Summer of the War by Gloria Whelan

to the islands. Now our first stop was the post office. Mrs. Newcomb handed me two letters, both from Mom and Dad, one for us kids and one for our grandparents. Mrs. Newcomb smiled at Carrie. “You must be Caroline Westman. I have a letter for you, too. It looks like it’s from your father all the way from England.” The letter was on thin blue airmail stationery with the face of a king on the stamp. I thought of the distance the letter had traveled and the strangers who had handled it and how far away Carrie’s father was.
    Caroline gave Mrs. Newcomb a cold look, as if shewere angry that the postmistress knew all about her. As soon as we were outside, she tore open the letter, read it quickly, and stuffed it into her pocket without saying a word. I was fascinated with the foreign-looking letter and dying to know what it said. “Is your father all right?” I asked.
    â€œPapa is fine. I don’t understand why I couldn’t go to England with him. I wouldn’t mind the bombs. I like dangerous things.”
    Danger, something else we couldn’t provide on the island. The next stop was the grocery store. Besides groceries you could find toothpaste, playing cards, comic books (which Grandpa wouldn’t let us buy), worms, and notebooks.
    â€œSo this is your cousin?” Mr. Brock said. “We’ll just have to show her our welcome with a little present.” He handed each of us a penny lollipop. We had been going to the store since we were babies, so Mr. Brock still thought of us as little kids.
    I was horribly embarrassed when Carrie said, “No thanks.”
    Mr. Brock gave her a long look and then turned abruptly to wait on Mrs. Nelson from one of the other islands.
    When we were outside, I said, “That was rude.”
    â€œI’m not going to be treated like a two-year-old,” Carrie said.
    â€œHe was just being friendly. He gives all the kids suckers.”
    Carrie brightened when we got to the Norkins’. Mrs. Norkin had a large garden and sold vegetables and flowers from her front yard. On the days she worked for us on the island, Ned took over the stand. He was watching us come toward him.
    He gave me a familiar grin, all the awkwardness of two nights before forgotten. He smiled at Carrie, too, but that smile had a lot more warmth to it. It didn’t say, “Hey, here’s old Belle again.” It said, “Wow, this is a special day.”
    â€œWelcome to the Norkin emporium,” Ned said. “What can I sell you? We’ve got diamonds, elephants, rainbows.”
    â€œRhubarb and potatoes,” I said, “and your mother said no green potatoes.”
    Ned gave me a withering look. “I offer you diamonds and you want potatoes.”
    Carrie was down on her knees smelling some plants Mrs. Norkin had potted up for sale. “Lavender!” She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of bills. “I’ll take five of these. We always had lavender in our garden in France.”
    Ned’s eyes widened. “You lived in France?”
    â€œCertainement.”
    â€œAnd you speak French?”
    â€œ Naturellement . Would you like to learn French?”
    â€œYou can teach me French and I’ll teach you to sail.”
    â€œOh, I know how to sail. I’d love to go out with you though.”
    I scooped up the rhubarb and the potatoes. “We better be going,” I said to Ned. “Your mom wants the rhubarb for a pie.” My words came out sounding stiff and sour.
    Ned left it to me to put everything into a brown paper bag while he carefully arranged the pots of lavender in a cardboard box for Carrie.
    â€œAu revoir,” Carrie said.
    â€œRight,” Ned said, never taking his eyes from her.
    When we were back in the boat, Carrie said, “Your Ned’s really très charmant .”
    â€œHe’s not my Ned,” I snapped.
    Carrie gave me a long look. “Sorry, I didn’t know