It was more of a winter than a winter ought to be. A cold shroud of snow and ice fell from a dark gray blanket of hidden sky and seeped deep into the marrow of men in foxholes. It seemed to most that hell had finally frozen over, especially when a German ghost army slithered in through the Ardennes Forest, their 88s raining down fire and brimstone. The clackety-clack of Tiger and Panther tanks and massive, fast-moving attacks from Panzer and SS units caught the Americans by s

Rolando had already trimmed the bottlebrush, the strawberry blossoms like a cylindrical hairbrush. Honeybees, bumblebees, and yellowjackets assaulted the blossoms, and made his job difficult and dangerous. The yellow jackets would not be scattered or shaken off. They stayed, waiting for an opening. Whenever he worked against yellowjackets, something bad would happen. Rolando hated the mesh draped from his baseball cap to prevent the yellowjackets and bees from stinging his

Mr. Morton needed a new pair of shoes. That’s what Grace had said in her message. His loafers were tattered and the soles had worn thin. But even more than replacing the loafers, he needed dress shoes. Something nice that would go with the black suit hanging in his closet. It just wouldn’t look right otherwise is what Grace had said. And now the shoes had been added to Rosie’s “To Do” list. A list that Rosie had never failed to fulfill. Rosie was wondering about the