Woodford Brave

by Marcia Thornton Jones

  I stepped into Ziegler’s yard anyway.

  “They’re going to tear Echo to pieces,” Anne screamed, stripping bark as she slid down the tree. One of the beasts turned and eyed Anne, stopping her cold.

  Echo backed against the fence, one leg useless. He couldn’t run. He had nowhere to go even if could. He faced the hounds, ears back and hackles up.

  “Help!” Anne screamed. “Somebody help!”

  Nobody else was there. No one but me.

  There was fear in Echo’s eyes, but beneath it I saw something else. Trust. I couldn’t turn back. I wouldn’t.

  Sweat stung my eyes. There were no superpowers bubbling through my veins, but I sucked in air, searching for a pebble of strength from deep within. Memories exploded like hand grenades. Mr. Ziegler walking through the park; his warning that the dogs would bite. But he had said something else, too. Odin and Pandora were trained. Trained to obey.

  I couldn’t afford a quiver. Not now. I willed my voice to be firm, loud, and as low as my toenails. “Odin. Pandora. Come here. Come!”

  “No,” Anne yelled. “They’ll kill you!”

  Their ears flicked and Pandora swiveled her massive head to eyeball me for a split second before turning back to Echo.

  Ziegler had said his dogs obeyed. Why hadn’t they moved? My mind tumbled over memories of Ziegler commanding his dogs to come. To be quiet. To stay.

  I realized what I had done wrong. Knew, then, what I had to do.

  “Odin. Pandora,” I said again. I pushed my voice past my pounding heart and said the worst thing possible. “Komm! Fuß!”

  My knees threatened to buckle as both dogs’ massive heads swiveled this time. Their eyes latched onto mine. I fought the urge to run, willing the courage of every comic book hero in the history of mankind into my voice. “Komm!”

  Odin snapped up the slobber dripping from his mouth, torn between Echo and me.

  “Fuß.”

  The giant dog huffed, locked eyes with me, and took a step. I looked into his eyes. “Fuß.”

  Odin took another step, then picked up speed. I wanted to run. To scream. To fly away. But I planted my feet as Odin headed straight for me. “Komm!” I repeated, a touch of panic making my voice go up.

  The dog was huge, his black nose even with mine. He tasted the air in front of my face, the hair surrounding his muzzle matted with slobber. He grunted, smacked his lips again. Then he turned and found his place at my left side.

  Pandora had watched. I met her gaze, snapped my fingers. “Pandora. Fuß!”

  And this time, she did.

  Their fangs were inches from my jugular, and their breath panted hot in my face. Gray hair stuck to my sweat-soaked arms as I reached out and curled shaking fingers around the dogs’ collars. “Sitz!”

  I heard Sawyer using words that would get him grounded for a year, but I didn’t look up. I kept my eyes on Echo. So did Pandora and Odin. Their bodies quivered at the sound of Anne scrambling down the tree. Her Keds slapped broken gravel as she fled, leaving me standing one inch away from the jaws of death.

  “Stay,” I repeated. “Bleib!”

  “Your girlfriend left you high and dry. You know that, don’t you?” Sawyer yelled.

  Aidan had been my best friend, but now he sounded just like Sawyer. “You can’t stay there f-f-forever.”

  I would not let go. No. Matter. What.

  Pandora growled when Echo tried to scoot farther back into the thicket of weeds growing up around the bushes. “Don’t move,” I reminded her. I tried to mimic the syllables I’d heard Ziegler used to make his dogs come and sit and stay. I hoped I got them close enough. “Bleib!”

  I stood there for so long I expected snowflakes to start falling. My legs stiffened and my fingers tingled from the loss of blood. Odin whined. Pandora smacked her lips. Still, I held on.

  The back door broke the spell, opening so fast it crashed against a wall. “Was ist passiert?” a thick voice asked.

  I finally broke away from Echo’s eyes and slowly turned my head. There, standing in the door, stood Ziegler. He wore pajamas and his hair was ruffled. It didn’t occur to me until that second that he might be sleeping during the day, though it made sense since he worked nights at the VFW.

  Next to him was Anne. She hadn’t left me stranded at all. She must have gone for help, running to the front of Ziegler’s house, pounding on windows and doors to wake him. Anne was the one who did what it took to save me from being torn to shreds. Not Aidan. And definitely not Sawyer.

  Mr. Ziegler surveyed the yard. The broken gate. My splintered go-cart. He spotted Sawyer and Aidan just before they ducked back in the window. “Get down from there,” he yelled. “Before the floor cavez in and zwallows you whole.”

  Anne pushed past him, taking one step toward Echo before Odin’s growl stopped her cold.

  I. Did. Not. Let. Go.

  Mr. Ziegler placed a hand on Anne’s shoulder to hold her still, and eyeballed Odin. “Behave, you big brute.” There wasn’t a hint of fear in his voice. His sleep-swollen eyes swept across the yard to land on Echo hunkering in the corner. His eyes widened as he put the pieces together. I waited for him to yell. To accuse us of spying. To threaten us. Instead he came down the steps and asked, “Itz anyone hurt? Besides the cat?”

  I didn’t want to make a sound, afraid the dogs might turn and sink their teeth into my throat if I did. So I gave a little shake of my head.

  Mr. Ziegler came across the yard then. Walking slowly. Calmly. The man I had accused of being my enemy reached out and gently put his hands over mine, slipping his fingers beneath the collars. “You can let go now, Cory,” he said. “I have them. You did good. You are a brave boy. A very brave boy.”

  The two giant dogs slipped away from me to follow Mr. Ziegler into the house. My knees were like jelly, but I couldn’t sit down. Not yet. I made my way across the yard and squatted in front of Echo. His eyes were wild and he growled. “It’s okay,” I soothed.

  Mr. Ziegler came back outside carrying a towel. My cat was too surprised to move when Mr. Ziegler gently but firmly wrapped the towel around him and lifted him from the ground. “We vill take him to Dr. Simon. You and me,” Mr. Ziegler said.

  I finally found my voice. “We can’t afford a veterinarian. Not since Dad . . .”

  “Don’t you worry,” Mr. Ziegler said. “This one needz our help and I vill help. After all, that iz what neighbors do. As soon as I am ready we vill go.”

  I met Mr. Ziegler’s gaze when he placed Echo in the cradle of my arms. I’d never seen him up close. His eyes weren’t shifty or mean; not a spy’s eyes at all. They were worried and kind. The way one friend looks at another to let them know they care.

  How could I ever have thought Mr. Ziegler was some crazed Nazi trying to take over Harmony? He was just a man with a funny accent who loved music and wanted to be a good neighbor. Like Anne, or even old Mrs. Springgate. They had each proved it over and over, only I was too busy trying to be a hero to notice.

  Echo lay limp in my arms, tiny tremors vibrating his body with each breath. With the fight drained from him, he looked small and scared, nothing like a superhero’s sidekick from one of my comic books. Still, he had been brave when he needed to be. “It’s okay, Echo,” I said again. “I’ve got you, now. Mr. Ziegler’s going to help us.”

  Those words seemed to hang in the air. The man I’d plotted against all summer long was now the very person I was counting on to help make everything okay again.

  I glanced at my splintered go-cart. At the gate I’d crashed through. Up at the empty window of the haunted house. Finally, I looked over at Anne standing right next to me.

  “I’m sorry, Anne,” I said. “This is my fault. All of it. I was wrong, and I was wrong to say all those things about you, too. I made a mess out of everything. If you never talk to me again, I’ll understand.”

  I wouldn’t have blamed Anne if she had turned and stomped away, but she didn’t.

  The sun glinted of
f Dad’s silver dollar lying in the dust and Anne picked it up. I cradled Echo in one arm so I could take it from her, turning it over to see how both sides were worn so smooth they looked the same. “Truth or dare?” I asked Anne. “Were you scared?”

  Anne grinned so big the constellations of freckles on her cheeks squished together. “Truth is easy. I was so scared I nearly wet my pants!”

  “Me, too,” I admitted.

  “That makes what you did even braver,” she said. “You really are Woodford Brave.”

  The door opened and Mr. Ziegler hurried outside. He was ready to go. Ready to help Echo. To help me.

  “I’ll go get your ball cap,” Anne said.

  I glanced up at the Mallory windows. The ghosts were gone, and so were Aidan and Sawyer. Aidan had said I had to choose. Him or Anne. I flipped Dad’s silver dollar and watched it somersault through the air. But when it slapped back into my palm, I slipped it into my pocket without bothering to look at it.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “I don’t need my cap now.”

  Then I reached out and took Anne’s hand. Together, we followed Mr. Ziegler through the splintered remains of what used to be the Demons’ Door.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  World War II was not the war of my youth. Vietnam was.

  Vietnam was not a popular war by the time my brother Randy turned eighteen and was eligible for the draft. Vivid television reports about Agent Orange and the Vietcong intermingled with antiwar demonstrations and sit-ins. Some, like the one on the campus of Kent State, erupted in life-ending violence. I remember my family anxiously waiting to learn Randy’s draft number. Everything depended on that one number. My brother’s number was high, which meant he wouldn’t be called to enlist right away. A neighbor, however, was not so lucky.

  One night my neighbor packed a few things, got in his car, and headed for the Canadian border. While some called draft dodgers “cowards,” I couldn’t help but imagine what it must have been like to leave family, friends, and the only home he’d known in the dead of night and drive blindly to a foreign country. That sounded pretty brave to me—a different kind of bravery. Thus the seed for Woodford Brave was planted.

  When recent conflicts erupted in the Middle East, I found myself examining my own beliefs. It occurred to me that while the languages of our country’s enemies may change, the central themes of conflict, bravery, and prejudice during times of war do not. I tested my “ah-ha” moment by reading about the war of my parents’ youth—World War II. And that’s where I found Cory’s story.

  Cory and his world are made up, but as so often happens, a writer’s real life creeps into the writing. Jackson, of course, is reminiscent of my childhood neighbor who showed me a different side of courage. The idea for Ziegler’s dogs came from the two Irish wolfhounds that terrorized my walks to and from elementary school each and every day. And, yes, their gate was much too small and feeble to contain them.

  What about the silver dollar that Cory’s dad carried in his pocket? If you look on my desk, you will find the silver dollar my own father carried in his pocket every single day from as far back as I could remember until the day he died. The rim and both sides are worn smooth from his worrying it.

  I found most of my information about life in the 1940s from books and online research. My best source, however, was my mother, who sat in her den and reminisced about being a young telephone operator when the war broke out. She told me how the switchboard lit up the day war was declared. How the telephone operators knew that something big had happened. They just had no idea how big. She told me about the boys who rushed to enlist and how everyday items like silk stockings and gasoline became scarce due to rationing. Mom told me the story about my Uncle Arnold who came home on leave after the Battle of Midway and spoke at a Main Street rally encouraging everyone to support the war effort by buying war bonds.

  My mother also told me about meeting a sailor named Robert Thornton who was home on leave because his ship had been torpedoed. A handsome man with deep-brown eyes who once played a trumpet in nightclubs. By the end of the evening, Mom had exchanged addresses with the sailor, and after he went back to his Navy ship they started writing to each other.

  So while my father was off fighting a war started by the Nazis, he was falling in love with a girl. A girl named Thelma. Thelma Kuhljuergen. A girl whose veins pumped German blood.

  The author’s dad’s silver dollar

  (photograph courtesy of William Andersen)

  SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY AND FURTHER RESOURCES

  BOOKS

  Adams, Simon. DK Eyewitness Books: World War II. New York: DK Publishing, 2007.

  Ambrose, Stephen E. The Good Fight: How World War II Was Won. New York: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2001.

  Brokaw, Tom. The Greatest Generation. New York: Random House, 2001.

  Cohen, Stan. V For Victory: America’s Home Front During World War II. Missoula, MT: Pictorial Histories Publishing, 1991.

  Colman, Penny. Rosie the Riveter: Women Working on the Home Front in World War II. New York: Crown Books for Young Readers, 1998.

  Easley, MaryAnn. Knuckle Down. BookSurge Publishing, 2009.

  Grun, Bernard. The Timetables of History: A Horizontal Linkage of People and Events. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1963.

  Homes, Richard, et al. World War II: The Definitive Visual History. New York: DK Adult, 2011.

  Josephson, Judith Pinkerton. Growing Up in World War II: 1941 to 1945. Minneapolis: Lerner Publishing Group, 2003.

  Macy, Sue. A Whole New Ball Game: The Story of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. New York: Puffin, 1995.

  Maslon, Laurence, and Michael Kantor. Superheroes!: Capes, Cowls, and the Creation of Comic Book Culture. New York: Crown Archetype, 2013.

  Mazer, Harry. A Boy at War: A Novel of Pearl Harbor. New York: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2012.

  Osborne, Mary Pope. My Secret War: The World War II Diary of Madeline Beck. New York: Scholastic, 2000.

  Peck, Richard. On the Wings of Heroes. New York: Dial, 2007.

  Reynolds, Clark G. America at War: 1941–1945, the Home Front. New York: Gallery Books, 1990.

  Tripp, Valerie. Meet Molly, An American Girl: 1944. Middleton, WI: Pleasant Company, 1986.

  Uschan, Michael V. A Cultural History of the United States Through the Decades: The 1940s. San Diego: Lucent Books, 1998.

  WEBSITES*

  Ardman, Harvey. “World War II: German Saboteurs Invade America in 1942.” Weider History: HistoryNet.com. http://www.historynet.com/world-war-ii-german-saboteurs-invade-america-in-1942.htm.

  “August 8, 1942: German saboteurs executed in Washington.” This Day In History. History Channel website. http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/german-saboteurs-executed-in-washington.

  “Captain America,” “The Golden Age of Bucky,” “Bucky (Fred Davis),” “Bucky (1950s),” “Captain America (1950s),” “Human Torch,” “Young Allies.” An International Catalogue of Superheroes. http://www.internationalhero.co.uk/.

  “Comics Checklists.” The Big Comic Book DataBase. http://www.comics-db.com.

  “George John Dasch and the Nazi Saboteurs.” The Federal Bureau of Investigation. http://www.fbi.gov/about-us/history/famous-cases/nazi-saboteurs.

  “The Golden Era . . . June 1938 to 1945.” ComicBookWebsites.com. http://www.dereksantos.com.

  “The Good War and Those Who Refused to Fight It.” PBS. http://www.pbs.org/itvs/thegoodwar/.

  “The Greatest Amateur Racing Event in the World!” All-American Soap Box Derby. http://www.aasbd.org/.

  “League History.” Official Website of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League Players Association. http://www.aagpbl.org/index.cfm/pages/league/12/league-history.

  “Making Do With Less: Shortages and Conservation.” Life on the Home Front: Oregon Responds to World War II. Oregon State Archives. http://arcweb.sos.state.or.us/pages/exhibits/ww2/services/conserve.htm.

  Pols
son, Ken. “Chronology of World War II.” http://ww2timeline.info/.

  Sterner, C. Douglas. “The War Mother’s Flag.” Home of the Heroes. http://www.homeofheroes.com/hallofheroes/1st_floor/flag/1bfb_disp9b.html.

  Thomas, Pauline Weston. “Rationing and Utility Clothing of the 1940s: Fashion History 1940s.” Fashion-Era. http://www.fashion-era.com/utility_clothing.htm.

  “What if? The Golden Age.” Marvel Masterworks Resource Page. http://www.marvelessentials.com.

  “World War II Rationing.” Online Highways LLC. http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h1674.html.

  “World War II Rationing on the U.S. Homefront.” Ames Historical Society. http://www.ameshistory.org/exhibits/events/rationing.htm.

  “World War II On The Radio.” OTRCAT.com. Old Time Radio Catalog. http://www.otrcat.com/wwii-on-the-radio.html.

  *Websites active at time of publication.

  An Interview with Marcia Thornton Jones

  Q. Woodford Brave is based on personal history. Why is family history so important to preserve?

  A. Family history connects people over time, and it helps us know family members as individuals. For example, I know my mom as a mom, and I love her dearly. But it wasn’t until I interviewed her for Woodford Brave about the war years that I saw her as a young woman falling in love during a scary time! Besides, those who lived before us learned lessons that helped pave the way for me. I’d be foolish not to learn from them!

  Q. How do you make a story based on the World War II era relevant to kids today?

  A. There are some things that never change. No matter when we live or how old we are, we all need love, family, friendships. We have adventures, celebrate triumphs, and we suffer great losses. Events may change. So do styles, names, fads, and technology, but those basic themes remain the same. By focusing on universal themes, stories of the past resonate with kids by showing how others navigated the same experiences that today’s kids continue to experience.

  Q. Why should kids know about the past?

  A. We are all connected to the past—and to the future. By knowing about the past, we gain an understanding of others and why things are the way they are. We see how the actions of people in the past impact the world in which we live today. That helps us to clarify our personal values and to recognize how our own actions could impact the future. Knowing the past helps us know ourselves—and knowing ourselves helps us decide how we can change the future!