Chapter 7
ETHEL
Ethel smoothed her white gloves against her Peter Pan collar and then made sure her Jelly Belly tropical bird pin had not shifted from where she had placed it over her heart.
As she pressed the doorbell to Dorothy Hansen’s home, she glanced at the handwritten invitation, having the sudden need to confirm that the tea party’s theme was indeed birds.
When she did, she noticed for the first time that the tea had started at two o’clock.
She turned her gold Bulova watch. She was thirty minutes late.
Ethel was never late, but recently she’d had a hard time getting out of bed.
Menial tasks like the dishes and vacuuming had been taking her longer than usual to complete.
She just could not muster the energy. Was lethargy a symptom of pregnancy?
The wooden door swung open, and Dorothy Hansen greeted her with a toothy smile. “Ethel!” She wore a red gingham dress with large pockets, her hair pulled back tight into a ponytail.
Ethel followed Dorothy past the coat rack and through the foyer.
Dorothy’s four-bedroom house was the most spacious living quarters that Ethel had seen since arriving in Mannheim, and it was twice the size of her home with Bert.
Dorothy had two school-age children, and as Ethel passed fingerprint paintings, “I love you Mommy” drawings, “Mathematician of the Year,” and “Student of the Month” certificates pinned to a corkboard in the hallway, her daily longing for children fluttered inside of her. Her menstrual cycle was one day late.
The living room was airy, with two curry-colored sofas and a matching recliner.
A few folding chairs were threaded in between.
There were about ten army wives seated, all wearing jewelry or clothing that highlighted the bird theme.
A few of the women, Ethel had traveled with on excursions to Frankfurt and Munich.
Dorothy Hansen had been arranging monthly teas, luncheons, and socials so that the wives of the higher-ranked husbands could get together to discuss books and charity work, and brainstorm on different ways they could be useful to the army and their husbands while living abroad.
Today’s tea was being held to discuss ideas on how to uplift and support the Women’s Army Corps, and as Ethel crossed the room to sit beside Julia Jones, the only other Negro wife invited, she tried to follow the conversation already in progress.
“We all have a role to play while here. We must make ourselves useful.”
“God did not bring us this far just to do the shopping and ironing. We could do that back home.”
“The WAC needs our support.”
“Especially the Negro WAC, who have the humiliating job of caring for the prisoners of war. We need to do something that will raise their morale,” said Julia Jones while throwing her two-month-old baby girl over her shoulder, tapping her back lightly.
Two other women had small children on their laps.
Three toddlers played blocks on the carpet.
Ethel waved hello and apologized for being late as she took her seat. One of the few women who hadn’t come around to the idea of mixed company at these teas scooted her chair a bit more into the corner, away from Ethel and Julia. Ethel ignored her.
In addition to being in this group, Ethel and Julia had started the Negro wives of Mannheim, which met on the second Friday of each month.
Those women’s meetings were a social space where the Negro wives could relax, discuss issues that pertained to their families, and form community.
Most of those women’s husbands were privates or first-class privates, and they looked to Ethel and Julia, whose husbands were chief warrant officers, for guidance on how to navigate living abroad.
Dorothy came around with a platter of cucumber sandwiches, scones, tea cakes, biscuits, and jam. Ethel didn’t have much of an appetite. But to be polite, she took a sandwich. While sipping her black tea, she felt something wet slip between her legs and frowned.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to Julia, then excused herself down the short hall to the powder room just off the kitchen.
As she closed the bathroom door, one of the children started to wail.
Ethel pulled away her layers and wiped. The sight of the crimson streak staining the toilet tissue made her gag.
She was not pregnant. Again.
It had been a full nine months since she had visited the shrine at Lourdes, and she had thought that her stomach would be full by now.
Ethel had been faithful. She had prayed her rosary beads, read Scriptures, fasted, doused her belly with holy water, and asked the Virgin daily to bless her womb and make her fruitful.
But Old Lady Flo had found her again and again.
In this moment, Ethel didn’t know if it was the presence of so many children in Dorothy’s home, but she felt tears prick her eyes.
Suddenly she didn’t have the strength to return to the women, but staying in the bathroom too long would be impolite.
Ethel pulled herself together, padded a handful of tissues between her legs, tucked her blouse in her pencil skirt, splashed cold water on her face, and pinched her cheeks.
When she entered the living room, the talk had veered away from the WAC to the accomplishments of the school-age children.
Ethel just couldn’t sit through it all again.
She looked around for Dorothy but didn’t see her.
“I need to leave, female problems,” she leaned in and whispered to Julia.
“I’m sure Dorothy has a belt she can lend you.”
Ethel put her hand to her chest and whispered, “I’m just not feeling well.”
“You were already tardy. Now you’re going to leave me here with them alone,” Julia hissed while rocking the baby. Ethel knew how Julia felt but would have to make it up to her.
“I’m sorry, but I’m so nauseated. Please give my apologies to Dorothy, and I’ll call you later. Promise.” Ethel squeezed Julia’s knee, picked up her wooden box purse, and scurried for the door.
Ethel hastened away from Dorothy’s with the thought of going back to her unit apartment, throwing a blanket over herself, and curling up in a ball.
But she could not let herself sink into the clutches of another dark hole.
She had done that twice in the past six months, and it had worried her sweet husband when he could not lift her from the gloom.
Ethel had never shared her plans for a miracle baby with Bert.
When they had started dating, she had revealed her illness and shortcoming with him.
It was her second marriage, and she didn’t want any unnecessary misunderstanding between them.
After her revelation, Bert kissed her hands and spoke.
“Just be my faithful wife, and I’ll die a happy man. ”
The sentiment, while sweet, never completely soothed her.
It was Ethel who wanted more, and she could not understand what she had done to make God so angry that He would withhold something so crucial as motherhood.
Ethel was such a good person. She was faithful.
Always put others’ needs before hers and had a big heart.
She gave of herself because she had lots to offer.
Wasn’t that the vision she had received?
So why was she still unable to heal her womb and carry a child? It felt like the worst of punishments.
The tears stung her cheeks. She walked and wandered, and by the time she took stock of where she was going, she realized that she had marched in the wrong direction.
In some parts of Mannheim, all the tiny streets looked the same.
Ethel could not read many words in German, so she often relied on landmarks to get her from one place to another. On this walk, nothing was recognizable.
The wind blew, ruffling her candy straw hat, and as Ethel reached up to make sure her pins remained in place, she saw two Catholic nuns dressed in long black robes across the street.
They were sandwiching a thin line of eight or nine little children holding hands.
The sight of them stilled her. Ethel craned her neck to see into the faces of the sweet little boys and girls, noticing right away that their complexions ranged in color from sand to storm.
They were Negro children.
Without thinking, Ethel started following them from her side of the road. After about five minutes, she crossed the cobblestone road to walk directly behind them. She fell in step with the shorter of the two nuns, who took up the rear, tasked with guarding the children from behind.
“Sprichst du Englisch?” Ethel asked. It was the first phrase that she had learned and the one she used most often. The short nun pointed to the taller nun at the front of the line.
“Danke.” Ethel’s heart galloped as she slipped quickly past the children’s miniature faces to the front of the pack, where she walked alongside the older nun, who held her head up like the person in charge.
“Sprichst du Englisch?”
“Yes, I speak English.”
“Hello. My name is Ethel Gathers.”
“Hello, Ethel. I’m Sister Ursula. Do you live nearby?”
“I’m not sure. I seem to have lost my way.”
“Do you need help?”
“I’m all right. Where are you going with these children?”
“We are the sisters of St. Hildegard and live just up ahead. You are welcome to come with us.”
Sister Ursula reached for Ethel’s hand, sending a calm wave through her entire body. After a few more steps, Sister Ursula turned down a small alley and pulled a key from her robe, unlocking a metal gate. It squeaked and moaned as she pushed it open and ushered the children through.
“Eins, zwei, drei,” she counted out loud until she got to eight.
The shorter nun locked the gate behind them and then said something in German that must have translated into “Go play,” because the kids scattered throughout the courtyard, roughhousing with one another and laughing.
The sounds of their return brought more children into the courtyard from inside the two stone buildings.
A younger nun rolled a baby pram out, and Ethel watched her sit with three smaller ones underneath a wide-branched tree.
Some of the children wore tattered clothing.
Most were dressed in items too big or too small, and none of their outfits had been paired in a way that suggested anything beyond necessity.
A few went barefoot, but most wore sandals or badly scuffed shoes.
Ethel watched, speechless. Sister Ursula had gone off and returned with a glass of water, which she offered to Ethel.
“What is this place?”
Sister Ursula had intense eyes, and a gray strand of hair had come loose from her habit. “This is St. Hildegard’s children’s home. We take in the orphans who have been left behind.”
“Left behind by whom?”
“Whomever. The war was difficult on many.”
Ethel looked around and then back at the nun. “All of the children appear to be mixed-race.”
Sister Ursula nodded. “It is unfortunate, but some of the American fathers have moved on, and the German women cannot always keep their children.”
“Why not?” Ethel touched her stomach. She had known about Negro soldiers taking up with German women, even seen a few mothers with brown-skinned babies in the streets, but she hadn’t known they were being abandoned.
“The mothers lack the support they need to raise these children. Most lose their jobs once their situation is known and they had some privileges revoked.”
“What a shame.”
“We do all that we can to care for them.” Sister Ursula motioned for Ethel to follow her.
“My husband is an officer. He told me that when Negro soldiers apply for permission to marry German women, the U.S. military almost always denies it.”
“I wish the two countries could work together and put the welfare of the children first. It’s having a devastating effect on all of us.”
Ethel stood beside Sister Ursula. Two boys about ten years old tossed a baseball. A boy and girl held hands while peering at her quizzically. The children all looked clean and fed, but many of the little girls’ hair looked matted and uncombed. Ethel felt the urge to scoop each one up in her arms.
Instantly, Ethel heard, You have much to offer others. Could this be it? Was it her calling to aid these forgotten children? Ethel had worked at a beauty parlor to pay her way through college. She had not worked as a beautician in many years, but it was a skill she could put to good use now.
“Sister Ursula. I am stationed with my husband near the new Benjamin Franklin Village. Would it be possible for me to volunteer and help with the children?”
Sister Ursula’s blue eyes glowed. “We are always looking for volunteers.”
“Wonderful. I will return tomorrow morning.”
“We look forward to it.” Sister Ursula touched Ethel’s hand in gratitude, and Ethel felt a wave of tranquility pass through her body again. She left the orphanage with such a lightness that it did not dawn on her until she had walked several blocks that she had no idea how to get back home.