Home Fires of the Great War

-->

This is the first two chapters of my first book, "Home Fires of the Great War." 

 
-->

Chapter 1

            “Maria and Lydia, you will be partners. Lucas and Andrew . . .”

            Ria Mitchell didn’t listen to the rest of the partner list. After all, she knew who she was with. Glancing across the school room, she caught her friend’s eye and smiled. Lydia returned the smile. They were to do this project, whatever it was, together. It would be such fun! Much more interesting than alone.

            “All right, class,” Miss Bryant’s voice broke into Ria’s thoughts. “ It is now time for your assignment. Together with your partner, I want you to prepare a report on some hero or heroine of the Great War. We have studied the war quite a bit, and you should have no trouble. I want a five hundred word written report as well as an oral report to be given on April 17, the day we remember the entry of the U.S. into the war. That is the day the entire school will be giving their presentations on the Great War. That gives you all two weeks in which to get this done. Are there any questions? Yes, Max.”

            “What if we choose someone that someone else chose?”

            Miss Bryant smiled. “Then we should know a lot about that person when you are done. Yes, Hannah.”

            “Can we do it on a group of people, like the lost battalion or the Choctaw code talkers?”

            “Well, I suppose that would be all right, but it must be a very special group of heroes or heroines without a prominent figure. Are there any more questions?” Miss Bryant glanced around the room. “Amber?”

            “Can one person write and one person do the oral report?”

            “Only if you both worked on both parts.”

            A few more questions were asked and then class was dismissed.

            “Oh, Lydia!” Ria exclaimed, grabbing her friend’s hand and almost dragging her out into the bright sunshine. “Just think! We get to do this together! Now, who shall we choose?”

            Lydia tossed her blonde braids back over her shoulders and squinted around at all the other groups that had formed around the yard. “I don’t know.”

            “Well, I don’t want to do anyone really famous like General Pershing, Eddie Rickenbacker or Alvin York. Some others are bound to do them. I’d rather do someone that no one else would think of doing. Some forgotten hero.” Ria’s dark eyes sparkled, and she gave a little skip of excitement which caused her dark hair to bounce as well. Her eagerness was contagious, and Lydia, usually quiet and more reserved, squeezed her friend’s hand and sighed,

            “Wouldn’t that be grand! But who could we do?”

            The two friends fell silent, and their steps slowed as they pondered. They still hadn’t said a word more when some five minutes later they turned up a shady walk to Lydia’s house.

            “Why don’t we ask your mother?” Ria suggested. “Perhaps she knows someone we could write about.”

            Lydia looked a little doubtful, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Mrs. Smith shook her head when the question was put to her.

            “Girls,” Mrs. Smith spoke slowly and with a strong French accent, “I was just nine years old when the war ended. I don’t know of anyone except General Pershing or one of those well known figures. Maria, perhaps your mother would be of more help.”

            Ria caught at the suggestion eagerly. “Mrs. Smith, may Lydia come home with me? Perhaps Mom does know someone, and then we could get started. I’m sure one of my brothers would come with me to see her safely home later.” She looked hopefully at Mrs. Smith.

            “Oh, please, Mama,” Lydia begged.

            “If you are sure your mama wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Smith said, hesitating a little. She knew Maria Mitchell quite well as she nearly always stopped by for Lydia before school and walked home with her afterwards. And Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell weren’t complete strangers to her, yet she didn’t know them really well. She didn’t want her daughter to be a bother.

            “Oh, Mom won’t mind at all!” Ria exclaimed, sure now that Lydia could go. “She loves having us bring our friends over. And my cousins are always stopping by, but they are all boys, and sometimes Mom and I wish for at least one other girl.”

            Mrs. Smith smiled. “All right. Lydia, just make sure you are home by 5:00.”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            It was two very excited but out-of-breath girls that arrived panting at the Mitchell home several minutes later. Ria’s home was set back a little ways from the tree-lined street in the small town of Plainville, Kansas. The house was in a quiet neighborhood where everyone knew and watched out for each other. The Mitchell home, with its wide front porch and large windows, was the usual gathering place for all Ria’s brothers and cousins, but the only one home when the girls reached the house was Mrs. Mitchell.

            “Come on, Lydia,” Ria urged, opening the screen door. “Mom, where are you?”

            “Right here,” a cheery voice sounded from the kitchen.

            Ria rushed in, followed a little more slowly by Lydia. “Oh, ginger cookies!” Ria dumped her books on the table and quickly sat down and reached for a fresh, hot cookie that was filling the air with its spicy aroma.

            Mrs. Mitchell laughed, “Make sure you save a few for the gang. Hello Lydia. Come, sit down and have a few cookies. How was school today?” she asked, sitting down herself after pouring two glasses of milk for the girls.

            Ria nodded, her mouth too full of cookie to talk for the moment. As soon as she was able, she began. “Mom, we need your help. We are supposed to do a report on a hero or heroine of the Great War, and we don’t know who to write it on. We don’t want it to be about any of the usual famous people. We were hoping you knew of someone.”

            “Do you each have to do a report?”

            “No, we’re doing it together. We’re partners. Can you think of anyone, Mom?”

            Mrs. Mitchell became thoughtful. Ria finished her last swallow of milk and waited in silent anticipation for her mother’s answer.

            “Well,” Mrs. Mitchell began slowly. “I can’t think of anyone, but,” she added as she saw the look of disappointment pass between the two friends, “I do have some old letters that I wrote to my cousin Maria during the war. Perhaps we could find someone in those, but don’t get your hopes up too high.”

            “Oh,” Lydia sighed. “Mama says that there are mysteries in some old letters. She has one from someone she has never met. It is really old and only signed with a first name. We can’t read the name, though I think it looks like it could be Mary or some such thing. She doesn’t know where it came from, but it is addressed to her. She said one of her sisters found it somewhere and sent it to her. She wrote to ask where it came from, but no one has answered yet.”

            “Where did your Mom come from?” Ria questioned.

            “Well, from Florida, but she said when she was really little she lived in Quebec. And she knew lots of girls named Mary, but she is sure none of them wrote the letter, so I suppose it will have to remain a mystery.” Lydia looked as though she didn’t like that thought.

            “Maybe we will find a mystery about a long forgotten hero or heroine that we can report on from your letters, Mom!” Ria was all eagerness.

            Mrs. Mitchell laughed. “I don’t think you’ll find any mysteries, and I’m not sure about heroes in any of my old letters, girls.” She stood up and untied her apron. “But if you are ready to go help me look, we’ll see if we can find them.”

            The attic, large and dusty, with its strange assortment of boxes, trunks, old furniture and what not, was lit by a single bulb hanging from the rafters. Mrs. Mitchell, Ria and Lydia gathered around an old chest and carefully sorted through it, pulling out anything that might be a letter.

            “Mom, don’t you have any that you wrote? All I can find are ones addressed to you from Maria.”

            “Yes, my Aunt Amelia sent me all the others after my cousin died. I think they might be in the desk downstairs.”

            At last, when not a scrap of paper that might possibly be a letter had been left in the trunk, the three searchers departed the warm attic for the cooler region below. In the desk, as Mrs. Mitchell had thought, a stack of old letters all tied neatly together was found. Ria could scarcely contain her enthusiasm.

            “I just know we’ll find someone to write about!” She seized Lydia and whirled around the room.

            “Hey, what’s going on?” a voice exclaimed from the doorway.

            “Yes, what is all this excitement?” The speakers were two tall, identical looking lads about eighteen years of age.

            Ria stopped breathless in the middle of the room. “A school project! Lydia and I have to do it together,” she panted, but her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she looked at her twin brothers. “It is just the most wonderfullest project I’ve ever had to do at school before!”

            Lydia had quietly moved over to Mrs. Mitchell and had begun to try to help her sort all the papers gathered from the trunk. She didn’t know these two brothers of Ria’s very well. Oh, she knew their names, though not which one was Johnny and which Jimmy. At times she envied Ria who had four older brothers and who was herself the youngest of the family. Lydia was an only child. Her family had moved to Plainville only last year, and it had taken Lydia some time to make friends with most of the girls at school. Ria was an exception. She had at once befriended the quiet, shy girl who spoke French as well as English. Lydia listened to the friendly teasing going on between the twins and Ria joined soon after by Ed and Chris, the eldest and youngest of Ria’s brothers.

            “Ria,” Mrs. Mitchell finally called, “I thought this project was for both of you. Come over and help sort.”

            With a few more merry words to her brothers, Ria skipped over to the table and began to help. Many of the letters were folded together, but some had become separated after so many years and it was with difficulty that at last nearly one full year of letters lay neatly together.

            “I’m afraid I wasn’t very careful with my cousin’s letters,” Mrs. Mitchell remarked somewhat ruefully. “I didn’t even keep them in the same place. If we find some letters missing, we might have to go look at Grandma’s house. I don’t know if we’ll find any, but there might be a few here and there in the attic or somewhere. Do you girls want to read these yourselves or would you rather I read them out loud?”

            “Out loud!” exclaimed both girls in one breath, Ria adding, “It’ll be much more interesting that way.”

            Mrs. Mitchell smiled. “All right. What time do you have to be home today, Lydia?”

            “By 5:00.”

            “Then,” glancing at the clock on the wall, “we won’t start these today seeing it is so late. If your Mom is willing, come tomorrow, and we’ll begin reading them. That will give me a little more time to sort some more of these.”

            Lydia nodded. “I think she will be willing if I’m not a bother.”

            “Of course you’re not a bother! Be sure you tell your mother I’d be more than happy if she could come someday too. Sometimes we need a few more females around here, don’t we, Ria?” Mrs. Mitchell laughed. “Ria, why don’t you go find out if one of your brothers can go with you to walk Lydia home.”

            Ria departed to return a moment later with Ed. The trio departed, Ria chattering eagerly with Lydia while Ed walked quietly behind them, smiling at his sister’s ambition of finding some lost hero. Mrs. Mitchell watched them until they were out of sight, then turning back to the pile of letters, she fell to work again.

            By the time the girls arrived at the Mitchell home the next day, all the letters that had been found were sorted and ready for reading. Eagerly they settled themselves on the porch swing with their cookies and milk to listen.

            Mrs. Mitchell opened the first letter. “I think you girls should know that I and my twin brother were thirteen when this first letter was written. That would make my cousin thirteen as well, for she was only three days younger than we were. We lived out on the farm where Grandma and Grandpa still live near Codell here in Kansas while my cousin lived in Nova Scotia, Canada in a small fishing village.” Then she began to read.

Saturday

February 27, 1915

Codell, Kansas

USA

Dear Cousin Maria,

            How are things in Princeville with Uncle Frederick gone? Have you heard from him yet? I can’t imagine what it would be like to have Daddy gone to war. At least Uncle is a doctor, not a soldier. Is Mark being a good man of the house? Do you still have snow? We have a lot. In fact, we have so much snow that we aren’t going to school now. Probably the children in town can get to school, but all the folks out of town are kind of snowed in. Or should I say, snowed out?

            It snowed on the 23rd. Huge flakes came down rapidly. So rapidly that they didn’t have time to melt like much of our snow does. At times it was almost a white out! It was quite exciting. Vincent and Georgie ran from window to window to see how deep the snow was on things. One of our little pine trees got so loaded down with snow that it bent completely over, making a little arch. Daddy and David had to tie a rope from the house to the barn, so they wouldn’t get lost. It snowed all day Tuesday and a little bit on Wednesday, just enough to look pretty when the flakes came down. Yesterday we had such fun that I will tell you all about it.

            It was a great day for playing in the snow. It was cloudy and cold, but there wasn’t any bitter wind blowing. The snow was perfect for packing. After breakfast, we all, even Mama and Rosalie, bundled up and headed out. Edmund and I were the first ones out the door. When Daddy and David came out, we pelted them with snowballs. That started the fun. Soon everyone was throwing snowballs! That is except Rosalie. She just played with the snow on the porch and watched us. After a while, Edmund suddenly whispered to me, “Follow me!” I did, and we slipped away around the house. Once we were safely out of sight, Edmund said quietly, “Now quickly, up on the porch roof.” I looked somewhat doubtfully at the snow-covered roof. You remember it isn’t steep or very high, but I wasn’t too sure about all that snow on top. Before I could protest, Edmund had climbed the tree and was on the roof. “Hurry!” he urged me. I scrambled up the tree, and Edmund grabbed my hand and helped me step across onto the roof. Once I was up, it wasn’t too bad. Quietly we made our way to the corner of the house and began to make snowballs.

            “Now,” Edmund whispered, and we began to fire snowballs as fast as we could. Edmund is a good shot, and one of his snowballs hit David on the side of the head.

            Carrie saw us first and started shouting, “On the roof!” Everyone turned to look. That is when the snow really began to fly! Everyone turned on us. Soon we were out of snow.

            “Come on,” Edmund whispered. “Let’s crawl back where we can get more snow.” I nodded and began to slowly inch my way backwards. David caught on to what we were doing and running around the house began to bombard us from behind. I decided to go forward and let Edmund go back. The roof hadn’t been too slippery with all the snow on it, but now that the roof was scraped bare it was beginning to get slick. I was afraid I would slide off.

            “Edmund,” I said as I ducked snowballs. “Let’s surrender.”

            “Surrender?” Edmund exclaimed. Just then a large snowball hit him right in the face! A shout of laughter sounded from the ground. When he could talk, Edmund shouted, “We surrender!” The snowballs stopped. Now we just had to get down. That wasn’t easy.

            Edmund asked where the nearest pillar on the porch was. Some said left and some right. Finally Daddy said he was right in between them. Edmund crawled backwards until he was right above one. Slowly and carefully he lowered himself then disappeared off the roof. A moment later I saw him on the ground. “Come on, Lucy!” he called encouragingly. “Your turn now.”

            “Go forward,” Daddy said. “You’re closer to that pillar.” I crawled quite slowly until I was told to stop. For some reason, as soon as Edmund was not on the roof anymore, I felt very unsafe. I was told to crawl backwards towards the edge of the roof! I started slipping a little as I crawled.

            “Stop!” Edmund shouted. I froze. “You’re right above the pillar, so reach back and grab the gutter; it will hold you. Then wrap your legs around the pillar and slide down!” It sounded simple enough, but I wasn’t so sure it was going to be that easy.  I took a deep breath, and with one hand grabbed the gutter. There were shouts of excitement from the ground as I grabbed the gutter with the other hand. Slowly I slid until I was off the roof. “Wrap your legs around the pillar,” Edmund directed. I tried, but I couldn’t move. My legs were twisted up in my skirt, and my skirt was caught on something.

            “I can’t!” I called down. “My skirt is stuck!”

            “Can you fix it?” Daddy asked.

            “No!” I answered.

            “Boys,” Daddy ordered “go free your sister!”

            “Hurry!” I wailed. “My hands are starting to slip!” David and Edmund each rushed for a pillar and climbed up. Hand over hand on the gutter they came to my rescue. David managed to unhook my dress from a large nail, and I slid down the pillar to safety. Maria, don’t ever climb on a snow-covered roof even if Mark coaxes and coaxes! Finally, with all safely on the ground, we went inside to drink hot cocoa.

            Georgie’s birthday was the day before we got the big snow. It is hard to believe he is five years old now! He is just as funny as ever. The morning of his birthday he wouldn’t comb his hair. But that isn’t anything unusual. When he came down to breakfast, he was a sight. His hair stuck up in some places while in others it lay flat against his head the wrong way. He had his shirt buttoned all wrong, and his shoes were on the wrong feet. Edmund said he wouldn’t let anyone help him dress. Daddy took one look at him and nudged Mama who was at the stove. When she turned around, she started laughing.

            “Georgie,” she said with a chuckle, “you wore that shirt on Saturday and got a stain on it, and I haven’t washed it yet. Vincent, run and get him a clean shirt, please.”

            Vincent ran off and soon returned with a clean shirt. Daddy helped Georgie put on and button the clean shirt before he asked if his feet didn’t hurt. Georgie nodded.

            “Well,” Daddy said, “your shoes are on the wrong feet.” Georgie’s eyes opened wide and he looked at his feet.

            “But Daddy,” Georgie said, clearly confused, “these are the only feet I’ve got!” Daddy smiled broadly and showed him what he meant. Once his shoes were on correctly and before Georgie could slip away, Daddy pulled a comb out of his pocket and began to comb Georgie’s unruly hair.

            “No! My hair!” Georgie wailed, trying to back away from the comb.

            Mama smiled and remarked, “No combed hair, no breakfast.” That has been the rule in our house for as long as I can remember, but Georgie never seems to believe it. Since we were having pancakes, fried eggs, and sausage, Georgie decided to submit this once to having his hair combed.

            Oh, we got a letter from Uncle Philip Vincent Bartholomew Wallace III last week! As I told you before, he was visiting friends in France, and when the Germans went to war, Uncle Philip joined the French army. He is with the “Chasseurs.” I think that is how to spell it though I have no idea how to say it. Uncle Philip’s handwriting is very hard to read. Mama said it has always been that way. Uncle Philip is Mama’s “baby brother” as she calls him still, and she used to try to make him write nicer. It never worked. Before Uncle Philip left for France, he thought he might become a news reporter because he loves to tell stories and write. The only problem is that no one except Mama and himself can read his writing! Sometimes even Mama can’t figure it out. Uncle Philip said he was in the Vosges Mountains and having a “bully good time.” Daddy said that he thought the Vosges Mountains were a part of the Alps. I will let you know when I hear anything else of interest from Uncle Philip.

            A couple weeks ago, Edmund and I walked through the woods to Mrs. Conway’s house. (Everyone calls her Grandma.) We were taking her some things Daddy had picked up in town for her. While we were there eating cookies and drinking milk, she told us about something that people used to do on February 14. She said they called it St. Valentine’s Day. People would make or buy beautiful lace and cute (Edmund thought they were ugly) cards for their sweethearts or ones they wanted to be their sweethearts and give them to them. Sometimes the ladies would give the young men locks of their hair. Grandma showed us a few that she had saved. One said:

            You’re as charming as the violet,

            As lovely as the rose.

            In two more days you will be mine.

            With all my love, your Valentine.

            Wasn’t that just elegant? Grandma said that she thinks St. Valentine's Day used to be a pagan celebration, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know who St. Valentine was either. When we went to school the next day, we asked. I’ll tell you what we found out.

            Most people think that St. Valentine lived during the reign of the Roman Emperor, Claudius II. As Edmund so bluntly puts it, Claudius II was rather stupid. He decided that married men didn’t make good soldiers, so he made a law that said no young man could get married. St. Valentine didn’t think that was very nice or wise, so he secretly performed marriage ceremonies for couples. I also heard that St. Valentine helped the Christians who Claudius II was persecuting. Claudius didn’t like that, and he had St. Valentine killed.

            I thought that was quite interesting. I don’t know how much of it is actually true, but I thought you might enjoy it.

            I am out of things of interest to write about now. Though that doesn’t always stop me from writing as you should know by now. You always were a good listener, so I am assuming you are just as good a reader. Do you still read as much as you used to? I don’t read much. Though I read more in the winter than in the summer. Maybe sometime I will read more. I used to, but now . . . I think I just read too many books and got tired of reading. Anyway, I am going to end this letter before it gets too uninteresting.

            Edmund is leaning over my shoulder reading this as I write. He says it’s not uninteresting, it’s just almost boring. Now he says I wasn’t supposed to write that. Sorry, too late now. Edmund said that he didn’t have anything to tell you other than what I have told you already.

            Good-bye, my dear cousin. God bless and keep you! Please let us know anything you hear from Uncle Frederick. We are praying for him and your family!

With all my love,

Emma

            Ria and Lydia exchanged eager, excited glances as Mrs. Mitchell ended the first letter and picked up the second one. Neither one spoke, however, and after a slightly amused glance at the waiting friends, she started reading again.
Chapter 2

Thursday

March 25, 1915

Princeville, Nova Scotia

Canada

Dearest Emma,

            Greetings from the cold northlands of Nova Scotia, and to be more precise, from bonnie Princeville. We have snow still, or I should say, again. I don’t expect this to last too much longer as it appears to be snowing again, and more than likely it will turn to rain before it stops. Such is the way of the weather. We are all well here. Mama isn’t quite herself, but let me tell you why. Another baby is on the way! Mama said we should expect it sometime in late May or early June. Oh, I wish Papa were home! I don’t know what we will do without him when the baby comes. Pray for us, Emma dear. I’m trying not to worry, but some days it is hard to cast my cares on my Savior and leave them there. The younger two don’t know about the baby yet and probably won’t until it comes.

            We received a letter from Papa yesterday. Actually we received three wonderful long ones!  These are the first we have received since he left for Europe, other than a short one saying that they had all arrived safely. Papa said that they arrived at Plymouth (Now this is the British Plymouth not the U.S. Plymouth though how I wish it were the U.S.), on October 14, but now they are in France. They arrived on the 11th of February.  He didn’t say where they had landed in France. Maybe that is censored information.  Papa hasn’t done much doctoring yet though he had his hands full of seasick men when they crossed the English Channel. He says the men are all hoping to be sent to the front soon. Papa is not sure just where he will be, whether up in the front with the army or in the rear at the hospitals. Either way he says,

            “I will do my best for Christ, as a Soldier of the King, as I strive to help my fellow men with their physical and spiritual wounds.”

            Doesn’t that sound just like Papa? He also thinks that the war will be over soon, now that the Canadians have come to help. I pray that it will. Surely the Germans won’t keep fighting for very long. Please keep praying, Emma, as I know you will.

            Emmaline Louise! How could you climb on a snow-covered roof just to play snowballs! Sometimes I think you are impossible. Though on second thought, it’s not you, it’s Edmund that is impossible. Tell him that I thought he had more sense than to actually encourage you in something like that! I’m very glad to hear that you made it safely to the ground. Have no fear for me, Mark could plead until he was blue in the face, and I still wouldn’t get on our roof. When I read your letter to the family, Mark declared that he could do that if we had any trees close enough. Edith raised her eyebrows and said, “You would most likely slide right off the roof and down the cliffs. And then where would you be?”

            “In the water,” Mark answered with a grin.

            Edith continued, “And by the time you were rescued from the water, you would be so cold and frozen that it would take Mama and Maria two days at least to thaw you out.”

            Mark shivered at the very thought and observed, “Well, it would probably take longer than that because I wouldn’t be able to get more wood for the fire.” We all laughed. I don’t believe Mark has any intention of climbing on the roof. At least I certainly hope not!

            Please be sure to give Georgie a birthday hug from us all. Lydia Ruth says to give him a kiss for her and one from Ab’gail. (That is her favorite dolly.) She has just told me she wants to send Georgie a letter from her, so I will do my best to write it down.

            Georgie, I like my hair combed. When you write de newspapers, will you please write ‘bout me an’ Ab’gail? Can you come play with me sometime? Don’t bring any doggies. They frightfull me ‘cause once a doggie tooked Ab’gail and runned off. Papa bringed her home. Love, Lydia Ruth

            Speaking of Lydia Ruth, let me tell you what she did the other day. She was supposed to be taking a nap, but instead she rolled around until she was all tangled up in her blanket. Since she couldn’t get untangled by herself, and I suspect she wanted to know what was going on downstairs, she struggled out of bed, staggered to the stairs and tried to go down. Being all tangled up in her blanket as she was, she couldn’t see the steps and ended up tumbling all the way down the stairs until she reach the closed door at the bottom. She didn’t cry. I think she was so well padded with the blanket that she didn’t feel a thing. Edith and I were sitting in the front room knitting socks while Mark read a book to us. Mama was lying down resting in her room. Suddenly Mark stopped reading and said, “Listen.” We heard bump, bump, bump, a dull thud, and then silence. We looked at one another, puzzled at the noise. Edith stood up, remarking, “I’m going to go see what that was.” Mark and I followed her to the stairs. When the door was opened, out rolled a bundle, and we heard Lydia Ruth say in muffled tones, “I went bump, bump, bump all de way down de stairs.”

            “Lydia Ruth!” Edith exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

            “Uh, huh,”Lydia Ruth replied from the depth of her blanket. We quickly untangled her, and Edith led her back to bed still saying, “I went bump, bump, bump. . .” Mark and I went back to the front room where we looked at each other, and Mark said softly, “Bump, bump, bump.” Then we both laughed.

            It has begun to rain, as I thought it would. The weather rock is quite accurate. Have I ever told you about our weather rocks? If the rocks are wet, it is raining. If they are warm and dry, the sun is shining. If they are white, it means snow, and if you can’t see them, it is foggy. What do you think of them? Perhaps Edmund can find a weather rock for you. Just remember, they have to be a certain kind of rock, or they might not work. They are truly accurate as long as they are kept outside. Mark wanted to go outside and play last week, but it was raining, so what did he do but go and bring the weather rock inside and put it by the fire. In a little while the rock was warm and dry. Mark then went to Mama and asked if he could go outside. She shook her head saying it was raining.

            “Mama,” Mark said, “ the weather rock says it is sunny and dry.” With a grin, he then produced his rock to prove his point. Mama and Edith laughed heartily. So did I when Edith told me the story that night as we were getting into bed.

            That was fascinating about St. Valentine. I didn’t know any of that. I find I am inclined to agree with Edmund in regard to Claudius II.  I would have loved to see those valentines. They sound quite charming. Do you think we should try sending some valentines next year?  Who would we send them to anyway?

            I do read still. Not as much as I used to because I have read all the books in the village.  Well, I haven’t read Mr. Campton’s law books yet. I did look at them the other day, but I couldn’t make head nor tail out of any of it. So please just keep writing long interesting letters, and I won’t have to resort to law books for something new to read. I have continued somewhat with my drawing though I haven’t done much lately. I am hoping to pick it back up with the warmer weather.

            I really must go now.  I am sorry this is so short. Tell Edmund to keep off the roof.  Give my love to everyone. Everyone else here sends their love as well.  God bless each of you!

Your loving cousin,

Maria

P.S. If your uncle is with the Chasseurs, then you pronounce it “Shaaa-Sur.” You are supposed to make the “r’s” do something, but I can’t write it on paper. Don’t you know anyone who knows French? I mean besides me and your uncle.

            “Mom, you sure could have used Lydia then as she can speak French.”

            Mrs. Mitchell smiled. “I once tried to get my uncle to teach me French, but it did no good. I still can’t pronounce anything correctly. He said I slaughtered every word, so I gave it up. Now, should I read more or are you tired of them?”

            Both heads nodded eagerly as the girls pleaded for the next one.

Tuesday

April 20, 1915

Codell, Kansas

USA

My Dear Maria,

            It was a delight, as usual, to get your letter. Things seem rather quiet up there. There was a little excitement here three weeks ago, but now things are almost back to normal. Spring is definitely here. The trees are all budding, the daffodils are in full bloom along with tulips and irises. There are still some crocuses blooming, but most of them have finished. The redbuds and dogwoods look so delightful as do the apple and cherry trees in the orchard. A robin has her nest right outside the boys’ window, and a cardinal nest is outside ours. A house wren built a nest on the porch roof near the kitchen. They are noisy little things but so cute and friendly that no one minds the noise.

            Let me tell you about the excitement we had on Saturday the third. The morning was beautiful! Deep blue sky with piles of white fluffy clouds and wonderful, bright sunshine. A pleasant warm breeze was blowing from the South, and Mama and I thought it would be a perfect day to wash clothes. Carrie helped, and by midmorning the clothesline was full of clean clothes snapping gaily in the wind. Just after dinner Mr. Jones came riding up to ask if Mama would please go stay with his wife who was about to give birth. He was going for the doctor. Daddy headed at once to the barn to hitch Royal up to the buggy while Mama got ready to go. Since Royal was being unruly, Daddy said he would go with Mama as he knew that we could handle things here. Mama hurried out to the buggy while giving last minutes instructions to us all. She didn’t know if she would be able to be home in time to start supper, but if not, I was to make soup. Rosalie began to cry as Mama and Daddy drove away, but David picked her up and comforted her.

            “Come,” I said briskly when the buggy was lost to sight around the bend. “Let’s all work really hard and see if we can get the house clean before Mama comes back, as a surprise for her.”

            “But I worked all morning, and I want to play now,” Vincent grumbled.

            “Yeah, me too,” Georgie echoed.

            David looked at the little boys with a “don’t start complaining” look as he admonished, “Well, grumbling won’t let you play any sooner, so you might as well smile.”

            “Besides,” Edmund added, “we are done in the barn until evening chores, so we will all help.”

            With all the help, it didn’t take long to clean the house. When we finished, I noticed that it was beginning to look like it could rain. Quickly I checked to make sure the windows were shut before hurrying out to bring in the clothes. Carrie came out with Rosalie and, leaving her on the porch, came to help me. The little boys were running around enjoying their freedom. Suddenly the wind began to blow harder, and I looked up to see a large dark funnel heading in our direction! “Carrie!” I yelled. “Get Rosalie, and get to the cellar! Vincent! Georgie! To the cellar!” I hugged the basket of clothes closer in my arms as I ran after the children. The wind was whipping my dress and hair and almost taking my breath away. I reached the cellar as Carrie tried to open the heavy doors with Rosalie in one arm. Quickly I grabbed the handle with my free hand, but even with both of us pulling, we couldn’t get the door open more than a few inches because of the wind. Suddenly Edmund was there, and with a strong pull he jerked the door open.

            “Inside, quickly!” he ordered.

            Carrie and I hurried down the dark steps, quickly followed by the boys and dogs. The rain began to fall just as the wind slammed the door shut behind Edmund, leaving us in total darkness.

            Rosalie was crying, and Georgie begged, “This is too scary. Open the door.”

            Edmund struck a light, and by the dim flame he found a lantern left here for just such times and lit it.

            “We might as well sit down and wait,” I observed cheerfully, and taking Rosalie I sat down. The others followed my example in silence. The noise outside was dreadful. It sounded like someone was dropping hundreds of marbles on the doors. I looked at Edmund who sat with one arm around Georgie.

            “Hail,” was his brief answer to my questioning look. All of a sudden I noticed that someone was missing!

            “David!” I gasped.

            Hurriedly I put Rosalie on Carrie’s lap and was standing up when Edmund caught my arm and commanded firmly, “Sit down, Emma. No one is going anywhere right now!”

            “But, Edmund, David . . .”

            “Lucy,” Edmund interrupted and gave me a look which made me sit down again, take Rosalie back on my lap and hide my face in her hair. I felt Edmund gently squeeze my arm, and I knew what he meant. There was no way we would be able to open the cellar door in this wind, and even if we could, how would we find David and get back to the cellar?

            “Let’s pray for him,” Edmund said. So, in the quiet of the cellar with the rain pounding on the doors as if seeking entrance, and the wind howling and whistling outside, Edmund led us in prayer, not only for David’s safety, but for Mama and Daddy’s and anyone else who was in the path of the twister. A peaceful feeling came over me as he prayed.

            After what seemed like hours, but were really only minutes, the storm passed. The rain stopped, and the wind was quiet. Edmund stood up, ascended the stairs and pushed the door open. The air that came in was quite cool, and for a moment Edmund stood in the doorway looking around. Then he turned to us and beckoned, saying as he did so, “You can come on out. Vincent, blow the lantern out. Carrie, can you bring the basket of clothes to me? I’ll carry it to the house.”

            Soon we were all outside. There didn’t seem to be much damage done. A few branches were down, and a small part of the fence was broken. Together we walked to the house. It seemed undisturbed, and Georgie opened the door for us. We had no sooner gotten inside when Georgie asked, “Where’s David?” I think that was on all our minds, for everyone looked at Edmund.

            “You all stay in the house or on the porch. Emma and I will go look for him,” he said. Quickly we headed out. “He could be in the barn,” Edmund suggested.

            “Could be,” I consented, “but don’t you think he would have come out by now?” Edmund didn’t reply. We decided to each go a different way around the barn. As I rounded the corner, I looked out toward the pasture. Suddenly I began to run, as I shouted, “David!” When I reached him, I saw at once that he was injured. He was lying unconscious on his left arm and a gash was across his head. In a moment Edmund was there too, and pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it against David’s head while I chafed his hands and wrists and called his name. Soon he opened his eyes and looked at us in a confused way.

            “What happened?” he murmured.

            “There was a tornado,” I replied.

            Edmund added, “It looks like you got hit by something.” David gave a weak smile and some of his humor came out.

            “I always did want to see the eye of a tornado. If whatever hit me hadn’t knocked me quite as hard, I might have gotten to see one.” I smiled a little and hoped he never would see one. “I don’t know why I’m just lying here,” David continued as he started to sit up. It was then that he noticed that his arm was hurt, and he leaned back against Edmund with a stifled groan.

            “Here,” I pulled my apron off and began to make a sling for his arm. “maybe this will help until we get you to the house.” Slowly and carefully we helped him stand up. Then we headed for the house with David leaning on Edmund’s shoulder and me supporting his arm.

            All the children were gathered around the porch as we came up. Their comments sounded just like them.

            Carrie exclaimed, “ David, you are completely soaked!”

            Vincent shook his head, observing, “You won’t be doing chores tonight.”

            “I’ll write you for my newspaper! I’m sure you’ll sell a lot!” Georgie added eagerly. That last comment made us all smile. Edmund helped David upstairs to their room while I tried to calm the children and start supper. Before long the older boys were back down, and David had dry clothes on, much to Carrie’s relief. She was afraid he would catch pneumonia. David sank onto a chair holding his left arm and looking worn out.

            Edmund came over to me and said in a low voice, “I think he needs a doctor.”

            “I wish Maria were here,” I sighed. “She’d know what to do.”

            Edmund grinned and pulled a piece of my hair that had fallen down as he teased, “Should I go telegraph her to come on the next train?” I made a face at him then glanced at David.

            “Don’t be silly. Go ask David what we should do. After all he’s the oldest.” When the question was put to him, he said he could wait until Daddy came home.

            Just then we heard Daddy saying cheerfully, “Well, Rosalie, where is everyone else? Did they blow away in the storm?” The younger boys rushed out and practically dragged Daddy into the kitchen, both of them talking at once. Daddy looked a little bewildered until he saw David. After hushing the boys’ chatter, Daddy went over to him and asked with a smile, “What’s your story?”

            “I tried to ride the twister, but it threw me off.” There was a general laugh before David told how he had not seen the twister and had gone to check on the animals in the pasture. When it began hailing, he turned to run to the barn, but something hit him on the head, and he knew nothing until Edmund and I found him. While David talked, Daddy was quietly examining his face, which now that he was in the light, one could see was covered with small bruises and scrapes. Daddy started moving his hand over David’s arm, but David started and caught his breath in so sharply because of the pain that Daddy let it alone.

            “Well,” Daddy responded when David’s story was finished. “Let’s see if we can take care of your face, and when the doctor comes, he can see to your arm. Emma, can you put some water on to boil?”

            “Daddy, when is the doctor coming? When, Daddy, when?” Georgie was jumping up and down with excitement. The prospect of the doctor seemed to fill him with delight though I don’t know why.

            “When he brings your Mama home,” Daddy replied patiently.

            Soon the water boiled, and Daddy, Edmund, and I went to work. Suddenly Edmund sniffed the air and questioned, “Do I smell something burning?” I sprang to my feet with a cry of dismay, nearly knocking Edmund over in my haste to get to the stove.

            “My soup!” I wailed as I pulled the lid off the pot and let it fall with a clatter to the floor. “I scorched it!” Everyone started laughing though I couldn’t see anything funny.

            “Oh, Lucy,” Edmund chuckled. “You can’t do two things at once.”

            “Then why don’t you make supper?” I demanded.

            “He can’t do two things at once either, Emma,” Daddy consoled though he still smiled.

            “What am I going to do, Daddy?” I questioned looking at the pot of soup in front of me. It was Carrie that came to the rescue by suggesting that we pour the soup that wasn’t scorched into another pot and make more. Edmund offered to scrub the scorched pot for me. Hardly had we gotten things fixed and cleaned up when Mama and Doctor Pierson came in. The doctor said that David’s shoulder was out of socket, and he had sprained it severely. After taking care of David, Doctor Pierson stayed for supper at Daddy’s request.

            The soup really wasn’t too bad, though Edmund couldn’t resist muttering under his breath just loud enough for me to hear, “I just ate a scorched potato.” I kicked him under the table, and we both grinned. By the time I got to bed that night, I was exhausted.

            Oh, Maria! I can’t believe I have written this much already and only told you about one day! If I continue to write this much about each day, it will take you a week to read it! I really didn’t mean to write that much, but there didn’t seem to be anything I could leave out. Edmund laughed when I told him that and said he could tell the story in one sentence. So could I, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

            Now let’s see, what else has happened? Carrie turned ten last Monday. She hasn’t changed much since you saw her last. Only grown taller, and she doesn’t have her little girl look anymore. Carrie found Callie’s kittens on her birthday. There were six of them. Don’t ask me what their names are because I can’t remember. I don’t seem to remember ordinary things like that very well.

            How is Aunt Amelia? Mama was so excited to hear the news. A new cousin, I can hardly wait! Please let us know when you hear from Uncle Frederick again. We are praying for him. No news from Uncle Philip. Thanks for telling me how to pronounce Chasseurs. I know a family who speaks Swedish, and one other person who speaks a little bit of French but doesn’t read it at all. We really haven’t heard much news on the war. It all seems so far away. Almost as though it isn’t happening. I know it doesn’t seem that way to you with Uncle gone.

            I did hear an interesting story that happened aboard the USS San Diego. I heard the story, well, read it, from my cousin Margaret (Mama’s younger brother John’s only daughter), who had heard it from her friend, Mary who lives in California and whose father is a fireman on board the USS San Diego. What a long sentence! I am going to copy the story from Margaret’s letter, which she copied from Mary’s letter, which she copied from her father’s letter, and I suppose you will copy it from my letter and send it to someone else. Another long sentence, but here is the story:

            I was busy in fire room number 2 on January 21, when Ensign Cary came in to take the half hour readings of the steam pressure from the boilers. Everything seemed normal, and Ensign Cary had just stepped through the electric watertight door into number 1 fire room when the boilers in my room exploded! Second Class Trinidad of the Philippines and Second Class Daly and I were half blinded by the steam of the ruptured boilers. I for one didn’t know just what to do or where to go. Suddenly Ensign Cary’s thundering voice came through the steam yelling for us to get out of the room. Trinidad and I followed his voice to the door where we found him holding open the door which was being closed electrically from the bridge. I was coughing and choking and couldn’t see very well, but Trinidad noticed that Daly wasn’t with us and rushed back into the room. He soon returned with an injured Daly across his shoulders. Ensign Cary had held the door open for an entire minute with the steam all around him so that Trinidad could rescue Daly. Just as Trinidad was entering fire room number 4 with Daly, the boilers in number 3 fire room also exploded. Trinidad had no thought for himself, but passing Daly on to me, he returned into fire room 3 and assisted in rescuing another injured man from there. He was burned about the face by the blast of the second explosion. We were all given medical treatment and are all doing well now, thank God! The ship is all right and the boilers now fixed. Ensign Cary was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor as was Second Class Fireman Trinidad.

            Lydia Ruth sounds darling. I loved her little letter. Georgie said he would come play with her in fifty years, and then he would comb his hair. I don’t think Rosalie will ever tumble down the stairs wrapped in her blanket. She isn’t a wiggle worm when she goes to bed.

            I asked Edmund if he would find me a weather rock. He thought a moment before agreeing. He found one, and it works. Most of the time. Sometimes Vincent takes it into the barn, and then it doesn’t work.

            What a long letter. This ought to keep you from resorting to law books for something new to read. At least for a little while. I didn’t mean to write this much, but then I never mean to write a lot, and yet I usually do.  Please give Edith a birthday hug from me. Also one from Mama, Daddy, and Carrie. The boys send birthday greetings. Edmund said to tell you that he was on the roof of the house and the porch roof. He and Daddy were fixing the roof where it was leaking in the attic when it rained. David would have been up there with them except that his sprained arm wasn’t all the way well.

            I must end this and go help with supper. I don’t want to have scorched anything this time, or I would never hear the end of it. At least Mama is here. May God bless you, my dear cousin! I am praying for you.

Your affectionate cousin,

Emma

            “Well, girls, I think that is going to have to be all for today,” Mrs. Mitchell remarked, folding up the letter she had just finished and slipping it back into its envelope.

            “Oh, just one more, please!”

            “Do we really have to stop?”

            Mrs. Mitchell laughed. “If I don’t stop and start on supper, you’ll have to explain to your dad and brothers why there is no supper.”

            Ria made a face at the thought but brightened instantly. “You don’t have to go home yet, Lydia, so we can talk about them at least.” She perched herself on the railing, her feet dangling above the porch.

            There was a moment of silence between the two friends as each was lost in thought.

            “I didn’t notice any heroes yet.”

            Lydia shook her head. “Me either. Unless we did it on your mom’s uncle.”

            “Uncle Philip Vincent Bartholomew Wallace III?”

            “Uh, huh.”

            Ria frowned. “I don’t think he was a hero because he didn’t do anything except get wounded. If the U.S. had been in the war, we could do it on the guys on the USS San Diego. Perhaps we should wait until Mom has read more letters.

            Lydia agreed, and soon the girls were busy with something else.

ur partner, I want you to prepare a report on some hero or heroine of the Great War. We have studied the war quite a bit, and you should have no trouble. I want a five hundred word written report as well as an oral report to be given on April 17, the day we remember the entry of the U.S. into the war. That is the day the entire school will be giving their presentations on the Great War. That gives you all two weeks in which to get this done. Are there any questions? Yes, Max.”

            “What if we choose someone that someone else chose?”

            Miss Bryant smiled. “Then we should know a lot about that person when you are done. Yes, Hannah.”

            “Can we do it on a group of people, like the lost battalion or the Choctaw code talkers?”

            “Well, I suppose that would be all right, but it must be a very special group of heroes or heroines without a prominent figure. Are there any more questions?” Miss Bryant glanced around the room. “Amber?”

            “Can one person write and one person do the oral report?”

            “Only if you both worked on both parts.”

            A few more questions were asked and then class was dismissed.

            “Oh, Lydia!” Ria exclaimed, grabbing her friend’s hand and almost dragging her out into the bright sunshine. “Just think! We get to do this together! Now, who shall we choose?”

            Lydia tossed her blonde braids back over her shoulders and squinted around at all the other groups that had formed around the yard. “I don’t know.”

            “Well, I don’t want to do anyone really famous like General Pershing, Eddie Rickenbacker or Alvin York. Some others are bound to do them. I’d rather do someone that no one else would think of doing. Some forgotten hero.” Ria’s dark eyes sparkled, and she gave a little skip of excitement which caused her dark hair to bounce as well. Her eagerness was contagious, and Lydia, usually quiet and more reserved, squeezed her friend’s hand and sighed,

            “Wouldn’t that be grand! But who could we do?”

            The two friends fell silent, and their steps slowed as they pondered. They still hadn’t said a word more when some five minutes later they turned up a shady walk to Lydia’s house.

            “Why don’t we ask your mother?” Ria suggested. “Perhaps she knows someone we could write about.”

            Lydia looked a little doubtful, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Mrs. Smith shook her head when the question was put to her.

            “Girls,” Mrs. Smith spoke slowly and with a strong French accent, “I was just nine years old when the war ended. I don’t know of anyone except General Pershing or one of those well known figures. Maria, perhaps your mother would be of more help.”

            Ria caught at the suggestion eagerly. “Mrs. Smith, may Lydia come home with me? Perhaps Mom does know someone, and then we could get started. I’m sure one of my brothers would come with me to see her safely home later.” She looked hopefully at Mrs. Smith.

            “Oh, please, Mama,” Lydia begged.

            “If you are sure your mama wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Smith said, hesitating a little. She knew Maria Mitchell quite well as she nearly always stopped by for Lydia before school and walked home with her afterwards. And Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell weren’t complete strangers to her, yet she didn’t know them really well. She didn’t want her daughter to be a bother.

            “Oh, Mom won’t mind at all!” Ria exclaimed, sure now that Lydia could go. “She loves having us bring our friends over. And my cousins are always stopping by, but they are all boys, and sometimes Mom and I wish for at least one other girl.”

            Mrs. Smith smiled. “All right. Lydia, just make sure you are home by 5:00.”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            It was two very excited but out-of-breath girls that arrived panting at the Mitchell home several minutes later. Ria’s home was set back a little ways from the tree-lined street in the small town of Plainville, Kansas. The house was in a quiet neighborhood where everyone knew and watched out for each other. The Mitchell home, with its wide front porch and large windows, was the usual gathering place for all Ria’s brothers and cousins, but the only one home when the girls reached the house was Mrs. Mitchell.

            “Come on, Lydia,” Ria urged, opening the screen door. “Mom, where are you?”

            “Right here,” a cheery voice sounded from the kitchen.

            Ria rushed in, followed a little more slowly by Lydia. “Oh, ginger cookies!” Ria dumped her books on the table and quickly sat down and reached for a fresh, hot cookie that was filling the air with its spicy aroma.

            Mrs. Mitchell laughed, “Make sure you save a few for the gang. Hello Lydia. Come, sit down and have a few cookies. How was school today?” she asked, sitting down herself after pouring two glasses of milk for the girls.

            Ria nodded, her mouth too full of cookie to talk for the moment. As soon as she was able, she began. “Mom, we need your help. We are supposed to do a report on a hero or heroine of the Great War, and we don’t know who to write it on. We don’t want it to be about any of the usual famous people. We were hoping you knew of someone.”

            “Do you each have to do a report?”

            “No, we’re doing it together. We’re partners. Can you think of anyone, Mom?”

            Mrs. Mitchell became thoughtful. Ria finished her last swallow of milk and waited in silent anticipation for her mother’s answer.

            “Well,” Mrs. Mitchell began slowly. “I can’t think of anyone, but,” she added as she saw the look of disappointment pass between the two friends, “I do have some old letters that I wrote to my cousin Maria during the war. Perhaps we could find someone in those, but don’t get your hopes up too high.”

            “Oh,” Lydia sighed. “Mama says that there are mysteries in some old letters. She has one from someone she has never met. It is really old and only signed with a first name. We can’t read the name, though I think it looks like it could be Mary or some such thing. She doesn’t know where it came from, but it is addressed to her. She said one of her sisters found it somewhere and sent it to her. She wrote to ask where it came from, but no one has answered yet.”

            “Where did your Mom come from?” Ria questioned.

            “Well, from Florida, but she said when she was really little she lived in Quebec. And she knew lots of girls named Mary, but she is sure none of them wrote the letter, so I suppose it will have to remain a mystery.” Lydia looked as though she didn’t like that thought.

            “Maybe we will find a mystery about a long forgotten hero or heroine that we can report on from your letters, Mom!” Ria was all eagerness.

            Mrs. Mitchell laughed. “I don’t think you’ll find any mysteries, and I’m not sure about heroes in any of my old letters, girls.” She stood up and untied her apron. “But if you are ready to go help me look, we’ll see if we can find them.”

            The attic, large and dusty, with its strange assortment of boxes, trunks, old furniture and what not, was lit by a single bulb hanging from the rafters. Mrs. Mitchell, Ria and Lydia gathered around an old chest and carefully sorted through it, pulling out anything that might be a letter.

            “Mom, don’t you have any that you wrote? All I can find are ones addressed to you from Maria.”

            “Yes, my Aunt Amelia sent me all the others after my cousin died. I think they might be in the desk downstairs.”

            At last, when not a scrap of paper that might possibly be a letter had been left in the trunk, the three searchers departed the warm attic for the cooler region below. In the desk, as Mrs. Mitchell had thought, a stack of old letters all tied neatly together was found. Ria could scarcely contain her enthusiasm.

            “I just know we’ll find someone to write about!” She seized Lydia and whirled around the room.

            “Hey, what’s going on?” a voice exclaimed from the doorway.

            “Yes, what is all this excitement?” The speakers were two tall, identical looking lads about eighteen years of age.

            Ria stopped breathless in the middle of the room. “A school project! Lydia and I have to do it together,” she panted, but her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she looked at her twin brothers. “It is just the most wonderfullest project I’ve ever had to do at school before!”

            Lydia had quietly moved over to Mrs. Mitchell and had begun to try to help her sort all the papers gathered from the trunk. She didn’t know these two brothers of Ria’s very well. Oh, she knew their names, though not which one was Johnny and which Jimmy. At times she envied Ria who had four older brothers and who was herself the youngest of the family. Lydia was an only child. Her family had moved to Plainville only last year, and it had taken Lydia some time to make friends with most of the girls at school. Ria was an exception. She had at once befriended the quiet, shy girl who spoke French as well as English. Lydia listened to the friendly teasing going on between the twins and Ria joined soon after by Ed and Chris, the eldest and youngest of Ria’s brothers.

            “Ria,” Mrs. Mitchell finally called, “I thought this project was for both of you. Come over and help sort.”

            With a few more merry words to her brothers, Ria skipped over to the table and began to help. Many of the letters were folded together, but some had become separated after so many years and it was with difficulty that at last nearly one full year of letters lay neatly together.

            “I’m afraid I wasn’t very careful with my cousin’s letters,” Mrs. Mitchell remarked somewhat ruefully. “I didn’t even keep them in the same place. If we find some letters missing, we might have to go look at Grandma’s house. I don’t know if we’ll find any, but there might be a few here and there in the attic or somewhere. Do you girls want to read these yourselves or would you rather I read them out loud?”

            “Out loud!” exclaimed both girls in one breath, Ria adding, “It’ll be much more interesting that way.”

            Mrs. Mitchell smiled. “All right. What time do you have to be home today, Lydia?”

            “By 5:00.”

            “Then,” glancing at the clock on the wall, “we won’t start these today seeing it is so late. If your Mom is willing, come tomorrow, and we’ll begin reading them. That will give me a little more time to sort some more of these.”

            Lydia nodded. “I think she will be willing if I’m not a bother.”

            “Of course you’re not a bother! Be sure you tell your mother I’d be more than happy if she could come someday too. Sometimes we need a few more females around here, don’t we, Ria?” Mrs. Mitchell laughed. “Ria, why don’t you go find out if one of your brothers can go with you to walk Lydia home.”

            Ria departed to return a moment later with Ed. The trio departed, Ria chattering eagerly with Lydia while Ed walked quietly behind them, smiling at his sister’s ambition of finding some lost hero. Mrs. Mitchell watched them until they were out of sight, then turning back to the pile of letters, she fell to work again.

            By the time the girls arrived at the Mitchell home the next day, all the letters that had been found were sorted and ready for reading. Eagerly they settled themselves on the porch swing with their cookies and milk to listen.

            Mrs. Mitchell opened the first letter. “I think you girls should know that I and my twin brother were thirteen when this first letter was written. That would make my cousin thirteen as well, for she was only three days younger than we were. We lived out on the farm where Grandma and Grandpa still live near Codell here in Kansas while my cousin lived in Nova Scotia, Canada in a small fishing village.” Then she began to read.

Saturday

February 27, 1915

Codell, Kansas

USA

Dear Cousin Maria,

            How are things in Princeville with Uncle Frederick gone? Have you heard from him yet? I can’t imagine what it would be like to have Daddy gone to war. At least Uncle is a doctor, not a soldier. Is Mark being a good man of the house? Do you still have snow? We have a lot. In fact, we have so much snow that we aren’t going to school now. Probably the children in town can get to school, but all the folks out of town are kind of snowed in. Or should I say, snowed out?

            It snowed on the 23rd. Huge flakes came down rapidly. So rapidly that they didn’t have time to melt like much of our snow does. At times it was almost a white out! It was quite exciting. Vincent and Georgie ran from window to window to see how deep the snow was on things. One of our little pine trees got so loaded down with snow that it bent completely over, making a little arch. Daddy and David had to tie a rope from the house to the barn, so they wouldn’t get lost. It snowed all day Tuesday and a little bit on Wednesday, just enough to look pretty when the flakes came down. Yesterday we had such fun that I will tell you all about it.

            It was a great day for playing in the snow. It was cloudy and cold, but there wasn’t any bitter wind blowing. The snow was perfect for packing. After breakfast, we all, even Mama and Rosalie, bundled up and headed out. Edmund and I were the first ones out the door. When Daddy and David came out, we pelted them with snowballs. That started the fun. Soon everyone was throwing snowballs! That is except Rosalie. She just played with the snow on the porch and watched us. After a while, Edmund suddenly whispered to me, “Follow me!” I did, and we slipped away around the house. Once we were safely out of sight, Edmund said quietly, “Now quickly, up on the porch roof.” I looked somewhat doubtfully at the snow-covered roof. You remember it isn’t steep or very high, but I wasn’t too sure about all that snow on top. Before I could protest, Edmund had climbed the tree and was on the roof. “Hurry!” he urged me. I scrambled up the tree, and Edmund grabbed my hand and helped me step across onto the roof. Once I was up, it wasn’t too bad. Quietly we made our way to the corner of the house and began to make snowballs.

            “Now,” Edmund whispered, and we began to fire snowballs as fast as we could. Edmund is a good shot, and one of his snowballs hit David on the side of the head.

            Carrie saw us first and started shouting, “On the roof!” Everyone turned to look. That is when the snow really began to fly! Everyone turned on us. Soon we were out of snow.

            “Come on,” Edmund whispered. “Let’s crawl back where we can get more snow.” I nodded and began to slowly inch my way backwards. David caught on to what we were doing and running around the house began to bombard us from behind. I decided to go forward and let Edmund go back. The roof hadn’t been too slippery with all the snow on it, but now that the roof was scraped bare it was beginning to get slick. I was afraid I would slide off.

            “Edmund,” I said as I ducked snowballs. “Let’s surrender.”

            “Surrender?” Edmund exclaimed. Just then a large snowball hit him right in the face! A shout of laughter sounded from the ground. When he could talk, Edmund shouted, “We surrender!” The snowballs stopped. Now we just had to get down. That wasn’t easy.

            Edmund asked where the nearest pillar on the porch was. Some said left and some right. Finally Daddy said he was right in between them. Edmund crawled backwards until he was right above one. Slowly and carefully he lowered himself then disappeared off the roof. A moment later I saw him on the ground. “Come on, Lucy!” he called encouragingly. “Your turn now.”

            “Go forward,” Daddy said. “You’re closer to that pillar.” I crawled quite slowly until I was told to stop. For some reason, as soon as Edmund was not on the roof anymore, I felt very unsafe. I was told to crawl backwards towards the edge of the roof! I started slipping a little as I crawled.

            “Stop!” Edmund shouted. I froze. “You’re right above the pillar, so reach back and grab the gutter; it will hold you. Then wrap your legs around the pillar and slide down!” It sounded simple enough, but I wasn’t so sure it was going to be that easy.  I took a deep breath, and with one hand grabbed the gutter. There were shouts of excitement from the ground as I grabbed the gutter with the other hand. Slowly I slid until I was off the roof. “Wrap your legs around the pillar,” Edmund directed. I tried, but I couldn’t move. My legs were twisted up in my skirt, and my skirt was caught on something.

            “I can’t!” I called down. “My skirt is stuck!”

            “Can you fix it?” Daddy asked.

            “No!” I answered.

            “Boys,” Daddy ordered “go free your sister!”

            “Hurry!” I wailed. “My hands are starting to slip!” David and Edmund each rushed for a pillar and climbed up. Hand over hand on the gutter they came to my rescue. David managed to unhook my dress from a large nail, and I slid down the pillar to safety. Maria, don’t ever climb on a snow-covered roof even if Mark coaxes and coaxes! Finally, with all safely on the ground, we went inside to drink hot cocoa.

            Georgie’s birthday was the day before we got the big snow. It is hard to believe he is five years old now! He is just as funny as ever. The morning of his birthday he wouldn’t comb his hair. But that isn’t anything unusual. When he came down to breakfast, he was a sight. His hair stuck up in some places while in others it lay flat against his head the wrong way. He had his shirt buttoned all wrong, and his shoes were on the wrong feet. Edmund said he wouldn’t let anyone help him dress. Daddy took one look at him and nudged Mama who was at the stove. When she turned around, she started laughing.

            “Georgie,” she said with a chuckle, “you wore that shirt on Saturday and got a stain on it, and I haven’t washed it yet. Vincent, run and get him a clean shirt, please.”

            Vincent ran off and soon returned with a clean shirt. Daddy helped Georgie put on and button the clean shirt before he asked if his feet didn’t hurt. Georgie nodded.

            “Well,” Daddy said, “your shoes are on the wrong feet.” Georgie’s eyes opened wide and he looked at his feet.

            “But Daddy,” Georgie said, clearly confused, “these are the only feet I’ve got!” Daddy smiled broadly and showed him what he meant. Once his shoes were on correctly and before Georgie could slip away, Daddy pulled a comb out of his pocket and began to comb Georgie’s unruly hair.

            “No! My hair!” Georgie wailed, trying to back away from the comb.

            Mama smiled and remarked, “No combed hair, no breakfast.” That has been the rule in our house for as long as I can remember, but Georgie never seems to believe it. Since we were having pancakes, fried eggs, and sausage, Georgie decided to submit this once to having his hair combed.

            Oh, we got a letter from Uncle Philip Vincent Bartholomew Wallace III last week! As I told you before, he was visiting friends in France, and when the Germans went to war, Uncle Philip joined the French army. He is with the “Chasseurs.” I think that is how to spell it though I have no idea how to say it. Uncle Philip’s handwriting is very hard to read. Mama said it has always been that way. Uncle Philip is Mama’s “baby brother” as she calls him still, and she used to try to make him write nicer. It never worked. Before Uncle Philip left for France, he thought he might become a news reporter because he loves to tell stories and write. The only problem is that no one except Mama and himself can read his writing! Sometimes even Mama can’t figure it out. Uncle Philip said he was in the Vosges Mountains and having a “bully good time.” Daddy said that he thought the Vosges Mountains were a part of the Alps. I will let you know when I hear anything else of interest from Uncle Philip.

            A couple weeks ago, Edmund and I walked through the woods to Mrs. Conway’s house. (Everyone calls her Grandma.) We were taking her some things Daddy had picked up in town for her. While we were there eating cookies and drinking milk, she told us about something that people used to do on February 14. She said they called it St. Valentine’s Day. People would make or buy beautiful lace and cute (Edmund thought they were ugly) cards for their sweethearts or ones they wanted to be their sweethearts and give them to them. Sometimes the ladies would give the young men locks of their hair. Grandma showed us a few that she had saved. One said:

            You’re as charming as the violet,

            As lovely as the rose.

            In two more days you will be mine.

            With all my love, your Valentine.

            Wasn’t that just elegant? Grandma said that she thinks St. Valentine's Day used to be a pagan celebration, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know who St. Valentine was either. When we went to school the next day, we asked. I’ll tell you what we found out.

            Most people think that St. Valentine lived during the reign of the Roman Emperor, Claudius II. As Edmund so bluntly puts it, Claudius II was rather stupid. He decided that married men didn’t make good soldiers, so he made a law that said no young man could get married. St. Valentine didn’t think that was very nice or wise, so he secretly performed marriage ceremonies for couples. I also heard that St. Valentine helped the Christians who Claudius II was persecuting. Claudius didn’t like that, and he had St. Valentine killed.

            I thought that was quite interesting. I don’t know how much of it is actually true, but I thought you might enjoy it.

            I am out of things of interest to write about now. Though that doesn’t always stop me from writing as you should know by now. You always were a good listener, so I am assuming you are just as good a reader. Do you still read as much as you used to? I don’t read much. Though I read more in the winter than in the summer. Maybe sometime I will read more. I used to, but now . . . I think I just read too many books and got tired of reading. Anyway, I am going to end this letter before it gets too uninteresting.

            Edmund is leaning over my shoulder reading this as I write. He says it’s not uninteresting, it’s just almost boring. Now he says I wasn’t supposed to write that. Sorry, too late now. Edmund said that he didn’t have anything to tell you other than what I have told you already.

            Good-bye, my dear cousin. God bless and keep you! Please let us know anything you hear from Uncle Frederick. We are praying for him and your family!

With all my love,

Emma

            Ria and Lydia exchanged eager, excited glances as Mrs. Mitchell ended the first letter and picked up the second one. Neither one spoke, however, and after a slightly amused glance at the waiting friends, she started reading again.
Chapter 2

Thursday

March 25, 1915

Princeville, Nova Scotia

Canada

Dearest Emma,

            Greetings from the cold northlands of Nova Scotia, and to be more precise, from bonnie Princeville. We have snow still, or I should say, again. I don’t expect this to last too much longer as it appears to be snowing again, and more than likely it will turn to rain before it stops. Such is the way of the weather. We are all well here. Mama isn’t quite herself, but let me tell you why. Another baby is on the way! Mama said we should expect it sometime in late May or early June. Oh, I wish Papa were home! I don’t know what we will do without him when the baby comes. Pray for us, Emma dear. I’m trying not to worry, but some days it is hard to cast my cares on my Savior and leave them there. The younger two don’t know about the baby yet and probably won’t until it comes.

            We received a letter from Papa yesterday. Actually we received three wonderful long ones!  These are the first we have received since he left for Europe, other than a short one saying that they had all arrived safely. Papa said that they arrived at Plymouth (Now this is the British Plymouth not the U.S. Plymouth though how I wish it were the U.S.), on October 14, but now they are in France. They arrived on the 11th of February.  He didn’t say where they had landed in France. Maybe that is censored information.  Papa hasn’t done much doctoring yet though he had his hands full of seasick men when they crossed the English Channel. He says the men are all hoping to be sent to the front soon. Papa is not sure just where he will be, whether up in the front with the army or in the rear at the hospitals. Either way he says,

            “I will do my best for Christ, as a Soldier of the King, as I strive to help my fellow men with their physical and spiritual wounds.”

            Doesn’t that sound just like Papa? He also thinks that the war will be over soon, now that the Canadians have come to help. I pray that it will. Surely the Germans won’t keep fighting for very long. Please keep praying, Emma, as I know you will.

            Emmaline Louise! How could you climb on a snow-covered roof just to play snowballs! Sometimes I think you are impossible. Though on second thought, it’s not you, it’s Edmund that is impossible. Tell him that I thought he had more sense than to actually encourage you in something like that! I’m very glad to hear that you made it safely to the ground. Have no fear for me, Mark could plead until he was blue in the face, and I still wouldn’t get on our roof. When I read your letter to the family, Mark declared that he could do that if we had any trees close enough. Edith raised her eyebrows and said, “You would most likely slide right off the roof and down the cliffs. And then where would you be?”

            “In the water,” Mark answered with a grin.

            Edith continued, “And by the time you were rescued from the water, you would be so cold and frozen that it would take Mama and Maria two days at least to thaw you out.”

            Mark shivered at the very thought and observed, “Well, it would probably take longer than that because I wouldn’t be able to get more wood for the fire.” We all laughed. I don’t believe Mark has any intention of climbing on the roof. At least I certainly hope not!

            Please be sure to give Georgie a birthday hug from us all. Lydia Ruth says to give him a kiss for her and one from Ab’gail. (That is her favorite dolly.) She has just told me she wants to send Georgie a letter from her, so I will do my best to write it down.

            Georgie, I like my hair combed. When you write de newspapers, will you please write ‘bout me an’ Ab’gail? Can you come play with me sometime? Don’t bring any doggies. They frightfull me ‘cause once a doggie tooked Ab’gail and runned off. Papa bringed her home. Love, Lydia Ruth

            Speaking of Lydia Ruth, let me tell you what she did the other day. She was supposed to be taking a nap, but instead she rolled around until she was all tangled up in her blanket. Since she couldn’t get untangled by herself, and I suspect she wanted to know what was going on downstairs, she struggled out of bed, staggered to the stairs and tried to go down. Being all tangled up in her blanket as she was, she couldn’t see the steps and ended up tumbling all the way down the stairs until she reach the closed door at the bottom. She didn’t cry. I think she was so well padded with the blanket that she didn’t feel a thing. Edith and I were sitting in the front room knitting socks while Mark read a book to us. Mama was lying down resting in her room. Suddenly Mark stopped reading and said, “Listen.” We heard bump, bump, bump, a dull thud, and then silence. We looked at one another, puzzled at the noise. Edith stood up, remarking, “I’m going to go see what that was.” Mark and I followed her to the stairs. When the door was opened, out rolled a bundle, and we heard Lydia Ruth say in muffled tones, “I went bump, bump, bump all de way down de stairs.”

            “Lydia Ruth!” Edith exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

            “Uh, huh,”Lydia Ruth replied from the depth of her blanket. We quickly untangled her, and Edith led her back to bed still saying, “I went bump, bump, bump. . .” Mark and I went back to the front room where we looked at each other, and Mark said softly, “Bump, bump, bump.” Then we both laughed.

            It has begun to rain, as I thought it would. The weather rock is quite accurate. Have I ever told you about our weather rocks? If the rocks are wet, it is raining. If they are warm and dry, the sun is shining. If they are white, it means snow, and if you can’t see them, it is foggy. What do you think of them? Perhaps Edmund can find a weather rock for you. Just remember, they have to be a certain kind of rock, or they might not work. They are truly accurate as long as they are kept outside. Mark wanted to go outside and play last week, but it was raining, so what did he do but go and bring the weather rock inside and put it by the fire. In a little while the rock was warm and dry. Mark then went to Mama and asked if he could go outside. She shook her head saying it was raining.

            “Mama,” Mark said, “ the weather rock says it is sunny and dry.” With a grin, he then produced his rock to prove his point. Mama and Edith laughed heartily. So did I when Edith told me the story that night as we were getting into bed.

            That was fascinating about St. Valentine. I didn’t know any of that. I find I am inclined to agree with Edmund in regard to Claudius II.  I would have loved to see those valentines. They sound quite charming. Do you think we should try sending some valentines next year?  Who would we send them to anyway?

            I do read still. Not as much as I used to because I have read all the books in the village.  Well, I haven’t read Mr. Campton’s law books yet. I did look at them the other day, but I couldn’t make head nor tail out of any of it. So please just keep writing long interesting letters, and I won’t have to resort to law books for something new to read. I have continued somewhat with my drawing though I haven’t done much lately. I am hoping to pick it back up with the warmer weather.

            I really must go now.  I am sorry this is so short. Tell Edmund to keep off the roof.  Give my love to everyone. Everyone else here sends their love as well.  God bless each of you!

Your loving cousin,

Maria

P.S. If your uncle is with the Chasseurs, then you pronounce it “Shaaa-Sur.” You are supposed to make the “r’s” do something, but I can’t write it on paper. Don’t you know anyone who knows French? I mean besides me and your uncle.

            “Mom, you sure could have used Lydia then as she can speak French.”

            Mrs. Mitchell smiled. “I once tried to get my uncle to teach me French, but it did no good. I still can’t pronounce anything correctly. He said I slaughtered every word, so I gave it up. Now, should I read more or are you tired of them?”

            Both heads nodded eagerly as the girls pleaded for the next one.

Tuesday

April 20, 1915

Codell, Kansas

USA

My Dear Maria,

            It was a delight, as usual, to get your letter. Things seem rather quiet up there. There was a little excitement here three weeks ago, but now things are almost back to normal. Spring is definitely here. The trees are all budding, the daffodils are in full bloom along with tulips and irises. There are still some crocuses blooming, but most of them have finished. The redbuds and dogwoods look so delightful as do the apple and cherry trees in the orchard. A robin has her nest right outside the boys’ window, and a cardinal nest is outside ours. A house wren built a nest on the porch roof near the kitchen. They are noisy little things but so cute and friendly that no one minds the noise.

            Let me tell you about the excitement we had on Saturday the third. The morning was beautiful! Deep blue sky with piles of white fluffy clouds and wonderful, bright sunshine. A pleasant warm breeze was blowing from the South, and Mama and I thought it would be a perfect day to wash clothes. Carrie helped, and by midmorning the clothesline was full of clean clothes snapping gaily in the wind. Just after dinner Mr. Jones came riding up to ask if Mama would please go stay with his wife who was about to give birth. He was going for the doctor. Daddy headed at once to the barn to hitch Royal up to the buggy while Mama got ready to go. Since Royal was being unruly, Daddy said he would go with Mama as he knew that we could handle things here. Mama hurried out to the buggy while giving last minutes instructions to us all. She didn’t know if she would be able to be home in time to start supper, but if not, I was to make soup. Rosalie began to cry as Mama and Daddy drove away, but David picked her up and comforted her.

            “Come,” I said briskly when the buggy was lost to sight around the bend. “Let’s all work really hard and see if we can get the house clean before Mama comes back, as a surprise for her.”

            “But I worked all morning, and I want to play now,” Vincent grumbled.

            “Yeah, me too,” Georgie echoed.

            David looked at the little boys with a “don’t start complaining” look as he admonished, “Well, grumbling won’t let you play any sooner, so you might as well smile.”

            “Besides,” Edmund added, “we are done in the barn until evening chores, so we will all help.”

            With all the help, it didn’t take long to clean the house. When we finished, I noticed that it was beginning to look like it could rain. Quickly I checked to make sure the windows were shut before hurrying out to bring in the clothes. Carrie came out with Rosalie and, leaving her on the porch, came to help me. The little boys were running around enjoying their freedom. Suddenly the wind began to blow harder, and I looked up to see a large dark funnel heading in our direction! “Carrie!” I yelled. “Get Rosalie, and get to the cellar! Vincent! Georgie! To the cellar!” I hugged the basket of clothes closer in my arms as I ran after the children. The wind was whipping my dress and hair and almost taking my breath away. I reached the cellar as Carrie tried to open the heavy doors with Rosalie in one arm. Quickly I grabbed the handle with my free hand, but even with both of us pulling, we couldn’t get the door open more than a few inches because of the wind. Suddenly Edmund was there, and with a strong pull he jerked the door open.

            “Inside, quickly!” he ordered.

            Carrie and I hurried down the dark steps, quickly followed by the boys and dogs. The rain began to fall just as the wind slammed the door shut behind Edmund, leaving us in total darkness.

            Rosalie was crying, and Georgie begged, “This is too scary. Open the door.”

            Edmund struck a light, and by the dim flame he found a lantern left here for just such times and lit it.

            “We might as well sit down and wait,” I observed cheerfully, and taking Rosalie I sat down. The others followed my example in silence. The noise outside was dreadful. It sounded like someone was dropping hundreds of marbles on the doors. I looked at Edmund who sat with one arm around Georgie.

            “Hail,” was his brief answer to my questioning look. All of a sudden I noticed that someone was missing!

            “David!” I gasped.

            Hurriedly I put Rosalie on Carrie’s lap and was standing up when Edmund caught my arm and commanded firmly, “Sit down, Emma. No one is going anywhere right now!”

            “But, Edmund, David . . .”

            “Lucy,” Edmund interrupted and gave me a look which made me sit down again, take Rosalie back on my lap and hide my face in her hair. I felt Edmund gently squeeze my arm, and I knew what he meant. There was no way we would be able to open the cellar door in this wind, and even if we could, how would we find David and get back to the cellar?

            “Let’s pray for him,” Edmund said. So, in the quiet of the cellar with the rain pounding on the doors as if seeking entrance, and the wind howling and whistling outside, Edmund led us in prayer, not only for David’s safety, but for Mama and Daddy’s and anyone else who was in the path of the twister. A peaceful feeling came over me as he prayed.

            After what seemed like hours, but were really only minutes, the storm passed. The rain stopped, and the wind was quiet. Edmund stood up, ascended the stairs and pushed the door open. The air that came in was quite cool, and for a moment Edmund stood in the doorway looking around. Then he turned to us and beckoned, saying as he did so, “You can come on out. Vincent, blow the lantern out. Carrie, can you bring the basket of clothes to me? I’ll carry it to the house.”

            Soon we were all outside. There didn’t seem to be much damage done. A few branches were down, and a small part of the fence was broken. Together we walked to the house. It seemed undisturbed, and Georgie opened the door for us. We had no sooner gotten inside when Georgie asked, “Where’s David?” I think that was on all our minds, for everyone looked at Edmund.

            “You all stay in the house or on the porch. Emma and I will go look for him,” he said. Quickly we headed out. “He could be in the barn,” Edmund suggested.

            “Could be,” I consented, “but don’t you think he would have come out by now?” Edmund didn’t reply. We decided to each go a different way around the barn. As I rounded the corner, I looked out toward the pasture. Suddenly I began to run, as I shouted, “David!” When I reached him, I saw at once that he was injured. He was lying unconscious on his left arm and a gash was across his head. In a moment Edmund was there too, and pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it against David’s head while I chafed his hands and wrists and called his name. Soon he opened his eyes and looked at us in a confused way.

            “What happened?” he murmured.

            “There was a tornado,” I replied.

            Edmund added, “It looks like you got hit by something.” David gave a weak smile and some of his humor came out.

            “I always did want to see the eye of a tornado. If whatever hit me hadn’t knocked me quite as hard, I might have gotten to see one.” I smiled a little and hoped he never would see one. “I don’t know why I’m just lying here,” David continued as he started to sit up. It was then that he noticed that his arm was hurt, and he leaned back against Edmund with a stifled groan.

            “Here,” I pulled my apron off and began to make a sling for his arm. “maybe this will help until we get you to the house.” Slowly and carefully we helped him stand up. Then we headed for the house with David leaning on Edmund’s shoulder and me supporting his arm.

            All the children were gathered around the porch as we came up. Their comments sounded just like them.

            Carrie exclaimed, “ David, you are completely soaked!”

            Vincent shook his head, observing, “You won’t be doing chores tonight.”

            “I’ll write you for my newspaper! I’m sure you’ll sell a lot!” Georgie added eagerly. That last comment made us all smile. Edmund helped David upstairs to their room while I tried to calm the children and start supper. Before long the older boys were back down, and David had dry clothes on, much to Carrie’s relief. She was afraid he would catch pneumonia. David sank onto a chair holding his left arm and looking worn out.

            Edmund came over to me and said in a low voice, “I think he needs a doctor.”

            “I wish Maria were here,” I sighed. “She’d know what to do.”

            Edmund grinned and pulled a piece of my hair that had fallen down as he teased, “Should I go telegraph her to come on the next train?” I made a face at him then glanced at David.

            “Don’t be silly. Go ask David what we should do. After all he’s the oldest.” When the question was put to him, he said he could wait until Daddy came home.

            Just then we heard Daddy saying cheerfully, “Well, Rosalie, where is everyone else? Did they blow away in the storm?” The younger boys rushed out and practically dragged Daddy into the kitchen, both of them talking at once. Daddy looked a little bewildered until he saw David. After hushing the boys’ chatter, Daddy went over to him and asked with a smile, “What’s your story?”

            “I tried to ride the twister, but it threw me off.” There was a general laugh before David told how he had not seen the twister and had gone to check on the animals in the pasture. When it began hailing, he turned to run to the barn, but something hit him on the head, and he knew nothing until Edmund and I found him. While David talked, Daddy was quietly examining his face, which now that he was in the light, one could see was covered with small bruises and scrapes. Daddy started moving his hand over David’s arm, but David started and caught his breath in so sharply because of the pain that Daddy let it alone.

            “Well,” Daddy responded when David’s story was finished. “Let’s see if we can take care of your face, and when the doctor comes, he can see to your arm. Emma, can you put some water on to boil?”

            “Daddy, when is the doctor coming? When, Daddy, when?” Georgie was jumping up and down with excitement. The prospect of the doctor seemed to fill him with delight though I don’t know why.

            “When he brings your Mama home,” Daddy replied patiently.

            Soon the water boiled, and Daddy, Edmund, and I went to work. Suddenly Edmund sniffed the air and questioned, “Do I smell something burning?” I sprang to my feet with a cry of dismay, nearly knocking Edmund over in my haste to get to the stove.

            “My soup!” I wailed as I pulled the lid off the pot and let it fall with a clatter to the floor. “I scorched it!” Everyone started laughing though I couldn’t see anything funny.

            “Oh, Lucy,” Edmund chuckled. “You can’t do two things at once.”

            “Then why don’t you make supper?” I demanded.

            “He can’t do two things at once either, Emma,” Daddy consoled though he still smiled.

            “What am I going to do, Daddy?” I questioned looking at the pot of soup in front of me. It was Carrie that came to the rescue by suggesting that we pour the soup that wasn’t scorched into another pot and make more. Edmund offered to scrub the scorched pot for me. Hardly had we gotten things fixed and cleaned up when Mama and Doctor Pierson came in. The doctor said that David’s shoulder was out of socket, and he had sprained it severely. After taking care of David, Doctor Pierson stayed for supper at Daddy’s request.

            The soup really wasn’t too bad, though Edmund couldn’t resist muttering under his breath just loud enough for me to hear, “I just ate a scorched potato.” I kicked him under the table, and we both grinned. By the time I got to bed that night, I was exhausted.

            Oh, Maria! I can’t believe I have written this much already and only told you about one day! If I continue to write this much about each day, it will take you a week to read it! I really didn’t mean to write that much, but there didn’t seem to be anything I could leave out. Edmund laughed when I told him that and said he could tell the story in one sentence. So could I, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

            Now let’s see, what else has happened? Carrie turned ten last Monday. She hasn’t changed much since you saw her last. Only grown taller, and she doesn’t have her little girl look anymore. Carrie found Callie’s kittens on her birthday. There were six of them. Don’t ask me what their names are because I can’t remember. I don’t seem to remember ordinary things like that very well.

            How is Aunt Amelia? Mama was so excited to hear the news. A new cousin, I can hardly wait! Please let us know when you hear from Uncle Frederick again. We are praying for him. No news from Uncle Philip. Thanks for telling me how to pronounce Chasseurs. I know a family who speaks Swedish, and one other person who speaks a little bit of French but doesn’t read it at all. We really haven’t heard much news on the war. It all seems so far away. Almost as though it isn’t happening. I know it doesn’t seem that way to you with Uncle gone.

            I did hear an interesting story that happened aboard the USS San Diego. I heard the story, well, read it, from my cousin Margaret (Mama’s younger brother John’s only daughter), who had heard it from her friend, Mary who lives in California and whose father is a fireman on board the USS San Diego. What a long sentence! I am going to copy the story from Margaret’s letter, which she copied from Mary’s letter, which she copied from her father’s letter, and I suppose you will copy it from my letter and send it to someone else. Another long sentence, but here is the story:

            I was busy in fire room number 2 on January 21, when Ensign Cary came in to take the half hour readings of the steam pressure from the boilers. Everything seemed normal, and Ensign Cary had just stepped through the electric watertight door into number 1 fire room when the boilers in my room exploded! Second Class Trinidad of the Philippines and Second Class Daly and I were half blinded by the steam of the ruptured boilers. I for one didn’t know just what to do or where to go. Suddenly Ensign Cary’s thundering voice came through the steam yelling for us to get out of the room. Trinidad and I followed his voice to the door where we found him holding open the door which was being closed electrically from the bridge. I was coughing and choking and couldn’t see very well, but Trinidad noticed that Daly wasn’t with us and rushed back into the room. He soon returned with an injured Daly across his shoulders. Ensign Cary had held the door open for an entire minute with the steam all around him so that Trinidad could rescue Daly. Just as Trinidad was entering fire room number 4 with Daly, the boilers in number 3 fire room also exploded. Trinidad had no thought for himself, but passing Daly on to me, he returned into fire room 3 and assisted in rescuing another injured man from there. He was burned about the face by the blast of the second explosion. We were all given medical treatment and are all doing well now, thank God! The ship is all right and the boilers now fixed. Ensign Cary was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor as was Second Class Fireman Trinidad.

            Lydia Ruth sounds darling. I loved her little letter. Georgie said he would come play with her in fifty years, and then he would comb his hair. I don’t think Rosalie will ever tumble down the stairs wrapped in her blanket. She isn’t a wiggle worm when she goes to bed.

            I asked Edmund if he would find me a weather rock. He thought a moment before agreeing. He found one, and it works. Most of the time. Sometimes Vincent takes it into the barn, and then it doesn’t work.

            What a long letter. This ought to keep you from resorting to law books for something new to read. At least for a little while. I didn’t mean to write this much, but then I never mean to write a lot, and yet I usually do.  Please give Edith a birthday hug from me. Also one from Mama, Daddy, and Carrie. The boys send birthday greetings. Edmund said to tell you that he was on the roof of the house and the porch roof. He and Daddy were fixing the roof where it was leaking in the attic when it rained. David would have been up there with them except that his sprained arm wasn’t all the way well.

            I must end this and go help with supper. I don’t want to have scorched anything this time, or I would never hear the end of it. At least Mama is here. May God bless you, my dear cousin! I am praying for you.

Your affectionate cousin,

Emma

            “Well, girls, I think that is going to have to be all for today,” Mrs. Mitchell remarked, folding up the letter she had just finished and slipping it back into its envelope.

            “Oh, just one more, please!”

            “Do we really have to stop?”

            Mrs. Mitchell laughed. “If I don’t stop and start on supper, you’ll have to explain to your dad and brothers why there is no supper.”

            Ria made a face at the thought but brightened instantly. “You don’t have to go home yet, Lydia, so we can talk about them at least.” She perched herself on the railing, her feet dangling above the porch.

            There was a moment of silence between the two friends as each was lost in thought.

            “I didn’t notice any heroes yet.”

            Lydia shook her head. “Me either. Unless we did it on your mom’s uncle.”

            “Uncle Philip Vincent Bartholomew Wallace III?”

            “Uh, huh.”

            Ria frowned. “I don’t think he was a hero because he didn’t do anything except get wounded. If the U.S. had been in the war, we could do it on the guys on the USS San Diego. Perhaps we should wait until Mom has read more letters.

            Lydia agreed, and soon the girls were busy with something else.