The Spy Girls Files: Spy Girls, #1

By Christy Fifield

Before they were mothers and grandmothers, the women of the Greatest Generation were many other things. Including spies.

Meet Violet and Claire.

Violet, the faithful suburban wife and mother, PTA president and Girl Scout leader. The perfect image of post-war blue-collar domesticity.

Claire, the privileged daughter of a diplomat. A spinster, dedicated to bettering the lives of others as a civil servant, a woman in a man's world.

Two women with nothing in common.

Until the secrets of their past begin to emerge.

These five stories explore the stories that bring Claire and Violet to a fateful meeting-one that might eventually uncover the secret past that connects them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tsunami Ridge Publishing
• Release date: Feb 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386740902

Book preview

Before they were mothers and grandmothers, the women of the Greatest Generation were many other things. Including spies.

Meet Violet and Claire.

Violet, the faithful suburban wife and mother, PTA president and Girl Scout leader. The perfect image of post-war blue-collar domesticity.

Claire, the privileged daughter of a diplomat. A spinster, dedicated to bettering the lives of others as a civil servant, a woman in a man’s world.

Two women with nothing in common.

Until the secrets of their past begin to emerge.

These five stories explore the dangerous and thrilling events that bring Claire and Violet to a fateful meeting—a meeting that threatens to expose the historic, clandestine acts of bravery that connect them.

INTRODUCTION

SPY GIRLS IS the story of two women, brought together in a comfortable retirement community in the late 1970s.

For more than three decades, Violet Bates followed a traditional path from young wife to mother to widow. Too young to settle into a routine, Violet finds herself drawn to the secrets within her new community.

Claire Griffith never married, opting instead for life as a civil servant. Disillusioned, she chooses retirement rather than continue to battle the glass ceiling, and goes looking for peace and quiet.

Both women carry secrets; history and skills they hide even from those closest to them. Eventually they must trust someone with their stories, but finding someone to trust can prove as dangerous as a clandestine operation.

* * *

A woman born in the 21st century faces a world full of choices. Marriage, children, careers, adventure-the possibilities and combinations seem limitless. There is no one way that women are expected to behave; no single mold into which they must squeeze.

For women born in the early years of the 20th century, however, the choices were not as varied. Roles for women were carefully defined and proscribed, and heaven help the woman who dared to challenge those traditional paths.

All of that changed forever in the 1960s. In a decade of civil unrest and social upheaval the traditional molds shattered and the fairer sex redefined what it meant to be a woman. That struggle and the resulting expansion of women’s horizons continue to this day.

But there was another, earlier, time in our history when traditional roles were challenged and women were able, albeit briefly, to move into a man’s world to work and to thrive. I believe it was this moment in time-just a few years in the 1940s-that laid the foundation for the women’s movement.

Those young women who briefly glimpsed the expanded horizons in the 1940s became the mothers of the women who marched and protested and agitated for change in the 1960s and 70s. They had seen what was on the other side, and they realized they wanted it for their daughters. They passed along the hunger for opportunities, for experiences, for possibilities, and they created the women who became leaders.

Those young women of the 1940s did things their mothers and grandmothers could not have imagined. They built warships. They built, and flew, fighter planes and bombers. They produced tanks and armaments and munitions. They served in the armed services, in harm’s way as nurses and ambulance drivers, even though they didn’t engage in combat.

They did all those things, and more. Some of them even became spies.

Then the war ended and most of them went home and went back to being wives and mothers. They forgot about their war years, about the excitement, the sense of belonging, the satisfaction of contributing to the defense of their country. Their contribution was once again limited to raising the next generation of leaders.

For many of them, most of them, their stories end there, with a loving family and the quiet satisfaction that comes from a life well-lived. Others, a few, took a different path. They stayed in government service, even in clandestine service, for decades.

* * *

The stories in this collection show some of the experiences that shape these two extraordinary young women into Spy Girls.

1940

DINE AND DIE

Long Beach, California – October, 1940

YOU, UH, GOT anything smaller? Violet asked the stranger. Her soft voice barely rose above a whisper, though the diner was deserted. Second shift had started a few minutes earlier, and the men from the shipyard—the lucky few who could scrape together a spare dime for coffee—were gone. They left behind the smell of oil on metal, masking the odor of stale coffee.

And they left behind the stranger in the sharp suit who’d been talking to the workmen.

Joe, the boss, was in his office taking a load off. Which likely meant taking on a load from the bottle of rotgut he hid in his bottom drawer. Joe thought no one knew about the bottle. He was wrong.

Violet stared at the crisp new bill as the stranger slid it across the counter. The green stood out against the worn white linoleum, representing as much as a normal day’s sales. She knew there wasn’t enough change in the cash register, and she doubted Joe had enough in the tiny safe under the kitchen floor to remedy that situation.

Tell you what, girlie, the stranger said, picking up his fedora from the counter next to his coffee cup. You spot me my supper and you can hold that, he waved at the twenty-dollar bill. Trust me. If I’m not back tomorrow, keep it as a tip.

Violet glanced around the diner. A shiver ran up her back as she realized they were alone. Her pop had always told her if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. And this definitely sounded too good to be true. Still, the money was tempting.

Violet had barely ever seen a twenty-dollar bill before. She knew it would take her months to save that much, working after school, pouring coffee and making sandwiches for shipyard workers who could barely afford their food, much less a tip.

She felt in her apron pocket, debating with herself. She found a few pennies and a couple nickels, her tips for the entire afternoon shift. Money she was saving for a new pair of saddle shoes.

It’s thirty-five cents, mister, for the tuna salad sandwich and a cup of coffee. I, she felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her face, I don’t think I’ve got that much.

She emptied her pocket onto the counter and counted carefully, finding a dime among the pennies. Twenty-nine cents. That’s all I got.

The stranger stood up, patting the pockets of his suit coat and checking his pants pockets. He smiled as he pulled out a silver dime. He flipped it, like the referee at the start of last week’s football game, and Mercury’s profile glittered in the low light.

That ought to do it, he said as he slapped the coin on the counter. He placed his hat on his head and adjusted the brim to a sporty angle. I’ll see you tomorrow. He paused halfway to the door. You are working tomorrow, right?

Violet nodded. She usually didn’t work Saturday—Mom insisted she spend the day on her homework—but she’d promised to cover for Maggie, and she welcomed the extra money.

The stranger tugged the brim of his hat and nodded. See you tomorrow, then.

Wait! she called. She wanted to tell him no, she couldn’t keep his money, but it was too late. The door closed behind him, the tinny sound of the bell over the door