Codebreakers

She understood but she didn’t needed the threat of jail to keep her lips sealed. This was war-time and any slip could cause horrible consequences. She told her parents that she was stationed somewhere in Canada working as a ‘stenographer’. They were relieved she wasn’t sent overseas. She laughed at their worried looks when she told them she was joining the CWACs, reassuring them that no women were being sent into combat.

Time with Fred came close to being her favourite activity. Close but what made her feel most alive was sitting with her headset, hour after hour, listening to the five letter codes and carefully transcribing them. She didn’t know what the sequences of letters meant but that wasn’t her job. Her job was to listen and copy, listen and copy, listen and copy. She assumed that the transmissions involved information about troop movements and enemy intelligence. She felt the weight of responsibility to get it right. And that made her feel part of something.

And then there was Fred. The only time they could see each other was on early evening walks, and that depended upon her shifts. Jo could work from eight a.m. to four p.m., four p.m. to midnight, or midnight to eight a.m. – she was never sure because the shifts could be changed at the drop of a hat. She suspected that the reason for the changes was due to security. But Fred’s hours were helter-skelter. Jo thought at first that they might be able to eat together but Fred was never in the mess when she was there. One of the other girls told her that the agents dined in separate quarters. If that was true, she wondered if Fred was at the Farm training as an agent. She put that out of her mind and simply enjoyed the time they shared.

Fraternizing was frowned upon. And even though what Fred and Jo were doing was far from romantic, people noticed. The other girls teased her. Within weeks of their first meeting, Fred received his orders. That’s all he could tell her – he was going away. They were both stoic and Jo carried on with her job to the best of her ability. But truthfully, it was never the same.

Martha was washing her hands, just before giving Jo her needle.

“When are you going to tell me about Mr. Dardenne?”

“You are an insufferable girl. Weren’t you ever told to mind your own business?”

Martha smiled.

“Yes. But that’s no fun. C’mon. Tell me.”

She stood above Jo with the needle held high, menacingly.

“You must consider going into the theatre Martha.”

Martha prepared the area and injected the heparin. Jo still could not bring herself to open her eyes during the procedure. How would she have done this on her own?

“Done. Now tell me.”

“Alright, alright.”

Martha disposed of the needle, washed her hands, and sat on the floor, cross-legged in front of Jo.

“There was no Mr. Dardenne. I became Mrs. Dardenne long ago when it seemed necessary. And then I kept it because it was just too complicated to change it.”