Hey, Don't You Know There's A War On?

By Paula Torres-Berry

Norma Halvin, a just turned eighteen-year-old does not like change, but like it or not, the start of World War II will profoundly affect Norma's world and that of her entire family. Norma's twin brother's John and Jerry enroll in the Army right away. Everyone in the town of Pontelray, Michigan wants to do their part, including Norma. Mrs. Waters, her mother's best friend has offered Norma a riveting job at the bomber plant in Ypsilanti, Michigan. Protected all her life from every scrape, every danger, Norma almost turns the job down, until her parents begin talking about her, in front of her as if she was not even there. They were moving to Arizona so her father would have better air to breathe to help his asthma. As they discuss whether or not to take her with them, Norma finds her voice and her courage. She will take that job and do her part to help win the war. Along the way, a heroine is discovered as she arrives at work one morning and bolts out of the car to help save a sleeping family in a shack that has caught fire. Norma's new job also introduces her to her new best friend and riveting partner, Betty Corrigan. Unlike Norma, Betty is anything but shy. She plans to move to Hollywood and become a motion-picture actress after the war and she wants Norma to go with her. Caught up in the excitement of Betty's plans, Norma is sure she can convince her parents it's a good idea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula Torres-Berry
• Release date: Sep 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370086771

Paula Torres-Berry

Paula Torres-Berry lives in a small town in Michigan. "Hey, Don't you know there's a War on?" is her second work of fiction.

Book preview

Chapter 1

September 1941

I have lived in Ponetelray, Michigan all my life and if anyone had told me a year ago that I'd get up in the morning and go an hour east to Willow Run to work at a bomber plant, I'd have said that person was touched in the head. Nothing ever changed in our town. But that's exactly what happened, in fact, a whole whirlwind of events happened, which none of us could have foreseen, least of all, me, Norma Halvin, working at a bomber plant owned by Mr. Ford.

There we were, Mama and Daddy, my twin brothers John and Jerry and I, in the middle of the depression. Like everybody else in America, we were just trying to make ends meet. But then the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and everything changed. I’ll never forget that day, Sunday, December 7th, 1941. We sat around the radio and listened as the announcer said, Tragic news, ladies and gentlemen: Pearl Harbor has been bombed! I repeat, Pearl Harbor has been bombed! I remember thinking, It’s too quiet outside: no cars, trucks or anything driving by.

War. We were at war. A thousand questions ran through my mind. Will they come here next and bomb our town? Why did they do it? What does this mean for our nation? People stepped outside to discuss the shocking news. I peeked through the front-room curtains at the older men - World War I veterans - who had gathered on our porch to talk with Daddy. They lit pipes and as they turned to blow smoke away from my father, I caught the misery in their eyes. Then Mr. Walker, who rarely says anything, spoke up in his croaky voice. War is pure hell. It’ll make a boy grow into a man overnight. He tilted his chin down as if he were looking for something on our porch, then raised it and continued. I’d just as soon we didn’t get involved, but them Japs attacked us first and we gotta protect our country. He looked down again, shook his head from side to side, then said slowly, God help ‘em, our boys are gonna see hell close up. Goose bumps appeared on my arms from nowhere. And though I was too young to imagine what war looked like, the anxiety I’d seen on the faces of those men made me want to grab my brothers by the shoulders and beg them to stay home.

* * *

We moved into the city in the fall, after I turned 11. Before that, we lived in Grandma and Grandpa Halvin’s farmhouse. Grandpa had a little of everything on his farm: pigs, sheep, chickens, lots of chickens, (too many in my opinion) and acres and acres of vegetables. At the end of that summer, we loaded bushel baskets of vegetables, along with chickens and pigs, and sold them at the Farmer’s Market in Velroy. We took just about every vegetable grown: potatoes, peas, corn, tomatoes, squash, beans, turnips, even grapes. No one knew how it got there but one year, a grapevine was found climbing a trellis on the south side of Grandpa’s barn. If Grandpa happened to notice it, he pruned it. If someone mentioned the vine was growing a bumper crop, he’d try to get the grapes before the birds did and take them along to sell, too.

Grandma never harvested the grapes because she hated grape jelly. She once said, Give me strawberries, blackberries, raspberries and gooseberries, and you’ll have jam for your biscuits come winter, but those old grapes can go to the birds, or spoil on the vine, makes no difference to me. Grandpa said he figured someone had made Grandma eat too much of it as a child, and that had soured her against it. Mama didn’t even ask for the grapes so she could make jelly. Later, when we moved into town, that was one of the first things she bought.

I didn’t get to go to the market until the summer of my eighth birthday. Up until that time, I stood next to Grandma in the driveway and tried to keep a smile on my face as the trucks disappeared down the road. From the time I was five I’d begged to be allowed to go. Daddy always sent me to Mama, saying it was her decision. Every year she said the same thing: Norma, you’re just too young. I have a lot of work to do and can’t be worrying about losing you. You’ll stay here with Grandma and that’s final. Whenever Mama said the word final in a sentence, I knew I’d better stop asking or a worse fate awaited.

The summer of my seventh birthday looked promising until I gave Mama the scare of her life. It took us near on half the day to get the trucks loaded and that was due to a pig named Old Sam, named after Old Sam Wells, a neighbor who Grandpa said was About as friendly as a pitcher of sour milk.

That day will be forever stamped in my memory. Daddy backed the truck up to the pig pen and Grandpa placed the wooden ladder on the tailgate. The rest of us stood at the back, on both sides of the ladder holding brooms and rakes, waiting for Grandpa to let the pigs out. He ordered Chup, our border collie to run in there and convince those pigs to get on board.

The first two pigs did just fine. They scampered up the ramp and settled down right away. But Old Sam must have been in a bad temperament that day. He went part way up the ladder, then turned a sharp right and sprang into the air, landing square on top of me. He let out a loud squeal and began running for the barn with Chup and my brothers not far behind. As for me, I was busy trying to stay alive. Old Sam had plumb knocked the air out of my lungs. Mama was bent over me saying, Breathe, Norma, come on baby, breathe. When I finally coughed and sputtered, Mama said, Oh thank God, thank God. She pulled me onto her lap and sat there rocking for the longest time. Funny, I was the one knocked down but you’d think it had been Mama by the way she was shaking all over. I kept saying, Mama, I’m OK, I’m OK. I thought I had gained a victory that day showing everyone how brave I was standing up to Old Sam and then getting knocked down and right back up again. I asked Mama if I could go to the market, but she shook her head no. I guess she was still plenty worried about me because she said she ought to stay home, too. But Grandma Halvin convinced Mama to go on to the market. She promised to not let me out of her sight for even a minute. Disappointed, I started to believe I’d never see any more of the world than our farm. Sitting on the ground with my head tucked into my knees, I just couldn’t bear to watch them leave.

But the next year, my pestering worked. I could go on one condition, and that was to stay next to her the whole time. If for one minute I have to worry about you, this’ll be the last time, Norma, the last time. That one sentence spoke volumes to me. It meant I’d get to go the next year too, if she didn’t have to worry.

I loved the market. It was my window to the world. The big empty building, which was actually a barn, had a wood plank floor. Farmers arranged their booths or tables all along the walls. This allowed customers to walk through the center aisle and buy what they needed. Some were set up outside selling from their wagons or trucks. Daddy and the boys set Mama’s table up inside, while Grandpa sold his half of the baskets outside, from the back of his truck. Daddy drove the other truck with the pigs in back, around to the south side of the barn where the livestock were kept until it was time to auction them off. On my first trip, John asked Mama if he and Joe could show me the auction area.

It’s just down there on the other side and we’ll watch out for her, Mom, honest we will.

Joe nodded his head in agreement, both of them imploring her with their eyes to let me go. Mama stared toward the direction of the animals, then she finally settled her hands on both hips and addressed the boys. Alright then, but hold her hand and get back here before it’s time to start the sales and don’t dawdle, you hear?

The boys nodded and grabbed my hands, pulling me to the other end of the barn. We dodged through people, making our way to an open area where they would parade the animals around as farmers considered what livestock they needed. The air was filled with the different smells of hot peanuts, tobacco smoke and cooked food mingling with the scents of pigs, horses, cows and sheep. As we ran, something caught my eye, so I stopped and looked up. A bird soared above us, letting out a screeching sound as it made its way to a cross beam where it settled down to survey the crowd of people.

Joe said, Aw, that’s just an old screech owl Norma, it won’t hurt you. They’re in here all the time. I nodded and took a quick glance at Mama at the other end of the barn. Her back was turned as she talked to a lady whose table was being set up next to hers. I sighed and felt a sudden freedom from worrying about Mama worrying about me. I also wished with all my might that I could stay there with the boys and watch as the animals were paraded into the main pen and sold.

The three of us climbed up on the gate and stared at the big round empty area. A boy, who looked to be about the same age as my brothers, entered the pen leading a goat by a rope around its neck. He looked up at us and waved hello. The goat jerked suddenly, causing him to drop the rope, and began running in the opposite direction. Both my brothers scrambled over the gate. John called back, Stay there, Norma, don’t go anywhere, we’ll be right back. I nodded and took another quick look in Mama’s direction. She still had her back turned and for that I was grateful. I forgot about Mama as my eyes became glued to the action going on in the pen. Several times the goat had managed to dart away from the boys just as one of them was about to grab the rope. They tried to surround it, but it found an opening between two of them and dashed through, bleating as it ran. Soon other boys; some older, some younger, noticed the action and ran in the pen to help. I giggled as a whole pack of boys, now ten or eleven of them, chased one frightened goat around in circles. It ended when John snatched the rope and handed the goat to its owner.

My brothers delivered me back to Mama, then headed back to the main pen area. It was understood that we would keep the rebel goat adventure to ourselves. But right then I wanted to kick something hard. Why had I been born a girl? I was eight years old, my brothers eleven. God had forgotten about me when he sent them to be born. They were twins and went practically everywhere together, always having fun. They would go back and help Daddy sell the pigs and watch as the other animals were sold until it was time to go home. In my mind, that beat sitting around watching Mama sell vegetables, eggs and chickens. But it was better than staying home, and I knew I dared not complain. I let out a big sigh and settled myself into a chair next to Mama’s. Pretty soon, I forgot my disappointment as my eyes got their fill of a variety of people who visited the market.

On one occasion Grandma crocheted some doilies and sent them along. Just take whatever you can get for them, she’d told Mama. An old Indian lady, whose hair was longer and whiter than any I’d ever seen, stopped and picked up one of Grandma’s doilies. A younger woman was with her and we could tell she didn’t want to stop because she kept pulling on the older one’s sleeve and whispering something in her ear. She was beautiful. Her black hair looked like silk and it fell to the middle of her back. She had eyes the same color as her hair. A smooth, brown face covered high cheekbones. Her coral colored lips were full. Several men who were passing through cast appreciative glances her way. One stopped dead in his tracks and stared boldly. I guess her beauty had caught him off guard. When he realized what he was doing, his face got red and he practically ran her over, pretending he was looking for someone in the crowd.

She noticed no one but her mother. A quiet argument developed between them. I strained to listen but couldn’t understand their unfamiliar language. I turned to Mama to ask questions, but she was busy looking off in a different direction and her fingers were drumming the table. At home, Mama did this when something bothered her. As the ladies quarreled, I considered moving my chair close enough to reach out and scoop up a handful of the silky hair. Then my good sense kicked in. This would raise Mama’s anger, which would in turn end my trips to the market. To keep from being tempted, I locked my ankles around the chair legs and gripped the seat with both hands.

The older woman turned back to Mama and tried to ignore her daughter’s protests. When it didn’t work, she twisted abruptly around and reprimanded her with a look. The younger one stopped talking and gazed at the ground. I noticed deep wrinkles gather at the corners of the older woman’s eyes as she smiled and pulled some things out of a bag. She held a turquoise necklace out for my mother to inspect and placed a small two-handled clay jar in front of me on the table -just the right size for my small hands. Painted on the jar was some sort of black bird in flight.

She gestured that she wanted a trade. If my mother liked the necklace, she’d take the doily. Mama shook her head and stammered that the necklace was surely worth more than one doily; more, in fact, than the whole set that lay on the table. Confused, the woman turned to her daughter for clarification. When her daughter explained what Mama had said, suddenly the older woman laughed. She picked up the rest of the doilies and placed them in her bag. Next, she gently opened Mama’s hand and dropped the necklace in it. That’s when I noticed that she had very few teeth in the upper part of her mouth. I was going to ask her about the missing teeth, but Mama interrupted me. Norma, mind your manners and thank the nice lady for the jar.

While I said thank you, Mama handed the woman’s daughter a couple of chickens and a dozen eggs. Before I knew it they were gone, so I didn’t get the chance to ask my question.

Once, I saw a really tall, really round man go past our table. When I looked up, I saw black hair growing out of his nose. It was everywhere, poking out through the sleeves of his shirt and even on the backs of his fingers. He wore the biggest boots I had ever seen, easily twice the size of Daddy’s. Mama, I whispered, tugging on her dress, that’s the giant. She was busy with an order of tomatoes, so my comment didn’t register with her until the customer had left.

Giant? Norma, what in the world are you talking about?

I pointed to where the big man was making his way through the crowd and said, "From Jack and the Beanstalk. There he is, Mama."

She laughed and patted my back. "Oh honey, he is a big man, but he’s not the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk. That’s just a story tale." I shook my head okay, but remained unconvinced. He had to be the giant.

After that, I didn’t bother Mama too much with my questions about people. She usually stayed busy from the minute we got there until it was time to go home. But when a group of men dressed in black and wearing little black caps on their heads stopped to buy vegetables from us, curiosity got the better of me. When Mama explained for the third time that the price was firm, they thanked her, then took their purchases and left. Knowing I’d be full of questions, she turned to me and raised her eyebrows.

Mama, why do they wear those little caps?

It’s part of their religion, Norma. They’re Jews.

What does that mean, Jews?

It means…they’re just different. They come from a different country and they worship God differently than we do.

I could tell Mama was getting frustrated. More people were stopping to look at what we had to sell. I waited until she made another sale before I posed the next question.

Mama, are we Jews?

Why no, we’re not. Whatever gave you that idea, Norma?

I was thinking if we were, maybe I could wear one of those little caps too.

Mama laughed. You sure are full of questions and ideas, young lady.

I defended myself. Daddy says that’s a good thing. He says I should ask all the questions I can think of while I’m still young enough to think them.

Yes, well, your Daddy didn’t think about the consequences of that statement, now did he?

I was going to ask her about the meaning of that word, consequences, but didn’t get the chance. She stayed busy right up until the time we left and by then I had forgotten.

* * *

In the fall of 1935, Daddy took a job in town with the railroad working in an office. Six months prior, the doctor told Daddy he had the Asthma. Uncle Fred, his brother, had moved back to the farm. Uncle Fred is one year younger than Daddy. When he turned seventeen, Uncle Fred hopped on a train to see America. He’d worked at different jobs all over and then decided to come home after he’d seen enough and done enough. His timing couldn’t have been better. It was hard for Daddy. He would especially have a rough night breathing when the cow’s feed was being ground in the roller mill. Twice Mama rushed him to the hospital in the middle of the night.

Grandpa Halvin came up with a plan to help Daddy and Mama buy a house in town. He sold some of his land and gave the money to Daddy as an early inheritance. The farmhouse and the rest of the property would eventually go to Uncle Fred. Everyone figured it was a fair deal because Uncle Fred would have the main care of Grandma and Grandpa, when they got older. Daddy felt bad about that, but Uncle Fred said he felt worse because it was Daddy who had come down with the Asthma. Grandpa said they could debate all night about who felt worse, but that wouldn’t get the chores done.

Hey, don’t you know there’s a war on?

Chapter 2

The key to our house is buried in the right pocket of my dungarees. I’m supposed to give it to Uncle Fred next week so he can move our furniture and other things out. This thought cheers me some. Before the new family moves in, I can go back and visit a few times. After all, it is my home, even if I don’t live there any more. Maybe visiting it will help me feel less lonely.

I saw them off on the train yesterday. They’re moving to Arizona. Until they can find a place for us, they’re going to stay with my Aunt Julie, Mama’s sister. I should have gone with them, is the other thing I keep telling myself. A lot of good it does now, though, because they’re gone and that’s that. Plus, this silly conversation with myself is starting to give me a booming headache.

Daddy’s asthma is the reason they moved. The doctor said he needed better air to breathe - drier air. I was going to go with them until the job at the bomber plant came along.

It pays good money, which is what I need to earn for college. Mrs. Waters, Mama’s good friend, got me in. She works there as an inspector. She said they needed workers like me. She even told Mama and Daddy she’d trade ten others for just one of me. And, she offered me her son’s room on a temporary basis, until he comes back from the war.

I feel like an intruder sitting on his bed, here in his room. Don’t you dare cry, Norma Halvin, don’t you dare, I keep telling myself as I look around at the furniture and walls. Boy, oh boy! He was some busy fella; it looks as though he played every sport in high school. There’s a bunch of trophies on his desk over there next to the window. The walls are plastered with pictures of professional football and baseball players. My two older brothers love sports, so I recognize a couple of them. Hank Greenberg, also known as Hammerin’ Hank, is posing with a bat over his shoulder. Daddy and the boys once drove all the way to Detroit to watch him play. And there’s smiling Mel Hein - they call him Old Indestructible. He’s captain of the New York Giants offense. Not that I’m a real fan - except for baseball - but like it or not, a girl learns this stuff listening to the males of the species in her family go on and on about it at the dinner table.

Yep, I’m an intruder. That’s why my suitcases, still packed, are sitting there on the floor. Well, for that reason and the fact that I already miss Mama and Daddy something fierce.

You need to grow up and stop acting like a baby, I silently remind myself. After all, you are 18 now and you have a job. Well, I haven’t been 18 that long. It’s September 30th and my birthday was on June 12th - more than three months ago. But, to me, it feels like a lifetime.

* * *

Growing up, my brothers didn’t pick on me like other girls I’d known. Instead, they were my protectors. Mama said I looked so frail after I was born that she took me to the doctor all the time. But the doctor always said the same thing: Mrs. Halvin, that girl is as healthy as a horse. Now take her home and keep doing what you’re doing.

As for Daddy, he began coaching the boys right away. Boys, he’d said, seating each of them on a knee, we have a Li’l Wisp now, and she’s a girl. We have to take care of her, boys; be gentle-like. Oddly enough, though they were only three years old at that time, my brothers understood. And, thanks to them, I don’t think I ever skinned a knee or fell off a bicycle.

The protective cocoon they wrapped me in surely contributed to my being shy and quiet. While they had lots of friends during the short time we lived on the farm, I only made one good one in school. After we moved to the city, it was even harder to make new friends. Mainly, I played by myself. And, since my imagination was - and still is - overactive, adventures never ceased.

* * *

Now, here I am sitting on a stranger’s bed, cut off from everyone important to me. And it is my own fault. But now, wait just a minute. That’s not true, either. A couple of other prevented me from changing my mind and going with my family. And those things were flattery and aggravation. Mrs. Waters had complimented me on being a good worker, which made me feel important - like I was actually needed in that plant. Like maybe because of me, we’d win this war sooner. And, caught up in these grand thoughts, I pictured myself at the White House, after the war, accepting an award from the President of the United States for being such a dedicated worker. Then there was a parade with marching bands and confetti, me riding in an official car sitting between Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt, waving to people. Yep, I’d wasted almost an entire afternoon daydreaming like that before coming back down to Earth.

* * *

It took Mama a week to pack and make arrangements for our furniture. Watching her made me want to cry. Plenty of times I almost said, Wait, hold on, I want to go too. That is, until last evening. Mrs. Waters came over for supper and my parents actually started to talk about me as if I were not there. They were worried, wondered if I’d be all right here by myself. I wasn’t like the boys: I was a girl. Maybe, they’d said, I ought to move with them after all. Well, I can tell you right now that, inside me, anger boiled. I was being treated like a baby and right in front of Mrs. Waters. Daddy kept saying, Are you sure, Li’l Wisp, that you want to stay? We can get another train ticket. Why, I can probably go pick it up tonight.

When he called me Li’l Wisp, I guess my face turned four shades of red. I said I’d be just fine, reminded them that Li’l Wisp wasn’t my name, and to please remember that I am 18 now. Everything got quiet after that. Mama and Daddy put their heads down. I felt terrible. That anger just boiled over, bringing the words out all at once, to where I couldn’t take them back.

Mrs. Waters poured more tea into her glass. Mama spoke next. John, Norma is right. We can’t keep her a baby forever. She’s got a good job and a place to stay. Why, I guess she’s old enough to start making her own decisions. Then Mama looked right at me and said, Norma, you’ll do just fine.

Head still down, Daddy coughed into his fist, but I could see his lips tugging upward like he wanted to smile or even laugh out loud. Then, he cleared his throat a couple of times and took a long drink from his tea.

Suddenly, Mama and Mrs. Waters started talking about the weather and vegetables they’d canned over the summer from their victory gardens. I asked to be excused and went to my room. Everything was packed in boxes. The marked ones were going with me to Mrs. Waters’ house. The others were going out to the farm. My Uncle Fred, Daddy’s brother, offered to store our things in his big house in the country. He’d said, as a bachelor, he didn’t need much space. I sat down at my desk and looked around. Soon a new family would move in. They’d probably paint the walls and put different curtains on the window. Most likely, they’d do the same to John and Jerry’s room.

My brothers joined the Army. So far, we’ve only received one letter. It was from John, who is at Camp Polk in Louisiana. Jerry is farther away, at Camp Stewart in Georgia. He always hated reading and writing, but Mama isn’t worried. She figures his letter will come soon - maybe after boot camp. By then, she’d said, he’ll miss us plenty good.

I sat in my room in the dark and cried. Without making noise, tears ran down my face and soaked the front of my blouse. I didn’t even try to wipe them away. I don’t know how long I’d been doing that before Daddy knocked on the door. Li’l Wisp, you in there?

Come on in, Daddy.

Daddy walked over to where I was sitting and knelt down on the floor next to my chair. I leaned into his shoulder, wrapped my arms around his neck, and cried harder. His shirt got soaked, too. He patted my back. When I had calmed down, he spoke. These sudden changes bother me, too, Li’l Wisp. Guess I took it for granted that we five would always be together. Now look at us. Everybody splitting up and going in different directions. He sighed, and I felt his breath brush my hair away.

I guess there are some things in this world a man can’t do anything about. The boys are off to fight in the war, and you’re growing up just fine and now ready to start your own job. This is the point for your mother and me when we ask ourselves what kind of job we did to help prepare you kids. His voice held a mixture of regret and hesitation. I could hardly believe it. They had been the best parents anyone could ever hope to have. I sat back and grabbed both his shoulders.

Daddy, you and Mama did a fine job, and you’re the best parents in the whole world. John, Jerry, and I have always felt that way. No matter what happens to any of us, you have to believe me. And…you do, don’t you? I stared hard at him, trying to read his mind. Did he believe me?

Finally, a look of relief swept over his face. He pulled me into a hug. I meant what I said, Li’l Wisp, we can get another train ticket.

Yes, Daddy, do that. Of course I want to go with you and Mama. What I don’t want is to go to that bomber plant and have to meet strangers and try to learn to do a job I’ve never done before. Mrs. Waters shouldn’t have bragged on me because I’m sure to break something that’ll cause us to lose this war. It would be much easier to get on that train and let you and Mama take care of me like you’ve always done.

It would be so easy to say, Get another ticket, Daddy, but his words kept playing through my mind and something in me knew that even though I was scared, I needed to go to that bomber plant.

I backed up, squared my shoulders, saluted him, and shook my head no.

Chapter 3

It’s starting to get dark outside, and I’m still just sitting here. If I don’t unpack soon, I’ll probably be up all night trying to get it done. We have to leave early in the morning because our shift starts at six.

Knock, knock, Norma. May I come in?

Uh, sure, Mrs. Waters, come in.

I was downstairs cleaning the percolator, getting coffee ready for morning, when I realized that I had left some of Frank’s stuff in here. Why, you poor thing, Norma. No wonder you can’t unpack. Here, let me get these things out of your way.

I was going to tell her they weren’t in my way, then realized I couldn’t explain why I hadn’t done any unpacking, so I just watched Mrs. Waters fill the basket with her son’s trophies. Two of the bigger ones wouldn’t fit in the basket, so I offered to carry them wherever she was going.

Thank you, Norma dear. We’ll just put them in my sewing room at the end of the hall.

The first thing I noticed about her sewing room was that it had once been someone’s bedroom. A twin bed was situated against the window and a tall four drawer chest stood next to the only closet in the room. On the bed lay several bolts of fabric in summer shades. A black Singer sewing machine occupied the wall next to the bed. Beside the sewing machine was a basket filled with different colors of thread.

Norma, will you please open that closet door?

I opened the door and Mrs. Waters set the basket down on a shelf inside and took the two trophies I had tucked under my arm. She placed them on the shelf near the basket then turned and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

Whew! That’s done. I’m really sorry, Norma. What with your parents moving and everything, I guess I forgot to get Frank’s room ready.

That’s okay, Mrs. Waters. I don’t have much to unpack, anyway.

She walked over to the bed and picked up a piece of yellow material, rubbing it between her fingers. I was going to make a dress out of this, but since I began working at the bomber plant, I just haven’t had the time or energy.

I empathized. My first day on the job found me almost falling asleep on my plate during supper. Daddy threatened to throw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and deposit me on my bed - same as when I was little. Suddenly, I missed them so bad I wanted to cry. Instead, to prevent the tears from welling up and to keep from being embarrassed, I asked Mrs. Waters a question.

Who had this room?

Mrs. Waters didn’t answer right away. She walked over to the curtains and straightened them, clearing her throat before she spoke.

This room belonged to my Jimmy.

She wasn’t facing me and I was glad because I felt terrible. Jimmy was her youngest son. Five years back he and Mr. Waters were killed when their car hit a train. Mr. Waters tried to stop, but the road was icy. His car slid downhill and straight into the train’s path. For about a month, that was all everyone talked about. They said there was nothing different he could have done.

After the accident, Mama spent a lot of time at Mrs. Waters’ house. The first week, ladies from church took over casseroles and pitchers of lemonade so she wouldn’t have to cook.

Their funerals were held at the Baptist church. Relatives and friends came from all over. Mrs. Waters’ sisters stayed at our house and slept in my room. The whole town seemed to be in mourning. Mama sent me out to the farm to stay with Grandma and Grandpa. She told Daddy she didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to go to the funeral. Mama thought it might be too shocking for me to see a boy about my own age lying in a casket. I didn’t argue. Since Mama was so busy consoling Mrs. Waters and helping with the funeral arrangements, I didn’t want to give her any reason to worry about me, too. Mrs. Waters’ voice interrupted my recollecting.

By the way, Norma, I need to tell you about our telephone line. Two short rings and one long will be for us. Mrs. Cole, who lives down the street, always gets it confused. Hers is two longs. I don’t know how many times I’ve been on the phone when she’s picked up, thinking the call was hers. The poor dear, she’s practically deaf. Just a few days ago we got into a shouting match. She kept yelling, ‘Speak up!’ and I kept saying, ‘Hang up!’ I had to cut short my conversation with my sister Martha, who was calling all the way from Washington State. Of course, one never knows how many on our party line were listening in on purpose. I declare, some people are just plain nosy!

I nodded my head in agreement. I remembered one time when Mama was on the phone, she said, Excuse me, Julie, for just a minute. Then Mama said, I can hear you breathing and I would appreciate it if you’d please go find something else to do and let me talk to my sister in privacy. Daddy said he was impressed by Mama’s moxie.

Oh yes, one more thing, Norma, and I’ll let you get back to unpacking. My room is over here. Since we’ve had such warm weather lately, I’ve been sleeping with my windows open. It doesn’t always work out, though, when it rains. A couple of weeks ago I ran to the store and there came a downpour. Well, you can imagine the mess that made! So if I’m not around and it starts to rain, I’m hoping you’ll be kind enough to shut my windows. I followed her and as she opened her bedroom door, Mrs. Waters looked over her shoulder at me. She expected a response, yet I had been lost in my own thoughts.

Oh sure, Mrs. Waters, that’s not a problem. I’ll be happy to do it. I said it too cheerfully, which is the opposite of how I felt. I wanted to beat a path back to my room - or Frank’s room, which I am borrowing - and unpack and go to bed. I thought going to bed early would help me keep my mind off Mama and Daddy and the boys.

Her bedroom was large. A queen size bed sat in the middle of the room, covered by a quilt with a star pattern. The quilt’s colors were various shades of blue with some white mixed in. There was a big cedar chest at the end of the bed. Its cover had the same material as the quilt. The two windows in her room were also large. Each had a wide sill in front of them where Mrs. Waters placed her book collection. She had a rocking chair with a footstool there, too. In my mind, I could see her sitting there, reading, on a rainy day.

Against the wall were two dressers. One had a mirror. On the tops were pictures of Mrs. Waters and her family. She had so many photographs that I wondered where she kept her hairbrush and comb. My eyes roamed over the assortment of unfamiliar faces smiling back at me from within glass and frames. Then they locked with his. A man wearing a Marine’s uniform was smiling at me. Without realizing it, I walked over and picked up the photograph. Suddenly, I felt hot and cold at the same time.

Goose bumps appeared on my arms while my heart seemed to be doing a wild dance. It was him! A little over a year ago this man had entered my dreams, asking me to dance. He then asked for my hand in marriage. I’ve never told anyone about the dreams, mainly because I might have been called silly or foolish. I even thought the dreams foolish and probably a result of reading too many romance novels. But the dreams came back on occasion and depicted the same scene every time: We danced. Afterwards he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Then I woke up. Now, with the exception of the uniform, this face was the face of the man in my dreams.

That’s Frank in his uniform. Have you ever met him, Norma?

No, but his face looks so familiar.

I didn’t know it, but Mrs. Waters studied me as I continued to gawk at the picture of her son. His hair, I thought, was dark brown. Parted on the left side, I could tell it was thick, though they cut most of it off. I think his eyes were gray, yes. And I’d call them a stormy gray, like they could go darker depending on his mood. His lips were parted into a shy smile. They rested under a strong nose, above a determined chin. Mrs. Waters’ voice interrupted my thoughts.

Yes, well, when he gets home I’ll be busy helping to plan a wedding. Frank’s engaged to Sebeka Falls, Dr. Falls’ daughter.

When she said that,

Reviews for Hey, Don't You Know There's A War On?

[Merri Giacomazzo · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This was an excellent book that I would recommend to any member of my family. It was suspenseful and heart-warming without the use of profanity or sex scenes which made the book more attractive. The author wrote the book using the 1st person which made it more personal because it showed the realistic struggles that one goes through when faced with different situations in life.I would highly recommend this book to anyone.