“So you claim,” Ruby answered, casting eyeballs about the room.
She watched Sam brush against a potted palm and then slide through the door.
“You seem to be having a lovely night,” Topper said, gently leading her to the beat. “At least until I showed up.”
“It’s been wonderful,” Ruby said. “Before and now. We’re having a blast. Sam is in a great mood. It’s fab to see.”
Topper cocked an eyebrow.
“Sam’s in a great mood. As opposed to…?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Ruby shook her head. “It’s just that Sam can be so serious. Moody.”
“That he can,” Topper said with a nod.
“It’s nice to watch him reveling in the night, having a drink, dancing. He’s been so worried, lately. Hitler. This war. It’s not even our war. He’s distraught over nothing!”
“Nothing?” Topper threw her a strange look. “Whaddya mean he’s upset ‘over nothing’?”
“The war in Europe…”
“Listen, darling, that ain’t nothin’.”
Topper took to dancing again, this time more slowly, deliberately, a subtle shift between his feet.
“I know,” she said. “It’s a war. And now there’s conscription. But it’s over there.”
She jerked her head, though it was not in the most accurate direction. Essentially she was aiming toward Boston.
“Yes,” Topper said, his brow darkening. “It’s ‘over there.’ For now.”
“It’s like he’s infected everyone.”
“Who? Hitler?”
“No! Why would I bring up Hitler on a night like this? I meant Sam!”
“Whoa, girl,” he scoffed. “‘Infected’? Don’t you think that’s a mite hard-nosed?”
“I didn’t really mean infected, per se.”
“I agree with your husband,” Topper reminded her. “We need to get involved in this war. Am I infected, too?”
“Well, that’s different,” she said. “You’re still in college.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sure at Harvard it’s the very fashion to…” Ruby shook her head. “The thing is, Daddy’s started making gas masks and even Mother is in the blue moods about it all.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She’s thinking of joining the Grey Ladies.”
“No!” Topper let out a fake gasp. “Do-gooding and Bundles for Britain?! Say it ain’t so! We cannot have that kind of philanthropy in our family. We might earn a reputation for being kindhearted!”
“Hilarious.” Ruby gave him a swat to the shoulder.
“This war, Red. We can’t stay out of it forever. By us I mean the United States. I mean you, I mean me.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“I’m going over,” he said. “If I’m not drafted, I plan to sign myself up.”
“Topper! You can’t! Mother wouldn’t survive it. I wouldn’t!”
“It’s a matter of time, the only question being … do I go the army route, or do I climb aboard a ship?”
“This isn’t funny!” Ruby yipped. “Of all the nights…”
“I have to go, Red. It’s the right thing to do.”
“But this war isn’t ours to fight!” Ruby looked up at him, a crick already forming in her neck. At six-four, Topper had a good foot on her. She spent ninety percent of their time together with her face tilted toward the sky. “Lindbergh says they’re making the same mistakes from the first war. You’re going to risk your life for that?”
“Dear God. Don’t even talk to me about Lindbergh.” Topper pretended to spit.
“We were tricked into coming to people’s rescue and lost fifty thousand men in the process! Not to mention we don’t have the power to defeat the Axis right now. A suicide mission is what it is.”
“You sound like Chuck Lindbergh sure enough. That’s not a compliment, by the way.”
“What do you have against Lindbergh?”
“He’s practically a German. Folks call him the ‘number one Nazi fellow traveler.’ And he supports racial purity! That’s eugenics, Ruby. In case I need to spell it out.”
“I don’t agree with him on that front. But he’s a patriot! And he’s been through so much.”
“He’s handsome and had a baby kidnapped. Sorry, Red, that doesn’t make him right. And don’t get me started on that wife of his.”
“Anne is delightful,” Ruby said.
She’d met her once, back at school. Anne Morrow was a Smithie, too, and had made an appearance on campus, enchanting every last one of them.
“Mrs. Lindbergh is so lovely and strong despite the tragedy,” Ruby said. “Why, if I were in her shoes, I’d never step out of my house.”
“Doesn’t give her the right to act like a cretin. For the love of God, Red, that book of hers is a Nazi handbook if ever there was one. The Lindberghs. Christ. I’d welcome their insight even less than I’d welcome typhoid fever.” Topper eyed the ceiling as if in contemplation. “Smallpox? Polio? A knife to the gut? All of the above?”
“I get it. You don’t care for them. I just can’t figure how muddling around Europe’s problems does anything for us.”
“You want it to do something for us?” Topper wrenched up his mug. “To begin, as it relates to Hitler, it’s first stop Europe, next stop the world.”
“But he’s said he has no designs on this part of the globe. I read it in the Times. Your favorite rag.”
“Well, if there’s ever a man to take at his word,” Topper said with a snort, “it’s Hitler. Just ask the Austrians. And even if he were being uncharacteristically honest, you can’t … It’s not morally sound to be an isolationist anymore. I’m a little embarrassed you still have such ideas.”
“Embarrassed? Ouch. And since when do you care about morals?”
Topper flinched as if stung, though he’d jabbed at her first.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Ruby started.
He shook his head.
“No. I know. It’s fine.” He sighed. “The thing is, Ruby, I’m a lover not a fighter.”
“Spare me!”
“I don’t like the thought of getting involved in some far-flung war any more than you do. But we can’t keep burying our heads in the sand. Grievous atrocities are being committed. Last week, five thousand Jews were rounded up in Paris and shipped off to prison camps, to endure God knows what abuse. These places have death quotas, Ruby. Which they’re besting several times over.”
Ruby’s stomach lurched. She clamped her eyes shut. The boy was far too fixated on every iniquity they printed in The New York Times.
“Topper, please…”
“You can’t turn away, Ruby. That man—Hitler—he’s pure evil. He must be stopped.”
Ruby opened her eyes and nodded absently.
She didn’t wholly agree with her brother, or with Sam, but Ruby understood Topper’s heart. For a second she felt a ping, the urge to do more than complain or disagree. For all his claims that the woman was a fascist monster, Ruby quite concurred with Mrs. Lindbergh, who said that her heart wanted to help but her mind questioned the sanity of it.