Chapter 9

The Homefront

Daddy’s letters landed at the post office today, as they had most days. As soon as Mom got home from work, we huddled on the settee and read each letter out loud. Daddy’s military unit had landed in England, a country in Europe. I hurried to Grandma’s wall map, found England and traced my hand over the whole country.

Daddy was wrong for the very first time. He said I’d be fine. He said he would be home soon. Well, one thing for certain, I, Grace Ann Brewer, was not fine. I missed Daddy’s goodnight stories. I missed his hugs. I missed seeing him every day. Daddy picked a fine time to be wrong!

Being away from home wasn’t Daddy’s fault. I knew that. I also knew that Mom, Johnny and Grandma missed him as much as I did.

Grandma turned on the wireless after supper, and we sat around it listening for any news that might have something, anything, to do with Daddy. Each week we listened to Walter Winchell. Tonight, the radio crackled throughout the broadcast, so I listened extra carefully to hear each word. Winchell talked about the power of the Allied forces.

“They’re Daddy’s troops,” I told Johnny.

“I know,” Johnny said. “That’s the United States, Britain and Candy.”

“Canada,” I whispered. “Not Candy.”

Winchell talked so fast the crackling sounds blocked many of his words. The best I could hear was that the war was still in full swing. A peace treaty didn’t seem likely anytime soon. The newsman also talked about the Axis forces and how German Nazis were killing innocent people.

Johnny looked surprised and rolled his eyes up toward me.

“Bedtime,” Mom said quickly and switched off the wireless.

Johnny darted into our room and high dived onto his bed. Mom followed and picked up toys to make a path.

As I crawled under the covers, Mom perched on the edge of Johnny’s bed and read a story about a prince who turned into a frog and back to a prince.

When Mom closed the book, she told us a goodnight story. Her stories were about the times we spent together with Daddy—picnics on Sunday afternoon, fishing in the North Fork of the Kentucky River and dancing. Tonight, she told us about the day she and Daddy got married.

“I wore the most beautiful dress in the world for the handsomest man ever,” Mom said. A smile curled her mouth as she told us all about her special day.

Mom’s wedding dress was beautiful. Every year on their anniversary, Mom wore her wedding dress and Daddy called her his bride. Johnny and I called her a princess because she looked like one in her fancy outfit.

“I don’t remember your wedding,”Johnny said. “Was I there?”

“No, precious, you weren’t born yet,” Mom answered. She told us about their honeymoon at Cumberland Falls State Park and seeing a moonbow, a rainbow in the mist when the full moon glowed.

“I want to see a moonbow,” Johnny said.

“Me too,” I echoed my brother.

“When Daddy comes home, we’ll take a trip and see a moonbow,” Mom said. She kissed Johnny and then walked over to my bed and kissed me. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered as she closed the door.

In the middle of the night, Johnny’s snores turned to snorts and then to mumbling and grumbling. I couldn’t understand exactly what he said, but I made out the word “Daddy.” I could tell he was having a dream but not a sweet one. Johnny mumbled again.

I crawled out of my bed and slid my feet along the floor, scooting his stuff out of the way. I tried to get to Johnny without killing myself. Ouch! I stubbed my toe on his toy truck. I grabbed my foot and fell onto his bed. Johnny didn’t wake up, but he mumbled, “Daddy” again. I snuggled with him for a few minutes, and he quieted down. “If I stub my toe one more time on his toys that were scattered all over the floor, that boy might have to sleep by himself with his next not-so-sweet dream,” I muttered.

When Johnny finally started sleeping peacefully, Spot whimpered. I knew he heard me moving around and wanted me to tell him what was going on. I stumbled back across the room and raised the window. Sure enough, Spot plopped his two front paws on the side of the house and raised his head for a goodnight kiss. I leaned over and smacked one on top of his head. “Go to sleep, Spot. Johnny had a bad dream, but he’s fine now.”

Spot whimpered again. I crawled back into my bed, and as I rested my head on my pillow, Spot howled, long and low. I crawled out of bed to go talk with him.

As I passed Mom’s bedroom, I heard sniffling sounds. I stood there for a minute and listened with my ear pressed against the closed door. More sniffling scratched the air. Tears of my own spilled down my cheeks, leaving my eyes red and my heart full of emptiness. I tried to be brave, but missing Daddy and our family being together muddled my brain.

I tiptoed through the kitchen and eased open the door. I didn’t want Mom to know I heard her. She would only worry more.

Spot trotted over to me. “Can’t you sleep tonight, boy?” I asked.

Spot shook his head.

“Neither can I. Gumption is not easy to come by.” We sat under the stars a few minutes in the warm night air. I sat wondering when Daddy would return home and if he was safe. Spot shook his head again. He didn’t know the answer.

Recently, my mom hadn’t been talking much, not like she used to. Grandma seemed different as well.

This time, Spot nodded his head in a different direction, showing he had noticed the same thing.

“Grandma listens to the wireless more, not music—the news. She’s listening to hear something about Daddy.”

Spot sniffed and whimpered. I began to think about how I had seen the worry lines mapping Grandma’s face that hadn’t been there before Daddy left.

“Mom tells me that when I start feeling blue about Daddy being gone, I should sit right down and write him a letter. I have never felt bluer, Spot, so I think I’ll go back in the house and make good use of a sharp pencil.”

Spot nodded.

Dear Daddy,

We got your letters today, and I read mine five times. Mrs. Martin said I was the best reader in sixth grade. I get lots of practice reading all your letters.

Mom is going to take me with her to the orchard next Saturday. I can’t wait. Did you know that apple blossoms make apples? A real apple grows from a flower. Mom learned how to prune apple trees. That means she cuts out some of the branches. Mom said cutting branches opened the tree to let more sunshine in.

When you come home, Daddy, I’ll show you the orchard. Maybe we can pick some apples this fall.

Grandma had a surprise for Johnny and me Wednesday when we got home from school. She hung a rope from a big limb on the oak tree in the front yard. She sawed a piece of wood for the seat and made us a swing. Spot let me hold him in my lap, and we swung together.

Remember when we looked at the bicycles at Wilson’s General Store? He has a red one I like. It looks brand-new. Mr. Wilson buys secondhand bicycles and fixes them. Mom says maybe next year I can get a bicycle. I hope it is still there next year. With the war going on, Mr. Wilson said he had a hard time getting new bicycles. He even has a hard time getting secondhand bicycles.

I miss your goodnight stories, and I miss dancing with you.

I love you,

Gracie Girl

P.S. Johnny is still messy. I’ve started calling him Rubble Trouble. The problem is he likes his new name. Last night, a lightning bug got in our bedroom. I told Johnny it was a mosquito with a flashlight looking for stuff in messy rooms, stuff that shouldn’t be left out, and if the light shines on any stuff, the mosquito takes it. Johnny said a flashlight-packing mosquito didn’t bug him because it was too little to carry off his good stuff. He said it was probably the right size to carry off my hair ribbons hanging on the bureau. Rubble Trouble is a tough nut to crack.