Page 103 of The Women of Oak Ridge
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:LAUREL
THE FOLLOWING WEEK,two FBI agents from Washington, DC arrived. Dad and I remained outside while Aunt Mae told the men her story. When they left several hours later without taking her into custody, we hurried into the house, anxious for details.
She sat in her chair, seemingly astonished. “You aren’t going to believe this, but they knew all about Clive Morrison. How he’d stolen documents and passed them to the Russians. He’d been involved in the Communist Party here in the United States, but because he wasn’t an official member, he was allowed to join the military. After he left Oak Ridge, he worked on other government projects and did the same thing there that he’d done here.”
“Was he caught?” Dad asked.
She shook her head. “He died in a car accident in the 1950s, shortly after the Rosenbergs’ trials. The FBI was on the verge of arresting him, but they think word leaked out and reached the people he was working with.”
I gasped. “The car accident wasn’t an accident?”
“There’s no way to know for certain, but it’s a possibility.”
“What about you?” Dad said. “What happens next?”
A bewildered expression came over her. “They said I won’t be prosecuted. They took my statement and kept Sissy’s diary. Because I haven’t worked for the government in some time, they aren’t worried about me giving away secrets. In fact, they said that although the information Clive passed to the Russians was confidential, it was actually a spy in Los Alamos who provided vital information to the Soviet Union that helped them create their first atomic bomb.”
We sat stunned by the news.
“All these years, I feared what would happen when anyone found out what I’d done.” Aunt Mae grew somber. “I should have told the truth from the very beginning, but I was terrified. For myself. For Mama, Pa, and you, Harris. I gave up everything because of fear.”
She told us about her friend Garlyn, wondering if anything would have come of their relationship had she been honest with him. The life she’d led in Oak Ridge had been solitary and full of lonely, guilt-ridden years. We were still talking when Jonas’s Bronco pulled into the driveway.
“I heard the good news,” he said after greeting each of us. “I’m glad things worked out, Mae. I came by to tell you about a discovery I’ve made.”
Aunt Mae frowned. “A discovery? About what? There aren’t any more secrets to uncover.”
With a gentle voice, Jonas said, “It’s about Sissy.”
Aunt Mae clutched at her heart. “Sissy?”
“Yes, ma’am. After you said you thought she drowned in the river, I did some investigating. If you feel up to it, I’d like to tell you what we believe happened.”
Dad put his hand on Aunt Mae’s shoulder. “Maybe now isn’t a good time for this.”
She disagreed. “I want to know. I need to know what became of her.”
Jonas nodded. “The time of year, water levels, and Sissy’s weight all factor in to when and where she would surface if she had indeed gone into the river. We believe it would have taken approximately two weeks. The area where S-50 was located is about ten miles upriver from Kingston. I drove over there and spoke to the police chief. I told him I was looking into a thirty-five-year-old murder case and asked if there were any old reports of an unidentified woman being found in the river.” He paused. “He called me this morning with his findings.”
I knelt beside Aunt Mae and grasped her hand.
“Tell me what happened to my friend,” Aunt Mae whispered.
“On December12, 1944, the body of a young woman was pulled from the river just south of Kingston. She was blonde, had blue eyes, and was somewhere between the ages of 17 and 25. The only identifying article found on her was a gold necklace with a locket, but the photograph inside was ruined. No one had filed a missing person’s report and no one came to claim the body after a notice was posted in the newspaper. She was buried in an unmarked grave in the pauper’s cemetery in Kingston.” Jonas looked at Aunt Mae with compassion. “I’m very sorry.”
Aunt Mae wept for her friend. “I knew in my heart she was gone,” she said. “I wish I’d told the authorities what I suspected happened to her. Even if they’d arrested me for spying, it might have helped identify Sissy and given her family some closure.”
“I’m not sure it would have made a difference,” Jonas said. “According to Dad, a missing person wasn’t unusual back then. Lots of people were fired or quit their jobs and simply left town. But even if you’d been able to prove Clive’s involvement in Sissy’sdisappearance, Oak Ridge was a government-run secret city. News of a murder and a body in the river would have brought too much attention. I doubt Sissy’s family would have been notified.”
“You’re probably right,” Aunt Mae said. After a long moment, she sat up straight. “I want to go to the cemetery, now, and pay my respects to Sissy. It’s the least I can do.”
Jonas volunteered to drive. As Dad helped Aunt Mae into the back seat of the vehicle, I met Jonas’s gaze. “Thank you.” He nodded.
We drove west on the turnpike, past K-25. When we arrived at the small cemetery on the outskirts of Kingston, we found the fence in need of repair and the plots overgrown with weeds. Small, square granite markers with numbers carved on top indicated gravesites. Only a few had headstones with names and dates. Dad and I stood on either side of Aunt Mae as she surveyed the neglected graveyard, distress on her face.
“Poor Sissy,” she said, wiping her nose with a tissue. “To end up here, unknown, uncared for, when she had a loving family in Georgia waiting for her. I hope her brother Joe made it home from the war and brought comfort to her parents in their old age.”
Jonas led our solemn group to a grave at the end of the row. “According to cemetery records, this is where they buried the young woman.”
