Read Online Summer of the War by Gloria Whelan - Free Book Online

shrieking all day. At breakfast Grandpa had pointed to the anvil-shaped clouds.
    â€œA little weather on the way,” he said.
    Carrie looked up. “What kind of weather?”
    â€œThunderstorm.” He looked at us kids. “Better keep close to the cottage. You don’t want to be caught in the woods if there’s lightning.”
    We had heard the warning a hundred times and paid no attention, but Carrie bit her lip and stared hard at Grandpa.
    In the afternoon the sky turned a yellowish gray. There was a minute before the storm when everything was still: no birdsong, no wind, even the gulls hovered silently in the air like scraps of white paper. The world seemed to be holding its breath. Suddenly rain fell in gulps and splashes. Tommy, Emily, and I helped Grandpa drop the canvas curtain to keepthe porch dry. Nancy, her wet hair plastered to her head, followed Polo in his mad dash for the house. Polo shook the water from his fur and with the first thunderclap slunk under the table.
    After securing the porch, I stood at the living-room window. I loved the wildness of the storm, the sheets of water blowing across the channel, the wind whipping the cedars and bending the birch trees, the jagged spears of lightning splitting open the sky. I loved holding my breath and waiting for the thunder to follow the flash of lightning. The world was turned over to giants, nothing was small, everything that happened—the wind and lightning and thunder—was huge.
    â€œBelle,” Grandma said, “go upstairs and see what Carrie is doing. She seems to have disappeared.”
    I resented having to leave my post at the window to check on Carrie, who seemed to be letting us know over and over that she could take care of herself and didn’t need us.
    â€œI’ll go,” Emily volunteered.
    â€œNo, dear,” Grandma told her, “Belle is going.” I think Grandma was beginning to be a little bothered at the way Emily trailed after Carrie.
    I trudged reluctantly up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door. Carrie was on the bed, her knees drawn up close to her chest, her arms hugging her body. She was crying.
    â€œCarrie! What’s wrong?” I stood looking down ather, afraid she had suddenly taken ill. “I’ll get Grandma.” I started for the door.
    â€œNo,” she whispered. “I don’t want anyone. Just leave me alone.”
    I sat down gingerly on the edge of her bed. Putting a hand on her shoulder, I begged, “Please, tell me what’s the matter.”
    â€œIt’s the storm. The lightning will strike the cottage and we’ll all be burned up.”
    I stared at her, unable to believe she could be so frightened, but she was. Storms on the island had always made me feel secure, as if the island were a refuge like Noah’s ark.
    I patted her shoulder, trying to calm her. “Grandpa has lightning rods on the roof, and anyhow there are tall trees on the island that would make a much better target than the cottage.” I added, “I’ve seen worse storms than this one, lots worse.”
    Carrie sat up and looked at me. Her face was pale and her eyes huge. She didn’t want to hear about storms that were “worse.”
    â€œIs it the island?” I asked. “Are you just afraid of being on the island?”
    Carrie shook her head. “I hate storms. I had this awful nursemaid when I was little and we were living in France. She used to pull me into a closet with her to hide from the storms. She said the lightning could come through the windows even if they were closed. She said because I was such a bad girl,it would be sure to strike me. I hated her.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell your dad?”
    â€œShe said he wouldn’t believe me, and he didn’t until she broke my arm.”
    â€œBroke your arm!”
    â€œI don’t think she meant to, but I wouldn’t do something she wanted me to, so she