The Beantown Girls Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE BEANTOWN GIRLS

  “Equally heartbreaking and heartwarming, this meticulously researched book about the fascinating Red Cross Clubmobile program charmed me from page one. I fell in love with the characters and how Healey brought this important piece of WWII history to life. The Beantown Girls is must-read historical fiction about love, hope, friendship, and the resilience of the human spirit.”

  —Susie Orman Schnall, award-winning author of The Subway Girls

  “A fantastic story of friendship, love, and bravery. Historical fiction at its finest, inviting the reader into little-known parts of our past and bringing it to bloom with characters we love right away.”

  —Camille Di Maio, bestselling author of The Memory of Us

  “If you yearn for a sweeping, romantic, and altogether wonderful novel, look no further. If you like your novels filled with character, detail, and life, here is your next big read. If you want to see World War II from an entirely new perspective, settle in with The Beantown Girls, a brave group of young American[s] . . . who head for Europe in 1944. As they live and grow through one of the pivotal years in human history, you will grow to love them.”

  —William Martin, New York Times bestselling author of Cape Cod and Bound for Gold

  “Brilliantly written, The Beantown Girls captured me from the first page. The dangers of war mingle beautifully with the wide-eyed innocence of three young women who find themselves in extraordinary and sometimes harrowing circumstances. History is honored in this vital look at WWII told from a female perspective. This is an important book not to be missed!”

  —Heather Burch, Amazon bestselling author of In the Light of the Garden

  “In The Beantown Girls, Jane Healey delivers a novel that whisks us to the final harrowing months of World War II in Europe, and brings it painfully, beautifully, heartbreakingly alive. Through the eyes of Fiona Denning, a Red Cross Clubmobile worker, and her colleagues, we witness firsthand not only acts of jaw-dropping courage and sacrifice, but also the romantic bonds that grow even during the horrors of war. Healey’s superb research lets us see the decimated cities, smell the doughnuts and coffee handed out at great risk on the front lines, and hear the big band music—as well as the approach of the next bomb. I loved this novel!”

  —Joy Jordan-Lake, bestselling author of A Tangled Mercy

  “From the beginning of this inspiring novel, the reader is swept into a riveting story that combines the realities of WWII with the bond of true friendship and dedication to the highest cause, told from the little-known perspective of Red Cross Clubmobile girls. Jane Healey’s extensive research and fine storytelling skills offer a page-turner that goes straight to the heart. Historical fiction at its best!”

  —Patricia Sands, author of the bestselling Love in Provence series

  “A fascinating novel about a little-known wartime sacrifice, The Beantown Girls is lovingly crafted, heartbreaking, and illuminated with hope. I couldn’t put it down!”

  —Ellen Marie Wiseman, author of The Life She Was Given

  “Jane Healey’s wonderful new work of historical fiction, The Beantown Girls, provides a fresh and heartwarming perspective on American participation in Europe during the closing years of World War II. The story follows a group of courageous young women who volunteer to serve coffee, donuts, and emotional support to Allied soldiers on the front lines. Jane masterfully captures the era with its style, music, fashion, and dialogue, and the reader is instantly whisked back to the 1940s. The engaging personalities of these girls in their Red Cross Clubmobiles are sure to captivate the reader. It’s like Band of Brothers in Red Cross uniforms.”

  —Ronald H. Balson, internationally bestselling author of Once We Were Brothers

  “The Beantown Girls by Jane Healey tells the story of the brave women who served as Red Cross Clubmobile girls during World War II, offering comfort and a slice of home to our soldiers. A story of friendship and courage, The Beantown Girls will delight fans of historical fiction and women’s fiction alike.”

  —Brenda Janowitz, author of The Dinner Party

  ALSO BY JANE HEALEY

  The Saturday Evening Girls Club

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Jane Healey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542044523

  ISBN-10: 1542044529

  Cover design by Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

  Dedicated to the Red Cross Clubmobile girls of World War II

  Contents

  Start Reading

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Historical Notes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

  —Eleanor Roosevelt

  Chapter One

  July 14, 1944

  New York City

  Dottie, Viv, and I stood together on the deck of the Queen Elizabeth, surrounded by a couple dozen other Red Cross workers and hundreds of US soldiers. The once-glamorous cruise ship, now painted a bland battleship gray for its current role as troop transporter, was making its final preparations for departure to Europe.

  The three of us were enjoying the festive atmosphere as the people on the dock below waved up at the passengers shouting their final farewells to loved ones on board. We had said our good-byes to our families in Boston six weeks ago, but we waved and smiled back at the strangers wishing us well.

  “I have to say, we all look pretty smart in these new uniforms,” Dottie said, adjusting her light-blue Red Cross cap and nodding at Viv and me with approval. “Fiona, the color brings out the gray in your eyes.”

  “Thanks, Dottie,” I said. “I agree, they aren’t too bad.”

  “Not too bad except for these sensible black shoes they recommended that we buy,” said Viv, looking down with a sour face. “They’re horrible. Zero fashion. But yes, the uniforms are surprisingly spiffy.”

  “Sweetheart, you all look better than spiffy,” a soldier next to us said, staring at Dottie as he gave a whistle. His two friends nodded in agreement. They had to be fresh out of high school. So many of these newly minted GIs looked like they were playing dress-up in their fathers’ uniforms. Still, Dottie flushed a deep shade of pink and turned away.
r />   “Oh, for God’s sake, Dottie, at least say thank you,” Viv whispered to her with a nudge. “She thanks you, honey,” Viv said to the soldier with a smile, and now he was the one blushing.

  “She’s right,” I said. “That’s definitely not the last compliment you’re going to get from a soldier. You better get used to it.”

  Dottie was about to reply, but an army band on the docks below struck up a raucous rendition of “Over There,” and a rowdy group on the other side of us started singing along so loudly that it was difficult to talk over the noise.

  I looked up at the decks above ours, at the hundreds of men pressed against railings like we were, waving good-bye to the crowds. Jostling and laughing with each other, they were all hiding their nerves beneath bravado.

  And that’s when I spotted my fiancé, Second Lieutenant Danny Barker, among the men on the deck above ours. My arms broke out in goose pimples despite the heat, and I felt a little faint. Tall and blond, he looked incredibly handsome in his US Army Air Force uniform. He was smiling and waving at the crowds below too, and it was all I could do not to scream his name and go running upstairs to him. I wanted to do it so badly my heart ached. But I held back calling to him, because deep down I knew. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Danny Barker had been declared missing in action more than eight months ago, shot down in the skies over Germany.

  The ship’s horn blasted our departure from the dock, and more soldiers joined in the singing. Dottie and Viv didn’t notice me gripping the rail of the ship with white knuckles as I tried to tether myself to reality. I was desperate to quell the feeling of panic that was bubbling up inside me. I shook my head back and forth, blinking a few times. When I looked up again, I realized that the soldier I could have sworn was Danny bore only a passing resemblance to him. He was tall and blond like Danny, but with sharp, angular features that were nothing like my fiancé’s.

  It was a hot July day in New York City, and the ocean air was tainted with the smell of diesel, cigarettes, and cheap cologne. I don’t know if it was the humidity that made the atmosphere feel heavy or the emotions of the hundreds of soldiers on the ship with us, jumping up and down, yelling their final good-byes before heading off to war.

  Some of the women in the crowds below had started to cry, clutching their handkerchiefs and straining to capture these last glimpses of their beloved sons, brothers, and sweethearts so they could remember them in the months to come. I felt grief in the pit of my stomach, grief that I had managed to push down for the past few months. But now that we were bound for Europe, it all came bubbling to the surface. Oh God, I thought. What if this whole thing is an enormous mistake?

  I felt my face flush and thought I might throw up. I tugged on Dottie’s arm. Viv was charming some of the men standing next to us with a story about learning to play Ping-Pong during our recent training in DC.

  “I’ve got to find a bathroom,” I said into Dottie’s ear. “I’m feeling a little ill.”

  “Sheesh, it’s kind of early to be seasick, Fiona,” Dottie said. “We haven’t even left the harbor yet. Fiona? Fiona!” Dottie called after me as I moved as fast as I could through the throngs of GIs, my hand over my mouth.

  I heard greetings of “Hey, doll!” and “What’s the matter, freckles?” from the dozens of men I pushed past. A couple of them graciously asked if I was okay.

  I finally found a bathroom tucked into the space underneath the stairs to an upper deck. I slammed the door behind me and locked it, taking another deep breath as I splashed water on my face. In the small round mirror, I looked even paler than usual, making the freckles across my nose more prominent. I adjusted the pins on my new cap and smoothed down my newly shorn, shoulder-length hair. It was only then I noticed that my hands were shaking. I opened the tiny porthole above the toilet to let in some air and sank to the floor. I didn’t throw up, but for the first time in many months, I began to cry.

  In March, I had let Viv and Dottie drag me to see the Saturday matinee of Jane Eyre starring Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine. It had always been one of my favorite novels, so I reluctantly agreed to go. Before the movie started, we watched a short newsreel. The words Now more than ever, your Red Cross is at his side flashed across the screen with a familiar picture of a soldier standing next to a woman in a Red Cross uniform, the same one I was wearing today. It was followed by footage of Red Cross Clubmobile girls serving the troops all over Europe. There was a trio of these girls in Italy and then more footage of them in North Africa, happily serving coffee and doughnuts to soldiers out of a converted truck. There were other scenes of these women playing records and dancing the jitterbug with GIs against the backdrop of blown-out buildings. A voice-over began:

  Our Red Cross Clubmobile girls must be single, college graduates, and over the age of twenty-five. They are handpicked for their looks, education, and personality. They are hardy physically and have a sociable, friendly manner.

  Seeing those women—traveling, directly helping the war effort—had stirred something in me that I hadn’t felt since Danny had gone missing. It was a combination of hope and exhilaration. That feeling you have before the first day of college or when starting a new job. The newsreel had seemed like a sign from above. Maybe I could do something real in the war effort other than assemble care packages at the local USO. Volunteering for the Red Cross could be a way to honor Danny. And more than anything, it was a plan, a way forward—a way to try to find out what had happened to him the day his plane was shot down. Right after seeing that reel, I decided to apply to become a Red Cross Clubmobile girl.

  I got up, looked at myself in the mirror, and said out loud to my reflection, “Nice job, Fiona. Did you think these soldiers wouldn’t remind you of your missing fiancé? Did you think going to war was going to be a walk in the park? Get a grip.”

  I jumped at the sound of someone banging on the bathroom door.

  “Fiona! Fi? Are you talking to yourself? Open up.” I recognized Viv’s raspy voice coming from outside.

  “Fiona, we know you’re in there,” Dottie said in her high-pitched tone. “Open the door.”

  I wiped my tears and unlatched the door to see my best friends standing on the other side. Viviana was frowning at me, her violet-blue eyes studying my face. Dottie stood next to her, peering over her red horn-rimmed glasses, unable to hide her worry.

  “Oh Jesus, Fiona, look at you,” Viv said as she barged in with Dottie, locking the door behind them. “We’ve got to clean you up; no soldiers need to see you all swollen and tear-stained. We’re supposed to be boosting their morale, not making them feel worse.”

  “Um, yeah, no kidding, Viv. Why do you think I’m hiding in the bathroom?” I answered as she started blotting my face with powder.

  “Here, some fresh lipstick too. This coral color will look good on you, Fi; it’s too light for my skin tone,” Dottie said as she handed the lipstick to me. “Now, while Viv’s fixing you up, do you want to tell us what’s going on? Are you okay? Why did you rush off like that?”

  “I’m sorry, girls. It’s being with all these soldiers and seeing their loved ones waving good-bye. I’m not going to lie: it got to me,” I said. “I also felt like I was going crazy because for a minute I actually thought one of the soldiers on the deck above us was Danny. It hasn’t even been a year since he’s been . . . he’s been gone and . . . my God . . . It all just hit me . . . We’re not at training in DC anymore; we are on the boat to England . . . to the war. I’ve been trying—I mean, I think I’ve been pretty strong about all of this, but just now? It was too much.”

  “Sweetheart, have a seat. We need to talk,” Viv said as she slid down the wall underneath the porthole, pulled a pack of Chesterfields out of her pocket, and lit one cigarette.

  “Are you seriously going to smoke in here, Viv?” Dottie asked, waving a hand in front of her face and grimacing. “Isn’t that against the rules? No smoking while in uniform?”

  “Who’s going to rat on me?” Viv said with a sm
irk and a wink. Dottie let out a sigh and sat down against the opposite wall, where I joined her.

  “Want a smoke?” Viv asked. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

  I shook my head. Dottie patted my knee and said, “Fiona, honey, honestly? You’ve been so strong, it’s been . . . well, it’s been a little odd, frankly. You’ve been too calm.”

  Viv nodded and took a drag of her cigarette. “Dottie’s right, Fi,” she said. “You lost your fiancé in October, and for the past few months you’ve barely talked about it, even when we’ve asked. You’ve just been forging ahead. I’m kind of surprised you haven’t fallen apart more, way before getting on this boat.”

  “He’s missing, not lost,” I said. “And I’m going to finally be honest with both of you because you’re my best friends in the world and I couldn’t have done this—couldn’t have gone through applying or training, couldn’t have gotten on this boat—without you.

  “Danny is missing. He very well may be . . . he may be dead, but what keeps me awake at night is that I don’t know anything for sure. The truth is, I’m hoping to find answers, or maybe even to find him. I know I sound crazy for even saying it . . . but I’m not sure I can live the rest of my life with ‘missing in action.’ So now you know. There’s a lot of good reasons for us being here, but my main reason? It’s to try to find out about Danny.”

  “Viv, you owe me five dollars,” Dottie said, nudging her with her foot.

  “What?” I said incredulously, hoping for a more thoughtful response to my confession. “Wait . . . you two made a bet about this?”

  “We did and I do owe you, Dottie,” said Viv with a laugh. “Fiona. Please. We’ve all been friends since the first day of college. Believe it or not, we know you pretty well by now. Dottie was sure that was why you were doing this.”

  “I thought I was losing my damn mind when I saw Danny on that deck. I’m a bit of a wreck now that we’re actually on our way.”

  “Well, of course you’re nervous and still grieving.” Viviana looked me in the eyes. “Honey, you don’t have to be so strong all the time. You’re allowed to fall apart once in a while . . . but try not to do it in front of the soldiers, okay?”