Isabel’s War Read Online Free Page A

here.”
    Mrs. F. makes clucking noises of disapproval when I tell her that Helga has gone on a pre-breakfast hike. “Oh dear,” she says. “It’s all that marching around, first in Germany and then in England.”
    My mind flashes on the uniform-like wardrobe in Helga’s half of the closet.
    â€œYou mean she was in some sort of army over there?” I inquire.
    Mrs. F. nods. “In a sense. In Germany, before they found out she was half-Jewish, she was in one of those children’s fitness clubs that later became part of the Hitler Youth. Then, of course, they threw her out. She was only nine. In England, she belonged to a youth group that was connected with the military. Long marches to build up the body. The child eats practically nothing, as you saw last night. I’m worried about her.”
    Helga’s aunt sits down on the side of my bed. “So, tell me, are you two getting along all right? I hope you’ll turn out to be good friends, even if there’s a small age difference. Oh, and what I came to tell Helga this morning is that we’ll be going into the village after breakfast to pick out some pretty summer clothes for her. Maybe you’d like to come along, Isabel? I’m sure you could help us find a few stylish outfits for Helga now that she’s going to be living in America.”
    Helga, Helga, it’s all about Helga . But, of course, I agree to go along on the shopping trip. What else is there for me to do? I know I’ve been mean and grumpy and unkind in my secret thoughts. Helga has had a hard time, surely. That picture of the mother and father and the three little girls. Where are they now? Was Helga one of them, and was she the only one who escaped the Nazis?
    I’ll try, honestly I’ll try, to put myself in her shoes.
    â€œSo where’s our pretty young lady this morning?” Harry the waiter wants to know as he flashes his way around the breakfast table with bowls of steaming farina and creamy-looking scrambled eggs. The table is loaded with fruit juices, grapefruit halves, toast, butter, jam, coffee, as well as cottage cheese, herring, and sour cream.
    Helga has not returned from her morning walk yet. Twice I’ve been sent back to the annex to look for her and once Mrs. F. has gone herself.
    â€œShe doesn’t know the countryside around here,” Mrs. F. laments.
    Mr. F., Helga’s father’s brother, pats his wife’s hand. “Countryside is countryside. What’s the difference whether it’s over there or over here? The kid is an experienced hiker.”
    Everyone at the table keeps reassuring everyone else that Helga is fine and will be back at Moskin’s anyminute. But nobody is really convinced. “You should have gone with her this morning, Isabel,” my mother remarks. “Her first time in a new place.”
    I throw an exasperated look in my mother’s direction. I could like Helga a lot more if I wasn’t constantly being reminded of something I should have done for her that I haven’t. “No, no,” Mr. and Mrs. F. break in, “it wasn’t Isabel’s responsibility.”
    Breakfast ends, and people stand around in a tight little knot trying to decide what to do and where to look for Helga. Some of the male guests volunteer to drive up and down the roads that snake in various directions leading away from Moskin’s. Others offer to comb the countryside around the lake. Someone else suggests alerting the police in the nearby village of Harper’s Falls.
    Ruthie joins me, and we go off to the annex to act as sentinels in case Helga turns up and heads directly for her room. “Such a fuss,” I remark disgustedly, as we actually go inside for another look around and then settle down on the steps of the porch. “I could be missing for three days and nobody would notice.”
    â€œYou know that’s not true,” Ruthie says. “And