Before I followed Grandma inside, I took a long look at the second-floor window of the house next door. The curtain twitched again, I swear it did, and I got the funniest feeling I was being watched. Why didn't the boy open the window and show his face? Say something friendly? Either he was a stuck-up snob or he didn't have all his marbles, spying on me like that.
To let him know what I thought of sneaks, I gave the boy the finger real quick so Grandma wouldn't see. He probably wasn't anybody I wanted to be friends with, so I figured I'd beat him up when I saw him. He couldn't hide in his house forever.
Six
At dinner I asked Grandma who lived next door. "Mrs. Sullivan and her son, William," she said.
Turning to Mama, she added, "You might remember Shirley. She's Lorna Tuttle's youngest sister." She paused to sip her tea, watching Mama all the time. "She married Bill Sullivan who died in the war. Shot down on a mission over Holland, I think."
Without looking up from her plate, Mama said, "I vaguely remember Lorna, but I don't recall Shirley at all."
"She's a nice young woman," Grandma went on. "Losing Bill was a terrible blow to her. It's been two years and she hasn't gotten over it yet."
Grandma went on talking about people Mama had known, telling her what had happened to them in the years she'd been gone. Some were fighting overseas, some had died in the war. Others had left town like Mama. A few had stayed in Grandville. They had families and jobs.
Once in a while, Mama nodded or said, "Is that right?" But it was clear she wasn't really interested in any of them. Finally Grandma gave up. Which gave me a chance to ask about William.
"How come he didn't come outside to meet me?" I asked. "He was spying on me from his window. I saw the curtains move."
Grandma finished chewing a mouthful of Spam and washed it down with a swallow of tea. All the while, she seemed to be thinking of how to answer my question. At last she said, "William's an invalid, Gordon."
"What's wrong with him?" I asked, surprised by Grandma's answer. Here I'd been thinking the kid was a snob, and he was sick—which seemed to rule out being friends or enemies with him.
Grandma regarded me steadily as if she was trying to figure out what I was thinking. "He had a bad case of polio last summer," she said.
June drew in her breath. Her eyes widened. "Is he in an iron lung?"
Like June, I stared at Grandma, my dinner forgotten. If there was one thing I was scared of, it was polio. A boy I knew had died of it in College Hill. He went to bed feeling fine and woke up in the middle of the night, saying his head hurt. His folks took him to the hospital, and two days later he died. He was only six years old, poor kid.
Iron lungs were almost as scary as dying. I'd seen a picture of one in Life magazine. This woman's head stuck out of a long tube. The rest of her was inside, paralyzed. She couldn't even breathe by herself, but she'd learned to write and draw holding a pencil between her teeth. To stay alive, she had to lie in that thing day and night.
"The poor child can breathe just fine," Grandma told June. "But his legs are so weak he can't walk."
"Like President Roosevelt," June said solemnly.
Grandma nodded, her face serious. Judging by the picture of Roosevelt hanging over the living room radio, I figured she liked the president a lot more than the old man did. He blamed everything in the world on FDR, including the war and the Depression before that, things everyone knew weren't Roosevelt's fault. To listen to the old man, you'd think the New Deal was responsible for all our troubles.
Fit to bust with curiosity, I leaned toward Grandma, eager to learn more about William. "Where did he get polio?" I asked. "The swimming pool? The movies? A carnival?"
"No one knows for sure," Grandma said, "but his mother suspects he caught it playing in the creek that runs under the train tracks just outside town."
I made a silent promise to stay away from that creek, just in case. "Does he wear braces on his legs? Can he walk with crutches or does he have a wheelchair?"
"You ask too many questions, Gordon." Grandma looked around the table. "Finish your dinner, children. There's apple pie for those who clean their plates."
"Can I go see William?" I asked.
Grandma shook her head. "Wait until Shirley invites you. William's delicate. He mustn't be exposed to germs. With him, an ordinary cold can turn to pneumonia overnight."
"I'm healthy," I said. "I don't have any contagious diseases or germs or anything."
Grandma shook her head. No dice. It was up to Mrs. Sullivan. If she invited me, I could go.
The conversation, such as it was, drifted aimlessly. No matter what Grandma talked about, Mama made no answer. She just sat there fidgeting with her napkin ring, looking as glum as ever. Maybe she'd been unhappy so long she'd forgotten how to be happy.
Finally Grandma asked Mama the question I'd been dreading. "What about school, Virginia? Gordon and June have to be enrolled. Maybe Victor should be in kindergarten."
Mama shrugged and went on toying with the napkin ring. "What's the sense of putting them in school?"
"It's the law, Virginia." Grandma spoke as if Mama was no older than June. "Children must go to school. Do you want the truant officer to come calling on us?"
Mama shrugged again. "If it's so important, take Gordy and June over there on Monday, but leave Victor here. He won't turn five till September."
I ate my pie but my pleasure in it was gone. School—I might have known Grandma would think of it.
That's how I came to be in Miss Whipple's sixth grade class at Grandville Elementary School. Compared to Old Lady Wagner, my teacher in College Hill, she wasn't too bad. At least she didn't keep hankies down the front of her dress or recite long boring poems about village smithies under spreading chestnut trees. But she believed in fractions and decimals the way preachers believe in Jesus. From the minute she laid eyes on me, she did her best to convert me to the holy religion of math.
"Do you know how to change fractions to decimals, Gordon?" she asked.
I could tell the other kids were looking at me, sizing me up, wondering if I was some smart-aleck Yankee kid come down here to show off. I slouched in my desk, sticking my feet way out in the aisle, and smirked. "Do I look like Einstein?"
A few kids snickered but Miss Whipple merely shook her head. "No," she said, "you most definitely do not resemble Einstein." Pausing a moment, she added, "After school, I'll give you some tests. They should tell me what you know and what you don't know."
"That shouldn't take long," a boy behind me muttered just loud enough for me to hear. "Most likely he doesn't know anything."
I turned around to give him a dirty look but he didn't seem the least bit scared of me. He just sat there like he was daring me to say something.
At recess the boy walked up to me, followed by two or three of his toadies. By now I knew who he was—Jerry Langerman, the Gordy Smith of Grandville.
"So you're from Maryland," he said, stepping so close to me I could smell his chewing gum. Doublemint, I guessed.
"That's a Union state," he went on, shoving his face at me. "Which means your great-granddaddy fought against my great-granddaddy. Maybe even killed him." He shoved me hard. "Damn Yankee."
I knew it would do no good to tell Langerman my mother was from Grandville and had Rebel kin. So I let him think what he wanted. Besides, it gave me an excuse to shove him back. Nobody pushed Gordy Smith around. Not even guys half a foot taller than me and a lot heavier.
"Damn Rebel," I yelled, pushing him so hard he staggered.
Langerman swore and lunged at me, punching me hard in the stomach. From then on it was his fists and mine with no time for name-calling.
Just as I was getting the better of him, some kid ran for the teacher. In no time, Langerman and I found ourselves in the principal's office.
"What brings you in here, Jerry?" Mr. Malone asked. Something in the man's look and voice warned me he wasn't on my side. Which didn't surprise me.
"
This little Yankee cussed the South, sir," Jerry said, "and then he took a swing at me. It was my duty to defend myself—and the honor of North Carolina."
Mr. Malone's small eyes turned to me. He had a round red face and a big neck that spread over his shirt collar like cherry Jell-O. "We don't tolerate profanity at this school, or fighting, boy," he said. "You owe Jerry an apology."
"I don't owe him anything," I said, narrowing my eyes to mean little slits to show everybody I wasn't scared of any dumb principal.
Mr. Malone's fat fingers curled around a ruler. Heaving himself to his feet, he said, "Hold out your hands, boy. You're in for some corporal punishment. If you don't know the meaning of the term, I'll teach it to you fast."
While Jerry stood there grinning, the principal whacked my hands till they stung so hard I thought they'd fall off. I didn't say a word, though. I'd lived through a lot worse than being hit with a skinny old ruler.
"Let that be a lesson to you," Mr. Malone said. "The next time I catch you fighting, I'll use the paddle on you."
I walked out of the office without looking back. Behind me, I heard the principal say, "Be sure and tell your daddy those pills he prescribed are helping, Jerry. He's a damn fine doctor, boy, damn fine."
When Jerry caught up with me, I said, "Just wait. I'll fix you and your great-granddaddy, too."
The look on his face was worth the rabbit punch he gave me.
At home, I got in trouble all over again. For one thing, my brand-new jersey was ripped at the neck. For another, I had a swollen lip. Worst of all, the principal had called Grandma and told her the details of my first day in Grandville Elementary School.
"Fighting like a common hooligan," she said. "Staying after school, failing tests, smirking when Miss Whipple corrected you. This won't do, Gordon."
I shrugged. "I hate school."
"Why?"
I stared at Grandma, surprised. Nobody had ever asked me why I hated school. "I'm dumb."
"I don't believe that," Grandma said.
June looked up from the picture she was drawing at the kitchen table. "It's true," she said, trying to be helpful, I guess. "Gordy's always been dumb. He almost fails every single grade."
"The only reason they pass me is because no teacher wants me two years in a row," I boasted.
Grandma made a little sniffing noise. "That I can believe."
"Look, Grandma, see my picture?" June shoved her drawing toward Grandma. "It's you and me in the house looking out the windows. I drew one just like it for my teacher and she said it was good. Do you like it?"
Grandma's mouth twitched the teeniest bit. If it had been someone else, I'd have said it was a smile, but on her it was hard to tell.
"You've made the heads too big," Grandma said. "They'd never fit inside that little house."
June snatched her drawing back. The smiling sun, the happy faces, and the big bird flying past disappeared as she wadded the picture into a ball.
"Now what did you go and do that for?" Grandma asked. "You wasted a perfectly good piece of paper. You could have drawn something else on the back."
June kept her head down but I could see she was trying not to cry. "It was a good picture," I said, but my sister didn't care what I thought.
Grandma reached out real slow and touched June's hand so briefly I doubt my sister even noticed. "There's nothing wrong with a little constructive criticism," she said in a let's-make-up voice. "It was nice the way you drew the sun with a big grin on its face. And the bird was good, too. It's just that the house was too small for you and me to fit in without bumping our heads on the ceiling."
Instead of answering, June threw the wad of paper into the trash can. She left the kitchen, letting the screen door slam behind her.
For once, Grandma didn't scold her. Turning to me, she said crossly, "You've got homework, Gordon. I want to see you do it."
I'd had enough. "You're not my mother," I said, and followed June outside. I let the screen door slam too.
I heard Grandma yelling for me to come back and finish my homework, but I climbed up into the tree and sat there till dinnertime. Nobody told Gordy Smith what to do—not the old man, not Miss Whipple, not the principal, not Grandma.
I went to bed that night without dinner. That's what I got for talking back to Grandma. Even though my stomach growled so loud it kept me awake, I was glad I'd stuck up for myself. Never had I done a lick of homework, and I didn't intend to start now. Suppose word got back to College Hill. What would my old friends and enemies think of me?
Seven
Somehow I got through my first week in Grandville. At school I played dumb the way I always had. I did nothing all day but draw fighter planes, tanks, destroyers, and soldiers shooting each other. If Miss Whipple called on me, I pretended not to know the answer. I messed up my math problems on purpose. I misspelled every word on my spelling test. I wrote my vocabulary sentences without periods or commas, running the words together so they made no sense. Soon Miss Whipple gave up on me and let me sit there drawing planes and tanks and soldiers.
After a week of school, I was ready for Saturday. But not for rain. It wasn't just a sprinkle but a hard all-day downpour that never let up and kept us all inside till we felt like the people in June's picture—too big for Grandma's house.
Sunday the rain stopped but we couldn't go outside because, as soon as we got back from church, Grandma was expecting company. Relatives. Not a single Smith, just Aitchesons. I asked her why that was.
"Didn't the old man come from Grandville too? Doesn't he have some relatives here?" It wasn't that I had a yen to see his kin. I just wanted to know about them. Be prepared in case they were as bad as he was. Or even worse.
Grandma shook her head. "Your father was in the navy when he met your mother. If he has any family, I don't know their whereabouts."
That was a relief.
Grandma made sure we all looked as nice as possible. We were to be on our best behavior, too. "Old folks are coming that haven't seen your mother since she eloped with your father. I expect you to be polite."
Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed to me Grandma aimed most of her warnings at yours truly.
I glanced at Mama once or twice while Grandma combed my brothers' hair and tucked in their shirts and retied their shoes. She didn't appear to be interested in helping or anything else. Hadn't done her hair or put on lipstick. Her dress was split under one arm.
While Grandma bustled around, Mama sat in an armchair and gazed at the radio as if she was listening to it, but I doubt she could have told you what song was playing. Ever since we'd come to Grandville, she'd taken less and less notice of things, us included. What was going on inside her head was anybody's guess, but it worried me to see her looking so dull and vacant. I'd thought once we got away from the old man, she'd perk up, but it seemed I was dead wrong.
When the doorbell chimed, June followed Grandma to the door. She had that puppy-in-the-pound smile glued to her face. You'd think she was hoping to be adopted.
For the next half hour, people poured into the house. Great-uncles and great-aunts and a few cousins once or twice removed. Twelve altogether and not one under sixty. I never saw so many canes. It's a wonder they didn't trip each other.
June fluttered among them, smiling and dimpling like Shirley Temple. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd started to sing "The Good Ship Lollipop" or some other cornball song. Maybe tap-danced, too.
Sappy or not, June charmed the whole room—which was more than the rest of us did. Bobby pooped in his pants and had to be whisked away by Grandma. Ernie sucked his thumb and Victor picked his nose. They refused to shake Great-uncle Henry's hand. They refused to sit on Great-aunt Mabel's lap. They got into the chocolate cake when nobody was looking and smeared it all over themselves and the carpet.
Mama sat in her chair and tried to be invisible. She never spoke unless she was spoken to and then said only what was required, which was usually, "I'm just fine, thank you."
I sneaked out to the kitchen every chance I got, but Grandma kept coming after me and sending me back to the living room. Warning me to behave. Reminding me I was the oldest, it was my job to set an example for Victor and Ernie.
So I shook hands with Great-uncle Henry and told everyone who asked how old I was and what my favorite school subject was—they thought I was kidding when I said "Recess."
I was doing pretty good until Great-aunt Mavis came along. She was the worst of the bunch, a skinny old lady with a long pointed nose who scared June because she looked exactly like the witch in her Snow White book.
I'd been avoiding Great-aunt Mavis for fear she'd grab hold of me and kiss me the way she'd kissed the other kids. But I happened to be nearby when she decided to engage Mama in conversation.
"Why, Virginia, I almost didn't recognize you," she said in a phony sweet voice just gushing with concern and sympathy. "Bless your little heart, you used to be the prettiest girl in Grandville, honey."
That's when I lost my temper. While Mama stared at the floor, all mousy and sad, I looked Great-aunt Mavis in the eye and said, "At least Mama was pretty once. I bet that's more than anyone ever said of you!"
Mama gazed at me as if she didn't entirely grasp the full extent of my rudeness, but Great-aunt Mavis just about turned purple. The glass plate she was holding tipped and all her little macaroons slid into her lap.
"How dare you—" she began, but I was already halfway out the door, running as if I planned to make it back to College Hill in time for supper.
Eight
The last thing I heard before the door slammed shut was Great-aunt Mavis saying, "That boy has some ugly ways."
"My ugly ways against your ugly face," I yelled as I ran down the porch steps. Even though the old witch couldn't have heard me, I felt better for saying it.
As I headed for the street, I glanced at the Sullivans' house. Once more I saw the curtains twitching at the same window on the second floor. "Get a camera," I hollered, "you nosy little twerp."
Following My Own Footsteps Page 3
