The Boston Girl(16)

So much for having anything in common.

When the song ended, I heard Miss Holbrooke calling me and the other lodge girls off the dance floor.

“I see I have to let you go,” Harold said. He took my hand up to his lips and said, “Meet me outside on the porch at midnight. I’ll be waiting for you.”

And just like that, I had an assignation! I don’t know how I knew that word but I knew it meant something romantic—maybe not so respectable but completely thrilling.

I told Filomena about it on the way back, but instead of being happy for me, she said, “Don’t you dare. He thinks he can take advantage because you’re so young.”

“Maybe he likes my eyes,” I said. “Maybe he thinks I’m a good listener.”

“You think he’s coming over in the middle of the night to talk to you? I thought you were smarter than that.”

We went back and forth. She told me he was a skirt chaser and to wake up but I thought she was just being mean or maybe Rose was right and she was jealous.

Finally she gave up. “If I can’t talk you out of it, swear that you’ll stay on the porch or else I will go out there with you.”

After I promised not to leave the porch, Filomena didn’t say another word to me all night. She just turned off the light and pulled the pillow over her head. I hated that she was mad at me, but Harold was so handsome and no man had ever paid me that kind of attention. And when was I ever going to have another assignation?

I was lying on top of the bedspread, waiting for the first stroke of midnight, like Cinderella except I had both of my shoes on. I flew down those stairs and out the kitchen door, which they never locked.

It was very dark—no moon or stars—and I didn’t see Harold anywhere. I waited and worried and was starting to give up when I saw his white uniform moving through the orchard.

He took my hands and kissed them really slowly, and not just on top but on the palms, too. It made me shiver. But when he tried to pull me toward the trees, I sat down on the step and tucked my skirt around my legs.

“Oh, so you are a good girl,” he said and sat down with his leg right against mine. “Good girls don’t usually dance like that.”

I said, “Like what?” trying to act as if I’d had this kind of conversation a million times.

“Free. Willing to go along and let loose. We were special together, Addie. Didn’t you feel it? I could have gone on dancing all night with you.”

He sounded so much like a character in a magazine story that I giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I guess I’m not used to compliments.”

“You should be.” He put his arm around my waist, I leaned my head on his shoulder, and imagined how romantic we must look.

Then he turned my face up to his and kissed me on the mouth.

“Your first time?” he said.

“Oh, no. I’m not a baby, you know.”

“Of, course not,” he said. “I wouldn’t do this to a baby.” He kissed me again. He was as good a kisser as he was a dancer, and I followed him like I did with the fox-trot—without thinking.

It was very exciting and, well, let’s just say that I didn’t realize how far along things had gotten until I heard the church bell.

That’s when I sat up and said I should go inside.

Harold had his arm around my waist and said we should go out to the hammock in the orchard where we could look at the stars. “It’s so beautiful, Addie,” he whispered.

I said no and that I had to go inside. When he didn’t let go of me, I said it again.

A window upstairs opened and somebody coughed.

Harold let go of me. “I shouldn’t have come.” He sounded mad.

I said, “Don’t be mad.”

“Come with me and I won’t be.”

But I didn’t move and the coughing got louder.

Harold stood up, lit a cigarette, and walked away. No goodbye. Nothing. It was awful.

Filomena pretended she was asleep when I got in bed, which was okay with me. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened or how I was feeling and, boy oh boy, was I feeling things. I didn’t know if that meant I was a floozy or if I was in love. And what was Harold Weeks feeling? Maybe he was a wolf after all or maybe I had done something wrong.

The last thing I wanted to hear from Filomena was “I told you so.” Especially since I would have done anything to see him again and I was miserable because I knew that was never going to happen.





We got a suffragette in the family.

Starting in September, Levine wouldn’t stop talking about Thanksgiving. “The Americans say a prayer before they start eating,” he said. “What do think, Mr. Baum?”

“By us it’s not a holiday,” Papa said.

“Why not? We live in America so we should celebrate like Americans. This week I filled out citizenship papers for Celia and me. My boys were born here so they don’t have to worry. Not Addie, either. But the rest of us, we have to apply.”

“For what?” Papa said. “So they can find us easier to throw us out? Or put boys into the army?”

“For voting,” said Levine.

Betty sniffed. “So why should I bother if they don’t let me?”