Supper was over. Charlotte was washing dishes and trying to figure out how to collect as much scrap as she could before Ma started at the mill. Robbie saluted, then reached for the dish towel. “Cut it out,” Charlotte grumbled. “You’re not in the Navy.” “Not yet,” Robbie said. “But when I’m old enough, I’m going to be a sailor, same as Jim. On a battleship.” “Who says he’s on a battleship?” Charlotte asked. She scrubbed at a sticky spot on a plate. “He might be on a destroyer, a patrol boat, convoy duty. We don’t know. We don’t even know which ocean they’ve sent him to.” “Wherever they sent him, I’m going too.” Robbie stuck out his chin. Charlotte knew she’d never win that argument. She changed the subject. “For now, how about becoming Landman First Class?” Robbie groaned. “Not more gardening. We already dug Ma’s victory garden. There’s not much left of the backyard.” Charlotte lifted the skillet into the sudsy sink. “I’m not talking about gardening, buster.
