Page 49 of The Women of Oak Ridge
Elliot’s voice drew our attention. “I hear you were understandably impressed with K-25 when Jonas took you out to see it the other day.” His curious gaze was on me.
“It’s amazing,” I said. “I’ve seen pictures of the building in books, but they don’t do it justice. There’s no way to truly comprehend how enormous it is until you see it in person.”
He chuckled. “Just think what all of us country folks thought when we first saw it back in the forties.” He turned to Aunt Mae. “I guess you’d know all about that, seein’ as you worked there for years.”
She nodded but didn’t add to the conversation.
“I worked at the K-25 security checkpoint some,” Elliot continued, unaffected by Aunt Mae’s silence. “That post was easier than manning the main gates in and out of town. People were always trying to smuggle things in or enter without an ID or proper pass. It could get tedious. At K-25, there was just one rule: you didn’t get in or out unless you had your badge.”
“Was there much crime in Oak Ridge back then?” I asked. While I was thinking about the disappearance of Aunt Mae’s roommate, I was also curious how crimes were handled in a city that didn’t exist on any map.
Elliot seemed to ponder the question before answering. “There was the usual. Petty theft. Domestic disturbances. Teenagers causin’ trouble. Seems like I recall a murder that took place sometime in ’44, but that was closer to Union County. One of the fellas accused worked in Oak Ridge, so the MPs got involved.”
I was about to ask a question regarding the storage of old records when Aunt Mae abruptly began to walk away.
“It was nice to see you, Elliot, Jonas,” she said over her shoulder,already several steps away, “but Laurel and I need to get home if we’re to have these plants in the garden before sundown.” She didn’t wait for their reply and hurried around the corner.
Her rudeness left me embarrassed, but neither man seemed offended. “It was good to see you again, Mr. Tyson.”
“Call me Elliot.” He glanced between Jonas and me. “You two kids have fun tonight.”
Jonas shot me a grin. “I’m sure we will.”
I bid them goodbye and hurried to join Aunt Mae at the checkout. A college-age young man carried her purchases to the car for us, and we were soon back at the house. After a quick lunch, we went to work in the garden. By the time we put away our hats, gloves, and tools, we were hot and sticky but satisfied with the fruits of our labor.
“You get cleaned up first,” she said from her place seated at the table in the kitchen, sipping from a tall glass of cold lemonade that matched my own. She studied me before adding, “Jonas is a fine young man. Comes from a good family. I’m sure your parents would approve of you seeing him.”
“We’re just friends.” I gave a small shrug. “Even if I were interested in dating someone, which I’m not, it wouldn’t work out with Jonas. He lives here, and I live in Boston. Besides, getting my doctorate is my priority right now. It could take several years, plus an internship. That’s way too long to try to maintain a relationship over the telephone.”
She considered my declaration for a time before she spoke, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Getting your doctorate is a fine goal, Laurel, but don’t let it cause you to miss out on an opportunity to love and be loved. You don’t want to end up alone, like me.”
I sat in the chair opposite her. “Were you never in love with anyone?”
She stared off into space. “I don’t know that I was in love, butthere was a young man here in Oak Ridge when I first came to the Reservation. We both worked at K-25.”
“What was his name?”
A soft smile played on her lips. “Garlyn. Garlyn Young. He was an engineer with the Army. We became friends.” The smile faded as quickly as it had come. “But that was a long time ago. You run on now and get bathed. I think I’ll lie down for a while.”
While I readied for my date with Jonas, I wondered what had happened between Garlyn and Aunt Mae. Bit by tiny bit, I was piecing together what her life in Oak Ridge was like during the war. Her work at K-25. Her desire to send money back home to her family. Then there was her roommate Sissy, and the mystery surrounding her. Yet each time I thought Aunt Mae might open up about her time on the Reservation, she’d grow tense and refuse to talk about it. As though she wanted to forget the past in order to avoid having to deal with it.
My Psychology 101 teacher persona kicked in.
We called what Aunt Mae was doing adefense mechanism, a key concept of psychoanalysis. People often use repression, usually unconsciously, to protect themselves from anxiety-producing thoughts and feelings related to internal conflicts and outer stressors. In Aunt Mae’s case, I had a growing suspicion something took place during the war that left her emotionally wounded or irreversibly frightened. Maybe both. But until she was willing to trust me enough to share her story, whatever it was would likely remain locked away in her psyche, just like the secret work she did for the Manhattan Project.
At six o’clock, I heard Jonas’s Bronco pull into the driveway.
“You look lovely,” Aunt Mae said, her voice startling me when she arrived in the open doorway to my bedroom and found me peeking out the window curtain.
“Thank you. I didn’t have time to shop for anything new.” I’dchosen the simple dress I wore to church on Sunday. There wasn’t anything fancy about the pale-yellow outfit with daisies printed on the material. I’d added some dangly earrings and a bangle bracelet, hoping to create a casual yet slightly dressy look.
Jonas’s knock and Peggy’s barking interrupted us. I went to greet him then turned to Aunt Mae, who stood watching from the hall doorway.
“Can we bring you something from the restaurant?”
“Don’t worry about me. There are plenty of leftovers in the refrigerator. Have a good time.” She waved as we exited the house.
Jonas opened the passenger door to his vehicle. “You look really nice,” he said as I climbed in.
