Page 52 of The Book of Summer

“What about the Iceland rumors?” Hattie asked, honoring the table with her attentions once again.

“Iceland?” Ruby said, thoroughly flummoxed.

“Sorry if I sound ivory-tower about the whole deal, but I’ve been cut off from the real world these days, truth be told.”

“That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be on Nantucket,” Ruby groused.

Anyway, women weren’t supposed to be so politically charged. At Smith the only ones who moaned about politics were the bespectacled, down-at-the-heels pinko types. The gals with no beaux and tragic hair.

“Why would we send troops to Iceland?” Hattie asked. “Seems like a real crummy place to me. What would Nazis want with it, if the gossip’s true?”

“Iceland is a stepping-stone,” Sam explained. “An important stop between Europe and the States, as the Vikings demonstrated.”

“The Germans are Vikings,” Hattie said. “Got it.”

“But Hitler says he has no interest in our part of the world!” Ruby blurted out.

“Oh, Jesus H.,” Topper said. “Ruby. Please stop taking Hitler at his word.”

“It’s not that I believe him, it’s only that he must have his hands full so why…”

“His hands are full with Russia, which is why we should strike now!”

“A German occupation of Iceland would be highly strategic,” Sam interjected. “The Brits have been stationed there but are moving their troops to the Continent. People think FDR is going to offer up some replacements. It’d be a way to aid Britain without jumping all in.”

“Why can’t he send troops to Icelandandto Europe?” Topper said. “We’ve got plenty of men in this country anxious to help.”

“For example…” Sam said, gesturing toward Topper and rolling his eyes.

“You boys are aces,” Hattie said with a cackle. “Big fun.”

“Speaking of big fun!”

Dang it all to hell, Ruby wasn’t going to give up yet. Hattie must’ve met some real charmers in Europe to withstand Topper and Sam for so long a stint.

“It’s buckets of fun,” Ruby said, “to watch Hattie play tennis. She whips that ball around almost as deftly as she can knit a pair of booties. We’ve entered the Independence Day tournament together. Won’t that be a hoot? I think we’ve got a decent shot at top prize.”

“Swell, swell,” Topper said, lighting yet another cigarette, though one was still fuming and pinched between his teeth. “If we do go to Iceland, it just proves that we don’t actually care about helping the Allies. We care about protecting ourselves.”

“Nothing wrong with protecting ourselves,” Sam said. “The initial deployment has to gosomewhere.This is good as any.”

“I’m sure Londoners and Parisians will sleep better at night knowing we’re in damned Iceland, cutting up with Eskimos and so on.”

“You’re thinking of Alaska. And it’s save ourselves first, sport.”

Topper grunted and flicked his cigarette. It skittered into Hattie’s shrimp salad.

“Robert!”

Ruby leapt to her feet. This time she didn’t care who was watching.

“Your manners are abysmal! Mother would be horrified. I’m horrified. Hattie, Miss Rutter, I’m so extremely sorry. I’d offer an excuse but I can’t think of a decent one.”

“Ah, shucks, it’s no problem whatsoever.” Hattie plucked the butt from her plate with her perfectly manicured fingertips. “This is the most excitement I’ve seen at the Yacht Club to date. And if you can’t get your hackles raised by a war”—she tucked the cigarette inside a napkin—“then you don’t have a pulse to start.”

“She gets it.” Topper crooked a thumb in her direction. “The woman gets it.”

“You’re a good sport, Miss Rutter,” Sam said. “And Robert over here is most sorry. Their mother wasted all her energy in raising the older three. Gave up when she got to the fourth. He was too much of a project.”

---