Different Days

by Vicki Berger Erwin

  “Do we have to live with Aunt Yvonne after all?” Rosie asked softly.

  “You do not. We will find a way to make this work.” Aunt Etta backed quickly out of the parking spot and sped toward the beach. They drove through an area of elegant hotels and saw Diamond Head glistening in the distance like the jewel it was named for. Neighborhoods appeared with the houses growing smaller and more worn as they found the area where the rental house was located. Finally, Aunt Etta stopped the car and they stared at the tiny house sitting back from the road.

  “It’s a dump,” Aunt Etta said.

  Rosie leaned around her aunt for a better look. The front of the house had one window and a door painted bright blue. Several white shingles were missing from the sides and front and the yard was mostly dirt. There was, however, a magnificently tall coconut tree in the yard with lovely fresh coconuts hanging off it. And Rosie could smell the ocean and feel a slight breeze through the car window.

  When she looked toward the beach, a mix of feelings came over her. The water was clear and blue as always with sunlight dancing across the waves, but barbed wire lined the sand blocking their way. The sight of that barbed wire was scary. Rosie knew it was there to make it harder for anyone to get onto the island—not just anyone, but the Japs, she supposed.

  “According to the paper that man gave me, it is furnished as well,” Aunt Etta continued.

  “Let’s go look,” Rosie said. She didn’t care what kind of house they had to live in if it meant they would be together and away from Aunt Yvonne.

  “I’ll have to find a job,” Aunt Etta went on. “Are you all right with watching Freddie while I work?”

  “Sure. I’ve been watching him anyway and all Aunt Yvonne did was sit around and read magazines or go out for her ‘war work.’”

  “If I believed that horrid man, that he was truly spending your parents’ money to take care of their property, I’d feel better about this.”

  “He stole our lamp,” said Freddie, leaning over the seat.

  “It was a lamp that looked like yours, dear,” Aunt Etta corrected him. “There are dozens, no probably hundreds, of those pineapple lamps in Hawaii.”

  “It was ours. There was a chip out of one of the pineapple leaves and I was the one who threw the ball that took the chip out,” said Freddie.

  “He did!” Rosie agreed. “Ours was chipped. And I saw a stack of quilts that could have been Mama’s. I told myself they weren’t, but they could be. I wish I could have seen them closer.”

  Aunt Etta sighed. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Call the police! Report Mr. Smith?” said Rosie.

  “For a chipped lamp? And don’t forget, I am … I just … well, I can’t.” Aunt Etta stared at her hands in her lap. Her nail polish was chipped and her nails chewed.

  Aunt Etta couldn’t call the police because she was German and on parole, Rosie realized. She reached over and squeezed her aunt’s hand. It was a fact they had to live with. “Thank you for all you are doing for us.”

  Aunt Etta’s eyes sparkled with tears. She leaned over and kissed Rosie’s cheek. “I can’t even keep my job as a freelance photographer, though there’s more work than ever. They confiscated my camera. I might be taking pictures and giving them to the Nazis to let them know all our island secrets. At least that’s what I think the government is afraid of. No one will tell us anything about why we were arrested.”

  C-O-N-F-I-S-C-A-T-E-D. Rosie’s breath caught. She remembered the government man who had asked her about the photos that had been hanging in the hallway, how she’d proudly said her aunt had taken them. Was that why Aunt Etta had been interned? Was it her fault? Rosie didn’t have the heart to ask. Not yet.

  “Shall we take a look at our new abode?” Aunt Etta asked.

  “Abode? What’s that?” Freddie asked.

  “Our house, my dear, our home,” she said softly.

  Freddie ran toward the door. “I win!” he said. “That means I can choose my room first.”

  Aunt Etta unlocked the front door and Freddie entered.

  Rosie examined the house from the doorway. She could see almost all of it. The front room had a sagging orange couch and a matching chair. There was no rug on the scratched wood floor. It was open to the kitchen where there was a small cooking stove and what might be an icebox. There were two cabinets and a sink with a water pump. A table with three rickety chairs took up most of the kitchen floor, which was covered with a stained and peeling grayish linoleum.

  Rosie walked through the living room and found the bedroom that looked almost like it had been attached as an afterthought. One bed took up most of the space. The bathroom that was tucked into the corner of the room with only a toilet and sink was definitely added on. The only privacy was behind a plastic curtain, no door at all.

  “Maybe Yvonne will lend us some linens and towels,” Aunt Etta said as she opened the cabinets. “There are dishes here.”

  Rosie checked the dishes, a mishmash of color and patterns. Most of them were chipped or cracked, but again, she didn’t care as long as she was with Aunt Etta.

  “We don’t need towels,” said Freddie. “There’s no bathtub.”

  Aunt Etta checked the bedroom. “Great,” she said, “that is just great.”

  “It is!” Freddie insisted with a grin. “It’s like a playhouse. I like it!”

  Rosie had to smile at her brother. He was making lemonade out of their lemons.

  “And now can we open the presents?” Freddie asked.

  “Of course. I wish we had Christmas cake or something to celebrate with,” Aunt Etta said.

  Freddie had already disappeared outside. He reappeared minutes later with the three gifts and … a coconut. “This was on the ground, but it looks good. We can crack it open and drink the milk and eat the coconut.”

  “You are such a smart boy!” said Aunt Etta as she carried the coconut to the kitchen.

  Freddie tossed Rosie’s presents to her and immediately ripped the paper off the big box with his name on it. “Soldiers! I got soldiers!” he shouted so loudly that Rosie was sure her mama at Fort Armstrong must be able to hear how happy he was.

  Rosie opened her first gift, a copy of Little Women, exactly what she had asked for. She stroked the cover with its picture of the four little women gathered around their mother. How cozy the room in the picture looked with its big chair and fireplace. She set it aside and opened the second package—a new journal with a new pen. Rosie wished she could tell Mama and Papa thank you. They’d managed to find exactly what she wanted.

  Rosie opened the journal, and immediately started writing.

  We have a new home. With Aunt Etta. And a coconut tree. We visited Mr. Smith, the man caring for Mama and Papa’s properties, but I am suspicious of him. He said we can’t live in any of the houses. And he had what Freddie and I both think is our pineapple lamp, although he said it wasn’t. I plan to keep an eye on this Mr. Smith.

  I also thought of someone who might have “informed” on Mama. Chester’s mom. For some reason I remembered Chester – I know he’s just a baby – said his mother thought our mama might be a Nazi. If she truly thought that, she might have acted on it. And Malia seemed to have thoughts about Mama and Papa being Nazis as well. But she wouldn’t, would she? Even if she has taken over our house.

  Rosie had known Malia for so long, it was hard to think she might do something so awful. But she reluctantly added Malia to her suspect list.

  Chapter 26

  The new house turned out to be not that bad. Rosie was surprised to find out that with her tanned skin, dark hair, and faded dresses, she was accepted as part Hawaiian, part haole by the other kids in the neighborhood with no question and no questions about where her mother and father were. Everyone figured Aunt Etta was their mother, never mind she was closer in age to being a big sister. Still, the acceptance came as a huge relief to Rosie after Aunt Yvonne, Rainer, and what she imagined as the whole population of Honolulu
had made her feel ashamed of her German heritage and required to hide who she was and where her parents were.

  George thought he could find Aunt Etta a job at his newspaper but as soon as the editor found out she was an “enemy alien parolee,” he told George she was a security risk and they couldn’t hire her after all.

  Rosie watched Freddie, who spent most of his time playing with his soldiers or on the beach with a gang of new friends, while Aunt Etta looked for work. Rosie, when she wasn’t hanging out with neighborhood kids jumping rope, playing hopscotch, or talking about movies and movie stars, spent her days writing in her journal, reading, and working on the quilt square Kealani had given her. And she finally had enough to read! One of her new friends, Betty, had told them there was a public library nearby, and Aunt Etta had taken Rosie and Freddie to sign up for library cards. Rosie didn’t feel as lonely when she had books to keep her company.

  As she waited for Aunt Etta to come home, Rosie wrote in her journal:

  We now have come to a truce with Aunt Yvonne. She brought us towels and some food (including Spam) for the house. Aunt Etta said Aunt Yvonne is “nervous” people will find out about her German heritage and that’s why she didn’t want to keep us. That it wasn’t because she didn’t love us. I am still not sure.

  I am trying to figure out a plan to find out where our property, clothes and stuff, is. I think I need to put Mr. Smith under surveillance.

  Before she could finish writing out her plan, Aunt Etta breezed in from job hunting.

  “Success!” she announced, her arms full of bags with the smell of food wafting from them, a smell that made Rosie’s mouth water. “I have a job.” Aunt Etta placed the bags on the kitchen table and hugged Rosie.

  Rosie was glad for her aunt and for them—but she mostly wanted to know what smelled so good. “At a restaurant?” she asked, realizing they would never have the money to buy two bags of food!

  “A food stand,” Aunt Etta said, “on the beach. And I can bring home leftovers, when there are leftovers. Plus, my boss let me have extra tonight so I could ‘get to know the menu.’ I think he realized I had no money for food. But I don’t care why he gave us food. It’s a feast!”

  Freddie burst into the house at that moment and grabbed Aunt Etta and held her tight around the waist. Every day it was the same. When she arrived home, Freddie couldn’t get enough of her, touching her, talking to her, staying tight by her side as if she might disappear any minute. Rosie knew exactly how he felt.

  “C’mon, let’s eat!” Aunt Etta pulled sandwiches and hamburgers and even two pieces of pie out of the paper bags. “And then I’ll change that bandage on your arm. How’s it doing?”

  “I just tell everybody I got wounded in the war. It doesn’t even hurt anymore,” said Freddie. He pulled out his chair and sat down.

  Before moving to the beach, Rosie never remembered being hungry, truly and really hungry. But in the week since they’d moved from Aunt Yvonne’s, it sometimes felt like her entire body was empty.

  Aunt Etta had tried her best, but the money only went so far. Aunt Yvonne, Rosie knew, had given Aunt Etta a little money, probably to make sure they didn’t show up back at the house. But Rosie had also spent a lot of time climbing the coconut tree outside their front door and throwing down the nuts to Freddie. After the war, she vowed, she would never eat another coconut ever. Aunt Etta had also shown them which kinds of seaweeds were edible and they sometimes ate that—mixed with coconut.

  Every time her stomach growled, Rosie found she could not help thinking about Mr. Smith refusing to give them money and the pineapple lamp that Freddie insisted was from their house. She knew if Nancy Drew was there, she would figure out a way to prove Mr. Smith had taken their belongings. But perhaps she could, too. Once her stomach was full, she would make a plan.

  “Freddie,” Rosie said as soon as Aunt Etta had left for work the next day, “let’s take a walk. Okay?”

  “I was going to play battle with some of the guys,” Freddie complained. “And this time I can be a pilot. I decided I want to be a pilot and not a gun soldier. What do you think?”

  “I hope you never have to be either one,” said Rosie. She knew from reading the papers George left behind when he had time to visit that there were soldiers—and pilots—being killed every day. Freddie still looked at war as a game.

  “I can’t go and leave you here and I want to check out Mr. Smith and all that stuff he had,” she said, sharing her plan with her brother.

  “Freddie,” Rosie said, “it will be like we are detectives investigating.” I-N-V-E-S-T-I-G-A-T-I-N-G, she spelled to herself as she struggled to convince her brother to come along with her. “We can call it The Mystery of Our Disappearing Belongings.”

  “I can be a detective, too? With you?” Freddie looked like he didn’t quite trust her to let him help.

  “I need you,” she said.

  “I guess,” Freddie finally agreed. “I wish we had magnifying glasses and badges and …”

  “We’re more the kind of detective that figures stuff out with our brains,” Rosie said. She wished Leilani were here to be a detective with her instead of her younger brother. Even Betty, who liked to read, didn’t have the same interest in mysteries as she did.

  Rosie and Freddie scuffed along in the sand at the side of the road until they got close enough to town for there to be sidewalks. Neither wore shoes. Rosie had outgrown hers and Freddie didn’t bother with the sandals he’d gotten from the Palus.

  Once in the downtown area, everywhere Rosie looked there were soldiers. None of them carried guns around town but the sheer number of them was scary enough. Up ahead she noticed a knot of soldiers, standing in front of a brightly painted building, talking and smoking. She pulled Freddie into the road to walk around them. As soon as they passed by, several of the boys broke out in laughter. Rosie felt her face heat up and pulled at her dress to make sure it was down as far as it would go. It was starting to feel short at the bottom and tight around the top. If only she’d quit growing until they could afford at least one new dress that fit.

  Rosie spotted Mr. Smith’s office sign hanging over the sidewalk a block ahead. Parked in front was a big shiny Packard like Uncle Charles’s that had to cost a lot of money. This car was much nicer than the one he’d driven to Aunt Yvonne’s only a week ago. And the parking spot said RESERVED FOR LAWRENCE L. SMITH. Where did he find the money to buy an expensive car?

  When they reached a spot where she could see Mr. Smith’s office but he couldn’t see them, Rosie halted. “We are going to wait here and see what Mr. Smith is up to,” she whispered to Freddie.

  “Here? In the hot sun?” Freddie leaned against the building, kicking his foot against the wall.

  “We have him under surveillance,” Rosie said. S-U-R-V-E-I-L-L-A-N-C-E, she spelled nervously to herself. Why couldn’t she give up the spelling practice? There wouldn’t be a spelling championship after all this time and even if there was, she wouldn’t be at the same school to participate.

  “Let’s go,” Freddie whined after only a few minutes.

  Rosie shushed him and watched the office.

  Before Freddie could complain again, Mr. Smith appeared, looked right then left and locked his office door. He carried a wooden box under his arm.

  Rosie held Freddie back as he tried to rush forward. She waited to see if the man would drive or walk away.

  She felt lucky for once when he passed his car and continued to walk down the sidewalk.

  Rosie motioned for her brother to stay behind her but to follow.

  “Where are we going?” he asked in a loud whisper.

  “Let’s see where he goes,” she answered in a much quieter whisper.

  The breath of Freddie’s sigh was strong enough to ruffle her hair.

  Only a few blocks farther down the street, Mr. Smith turned into a small shop.

  Rosie glanced in the big picture window as they walked slowly past and saw him place the box on the count
er. He opened it and the man behind the counter pawed through the contents. She picked up speed and at the corner crossed the street, pulling Freddie by the wrist as he poked along.

  She walked back in the direction they had come, slowly, waiting to see if Mr. Smith came out. The window had the name JEWELS OF THE SEA written across it in fancy script. Rosie figured, given the name, it must be a jewelry store.

  “You said we wouldn’t be long,” Freddie whined.

  “Just a few more minutes. Let’s see what he’s doing in there,” Rosie answered.

  “That wasn’t our box,” Freddie said.

  “No, but it was someone’s box. Shh!” Mr. Smith stepped out of the shop, without the box, and Rosie glimpsed a flash of green as his hand disappeared inside his pocket. Money?

  “Can we go now?” Freddie asked.

  Rosie stayed across the street, tracking Mr. Smith as he retraced his steps, soon unlocking and turning into his office.

  Hmm, her new journal would be a perfect place to record every suspicious action Mr. Smith committed. She should have brought it along.

  “Now? Can we go now?” Freddie whined.

  Rosie nodded and let her brother lead the way.

  As Rosie and Freddie passed by an alley where a row of Hawaiian women sat weaving nets, Rosie heard the strains of ukulele music. When she glanced in the direction of the music, she was so surprised at who she saw playing that she stopped abruptly. Freddie backtracked to join her.

  “Hey, it’s Rosie!” a boy’s voice called out. The music stopped.

  “Hi, Kam,” Rosie answered, pleased that he remembered her. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d shown her to the bomb shelter.

  Kam laid down his yellow ukulele and joined Rosie and Freddie at the entrance to the alley.

  “I thought maybe you’d joined your parents,” Kam said.

  Rosie shook her head and felt her face heat. The way Kam said it was as if it was normal to have parents interned, but she still didn’t like the reminder that they had been locked away. “We moved to the beach,” she added and described the neighborhood where they’d ended up.