“Ready. Aim. Fire!” That was Granddaddy talking. He followed up with a string of words I wouldn’t repeat.
His cussing woke me the rest of the way. I opened one eye. Straight ahead of me I saw Granddaddy’s knobby white feet dangling from the bed. His thick toenails looked like they hadn’t been trimmed since Granny died.
“It’s about time you rouse yourself. You fixin’ on sleeping through the war?”
I sat up. “Did the president declare war while I was sleeping?”
Granddaddy cussed again. “One of these days he’ll be forced to get himself a backbone.”
“Oh.” So we weren’t in the war yet after all. Granddaddy caught me up on the news. “Iceland. The Germans attacked an American ship. But we fired back. Yes siree! Wish I was on that ship. I’d blast those Krauts to Hades and back.” Granddaddy turned the radio up so I couldn’t miss the news even if I wanted to.
And part of me did want to. I wished I could wake up in the morning with nothing bigger than homework to worry about. I pulled the pillow over my head as if that would make the world and all its problems go away. If hiding under the covers would keep war from coming to America, I’d stay there all day.
Getting out of bed was hard anyway. These days nobody asked me how I was doing. Even if they had, I couldn’t have explained it. Pop had been gone almost two months and I should be used to it by now. But some days I still couldn’t believe he was dead. Except that he never came home. And I had to milk Eleanor twice a day and try to be the man of the house. And put up with Granddaddy.
He was still yelling about war. What would it be like to have my own bed back? And to dress in the morning in a little peace and quiet? Finally, after five minutes of him raving, I crawled out of bed. “Yeah. I wish you was on that ship too.”
I didn’t say it real loud, but he heard it. “You getting smart with me?” Granddaddy reached for his shoe. “You want war, I’ll show you war.”
Before I figured out what he was up to, that shoe came flying at my nose. “Whoa!” That hurt! “Granddaddy. I don’t want war.” I pulled my britches on, grabbed my shirt and shoes, and left the room.
“Heaven help!” said Momma. “Your nose is bleeding.” She wet a washcloth with cold water and clamped it against my face.
“That old man threw a shoe at me. I’m not going back in there. I’ll sleep on the porch first.”
“Of course you won’t sleep on the porch.” Momma lowered her voice. “Maybe we’ll put Granddaddy outside.” She snickered.
But she didn’t mean it. She’d moved him in and now that Pop was gone she didn’t want him anymore. But how could we get rid of him?
Copyright © 2016 by Joyce Moyer Hostetter. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
