“Topper!” Ruby chirped.
“No, no, it’s fine.” Sam patted Ruby’s knee again. “Your brother likes to shoot off. That’s his entire persona. Robert. You have to understand, this is about dominance and clout. The balance of power in Europe is the very reason the United States has reached its superpower status. And now that it’s threatened?” Sam blubbered his lips and took a drag of his cigarette. “We’re all up shit creek. Even Thomas Jefferson once fretted about what might happen if Europe operated under a single hand. This isn’t about ideals. It’s about maintaining our strength. And any action that threatens our formidable military force must be carefully considered.”
“Maybe to save the world we need to sacrifice our own.”
“Honestly Topper,” Ruby said. “Is this appropriate dinner conversation? Killing our countrymen?”
“You can’t look away,” Topper said. “Not even for a good meal, especially when others are going hungry.”
Ruby glowered at him.
“Half the stuff they print about the starvation and labor camps is fabricated,” Sam said. “Yellow journalism through and through, designed to tug at the heartstrings of impressionable students such as yourself. This country’s education system is turning out a bunch of pantywaists.”
“Good grief, Sam,” Ruby said. “You only graduated two years ago.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Sam went on, ignoring his wife. “Things aren’t peachy, but the papers embellish.”
With a scoff, Topper chucked his napkin onto his plate, which was still piled with meat. Ruby went to remove the discarded linen but found it already mottled with gravy. She glanced at Hattie and detected the hint of a smile, one eyebrow ever-so-slightly raised. What must she be thinking? Nothing good. She hadn’t said a word.
“Well, I’ve read,” Ruby said, trying to remove the stains from Topper’s napkin with the corner of hers, “the folks in the camps are being treated well. They’re even allowed to observe their religious practices without harassment.”
Topper snorted.
“I’m sure reports from Der Führer are as reliable as a drunk.”
He turned back toward Sam.
“We are all of us humans in this world. We should protect each other, not worry about arbitrary lines drawn by dead men or our own preeminence. Hitler is pure evil. He must be eradicated.”
“He is evil, I agree, but…”
“Stop it, you two!” Ruby barked, letting go of the last smidgen of pretense that the night could be saved. “We’re supposed to be having a nice dinner but you blockheads ruined it. Bolsheviks. A war we’re not even in. Hitler—at the dinner table! You boys are the worst! The positive end of good manners! Good Lord, Hattie, I am so very sorry. They are not normally this repellent.”
“Aw, don’t sweat it, Ruby,” Hattie said with a chuckle.
She leaned over and snaffled a smoke from Topper’s pack. Hattie preferred French cigarettes, always at the ready with a package of Gauloises, but a lowbrow American brand could do in a pinch.
“I don’t mind talk of war,” Hattie said. “It’s more real than a Yacht Club romance, that’s for certain.”
“You shred it, wheat,” Topper said in approval.
Ruby blushed furiously and set to attacking her salad.
“But I have a question for you, our dear and oh-so-educated menfolk,” Hattie said.
She gave a cute smirk, and then sucked deeply on her cigarette. They all waited as Hattie exhaled over her shoulder, the smoke curling away in a seductive dance. As Ruby scanned the room, she noted every man in the place trying to catch a peek of this magnificent and rare bird.
“What about the Iceland rumors?” Hattie asked, honoring the table with her attentions once again.
“Iceland?” Ruby said, thoroughly flummoxed.
“Sorry if I sound ivory-tower about the whole deal, but I’ve been cut off from the real world these days, truth be told.”
“That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be on Nantucket,” Ruby groused.
Anyway, women weren’t supposed to be so politically charged. At Smith the only ones who moaned about politics were the bespectacled, down-at-the-heels pinko types. The gals with no beaux and tragic hair.
“Why would we send troops to Iceland?” Hattie asked. “Seems like a real crummy place to me. What would Nazis want with it, if the gossip’s true?”
“Iceland is a stepping-stone,” Sam explained. “An important stop between Europe and the States, as the Vikings demonstrated.”
“The Germans are Vikings,” Hattie said. “Got it.”
“But Hitler says he has no interest in our part of the world!” Ruby blurted out.
“Oh, Jesus H.,” Topper said. “Ruby. Please stop taking Hitler at his word.”
“It’s not that I believe him, it’s only that he must have his hands full so why…”
“His hands are full with Russia, which is why we should strike now!”
“A German occupation of Iceland would be highly strategic,” Sam interjected. “The Brits have been stationed there but are moving their troops to the Continent. People think FDR is going to offer up some replacements. It’d be a way to aid Britain without jumping all in.”
“Why can’t he send troops to Iceland and to Europe?” Topper said. “We’ve got plenty of men in this country anxious to help.”
“For example…” Sam said, gesturing toward Topper and rolling his eyes.
“You boys are aces,” Hattie said with a cackle. “Big fun.”
“Speaking of big fun!”
Dang it all to hell, Ruby wasn’t going to give up yet. Hattie must’ve met some real charmers in Europe to withstand Topper and Sam for so long a stint.
“It’s buckets of fun,” Ruby said, “to watch Hattie play tennis. She whips that ball around almost as deftly as she can knit a pair of booties. We’ve entered the Independence Day tournament together. Won’t that be a hoot? I think we’ve got a decent shot at top prize.”
“Swell, swell,” Topper said, lighting yet another cigarette, though one was still fuming and pinched between his teeth. “If we do go to Iceland, it just proves that we don’t actually care about helping the Allies. We care about protecting ourselves.”
“Nothing wrong with protecting ourselves,” Sam said. “The initial deployment has to go somewhere. This is good as any.”
“I’m sure Londoners and Parisians will sleep better at night knowing we’re in damned Iceland, cutting up with Eskimos and so on.”
“You’re thinking of Alaska. And it’s save ourselves first, sport.”
Topper grunted and flicked his cigarette. It skittered into Hattie’s shrimp salad.
“Robert!”
Ruby leapt to her feet. This time she didn’t care who was watching.
“Your manners are abysmal! Mother would be horrified. I’m horrified. Hattie, Miss Rutter, I’m so extremely sorry. I’d offer an excuse but I can’t think of a decent one.”