Stevie Meyer, DSHA '19

I don't remember if I've ever met an orphaned child.

It's a peculiar thing, really. I know they're no different from those of us with parents. I might have met adults that were orphaned as children and wish to not speak of it, but that's just it. No one I know has ever told me "Elizabeth, when I was a child my parents died, leaving me alone in this world, having to fend for myself without aid". It simply is not spoken of. But we are told to do good works, to help the sick and needy by giving our time. How can we do that if we never meet them?

Europe has given us an opportunity to put into action our faith, and my sister believes we should ignore it.

"Our country simply should not aid in this war! Europe's problems are not America's problems," Miriam says, voice full of righteous conviction. She sits at her desk, finishing her Latin homework. I stand in the doorway, leaning against the jamb.

"Do you not care about the sick, dying children there? They've lost their parents, their country - we are their only hope!"

My voice is equally as passionate. Earlier this week, we received a letter from an alumna of our school. It was read to the student body in the morning before prayer. It really struck me, that we can even debate entering the war when our presence would help orphaned children. And not only them, but the people of Europe as a whole.

I struggle knowing where I stand, because I know grandmother and grandfather are staunchly opposed to us entering the war. They came from Germany, after all, and celebrate their heritage every moment of their lives. And Miriam has a point - we intervened in a European conflict once, and lost many, many good men to the trenches there. Why would we sacrifice even more to a cause that doesn't affect us?

This is why I tried to remember if I'd ever met an orphan before. If I can place a face to the idea, maybe it will help me explain to Miriam why I believe we should help. But I can't, for the life of me I can't.

"Of course I care, Elizabeth. However, I also care about the orphaned children in our country, and think matters here should be attended to first and with the highest priority."

Again, Miriam has made a good argument. I think someday she might become a lawyer, if she tries.

I sigh, crossing my arms and looking at the floor.

"I just don't think it's right, Miriam. I can't explain it."

Then, Miriam turns to me and looks me square in the eye for the first time during the entire conversation. She sets down her pencil and raises a brow.

"Then why believe it, Lizbeth, if there is no explanation?"

I go to bed thinking about her words, and hardly get a wink of sleep.

The next day is a Friday. I enter history class practically dragging my feet, completely unenthused about the second-to-last lesson of the day.

Sister Catherine's lecture drones on. I hear her talking about the royal families of Britain, today's particular focus being on Henry VIII. I listen halfheartedly and jot down the names of his wives as she explains his significance, and I find my eyes roaming to the wall map next to me. My eyes fall, as they usually do, on the two countries of my heritage; Germany and France. I begin to daydream, and conjure up images of the French in the Alps and the Germans in their moors. I know the story of my grandparents - they emigrated from Berlin to Milwaukee just after their marriage, some of the lucky few who were able to pick up a bit of English in their studies. I still have some great aunts and uncles who live there now.

I don't know very much about my mother's side - the French side of myself. I know my mother grew up in French-speaking Canada, but that's about all.

As I dream of Frenchmen in the wilds of the Mississippi, trapping furs and trading with Indians, a thought crosses my mind that doesn't remove itself from my head until I get home and tell Miriam.

"Miriam, do you know where mother's family came from?"

She looks at me like she's already tired of what I have to say. Nevertheless, I persist.

"Yes, Elizabeth. From France."

"You know that France is one of two countries currently at war with Germany, yes?"

She nearly rolls her eyes. "I have not had my head in the sand for the past few months, no."

I take a breath. "So given that we are equally French and German, why are we so partial to avoiding conflict with one side? Why are we not seeking to return the favor done to us in the Revolution, and supporting that side of the family?"

"Germany is where we have family, Elizabeth. We don-"

"But we might, Mildred. And they might be fighting a battle they don't have to fight, but it's the right thing to do so they're doing it."

"No, they're doing it because Germany broke the law."

"So why are you so intent on ignoring that fact? Why does it not matter to you that Germany is in the wrong, and by preaching inaction you're allowing it to continue?"

Miriam looks thoroughly annoyed at me. "Because we aren't European, Elizabeth! We'reAmerican, and our matters are separate from theirs."

I look her in the eye, just as she had done me last night. "Aren't we all lucky our French predecessors didn't say that when deciding whether to aid us in the Revolution? They saw the promise of our cause, why don't we see the promise in theirs?

We came from Europe, Miriam. We all did. Doesn't that make it our business to protect the people that were willing to protect and sacrifice for us?"

Miriam doesn't speak after that. She doesn't speak at dinner, and I don't get a response when I call 'Good-night!' to her door.

The next morning is the same.

Only when I return from my friend Charlene's home in the afternoon does Miriam approach me. She stops me at the front door, a pamphlet in her hand, held out to me.

I take it and read it.

HOLY ANGELS ACADEMY
BAKED ITEMS AND CRAFTS SALE
FUNDRAISER FOR JEWISH ORPHANS IN POLAND

"FROM THE LIPS OF CHILDREN AND INFANTS YOU, LORD, HAVE CALLED FORTH YOUR PRAISE” -MATTHEW 21:16

When I look up to her, I see her blue eyes shining with something I don't recognize in her.

"You’re a marvel, Elizabeth Shiller. A true miracle on Earth.”

The hug I give her nearly crushes her ribs.

We bring the idea to our principal, Sister Mary. She approves, and together Miriam and I recruit our friends to bake treats and make crafts to sell. Miriam even goes out to the men working on the new addition to the building to sell items to them.

My sister and I visit the orphanage east of us, St. Rose’s, and are moved by the liveliness of the children there despite their situation.

Together we visit the orphanage to volunteer our time, because Miriam is still right that orphans in our hometown need our help. From that day forward, I remember the faces of the children I meet, every one of them, so I never question the importance of a child in need