Free Tales from the Fountain Pen by E. Lynn Hooghiemstra Page A

when my friend became such a mother hen.
    Leaning on Siepie, I limp to my front door. My ankle’s not broken, but it certainly hurts a lot.
    “Who did this to you?” my mother asks as Siepie helps me into the front room where I drop into my father’s easy chair.
    “Nobody, I twisted my ankle and fell,” I say, wincing as I move my injured ankle up onto a dining chair Siepie’s brought over.
    “I’ll come back later, after dinner,” Siepie says, and she slips out of the room before I can say anything.
    I tell my mother why I was running home and she eyes me with more than a hint of suspicion, then decides that my pain must be real and goes to the kitchen. She comes back a minute later with a cold, vinegar-soaked rag and wraps it around my ankle. Then she fetches a bowl of warm water and some iodine to clean out and treat my many scrapes. It will sting, I know, as my mother is not the gentlest of nurses.
    I clench my teeth and shut my eyes tight, wishing it were my father tending me, but he’s at work.
    “There, all done,” my mother says, and awkwardly squeezes my arm and smiles at me.
    Her unusual display of maternal affection leaves me a little bewildered.
    “Do you think my stockings can be mended?” I ask softly.
    “Probably, but it won’t look very nice on a pretty young lady,” she answers.
    “Mother?” I say, surprised at this softening of her tone towards me.
    “Maggie, you’re a proper young woman now and it won’t do to walk around in rags,” she says.
    “But with the rationing it’s almost impossible to find stockings,” I say.
    “Good thing I hoarded some.” My mother actually winks at me and for a moment I see the impish young girl my father must have fallen in love with.
    How could she say I’m a proper young women now when I came in with skinned knees like a little girl?
    “Why does it smell like vinegar in here?” Betty comes in, sees me in Papa’s chair with rags and bandages and sniffs disapprovingly. I suppress a giggle at the face she makes.
    “I guess I’ll have to clean Theo’s room by myself,” she says haughtily. “I don’t see why I can’t have that room then.”
    “Maybe because right now I don’t know if I can even make it up one set of stairs, let alone two,” I say and point to my sprained ankle.
    “You should be more careful,” Betty snorts. “Haste makes waste.” And she strides out of the room again. So much for sympathy.
    At least I won’t have to share a bed with her anymore. But…I stop when I realize that Johann and his fellow soldier have slept in that room for the past few months.
    Now I wish I could help clean up that room. I wish I could douse it in lye and scrub it till it gleams so no trace of those soldiers remains.
    Before I don’t have time to get too worried about Theo’s room, I hear my father’s key in the lock. He rushes into the front room before even taking off his hat.
    “Maggie! Oh, Maggie, what have they done to you?” He rushes over and clumsily embraces me. “I heard what happened from Trijntje at the newsstand, she said you had been accosted by a German soldier.” He takes a hurried breath. “But this looks more like you were attacked and beaten.”
    “No, no, Papa,” I say, clasping his cold, strong hands. “It’s not like that. These cuts are from when I ran home and tripped. I was clumsy because I was upset and I twisted my ankle.”
    “They didn’t hurt you then?” His eyes search mine.
    “Not really. Just a bruise or two from where he held me.”
    “He did hurt you then! That bastard. Trijntje said you fought him off with the fierceness of a tigress!”
    I smile. Maybe I’m not so doomed after all.
    “Yes, Papa, I struggled fiercely,” I say and let him pull me close into a proper embrace. I can smell machine oil and the cold outside on his coat. His cheek feels rough and cold against mine but I don’t mind.
    “How about a nice cup of tea?” my mother comes into the room again with the tea