do what you can for this war from that side, Mildred and I from this side. Come now, Mildred, get dressed, time to go to work.”
Mildred didn’t have a chance to respond before her sister left the attic where they roomed.
“She handled that quite well I think,” Jonathan said.
“But not me.” Mildred yanked away her hand and stood, hands on her hips. “You’re a fool!”
“So you saved how you really felt until she was gone.” Jonathan came to his feet, standing several inches taller than her. “Why do you always do that? Why do you show her one thing and me another?”
Furious, she spun away and started throwing clothes from her dresser drawers. “Because I can handle it better than she can.”
“Can you?” He dodged a shirt thrown his way.
“Yes.”
“Every single time I do something you don’t like you pull this. I should just call you on it from the beginning.”
“There’s nothing to call me on.” She whipped a pair of socks at him. “I’m right every time and you’re wrong!”
“You’re behaving like a child.”
“I’m behaving like a sister.”
He dodged a wadded up pair of pants. “Mildred, please stop.”
“Now. Stop. This is insane.” He jumped in front of the dresser before she could grab more weaponry.
Why should she stop? Her brother was about to offer himself up to be killed because that’s all that would happen to him. He wasn’t nearly mature enough to handle what the war would throw at him. She’d never been so furious in her life.
“Step aside,” she growled.
He peered down his nose at her. “I will not.”
“You will.”
“No.”
Fury made blood rush through her veins. “Move!”
“What’s all the commotion up here?”
They turned toward the top of the attic stairs and said at the same time, “Nothing, Mama.”
“Nothing is always something.” Their mother appeared, shaking her head. “Some things never change.”
It took everything she had not to tell her mother everything right there and then. But she didn’t. She would never give away her brother’s secrets before he meant to tell them. But she’d sure as heck let him know how she felt. Crestfallen didn’t begin to describe her current emotions.
Jonathan put on his brightest smile and crossed the room. “I was simply telling her what I thought about her latest beau.”
Mama’s brows lowered. “Now who is this?”
Jonathan linked arms with her and led her back down the stairs. “Oh, you know the fella, comes up to her nose if an inch.”
Mama said, “Really? That seems a bit off, does it not?”
“Oh yes.”
Jonathan’s voice faded as they traveled downstairs. While she dearly loved her mother, the woman was a bit pliable, especially when it came to her son. Probably because their Da was away so long…still.
Mildred plunked down on her bed, frustrated. Not because of Mama’s easy-to-sway attitude but because Jonathan wasn’t using his head. Yes, the war was fresh but men were already dying. She chewed her nail and glared across the room. There had to be a way to stop him.
Unlikely lass. When a man is set to go to war he will.
With a sharp intake of breath, she stood and spun. “Who’s there?”
Nobody responded. But she’d heard a voice clear as day. His voice, the one with the Scottish accent, the man from her dream. Mildred stormed around the room and looked behind everything she could find. She was about to lift Irene’s mattress but stopped. I’m going insane! Jonathan’s news got to her and now she was letting the man from her imagination give her advice.
Hmph! Not going to happen. Grumbling, she pulled on some pants. As she buttoned up her blouse, she threw her blankets over her bed with a spare foot. Socks and shoes on, she cinched her hair in a blue bandana and flew downstairs.
Irene’s arm reached out at the bottom floor. “Stop.”
Before she could say a word her sister continued. “I know you’re more upset than me, Mildred. And I know every time you get upset with Jonathan you take it out on the car. I’m driving.”
“I do not. Anyways, I need a—”
Jonathan came around the corner and shoved a muffin into her hand. “Here’s breakfast. Let’s go.”
Even though she tried to beat them to the car, she lost. They piled into their thirty-six Chevy and were off, Irene driving. She really would’ve liked to drive. It let her blow off steam. Sitting in the backseat, she ignored the muffin.
“How can you think I’m hungry?” She spat at anyone willing to listen.
“Eat,” Irene said. “Jonathan’s irritated me enough. Don’t