Looking at the Moon by Kit Pearson Page A

And Mary seems to be off on a cloud. She forgot it was her turn to help with the children’s breakfast, which is quite uncharacteristic. What a family … Sometimes I’m glad I’m not really part of it. Aren’t you?”
    Norah nodded. At least Aunt Catherine was once again confiding in her like an equal.
    â€œI don’t think Andrew’s been very happy lately either,” mused Aunt Catherine. “Poor lad. I’m so very fond of him and I can’t abide the idea of him going off to this monstrous war.”
    Norah’s skin prickled with alertness. “But that won’t be for a few years, not until he finishes university,” she said. “Maybe the war will be over by then.”
    â€œLet’s hope so. If it isn’t, he’s going to be doing something that’s against his nature—I feel sorry for boys like him.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI mean he’s not cut out to be a soldier. They all want him to be like the other men in the family—like Hugh. Now Hugh was a dear, but he was a completely different sort from Andrew.”
    Norah was puzzled. “But he must want to be a soldier. He should join the war.” She shuddered. “Not until he has to, of course.”
    â€œShould he?” Aunt Catherine’s lined face looked tired. “I lost a father, a brother and a nephew—Hugh—in wars, Norah. It’s a wicked waste.”
    â€œBut we have to beat Hitler!”
    â€œI don’t know how to answer that, Norah. Yes, we have to beat him. But what a price we’re paying! Not just our side—think of what the German people are enduring. We’re bombing them just as heavily as they’ve been bombing Britain.” She broke off a piece of wool angrily. “It’s all so senseless ! Do you know what we called the last war? ‘The war to end all wars.’ Huh! ”
    Then she sighed. “Poor Andrew. He was born at the wrong time. Let’s just hope your little brother will be luckier.”
    Norah couldn’t bear to think of Gavin fighting in a war. But if he did, he’d be doing it because he had no choice. Like Andrew. Surely Aunt Catherine was wrong. Andrew must want to fight Hitler. If he didn’t, he’d be a coward—wouldn’t he?
    â€œI shouldn’t burden you with all these sombre thoughts, Norah. Are you sure there’s nothing troubling you?” Aunt Catherine peered at her and Norah looked away. “Lately you haven’t seemed yourself.”
    â€œI’m all right,” mumbled Norah. It was tempting to tell Aunt Catherine about her feelings for Andrew, but after all she was an Elder. And she wouldn’t understand,anyway. She’d never married and she’d probably never even been in love.
    â€œAh, well,” said Aunt Catherine, pulling out her knitting. “It’s just being thirteen. I’d never want to be thirteen again—a miserable, muddled age.”
    Surprisingly, this cheered Norah. She wouldn’t always be thirteen, she thought suddenly—there was a light at the end of the tunnel. One day she’d be eighty-three and looking back on herself as calmly as Aunt Catherine was doing. But the thought of being as old as Aunt Catherine was too slippery to hang on to.
    T HAT EVENING the air outside still crackled with impending fury. Inside, the atmosphere was the same: a cloud of discord hung over the family.
    During the children’s dinner, Norah sat as far away from Clare as she could and tried not to look at her. Janet, on the other hand, glared at her cousin all through the meal. Clare made spiteful comments to her brothers for getting her into trouble. After both meals were over, the family sat woodenly in the living room, someone occasionally making a stiff remark about the weather.
    Aunt Mar and Aunt Dorothy were glaring at each other as much as their daughters. “Why aren’t you girls doing