"Loretta, check those shells a little faster, honey! We have a quota to meet today!" Jack hollered over the buzzing sound of the munitions factory.

The long day was finally drawing to a close, which meant Jack's work as floor supervisor at the factory would soon end and she could return home. Loretta, her thick dark curls covered with a bandana, grimaced as she lifted a shell casing onto one of the giant hooks descending from the ceiling and Jack checked her clipboard. They had a few more minutes and still many shells to check for quality before they were loaded onto the trolley cart and then taken to the train station.

"Dorothy, come help Loretta!" Jack called, motioning for a honey blonde woman at the filling station. "I'll take your spot."

Jack discarded her clipboard and zipped her gray jumpsuit uniform to her chin. Before starting the machine that would allow her to fill shells with TNT, Jack checked herself carefully to make sure no hair or material was loose. Jack put on her gloves and took the first shell on the tray and pushed it into position, then pulled the lever. The TNT poured into the shell and Jack jerked the lever upright again once it was filled, setting it into the tray next to her to have the detonator added by the next girl on the assembly line. The pungent odor of the explosive liquid filled her nose, and she stifled a cough, forcing herself to continue working with no delay.

Pushing the next shell into position, Jack fell into a quick routine, filling and loading the shells as quickly as she could. She had worked here for over a year now and had become adept at balancing efficiency and caution. Some of the girls--those who were too careless with the TNT or were left at the filling station for too long--were called "Canary Girls" for the yellowish tint of their skin after too much exposure to the chemical. As floor supervisor, Jack tried to make sure the girls switched positions enough that they would have time to rest at the easier jobs, like checking the shells or assembling detonators.

Someone tapped on her shoulder, and Jack finished the shell she was working on before turning around. Dorothy took over her spot again and Jack retrieved her clipboard and continued her walk through the floor. A few older men joined the women here and there, doing the heavy lifting of loading the trays of shells into the trucks to be taken to the train station, but too many were incensed by the War Commission allowing women workers in positions previously held by men alone. They often refused to work alongside women as "equals." Jack found it difficult to be considered an equal when her pay was so much less than the men's, but at least she had a job and she was paid for it. Her position was the highest available for a female in the entire factory, so she should not allow herself to complain.

"Miss Harrison, may I have a word?"

Jack spun around, wiping her stained hands on her uniform. The look on Walter Cartwright's face indicated that Jack didn't have much of a choice in regards to whether or not she would lend him her ear for a moment. The older man was the supervisor of the munitions factory, and ever since it burned down last year due to mismanaged explosives, he had grown increasingly rigorous in ensuring that every instruction was followed to the letter. Jack had earned her own place at the factory thanks to her heroism in saving a few of her coworkers from the fire and thus attained Walter's approbation.

"Mr. Cartwright, how may I help you?"

Walter stroked his tanned, weathered face as he motioned for Jack to walk with him. "I understand production was down again yesterday?"

"Yes, sir," Jack answered, hurrying to catch up with him. "It's the Spanish Flu, sir. A few more women were out to take care of their families. Many of them have husbands fighting in the war."

In fact, Jack knew that several of the women had already lost feeble children to the disease; she wished she could provide them with longer leave to mourn properly, but they would all lose their jobs if the factory failed to produce its quota.

Mr. Cartwright cursed under his breath, and Jack was grateful for the screeching of the trolley cart that drowned out the sound. "This is why men make better workers," he declared. "They don't have to leave their jobs to care for sick children. Haven't they mothers or elder children who can care for the infirm?"

Jack felt a wave of revulsion towards the man for begrudging the women the right to tend to their diseased children. "The children old enough to care for the younger ones are often already working, some at this very factory. You can't expect them to abandon their children just for the sake of a few extra shells."

"I can, and I do!" he thundered. "This isn't just a job. We're supporting the war, Miss Harrison, and you would do well to remember that the war is our utmost priority. I expect these women to work as much as is necessary to reach these quotas, and if they fail to be present, they'll be dismissed. There are many women with hungry children in this neighborhood who are anxious for employment, so I want these jobs to go to the women who are willing to work."

Ire rose inside of Jack and she balled her fists at her side. "With all due respect, sir, as long as I'm floor supervisor, I'll permit these women to care for their families so their husbands have families to come home to."

He gave her a scalding glare and Jack lifted her chin under the look, wishing she could call him all the horrid names that came to mind, or deal him such a stunning blow to the face that he would be forced to treat her with respect.

"Do what you want, Harrison. Just make sure we reach our weekly quota, or you'll answer for it."

He marched away, his boots thudding against the floor, as Jack bit her tongue to keep from saying something she would regret. Instead, Jack balled her fists and glared at his retreating figure.

"That arrogant, pea-brained, ignorant-"

"I guess your conversation with old Cartwright didn't go so well? What's he want now, more bombs?"

Jack spun around to see Minnie Booker, Jack's best friend, laughing at her. Jack released an angry sigh, throwing her clipboard to the ground. "He's deranged, I swear, Minnie!"

Minnie laughed and leaned against the trolley, wiping the sheen of sweat from her dark forehead. "I thought you figured that out a long time ago. But don't you worry, we won't let you down. We'll get everything done and none of us'll get fired."

Jack retrieved her clipboard from the ground, reviewing the latest numbers, and sighed again. "You should have this job instead of me, Minnie. You don't let him get to you."

"Oh, he makes me just as angry as you, I just don't show it. Besides, you know they won't give me the job as long as there's a white woman to do it, even if she's half as good a worker."

Jack couldn't deny the truth of Minnie's statement; if it were up to her, Minnie would be running this entire factory. She was the most efficient, faithful, and consistent worker in the factory, yet Walter Cartwright never gave her a second glance because of the color of her skin. Jack knew that Minnie was lucky to even have this job though she received a fraction of Jack's salary.

"Well, at least you don't have to deal with Cartwright. I have a mind to show him what I think of his quotas."

"Don't be rash, Jack. You need this job just as well as I do."

And it was true, she did. Jack had no husband to provide an income and an independent living was hard to support for a single woman of her age.

"Fine. Help me load this last shipment of shells so we can finally go home."

Jack and Minnie turned to the trays of shells that had been reviewed by Loretta, who was in charge of quality assurance. For the next few minutes, Jack and Minnie loaded every single one of the shells onto the trolley cart and Jack counted the finished products. They would reach the quota, but just barely, and with only a few moments to spare. One of the men took the trolley to the back and loaded it, and Jack raised a cry of victory throughout the factory. The women echoed her, turning off their machines.

Without the racket of the machines, Jack's ears rang in the eerie quiet. Soon, however, the silence was filled with the chatter of women eager to return to their homes and leave the factory behind for the night. Jack and Minnie followed the flood of women exiting out the side door, trudging as they walked.

In a small outbuilding assigned to the nearly 75 women who worked in the factory, milk crates were stacked on top of each other, one crate per woman. Here, they picked up the personal items they'd left behind during their work and removed their dirty uniforms and headscarves. Some even changed from boots into fashionable heeled shoes and applied a new coat of lipstick, but Jack refused to go to the trouble just to return to her own solitary home.

Jack unzipped her jumpsuit and left it in the crate with her name on it, retrieving her satchel with the remainders of her lunch and a handful of loose change. The small room was heavy with heat, so Jack slipped out as quickly as she could and found her bike, discarded behind the small shed. Minnie followed her, fetching her own bike, and the two of them pushed their bikes to the dirt road that led to home.

"I'm afraid I'm getting old, Minnie," Jack complained. "I seem to get more and more exhausted after every shift. Hard work never used to tire me so."

Minnie laughed. "If you're getting old, I must be ancient."

"You do look a little wearied, Minnie," Jack said, marking the decided lines in her forehead and the bags beneath her eyes. "Are Esther and her baby alright?"

"Oh, yes, my babies are fine," she said, warmth glowing in her dark eyes. "Little Lottie Belle is growing like a weed these days, healthy as a horse."
"That's wonderful, Minnie! Perhaps I'll stop over sometime when she and Clarence come to visit."

"You should. I'm sure Esther would love to see you."
Silence lapsed between them, and Jack noticed that more than just exhaustion weighed on Minnie's brow. The woman was often reserved, preferring to mull over the complexities of life on her own rather than confess her thoughts to even her closest friends. Jack was quite the opposite, blurting out her thoughts before she'd even considered them.

"Are you sure nothing is amiss?" Jack inquired, scrutinizing her friend's features.

"I'm fine, Jack."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing at all."

Suddenly, Jack threw her bicycle to the side and stepped in front of Minnie, halting her progress with a hand on the bike's handlebars. "That's quite enough. I've known you for years, Minnie Booker, and I know when something weighs on you. What has happened to disconcert you so?"

Minnie sighed and pushed Jack's hand away from her bicycle, wheeling forward. "Julius and I have a visitor is all."

"Oh, someone from Boston?" Jack asked, referring to the city where the Bookers had lived for years before coming to Irvington to be near their daughter.

"An old friend of Julius's," Minnie explained. "He's visiting us for a while to avoid some trouble."

Jack's ears perked at the news, and her curiosity grew.  "Trouble? What kind of trouble? I never imagined that you and Julius would be harboring criminals!"

Instead of laughing along with Jack, Minnie just tightened her lips together and refused to utter another word, and Jack was left to imagine what kind of trouble had brought their friend to the small town of Irvington.

What do you think of Jack's work in the factory? Could you survive that kind of a job? And who do you think Minnie's visitor is? Let me know your thoughts in the comments, and thanks for reading this story!