Different Days

by Vicki Berger Erwin

  What had Malia told them when she called? Rosie figured it wasn’t anything good—and maybe not even true.

  “Where did Mama go?” Freddie asked, when only he and Chester were left.

  “She’ll be back soon,” Rosie said, hoping Malia wouldn’t say anything about her thought that Mama had been arrested. Maybe Mama would return before Freddie demanded an answer.

  “School is boring today,” Chester said.

  Before Rosie could come up with suggestions for play, the screen door slammed. Was Mama home? She rushed to the kitchen.

  A noisy green pickup truck idled beside the porch and Malia was climbing into it.

  Rosie ran outside. “Malia! Where are you going?”

  “Bye-bye,” Malia said as the driver backed down the driveway.

  “There are still kids here! And you’re supposed to stay until Mama comes back!” Rosie yelled at the disappearing vehicle.

  Rosie wrapped her arms around herself as tightly as she could. Like it or not, she was in charge. Mama had left her alone with Freddie before, but never alone with the kinder.

  “Hey! I’m hungry!” Chester leaned out the door.

  Rosie felt the comforting softness of Kitty curling herself around her ankles.

  “Kitty! There’s Kitty!” Chester yelled, slamming the door and running toward them.

  Immediately, Kitty took off for the thicket at the back of the property.

  Rosie sighed. She was in charge, so she’d better take charge. “Pancakes!” she said. “How does that sound?”

  “I love pancakes!” Chester said. “And I can help. I always help my mom.”

  Good thing he likes pancakes, Rosie thought, since it is the only thing I know how to cook. Besides soup. And soup was what Mama would fix to make her feel better when she was feeling down. It didn’t work when Mama was the reason she felt down.

  They had finished the pancakes and Freddie was clearing the table with Chester’s help when Chester’s mother arrived, dark rings around her eyes. “Where’s Mrs. Schatzer?” she demanded.

  “She isn’t here right now,” Rosie admitted.

  “Then let me talk to another teacher.”

  Rosie shook her head. Chester’s mother was not happy.

  “You! You have been taking care of my child?”

  “Only for a little while. And I watch my brother all the time. Really, I’m very responsible,” Rosie tried to assure her.

  “I hope your mother doesn’t expect me to pay for this.” She grabbed her son’s hand and pulled him toward the door.

  “We played war, Mommy. And I won! I was the Army. Rosie was a Nazi …”

  “Played war? You are living a war.” The mother looked over her shoulder at Rosie. “And as far as playing a Nazi goes, well …” She tossed her head and marched out the door.

  Chapter 6

  What now? Rosie thought. Papa hadn’t answered the phone, but what about the rest of her family? Should she call one of Mama’s sisters, Tante Etta or Tante Yvonne?

  Her family would surely want to know what had happened to Mama, wouldn’t they? Especially Tante Etta, who had lived with them when she attended university on Oahu. She was much younger than Mama and like a big sister to Rosie and Freddie. Or maybe Rosie should wait, and give Mama a chance to return. It was still early in the afternoon.

  Slowly, Rosie trudged up the stairs and picked up her journal, then found the book she’d been reading. Her spelling list lay open on her desk, so she grabbed that as well. Rosie carried them all into the living room and curled up in Papa’s chair.

  Usually Rosie had no trouble disappearing into her Nancy Drew books, but today every time a car drove by—although they were few and far between—she jumped up to see if it was Mama returning. She didn’t even feel like writing in her journal. There was almost too much to write about. She doodled pictures on the empty page—an airplane, an American flag, a star.

  Freddie had spread his Lincoln logs throughout the room, building an Army base.

  Rosie brought in the radio from the kitchen and twirled the dial, trying to find a station. When she heard a familiar voice, she stopped and adjusted the dial. The president, Mr. Roosevelt, was speaking.

  Freddie moved closer to the radio, listening.

  “Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy,” he said.

  I-N-F-A-M-Y, Rosie spelled silently as Freddie leaned his head against her leg and they listened as President Roosevelt spoke.

  Rosie heard how the Japanese also attacked Hong Kong, Guam, the Philippine Islands, Wake Island, and Midway Island. Other islands are also right in the middle of the war, she thought, taking a strange comfort from the thought that Hawaii wasn’t the only target.

  The president admitted that they were in danger, and Freddie squeezed into the chair beside her. Roosevelt’s final words asked the Congress to declare war. But Rosie—and the rest of Hawaii—knew the war had already begun.

  When the speech ended, the announcer said it had been given earlier in the day by the President and would be repeated, then static filled the air again. Rosie turned off the radio with a sigh. What she really wanted to hear was music—happy snappy music.

  “I want Mama,” Freddie said.

  “Soon,” Rosie said, hoping she was right. Freddie’s words were painful, echoing her own wish. “Find something to play,” she said.

  “But …”

  “Play,” she said firmly.

  Her brother picked up a Lincoln log and turned it over and over.

  Rosie opened her journal and wrote:

  “Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.” This is what President Roosevelt called the day of the bombing, “a date which will live in infamy.” And then he asked Congress to declare war. War. Against the Japs and the Germans and the Italians. I’m not glad we were bombed, but I am glad it was Japan that did it and not Germany. After all, Papa is from Germany even though he is an American now. And Chester already called us Nazis. And he is a baby!

  Something tugged at the back of Rosie’s mind. If Chester attached that label to them, what might others think? But, perhaps the government needed Mama to help translate German! They didn’t think she was a Nazi!

  T-R-A-N-S-L-A-T-E, she spelled. Yes, that could be it. And as soon as she had a chance Mama would call. Rosie relaxed slightly.

  “Should I call Tante Yvonne?” she finally asked Freddie, the two of them still sharing the chair, although Freddie had started to squirm.

  “Or maybe Tante Etta?” he said.

  Rosie nodded and headed for the phone. She picked up the receiver. Instead of a buzz or the sound of the operator asking what number she wanted, Rosie heard only silence on the line. She jiggled the buttons a few times, but still there was silence. So, no Mama, no Papa, no telephone.

  “The phone isn’t working,” Rosie told her brother.

  Freddie wandered to the window. “What about the Palus?” he asked. “Can’t we go over there?”

  Of course! Auntie Palu would take care of them! And maybe she could help make sense out of what was happening. “Let’s go see,” Rosie said, feeling as though a load had been lifted from her.

  Freddie took hold of her hand as they walked across the grassy play area of the kindergarten that separated their house from the Palu’s. How long had it been since her brother had held her hand?

  Strange, thought Rosie. No one was outside on the porch at the Palu’s and it seemed very quiet. Usually music played and the door opened and closed constantly as the boys, Leilani, their friends, and other relatives ran in and out.

  “Are they home?” Freddie asked.

  Rosie climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on the door. On any other day someone would be at the door inviting them inside before they could knock. The sound echoed emptily.

  “I wanted to hear Uncle play the ukulele,” Freddie
said, blinking rapidly.

  “Maybe the radio is back on the air and we can listen to music,” Rosie said, turning and looking across to their empty house.

  “I guess,” Freddie mumbled.

  “Let’s see if the Tanakas are home,” Rosie suggested, bringing up the neighbors who lived on the other side of them. They were elderly and kept more to themselves, but were always friendly.

  “But they are Japs,” said Freddie, holding back.

  “They are our neighbors,” Rosie said. Freddie’s words made her wonder if people would say the same about them being German. No, they were as American as apple pie!

  Rosie and Freddie ran across their lawn and stopped in the Tanaka’s driveway. Their house was also dark and silent and their car, usually parked beside the back door, was gone.

  The thought that her family might be the only one left on Oahu flitted through Rosie’s mind. She quickly convinced herself how ridiculous that was, and banished the thought. However, it was very, very quiet.

  As they started home, Rosie watched as one unfamiliar car and then another turned into their driveway.

  Chapter 7

  “Maybe that’s Mama! And Papa!” Freddie yelled, letting go of Rosie’s hand and running toward home.

  Rosie followed. Two large black cars—not unlike the one that had carried her mama away—parked on the lawn. Not even in the driveway. The relief Rosie had let herself feel for a moment disappeared at the sight of men, more government men from the looks of them, getting out of the cars and staring at their house.

  Rosie cleared her throat and croaked out, “May I help you?”

  “We need to search this place,” one of the men said gruffly, motioning to the others to follow him.

  Rosie darted forward to stand in front of the door, ready to face another battle. She was sure Mama and Papa would never allow strangers inside. The men simply pushed open the door and stepped around her. She followed them inside, grabbing Freddie’s arm and pulling him with her.

  One man, who was obviously in charge of the others, gave directions, and then headed up the stairs himself. Another of the men took a position at the back door, as if blocking the way for anyone wanting to enter or exit.

  An older man removed his hat and laid it on the table, revealing a bald head. He looked the least scary to Rosie. In fact, he reminded her of her Uncle Fred, who lived on a sugar plantation on the neighboring island of Kauai.

  She crept over to the kitchen counter. “What are you looking for, exactly?” Rosie asked in a shaky voice.

  The man glanced at her as he checked food on the shelves, shaking boxes and moving cans, searching every corner. He set aside some of the supersized cans Mama bought to feed the kinder.

  “What do you want?” Rosie asked again, louder.

  “Kid, you need to take your brother and wait in the other room. We aren’t going to tell you jack shit.”

  Rosie jerked away from him. So, he wasn’t at all like Uncle Fred, no matter what he looked like. She sat down at the kitchen table and told Freddie to do the same, taking her stand.

  Soon the man in charge came downstairs carrying their camera, some of Mama’s books that were written in German, and most surprising to Rosie, a gun—a big gun. Where did he find that?

  Freddie whimpered and stood, pressing into Rosie. “Are they going to shoot us?” he whispered. “Who are they?”

  Rosie shook her head, pulling her brother tighter against her side.

  Another man came down carrying the radio Rosie had moved from the kitchen into the living room and a second radio that was usually in her parents’ bedroom. A third man came down with their flashlights.

  The bald man opened the cans he’d set aside and poured the contents into the sink, running his fingers through the food. He wiped his hands on one of Mama’s towels and left the mess in the sink. “Nothing hidden in this room,” he said to the man in charge.

  “What are you looking for?” Rosie asked. She wondered how their belongings could help in any way with the work she had decided Mama was doing for the war. Did Mama know the men were here?

  The man in charge looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. He held out a few framed photos Rosie recognized as some of Aunt Etta’s photographs that hung throughout the house. “Tell me about these,” he said.

  “Those—those are Tante Etta’s,” Rosie said,.

  “Tante, huh? Is Marietta Rauschling your aunt then? And were these photographs taken in Germany?” He laid pictures on the table one at a time.

  Rosie silently spelled P-H-O-T-O-G-R-A-P-H before she answered with a nod.

  “And these. Did she take these photos of Pearl Harbor?” he asked, setting out another array.

  Again Rosie nodded. Her aunt’s photographs were beautiful. She’d had them published in newspapers and magazines.

  The man gathered the framed pictures together and handed them to one of the other men, who left with them.

  The bald man and the man in charge moved to the doorway leading to the classroom and talked in low voices.

  “You’re sure you have all the radios?” the leader called to the men who were waiting. The men nodded.

  Rosie started to object—how would they know what was happening without their radios? But judging from the steely expression on the man’s face, she knew her words would be useless.

  With a final glance around the room at everything except Rosie and Freddie, the man pointed to the door, and everyone except the leader left carrying some piece of property belonging to the Schatzers. There was so much that Rosie couldn’t keep track of all they were taking.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” the man said, looking around the kitchen one last time and then tipping his hat toward Rosie.

  She opened her mouth to say she would never cooperate with thieves, but instead said, “Do you know where they took our mama?” Rosie knew she both sounded and looked pathetic. Her voice shook and she had to fight to keep back the tears.

  “Sorry kid, that’s not my department.” And he slammed the screen door behind him.

  A third car waited in the road at the foot of the driveway as the two “official” cars backed out. It turned slowly toward the house.

  Chapter 8

  Rosie strained to make out who was inside, again hoping it was Mama or Papa. The passenger door flew open before the car came to a complete stop and for a moment she thought Mama had returned. But it was Tante Etta. Tante Etta had come to their rescue! Rosie had never been happier to see her.

  “My darlings,” Tante Etta said, going down on her knees and holding her arms open.

  Without hesitation, Rosie and Freddie ran to her and buried their heads in her neck. Tante’s arms felt so warm and comforting to Rosie. And she smelled so very spicy, her own special scent that she mixed herself and kept a secret. Rosie thought of it as all the wonderful scents of Hawaii.

  “Are you fine? All right?” she asked, pushing them away as she stood up and looked up and down at each one of them in turn.

  “They took … they took Mama away,” Rosie said in between sobs, “And then men came, the ones leaving just now …”

  “And they found a gun and took it!” Freddie interrupted.

  “Our radios, they took—they took radios!”

  Rosie tried to control her crying, but couldn’t stop now that she had started. “And they took your pictures we had hanging on the wall. Why would they do that?”

  At that, Tante Etta’s expression changed to even more worried. “My darlings,” she said with a shake of her head as she pulled Rosie to her.

  Etta was her favorite tante and, Rosie was sure, Mama’s favorite sister. Rosie thought Tante Etta even looked like Mama must have looked ten years ago. She was much younger and she traveled the world taking photos like the ones the men took away, dressed like a fashion model. She wasn’t afraid of anything. She and her boyfriend, George, a newspaper reporter, had recently had to escape from Germany when Tante Etta accompanied hi
m on an assignment and the war broke out in Europe. Tante Etta had made it sound like an exciting adventure, but Rosie was sure now that she had a taste of war that it probably had been more scary than exciting.

  “Do you know what happened to Mama and Papa?” Rosie asked, still crying.

  “I didn’t know until now that anything had happened to them.” Tante Etta paused. “But I have heard rumors.” This time she looked behind her to where George waited in the car. She motioned for him to join them.

  Freddie ran to meet George, grabbing and holding tightly to his hand.

  “So tell us what has happened here.” Tante Etta looked toward George again.

  Rosie told them what had happened with the men driving away with Mama and that neither she nor Papa had come home or called. “But, the phone hasn’t been working all the time. Maybe they tried to call.” Rosie chewed on her lower lip, considering the possibility that it was the phone, not her parents, at fault. “And I thought maybe she was helping translate some German for the government. Do you think she could be doing that?”

  Tante Etta took a deep breath. “We heard,” she looked over her shoulder at George, who had lit a cigarette and was leaning back against the car, smoking, “but we haven’t been able to confirm,” she added hastily, “that the FBI is detaining some people with what they feel are German ties, as well as Japanese and Italians, that they believe or have reports of—”

  Rosie interrupted. “Detain? What’s that mean?” D-E-T-A-I-N. The letters appeared in her mind.

  “I think—I hope it means asking questions, maybe keeping them for a while,” Tante Etta said.

  “But why Mama? She has no ties to Germany.”

  George spoke this time. “It’s no secret that the FBI had been collecting reports of suspicious activity. There has been an expectation of war for a while.”

  “What kind of suspicious activity? What kind of questions do they ask? Do you think they are detaining Papa, too?” Rosie said.