Summer of the War Read online

  It was Emily who stuck a twig in the sand to find the time. “It’s four o’clock!” We realized that what we had waited so impatiently for all day was about to happen. We raced back to the cottage and down the path to the dock. Grandma and Grandpa were already there. Grandma examined us. “Heavens! What a mess you all are! What will your cousin think?”

  Grandpa frowned but said only, “This isn’t Paris. She must take us as she finds us.”

  The Norkins’ boat was making for the dock, but it wasn’t Mr. Norkin in the boat. He was probably off fishing. It was Ned. I hastily tucked my shirttail into my shorts and slapped my hair into place—not that Ned would notice.

  Ned was an expert with boats. He maneuvered the runabout right next to the dock, and I got my first look at Carrie. The queenly way she sat in the boat suggested Cleopatra in her royal barge with a bunch of slaves rowing her, when it was only Ned at the wheel. There was enough luggage in the boat for a dozen people. Ned threw Grandpa an aft line to secure the boat, and Carrie stepped gingerly out onto our dock and looked around as if she were expecting something else, or something much more.

  She was movie-actress pretty, with long blond hair that she wore in a pageboy. She was wearing a pink linen dress with a lace collar, but the most extraordinary thing was her high heels. Anybody knew you didn’t wear heels on a boat. Grandpa noticed them right away.

  “Good Lord, girl, Jim Norkin would have a fit if he saw you mark up his boat with those heels. Ned, what can you be thinking of?”

  Ned blushed. “It’s all right.”

  I could see in a minute that he was smitten by Carrie. She could have started a bonfire in the boat and he would have thrown on the oars to help it along.

  It was Grandma who had the strangest reaction. She was staring at Carrie, her mouth a little open, tears running down her cheeks. She pushed Grandpa aside to hug Carrie. “You’re so like your mother, Carrie. For a minute I thought it was our Julia.” She brushed away the tears. “Everett, that’s not the way to greet your grandchild. Pay no attention, Carrie. You’ll learn our little ways in good time. Now let me introduce you to your cousins.”

  We stood in an awkward, ragged line waiting to be named. “This is Tommy and Emily and Nancy, and this is Mirabelle, who will be your special friend. Let’s get your things into the cottage, and we’ll have a cool drink and you can change that lovely dress for some shorts.”

  Carrie had stared at each one of us as we were in troduced, and hardest at me. She said in a matter-of-fact voice, “I don’t own any shorts. I like dresses.”

  At this pronouncement Ned’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He didn’t look like he thought what she said was odd; he looked like shorts were the stupidest, ugliest things in the world and anyone who knew anything wouldn’t think of wearing them.

  Grandpa said, “Well, let’s get all that luggage out of the boat before it sinks under the weight. If it’s full of impractical dresses like the one you’re wearing, we’ll get you fixed up with some of Mirabelle’s things.”

  Carrie looked at my faded, grimy shorts and said, “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

  For the first time I noticed Carrie’s eyes were the exact shade of brilliant blue as Grandpa’s. There was some sort of electricity between the two of them, as if blue sparks were flying back and forth.

  The tug-of-war between them ended as Grandma guided Carrie up to the cottage, with Emily, Nancy, and Tommy trailing along. I hung back to see if Ned had something to say, but he wouldn’t look at me. He was helping Grandpa with Carrie’s things. I reached for one of the bags. Its luggage tag had the Paris address I remembered seeing on Mom’s letters to Carrie’s dad: Caroline Westman, 9 rue du Bac, Paris, France. I thought about Carrie’s exotic life, feeling as if some book were coming alive right before my eyes. I gave Ned a quick wave, picked up the suitcase, and hurried after Carrie, eager to open the book.

  Grandma led Carrie to my room, leaving the two of us together. I stood just inside the bedroom door with Carrie’s suitcase. Carrie had piled some boxes on my bed. Even though it was my room, with Carrie there I was a little shy of entering it. I took a deep breath and walked in.

  “Is that your stuff?” Carrie asked, pointing to the closet where a grimy blouse and my worn p.j.s were hanging on a hook. I nodded.

  “Am I supposed to share the room with you?”

  “Yes, but there’s a lot of room in the closet, and I’ve emptied out two drawers for you.”

  “I’ve never had to room with anyone,” Carrie said.

  Not “I’ve never roomed with anyone,” but “I’ve never had to room with anyone.”

  Carrie continued to look at me. “If there’s another room available and this is just a way of making friends with you, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities on an island.”

  I was beginning to be a little irritated. She was acting like I had leprosy or something. “I used to have the room to myself,” I said. I wanted to let her know she wasn’t the only one making a sacrifice.

  Carrie gave me a piercing blue-eyed look. “Très désolée, I’m sure. I’ll try not to get in your way.” She began to drag her things from my bed.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said. I wanted to walk away, but that seemed rude. Just then Grandpa brought in the rest of the luggage. “Looks like you’ll be changing your clothes three times a day, young lady.”

  After he left, Emily came shyly into the room and settled down cross-legged on my bed.

  “Can I watch you unpack all your stuff?” she asked.

  Carrie gave her an amused look. “The more the merrier.”

  I dropped down next to Emily, and we watched Carrie pull out one dress after another.

  “Who does the washing and ironing?” Carrie asked, holding up a wrinkled dress.

  “We wash and iron our own things,” I said. “Well, Nancy and Tommy don’t. They’re too young, but Emily and I do.”

  “How quaint,” she said.

  “I’ll do yours for you,” Emily volunteered. She was staring at Carrie’s ruffled nightie and the piles of underwear with lace on them. “Is that silk?” she asked. “We’ve never had anything but white cotton underwear.” She reached over and touched the silk.

  “Of course they’re silk. And they have to last me. It’s horrible, but with the war you can’t get silk anymore.” She placed a little pile of pink silk in one of my dresser drawers. Hers were already filled, and now she was pushing my stuff to one side. When she had finished her unpacking, she said, “If you two have something else to do, I’m going to have a petit somme.”

  Emily’s eyebrows flew up. “Is that French? What does it mean?”

  I was going to say, “A little nap,” but Carrie said it first.

  Carrie sank down on the bed with her back toward us, her face nuzzled into the pillow. I pushed Emily out ahead of me and closed the door, none too softly. I didn’t like being thrown out of my own room.

  “I think she was crying,” Emily whispered.

  “She’s just rude.” But I wasn’t so sure. The island was the most normal place in the world to me, but maybe it seemed strange to Carrie. Or maybe she was worried about her father.

  Emily sighed. “She’s gorgeous. I wonder if I could make my hair look like that.”

  “You could if you wore curlers every night. Personally, I’d rather die.”

  We tiptoed around so it would be quiet for Carrie. When it got to be six o’clock and time for dinner, Grandpa looked at his watch.

  “Mirabelle, go upstairs and tell that child dinner is ready and we’re waiting for her.”

  “She’s probably tired from her long trip, Everett,” Grandma said.

  “Nonsense. I don’t believe that girl ever rests. It looks like she’s her father’s child. She has one of those minds that are always busy on what little advantage they can manage for themselves.”

  As I hurried upstairs, I heard Grandma’s shocked voice. “Everett, that’s a terrible thing to say ab
out your own granddaughter!”

  Grandpa was always so fair, but he seemed to have taken a dislike to Carrie. I opened the bedroom door, uncertain of what I would find.

  Carrie had changed her clothes. She was wearing a cotton dress with a full skirt and puff sleeves. Her shoes were the exact blue of her dress. Each shoe had a little blue leather flower.

  “It’s time for dinner,” I said. I tried to make my voice as friendly as possible. I thought it would be awful to have to share my room with someone I was fighting with.

  “Really?” Carrie said. “Dad and I never eat until eight. Seven thirty at the earliest.” She swept out of the room, while I tagged along behind her.

  Emily practically gasped when she saw the flowers on Carrie’s shoes.

  Grandpa said grace before dinner like he always did, and added, “We thank you, Lord, for the blessing of Caroline’s presence among us, and we welcome the opportunity to have her join our family and to share the beauty of our island. Amen.”

  Carrie squirmed in her chair. It looked like she thought joining our family was more of a punishment than a blessing.

  Grandma had gone all out to make the supper a special one. She had roasted one of the Norkins’ chickens, and there was her special dressing with chestnuts, early fresh peas, and for dessert a gorgeous sunshine cake with thick lemon frosting.

  “Do you have someone to cook for you and your father?” Grandma asked.

  Carrie shrugged. “There’s our housekeeper, Louise, but she doesn’t really cook. Papa and I mostly eat out.” Carrie pronounced papa in the French way with the accent on the last syllable. Carrie added, “There are some very good French restaurants in Washington.” Something about her tone suggested French food was a lot better than what we were offering.

  Nancy had been watching Carrie. “You hold your fork with your left hand. Are you left-handed?” she asked.

  “It’s the European way,” Carrie said, “keeping your fork in your left hand after you’ve used your right to cut your meat.”

  I noticed Grandpa’s eyebrows fly up.

  “What’s Paris like?” Emily asked. She was making a few clumsy attempts to hold her fork the way Carrie held hers.

  “It’s the most beautiful city in the world.” Carrie’s voice was fierce, as if somehow we were the German enemy attacking Paris.

  Grandpa smiled. “I agree with you, Caroline. Your grandmother and I spent our wedding trip there.”

  “We stayed at the Élysée Palace Hotel on the Champs-Élysées,” Grandma said. “It had just opened, and it was so elegant. In the afternoons we would sit for hours at a time in the cafés.”

  Grandpa said, “Well, we did more than sit about in cafés. Paris is certainly the most civilized city in the world.”

  Carrie smiled gratefully at Grandpa, and we all relaxed.

  The truce between Grandpa and Carrie ended after dinner, when Grandpa handed Carrie a long narrow box.

  Carrie opened it eagerly, but when she saw a wooden recorder, she looked around at us, disappointed and puzzled.

  Grandpa explained, “Your cousins all play the recorder, Caroline.”

  For the last week we had been working on a Vivaldi concerto. I loved the skipping, happy sound of the music when we were all playing in harmony. It was the time of day when without any words we were closest.

  “You’re just beginning,” Grandpa told Caroline, “so we’ll try a simple piece, and Mirabelle will explain how the recorder works.”

  Carrie put her recorder back into the box. “I’m not musical,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” Grandpa said. “It’s only a matter of practice. We’ll soon make a musician out of you. Now, pick up your recorder.”

  Carrie got up. “I’m going upstairs.” She left.

  I saw with amazement that Carrie meant to do as she pleased. It was shocking. No one ever disobeyed Grandpa. It wasn’t that he would punish us or anything. It was just that he was Grandpa, and his word was law. I felt a delicious shiver, something you might feel at the sight of a volcano going off near you, but not so close you were in any danger. I stole a look at Grandpa. His face was red and his lips were folded into a thin line, but all he said was, “We’ll go on with the Vivaldi.”

  Grandma held her hands over the piano keys, Grandpa gave the signal, and we began. There were more mistakes than usual. We all felt Carrie’s absence. Somehow she had taken the joy out of our playing, making it unimportant and even stupid. When Nancy had played the wrong note three times in a row, she put down her recorder.

  “I’m just not musical,” she said, and fled outside.

  It was one thing for Carrie to decline to play, but Nancy’s refusal was revolution. Grandpa squared his shoulders and told us to continue.

  When Grandpa dismissed us, I went outside looking for Nancy. I wanted to tell her she couldn’t just run away like that, but I couldn’t find her. I guess I didn’t try too hard. I didn’t see why I had to be the one to watch over my sisters and brother. I began to think it was unfair for Mom and Dad not to be there.

  Though it was early evening, the sun was still shining. All that brightness got in the way of my unhappiness. I walked down to the water, kicking the sand as I went. A hundred yards off the island I saw Ned’s sailboat skimming the lake. I waved, and he put the boat about and made for the dock.

  “You by yourself?” he asked.

  Though he hadn’t exactly said so, I guessed he was asking where Carrie was. He had probably been tacking back and forth hoping she’d appear. More crossly than I intended, I said, “Carrie’s upstairs.”

  He gave me a sidewise glance. “What’s the matter? You look like you could wrestle a wildcat. If you promise not to scuttle the boat, I’ll give you a sail. Get in. You need a little practice with coming about.”

  Ashamed of my surliness and anxious to escape, I climbed eagerly into Ned’s boat. “Thanks.”

  “What makes you so ornery?”

  I wanted to say something about Carrie, but I didn’t think it was right to complain about family. “Nothing. Can I take the tiller?” He made room for me in the stern. There wasn’t a ripple on the lake. The pale blue of the water and the blue sky melted into each other at the horizon. It was hard to tell whether we were sailing on the water or in the sky. Even the gulls, gliding above us, were silent. Ned adjusted the sails, working to capture whatever air he could.

  My anger with Carrie disappeared. She would be there for only one summer. There had been summers without her and there would be summers after her. What harm could she do in one summer? I was there in Ned’s boat on a perfect June evening with Ned only inches from me. I could have reached out and touched Ned’s arm.

  The last wisp of breeze disappeared. The sails luffed and the telltale at the top of the mast drooped. We were becalmed, but I didn’t care. I could have floated there forever.

  “How long is your cousin going to stay?” Ned asked.

  “All summer.”

  “Maybe she’d like to go sailing with us sometime.”

  “Sure.” So there was Carrie again. Ned would have liked to have her with him instead of me.

  Ned, puzzled by my silence, tried the war. “Eisenhower is on his way to London. Isn’t your cousin’s father there?”

  He couldn’t keep off the subject. Mad at Carrie, mad at Ned, I said, “Yes, and I wish she was with him.”

  Ned looked at me. After a few minutes he said, “Guess we aren’t going to get enough wind tonight for a lesson. I’ll row us in.” He picked up the oars and sculled back to the dock. I was furious with Carrie and with Ned, but most of all with myself. I felt as if I had no control over what I said, as if loathsome, ugly words were waiting inside me like snakes and toads looking for a chance to sneak out before I could stop them. I hopped onto the dock, hurrying so Ned couldn’t see my tears. “Good night,” I said over my shoulder.

  He didn’t bother to answer.

  Nancy and Tommy were sitting at the porch table playing go fish, Polo asl
eep on Nancy’s feet.

  “You want to play?” Nancy asked.

  I shook my head.

  In the living room Grandpa and Grandma were listening to the war news on the radio. “Finally some good news from the Pacific,” Grandpa said. “We’ve launched an offensive in the Midway Islands.” I made some sort of sound to indicate that was good news, though I had no idea where the Midway Islands were. I hurried up the stairs not wanting to think that there were islands where people were fighting one another, not wanting to think about war at all and especially not here on our island.

  Three

  When I walked into my room, I found Carrie putting Emily’s hair up, taking pains to get each curler right.

  “I’m going to have a pageboy tomorrow.” Emily sighed. “Only I wish I had blond hair like Carrie does.” She pointed to the closet. “Carrie let me iron some of her dresses.”

  “I’m sure that was really generous of her.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  I noticed that the books I had placed on the night-stand had been pushed aside. In their place was a pile of fashion and movie magazines.

  “Carrie’s telling me the plot of Rebecca,” Emily said. Emily loved movies. She really believed everything she saw up on the screen. Before we went to see a movie, Mom always asked, “Are you sure you have enough handkerchiefs, dear?” Emily cried over everything.

  “Rebecca is my favorite movie.” Carrie reached into one of her suitcases and pulled out a photograph of Laurence Olivier, who had starred in the movie. “Dad got me this picture with Olivier’s autograph on a trip he took to England.”