Home Front Patriots

By Jan Eileen Albers

During the summer of 1944, World
War 2 hits close to home for Sarabeth, Chet and Bro, when they suspect a
neighboring farmer is a Nazi spy. Eager to do anything to help end the war and
hasten the return of a Marine brother, fighting in the Pacific, they begin an
investigation. Media of that period--radio, newspapers, movies-- and bond
rallies urged children to partake in the war effort.

The caper turns into a series of
frightful mishaps as the children create their own web of deceptions. When
tragedy strikes, war is no longer a game and they are forced to accept its
reality. They discover patriotism combined with faulty ideas can yield alarming
results. "It's amazing what you believe when you think you're right,"
muses Chet. Their adventure is resolved when they
recognize people of different backgrounds must share the burdens of war.

This story provides insight into
the values and culture of World War 2., Today's
readers can empathize with the mutual concerns that confronted children during
the wartime atmosphere of that era. For children, the misfortunes of war are
relevant with every generation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 5, 2003
• ISBN: 9781414026947

Jan Eileen Albers

Jan Albers is a freelance writer and photographer who also spent several years teaching and working with children of all ages. When she was a child, she enjoyed hearing stories about World War 2. Now she brings that era to life for today's young readers. She has written articles for various publications. As a photographer, her work has appeared in magazines and exhibitions throughout the midwest. Recently she left the Chicago area to live on a horse farm in Georgetown, Kentucky. This is her first novel.

Book preview

© 2003 by Jan Eileen Albers. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 1-4140-2694-3 (e-book)

ISBN: 1-4140-2693-5 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-4140-2694-7 (ebook)

1stBooks-rev. 11/24/03

Contents

Chapter One   A New Beginning

Chapter Two   The Contest

Chapter Three   On The Alert

Chapter Four   Goldie’s Surprise

Chapter Five   Arthur’s Letter

Chapter Six   Coded Messages

Chapter Seven   The Search Begins

Chapter Eight   Another Letter

Chapter Nine   Taking a Risk

Chapter Ten   Troubles

Chapter Eleven   The Missing Flashlight

Chapter Twelve   A Trip to Town

Chapter Thirteen   A Different Kind of Search

Chapter Fourteen   In The News

Chapter Fifteen   When Things Go Wrong

Chapter Sixteen   Sorrow and Hope

Chapter Seventeen   Confessions

Chapter Eighteen   Unsung Heroes

Glossary

About the Author

This book is dedicated to

Cory, Kayla, Jesse, and Abby Titus

Chapter One

A New Beginning

Sarabeth Dorsett slid into an empty seat on Bassett County School Bus number four. She reached into the paper sack at her feet and groped through pencil stubs, tattered workbooks and a Silver Screen movie magazine until she grasped a folded manila paper. Flattening it across her lap, she read:

"Boys and Girls, give much more!

Buy bonds and stamps to win the war.

Stamps buy trucks, ships and tanks

And walkie-talkies for the Yanks!"

Although she knew the words by heart, Sarabeth loved seeing the poem on paper. She had copied it is her best handwriting from the fifth grade Weekly Reader and decorated it with flags and stars edged with a red, white and blue boarder. It looked official and patriotic!

Turning toward the window, Sarabeth noticed a classmate, Jane Parker, on the school steps. Sarabeth leaned out of the window, blond braids dangling over the edge of the glass.

Hey, Jane! Congratulations on your award! See you in September.

Jane nodded and held up two fingers in a V for Victory sign. Have a good summer.

Lucky Jane, Sarabeth thought, as she settled back on the seat.

Jane had contributed one thousand, eight hundred and seventy-five pennies at today’s final Bond Rally assembly, the price of a Government War Bond. As all twelve grades applauded, Mr. Hobson praised everyone else who had bought ten and twenty-five cent savings stamps.

Nevertheless, he added, patting Jane on the shoulder, no other Bassett student contributed so much to the war effort this spring of 1944.

No other student—so far, thought Sarabeth jealously. Just wait!

Mr. Forthover mounted the driver’s seat in front of Sarabeth, his bulky bib overalls dusty from plowing fields. Like all the bus drivers, he sandwiched this job in between running his farm. Patty Perkins, a high school cheerleader, bounded up the steps, her pleated skirt barely eluding the closing bus door, as the engine burped and caught. Watching Patty saunter to the back of the bus made Sarabeth felt awkward and gangly. She doubted she’d ever have such easy confidence about her appearance; her body had too many angles and not enough circles to be interesting.

If you’re looking for me, Sary, I’m right here, said Bro, plopping down beside her. In contrast to her lankiness, her brother appeared constructed of overlaying circles, beginning with the spiral brown curls that surrounded his face. My bag ripped, so would you carry my stuff home?

He shoved a pile of papers and a battered lunch box toward her. Sarabeth wrinkled her nose and squeezed closer to the window. Like all nine-year-old boys, Bro reeked of dust, sweat and overripe bananas.

Take it home yourself. I have enough to carry.

Aw, come on, said Bro. I want to go to Chet’s house to trade marbles before Terry and the Pirates comes on the radio.

Sarabeth poked at the slipshod heap of papers spread between them. Is your report card in there? Did you pass third grade?

It’s in my lunch box. Of course I passed, said Bro. Before she could reconsider, Bro slipped back to the seat beside Chet Burgess, their twelve-year-old neighbor.

Shrugging, Sarabeth shoved his papers and lunch box into her bag.

From school to town was a straight two mile shot, the road bordered by clapboard houses slapped down at the edge of cornfields. The bus slowed as they approached Bassett. It passed the garage where Sarabeth’s dad repaired farm machinery and tuned up cars and trucks. Sunshine glinted off the corrugated tin roof onto her dad’s truck parked in front of the building.

The bus grumbled to a halt at the four corner stop sign on Main Street and a group of children leaped off. Ricky Dumont, a classmate, tugged on Sarabeth’s braid as he passed and said, Bye, Sarabeth. Keep out of trouble this summer.

She jerked the braid from his hand. Practice what you preach, Dumont!

Why did her friends think Rick was cute? Determined to ignore him, she gazed out of the window. If she stretched a bit, she could see all of Bassett at one glance. The hardware store, grocery and Bert’s Gas were flanked by two churches on one side of the road. Opposite them were Mr. Strump’s Drug Store, the Capitol

Theater and Ma’s Fine Chow Restaurant. Huge elm trees lined Main Street and shaded the two blocks of cracked sidewalk that terminated in front of the Town Hall and the town Honor Roll. The Honor Roll, a huge rock encircled by flags and geraniums, held a plaque listing names of local boys serving in World War Two. Chet’s brother, Arthur Burgess, had his name on that roster.

From outside the bus, Ricky waved his hand in front of her face, blocking her view.

Maybe I’ll bike over to see you sometime this summer, Sarabeth.

Come to my house, Dumont, and I’ll slug you! She stuck out her tongue and swung around to avoid his freckled, grinning face.

Why couldn’t the boys she knew be like Arthur? He never acted stupid, and looked so brave and handsome in his uniform. He had joined the Marines after high school and now fought Japanese on tiny Pacific islands.

She missed Arthur. During his last leave, he had helped her, Chet and Bro dig their foxhole,showing them how to camouflage it the way real Marines did in battle. Lively and fun-loving, he often entertained them with riddles and pranks.

While she daydreamed about Arthur, the bus continued past farms hedged by sweet corn and tomato plants, and rambled by a new brick factory being built for defense production.

The bus was nearly empty when it stopped in front of Sarabeth’s house. Bro jumped off first.

I’ll help you with that, Sary, said Chet, and lifted the bag from her. Chet, shirt tucked in, hair cropped in a butch haircut, always appeared Sunday School neat, making everyone else look slightly askew.

Thanks, Chet. Bye, Mr. Forthover. See you in the fall, said Sarabeth as she jumped to the ground.

You kids have yourselves a good summer, he called.

Sarabeth saw the final link to school severed as the bus, kicking up dirt and cinders, departed down the road.

Tell Mom I’ll see her later, said Bro. After we hear our programs. Chet dropped the bag at her feet and the boys darted across the road to Chet’s house.

Sarabeth gazed about, savoring her freedom. Sturdy weeds, some with lacy leaves and dots of flowers, created a mosaic along the ditch that bordered Sam Morninger’s farm behind her. Across the road, glazed in sunlight, were the Burgess and Dorsett houses, separated by a fenced-in field of clover and milkweed. In this peaceful setting, it was difficult to remember that war raged throughout most of the world.

Sarabeth heard a rustling at her feet. A garter snake skimmed across the sack of school supplies and startled her into action. With a shriek, she grabbed the sack and sprinted to the back door of her house.

Pausing to catch her breath, she heard conversation drifting through the kitchen door.

I’d at least like to investigate the kind of jobs the factory is offering, she heard her mother say.

I’m not too proud to work on an assembly line, and we surely could use more money.

Sarabeth gasped. Did Mother plan to get a job? If she went to work, what would happen to her and Bro?

Chapter Two

The Contest

The spring on the screen door made it snap shut sharply behind her as Sarabeth ascended the three steps into the kitchen. She discovered Mother and Chet’s mom rubbing brown liquid on their bare legs. Mother’s straight dark hair was tucked behind her ears and one of her long legs rested on a wooden chair. The printed skirt of her dress was draped across her knee.

Hi, Honey. Mother paused, holding a small sponge applicator. How was your last day of school?

This was a question grownups ask that required no answer unless a child is sobbing or bleeding. Sarabeth pointed to the bottle of brown liquid on the table.

What’s that stuff you’re smearing on your legs?

She had never seen them do that before. She once read in a movie magazine that Veronica Lake, a famous movie star, used melted butter to give a glow to her long blond hair. Sarabeth envied the way the star’s hair waved over one eye, so one day she melted butter and rubbed it into her own hair. Instead of long waves, her hair stuck together in greasy strands. Maybe the women had read about movie stars rubbing brown stuff on their legs.

This is called ‘Liquid Stockings’, Sarabeth, volunteered Mrs. Burgess. She sat sprawled on another kitchen chair, skirt pulled up, her