Farmerettes by Gisela Sherman Page A

civilized person should have to get up before dawn. Cooking was hard work. Scrubbing the floors killed her knees, and washing the toilets was disgusting. Tomorrow they would have to spray the kitchen with DDT again—to keep insects away.
    Isabel kicked backward at the keg she sat on. She couldn’t do anything. She really was an itsy princess.
    She couldn’t kick a keg either. Her heel throbbed with pain. But it snapped her out of her pity session. “No!” she yelled. “Even princesses are useful. Princess Elizabeth herself drives an ambulance for the war.” The girls in England were clearing bomb rubble with their bare hands, nursing broken and dying people. Compared to that, what was peeling a hundred potatoes or scouring a washroom?
    â€œI can do this. I’ll tell Billy amusing stories about it when he comes home.” Isabel stood, squared her shoulders, and stepped outside into a stream of sunlight. It was a sign. She was strong and capable. She ran back to the kitchen, firm with purpose.
    It wasn’t until Cookie banged a pot lid that she realized she’d forgotten the apples. Sighing, she rushed back to get them.
    Sunday, June 27, 1943
    Helene
    Sunday afternoon, Helene felt sticky and tired like the other girls. It had been a blistering hot week of hoeing, weeding, and picking berries. Last night, they stayed up too late dancing to records and raiding the kitchen at midnight.
    After church, they had lunch at the rectory with Reverend Ralston and his wife. Helene was stuffed full of dainty sandwiches, polite chatter, and goodwill. Now no one had the energy to do more than lounge around the recreation room, playing cards and listening to the radio.
    Helene was glad when The Army Show came on. She loved Wayne and Shuster’s humor, and hearing the other girls laugh. They were annoyed when the deep voice of the radio announcer interrupted a hilarious skit with a war update.
    â€œOperation Pointblank is proving successful. A massive Allied air raid involving eight hundred planes has destroyed the city of Dusseldorf. Twenty-seven Nazi fighters were shot down. In North Africa, intensive naval and air power achieved the surrender of 275,000 Italian and German troops. On the Italian front, Allied…”
    Peggy turned down the radio and asked, “Anyone interested in playing The Landlord’s Game? It’s fun.” She pulled a worn box from the shelf.
    â€œI’ll play,” Helene offered.
    Isabel, from her chair in the farthest corner, shook her head. “I have to start dinner soon.” She retreated back into her mail, poring over Billy’s old letters, since none had arrived this week.
    Kate jumped to join them. “I’m buying George Street and putting houses on all my properties, so everyone will owe me rent.”
    â€œHa, you’ll be lucky to get Goat Alley or the Ting-a-Ling Telephone Company, my friend,” answered Peggy.
    â€œWe’ll see,” said Kate. “I wish half the cards weren’t missing.”
    â€œWait,” said Helene, searching the shelves. “Miss Stoakley delivered new games yesterday. Here it is.” She pulled out a clean box. “This is the one from the United States. They renamed it Monopoly.”
    Peggy looked intrigued as Helene unwrapped the game. Lured by the novelty, Irene joined them too, and soon the girls were amicably gouging rents from each other for landing on Park Place and the four railroads.
    Isabel tucked her letters into her pocket, and left for the kitchen. “Poor Isabel,” whispered Irene. “I heard the real reason the last kitchen assistant left was because she couldn’t take Cookie’s temper anymore.”
    Helene worried about that too. How would Isabel last in that kitchen?
    Stella passed by, balancing her laundry on one arm and carrying a bar of yellow soap in the other hand.
    â€œGosh, I should wash my clothes too,” said Kate, but she