Chapter Two

June

New York City

"W e're finally going. Finally!" Eleanor Brown exclaimed, head tipped back and a hand holding her hat in place as she gaped at the big smokestack of the ship that would carry them to France.

Molly looked over at her friend as they waited to walk up the gangplank and onto the SS Lapland , a steam ocean liner from Ireland that had been converted to a troopship.

It had been two months since Molly had left home, but the time had come to head to France.

After leaving Pendleton, Molly had traveled to a training center in San Francisco, where she took the Army oath of allegiance. She spent several weeks there training with many other women from the region before they rode the train across the country to New York City. Once there, they became part of a military unit. Molly took another oath of allegiance, was fingerprinted and had her photograph taken for a passport. She'd heard lectures on hygiene, practiced drilling, and listened to talks by Signal Corps officers who did their best to prepare the women for life at war.

Two weeks ago, Molly and the other women from Unit Four had gathered on the rooftop of the American Telephone and Telegraph Company Building on Broadway to have their photograph taken. They were told to maintain a professional and somber appearance, but it had been hard not to let their excitement show, especially as they posed in their new uniforms.

Molly had joined several of their unit members for a shopping excursion when they'd been given a list of items the Army deemed necessary for them to purchase, which included tan parade gloves, woolen stockings, sateen bloomers, union suits, high-top shoes, bicarbonate of soda, Lysol, iodine, and sewing kits.

The girls also had to purchase their own uniforms since they were now in the Army. For winter, they had navy-blue wool coats and matching skirts, an everyday blue garrison cap, and a blue felt hat for dress. The summer attire included a blue alpaca suit of the same cut as the winter apparel, with a straw sailor hat and a little aviation cap. Dark-blue shirtwaists would supplement the requisite white shirtwaists and simplify the laundry. They also bought bronze insignia denoting them as members of the Signal Corps. The uniform total was staggeringly expensive, and some of the girls had to take out a loan from AT&T to purchase the necessary clothing.

Molly had cringed at the three-hundred-dollar expense, but, like many of the girls, she loved the uniforms which meant they were part of the American Expeditionary Forces. Although Molly had worried about being too conspicuous in the uniform, the ensemble appeared classic and tasteful, making her proud to wear it. Of all the colors the Army could have chosen for them to wear, Molly was pleased they'd landed on blue.

A white doeskin brassard worn on the left sleeve of their coats denoted rank and skill. Women with only the outline of a telephone transmitter embroidered on the band were operators. Those who had a laurel leaf below the transmitter were supervising operators, and those with a lightning bolt above the transmitter held the lofty position of chief operator. Molly was still just an operator, but she hoped to work her way to a supervisor position.

Although Molly would be making less money as one of the operators than she earned as the manager of the Pendleton telephone office, she didn't mind. It wasn't about the money, anyway. It was about serving and doing what she could to help the Allies win the war. She had been pleased to discover the women made the same wages as the male Signal Corps soldiers. The chief operators would receive the extravagant sum of a hundred and twenty-five dollars per month. Substitute operators would earn fifty dollars a month. Molly's monthly wage would land at a point between the two.

Everyone Molly had encountered had been so encouraging about the work ahead of her and the other girls.

Yesterday, they'd ridden in flag-draped automobiles and paraded on Broadway behind the New York 12 th Infantry. In Times Square, they stopped and sold six thousand dollars' worth of Liberty Loan war bonds. It had been heartening to see the people of New York come out to support them. Now, Molly felt it was her turn to support the troops in France.

Eager to reach their destination, she and Eleanor had awakened early, unable to sleep when they were so anxious to be on their way. After the army doctor had looked in their throats one last time, their group marched to the pier to board the SS Lapland . The ship was painted in an abstract pattern of beige, blue, and green in hopes the camouflage would make it hard for German submarines to find a spot to torpedo.

"Here we go, girls," said Beatrice, one of the supervisors, as they made their way onto the ship with backs straight and heads held high. The women were shown to their quarters—small rooms that four of them would share—but at least they had portholes to look out of and wouldn't be crowded like the thousands of soldiers filling every available space on the ship.

As Molly looked out the porthole at the hordes of men dressed in khaki—packs on their backs, trench shovels visible in their kits—the assembly trod on board in silent single file, stolid, yet every bit as anxious as the girls to get underway.

When the ship finally set sail, Molly stood with Eleanor, faces at the porthole window, watching as the Statue of Liberty faded into the distance.

"There is no turning back now," Eleanor said, voicing what they all were thinking.

"'Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!'" Molly said in a deep voice, making the women around her laugh as she recited Tennyson's famous poem while doing her best to lighten the gravity of the moment.

The next twelve days passed quickly as the ship made its way across the Atlantic. The women marched three times a day, in columns of two, to the dining room with their official escort, a lieutenant who appeared formidable. They wore their life preservers every day, but many managed to have fun flirting with the officers, who helped the days pass in a pleasant manner, or as pleasant as possible when on board a troopship sailing through German-infested waters on the way to a war.

Some of the operators suffered from seasickness. The illness was made worse by the odor of the regulation soap. The pungent soap had been part of the required equipment the women all carried. They were told it would overcome body odor, but the only thing it accomplished was worsening the illness of those who were queasy.

With a unanimous vote, the girls tossed the bars out the portholes, dumping their supply into the ocean with a cheer. Molly decided there had to be something less overpowering they could use than the strongly-scented soap.

When they arrived in Liverpool, the excitement of the trip had yet to ebb. The women left the ship, features schooled into solemn expressions of professionalism. Rations were in short supply, and they partook of a meager meal of fish soup, hard bread, and barley coffee. Molly had to force herself to swallow the terrible offerings and hoped things would improve in France.

Again the women were marched on board a boat, then they sailed south to cross the Channel to France. Molly stared at the emerald surface of the Irish Sea, mesmerized by the green hue of the water.

As they sailed, fog settled around them, but then suddenly, there they were, docking in Le Havre, France.

Molly did her best to keep her giddiness from showing as she stood in line with the other members of her unit. They were marched off the boat and given accommodations for the evening after receiving, along with helmets and gas masks, identification tags they were to wear at all times. Thankfully, the food was much better than what they had eaten in Liverpool.

That night, when she should have been sleeping, Molly sat on the window's ledge with her arms wrapped around her knees, feet tucked up under her nightgown. She stared out the window into the moonless night, feeling an unexpected connection to her ancestors as she contemplated what tomorrow might bring.

"What are you doing up?" Eleanor whispered from beside her, startling her so badly she might have tumbled out the window if the scrolled ironwork that covered it hadn't kept her safe.

Molly scowled as she glanced up at Eleanor, her features barely discernable in the darkness. "I couldn't sleep," she said, placing her feet on the floor and moving back to her bed.

"Me neither." Eleanor quietly sat beside Molly. They were the only two in the room, and it was nice not to be as crowded as they'd been since leaving New York. "What were you thinking about, Molly?"

"My mother." Molly rarely spoke about her birth parents, but her thoughts had been filled with them the past few days, particularly her mother.

"Is something wrong with her? Didn't you say your folks run an orphanage in Pendleton?" Eleanor asked.

"They do, but I was thinking about my birth parents. They died of influenza when I was twelve. My grandparents died when my mother was sixteen, and she never mentioned any other relatives that I can recall, but they were French. They left France when my mother was three and made their way to America."

"Really? I had no idea. Do you recall your mother mentioning any towns? Wouldn't it be something to find out you had relatives here!" Eleanor's voice gained in volume as she spoke.

"Shh! We don't want to get in trouble on our first night in France," Molly whispered, then squeezed Eleanor's hand. "It would be exciting to find a relative, but I have no idea where to even begin looking. My mother never said where her parents lived before they left France. I do have a box of photos and things at home. I wonder if Mama would look through it for me. Why on earth didn't I think to do that myself before I left home?"

Eleanor bumped her shoulder into Molly's. "Probably because this all happened so suddenly, and you were thinking about the things you needed to do to prepare to leave. I thought you probably learned French in school, but your mother must have taught you."

"She did. I don't remember my father speaking any French. I believe he was good ol' English stock. His family came to America back before the Revolutionary War. But Mum and I often carried on conversations in French, mostly if Papa wasn't home. It's odd to remember them so clearly now when my memories of them have often felt so faded."

"It's likely being here and all the changes that are happening that have shifted things in your mind." Eleanor bumped into Molly again. "I think you should write to your mother and ask her if she can find anything in your box of memories that might lead you to discover your long-lost relations."

"I'll do that. I should be able to write a letter tomorrow on our trip to Paris."

"Do you think they'll let us get right to work?" Eleanor asked, her voice confirming her eagerness to sit at a switchboard.

"I sure hope so. That's why we came." Molly slipped an arm around Eleanor's shoulders and gave her a sideways hug. "Thank you for checking on me. We both better get some sleep. It will be daylight and time to head out before we know it."

Eleanor stood and moved over to her own bed. "Sleep well, Molly."

"You too, Eleanor."

The next morning, Molly arose early, packed her things, and made sure her uniform was spotless before she left her room. After a filling breakfast of pastries and tea, the women marched to the train that would transport them to Paris. One of the Signal Corps captains led their group and told them what to expect when they arrived. He went over the basic rules that had been ingrained into their heads for what felt like months as they traveled. Molly couldn't help glancing out the train windows as he spoke, observing the countryside that looked green and fresh in between areas that had been reduced to piles of rubble by the ravages of the war.

When they arrived in Paris, Molly wanted to gawk like a tourist on holiday but stood with her face void of expression, shoulders back and chin up, as she marched with the other women to their hotel. A member of the Young Women's Christian Association served as their hostess there. It was late once they'd all had a meal, and exhaustion pulled at Molly until it became a battle to stay awake. After quickly washing away the dirt and grime of travel, Molly fell into bed and slept soundly all night.

It was dark when she awakened the following morning. She took her journal from her bag and felt a bit rebellious. They were ordered not to keep a journal nor a diary, but Molly felt the work they were doing was too important, too vital, not to collect her thoughts and save them.

With a single candle to add light, she sat at the tiny desk across the room, careful not to awaken Eleanor, and wrote about arriving in France, the train ride to Paris, and the brief orientation meeting they'd had the day before. The girls had been reminded, again, that the results of battles and the lives of thousands of soldiers often depended upon the speed and accuracy with which the telephone operators completed connections. Molly equated speed to saved lives. She'd always been fast at making connections, as well as accurate. Hopefully, that would only improve with her work here in France.

Molly jotted down a few notes about their current accommodations, the food, and the people before she took out the dogwood blossom she'd pressed between the pages of the journal and studied it. A faint hint of fragrance clung to the dried petals and made her homesick. She tucked it back into the journal, then wrapped the book in her spare nightgown and shoved it into the bottom of her bag.

As dawn lightened the sky, Molly stood in her uniform at the window, watching the town come to life. Paris was a big, exciting place, but the signs of war were everywhere, from craters in the ground to buildings reduced to rubble to the soldiers in the streets. Molly wondered what Sadie's impression of the city would be when she finally got to see it. Thus far, her sister had spent all her time at the hospital in Vichy and hadn't been able to explore any farther than a mile or so around the town.

Sadie's work as a doctor was vital and lifesaving. Molly knew being a telephone operator was far different, but she hoped she could also make a difference in the war effort and in individual lives.

As a group, the telephone operators had already improved communications in France. Before General Pershing landed on the idea to recruit American women telephone operators, the military had been forced to rely either on male operators who got agitated and would hang up when yelled at by a combat officer or French operators who couldn't understand English. With the operators failing to grasp the sense of urgency necessary for the job, often calls were delayed or not placed at all.

On average, it had taken a minute for a call to be placed, if it went through. After the first unit of female operators arrived, the call connection average dropped to ten seconds. Fifty seconds could be the difference between an entire regiment dying or surviving.

Molly intended to uphold the standard set by her fellow switchboard soldiers and give her very best to the job.

"You're up early," Eleanor said as she sat up in bed and stretched her arms over her head. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Like a rock," Molly said, grinning over her shoulder at her friend. "I woke up about an hour ago. I guess I'm just anxious to get started."

Eleanor tossed back her covers and stood, stretching from side to side. "I think we all are. I suppose we'll find out more shortly."

Molly nodded. "I hope we will. As fun as it would be to explore the city, I'd rather get right to work."

"I agree," Eleanor said as she made her bed. While the young woman dressed, Molly double-checked to make sure she'd packed all her things, and then they made their way down to breakfast.

It wasn't long until the rest of the members of their unit joined them for a simple but filling meal. When they'd finished, they were escorted to the Signal Corps office in Paris by the captain who'd been with them the previous day. At the office, they sat through one final meeting as a group.

"You face four important tasks," the captain said as he stood at the front of the room. "You need to master your assignments, endeavor to establish productive and practical relationships with your fellow operators, adjust to life in the military, and create a method of support to help each other through the challenges you are sure to face."

Molly figured it would take time to adjust to military life, but the women of her unit had already forged friendships. They had begun to develop a system of encouraging one another that would serve them well in the future. She glanced at Eleanor as they sat together. At Eleanor's nod, Molly knew they were of the same mind on the captain's task points.

"I'm sure you all are eager to begin your assignments. Please form a line, and we'll take care of that without further ado," the captain said, moving to sit behind the desk at the front of the room.

Molly was near the end of the line. When she stepped in front of the captain, he glanced at her information, then up at her.

"I hope you'll find your post satisfactory, Miss Thorsen," he said, handing her an envelope with the pertinent details of her assignment.

"Thank you, sir. I'm sure I will." She offered him a polite nod, then moved out of the way for the next girl in line. Molly hurried over to Eleanor, who was already reading her assignment. "Where are you heading?" Molly asked as she opened her envelope.

"Tours. How about you?"

Molly scanned through her information. "I've never heard of this town. There's a train ticket, though, and details about where I'm to stay." She squeezed Eleanor's hand. "I'm sorry we won't be at the same location, but at least we can write to each other."

"Yes, we can, and we will. Promise you'll stay in touch?"

"I promise." Molly smiled at her friend, then followed as the captain led them to the switchboard room and they watched the women place calls for both locals and the military at a frenzied pace. Their fingers flew over the plugs and cords, making connections with the speed and grace of a hummingbird's wings in flight. All the while, they answered courteously, asking, "Number, please."

Thrilled to see her fellow operators at work, Molly's fingers fairly itched to begin her own assignment.

After their photos were taken for what seemed like the fiftieth time and they were given additional identification papers, the women of their unit who would not remain in Paris returned to the hotel, retrieved their belongings, and took the subway to the train station where they gave each other parting hugs and promises to stay in touch.

Molly boarded her train and waved once more to Eleanor, who waited for hers to arrive, then settled in for the ride. A few hours later, she stepped onto the platform in a small village full of houses with red-tiled roofs. Fields sprinkled with daisies, towering ancient trees, and streams that wound among the swaths of green grass like ribbons of silver and blue left Molly utterly charmed. It looked like something from one of the fairy tales her Aunt Aundy used to share with them.

With a glance at the notes of her assignment, Molly made her way to the switchboard office and was heartily welcomed by the women working there.

"We're so glad to have you join us here, Molly," said Marie, the supervisor in charge of their office. "Are you sure you don't want to settle in today and start tomorrow?"

Molly set her things in a corner, removed her hat and gloves, and smiled at Marie. "Put me to work. I can settle in later."

"You're my kind of gal," Marie said with a grin, then motioned to an empty chair at the switchboard.

Molly took a seat, pulled on the headset, and was soon answering calls. Although she worried she'd struggle switching back and forth from English to French, she had no trouble at all. By the time their shift ended and the men who worked the night shift arrived, Molly was both exhilarated and exhausted.

She followed the other girls to a house on a quiet street. Inside, it was fully furnished and exuded a homey atmosphere.

"I'll give you a quick tour, Molly, then you can settle into your room. We have a maid who keeps the house clean and does the cooking. She gets vegetables and meat at the market in town. We can buy sugar and American dry goods at the camp commissary. Once a day, a soldier from the camp bakery brings us fresh bread because you can't find white flour in France like we're used to. The bread usually arrives before we get home, but it is good and fresh," Marie said, leading the way from the sitting room to the dining room. The table was set, and the smells emanating from the kitchen made Molly's stomach growl with hunger. She'd skipped lunch in her excitement to begin her assignment and was starving.

"We usually eat in about twenty minutes," Marie said, then led the way into a well-equipped kitchen where a woman who looked to be in her thirties stood at the stove stirring something in a big pot. "This is Elodie, our saving grace who keeps wonderful care of the house and us." Marie then spoke to the maid in French, introducing Molly.

Elodie turned and looked at Molly. She had rich black hair, gray eyes, and a warm smile. " Bienvenue ."

Molly returned her greeting in French, feeling as though she should dip into a curtsy, but refrained.

"Elodie's husband is in the French army," Marie explained. "She says working for us keeps her too busy to worry all day about his return."

Molly looked around the large kitchen. "Do the girls ever cook for themselves?"

"Once in a while, but we usually don't have time for it. Our shifts are twelve hours, and by the time we get home and eat, write letters, or what have you, there just isn't time for much else."

"Oh, I see." Molly wondered if the women ever got a day off and decided it wasn't likely.

Thankfully, the house had a bathroom, although the water for bathing was heated with a stove that was located at one end of the bathtub.

"It's kind of a pain," Marie said, demonstrating how water filled the tub and the little stove heated it. "But it's better than no bathtub at all. At least we have indoor plumbing. Some of the girls are staying in tar paper shacks lined with newspaper."

Upstairs, there were five bedrooms, with three beds in each room.

"We're supposed to have a total of fifteen girls, but you are number eleven. More should come when the next unit arrives." Marie pointed to two open bedroom doors. "There are two empty beds in the blue room and one in the yellow room. You're welcome to choose."

"Thank you. I'll take the blue room." Molly felt quite pleased to sleep in a room decorated in her favorite color. "Which bed is occupied?"

"That one." Marie pointed to the bed nearest the door. On the nightstand beside the bed was a photo of two young girls smiling at the camera. They bore such a strong resemblance to one another that it was clear they had to be sisters. "You'll bunk with Helen."

"Thank you." Molly nodded to Marie and stepped into the room. "I'll hurry so I'm not late for dinner."

"That will be fine. Again, Molly, we're so glad you're here. Welcome." Marie smiled, then hurried back downstairs.

Molly quickly removed her hat, coat, and gloves, set her things on the floor next to the bed closest to the window, then returned downstairs. No one was in the bathroom, so she quickly got acquainted with the facility, washed her hands and face, then walked into the dining room where three of the girls helped Elodie carry food to the table.

There was a bowl of fresh greens, another filled with berries, and a plate with slices of bread. A large bowl in the center held a fragrant stew full of chunks of beef and assorted vegetables.

Molly was pleased when Elodie joined them at the table, and they all bowed their heads. Marie asked a blessing in French.

"The food is wonderful," Molly said to Elodie in French, earning another smile from the maid, who seemed a little on the shy and quiet side. Some of the other girls were chatty, though, filling any silence with amusing stories and conversation.

They all spoke in French, so Elodie wouldn't be left out. Molly was asked about her hometown, how things had looked in both Liverpool and Paris and if she had a special man in her life.

"No, I don't." Molly didn't want to think about Andrew Johnson, her first love. She'd fallen for him when she was sixteen, and he'd escorted her to the ball at Dogwood Corners. They'd courted for three years, even after Andrew had left to attend college, but then he'd arrived home for the summer, announced his intentions to wed someone he'd met at school, and that was that.

Molly had been heartbroken. Refusing to go through a similar experience a second time, she hadn't allowed anyone to court her since then. Oh, she'd attended a few events with suitable young men, but after what she viewed as Andrew's betrayal, she found it too hard to trust anyone.

When she realized Marie was staring at her, Molly smiled and offered to help with the dishes at the end of the meal.

Elodie left with a promise to be there bright and early in the morning, then Molly joined two girls in the kitchen. She discovered they took turns doing the evening dishes so Elodie could go home to rest.

While Helen washed, Molly dried, and Francine put the dishes away, they got acquainted with each other. Molly learned about the military camp where the switchboard was located, the best time to visit the camp commissary, and life in France.

Although some of the girls gathered in the sitting room where Alice played the piano, Molly excused herself to her room. She wanted to unpack and write a note to her parents, letting them know she'd arrived at her assignment and share some of her impressions of traveling from America.

By the time she finished the letter to them, wrote a quick note to Sadie so her sister would know she had arrived, and unpacked her belongings, it was time for bed.

Molly was grateful Helen was friendly but not overly chatty.

When they turned out the lights and said good night, Molly was more than ready for sleep.