Note: I took advantage of the "Beebo Brinker" book cover to write a prelude piece introducing a character I will be writing about later, Kay Stevenson, a Pearl Harbor widow who becomes a Women's Army Corps member in 1942.
Picture Used For Inspiration: Indiv 5

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Kay Stevenson took the last step off the Cross Country Bus Lines and took her first step onto the curb of a New York City street. In the dawning light, she could just barely see the sign on the corner post. Ninth and Broadway, she read.

From her portmanteau, she fished a piece of paper to read an address, 1184 Eighteenth Street. In careful script above were the letters, W A C.

The date she had written down the information was January 12, 1942, a little more than one month after her life, and the lives of hundreds of other military wives, had collapsed, sinking with the USS Arizona beneath a barrage of gunfire from Japanese zeros. Today it was just a week later, the 19th of January.

The world was at war. On December 9, 1941, President Roosevelt, answering the demands of Congress and the people, declared war on the Empire of Japan for the events of December 7. Germany had countered with its own declaration of war with the United States, and every able bodied male had lined up to be the first to go "over there."

The radio squawked constantly about war bonds, enlistment, and public drives for the war effort.

Kay had been widowed by the December 7 attack on Pearl Harbor's military base. Her husband, Col. James Stevenson died among the strafed barracks.

To keep herself from going mad, she constantly sought out things to do. However, it never seemed to quiet her frustrations nearly enough to simply be collecting goods for the war efforts, minding recruitment lines with lemonades for the men, or collecting trash metals.

She wanted to act. She had needed to get away from her western Massachusetts home where her mother looked at her with pitying sadness -- "you without even a poor babe to recall him."

She wanted to serve. Horrifying both her mother and James's mother, she wanted to fight.

Kay had been carrying yet another load of scrap metal to the factory yard in her hometown when she saw a woman talking with the dock manager. That a woman was talking with him wasn't a surprise; women it seemed organized everything now with all the men rapidly going overseas.

What drew Kay to the woman's side was her clothing, a uniform to be exact. Upon closer inspection, Kay saw an Army patch, and then another patch embroidered "Women's Army Corps."

Kay learned the woman had worked on a nearby base as a civilian secretary, when the War Department issued a statement that they were investigating putting women in a service capacity within the active forces. There would be commissions, officers, salary, and the women would take support positions both here and abroad.

It was Kay's dream. The woman told her that the training camp for the northeastern states was located in New York City, and Kay scribbled down the address and phone number.

Kay's mother and James's mother both begged her not to go.

Now, just days later, she had all she planned to keep as possessions with her in the portmanteau and about nine blocks further to walk. Determinedly, she set out.

New York City filed around her with vibrant sights and sounds. Shopkeepers opened for the day, and workers hurried to buses and down into the subway stations. Brakes squealed, horns honked, and the sound of voices filled her with a sense of life. It healed her in many ways, deep down, so dead following the loss of her husband. There were both acrid and pleasant smells, from the tanning chemicals at the leatherman's shop to the smells of boxes and boxes of flowers being bustled into the front door of a florist's shop.

The aroma of baking bread drew Kay's attention to a shop window. A handpainted sign proclaimed, "The Bred Shop." Her stomach rumbled and she recalled her lack of meals since the previous afternoon.

A bell jingled on the door as she pushed her way inside the tiny establishment.

**

Ana Belachik looked up at the door jingle, from behind the counter at Roshenko's Breadshop, to greet the morning's first customer. "Good morning," she said as her eyes came up, her English careful, her Chekoslovakian accent rounding the sounds gently. "May I help you?"

Her gaze finally leveled on the customer, a small woman carrying a large cloth bag, both hands wrapped around the handles as she looked around the shop's interior. The woman's hair was reddened in the back light from the morning sun outside. Her eyes bore an openly curious expression when their blue depths met Ana's across the short distance.

"Do you have something small to eat?" the woman asked. Ana smiled, and the gesture brought the woman closer.

"I have many things to eat. What would you like?"

She watched as the woman examined the breads through the glass of the counter. Quickly Ana turned around, fetching the knife, and turned back to point out the soft rolls. "Mr. Roshenko's dipoula are most excellent, the butter is baked in, making it sweet and soft."

"I have no doubt. Do you have anything I might drink with it?"

Ana considered what to answer. Clearly "make the customer happy" would best be done answering 'yes' to the question. The business however was a shop, not a restaurant. Then she recalled the coffee Mr. Roshenko had set to brew in the back room before he went out to the storehouse to bring in new bags of flour from the rear yard that morning. "I do have coffee."

"That would be wonderful." The woman's voice was smoky soft, Ana thought, thoroughly pleased by its sound.

"Did you want the roll also?" Ana asked.

"Yes please, just one." She put down the bag and began to open it, obviously searching for her change purse.

"Wait until I bring it out," Ana said. "I will be right back."

"All right."

Ana quickly entered the back room where Mr. Roshenko had his refrigerator, and the larger counters for rolling out the doughs. Quickly she rinsed a cup, and filled it from the open pot on the counter.

Returning to the front area, she set the cup on top of the glass case. "Here is your coffee," she said easily. "Now let me cut your sausage."

The woman stepped forward and gingerly retrieved the coffee mug, taking a cautious sip. "It is very good." She sipped again.

Ana selected a roll and wrapped it in a small piece of packing paper and handed it across the counter.

Their fingers touched as the other woman, whom she could now see was older than herself, took the food. "What do I owe you?" she asked.

Ana quoted the price for the sausage. "Oh, but also the coffee." She considered the various lunch counters around the city. "Five more cents for that."

"Thank you." The woman set down the roll once again, found her change purse and fished out the requested amount.

Taking the coins, Ana asked, "You are new to the city?" She was strangely reluctant to let the woman simply walk out the door. She told herself it was part of assuring the customer was completely satisfied.

"I just came here, yes."

There was a hesitant smile which made Ana offer her own personal information. "I am new also."

"You are?"

"What is your name?" Ana asked.

"I, mmm, my name is Kay."

Ana smiled. "My name is Ana."

Kay smiled at her and Ana could see a dimple form in her left cheek. Behind Kay the door jingled again, announcing another customer. "I should be going," were the last words Ana heard as the woman looked from the new arrival, back to Ana, and then turned, walking out of the shop back onto the streets of New York.

Ana's gaze followed her, until it intersected with Mrs. Potiplacz, one of Mr. Roshenko's regular customers. "What will it be today, Mrs. Potiplacz?" she asked politely as the rotund woman, wearing a kerchief over her gray hair, started to open her mouth.

"I would like a loaf of the pumpernickel, and a few of the sweet biscuits for later."

Ana quickly set about filling her second customer's order, her first customer fading gradually from her mind. Between customers later, Ana went into the back room, noticing the coffee had gone cold. And too that she no longer had a cup to drink from herself. Kay had left with her small ceramic mug.

The thought brought a smile to Ana's lips. There was a small possibility the woman would come back to the shop to return it. And Ana hoped she was here to see her again.

**

Out on the street once again, Kay glanced over her shoulder to watch briefly as the young counter girl served her next customer. What a pretty young woman. Her blonde hair had been tied back, the ends curling over her shoulder despite the green kerchief securing her hair back from the food. Kay wondered if the girl's father was the shop owner. Certainly someone so young would not be alone in this city.

Abruptly a clock somewhere chimed the hour. No more time for exploring the city, she thought. It was time to find the Army Corps office. Checking the street signs once again, she hurried into the day, all but forgetting the young woman in the bread shop as she sought her new life.

The End