Page 99 of The Women of Oak Ridge
CHAPTER THIRTY:LAUREL
THREE DAYS PASSEDbefore Aunt Mae felt well enough to leave her bed. Dad and I took turns tending to her, although neither of us broached the subject of what had caused her breakdown. We’d agreed to wait until she was stronger before tackling everything she’d been hiding for more than thirty years.
I heaved a sigh as I handwashed the breakfast dishes. I still found it strange that Aunt Mae didn’t have an automatic dishwasher. We’d always had one in our Boston home. Mom even had them replaced when newer, better models came out.
But my mind wasn’t on dishes or how best to clean them.
I hadn’t heard from Jonas since he walked out the door the night of Aunt Mae’s breakdown. I hadn’t felt at liberty to reach out to him, considering the way Dad made it clear Jonas wasn’t welcome. Until Aunt Mae told us what happened during the war, it wasn’t a good idea to communicate with Jonas, no matter how much I wanted to discuss it with him. He was a cop, after all. A man sworn to uphold the law. While we weren’t sure any laws hadbeen broken, Aunt Mae was our first concern. Everything and everyone else came afterwards.
Dad joined me in the kitchen. “Mae would like to talk to us.”
The gravity in his voice stilled my hands. “Did she say what this is about?”
He shook his head.
I dried my hands on a dish towel and followed him into the front room. Aunt Mae sat in her armchair, a crocheted afghan across her lap despite warm air coming through the open window. The sweet scent of lilacs wafted up from the purple bunch Georgeanne brought over the previous day, displayed in a Mason jar on the coffee table.
Dad and I sat on the sofa, shoulders tense, and waited.
Aunt Mae took a deep breath, exhaled, then met our gazes. “I know you have questions. I’ll try to answer them in due time, but first...” Her voice quavered. “First I need to tell you something. I’m ashamed to reveal such things to you, my precious family, but it’s time. I’ve kept this secret for far too long.”
“Mae—,” Dad started, only to be stopped by his sister.
“Let me do this my way, Harry. Please.”
Dad nodded.
“When I came to Oak Ridge in 1944,” Aunt Mae began, “I was sheltered and naive. I knew nothing of the world beyond our small Kentucky community, but I’d wanted to do my part to win the war and bring our boys home.”
She told us about the day she arrived on the Reservation, being assigned to a dorm, and about her roommate Sissy Galloway.
“Sissy was pretty and sweet,” she said, her face taking on a pained expression, “but she was just as naive as me. She met a fellow named Clive Morrison.” Her voice turned hard when she spoke his name. I recognized it from the MP’s report. “He was a spy, although Sissy didn’t know it at the time.”
Dad and I sat perfectly still as a mind-blowing story unfolded.
She told us about Sissy’s diary, her disappearance, and Aunt Mae’s certainty that Clive murdered her roommate. Then came the trailer fire, and a frantic search of the riverbank for a fresh grave. Finally, she divulged the threats that forced her to become involved in espionage.
“One of my responsibilities at K-25 was to take packets of confidential documents to the incinerator. Mr. Colby, my boss, trusted me to do this for him.” Her chin trembled. “Clive insisted I bring the documents to him first. He’d take the ones that interested him, then I completed the job of destroying the ones that remained.”
“Who was he spying for?” Dad asked.
“The Soviet Union.”
Images of Letty Gladding’s arrest raced through my mind. She wasn’t much older than Aunt Mae.
“This is bad, Mae,” Dad whispered, a tremor in his voice. “This is really, really bad.”
She met his gaze, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry you have to learn that your big sister is a traitor. I had hoped to take this terrible secret to my grave.”
“You’re not a traitor, Aunt Mae,” I said. “You’re a victim. You were forced to do it. Clive threatened you. You were just a young, frightened woman who found herself in a horrific situation.”
She wiped tears from her cheeks. “That may be true, but in the eyes of the law, I betrayed my country. I betrayed my family and everyone who worked on the Manhattan Project. It’s time now for me to be held accountable for what I’ve done.”
“No!” Dad jumped to his feet. “No one needs to know about this. The only people who know the truth are in this room. Jonas might be suspicious,” he said, glancing at me, “but he has no proof.” He began to pace. “We need to get you away from here. Move you to Boston as soon as possible. I’ll make some calls and—”
“Harry, sit down.” Aunt Mae’s voice brooked no arguments. Dad sat.
“I’m done with secrets and lies. They’ve been part of my life for far too long. I’m resigned to facing the consequences for my actions.”
