I was about three, my mom said, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I think she was expecting me to say, “A mommy,
like you.” Instead, I popped off with,
“I want to be a writer.” I can still remember her face. She said, “Well, don’t you think you need to
learn to read first?”
didn’t think so.
Bohle Montague is a BYU graduate and a free-lance writer, having written for
television, radio, newspaper, and magazines including The Ensign and Meridian
Magazine. She has also been published as
the author of book length historical non-fiction and fiction.
non-fiction work includes the book, Mine
Angels Round About, the story of the LDS West German Mission evacuation of 1939
which occurred only days before the Nazi invasion of Poland.
LDS fiction, Fireweed, is loosely
based on her interviews with the evacuated West German missionaries and their
studied with Dwight Swain and Jack Bickham, as well as David Farland. Her
writing awards include those from LDS Storymakers, Idaho Writers’ League, and
Romance Writers of America.
Social Media Links –
– Lisel put her hand through the crook of Papa’s elbow and they turned to go into the building.
Papa paused, frowning. “What are the Heidemann’s doing out here in the street?”
“The British dropped leaflets last night,” Lisel explained. “The Heidemann’s were out here
picking them up when I came.”
Papa bent and scooped up one of the pieces of paper. He read, “The war which Hitler has started
will only go on as long as Hitler does.”
Papa’s frown deepened. “It seems the British have an odd idea about who has begun this war.”
He looked at the Heidemann’s. “Perhaps we should help.”
Lisel glanced up and down the littered street. She felt weary to the very bone; but, at that
moment, if her Papa has asked her to fly to the moon, she would have found a way. “We can use
my bag,” she said.
“Herr Spann! Herr Spann!” Frau Heidemann rushed toward them. An anxious smile twitched at
her lips. “What are you doing?”
Papa straightened with a handful of leaflets. Surprise lifted his gray brows. “We are helping to
clear the street,” he replied.
Frau Heidemann stared at the paper in Papa’s hand and eyed Lisel’s bulging bag. “We need no
help,” she insisted. “No help at all. You must be exhausted. You should go lie down for a while.
Walter and I will take care of the paper.”
Something in Frau Heidemann’s manner puzzled Lisel. “You’re being very helpful,” she said.
“But this is too much for you to do. Let me call the Wrobels to come and help us. The Schmidt
family from down the street has lots of children. If we ask them to help, this will be cleaned up in
Frau Heidemann’s pale eyes bulged. “No! No! You cannot do that!” An inner conflict showed
itself in her face. At last, she grimaced with resignation. “If you call them there will not be
“Enough?” Papa questioned. “Enough what?”
“Enough paper,” Frau Heidemann hissed through her teeth and shook a fistful of leaflets in his
face. “Have you see the price of toilet paper lately? Why should I buy at such inflated prices
when I can get this for free?”
Papa scowled with distaste at the leaflets in his hand. His lips twitched beneath his moustache.
The color of indignation stole up his neck and face.
Lisel had to suck in her lips and bite down to keep from laughing. After seventeen years with
Papa, she had learned there were times to laugh and times to be silent. This was time for silence.
Papa made a growling sound deep down in his throat and, for an instant, Lisel was sure he would
throw down the paper in disgust. Instead, Papa stuffed it into his pockets. He reached down for
another handful. “Well, will you stand there with your mouth agape or will you help?”
“Papa, you do not actually mean you would . . .”
Papa jammed another handful of the leaflets into his jacket pocket. “Frau Heidemann is right.
The price of toilet paper is too high!”
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