Safe Haven by Anna Schmidt Page B

or three times a week,” Edwin mused absently. “Do you have enough material to do that?”
    “More than enough, but at some point Americans are going to have to face facts. We—”
    “Baby steps, Suzie,” Edwin said softly as if he knew that she was about to protest that she wanted to tell the bigger story—the one they both knew had to do with the State Department’s isolationist views and the country’s immigration quotas established after the Great War that had set the ground rules. “We’ll get there,” Edwin promised.
    “All right,” she agreed reluctantly.
    “And keep in mind that just because you write a piece doesn’t mean I will publish it.”
    Any more stumbling blocks you want to put in my way?
Suzanne thought, her irritation barely in check. She felt like a schoolgirl who had been called to the principal’s office. “You’ll want to publish these,” she told him.
    He laughed. “That’s my girl. Get me two more articles by Monday,” he said and hung up.
    Suzanne returned to her room and sat down at her typewriter. The piece that Edwin had called about had seemed to simply flow from her fingertips that night after she and Theo had sat talking on the porch. Of course now as she read through her copy of the article, she was struck by how much she had left unsaid. She’d not even mentioned people like Hilda. The woman was becoming more blatantly outspoken about “those people” every day, especially now that Hugh Kilmer was back in the house agreeing with her.
    Suzanne fit a piece of carbon paper between two sheets of typing paper and rolled them into the typewriter then sat back and stared out the open window. Theo was mowing, and the smell of cut grass floated across the room. She wondered how long it had been since those inside the shelter had smelled fresh-cut grass. How long had it been since they had heard the rhythmic clacking of a lawn mower being pushed in a steady, straight line? How long had it been since the children had been free to play on the newly cut grass?
    She closed her eyes and let her other senses take over. Overhead she heard Hilda moving around her room as the music from the woman’s radio filtered down through the walls. She wondered what Hilda did all day. She certainly did not seem to have a job, and she rarely left the house except to get her hair done every Wednesday morning, go to the movies—or “picture show” as she called it—every Saturday afternoon, and attend church services every Sunday. Hilda had not received any visitors or phone calls—at least not while Suzanne had been in the boardinghouse.
    Suddenly she had an idea. She pushed back her chair and climbed the stairs to Hilda’s room. The door was open a crack, so she tapped lightly. “Hilda?”
    Hilda opened the door, and the expression on her face told Suzanne that she would have been less surprised to see a ghost standing there. “Yes?” She leaned against the partially open door without inviting Suzanne inside.
    “I wasn’t sure if you had heard the news or not,” Suzanne began and saw Hilda’s eyes flicker with interest. “The shelter is holding an open house on Sunday—open to the public, that is. The quarantine will be lifted, and well, you’ve obviously been curious about … the facility.” Heaven help her, she had almost said
those people
.
    “The government is lifting the quarantine?” Clearly the woman was horrified at the very idea that this might happen.
    “That’s right, and from what I hear, the children will be allowed to attend the local schools. The principal from the high school—a Mr. Faust—has made all the necessary arrangements. Isn’t that good news?”
    Hilda snorted derisively. “If you ask me, those people are getting far too much attention. Mixing them in with good Christian children?”
    “The occupants of the shelter are not all Jewish,” Suzanne snapped and then hid her annoyance at the woman’s prejudice with a smile. “I just thought