Andrea Barrett - The Air We Breathe

Your duties would mostly consist of learning what you can about the doings of your foreign-born staff and patients at Tamarack State, the naturalized as well as un-naturalized and indeed anyone strongly connected to their German or Austrian heritage, also anyone known to have been engaged in labor union activities before arriving here. The police chief and his deputies are sworn to help us in any way possible and you can ask them for assistance. Mail can be inspected, telephones can be tapped; what we rely on you for is information. You may use anyone you think appropriate to help you gather this information, but should in no event tell them about this organization, or suggest who might belong to it.

This is a volunteer position — of course there is no salary — in fact many local leaders have already pledged fifty dollars a month to help defray our expenses, and if you see fit to contribute, any amount would be welcome. Please let me know at your earliest convenience if you are willing to accept this post and how much you can contribute. A badge awaits you (it costs seventy-five cents), and while you should generally keep it hidden it will ease your way with the authorities when you need assistance and also help convince those who might hesitate to give you information.

Please don’t talk to anyone else on the staff about this; we’ll contact other candidates separately. I imagine it goes without saying that you should not keep this letter, nor copies of any correspondence to me or others regarding this.

He never considered the possibility of Dr. Petrie refusing. He himself had said yes the instant he was approached, sure this was the right thing to do and the only way, given his illness and his exile from home, to use his talents. He’d been repelled by the pacifists marching through Washington, white tulips in their hands, on the day the president went to Congress to ask for a declaration of war; then furious at the handful of senators and representatives who’d voted against the resolution. Fortunately it had passed despite them, and Congress was already debating a proposal to draft a vast army. If he was too old and too frail to join up himself, at least he could help make sure that the draft went smoothly and that the new soldiers had everything they needed to fight.

Which meant, he knew, a tremendous amount of work as well as constant vigilance. Overnight, the declaration of war had turned nearly a million resident German aliens into potential agents of the kaiser. Some might conspire with the Mexicans to take over California. Those in New York might help German submarines planning to attack the city. Saboteurs might already have infiltrated munitions factories as well as plants that made steel or acetone, felt or tool dies, anything needed for the war. The government had sent soldiers to guard bridges, reservoirs, railroad tunnels — but they could only do so much, and if it had not been, Miles thought, for the efforts of himself and Edward and thousands of other like-minded businessmen, quietly recruiting and putting into place the squads of operatives who’d listen and watch for trouble, anything might happen.

Suddenly there was more to do than he could have handled even back when he was healthy. Six hours lost each day to his cure chair; no choice, then, but to make the most efficient use possible of every minute he was upright. No more walks for pleasure, no more movies or card games or reading that wasn’t essential. No more Wednesday afternoons with us. Anyway he hadn’t enjoyed our last few gatherings; what difference could Einstein’s theory make when the country was at war? Now he focused solely on his new duties, pushing aside his grief over Lawrence’s death. Lesser pains — Leo’s thoughtless rejection of his offer; Dr. Petrie’s dismissal of his feelings for Naomi and, now, his surprising refusal to join in this work — he pushed aside too, although Naomi herself still managed to hurt him freshly every day.

His own feelings were puzzling enough. As for hers — crucial hours disappeared, if he wasn’t careful, into trying to understand why she acted like this. Looking back, it seemed perfectly clear that she’d approached him and was responsible for the way he felt: she’d offered, back in October, to drive him on Wednesdays to Tamarack State. She’d sought him out, brought him extra desserts, listened to his plans for us with apparent interest, and once he’d seen that, once he’d turned and really seen her, he hadn’t been able to turn away. She’d held his hand after Lawrence’s death, when no one else thought to comfort him. Yet now she seemed to enjoy wounding him. Not once had she worn the necklace he’d given her for Christmas; not once had he seen her reading the book. When he’d first asked her to drive him on his new rounds, she’d balked as sharply as if she had no interest in either his company or in contributing to the war effort. Mrs. Martin, whom he’d been forced to ask for help, had reminded him that Naomi was only eighteen and a little nervous, as any young woman might be, at the attention of a slightly older man as powerful and successful as himself. He told himself that once she saw the importance of his work, she’d be proud to be part of it. Perhaps their bond would even deepen now that they shared their tasks. For the moment, though, she was painfully abrupt with him and whatever ground he’d gained during the winter seemed to be slipping away.

Grumpily she drove him to the hotel where, in the ballroom, he and the other two unit captains gathered with the village leaders to talk about bond sales, medical inspections, registration of transients, new train schedules, what the newspaper editors should print and what they should omit. A hundred details and hardly any time. Miles made lists, wrote letters, carried orders from door to door. Already, thanks to those meetings, the shops sprouted flags and loops of bunting but always there was more to do. Often he was late returning to his porch for rest hours and Naomi, who might have been so helpful, offered nothing but transportation.

On the Wednesday after Miles wrote to Dr. Petrie, he had Naomi take him to the post office. “I have to stay here for a while,” he said, getting out of the car. “To organize something. There’s no sense in having you wait around while we do this — why don’t you take an hour off, and come back and get me at three? If we’re not done then, you can wait until we are.”

“When will you be done?” She flicked her fingers against the steering wheel, refusing to look at him. Her white shirtwaist, he saw, closed with unusual buttons shaped like tiny silver pinecones. Weeks ago he’d seen her sewing these on and, remembering how often in the past few months she’d ornamented her everyday clothing with a sleek belt or a fresh embroidered collar, he told himself she did that for him and recovered his patience.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Not earlier than three, but perhaps a bit later than that.”

“But you want me to show up anyway and wait ?”

“If you would,” he said firmly. “I’ll be very late for my rest hours by then, and I’d like to get back to my porch as quickly as possible.”

Inside, he found his two lieutenants near the loading dock. The mayor had taken him aside at their last meeting to whisper that, while the Selective Service Act was still being debated in Congress, the secretary of war, wanting registration to take place as soon as the bill passed, had secretly arranged the printing of the necessary forms. Forty million of them, he’d said, needed to register ten million men. The main post office buildings in Washington, where they were being stored, had overflowed before the printing was halfway done.

“So we’ve all been sent our share now,” the mayor explained. “Every town, every city. Ours came on the dawn train but we’re supposed to keep them hidden until registration day is announced. I can’t ask anyone for help officially, since we don’t want the newspapers to get wind of this until after the act is signed into law. But I thought perhaps you and your squad…?”