Page 7 of The Women of Oak Ridge
Surely not.
That anyone would betray their country by giving aid to Hitler wasn’t something I’d ever considered. Yet if the man speaking could be believed, it must happen often enough that precautions were put into place to prevent information from being leaked. The realization that I’d left home and traveled to Tennessee to work for a company mired in mud and secrets left me unsettled. Had I made a mistake by accepting the job?
“All mail—outgoing and incoming—is censored,” the man went on. “You will use a PO box in Oak Ridge as your return address. When you receive mail, military personnel will read it first, then it will be delivered to your residence. When you writeto someone, you’ll leave the envelope unsealed for censoring, then it will be mailed. At no time are you allowed to write about what you see, what you hear, to describe the area, or divulge our proximity to Knoxville. It is vital the location of the Reservation remains confidential. My advice is to keep your correspondences with friends and family short and sweet. Tell them about the weather or the latest movie you saw at the theater—all without mentioning where you are and who you’re with. Remember, your pen and your tongue can be used as enemy weapons.”
There were rules against taking photographs, owning binoculars, or using a telescope. We couldn’t enter or leave the Reservation except through one of the highly guarded gates. We would each receive an identification badge with our photograph, name, and physical description that must be worn at all times, no matter where you were or what you were doing. If you were caught without your badge, you could lose your job.
“I hope I’ve answered many of the questions you arrived with,” he said in closing, “but the truth of the matter is, we cannot tell you everything. We can train you how to do the job assigned to you, but we can’t tell you what you’re doing. I can only assure you that if our enemies discover what we hope to achieve here and beat us to it, God have mercy on us all.”
The ominous words echoed in the silent room.
After watching a short film about the perils of loose lips, we were directed outside into afternoon sunshine. An information station was set up in the shade of the building where employees offered assistance regarding housing, cafeterias, buses and transportation, security badges, and more. It was overwhelming, but Sissy and I stuck together and eventually found ourselves assigned as roommates in one of the many two-story dormitories not far from the administration area. We would each pay ten dollars a month for the room, maid service, linens, towels, and soap. Because therewas no cooking in the dorms, we’d take our meals at the nearby cafeteria, open twenty-four hours a day.
Wooden walkways led across fields of mud to our new home. Mrs. Kepple, the pleasant housemother charged with keeping track of dozens of young women, handed us keys and emphasized the importance of observing the ten o’clock curfew and the rule regarding no men in our rooms. Housing on the Reservation was limited, she warned before leaving us alone, so the eviction of a rule breaker was swift and final.
Left on our own, Sissy and I stood silent and glanced about the sparse room we were to share. Two single beds, a night table between them, and two dressers filled the space.
The enormity of what I’d done began to sink in.
I was far from my family, surrounded by strangers I might not be able to trust, hired to do a job I knew nothing about and couldn’t explain to anyone even if I did. Was I cut out for all this secrecy and uncertainty? If it weren’t for the promised salary, I’d be tempted to catch the next bus back to Kentucky.
“I ain’t never slept anyplace other than home,” Sissy said, her voice small and shaky.
I glanced over and found her blue eyes wide as she perused the stark room. I guessed she felt as anxious as I did about it all. “Me neither.”
After several seconds ticked by, she added, “Don’t reckon I’ll miss Pa’s snorin’ though.”
When she met my gaze, she grinned.
We burst into laughter.
