aren’t anyone’s business.”
Her hard tone seemed to surprise Georgeanne. “Why, Mae, I don’t see the harm in talking about what went on in the Secret City all those years ago.” She met my gaze. “People give all the credit for the bombs to those who worked at Los Alamos, but we here in Oak Ridge played an important role too. Without us, Oppenheimer and General Groves wouldn’t have had the uranium required to make Little Boy. Same goes for the folks who worked in Hanford. They produced the plutonium that fueled Fat Man.”
I’d only recently delved into the history of how the atomic bomb was developed. I found myself awed that Georgeanne threw out the names of the famous scientist and of the two bombs that were dropped on Japan as if they were common, everyday conversation topics. Here was a woman who knew her stuff. I had a feeling she and I would get along splendidly.
My gaze ping-ponged between the two women. I didn’t want to hurt Aunt Mae’s feelings, but I was pleased to find her neighbor more vocal on the subject.
“Maybe I can come over and chat with you later this afternoon,” I said. It wouldn’t do to invite her to Aunt Mae’s.
Georgeanne beamed. “That would be lovely, dear. You’re welcome to come too, Mae. I know we worked in different areas of Oak Ridge during the war, but I’ve never heard your story. We can compare notes, as they say.”
Aunt Mae’s lips pinched. “Thank you all the same, but I’d rather not remember those days. Like I said, nothing good can come from it.” She opened the passenger door of the car. “Goodbye, Georgeanne.”
With that, she climbed in and closed the door with a bit more force than necessary.
Georgeanne and I looked at each other.
“I’m sorry.” I felt awful for having upset Aunt Mae again. “Maybe I shouldn’t come over today.”
“Nonsense.” The woman lowered her voice. “Mae’s always been secretive about what she did during the war. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to worm it out of her. Why, if I didn’t know any better, I might think she’d been one of the people who actually knew what was going on back then. I’ve heard that those who were in the know are still hesitant to talk about it all. You come on over around three o’clock and I’ll tell you about my time as a cubicle operator.”
“A what?”
She grinned. “See you at three.” She turned and climbed into a dark blue Ford Lincoln Continental parked next to us. With a wave, she drove off.
When I got back into the Camaro, Aunt Mae stared out the passenger-side window.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Aunt Mae,” I said. “But if I’m going to write my dissertation, I have to talk to the people who were here during the war. What they experienced—what you all experienced—is historic and important.” I decided I needed to be completely transparent. “I would love to know about your time here in Oak Ridge. I’ve read about how people, especially young women, came from all over the country to work in the Secret City. Dad remembers when you left Kentucky, but he doesn’t recall ever hearing you talk about your work.”
“There’s a reason for that.” Her brow knit. “We weren’t allowed to talk about it then, and I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“But the secret isn’t a secret anymore,” I said gently. “Everyone knows about the atomic bomb.”
After a long moment, she turned to face me. “You probably think I’m just a foolish old woman, but there’s a reason I can’t—won’t—relive those days. That reason is no one’s business.”
I reached to grasp her hand. “I don’t think you’re foolish. I don’t know what you experienced during the war. If it is truly something you don’t wish to discuss, I will respect your privacy.” I squeezed her fingers. “Is it okay if I stay with you a little longer? I promise not to bring up the subject again.”
