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aroma of moist earth filled the air, resurrecting memories of long ago spring planting times. Then we went by a collection of wooden buildings, some still under construction, others shining like newborns – all of them emitting the scent of fresh sawn timber and sawdust.
    A billboard sprouted up on the side of the road. On it, a man looked back over his shoulder. The message beside him read: ‘Who me? Yes you … keep mum about this job.’ Further along, another one displayed an eye with a swastika embedded in its pupil and read, ‘The enemy is looking … for information. Guard your talk.’ The mandate for secrecy was even more strident here than it had been in Rochester. But instead of the hushed quiet of whispered confidences, energetic bustle was everywhere. Heavy machinery moved dirt and dumped debris with no attempt to muffle the sound. Soldiers zoomed by in jeeps. People coming and going, working and doing – the hyperactivity of a city rising from bare soil like a bumper crop. The air jangled with the electricity of unceasing motion, tingling my nerve endings. A feeling of eager anticipation overcame me with the realization that I had entered a whole new world with a universe of promises and possibilities waiting to be discovered.
    Charlie pointed to the left at an odd looking building with two smaller segments followed by a large one, and said, ‘That’s Y-12. That’s where we’ll be working.’
    The structure seemed to stretch into forever. The thrill of working there nearly made me speechless but somehow I stammered out, ‘How long is Y-12?’
    ‘Oh, about four hundred feet. The second section is where our lab is housed.’
    A little further down the road he turned into the drive of a large, boxy, utilitarian, and boring piece of architecture. ‘This is your dormitory. I’ll help you take your bags inside and then they’ll take it from there. They are expecting you. As soon as you get your badge, are assigned a room and get unpacked, go down to the bus station right over there,’ he pointed to a sign less than a block away. ‘Get on a bus marked Y-12 and come find me in the middle section.’
    Inside the building, the smells of new construction were even stronger than outside: the slightly chemical scent of fresh-laid linoleum and the nose-wrinkling odor of freshly applied paint swirled through the air. The sun streaked through windows dancing on a fine haze of sawdust.
    In my assigned room, all the furniture was brand new and made of wood – even the door knobs were wooden. They said I would have a roommate, in a matter of days or weeks. But as I surveyed that small space, I knew I’d be comfortable here alone, but it was going to feel cramped when someone else joined me. I wanted to rush to the lab but I dutifully unpacked my bags into the dresser and closet.
    It was easy to find my way to Y-12 but when I stepped off the bottom step of the bus, my foot did not hit solid ground. Instead, it plunged into a pit of mud. I struggled to pull it out of the muck. When I did, though, my pretty, strappy shoe did not come out with it. I looked down in despair – one foot was a block of mud, the other still looked as cute as ever in its darling shoe. I couldn’t possibly go to work like that. What would Charlie Morton think? How would I ever recover my shoe? And where could I clean off my foot?
    I started at the sound of a male voice. ‘Give up, sweetheart.’ I looked up at a soldier. ‘You’ll never find it,’ he added. ‘You might as well ditch the other one and don’t plan on wearing anything but tie-on shoes and make sure those laces are cinched up tight.’
    Was he crazy? He looked perfectly normal.
    He laughed and said, ‘Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s not an unusual sight here. You going into Y-12?’
    I nodded, stunned that he found my predicament amusing.
    ‘No one will be surprised to see you walk in missing a shoe – or even barefoot. Happens here all the time. They’ll just