American Triumph: 1939-1945: 4 STORIES IN 1

by Susan Martins Miller, Norma Jean Lutz, Bonnie Hinman

  Mrs. Hoffman had tacked up a big map of the world on one wall of their classroom, and the students had pinned tiny American flags on every place where soldiers they knew served. For a few, the flags represented their fathers, and for others it was brothers or sisters or other relatives. Jennie had carefully pinned up a flag for Roger in Italy and one for Mike Fancher in China.

  Some students pinned up little black crosses on the map for soldiers they knew who had died. One student put a cross over Hawaii because his brother had died in the attack on Pearl Harbor. Mrs. Hoffman said it was good to remember those who died, that it helped the pain go away just a little. Jennie was thankful that there were many more flags than crosses on the map. That gave her hope that Roger’s and Mike’s flags wouldn’t have to be changed to crosses.

  A week passed, and Jennie was getting worried about the Girl Scouts’ float. Every idea they’d had so far didn’t work out. One of the troop members had thought she could borrow a farm wagon from her uncle who lived south of Seattle. The girl’s uncle said that was fine, but unless the girl wanted to pull it herself, there was no way to get it into Seattle. Her uncle’s old truck had long since been parked because the tires were too worn, and new ones were hard to get. The uncle’s family rode the bus everywhere.

  “I don’t see how we can make a float when we don’t have anything to put it on,” Colleen said one afternoon after school while she and Jennie were collecting fat in the hotel again.

  “True,” Jennie agreed, “but that’s not all. If we had a wagon, how would we decorate it? I haven’t been able to find any paper that we can use for streamers. All I have is two old posters from the Victory garden contest. We could write on the back of those.”

  “This war and all the shortages mess up everything,” Colleen said.

  Jennie nodded. She couldn’t argue with Colleen’s words. There were exciting things about the war, but mostly it was a lot of trouble and pretty scary.

  The friends made a couple more stops to get fat and headed for Mr. Romano’s apartment. “Have the boys come up with anything?” Colleen asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Jennie answered, “but I think so. Tommy and Stan were making a list last night, and all the boys were talking together at recess today.”

  “They’ve thought of something,” Colleen said glumly, “that’s for sure.”

  “Don’t give up,” Jennie said. “We’ll figure it out. Those boys aren’t going to beat us.” At least she hoped not. She thought she had heard Tommy tell Mama that Stan’s father knew about an old trailer. Another boy said they could use his brother’s motorcycle to pull the trailer. If that were so, then the Boy Scouts were halfway to having a real float. It would be small, but small or large didn’t matter if you didn’t have anything at all to pull a float.

  “Hi there.” Mr. Romano opened the door and ushered the girls into his apartment. “I’m just getting the dirty clothes ready to take to the Chinese laundry.” He inspected a blue shirt he held. “I don’t know where in the world Pietro gets these nasty red stains on his work shirts.”

  “Maybe at work?” Jennie grinned. She took her can over to the stove, where she knew Mr. Romano’s small fat-collecting can sat.

  Mr. Romano chuckled. “Seems likely, doesn’t it? Only problem is that Pietro is a welder. He’s said before that he wears a heavy leather apron. These stains aren’t burns anyhow. They’re more like ink.” The older man peered again at the shirt in his hand. “Oh well. It doesn’t matter. Stains are stains, and these don’t come out.” He dropped the shirt in a pile of clothes. “What are you two up to these days?”

  Jennie motioned for Colleen to steady the big can while she poured the contents of the smaller one into it. “We’re trying to make a float for the parade Saturday, but so far we don’t have a wagon or anything to put it on.”

  “And we don’t have a good idea, either,” Colleen added. “We think the Boy Scouts do, though.”

  “Always trying to beat the boys, aren’t you?” Mr. Romano asked.

  “Not much chance of that this time,” Colleen said.

  “We’ll think of something.” Jennie took the big can from Colleen once more. “Any ideas, Mr. Romano?”

  “Let’s see.” Mr. Romano frowned in thought. “Hmm, an idea for a float, you say?”

  “Anything at all,” Jennie said.

  “I wonder if you might not look at the problem from a different direction,” the old man said. “Perhaps a float isn’t the only possibility—or at least not the wagon or trailer kind of float.”

  “Like what?” Jennie asked.

  “I saw something in a magazine the other day,” Mr. Romano said. “Now where did I put that?” He leaned over to rummage in a box that sat by his big chair. In a moment he pulled a magazine out and flipped it open. “Here it is.” He pointed to a picture. “I thought this was a great idea for a slogan.”

  Jennie put down the fat can and crowded close with Colleen to stare at the magazine. The girls saw a picture of several boys with one wearing a Boy Scout uniform. It looked like they were in a parade because they were lined up in a street and carried a big banner. Jennie stared at the banner. It said, “THE AXIS CAN’T GET OUR GOAT. BUY MORE WAR BONDS AND STAMPS.” In the midst of the boys stood a goat.

  “Wow!” Jennie said. “This is great. We wouldn’t need a wagon or anything.”

  “We’d just dress in our Girl Scout uniforms, kind of like we were soldiers,” Colleen said.

  “And we could make a big sign with those old posters,” Jennie added.

  “But where would we find a goat?” Colleen asked and looked glum once more.

  Jennie’s smile broadened. “I think we can take care of that, too. Remember how Karen talks about having to drink goat’s milk and sometimes she brings goat cheese to school?”

  “She hates it.” Colleen nodded.

  “Her grandmother lives farther south, where she has a little backyard. She keeps a goat in it. We’ll borrow her goat for the parade.” Jennie went to the door. “Come on, let’s go call Karen. Thanks, Mr. Romano.”

  “Thanks a bunch,” Colleen added and followed Jennie.

  “You’re welcome, girls,” Mr. Romano said. “It was nothing.”

  The girls were in the hall before Mr. Romano called, “Wait—don’t forget your can!”

  Jennie darted back to pick up the can she had left in the middle of Mr. Romano’s floor. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Guess I’m kind of excited. The boys sure won’t have a goat.”

  “Probably not.” Mr. Romano smiled and shut his door.

  “Let’s go to the hotel office and call Karen.” Jennie hurried down the hall. “I think this will be great.”

  Jennie was relieved that the goat idea seemed to work out fine. Karen’s grandmother said she didn’t care if Dody came to town for the big parade. The girls made the sign, found a fake mustache for the girl who was to be Hitler pretending to get their goat, and waited for Friday.

  The parade was scheduled for 2:00 p.m., and school was to be let out early for the event. Mrs. Hoffman had a hard time settling down the fourth-grade students so they could take their spelling test that morning.

  The Boy Scouts had brought their float to the school playground early on Friday since the parade starting point was nearby. Jennie had to admit that the boys’ float was nice. They had used all sorts of tin cans and other scrap to build a shape that looked quite a bit like a tank. When the parade was over, they would haul the float straight to the collection station for recycling.

  Everyone who could hurried home at lunchtime to put on costumes or bring other items for the parade. Right before the bell rang, the girls all met in a corner of the playground to be sure they had everything.

  “Hey, girls,” a breathless voice yelled. Jennie turned to see Karen pulling at a rope attached to a brown and white goat that didn’t seem too excited about being led across the playground. The animal stopped every few feet and refused to budge until Karen tugged and held out
a piece of grass. Then the goat would walk another few steps, stop, and repeat the process.

  Jennie, Colleen, and the others ran up to Karen and the goat. “I thought your sister was going to bring Dody right before the parade,” Jennie said.

  “She got called in to work,” Karen said, “and my mother said she wasn’t touching this ornery goat. Since my uncle brought Dody from Grandma’s this morning, she’s already chewed up one side of my mother’s clothes basket and the corner of a sheet.” Karen raised her hands in defeat. “I had to bring her with me.”

  “We’ll tie her up to the fence in the shade over there.” Jennie pointed across the graveled playground to near where the Boy Scout float was parked, waiting for the parade. “Quick, before the bell rings, run and pull her some grass to eat.”

  Colleen and a couple other girls ran toward a patch of grass in front of the school.

  “Come on, Dody,” Jennie coaxed. “Let’s go.” Jennie put her hands by Karen’s on the rope and tugged gently. After giving a delicate snort, Dody allowed herself to be led over to the fence, where the girls tied the goat’s rope in a double knot. In a minute Colleen and the others were back with handfuls of grass, which Dody immediately began munching.

  “I hope she’ll stay put,” Karen said nervously. The bell rang, and the girls rushed to line up at the back door of the school.

  “She’ll be fine,” Jennie said. “She’s tied up and has grass to eat. Besides, we’ll be dismissed in less than an hour.”

  Karen cast a last worried glance at her goat as the girls marched into school. “I hope so.”

  Mrs. Hoffman tried to calm down everyone, but for once the class couldn’t seem to concentrate as their teacher read Tom Sawyer to the class. The students wiggled, whispered, and strained to look out the window at Dody, who was just out of sight around a corner. When the principal appeared in their doorway and asked Mrs. Hoffman to come to his office, she threw up her hands and told the students to leave, even if it was ten minutes early.

  Jennie stopped at the water fountain for a drink, which made her almost the last person out the back door. By the time she reached the playground, a big commotion was coming from near the Boy Scout float.

  “That goat is eating our float!”

  “Stop her, someone!”

  “Grab her rope!”

  The boys yelled, and the girls laughed. Dody stood calmly in the middle of the turmoil, chewing on a tin can she had pulled off the float.

  Jennie couldn’t keep from laughing, too. Karen’s grandmother had said that goats would eat anything, but Jennie hadn’t thought that meant tin cans, too.

  “What are you laughing about?” Tommy asked. He planted himself in front of his sister, his hands on his hips. “That animal is destroying our float.”

  Jennie laughed some more. “You’ve got to admit that it’s pretty funny. A tin can, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Stop her!” Tommy yelled.

  “Oh, all right,” Jennie said. “Dody can’t hurt that float,” she muttered as she joined Karen in grabbing the goat’s neck.

  “What happened to her rope?” Jennie looked around.

  “I think this is all that’s left.” Karen held up a frayed scrap of rope. “I guess she ate all her grass and then the rope.”

  “I guess.” Jennie grinned. “We’ve got to have some kind of rope.” She looked around again. There were only angry boys and snickering girls. “Here, Colleen, help Karen hold onto Dody. I’ll run inside and see if Mrs. Hoffman has any rope in the closet.”

  “Hurry up,” Tommy ordered.

  Jennie did hurry. The other classes had emptied out, too, so the halls were quiet. Just as she dashed around the corner, she heard an odd noise. She stopped and listened, forgetting her mission. It came from her classroom, where the door stood partway open. She walked quietly up and peeked in the door. Mrs. Hoffman sat at her desk with her head down. The noise was the muffled sound of her crying.

  Jennie backed up as a chill raced through her. She wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to bother Mrs. Hoffman, but should Jennie help? What was wrong? She retreated into the hall as she tried to decide.

  At the sound of foodsteps, Jennie swung around to see Tommy.

  “Did you get the rope?” he demanded. “That goat got away again.”

  Jennie put her finger over her lips to hush Tommy. He frowned but obeyed. “What’s wrong?” Tommy whispered.

  Jennie tiptoed over to the classroom door and motioned. “I don’t know if we should go in or not,” she whispered.

  Tommy peeked in the room and looked back at his sister, eyes wide with concern. They looked at each other for a moment before Jennie said, “Come on. Let’s see if we can help.”

  They entered the classroom, which seemed unfamiliar when filled with the sound of weeping. Slowly they walked to Mrs. Hoffman. “What’s wrong? Can we help?” Jennie asked.

  Mrs. Hoffman raised a tear-stained face from her arms. Jennie felt like she might cry, too. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Hoffman?” Jennie asked again.

  The tears ran freely down Mrs. Hoffman’s face, but Jennie saw their teacher take a deep breath. “I’m sorry to be crying.” She swiped at her face with a hand and sniffed. “It’s just that …” She hesitated, and the tears poured down her cheeks once again. “It’s my husband. He’s been shot down. Killed …” Sobs shook her shoulders, and she placed her head on her arms once more.

  Shock zapped through Jennie. The handsome pilot in the picture gone, just like that? How could that be? Jennie knew men died in the war, lots of men, but surely not the kind of men who took time to write to kids. Not the kind of men who had wives as nice as Mrs. Hoffman.

  Shock turned to anger. This wasn’t fair. God wasn’t fair if He let such things happen. Jennie wanted to shake her fist and yell out her anger. But she didn’t. Maybe later she could do that, but now all she could do was stand beside Tommy. Behind them a breeze puffed in through the open windows and fluttered the flags that stuck out of their map. Jennie stared at that map, which would have one less flag and one more cross now. Her eyes prickled, and a tear ran down her cheek.

  CHAPTER 8

  Birthday Surprises

  The parade went on that day, but the sparkle was gone for all the students from Mrs. Hoffman’s class. Dody had cooperated as well as a goat could, and the boys had walked beside their float as the motorcycle pulled it slowly down the street. The principal had driven Mrs. Hoffman home after she had hugged Jennie and Tommy and asked them to tell the others. It was a black day for Mrs. Hoffman’s fourth-grade class.

  But the days of fall went by, and eventually even Mrs. Hoffman’s pale face perked up a little. Her students tried their best to behave, and she often told them how much it helped her feel better. Mr. Hoffman’s flag on the map was the only one that had been switched to a cross so far that fall. Jennie prayed every day that Roger’s wouldn’t be next.

  The family had received occasional letters from Roger, and they guessed he was still fighting in Italy. The letters had stopped abruptly at the end of October, which made everyone a bit uneasy. The radio announcer said that the fighting in Italy was fiercer and taking much longer than expected, but that the Allies were gaining ground foot by foot.

  Mr. Romano still hadn’t heard from his brother, and there was no news about Mike Fancher. Jennie had heard her father say that no news was good news. Maybe that was the case with Mike and Roger and Mr. Romano’s brother.

  Guests moved in and out of the hotel, and always there were a million sheets to change and acres of floors to sweep and mop. Pietro still lived with Mr. Romano, although as far as Jennie could tell, he only ate and slept at his cousin’s apartment. Jennie thought the man only lived with Mr. Romano to eat the Italian man’s cooking, because Pietro was definitely getting plumper.

  Christmas was quiet for everyone. Jennie wondered if the others were remembering last Christmas when people were saying that the war would be over by the next year. Nobody said that now. Th
is was the third Christmas that Roger had been gone, and Mama’s face was solemn as the family bundled up to go to church on Christmas Eve.

  Jennie planned to pray all the way through the service. She was over being mad at God, but she still didn’t understand very much about this war. Mama had said that the Bible tells people to pray without ceasing, so that’s what Jennie planned to do.

  January started out cold and dreary. The sun didn’t peek out for days at a time. Jennie and Tommy plodded through their chores at the hotel, arguing every chance they got. All Jennie wanted was one sunny afternoon when she and Colleen could go down to the waterfront, sit on the wharf, and watch the dockworkers unload ships. But it didn’t happen.

  Then Trudy caught a bad cold. She was sick for two weeks, and the others had to take over her work. Jennie didn’t mind because her sister had done Jennie’s work many times, but Jennie missed the only two sunny afternoons. By the time Trudy was better, it was the end of January and the day of Jennie’s and Tommy’s birthdays. They had been born on the same day one year apart, and they always celebrated together. Jennie was turning ten years old, and Tommy would be nine.

  “Do you think they’ve forgotten about our party?” Tommy asked. The pair were on cleanup duty again that Saturday morning. They were supposed to be sweeping the lobby and long hallways.

  “Maybe,” Jennie said as they dragged the dust mops out of the closet.

  “I didn’t think Mama would forget.” Tommy frowned.

  “Me either,” Jennie said, “but maybe she’ll remember later. Don’t say anything for a while. If she still doesn’t remember, we’ll give her some hints.”

  “We could do that, couldn’t we?” Tommy’s face perked up.