Aroostook County
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(continued from page 55) loved their teasing and she loved them all. It was all very simple. “Alan,” called the father as he sat in his kitchen rocker while the last minute touches for dinner were being made, “Snap on the radio for a few minutes.” “Can’t we have just one day without that foolishness?” she had started to ask, but Alan had already turned the knob – just that one snap, hidden by dish and settling sounds. “Harbor, President Roosevelt is scheduled to address the nation within minutes. We repeat, Pearl Harbor has just been attacked by the Japanese Empire. Listeners are advised to remain near a broadcasting station.” She looked at her four sons, each face frozen in startled movement. An image of uniforms flashed and left – all things forever changed, here, now, before a voice in the room had yet been given sound. Something extraordinary had happened so suddenly, some intru-
sion between the warming routine that had been her life and some inexplicable horror that was going to be now – how was she ever to endure the change of it – and still no one had really moved, had really created order from the radio’s sounds. January, February, March and April, all passed. With Spring came the extra chores, though each season brought extra chores. The banking had to be removed from the house; the winter wind had blown shingles from the barn, and they had to be replaced; new stakes had to be cut for the pasture fence. So many things to get done before spring planting started. She wondered how her husband could possibly get all of this done by himself, and she wondered if he ever felt that he couldn’t, and if he’d tell her after all. They never talked about that Sunday, never joined in the “Where-wereyou-when-it-happened?” talk at the
local market or at the church suppers. They didn’t talk about a lot of things those days. Inside the house she had just finished the spring cleaning of the upstairs. She leaned against the stair railing. So pointless, she thought. There are just the two of us after all. She on the third step, weary, feeling a frailty she had never associated with herself before, only with older folks or those with a poorer share of things. She stared at the white banner in the window, the banner with the four blue stars. It was supposed to be a symbol that this household had four sons serving their country. For her it wasn’t that at all. It was a reminder, every day, of what she would later call to herself as that aching time, the time when everything was heavy, and dreading and savagely fearing – the time after that Sunday.
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