Read Online A Girl Like You by Maureen Lindley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maureen Lindley
Tags: Historical, Adult
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never saw Artie on a Sunday anyway, what with his family being holy-rolling-religious.
“God and duty first,” was Mr. Goodwin’s fatherly advice to Artie. “Good Christians go to church with their people on Sundays.”
“Yeah, good boring Christians,” Artie complained. “Nothing but Bible reading and silence, it drives me nuts.”
Just before it’s time to return their needles and cottons to the pine chest marked PATCHWORK, Mr. Beck, dressed in his black Sunday-best suit, reels through the big pine door.
“Miss Ray, Miss Ray,” he repeats at full volume on his way up the aisle, letting the door bang loudly behind him.
“Careful, Mr. Beck.” Miss Ray extends her arm uselessly as he rushes toward her, knocking over the pattern stand, sending her book of patchwork pictures flying.
The class erupts in laughter as Mr. Beck cups his palm against Miss Ray’s cheek and whispers something in her ear.
A note lands on Satomi’s lap. “Pass it on,” a voice whispers.
He loves her. Pass it on , it says.
They can tell the news is big by the way Miss Ray’s eyes widen and go dark. Mr. Beck sure has the jitters about something. His body is shaking, his mouth twitching nervously, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, which flutter about like the big white butterflies that come every year at pea-cropping time. He places one of them on Miss Ray’s shoulder as though to steady her, to steady himself.
Satomi catches Lily’s eye and smiles. Lily shrugs her shoulders, looks hostile.
“Time to go home now, girls,” Miss Ray says in a high shaky voice, raising her arms in the air as though she is about to conduct an orchestra. “Be quick, now, your parents will be expecting you.”
Outside the church hall Satomi catches up with Lily.
“What do you think it’s all about, Lily?” she asks. “Mr. Beck and Miss Ray all fired up like that.”
“Well, they ain’t getting married, so I reckon we must be at war with the Japs.”
Forgetting for once that “ain’t” is common, Lily turns from her, her voice hard, dismissive.
Of course Lily is right. It can’t be anything else. Satomi swallows hard, her mouth dry, she doesn’t have enough spit and it hurts a bit. She looks down the street as though hoards of the enemy might already be on the march there.
A bunch of girls pass her, silent in their wondering, staring at her with narrowing eyes. They purse their lips, stiffen their shoulders, and start for home in huddled clusters keeping close for comfort. Mr. Beck has unnerved them. The Japs could already be nearby, in the bushes, perhaps, waiting for them on the road home.
“No need to make it a war between us,” Satomi calls to Lily’s retreating back. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She starts for home. Perhaps her mother would know what it is all about.
Lily, running to catch up with the girls who are walking her way, links arms with one of them, keeping her back straight, her head tilted as though she is sniffing the air. If the news turns out to be war, then she has the best excuse ever to dump Satomi. Artie would have to do the same.
From the day that the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, she never spoke to Satomi again.
Pearl Harbor
They hear the president’s speech on the radio, his voice steady above the background sounds of flashbulbs flaring:
Yesterday, December the seventh, 1941, a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of Japan.
The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that many American lives have been lost.
As though standing at attention, Satomi and Tamura have positioned themselves a little apart from each other. Tamura is trembling, sheet-white, her head bowed. Satomi, returned to the childhood habit she had when trying to figure things out, chews at her lower lip. She’s attempting to understand
“God and duty first,” was Mr. Goodwin’s fatherly advice to Artie. “Good Christians go to church with their people on Sundays.”
“Yeah, good boring Christians,” Artie complained. “Nothing but Bible reading and silence, it drives me nuts.”
Just before it’s time to return their needles and cottons to the pine chest marked PATCHWORK, Mr. Beck, dressed in his black Sunday-best suit, reels through the big pine door.
“Miss Ray, Miss Ray,” he repeats at full volume on his way up the aisle, letting the door bang loudly behind him.
“Careful, Mr. Beck.” Miss Ray extends her arm uselessly as he rushes toward her, knocking over the pattern stand, sending her book of patchwork pictures flying.
The class erupts in laughter as Mr. Beck cups his palm against Miss Ray’s cheek and whispers something in her ear.
A note lands on Satomi’s lap. “Pass it on,” a voice whispers.
He loves her. Pass it on , it says.
They can tell the news is big by the way Miss Ray’s eyes widen and go dark. Mr. Beck sure has the jitters about something. His body is shaking, his mouth twitching nervously, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, which flutter about like the big white butterflies that come every year at pea-cropping time. He places one of them on Miss Ray’s shoulder as though to steady her, to steady himself.
Satomi catches Lily’s eye and smiles. Lily shrugs her shoulders, looks hostile.
“Time to go home now, girls,” Miss Ray says in a high shaky voice, raising her arms in the air as though she is about to conduct an orchestra. “Be quick, now, your parents will be expecting you.”
Outside the church hall Satomi catches up with Lily.
“What do you think it’s all about, Lily?” she asks. “Mr. Beck and Miss Ray all fired up like that.”
“Well, they ain’t getting married, so I reckon we must be at war with the Japs.”
Forgetting for once that “ain’t” is common, Lily turns from her, her voice hard, dismissive.
Of course Lily is right. It can’t be anything else. Satomi swallows hard, her mouth dry, she doesn’t have enough spit and it hurts a bit. She looks down the street as though hoards of the enemy might already be on the march there.
A bunch of girls pass her, silent in their wondering, staring at her with narrowing eyes. They purse their lips, stiffen their shoulders, and start for home in huddled clusters keeping close for comfort. Mr. Beck has unnerved them. The Japs could already be nearby, in the bushes, perhaps, waiting for them on the road home.
“No need to make it a war between us,” Satomi calls to Lily’s retreating back. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She starts for home. Perhaps her mother would know what it is all about.
Lily, running to catch up with the girls who are walking her way, links arms with one of them, keeping her back straight, her head tilted as though she is sniffing the air. If the news turns out to be war, then she has the best excuse ever to dump Satomi. Artie would have to do the same.
From the day that the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, she never spoke to Satomi again.
Pearl Harbor
They hear the president’s speech on the radio, his voice steady above the background sounds of flashbulbs flaring:
Yesterday, December the seventh, 1941, a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of Japan.
The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that many American lives have been lost.
As though standing at attention, Satomi and Tamura have positioned themselves a little apart from each other. Tamura is trembling, sheet-white, her head bowed. Satomi, returned to the childhood habit she had when trying to figure things out, chews at her lower lip. She’s attempting to understand
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