Over the Teacups: Crossroads of America

By Valerie Banfield

July 1919. When the train deposits Odette at Indianapolis' Union Station, tucked among her belongings is a special commendation signed by General John J. Pershing, Commander in Chief, American Expeditionary Forces. Another priceless memento rests in the crevices of her heart. He has a name, but she isn't at liberty to speak it. Not yet.

 

Though she left the Great War behind her, unanticipated skirmishes arise on the home front. The War Department seems incapable of processing paperwork related to her Signal Corps service, and her parents' urgent quest to steer her down the matrimonial aisle is in direct opposition to the promises she made while she served in France. She puts off everything and everyone while she waits for the remedy that will set her future on its perfect course, but nothing prepares her for the ambush that follows.

 

Crossroads of America selections are stand-alone novels, each with unique characters and story lines.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valerie Banfield
• Release date: Feb 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201998936

Book preview

Over the Teacups

~

Crossroads of America

~

Valerie Banfield

Copyright © 2022 by Valerie Banfield

Cover postcard: Northwest part of Monument Circle, Indianapolis, Indiana, circa 1911; The Indiana Album: Joan Hostetler Collection. Cover portrait, iStock.

Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This book is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, entities, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements are the product of the author’s imagination.

For Billy Gunter, a modern-day dandy, a gentleman, fellow author, and treasured friend whose ready smile and boundless cheerfulness will always outweigh his declaration, You know I tried to follow your instructions, but my computer hates me.

~

"If you want to make enemies,

try to change something."

Woodrow Wilson

Chapter 1

October 1919

"Psst, Odette."

Hmm? Odette squeezed her eyes as dread crawled over her skin and forced her backbone ramrod straight. At the same time she reached forward for the telephone wire, her other hand searched backward where her ever-present gas mask hung on the chair’s frame.

When both hands came up empty, panic and sweat bombarded her, but when she opened her eyes, the scene that came into focus nearly toppled her out of her seat. While she squelched the Number, please that balanced on the tip of her tongue, her mother, who sat on the settee on the opposite side of the room, discharged a silent reprimand that bore the same heat as a Stormtrooper’s flamethrower.

Headache, dear?

The woman would do anything to save face among the stuffy do-good club members gathered in the parlor. For the sake of peace, Odette would play along. It’s simmering beneath the surface. As was her mother’s temper. Perhaps another cup of tea will help it go away.

As their hostess, Mrs. R.J. Fennel, made haste to oblige, Odette picked up the pencil and tablet resting in her lap. I do apologize. My last note referenced the upcoming women’s march. Did I miss anything after that?

You didn’t record the nominations and votes for the clothing drive chairwomen? Miss Maybelle Brown, the eldest spinster among the group, wasn’t the least bit concerned about their designated secretary’s physical well-being. Indeed, she glowered.

Odette didn’t blame her, but didn’t care to explain that the demands of wartime taught a soldier how to snatch moments of sleep while artillery fire peppered the hillsides and cannon booms shook the windowpanes. Today, it wasn’t battle-worn fatigue that slumped her shoulders and deepened her respiration, but boredom, the incessant onslaught of dull, excruciating blather.

A plan was in the works, a marvelous, spine-tingling escapade, but if she had to wait much longer for it to unfold, present circumstances might force her to assume her pre-war, lackluster existence. Heaven forbid. This in-between charade, however, was demoralizing. And wearisome.

She lifted her gaze and her supplication upwards, but instead of witnessing an angelic host, she beheld a tarnished brass fixture dripping with cloudy crystal bobbles. Why didn’t the homeowner, a perfectly healthy woman of means, hire someone to clean the ostentatious fixture or—perish the thought—do it herself?

When Odette crossed her leg, the hem of her not-the-least-bit-modern tea dress snagged the heel of her shoe. As soon as she bid her childhood home and her parent’s expectations adieu, she would alter her wardrobe.

Odette sipped her tea to conceal her intractable delight. If they only knew.

Attire wasn’t the half of the changes in store for her, but a woman’s appearance spoke of her character and her resolve, both of which she had cultivated during her stint with the U.S. Army Signal Corps. The dark blue uniform she wore didn’t compare to today’s vogue flapper fashions, but she had been among a handful of American women whose military frocks had scandalized the world. Her skirt may have hung nine inches above the ground, but those horrid black boomers did well to hide anything feminine. Truly, the complete outfit transformed a woman’s curvy silhouette into that of a shapeless dirigible.

As the club members droned on, Odette used her Gregg shorthand to keep pace. Moments after the meeting adjourned, she found her coat among those hanging on a rack near the front door, and shoved her arms into the sleeves. While the other women exchanged farewells, her thoughts drifted to pleasant memories that were half a world away.

No one argued that the scarcity of American females among the troops serving overseas during the Great War brought undue attention to the band of telephone operators who joined the fray in Europe. Attractive, homely, or otherwise, the Hello Girls caught the eye of civilians and military personnel alike. Some scorned the unit’s operations as unorthodox and unwelcome, but the lives of those on the ground depended on their expertise. Given the setting and circumstances, how unlikely it was that two well-suited souls found one another.

When she closed her eyes, she could see him. She almost teared up as she recollected his dark-blond hair, muscular build, fiery sapphire eyes, and genteel southern manners that could make a woman woozy. Although he greeted her rudely at their initial meeting, Lieutenant Henry Blythe warmed to the operator whose switchboard skills connected his supply convoy to its intended destination. It was a good thing she hadn’t given him a piece of her mind that day. If she had, he may not have sauntered up to her when their assignments crossed paths again two weeks later.

Odette?

She’d done it again. Faded away from the here and now. Hello, Fannie. I didn’t hear you come down the hall. Somehow this morning, Odette had tossed off the need to be fully aware of her environment, to keep an eye and ear attuned to potential harm. She’d rather lower her guard at night when the barrage of gunfire, the thump of bombs, and the shrill whistle of an air raid siren warred with her sleep.

Fannie fastened the last button on her wool coat and smoothed a strand of errant hair into place. Where do you go?

What do you mean?

Ever since you came home, you drift off. It’s as if you left part of yourself in France.

Au contraire. I am here, body and soul." While that may be true, she’d left part of her heart with someone, but she couldn’t share that news just yet.

Then why do you keep wandering away from conversations? Why do you keep speaking French? Why won’t you go out on the town with the girls? Why don’t you apply for your old job at the telephone company? Where is the Odette Franklin I used to know?

She went to war. A different version returned. Is that so bad?

I was perfectly happy with the daughter whose father and I raised to be a pillar of society.

Odette choked on a mouthful of indignation and smothered her reply. She hadn’t heard her mother approach.

Fannie wound her hand around Odette’s elbow and delivered an endearing smile. Do you care if Odette runs by the library with me before she goes home?

I don’t believe my fragile flower is up to it, dear.

Oh, for pity’s sake. The sarcasm Mother nurtured after Odette signed up for the Signal Corps had festered for three long years. She’d slough it off after Odette put a bundle of a baby in her arms, but one was not in the offing anytime soon. I’m fine, Mother.

How convenient for you.

Fannie ushered Odette outside, and as she closed the door, she tipped her head and offered a chirpy au revoir to the honorable Mrs. Franklin.

I am in your debt.

Yes, my fragile flower of a friend, you are. Fannie had a skip in her gait as she headed toward the corner where she veered to the left.

Where are you going? The library is that way.

"You and I are going to the diner. We shall sit in a private booth and share a slice of apple pie—my treat—while you answer each of my questions. Comprenez-vous, mademoiselle?"

Odette understood, all right, but Fannie’s demand required that she divulge her secret. The only matters she would reveal were those trivial things that had nothing to do with the decisions she made in France. She had enough experience working under pressure to invoke a cheerful, appeasing tone. Excuses-moi?

Ain’t no excusing your stateside behavior. We’re not leaving the café until you tell me what’s going on.

~

Fannie waited five seconds for the waitress to deliver their order and walk away. Well?

Odette took of bite of pie, closed her eyes, and savored the comforting confection. Although the people she held dear were the focal point, food items comprised a large part of the list of things she’d never take for granted again. Cinnamon, laced with traces of cloves and ginger, balanced the deliciously tart apples. This was bliss.

Odette?

Yes?

Can we get back to my questions?

Why? Everything’s jake.

How can you say that? Your blatant indifference over the women’s club embarrassed your mother. You know how much those relationships mean to her, and the old Odette was too sensitive to behave that way.

The old Odette didn’t have the gumption to speak up for herself when her mother sponsored her membership in the Teacups club. How could I? She acted as if she were bequeathing a family heirloom to me. When she volunteered me for secretarial duties as soon as I came home, it irked me to no end.

If you don’t enjoy the club, why did you ask me to join?

I needed an ally, Fannie. In case you haven’t noticed, we are the only two members under the age of thirty.

Those ladies are serving the community. If we don’t fill their shoes—

The world will fall apart.

Fannie ignored the retort. Please tell me. What happened to you . . . over there?

You know, my mother still has the sheet music to that song.

What?

 ‘Over There.’ The top-twenty tune. Two millions copies of the sheet music sold. That ‘Over There.’ 

Quit sidestepping.

Don’t you care which artwork she has on the cover? Is it the one with a chorus line of soldiers dancing while they wave their hats above their heads, or the one where Norman Rockwell’s doughboys are belting out the lyrics?

Fannie lowered her fork to the table and bowed her head. When she looked up, tears rimmed her eyes.

Odette squirmed in her seat. Yes, her tone was glib, but it was a means of protection. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of everything. I’m just frustrated.

Then do something about it.

What would you have me do, Fannie?

Talk to me. Confide in me. Let me be your friend.

You will always be my friend.

Then help me understand.

What do you want to know?

Why haven’t you asked the telephone company to hire you back?

"I can give you an answer, but I don’t know how anyone who wasn’t over there could understand."

Try me.

The waitress stopped at the table and surveyed the half-eaten desserts. Would you like some coffee?

I would, Fannie replied.

I’d like mine with cream and sugar, please. Odette hadn’t craved sugar until none was available. She’d make a point to ignore the compulsion when the next piece of her life fell into place. Present quandary aside, thoughts of what awaited boosted her spirits and kicked up her pulse.

Fannie’s wrinkled brow gave way to puzzled scrutiny. Your expression doesn’t have anything to do with a cup of coffee.

I don’t know what you mean.

You look smitten.

Odette choked. She needed to get her brain to transition to French. Tout de suite. Immediately. Every time she connected a call that required her to translate from English to French, or vice versa, she chose her words with utmost care. Lives depended on her accuracy. Her own life—for the moment, anyway—required the same clarity. Excuses-moi?

Is that it?

Is what it?

Are you acting peculiar because you’re in love?

Me? When have I had time to find a fella and fall in love?

What about Anthony?

Odette’s chortle ripped into the air before she could contain it, earning a disdainful glare from the couple seated at a nearby table. She wiped her hand across her mouth, which did little to erase her amusement. Overseas, humor proved to be the best antidote for stress, but she’d do well to temper the compulsion before her parents witnessed her gauche behavior.

When Fannie’s face turned red, Odette leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. He’s made several attempts to call, but I’ve avoided him thus far.

Your mother won’t let you duck him for long.

My future does not include Anthony Barrett. She’ll figure it out soon enough.

If not Anthony, then who?

Goodness, Fannie was as persistent as Leona Franklin was, although Odette had to admit that her mother held more power over her than her friend did.

Let me answer your first question, and you’ll see how ridiculous the second one was.

She formulated her offense while the waitress served two cups of coffee, a small pitcher of cream, and a tiny bowl of sugar.

I enjoyed my work at New Telephone. The job paid well and it kept me busy. I was well suited and adept, which is one of the reasons the Signal Corps selected me to become a Hello Girl.

The other was your fluency in French.

"And how. That mattered more than my ‘Number, please’ talent. I used to grumble because I had to speak two languages at home, but when I was in France, plugging cords into the switchboard and asking my caller, ‘Nombre, s’il vous plaît,’ I often wondered whether Grand-mère Simone would have been proud or appalled to learn that her granddaughter served in the war-torn country she had abandoned all those years ago."

Could you get back to your point, please?

Fine. Before I joined the corps, I thought I worked quickly and professionally when I connected subscribers to their parties, and I got a kick out of building a relay from one switchboard to the next to place a long distance call. It took finesse and patience, and a good measure of tact.

Which doesn’t explain why you’re taking dictation for your father at his law office now.

No, it doesn’t. When America entered the fray overseas, we offered more behind-the-scenes support than arms. We owned seventy percent of the world’s telephone systems. Germany had nine percent, and France, only two. General Pershing decided to exploit our superiority and use it to stay ahead of the enemy.

I still don’t see how conversation can win a war.

Not conversation. Communication.

Same thing.

It’s not. Before the telephone, armies relied on radios to communicate with troops. They still do to some extent, but the equipment is short-range and cumbersome to transport—a horse-pack set can only go so many places, you know—and if the enemy intercepts transmissions, they gain access to troop activity and battle plans.

Well, a switchboard isn’t something a soldier can carry on his back.

True, but Pershing had Signal Corps men run thousands of miles of telephone wire—which men could carry—and Hello Girls operated switchboards that connected the men who coordinated the movement of supplies, equipment, and troops. Some of those calls instructed men to advance or retreat. They wielded life and death outcomes.

Fannie shivered. I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t understand why you’re not thrilled to get back to listening in on conversations that are no more urgent than one caller asking the other what they planned to wear to the theater.

Since the War Department wouldn’t let us leave until well after the signing of the armistice, I had plenty of time to remember the kind of calls I connected before the war. We went from handling essential communications to tedious hours helping soldiers find temporary billets and assisting them with their social schedules. Now that I’m home, I want to live like the woman I became. I don’t want to revert to the one who left.

Fannie responded with droopy lips and sad eyes.

Odette shrugged. You asked.

I did.

Then why do you look as if you’ve lost your best friend?

What makes you think I haven’t?

Chapter 2

Is that you, dear?

Along with her mother’s voice, the scent of onions and herbs filtered down the hallway as Odette slipped out of her coat.

That depends. Are you expecting your dear husband or your dear daughter?

Either one would be a pleasure, but it’s your assistance I could use in the kitchen.

Let me change my clothes. I’ll be with you in a minute.

Odette started up the stairs, but paused as her mother called after her again.

You received another letter from your friend in Tennessee. I put it on your dresser.

If not for the dowdy tea dress that would wrap itself around her ankles, she would take the steps two at a time. Heart thrumming, she scurried as fast as she could. Thank you!

Odette snatched up the letter, kissed the envelope, and inhaled the magnificent euphoria of the future. A hint of rose water tickled her nose. Henry must have borrowed more of his mother’s stationery, a calculated move that helped prolong the ruse—that and the cautious H. Blythe on the return address.

Would their families celebrate when he and she shared their good tidings, or would they begrudge them for holding back their announcement? It wasn’t as if they’d engaged in anything improper, but Henry worried over the timing. Sometimes happiness had to take a back seat to grief.

Mon préféré Bonjour Fille,

That was a good start. He still considered her his favorite Hello Girl. She’d have to tease him for not calling her Mon seul Bonjour Fille—his only Hello Girl. No matter. The fact that he tried to write in French was proof enough of his desire to please her. And that, he did, regardless of the language he used.

My love, I long to wrap my arms around you and share a tender kiss. This separation is maddening. I don’t know how to put into words the ache that accompanies me each time I write to you. You probably think I’ve had plenty of time to set things in order on the home front during the three months since I returned to Tennessee, and I need to admit that I may have danced around the reasons I’ve asked you to hold back our good news. Since I haven’t found a remedy, it’s only fair that I quit chewing gum and level with you.

Odette backed up to her bed and lowered herself to the edge of the mattress. The lump that stuck in her throat made it hard to breathe. Or was it the erratic rhythm pressing against her ribcage?

You knew I was coming home to turmoil, and I knew I’d have to pivot between a blessed homecoming and a household in mourning, but I underestimated the gravity of the situation that awaited me. I feel as if an enemy camp descended on the Blythe family and took it captive.

It’s been a year since we lost Gordon when his outfit fought to break through German’s Hindenburg Line, but when Adam and I came home within weeks of one another, our arrival stirred up as much pain as it did joy.

The fact that Gordon left a widow in Greenville, South Carolina confounds every last one of us. All we know is that Gordon met her during his training at Camp Sevier. She’s replied to Mother’s letters a couple of times, but hasn’t been forthcoming with any personal information. I can’t tell if my parents are relieved or dismayed over her apparent disregard of her husband’s family. Truth be told, I don’t know what Gordon envisioned when he tied the knot with someone who was near a total stranger.

Odette choked on that remark. If she were to calculate the scarce number of hours she and Henry spent together before they realized their hearts belonged as one, the sum might be similar to that of Gordon and his wife.

Before he went to boot camp, Gordon took Adam aside and made him promise that he’d hold the family together in the event he didn’t come home. As if that weren’t enough, Gordon insisted I raise my hand and take the same oath, should neither of my brothers return. If Gordon’s absence had been the only loss we suffered, you and I would be planning our nuptials.

You know the men who fought in the trenches downplayed the terror and the danger when they wrote home. No loving family needed to bear the weight of war on a near-first-hand basis. Likewise, the folks back home often under-reported the hardships they faced while their boys were overseas.

My mother knew that if she wrote about their troubles, I’d have lost my focus. A battlefield isn’t the place for distressing news. Such things have a tendency to cost a soldier his life.

Memphis wasn’t exempt from the influenza that let a healthy man leave the house in the morning, only to steal his life by suppertime. My father survived the sickness, but he suffered permanent lung damage. Instead of overseeing this season’s cotton crop, he had to let a good part of the land go to sharecroppers, which isn’t ideal for either party. Nevertheless, that’s what we’re dealing with here.

I suspect you’d like to take a long pause right now, but I have more to tell. I’m hoping that your determined, brave, and generous heart is patient enough to let me figure out how to make a life for the two of us while I try to be an honorable son.

You may be asking yourself where Adam is in all of this. He’s with us in body, but he has spells where he goes off in a stupor, retreating from conversation and from the job at hand. You witnessed the symptoms in France, men trudging down the roads from one battle to the next, some of them with eyes glazed over or despair distorting their expressions. Shell shock took down countless soldiers, Adam among them.

Used to be, he’d take care of the business end of the crop, leaving Gordon, my father, and me to tend the fields and oversee the hired hands. Adam has a strong back and can put in a good day’s labor, so I didn’t object to trading tasks with him. We lost a lot of sleep the first few times he disappeared for two or three days. Turns out he takes refuge in the barn of a nearby sharecropper who grows tobacco. Instead of trying to pry Adam away from his sanctuary, Mother takes food to the cropper, and he sees that Adam eats.

Odette lowered the letter and stared at the scene beyond her curtains while she tried to read between the lines. Had Adam witnessed his brother’s death? They both served in the Thirtieth Division. Members of the North and South Carolina and Tennessee National Guard units, the first to serve in the Thirtieth, called themselves the Old Hickory Division in honor of President Andrew Jackson, who had ties with all three states, and while the Thirtieth was the first to break through the Hindenburg Line, they lost more than four thousand men in the process.

Whether Adam stood beside his older brother on the battlefield or prayed for their survival from afar, he probably suffered frequent, nightmarish memories, an oft-discounted casualty of war.

It tears me up to see my family this way. Mother puts on a brave face, but she’s scared. And tired. Sometimes I catch her unawares, her red eyes brimming with tears, her grief exposed. I know you would bring sunshine and hope into this place, but I cannot introduce you to what has become of my family. Not yet.

After you read this, I’ll understand if you decide you ought to erase any thoughts of a future with the soldier from Tennessee. I sure wouldn’t blame you. He doesn’t much resemble the man who led his unit through enemy territory and danced in a makeshift ballroom with the prettiest Hello Girl to step foot in France. I wish I could hear your steadfast Number, please and that you could take your telephone cable and connect me to someone who was wise enough to direct my course.

Just so you know, I’m not waffling about you and me. I’d marry you tomorrow if circumstances would permit. The vow I made to Gordon isn’t what motivates me, Odette. I will try to fill my brothers’ shoes, regardless. That’s what we Blythes do.

I’m bound to tell you, though, that I’m stuck on you like a boll weevil latched onto a square of cotton, which isn’t the best comparison given their destructive nature, but if you could appreciate the way those dreadful pests battle their opposition, you’d get my drift—and how.

I don’t know how long it will take for the family to find a new version of normal, but if you’re willing to wait for me to prepare a home for you, I promise I’ll carry you over the threshold and into as grand and happy a life as we planned.

Your head over heels, cotton pickin’ doughboy,

Henry

p.s. Let me further illustrate my point, if I may. Two near-indestructible boll weevils can turn out 12,000,000 offspring over the course of one season. Which is to say that this determined soldier isn’t scrapping our future unless you give him the boot.

~

Odette slid a sheet of paper into her Underwood typewriter and centered it across the roller before she lowered the paper release lever. Not only had the ladies of the Over the Teacups Club insisted that she perform secretarial duties upon her return from Europe, they demanded that she type up the minutes and hand-deliver a copy to the local newspaper in time for the editor to select what newsworthy items their readers needed to know. As far as she could tell, the last time the paper did more than mention the time and place of their monthly meetings was when the members donated a $50 Liberty Bond to the Indiana Federation of Clubs’ endowment fund.

The members also declared that the secretary was responsible for safekeeping the organization’s records. Odette hadn’t asked her mother when the club held its first meeting, but she’d happened upon minutes dated as far back as 1893. If the past were an indicator, these women had every intention of running their organization in perpetuity. Wasn’t that ducky?

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OVER THE TEACUPS CLUB

MINUTES, OCTOBER 1919

Seventeen members and two guests gathered at the home of Mrs. R.J. Fennel where they discussed the upcoming clothing drive. Members elected Miss Roxanne Stevens and Mrs. Noah Franklin to serve as co-chairwomen of the event. During the club’s November meeting, they will seek volunteers to head up the advertising, collection, and distribution committees.

At the conclusion of the business portion of the agenda, Mrs. Irving Patterson entertained the ladies with her newest poetry collection, followed by a piano solo performed by Eula Fennel, the hostess’ daughter-in-law.

Before adjourning, President Trudy Danforth invited the women to enjoy a slice of her pineapple upside-down cake and to linger OVER THE TEACUPS.

Odette extracted the report before inserting a second sheet of paper into her typewriter.

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OVER THE TEACUPS - SECRETARY’S NOTE TO SELF

PERSONAL AND CLASSIFIED MATERIAL

NOT INTENDED FOR PUBLICATION OR DISSEMINATION

SITUATION: Communication lines between Indy and Memphis are in precarious condition. Situation requires immediate attention. Best to send a female soldier into the fray—a bilingual one who speaks with both her voice and her heart.

ASSIGNMENT: Investigate opportunities at Bell Telephone switchboards in Memphis. If no openings, find a cotton trader at the Memphis Cotton Exchange who has a dedicated telephone line that requires the expertise of a seasoned switchboard operator.

SNAG: Hello Don’t-Tell-Me-Goodbye Girl needs to take a position with a local company in order to earn funds to finance travel to Tennessee.

TIMING: Tout de suite.

Chapter 3

Nombre, s’il vous plaît.

A giggle originated from Odette’s right, followed by a muffled snicker to her left. Her choice of words rendered the subscriber on the other end of the wire silent. How humiliating.

Pardon me. Number, please.

As soon as the caller recovered from the unexpected exchange, she stated her business and Odette connected her call. Another light flicked on the switchboard before she could bury her face in her hands. She needed some shuteye.

Modifying the schedule once a month was easy. Her supervisor didn’t object to her swapping shifts with another operator so that she could attend the Over the Teacups Club meeting. Odette had worked around the clock during the heaviest battles in France, so it shouldn’t have been difficult to punch out at midnight and return for her regular day shift the following morning. Instead of falling into an exhausted stupor, as she had overseas, her mind whirled from the moment she climbed into bed until streaks of pink and apricot heralded the sunrise. The soft hues were a striking contrast to the bluish shadows she wore beneath her eyes.

She managed to speak her