Jack was sick… violently sick. These were the roughest seas they had encountered since leaving Newport News, Virginia, twelve days before. In the hold of the ship, where it was dark and musty, and the smell of diesel fuel assaulted his sensitive nose, Jack and his crate slid this way and that. His thoughts, once again, turned to his family, left behind in Connecticut. Instead of violent seas and uncomfortable crates, he thought of sunny summer days spent running in green fields, and of napping in front of the fire on cool crisp autumn afternoons. Most of all, he thought of his boy, Peter, whom he had played with and protected, and whose bed he had slept in every night since he was a tiny puppy. These thoughts could do little to make him feel better though, when his stomach was pitching and rolling like the ship. Jack was a handsome German shepherd that had lived with and loved his family for two years. Now World War II was raging and every patriotic American wanted to help support the war effort. His family had purchased war bonds, recycled aluminum, and planted a victory garden. Then they had done the best thing they could think of. They had given Jack to “Dogs for Defense,” an organization that acquired dogs from civilians and donated them to the armed forces. The dogs were paired with handlers, trained, then shipped overseas to work. It was his chance to go up on deck for a while, and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine Jack had spent six months at a training center in Front Royal, Virginia. He’d learned the commands he would need to be helpful to his handler. He had learned never to bark, which might give his position away to the enemy He’d learned to ignore the sound of gunfire and the presence of other dogs. His handler had been trained too. He had learned how to take care of Jack and how to read the signals the dog gave when he sensed enemy troops nearby. Jack was so busy retching that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching his crate. “What’s the matter, fella… having another bad day?” Jack looked up. There was his handler, Sergeant Mark Baker. Mark opened the crate. Jack emerged, wobbling slightly on shaky legs but happy to see his partner. This was Jack’s favorite time of day It was his chance to go up on deck for a while, and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. Jack rushed up the stairs to the deck, pulling Mark behind. Once on deck, he marched to the railing and put his feet up. Looking over the side, he sniffed the air and growled at the waves. As the pair circled the deck, they heard people calling out to each other or laughing at one another’s jokes. Toenails clicked on metal as dogs moved around the deck. A man polishing an anti-aircraft gun called out to them as they passed. Up here, the smell of diesel fuel was still present, though it was not as strong, and it was mixed with the clean fresh smell of the sea. The sound of engines throbbed from deep within the ship. After an hour, Mark placed Jack back in his crate. “It’s OK, Jack,” he told him. “Another week or so and we’ll be in Morocco. That won’t be much fun either, I’m afraid, but you’ll get to be outside every day, and you won’t be seasick anymore.” He smiled and left, once again leaving Jack alone in the dim hold. Ten days later, they arrived in Morocco. Far-off’ explosions could be heard before they even left the ship. Once on land, the explosions were louder and accompanied by the distant sound of gunfire. Jack was nervous at first, and he leaned against Mark for support. A jeep pulled up. “Get in!” yelled the corporal who was driving. Jack and Mark jumped into the jeep and it roared off. They reached the command post within an hour, a tent city placed close to the liberated town of Fedala. Mark and Jack received their orders. The landscape of Morocco was well suited to ambushes. The desert made soldiers feel they could see for miles, giving them a false sense of security. Yet scattered scrub brush was perfect for hiding snipers. The Americans were suffering high casualties. Jack and Mark were to accompany troops going out into the field. Jack was to be “on point,” or out in front. He would be the first to enter unknown territory, and would alert Mark if enemy troops were nearby. It was a dangerous job, but Jack’s sharp eyes and keen sense of smell made him better prepared to do the job than any man. A private showed Mark and Jack to their quarters. As Mark entered his tent, he saw a man sitting on a cot reading a letter. A smile crossed the man’s face. “Hi!” he said. “My name’s…” As he saw Jack, however, the man’s warm welcome turned to a frightened gasp. “What’s that dog doing in here?!” he shouted. “Get him outta here right now!” “I can’t,” said Mark, “I’m his partner. He and I go everywhere together. We’re going to be your new bunk mates.” The man shuddered. “All right then,” he said. He took a penknife out of his pocket. He flicked it open and reached down to draw a line across the dirt floor of the tent. “You keep that dog on your side of the tent,” he said. “I don’t want him anywhere near me.” “But why?” asked Mark. “He’s a swell dog.” “I don’t like no dogs,” said the man. “One bit me when I was a kid and I ain’t had no use for them since. So just keep him on your side of the tent and we’ll get along fine. My name’s Al, by the way… Sergeant Al Cooper.” “It’s a pleasure, Al, I’m Mark Baker and this
Historical
What the Stars Are Made Of
Sixteen-year-old Bella sat nervously in her chair. “Think about something else,” she told herself, yet the wandering of her mind always came back to her love, the baker’s son, Cody They have always been friends, more than friends. When they were little they would spend their summer nights together, skipping smooth rocks on the sandy riverbanks. She would shout to her father an excuse to get out and away so she could be left with her beloved Cody She went to the bakery and picked up her lovely Cody These were only when they were little though they were always the best memories, before they knew they liked each other, pondering over the thought of your crush liking you back. But this was before the arranged marriages and the boring Paul and the insufferable Lia. She remembered the nights all too clearly… * * * Cody stood straight and tall in his black suit and his red tie, trying to look good for his father. Cody had to admit it, he was not an orderly man, strict and fierce, he would much rather be in the kitchen smelling the delightful fragrance of dough and flour always ready for work. “Seventeen-year-olds are ready,” announced his father every morning, yet Cody had never thought he would take action. He was not ready for this; he needed Bella, the one he truly loved. He remembered chasing the fast fireflies in the spring with only one thought in mind: Does she like me too? This was before all the decisions were made for them with the arranged marriages. Lia was unbearable and how he hated Paul. The memories were the only things he had of when things were normal. Those memories were his favorite yet he remembered them way too certainly… “Think about something else,” she told herself yet her mind always came back to her love, Cody * * * “Papa,” I yelled, “I’m going to the bakery to get bread then talk to Cody” “Are you sure?” asked Emily suspiciously She hated secrets and yet she always knew them before you knew them yourself Bella, who was thirteen years old, had to give her little six-year-old sister credit. She had so many things hidden under her pink bonnet that you could mistake her for a genius, yet she was always underestimated for being so small. She was born early and going to be small anyway At least Bella didn’t underestimate her most of the time. “I’m just going to the bakery,” I replied smoothly, not to raise her suspicions any higher than they usually were. I pulled on my leather coat. My sister and I always had leather coats because our father was the tailor. We always got the best clothes and we had such a variety. You should see my closet. “When will you be back?” asked my father. Leonard Johnson had a way of sneaking up on you, yet it wasn’t surprising. He would pop up and you’d always be happy to see him. At least most of the time. “Around nine,” I answered, still in a cool tone of voice. I had not looked back but I could sense Emily was still watching me with a close eye. If someone was watching, even Emily’s three dolls, Sandy, Mandy, and Randy, I would make sure to keep my secrets. They were all differently made with different materials and were different sizes and shapes, yet Emily insisted they were triplets and for that I could not change her mind. Before anyone could ask any more I slipped out the door. I was always bewildered by the night, so calm and peaceful, yet it always represented dark and hatred. This confuses me but I don’t mind. I know that one day I’ll understand them just like my father. Fathers knew everything and if they didn’t they would find out. Just last week I asked my father what the stars where made of I haven’t gotten the answer yet. It seems it is taking him longer and longer to get the answers, but I’m confident he’ll figure it out, just like always. “Hello Mr. Chipmen,” I called. “Bella,” the little ones shouted. All five of the children ran up to me like a swarm of bees. After all, I was known as the town babysitter. I was so good with kids (thanks to Emily) and they did all love me too. The sad thing was that was the only thing I was known for. Other than the simple girl. Everyone thought of me like that. Everyone that is except Cody “You must go in,” I insisted. “Your mother no doubt has supper on the table.” Four of them scurried in, following their grumbling stomachs, envisioning their mother’s famous steaming rolls and soft and smooth mashed potatoes. Yet one stayed behind too eager with curiosity. “Where are you going?” asked the small and little Rachel. Rachel was Emily’s best friend and she had the exact plentiful amount of cleverness. They knew exactly what the other one did, exchanging others’ secrets and confidential information. They ran around the town acting innocent and sweet but I knew better. “Where are you going?” I shot back lightheartedly Rachel was sweet and I loved every kid in the town like a sibling. Rachel bought the act and said, “Home of course,” and she put her hands on her hips but the beam on her face told me she was playing. She trooped in right after her siblings and I could see through the window I was forgotten. I let out a sigh of relief and looked onward to find my king and his castle. But Rachel was not fooled so easily and a pair of eyes was following my figure until I turned the corner and was out of sight. * * * My eyes kept drifting toward the door with one thought racing through my head: Is Bella here yet? “Of course not,” I murmured. I
In My Eyes
Rachel gently set down the next pile of firewood by her mistress’s fireplace. She stood up straight and yawned. It was already 5:3o. She went into the kitchen and fetched the teapot. She crushed up some tea leaves and threw them into the pot of boiling water. The water slowly turned brown, like waiting for the sun to rise. She looked at her dark brown skin. If only she were white. She would have her own personal slave, a big white house, get to eat real food, and get to taste tea! As the water finally turned dark brown she poured it into the teapot. She set out the teacups, the teapot, the butter and bread, the sugar, and the cream all on one tray and brought it out as her mistress, Mistress Sarah, her daughter, Madeline, and her master, Sir John, sat down. They each took a teacup and put sugar and cream at the bottom. As each of them nibbled on their bread, Rachel poured them tea. Rachel looked into the deep brown of the tea in Madeline’s cup. The sugar dissolved quickly while the cream turned it a pale tan. Rachel smelled the delicious taste that was longing to be brought to her lips. Her hands went out to take the cup but snapped back in when Mistress Sarah yelled, “Stop at once! You fool! Tea is only for civilized human beings! Not a negro like you!” Rachel set the pot of tea by Sir John and ran out into the fields where her mother was picking cotton with a few other Africans. She spotted her mother and hugged her. Rachel smelled the delicious taste that was longing to be brought to her lips “What’s happened, child?” asked her mother, stroking her braids. “Have you ever had tea?” Rachel asked. “Once,” said her mother, “when I was a child and working for Sarah, I snuck some tea from the kitchen. It was British tea. I didn’t have any sugar or cream with me, so I snuck some sugar out of the blue cupboard your grandmother kept her spices in.” “Mother, how could you!” exclaimed Rachel. “We’re only supposed to use those spices, especially the sugar, for special occasions only!” “Yes,” her mother continued, “but I convinced myself this was a special occasion. It was the best drink I ever had! Very hot, but so sweet and refreshing. I drank every last drop of it. That’s when Sir John caught me.” “Did he beat you awfully?” Rachel asked anxiously. “Let’s not get into details,” said her mother. “Oh, Mother!” said Rachel, wrapping her arms even tighter around her mom. “Rachel!” cried Sir John. “Go, child,” said her mother. “I’ll be right here.” Rachel ran toward the front door. “A slave owner is here to have a look at you,” said Sir John, pushing her into the house. Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. She held back her tears. The slave owner was sure to take her away from her mother and papa and little Noel, who was only eight months old. She would be thrown on a ship and would be taken somewhere else in the world. The slave owner examined her carefully. The slave owner whispered something in Sir John’s ear. “Girl,” said the slave owner, “get me some water.” Rachel hurried outside and filled a bucket with water. She went into the kitchen and filled a pitcher with the water from the bucket. She carried the pitcher and a glass into the dining room and poured the man some water. “You’ve got this girl well trained, sir,” the slave owner said to Sir John. “Well then, that settles it,” Sir John said, shaking hands with the man. The slave owner took hold of Rachel’s dress and started to drag her. “No! No!” Rachel screamed. They can’t do this, Rachel thought, they can’t take me away from Mama! She was dragged onto a stagecoach. The slave owner put heavy shackles on her feet. “No! Don’t take my baby!” Rachel’s mama called. She was racing through the cotton fields as fast as she could. She dropped on her knees in front of Sir John. “Please,” Mama begged, “don’t let them take her! She’s my baby!” “Mama,” Rachel cried as the slave owner flicked the horses with a whip. Her mother got off her knees and raced after the moving stagecoach. Rachel held her hand out for her mother to take it. Her mother grabbed hold of it and pulled Rachel off the stagecoach. Rachel landed on the dirt road. Her mother whispered in her ear, “Follow me.” Her mother started running into the woods. Rachel’s heavy shackles slowed her down. Mama picked her up and ran as fast as she could. They heard dog barks behind them. Her mother raced inside a cave. She cupped a hand over Rachel’s mouth while several dogs went flying past the cave. One dog stopped. He sniffed around and looked into the cave. Mama carried Rachel deeper into the cave. They found a little hole for Rachel to climb in. But they put Rachel in the hole too soon, for the dog heard her shackles clang against the hard rock floor of the cave. Mama found a big rock to throw at the dog. The dog saw her and started barking madly Mama threw the big rock on top of the dog. She picked up Rachel and started to run. As night fell Mama set Rachel on the ground. “Oh, Mama!” cried Rachel, throwing her arms over her. “Thank you for saving me! I was so scared, I don’t know why I didn’t free myself from him.” “It’s OK,” said Mama, letting go of Rachel, “you were in shock.” Rachel smiled. She stood up. Forgetting about the shackles around her ankles, she tried reaching an apple high up on a tree above her. She tripped on her shackles and fell face first. Her shackles made a loud noise. Then the dog barks
