Book Review: Radar Girls

Synopsis:

Radar Girls is an extraordinary story inspired by the Women’s Air Raid Defense in which an unlikely recruit and her sisters-in-arms cement their place in World War II history.

Daisy Wilder prefers the company of horses to people, bare feet and salt water to high heels and society parties. But in the aftermath of the December 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor, Daisy enlists in a top secret program. She and other young women will replace male soldiers in a war zone for the very first time. Under fear of imminent invasion, the Women’s Air Raid Defense guides pilots into blacked-out airstrips and tracks unidentified planes across the skies of the Pacific.

But not everyone thinks the women are fit for the job. The new recruits must put aside their personal differences and work together despite the resistance and heartache they encounter.

With America’s future on the line, Daisy is determined to prove herself worthy. And with the man she’s falling in love with serving on the front lines, she cannot fail. From radar towers on remote mountaintops to flooded bomb shelters, Daisy will need to rely on her new team when the stakes are highest. Because the most important battles are fought — and won — together.

Author Sara Ackerman transports readers to wartime Hawai’i and introduces them to a group of pioneering, unsung heroines, at least one of whom finds courage, strength, and sisterhood.

Review:

Sara Ackerman, a native Hawaiian, is the author of Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers and Red Sky Over Hawaii, set on the Big Island, and The Lieutenant’s Nurse, set in Honolulu. Ackerman studied journalism, earned graduate degrees in psychology and Chinese medicine, and worked as a high school counselor and teacher on Oahu’s north shore prior to practicing acupuncture. She began writing her first novel in 2012, and freely blames the beautiful state of Hawaii for her addiction to writing — the island paradise is replete with rich, untapped stories. “Enthralled by the magic of writing,” she firmly believes that “stories write themselves, we just help them along” . . . with a lot of editing. “We each have stories of our own place and people that can resonate around the globe. Some tragic, some hopeful, and others downright heartwarming. There is no one way to write a story, there are only our stories,” she says.

While conducting research for The Lieutenant’s Nurse, Ackerman happened upon information about the Women’s Air Raid Defense (WARD), a program she had never heard about growing up in Hawaii in the 1970s and hearing stories about World War II from her parents and grandparents. It was formed by Emergency Order 9063 immediately after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. The women were recruited from Hawaii and the mainland, sworn to strictest secrecy, and assigned to command centers and radar stations established on each island. They were hastily trained about radar, codes, and complicated calculations. They were taught to guide pilots as they landed aircraft on runways darkened for security purposes, or talk them through treacherous flights back from the frontlines of battle. Their code name was Rascal, while the military personnel manning the radar stations were referred to as Oscar.

Ackerman says that as soon as she learned about this group of forgotten heroines she knew she “had to write a novel about them so that the rest of the world would know what national treasures they were.” Radar Girls is that novel. Her characters are a composite of her imagination and the real women she read about who formed a sisterhood, and remained close and in touch with each other the rest of their lives.

The story opens on December 7, 1941, with an action-packed first chapter entitled “The Sky Falls.” Daisy Wilder is swimming near Waialua, O’ahu on that peaceful Sunday morning when the horse she borrowed, Moon, appears to have been spooked by something. Daisy was supposed to ride Ka’ena, but took Moon instead without the owner’s permission, planning to return the beautiful horse before anyone noticed he was missing. But first, she needed to bring fish home for herself and her mother, Louise, who remained devastated by the tragic death of Daisy’s father. But as Daisy dove, “all around her, the water hummed. She tasted fuel on her tongue.” She assumes she is hearing the sounds of military training coming from the skies, but soon “a deep vibration of the water all around,” planes with red circles under their wings flying directly over her, and the sound of gunfire cause Moon to rear up and run off before Daisy can get to him. She then watches as a Japanese plane chases a P-40 Warhawk, but the American pilot sends the enemy flyer to a watery grave before navigating his own plane toward the nearby airstrip. As she runs back toward their modest home to check on her mother, “a wall of planes appeared over the Wai’anae Mountains. Every single one of the planes had red circles painted on their wings or sides. A whole sky full of Japanese planes. Hundreds. And not one American plane in sight.”

Twenty-three-year-old Daisy has worked for Hal Montgomery — the same man who employed her father — for seven years. But a few days later, with Moon still missing, is fired by Montgomery, who brands her a thief for borrowing Moon without his knowledge. No sooner is she out of a job than she encounters General Danielson who persuades her to join WARD by offering her $140 per month plus meals, as well as officer status and safe travel for Louise to the mainland to stay with Daisy’s aunt so that Daisy will not have to worry about her for the first time in a decade. It’s an opportunity that short-haired, trouser-wearing, horse-loving, outdoorsy Daisy cannot pass up. She is unlike Peg Montgomery, the beautiful, college-educated daughter of her former employer, who is also recruited by the General. And not the kind of woman that Peg’s brother, the dashing Walker, a Navy pilot who was flying one of those P-40 Warhawks on that fateful morning, would find attractive.

Members of the WARD at work during World War II

The women assemble at ‘Iolani Palace, the former home of Hawaiian kings and queens, and the site where Queen Liliuokalani was held hostage while the islands were overthrown. Now used to conduct secret military training, Daisy and nineteen others are informed they are about to perform “some of the most important work any woman in this nation has ever done” after an intense course of instruction. They will be using radar (radio detection and ranging) to detect aircraft and ships, with six stations mounted on O’ahu. They are introduced to each other, fitted for uniforms, and advised that they will be deemed military officers for their safety. “If captured by the enemy, they will have to treat you according to international prisoner of war standards.” Some of the women, like Lucy, are military wives, some are married to prominent businessmen, and Fluff, along with a few others, was recruited from the University of Hawai’i. Peg and her glamorous friend with designs on Walker, Thelma, are part of the contingent, as well. Betty Yates, from Louisiana, lives in the navy yard with her husband, Chuck. Daisy, who dropped out of school after the tenth grade and began working at the Montgomery stables, worries about her ability to pass the rigorous mandatory tests.

Ackerman weaves a compelling and entertaining story about the women’s experiences in WARD. She describes their living conditions and the relationships they form, with Daisy always at the center of the tale. Peg and Thelma are the quintessential mean girls who look down on Daisy. But Daisy’s confidence is bolstered when she achieves the highest score on the initial standardized test, and she is determined to succeed. Every character was impacted by the attack on Pearl Harbor and, with a war now raging, has reason to worry about her own, as well as her loved ones’ safety. Some are better than others at rising above their petty differences and forging alliances, but in order to carry out their mission, they must find a way to become a dedicated team because so much is at stake. After all, detecting and plotting movement is one thing. “Discerning between friend or foe” is another.

Ackerman grippingly portrays the intense pressure the women feel to succeed, as well as some infuriating ways that they are treated as lesser than their male counterparts despite the responsibility they shoulder. And believably illustrates the workplace abuse to which they were subjected. For instance, Daisy is among the women who excel and are moved up in the program to commence more complex work at Little Robert, the Information and Control Center for the Pacific theater. When they enter the facility, Colonel Nixon announces to the men finishing their shift, “We have a truck full of Bettys here to take over for you.” And chastises Daisy when she speaks out of turn in an effort to assist as Fluffy flounders, advising her, “If you think like a man, speak like a man, and act like a man, you should do fine.” Daisy is nonplussed, having learned years ago at the ranch that there were “two kinds of men: those who liked women and those who didn’t. No amount of smarts or competence could change that fact.” Ackerman’s writing shines most brightly and the story is most engaging when she depicts the gravity of the women’s circumstances in scenes such as that one.

As time passes without further battle, everyone is on high alert, painfully aware that the islands were caught off-guard the first time and another surprise attack could be imminent. The women’s stress intensifies as they complete their training and commence their six-hour shifts. Additionally, Daisy begins patrolling the island on horseback and spending time with Walker. Eventually, she learns the shocking truth about how her father died and the surrounding circumstances.

It was extremely moving to learn about the sacrifices they made and how they held each other up throughout the whole war. Those were not easy times, and they rose to the occasion and then some. ~~ Author Sara Ackerman

Ackerman deftly ramps up the dramatic tension to an powerful, nail-biting, and realistic climax. Daisy has failed to heed Betty’s wise advice — “You don’t want a pilot” — and is pressed into duty with everything she cares about on the line. Rehearsed scenarios become real-life crises in Ackerman’s skilled telling. Daisy, the unassuming Hawai’an girl that haughty Mrs. Montgomery tried to convince General Danielson was not up to the challenge of serving in WARD, learns, through her experiences, just how powerful, capable, and resilient she is. As do the women with whom she serves and cements unyielding friendships born out of shared challenges, heartbreak, and triumph during a uniquely extraordinary time in America’s history. Ackerman says she hopes “readers will see a little bit of Daisy Wilder in themselves. I think it’s human nature to put yourself in the shoes of the characters and wonder about how you would react in a crisis. Would you rise to the occasion?”

With compassion, and evident admiration and affection for her characters, Ackerman pulls readers into their struggles and joys. She effectively transports readers to an idyllic island paradise where America’s innocence was shattered on a December morning eight decades ago. Her riveting and moving story pays homage to the women whose immense contribution to the war effort has not been taught about in classrooms. Now, through Ackerman’s fictionalized telling of their story, they can inspire and motivate other women. Ackerman says, “I only hope I have done them justice.” She has indeed.

Excerpt from Radar Girls

The Sky Falls

December 7, 1941. Waialua, Oahu.

On Sunday mornings, while everyone else was singing and praying to the Lord above, Daisy could be found underwater with the pufferfish and the eagle rays. Not that she had anything against God; in fact, she spoke to him often, but you couldn’t eat the bible.

She stood with her toes buried in the cool sand and surveyed the water. Clouds blocked the low sun, but a few beams shot out, creating blue islands of light. The big question of the day was whether to swim towards Hale?iwa or to Mokul??ia. A swell had filled in during the night and the low rumble of surf on the outer reef cut through the quiet. Going north would be more protected, so she decided on that.

Just before she dove in, her borrowed horse, Moon, whinnied loudly. The animal reared up, straining at the rope that tied him to the ironwood tree.

“What is it, boy?” Daisy said, looking around for any stray dogs or something that could have spooked the animal.

There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen, just open beach and bushes. She walked back to the nervous horse and stood next to him, speaking in a calm voice. “Just relax and eat your grass. I’ll be back soon.”

Moon snorted and swung his head away from her. His neck was still slick with sweat from galloping down the beach. She had known he was fast, but to feel him under her bare legs like that was something different altogether. He was speed and power and grace all mixed up in one big, beautiful horse.

Daisy had taken a risk in riding him this morning. Ka?ena, the old horse that she often rode, had a swollen knee when she arrived at the stables. Moon happened to be in the next stall and had pranced around with a look that said get me out of here. He and Daisy had developed a deep bond over the past few months, solidified by the basket of guavas that she brought to work every day. She had been itching take him out on her own. Tall, black and spirited, he was without a doubt the most beautiful horse she’d ever met––and the most expensive. She was smitten, to say the least. As long as she was back before church let up, no one would ever know.

She felt bad leaving him on the beach in an uneasy state, but she needed to be the first one out. The Chun brothers often beat her to the best spots, and she wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine. Last Sunday, she had come home with an octopus, an ulua half as big as she was, and three lobsters. They had eaten well this week, and her mother even had even put on an apron and made her famous lobster casserole. It had been a long time since she’d last made it. Daisy dared to hope that maybe her mother was turning a corner, but hope had let her down over the years.

December brought cooler water, and her skin prickled as she dove in. Visibility was only about fifteen feet because of the swell, but it hardly mattered because she knew every contour of the reef, all the resident fish families, and even the local black tip sharks that patrolled the coastline. With each kick, the knots in her back loosened. Working six days a week took a toll on her, but who else was going to earn the money? Certainly not her mom, Louise. And without the money, there would be no food and no house.

As Daisy moved along, clouds gave way to sunlight that warmed her back. Schools of yellow tang and manini parted around her, glowing. Her route took her out about a hundred yards before she veered right along a ledge that dropped onto a sandy floor. Tufts of red limu grew out of the cracks, and spiny wana dotted the coral. She kept an eye out for shell trails.

And then, all around her, the water hummed. She tasted fuel on her tongue. She popped her head up and scanned the horizon for any signs of a ship. But soon it was obvious the sound was not coming from the sea, but rather the sky. Several planes buzzed just overhead before banking and heading towards the pineapple fields. Then another. And another.

Must be more military training, Daisy thought. But on Sunday? She dove and continued on. With the swell also came current, and she fought to stay on course.

It took her twice as long to reach her destination, though along the way she plucked two hand-sized tiger cowries hiding in a crevice. Those often brought a good price. When she reached part of the reef full of lobster holes, Daisy set her spear on a coral head and put on her gloves. Lucky thing the tide was low. The first few holes were empty, but she finally caught sight of a set of spindly antennas. Her heart dropped. This hole was off limits. Last time she’d nearly had her arm taken off by a moray eel as thick as her torso. She passed by the other holes again, stuck her hand in a few, but came up with nothing.

Hungry and tired after a long week at the ranch, she decided to head back to Moon. The current had picked up and she fought to make any headway, dreaming of scrambled eggs, steamed watercress and Portuguese sausage. As she approached the beach, the water started buzzing again. She kept swimming and dove down after a papio. Military maneuvers had ramped up lately, but she never paid them any mind. There were more immediate things to worry about.

By now, the buzzing had turned into a deep vibration of the water all around. When she came up for air, she found a rock to stand on to see what was happening. From behind the ironwood trees, less than fifty feet over the water, a plane with red circles under its wings zoomed towards her, passing directly over her head, followed closely by an olive-green plane with a white star on its side. The kind she was used to seeing––a P-40 Warhawk.

The rat-tat-tat of gunfire had her diving back into the water. What kind of idiots were these, shooting real guns over a residential area? Anger bunched in her chest.

Unless?

From shore came a loud whinny. She saw Moon rear up on the rope, his front hooves pawing at the air. Daisy half swam, half ran towards the beach, desperate to get to him and calm him down. The lead plane suddenly pulled up its nose, flew straight up and banked around. They were both heading back toward the shoreline, weaving only a dozen feet off the water. She dove to the bottom again and held onto a rock for as long as her lungs would allow. After coming up for air, she made a mad dash for Moon. To hell with the planes. She was almost to him when the rope snapped. She reached out, her hand closing around the frayed edge, burning as the rope slipped through. And then he was gone.

“Moon! No!” Daisy screamed. He tore down the beach towards Haleiwa at a full gallop. She took a few desperate strides after him.

Above, the two planes rolled and twisted at impossible angles. There was no mistaking the fact that this was no drill. She dove behind the massive ironwood tree, cowering in its folds. She choked on her breath. Her whole body trembled.

Stay calm.

For a few seconds, it sounded like the planes were heading away, but moments later, they returned. She risked a peek. This time, the Japanese plane was in hot pursuit, and the P-40 had a line of smoke pouring from its engine. Please, God, let him make it!

They were headed right for her, yet she couldn’t pull her gaze away. As the Japanese plane was steadily gaining on the Warhawk, the American pilot pulled his P-40 into a barrel roll and miraculously reversed his advantage. Whoever he was, the man knew how to fly. Then, quick bursts of gunfire ripped open the Zero’s fuselage and shattered the canopy. Daisy saw the Japanese pilot slump forward as his plane burst into flame and fell toward the sea. She ducked back behind the tree just as the explosion cut through the sky, rattling her teeth and piercing her ears. A loud splash and the sound of metal crashing on rock told her everything she needed to know.

She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t lift her. She looked down in a panic. Had she been hit by something?

Daisy gulped to catch her breath as she watched the crippled P-40 skim the trees, heading toward the airstrip just down the way. Ironwood cones cut into her bare thighs. She thought of the Japanese pilot, locked away in his watery grave. She thought of the American pilot, and was thankful for his survival.

And then she thought of Moon, terrified and frantic and running wild. She prayed he didn’t get himself hurt. Even as it was, she would be fired. No question about that. Unless she could come up with a brilliant reason why she’d taken the horse––and then lost him.

After a few more minutes passed, she tried to stand again. This time, her legs obeyed and she walked out onto the beach. Not thirty feet offshore, the downed plane lay in several charred pieces on the reef, smoldering. The cockpit was underwater, and the smell of burnt metal mixed with salt water and gasoline. She felt sick to her stomach.

Where had the Japanese plane come from? And more importantly, were there more? Maybe she should have paid more attention to the warnings.

She thought about going after Moon again. She owed him that much. This had happened on her watch, and the poor horse had been terrified. But then she thought about her mother. Daisy took off running towards home. There was no point in trying to catch up with Moon, anyway. He would be long gone. Her mother, on the other hand, was likely to have worked herself into a bad state––if she was awake. You never knew with her.

Halfway to the house she shared with her mother, Daisy heard a distant roar from somewhere behind the mountains. Or was it just the sound of huge surf, which had a way of bouncing off the cliff walls?

Daisy stopped to catch her breath and make sure she wasn’t imagining things. Time slowed. The beach was as lovely as ever, sand white and fine and scattered with broken shells. Ironwood and coconut trees in equal abundance rustled in the light trade winds. Squinting, she noticed a raincloud had moved off the tip of Ka?ena point, causing a rainbow fragment to form just off the ocean.

The sound grew louder, like a swarm of bees had taken up residence between her ears. The ground began to rumble. She started off again down the beach as fast as her lungs allowed, moments before a wall of planes appeared over the Wai?anae Mountains. Some were mere feet above the cliffs while others stayed high. They were stacked and rowed so neatly, they seemed to be in a motion picture. Daisy beelined up to the trees and doubled over. She spit up salt water. Every single one of the planes had red circles painted on their wings or sides. A whole sky full of Japanese planes. Hundreds. And not one American plane in sight.

The Bust

Their shack, as Daisy referred to the house, was nestled in a cluster of bent ironwood trees, all by its lonesome. Set back far from the beach to protect it from a direct blast of onshore winds, it still took a constant battering and the salty air and elements had done a fine job reclaiming it. Windowpanes had been blasted opaque, you could see through the back wall, and flowers had taken up residence in the gutters. The siding had gone from forest green to pale green to peeling gray, the roof turned to rust.

When he had first started working up at the ranch, Daisy’s father had somehow persuaded Mr. Montgomery to sell him the small parcel of beachfront property for the price of a bag of sand. Most likely because it was in no-man’s-land between Waialua and the ranch. And because her father had been the best horse trainer in Hawai’i and everyone knew it.

She flung open the front door and ran inside. “Mom?” she called.

All quiet. She tiptoed across the lauhala mat in the living room, avoiding the creaking floorboards. Her mother spent much of her life in one of two states—sleeping or staring out to sea. The bedroom door was cracked and a lump lay under the blankets, pillow over her head. There was no point in trying to wake her, so Daisy ran back outside, hopped on her bike and rode for the stables.

The air was ripe with burnt sugarcane and a scratchy feeling of dread. She bumped along a dirt road as fast as her old bike would carry her. That plume of black smoke above Schofield caused her heart to sink. So many Japanese planes could mean only one thing. An attack or invasion of some kind was happening. But the sky remained empty and she saw no signs of ships on the horizon.

By the time she reached the stables, she had worked out what to tell Mr. Silva—the only person at the ranch who was even close to being a friend—and beg that he help her find Moon. Whether or not he would risk his job was another story. Jobs were not easy to come by, especially on this side of the island. Daisy counted herself lucky to have one. When she rounded the corner by the entrance, she about fell over on her bike. Mr. Silva’s rusted truck was gone and in its place sat Mr. Montgomery’s shiny new Ford, motor running and door open.

As far as old Hal Montgomery was concerned, Daisy was mostly invisible. She had worked for him going on seven years now—since she was sixteen—but she was a girl and girls were fluffy, pretty things who wore fancy dresses and attended parties. Not short-haired, trouser-wearing, outdoorsy misfits. And certainly not horse trainers and skin divers. Nope, those jobs belonged to men. There was also the matter of her father’s death, but she preferred not to think about that.

Should she turn around and hightail it out of there before he caught sight of her? He’d find out eventually, and he would be livid. Daisy pulled her bike behind the tool shed and slipped around the back side of the stables, peering in through a cloudy window. The tension in the air from earlier had dissipated and the horses were all quiet. A tall form stood in front of the old horse — Ka‘ena — she was supposed to ride. It was hard to tell through the foggy pane, but the man looked too tall and too thin to be Hal Montgomery.

Horsefeathers! It was Walker, Montgomery’s son. A line of perspiration formed on the back of her neck and she had the strong urge to flee. Not that Daisy had had much interaction with Walker in recent years. He was aloof and intimidating and the kind of person who made her forget how to speak, but he loved Moon fiercely. Of that she was sure. Just then, he turned and started jogging toward the door. His face was in shadow but it felt like he was looking right at her. She froze. If she ducked away now, he would surely catch the movement. She did it anyway.

She had just made it to her bike when Walker tore out of the tack room with a wild look in his eye. He had a rifle hanging across his chest, and he was carrying two others. He stopped when he saw her. “Hey!” he said.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Montgomery.”

He wore his flight suit, which was only halfway buttoned, like he’d been interrupted either trying to get in it or trying to get out of it. His face was flushed and lined with sweat. “Don’t you know we’ve been attacked? You ought to head for cover, somewhere inland.”

He was visibly shaken.

“I saw the planes. What do you know?” she said.

“Wheeler and Schofield are all shot up, and they did a number on Pearl. Battleships down, bay on fire. God knows how many dead.” His gaze dropped to her body for a moment and she felt her skin burn. There had been no time to change or even think about changing, and she was still in her half-wet swimsuit, hair probably sticking out in eleven directions. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was worried about the horses,” she said.

“That makes two of us. And goddamn Moon is not in his stall. You know anything about that?”

Taking Moon had been about the dumbest thing she could have done. But at the time, it seemed a perfectly sane idea. The kind of thinking that got her into plenty of trouble over the years. Why hadn’t she learned? She looked at the coconut tree just past him as she spoke. “I have no idea. Perhaps Mr. Silva has him?”

“Mr. Silva went to town last night to see his sister,” he said.

She forced herself to look at him, feeling like she had the word guilty inked onto her forehead. “Looks like you have somewhere to be. You go on, I’ll find Moon. I promise.”

Her next order of business would be scouring the coast and finding that horse before Walker returned. There would be no sleeping until Moon was safely back at the stables.

“I sure hope so. That horse is mighty important to me,” he said.

Tell him!

She was about to come clean, when he moved around her, hopped in the car and slammed the door. He leaned out the window and said, “Something tells me you know more than you’re letting on, Wilder.”

With that, he sped off, leaving her standing in a cloud of red dirt and sand.

In the stables, the horses knew the sound of her footsteps, or maybe they smelled the salt on her hair. A concert of nickers and snorts erupted in the stalls. Daisy went to the coatrack first, and slid on an oversize button-up that she kept there for chilly days. It smelled of hay.

“How is everyone?” she said, stopping at each one to rub their necks or kiss their noses. “Quite a morning, hasn’t it been?”

Peanut was pacing with nostrils flared, and she spent a few minutes stroking his long neck before moving on. Horses were her lifeblood. Feeding, grooming, riding, loving. She only wished that Mr. Montgomery would let her train them—officially, that was. Without being asked as a last resort by Mr. Silva when everyone else had tried. Lord knew she was better than the rest of the guys. When she got to Moon’s stall, all the blood rushed from her head. The door had been left open and two Japanese slippers hung from the knob. She had hidden them in the corner under some straw—apparently not well enough.

Damn.

Just then she heard another car pull up. The ranch truck. A couple of the ranch hands poured out, making a beeline to the stables. Mr. Montgomery followed on their heels with a machete in his hand and a gun on his hip. Daisy felt the skin tighten on the back of her neck. His ever-present limp seemed even more pronounced.

When he saw her, he said, “Where’s Silva?”

No mention that they were under attack.

“In town,” she answered.

“What about Walker?”

“Walker just left in a big hurry,” she answered.

One of the guys had his hunting dog with him. It was a big mutt that enjoyed staring down the horses and making them nervous, as if they needed to be any more nervous right now. Daisy wanted to tell him to get the dog out of there, but knew it would be pointless.

“The hosses in the pasture need to be secured,” Mr. M said.

“Do you need my help?” she offered.

“Nah, you should get out of here. Get home. Fuckers blew up all our planes and now paratroopers are coming down in the pineapple fields. Ain’t no place for a woman right now.”

Daisy wanted to stay and help, but also wanted to get the hell away before he noticed that Moon was not here. “Yes, sir.”

He stopped and sized her up for a moment, his thick brows pinched. “You still got that shotgun of your old man’s?”

“I do.”

“Make sure it’s loaded.”

On her way home, Daisy passed through Japanese camp, hoping to get more information from Mr. Sasaki, who always knew the latest happenings. A long row of cottages lined the road, every rock and leaf in its place. The houses were painted barn red with crisp, white trim. On any given Sunday, there would have been gangs of kids roaming the area, but now the place was eerily empty.

“Hello?” she called, letting her bike fall into the naupaka hedge.

When she knocked and no one answered, she started pounding. A curtain pulled aside and a small face peered out at her and waved her away. Mrs. Sasaki. She was torn, but chose to leave them be. With the whispers of paranoia lately, all the local Japanese folks were bound to be nervous. She didn’t blame them.

This time when Daisy ran up to the shack, her mother was sitting on the porch drinking coffee from her chipped mug.
She was still in her nightgown, staring out beyond the ocean. When she was in this state, a person could have walked into their house and made off with all of their belongings and her mother would not even bat an eye.

Daisy sat down next to her. “Mom, the Japanese Army attacked Pearl Harbor and Wheeler and who knows where else.”

Her mother clenched her jaw slightly, took a sip of her coffee, then set it down on the mango stump next to her chair. “They said it would happen,” she said flatly.

“This is serious, mom. People are dead. Civilians, too. I don’t know how many, but the islands are in danger of being invaded and there are Japanese ships and planes all around. They’re telling us to stay inside.”

A look of worry came over her mom’s face. “You should go find a safer place to stay, away from the coast.”

“And leave you here?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Her mom shrugged.

She knew Louise couldn’t help it, but a tiny part of Daisy was waiting for that day her mother would wake up and be the old Louise Wilder. The mother of red lipstick and coconut macaroons, of beach bonfires and salty hugs. The one who rode bikes with her daughter to school every day, singing with the birds along the way. The highs and lows had been there before, but now there were only lows and deeper lows.

After some time, her mother finally spoke. “Men, they do the dumbest things.”

“That may be true, but we’re at war. Does that mean anything to you?” Daisy said, her voice rising in frustration.
“Course it does, but what can we do?”

She had a point. Aside from hiding in the house or running away, what other options were there? Used to doing things, Daisy was desperate to help, but how? Their home was under attack and she felt as useful as a sack of dirt.

Louise leaned back. On days like these, she retreated so far into herself that she was unreachable. You could tell by looking in her eyes. Blank and bottomless. Mr. Silva always said that you could see the spirit in the eyes. Dull eyes, dull spirit. That Louise looked this way always made Daisy feel deeply alone. The onshore winds kicked up a notch and ruffled the surface of the ocean. She knew she should stay with her mom, but more than anything, she wanted to go in search of the horse. Moon meant more to her than just the job. She loved him something fierce.

Only one thing was clear: their lives would never be the same.