After I wrote Ask AI: Describe Emily Auble's Life After the Death of Her Father In 1916, I realized that there was much more to be told about my grandmother. She had just experienced the death of her father, and decided to not return to school, and needed to work to help support herself and her mother.
Love in Wartime: Lyle and Emily, January-April 1917
Late January 1917 - A New Beginning
The Monday morning after the high school dance, Lyle Carringer arrived at Marston's Department Store an hour early. He told himself it was to get a head start on inventory reconciliation, but the truth was simpler: he was hoping to see Emily Auble.
He didn't have to wait long. At precisely 8:45 AM, she walked through the employee entrance with two other girls from the salesgirls' department. She wore a simple navy skirt and white shirtwaist, her brown hair pinned up neatly under a small hat. When she spotted him standing near the time clock, her face lit up with recognition.
"Good morning, Mr. Carringer," she said, her blue eyes sparkling with something that might have been amusement.
"Lyle," he reminded her, acutely aware of the other girls watching with interest. "Good morning, Miss Auble."
"Emily," she countered, matching his formal tone with a slight smile.
They stood there for a moment, the other girls whispering and giggling as they clocked in and headed to their departments. Lyle's mind raced, searching for something to say that wouldn't sound foolish.
An awkward silence fell between them. Other employees were streaming in now, the morning shift beginning. Lyle knew he should move along, get to his duties as floorwalker. But his feet seemed rooted to the spot.
"I should—" they both said at the same time, then laughed.
"Walk you to your department?" Lyle offered, surprising himself with his boldness.
"I'd like that," Emily said.
February - Building Something New
Over the next weeks, a pattern emerged. Lyle would time his morning rounds to pass by the gloves and accessories counter when Emily was setting up her displays. They'd exchange a few words—nothing deep, just observations about the weather or comments about customers or gentle teasing about work. But those brief conversations became the highlights of Lyle's days.
By mid-February, their coworkers had noticed. Charlie Morrison cornered Lyle in the stockroom one afternoon, grinning like a cat with cream.
"So," Charlie said, "the little high school girl turned out to be worth getting to know, didn't she?"
Lyle felt his face flush. "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, come on. Everyone's noticed you hanging around ladies' accessories more than any other department. And Emily Auble's been asking the other girls about you."
"She has?" Lyle tried to sound casual and failed completely.
"Asked if you were seeing anyone. Asked how long you'd worked here. Asked if you were..." Charlie paused dramatically, "a gentleman."
"And what did they tell her?"
"That you're the most boring, responsible, rule-following fellow at Marston's," Charlie said, then laughed at Lyle's expression. "Which, apparently, is exactly what she wanted to hear. Not all girls want exciting and dangerous, Lyle. Some of them want steady and kind."
On a Thursday afternoon in late February, Lyle found more courage. Emily's shift ended at five o'clock, the same time as his. As she clocked out, he was waiting by the employee entrance, his heart hammering.
"Miss Auble—Emily," he corrected quickly. "I was wondering...that is, if you're not in a hurry to get home...might I walk with you? To make sure you get there safely?"
Emily's smile was worth every nervous moment leading up to the question. "I'd like that very much, Mr. Carringer. Lyle."
Evening Walks Begin
Hawthorn and First Streets was about a twenty-minute walk from Marston's, and they filled every minute with conversation. Emily talked about finishing her high school education, about helping her widowed mother, about her dreams of maybe becoming a teacher someday or perhaps a secretary in a professional office.
"I want to do something that matters," she said earnestly as they walked through the cooling evening. "Not that sales work doesn't matter—it does. But I want...more. Is that terrible?"
"Not at all," Lyle assured her. "I understand completely. I started at Marston's as a cash boy when I was fourteen. I've worked my way up to floorwalker, and someday I hope to move into the accounting office. There's nothing wrong with wanting to better yourself."
They discovered they had more in common than he'd expected. Both came from families of modest means. Both valued education and self-improvement. Both felt the weight of responsibility for their families—Lyle as an only child to aging parents, Emily as an only child helping support her widowed mother.
"My mother came from Canada in 1889," Emily told him. "She was so brave, crossing the border alone, making a new life with her sister in Chicago. My mother wanted something better for herself - that's why she came to America."
"My grandparents came from Pennsylvania," Lyle said. "My father was born there, but they moved west to Iowa and Colorado, met my mother in Kansas, and then came to San Diego after they married, for opportunities. I was born right here in San Diego. Sometimes I think about how much courage it took for them to leave everything they knew."
When they reached the modest apartment on Hawthorn Street, Emily hesitated at the gate. "Would you like to meet my mother? Just briefly—I know you need to catch your trolley home."
Lyle's heart leapt. Meeting the family was significant, he knew. It meant Emily saw this as more than casual friendship. "I'd be honored."
Georgia (Kemp) Auble was expecting them—Emily must have mentioned the possibility. Mrs. Auble was a handsome woman in her late forties with Emily's same bright eyes, and she studied Lyle with an appraising gaze.
"So you're the young man from Marston's," Mrs. Auble said warmly. "Emily's mentioned you."
"Only good things, I hope," Lyle said, then mentally kicked himself for the cliché.
But Emily's mother surprised him with a laugh. "She said you were polite, hardworking, and looked like a strong wind would blow you over. Two out of three isn't bad."
"Mother!" Mrs. Auble exclaimed, but she was smiling.
Lyle found himself laughing too. "Fair assessment. I've been trying to put on weight for years."
After a few more minutes of pleasant conversation, Lyle excused himself to catch his trolley. But as he rode home through the darkened streets, he couldn't stop smiling. Emily Auble's mother had accepted him. This was real.
March - Deepening Connection
By March, their evening walks had become routine. Two or three times a week, Lyle would walk Emily home from work, and they'd take their time, sometimes stopping at a bench in a small park, sometimes walking down to the harbor to watch the ships and the sunset.
The harbor became their favorite spot. They'd sit on a bench by the bay, watching fishing boats and Naval vessels coming and going, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes Emily would tell him about her dreams, and Lyle would share his hopes for the future.
"Do you think the United States will enter the war?" Emily asked one evening in early March, watching a small gunboat moving slowly through the bay.
"It seems likely," Lyle said carefully. The newspapers were full of it—German submarines attacking American ships, President Wilson's speeches about making the world safe for democracy. "The mood has definitely changed."
"What would you do? If we went to war?"
Lyle looked out at the water, considering. "I suppose...I'd have to serve. Wouldn't I? Every able-bodied man would be needed."
Emily's hand found his, their fingers interlacing naturally. "You're very brave."
"I'm not brave at all," Lyle protested. "I'm terrified at the thought. But sometimes you have to do what's right even when you're scared."
She squeezed his hand. "That's what brave means."
On weekends, they explored San Diego together. Lyle would meet Emily on Saturday afternoons, and they'd ride the trolley to different neighborhoods. They walked through Mission Hills, admiring the grand homes being built there. They explored Hillcrest's growing commercial district. They wandered through North Park's tree-lined streets and visited the stores, and ventured out to the newer development of Kensington, where houses were springing up on the hillsides.
"Someday," Emily said, looking at a modest bungalow under construction in North Park, "I'd like a house like that. Nothing grand—just a real home of our own."
Lyle noticed her use of "our own" but didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "With a yard for a garden. Vegetables and flowers both."
"And fruit trees," Emily added, warming to the vision. "Lemon and orange trees. Maybe an avocado. And a fish pond."
They stood there together, two young people imagining a future that felt both impossibly distant and tantalizingly near.
April - The Shadow of War
The first week of April changed everything. On April 2, President Wilson asked Congress for a declaration of war against Germany. On April 6, 1917, Congress obliged. The United States was at war.
The San Diego Union's headlines grew larger and more urgent. "CONGRESS DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY." "NATION MOBILIZES FOR CONFLICT." "DRAFT LEGISLATION PENDING."
At Marston's, the atmosphere shifted. Many of the younger male employees talked openly about enlisting. Some wanted to join the Navy—San Diego was a Navy town, after all. Others spoke of the Army or the new aviation corps. The Marines were recruiting heavily, their dress blues visible all over downtown.
Lyle borrowed his father's car—a 1914 Ford Model T that Austin Carringer occasionally drove on Sundays—and took Emily to Ocean Beach on the first Sunday in April. They walked along the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore, both aware that the world was changing around them.
"Have you thought about what you'll do?" Emily asked, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the surf.
"I've thought of little else," Lyle admitted. "There's going to be a draft—everyone says so. All men between certain ages will have to register."
"And you'll be included."
"I'm twenty-five. Yes, I'll be included."
They walked in silence for a while, their shoes leaving prints in the wet sand that the waves immediately erased.
"Some of the fellows at work are talking about enlisting before the draft," Lyle continued. "They say you get more choice that way—can pick which branch you want to serve in. If you wait to be drafted, they assign you wherever they need bodies."
Emily stopped walking and turned to face him. "What do you want to do?"
It was the question Lyle had been asking himself for days. "I think..." he paused, gathering his thoughts. "I think I want to enlist. In the Marines. They have a big presence here in San Diego, and I've always admired them. And if I'm going to have to serve anyway, I'd rather do it on my own terms."
"When?" Emily's voice was steady, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"Not immediately," Lyle said quickly. "The draft legislation hasn't even passed yet. It could be weeks, maybe months. I want to make sure my parents are taken care of, that things at work are in order. And I want..." He trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"Want what?"
"I want to spend as much time with you as possible before I have to leave."
Emily stepped closer, and Lyle found himself holding both her hands. "We've only known each other three months," she said softly. "But it feels like longer, doesn't it?"
"It does," Lyle agreed. "Emily, I need you to know...these past months have been the happiest of my life. You've made everything better—work, San Diego, even the thought of war seems less frightening when I know you're here."
"I feel the same way," Emily whispered. "I know I'm young, and we haven't known each other long, but Lyle, I think I'm falling in love with you."
Lyle's heart soared. "I know I'm falling in love with you."
They stood there on Ocean Beach, the Pacific wind whipping around them, the war across that same ocean seeming both infinitely distant and terrifyingly near. Lyle pulled Emily close, and she came willingly, resting her head against his shoulder despite the height difference.
"Whatever happens," he said into her hair, "I'll come back to you. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Emily said, her voice muffled against his coat.
"Then I promise to try. I promise to do everything in my power to come home."
Here is the Video Overview of this post by Google NotebookLM:
This is historical fiction based on the facts that are available for the life and family of my maternal grandparents, Lyle and Emily(Auble) Carringer. It is based on my research, social history and society norms at the time and place, and it is likely realistic. It might have happened this way.
I had to tell this story -- it leads up to their marriage and parenthood and their life beyond Marston's.
Subscribe to receive a free daily email from Genea-Musings using www.Blogtrottr.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment