“Is that so?” I asked, trying to hide my irritation that my husband was in communication with his sister while not sparing a line for me. My curiosity was also piqued by the unlikely notion that Willie—who thought war made boys into men—might try to shield his nephew. “What does he have in mind?”
“There’s a plan for a volunteer American flying corps,” Jack said. “We want Victor transferred into it.”
Goodness. An entire unit of American pilots could have the greatest impact on the public mind here in the States while telling the world whose side we were really on. I was dubious that aeroplanes were less dangerous than the trenches, but at that point in the war, many people thought so, including my in-laws. “Have you consulted Victor? Young men pride themselves on their independence.”
“That’s why we’re going to France to convince him,” Jack said. “We’re booking passage on the Lusitania.”
I simply could not think of a worse idea. Even if the Chapmans made it without being sunk, they weren’t worldly people. They were still suspended in another time, reading Shakespeare to each other by candlelight and occasionally complaining about the innovation of electric lights. Jack’s mental health was fragile, and Elizabeth’s physical health was delicate. The last thing either of them should do was attempt a voyage over a war-ravaged sea, much less attempt to navigate a war zone on their own. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
Jack said simply, “I can’t bear it anymore. My boy being there, me being here . . .”
I felt his pain, and for a moment even wondered if I ought not offer to take the Chapmans back to France myself. A thought still lingering on my mind when, later that afternoon, Miss Sloane asked, “Do you think that reporter, Mitzi Miller, had a point?”
I took umbrage. “A point about how women should go into the trenches to demand soldiers stop fighting?”
“No, that’s a harebrained fantasy,” Emily replied, restoring my faith in her sanity. “I mean the part about being willing to risk their lives, while we sit here safely performing plays and sending parcels.”
Still stung by the reporter’s accusations, I argued, “But surely we’re more useful here.” Between ticket sales for The Children’s Revolution and weekly fundraising balls, we’d raised a staggering amount of money for the cause. “Besides, I hardly think the French Foreign Legion would accept women in their ranks.”
Emily sharpened her pencil. “No, but the American Relief Clearing House needs help distributing the kits in France. So I’ve come to a decision, quite by impulse.”
“Impossible.” In the months we’d been working together, I’d never known her to act upon a single impulse. “You decide nothing without a list of pros and cons.”
“Of course I made a list! Which is why I can say with complete confidence that we’ve raised enough to send a fully outfitted ambulance to the front lines. And I want to take it there.”
It was not often that buttoned-up Emily Sloane surprised me, but yesterday she’d purchased a tube of lipstick from Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door salon, and today she was talking about going across an ocean filled with submarines. Now she said, “We believe America ought to come to the aid of her allies. Whatever else our play is meant to do, it’s also meant to drum up support for the idea that America should enter the war. But if you and I aren’t brave enough to cross the ocean, how can we convince anyone else to? I’m going back.”
“Quite impossible,” I said, pointing at her with an imperious index finger. “In the first place, it’s too dangerous. In the second place, I need you here. And in the third place, this suggestion does great damage to our friendship, in which hitherto it has been my role to propose outlandish schemes. I refuse to be the sensible one. This is all very upside-down!”
“I am being sensible. If one of us must risk our life, I’m the logical choice. I’m a spinster, whereas you’re a wife and mother of two.”
She made a good argument, though no one ever told a brave husband and father that he must not risk his life. Men like my husband were allowed—nay, encouraged—to do great deeds. No one ever asked Willie, But who’s looking after the children when you’re gone?
As if snatching my thoughts from thin air, Emily straightened her spine. “I am a fit and determined twenty-five-year-old, and if I were a young man, like your nephew, you’d encourage me.” I hadn’t encouraged Victor. Once he’d made his decision, however, I’d considered him to be the model of gallantry and virtue, the very pride of the family! Perhaps sensing she had the better of me, Emily said, “Excepting my gender, I challenge you to articulate a single reason I should not go back to France and pursue my destiny.”