Isabel’s War by Lila Perl Read Free Book Online Page B

parents to walk over to Ruthie, who’s still working on the strudel dough. But I don’t get very far. “Isabel,” my father roars in a commanding voice. “This way.”

Six
    I can’t believe how quickly my mother and father and I pack our bags and get into the car to go racing home to the Bronx. Even so, we’re too late to catch Arnold at the Harper’s Falls railroad station or wherever it is he disappeared to after my father’s temper tantrum over his having joined the United States Air Force.
    â€œI honestly don’t see why we had to leave in such a terrible rush,” I complain from the back seat. Now that Arnold is the one my parents are so mad at, I figure I can take a chance and fuss a little. “I never even had time to say a proper goodbye to Ruthie. Helga and Mrs. F. weren’t even back from the doctor’s yet. We could at least have waited a few minutes for Mrs. Moskin to make us the sandwiches she offered.”
    â€œThat’s enough, Isabel,” my father mutters ominously from behind the wheel. “When will you learn that we are a family...a family in trouble. And we have to stick together.”
    I don’t see our family as sticking together when one-quarter of it has already angrily walked out on us. Nor doI understand how my super-patriotic father can justify the fact that he doesn’t want his own son to fight for his country. Isn’t there a word for that? Hypocrite? Two-faced?
    â€œPlease don’t keep calling Harriette Frankfurter Mrs. F.,” my mother chimes in. “It’s disrespectful. As for Ruthie and Helga, you can write to both of them.”
    I don’t even bother to answer. I feel really miserable. I know I didn’t want to come to Shady Pines and now I’m sorry to leave it, which is stupid. Also, although I should be relieved of the burden of trying to be close friends with Helga, I feel guilty about having walked out on her.
    Up front, my parents are now conversing softly with each other. I hear terms like “flat feet,” “a punctured eardrum,” “a trick knee,” “a hernia.”
    â€œColorblindness!” I offer, leaning forward and in a voice louder than I intended. “If you can’t tell red from green, if they both look gray to you, you can’t be in the Air Force. I know that for certain. Only I don’t think Arnold is...colorblind. So how about a heart murmur?”
    â€œOh, Isabel!” my mother declares. “What a terrible thing to wish on your brother.”
    I curl back into my corner. There’s never any pleasing my parents. “Well, if you were hoping Arnold would be classified 4-F,” I say sulkily, “a heart murmur could have done it. Only it’s too late for all that. He’s already passed his physical. Remember?”
    The closer we get to the city, the hotter the late August weather gets, so we ride with all the car windows wide open and there is too much noise for further conversation. Which is just as well as far as talking to my parents is concerned.
    Now that we’re on our way home, I’m glad there are only a couple of weeks to go before I can bury myself in school in September...seventh grade at Samuel S. Singleton Junior High. I keep telling myself it will be practically like going to high school because there will be ninth graders roaming the halls, eighth-grade boys who will actually be older than twelve, and I’ll be taking intermediate French.
    We find a temporary parking space on Le Grand Concours not too far from the entrance to our apartment building, and my parents send me into the lobby to try to find Quincy, the porter, to help bring in our suitcases. The heat rising from the sidewalk is stifling and there is also a furnace-like wind that whips old newspapers around my ankles. I’m sure that no boulevard in France looks anywhere as messy as this.
    â€œWhy, Miss Izzie, what you doing