Free Across a War-Tossed Sea by L.M. Elliott Page A

inauguration of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt himself! They’re the first Negro music group to sing in Constitution Hall and the White House!”
    The boy turned to a small stack of thick records and rifled through them indignantly. “Didn’t you see the movie Star Spangled Rhythm ? They performed in that with Mary Martin and Dick Powell.” Finally, the boy found what he was looking for. Ever so carefully, he took the first record off the turntable, slipped it into a sleeve, and replaced it with the one he’d located. “This is their latest. For sure you know this one.” He cranked the box’s handle and gently put the needle onto the rotating black disk.
    Crrrrrrr-crrrrrrr-crrrrr…
    Four men began to sing in tight, deep harmony about Stalin, the “Russian Bear,” and the Soviets standing up to Hitler’s invasion and blockade. It sounded a little like the a capella barbershop quartets Wesley had heard at the county fair. But the rhythms were jauntier and syncopated:
They’d never rest contented
    Till they’d driven him from the land .…
    â€œOh, I do know this,” Wesley said over the music as the quartet sang that the devil had made Hitler and called Stalin a “noble” Russian. He’d heard it on the radio. Ron had called the singers “a bunch of Reds” for praising the Soviet Union’s communist leader Joseph Stalin. Many Americans hated Stalin despite the fact the Soviet Union was one of the Allies and Stalin was labeled one of its “Big Three” leaders, along with FDR and Churchill. After all, once Stalin had aligned with Hitler to divide Poland between them, and his regime was about as repressive as Hitler’s Third Reich.
    Wesley didn’t mention Ron’s opinion. Instead he marveled at how the four voices blended, swelled, and fell as one.
    Crrrrr-crrrrr-crrrrrr … The music ended.
    â€œOh that’s bully, that is,” said Wesley.
    The boy’s face turned from a look of blissful appreciation of the song to a sudden defensiveness. “No one’s trying to bully you, boy.”
    â€œOh no, I mean it’s excellent!” Wesley said. He smiled. “I never heard music like this back home in England. We have singers like Vera Lynn. Her best song is ‘White Cliffs of Dover.’ The cliffs are the last thing our RAF fighters see as they head for bombing runs over Jerryville, and the song is sad and sweet at the same time, about peace coming someday.” Wesley stopped abruptly, realizing the boy was frowning. “Do you know the tune?”
    The boy shook his head.
    â€œNo? Well, anyway, your music…well…that first song…that first song…” Wesley hesitated to be honest about the song’s effect on him.
    The boy completed his thought for him: “Made your heart hurt?”
    â€œYes,” Wesley gasped. “Exactly.”
    The boy nodded. They were silent a moment.
    â€œWhere’s your mama?” the boy asked.
    Wesley sighed. “Way across the Atlantic Ocean in London.”
    The boy whistled. “Nerts! For real?”
    Wesley nodded. “Where’s yours?”
    â€œDown to Newport News Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Company.” The boy used the long company name with noticeable pride. “She and my daddy both are building warships. Virginia is popping them out fast now. Daddy got hired as a welder. Mama paints the hulls.” He eyed Wesley. “What do your folks do?”
    â€œDaddy is a teacher and coach, and a volunteer fireman. He pulls people out of buildings that the Nazis have bombed. Mummy drives an ambulance.”
    The boy pursed his lips and nodded, showing Wesley that, at least as far as his parents’ war-worthiness, he checked out. “Why aren’t you with your parents?” Wesley asked.
    â€œI was,” the boy explained. “But the company is hiring so fast there’s a terrible housing