Read Online Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington by Tricia Goyer - Free Book Online
Authors: Tricia Goyer
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laughed. “That’s not what I had in mind when I asked for music, girls!”
The meaty aroma of grilled burgers and french fries filled the place, making her stomach growl. She wanted to dance, but she needed something to eat first. The ladies charged to the dance floor, nearly trampling the waitress and her tray of food bound for Rosalie and Birdie. In a second, the woman workers were be-bopping with the GIs who’d found their way into the place. Rosalie hung back, diving in to the hamburger and fries, voracious, while trying not to look like it. Birdie’s food sat there, getting cold, but Rosalie knew Birdie was having too much fun to care.
Rosalie’s heart lightened once again as the delicious food hit her stomach. She hadn’t realized until now how much energy the high-speed riveting had taken from her.
When she finished, she considered skedaddling to catch the next bus, but then she thought of what waited for her at home. An empty apartment. More memories of Vic. Birdie and Clara caught her eye as they danced a fast jig together. Laughter bubbled from Rosalie’s lips.
Maybe she could stick around a little longer.
Iris, the auto parts delivery girl, entered the restaurant and looked around in wide-eyed surprise. Clara rushed over to her, no doubt filling Iris in on the cause of the celebration.
Without hesitation, Iris traipsed to the bass player and whispered something in his ear. Rosalie’s smile wobbled. It was the second time she’d seen Nick that day. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered how foolish she’d felt earlier in Victory Square. She just hoped Nick wouldn’t bring it up.
Flashing the bass player two thumbs-up, Iris rushed back to the group, and the band swung into a jazzy rendition of “Rosie the Riveter.” Rosalie wondered where the vocalist was and then noticed Nora, sitting at a table sipping a hot drink. Nora’s free hand cupped her throat. Poor gal must’ve lost her voice . They didn’t need her voice for this song, though. The gals ramped up the volume. Though the sun was finally setting outside, her heart felt warm and light.
Birdie’s face was red from dancing when she hurried to the table. “We did it,” Birdie squeaked again over the music, as if freshly realizing their feat. “I can’t believe it!”
She grasped Rosalie by both hands, pulling her to her feet and toward the dance floor. They found an open spot, and Birdie swung in a circle. Rosalie had no choice but to follow. Soon the upbeat jazz filled her with its rhythm.
Iris bopped over to them, her arm draped across the shoulders of a girl Rosalie didn’t know.
“This is Lanie!” Iris’s voice lifted above the music.
Lanie, whose golden hair flowed over her shoulders, smiled. “Nice to make yer acquaintance,” she drawled with Southern sweetness.
“Lanie Thomas is my new roommate.” Iris’s tough-as-steel body swayed as the band launched into a Benny Goodman tune. “She starts at the plant tomorrow with you gals.”
Rosalie shook the girl’s slender hand. “You nervous?”
“What?” Lanie leaned in, cupping her hand around her ear.
Rosalie came closer. “I asked, are you nervous?”
“Oh yes, I sure am.” Lanie grasped Rosalie’s hand. “I’m so amazed that you broke that record. I’ll be plumb happy to squeeze one little rivet into the right spot.”
“You’ll do fine, hon.” Birdie grabbed Rosalie’s other hand, flinging Rosalie into an Around the Pole, pulling her away from Lanie’s grasp.
Swinging back around to Lanie, Rosalie remembered how nervous she’d been before her first day. “You’ll do great; don’t you worry. By the time you’re done with training, you’ll be yearning to plug in those rivets.”
Disbelief garnished Lanie’s eyes, but Rosalie knew it was true. Women came to the plant from all different worlds—timid young gals, like Lanie, to middle-aged housewives. And, somehow, stepping out of their skirts and into work slacks released strong, bold,
The meaty aroma of grilled burgers and french fries filled the place, making her stomach growl. She wanted to dance, but she needed something to eat first. The ladies charged to the dance floor, nearly trampling the waitress and her tray of food bound for Rosalie and Birdie. In a second, the woman workers were be-bopping with the GIs who’d found their way into the place. Rosalie hung back, diving in to the hamburger and fries, voracious, while trying not to look like it. Birdie’s food sat there, getting cold, but Rosalie knew Birdie was having too much fun to care.
Rosalie’s heart lightened once again as the delicious food hit her stomach. She hadn’t realized until now how much energy the high-speed riveting had taken from her.
When she finished, she considered skedaddling to catch the next bus, but then she thought of what waited for her at home. An empty apartment. More memories of Vic. Birdie and Clara caught her eye as they danced a fast jig together. Laughter bubbled from Rosalie’s lips.
Maybe she could stick around a little longer.
Iris, the auto parts delivery girl, entered the restaurant and looked around in wide-eyed surprise. Clara rushed over to her, no doubt filling Iris in on the cause of the celebration.
Without hesitation, Iris traipsed to the bass player and whispered something in his ear. Rosalie’s smile wobbled. It was the second time she’d seen Nick that day. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered how foolish she’d felt earlier in Victory Square. She just hoped Nick wouldn’t bring it up.
Flashing the bass player two thumbs-up, Iris rushed back to the group, and the band swung into a jazzy rendition of “Rosie the Riveter.” Rosalie wondered where the vocalist was and then noticed Nora, sitting at a table sipping a hot drink. Nora’s free hand cupped her throat. Poor gal must’ve lost her voice . They didn’t need her voice for this song, though. The gals ramped up the volume. Though the sun was finally setting outside, her heart felt warm and light.
Birdie’s face was red from dancing when she hurried to the table. “We did it,” Birdie squeaked again over the music, as if freshly realizing their feat. “I can’t believe it!”
She grasped Rosalie by both hands, pulling her to her feet and toward the dance floor. They found an open spot, and Birdie swung in a circle. Rosalie had no choice but to follow. Soon the upbeat jazz filled her with its rhythm.
Iris bopped over to them, her arm draped across the shoulders of a girl Rosalie didn’t know.
“This is Lanie!” Iris’s voice lifted above the music.
Lanie, whose golden hair flowed over her shoulders, smiled. “Nice to make yer acquaintance,” she drawled with Southern sweetness.
“Lanie Thomas is my new roommate.” Iris’s tough-as-steel body swayed as the band launched into a Benny Goodman tune. “She starts at the plant tomorrow with you gals.”
Rosalie shook the girl’s slender hand. “You nervous?”
“What?” Lanie leaned in, cupping her hand around her ear.
Rosalie came closer. “I asked, are you nervous?”
“Oh yes, I sure am.” Lanie grasped Rosalie’s hand. “I’m so amazed that you broke that record. I’ll be plumb happy to squeeze one little rivet into the right spot.”
“You’ll do fine, hon.” Birdie grabbed Rosalie’s other hand, flinging Rosalie into an Around the Pole, pulling her away from Lanie’s grasp.
Swinging back around to Lanie, Rosalie remembered how nervous she’d been before her first day. “You’ll do great; don’t you worry. By the time you’re done with training, you’ll be yearning to plug in those rivets.”
Disbelief garnished Lanie’s eyes, but Rosalie knew it was true. Women came to the plant from all different worlds—timid young gals, like Lanie, to middle-aged housewives. And, somehow, stepping out of their skirts and into work slacks released strong, bold,
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