Cars parked at the train station in this New York commuter town don't usually draw a second look. But since last week's attack on the World Trade Center, neighbours have kept careful watch. The morning after the catastrophe, 56 cars still sat in the lot.

Slowly, most of them were claimed, their drivers delayed by the traffic nightmare that had snarled the region. It took nearly a week to sort out the horrible truth, that eight Westfield residents had lost their lives in the disaster. That number could still rise, as officials continue to account for the missing.

"Nobody is coping well," said Linda Maggio, executive director of the United Fund of Westfield, a local charity. "We're all crying. We're all praying."

Westfield, a town of 30,000 about 25 miles southwest of Manhattan, certainly isn't alone in its suffering. At last count, Cranford, just a few miles to the east on the train line, had lost six of its men, and Chatham, a little to the north, counts 11 of its citizens among the missing. And so it goes, throughout much of suburban New Jersey, as well as New York and Connecticut.

Mrs Maggio, wearing a red, white and blue ribbon on her lapel, is coordinating Westfield's effort to raise money for the families of the town's victims. She rattled off the circumstances that some of the men - for they are all men - left behind: one about to be married, another expecting his first child, others with young families. "Maybe we'll establish trust funds so these kids can go to college."

From her office near the train station, Mrs Maggio worked the phones this week, trying to track rumours of a ninth victim and answering questions from residents who want to help with her fundraising. One young boy emptied his piggy bank, donating 11 crumpled dollar bills to the cause.

Five of Westfield's victims worked at bond broker Cantor Fitzgerald, which lost 700 of its staff of 1,000 in the World Trade Center. Others worked at Keefe, Bruyette & Woods, the investment bank, and insurer Aon, which were also hit hard by the disaster.

Like much of the country, this upper middle class town is awash in American flags, draped over porches and hanging in shop windows. But grief, like life, has its own flavour in the suburbs.

Much of the mourning appears to be private, in homes and houses of worship. Absent from Westfield are the makeshift shrines that have cropped up all over New York, with flowers, candles, prayers, and photographs of the missing.

The town will mark the tragedy as a community for the first time on Sunday, with a candlelight vigil. At an arts festival earlier on Sunday, the police department will have 1,000 American flags, to be given away for a suggested contribution of $5. Mrs Maggio hopes some people will give even more, with proceeds going to the fund she is organising.

Some in the nation have begun to turn their thoughts from grief to the possibility of war. But Andrew Wigton, who graduated from college last spring, says he isn't too concerned about a military conflict.

He admits he has been thinking about a friend who is in the Navy Seals, a unit that is often on the front lines of combat. "I'm worried about him, but I'm excited for him, because that is what he wanted to do."

While rescue workers continued to dig out the remnants of the twin towers, downtown Westfield appeared to be thriving this week, with back-to-school shopping at the Gap and high school students stopping for a milkshake at Vicki's Diner.

Tony Scutti, a retired Westfield police officer, had lunch as he often does at the diner. He was relieved to learn that his daughter, who works near the twin towers, was out of town last Tuesday. But Mr Scutti said the sense of loss in evident in his neighbours' eyes. "Everybody suffered a loss, whether it be personal, or just the thought that this could happen."

George Badis sees something else. Mr Badis emigrated from Syria to the United States 17 years ago, and now owns a jewellery shop in Westfield. Since the attack, he said he has felt people look at him differently because of his Middle Eastern heritage.

"You see something in people's eyes," Mr Badis said with a touch of sadness. "But it doesn't mean anything. Nobody says anything."

A few doors down on Elm Street, Mary Lou Strafaci has been giving away flag pins at her store, Mary Lou's Memorabilia. She sells costumes, vintage clothing and other knick-knacks, such as lunch boxes. While business was quiet - "strange", she said - last week, things are getting back to normal as attention turns to Halloween.

Sitting on a bench in Westfield's well manicured Mindowaskin Park, Sam Bruno said the attack is "always on my mind". He imagines that things will return to normal some day, than wonders, "What is normal?"

"I guess normal is being able to get up every morning and go to church and hang around with your friends," he said.

In this town, normal also means the whistle of the train, surely a sad reminder for many.