Read Online Tales from the Fountain Pen by E. Lynn Hooghiemstra - Free Book Online

talked to Maggie first because she came into the room first.” My father looks at me for help, but I can think of none to give.
    “You’re sure that’s the only reason?” Betty is not convinced.
    “Yes, it is the only reason. I promise.”
    “Very well,” she says, and sits down by the window with a haughty dignity and picks up her knitting.
    I can almost hear my father’s thoughts; he’s worried about me and afraid I’ll do something stupid or impulsive. I wish I could reassure him, but I know whatever I say now will only make him worry more. He knows me too well. Just like Theo does.
    What would Theo have done if he knew Johann had given me a loaf of bread? I’d like to think he might have told Johann to take it back, and he might even have given him a black eye for his impertinence toward his sister. But of course I know he couldn’t do that, not now; he would get arrested and locked up for the rest of the war. He’d disappear just like Hendrik. And not for the first time I wonder what might have happened to Hendrik.
    To distract myself from these thoughts I rummage through my knitting basket for that bit of blue wool I promised Siepie. Holding it in my hand reminds me of little Irma, and thoughts of her safety crowd out all others. Did she make it to England? Is she with her mother now?
    “Here,” my mother says, coming into the room and startling me. “If you want to make yourself useful you can unravel this jumper.” And she drops an old green jumper in my lap. I recognize it as one my grandmother made for me almost five years ago, before I filled out. It has a few small moth holes, but should yield enough yarn for mittens and socks. I might even be able to trade some of it with Siepie.
    “The bakery had bread?” I hear my mother’s surprised voice from the kitchen.
    I look at my father and he says what I don’t want to hear: “Better tell her the truth. She’ll find out anyway. You know she will.”
    With a sigh I set my basket down and shuffle into the kitchen to explain.
    “Oh, I see.” My mother looks at me in that stern way she has, making me feel small and wrong. “And what did you promise him in return?”
    She taps her foot impatiently when I don’t answer fast enough.
    “Nothing!” I say a little too loudly, which only makes me seem more guilty in her eyes. “Nothing, I swear.”
    “We don’t swear in this house. And you had better be telling me the truth, young lady. The consequences of lying will be harsh and I won’t tolerate a collaborator in this house.”
    I leave the kitchen feeling a total rat. I shouldn’t have accepted the bread and I should have told Siepie a firm “No.” How I wish this stupid, horrible war were over. When will the Allies come to liberate us?
    With a heavy heart I pick up the old sweater and start taking it apart, trying hard not to waste anything and avoiding Betty’s smug look.
    Father has finished his newspaper and slowly tears the pages into wide strips, then crumples them into tight wads so we can burn them later this evening and have more moments of heat without using up our small supply of coal.
    Maybe I should share some of that bread with Siepie? I’m sure she and her family would love some. But then, would they reject it because of where it came from? I would feel awful if Siepie’s mother got mad at me too and refused the bread. Besides, would my mother even let me? She might not want the neighbors to know we have bread given to us by a German soldier.
    The pen lifts from the paper. It’s nearly empty and I find I too need a moment to replenish my energy. In my own kitchen I pull out a loaf of fresh bread to make a sandwich, but find myself pausing. A memory comes flooding back of the pleasure my mother used to take in going to a bakery and purchasing a loaf, fresh from the ovens, cooling on the slatted wooden shelves behind the counter. It was always the same kind of bread too: a light whole wheat. She’d ask the shop girl to