Charlie Koenig was Rusty Nail’s young lawyer, whose clapboard office sat next to Wes’s on Main Street. He was the closest thing that Rusty Nail had to royalty, being the only child of the town’s former mayor Ludwig Koenig. His mother had died in childbirth with Charlie, and his dad died when Charlie was just finishing high school.
All his life, Charlie had mostly kept to himself, and soon after his father’s death, he had shocked the town by getting a fancy scholarship to a hoity-toity university out East. Then he shocked everyone again by staying out there and going to an even swankier law school in New York City, and shocked them all yet again by coming back to Rusty Nail to set up shop afterward. No one quite knew why, but Wes told Franny once that Charlie just really loved the big Minnesota sky and open spaces he’d grown up with.
As a grown man, he was as private as he’d been as a kid, and he didn’t mingle with the town folks very often. Such aloofness was practically a sin in a town that churned out a demanding social schedule of church dinners, bingo tournaments, tag sales, and farm-equipment fairs.
But Charlie’s good-humored smile and nice ways won over even those who were inclined to call him snobby. People gradually put aside their suspicions of Mr. City Slicker (as Norma Smitty had nicknamed him) and hired him to settle land quarrels and bill disputes. And as he started to make a little money, the single ladies in town suddenly began to wonder why he wasn’t married.
Mrs. Engebraten and Lorraine leaned forward into the group just in time to hear Norma Smitty announce with great relish: “And I haven’t even told you the big news yet—guess where she’s from? I’ll give you a hint—it ain’t America, that’s fer sure.”
A deafening cacophony followed: “Whaddya mean?”
“A foreigner movin’ here to Rusty Nail?” “You don’t say!”
“What’s wrong with the women here in Rusty Nail?” grumbled Melba the salon assistant. “Don’t see why Charlie has t’ go all the way to another country t’ find himself a good wife.”
Oh, who cares, you old billy goats, thought Franny sulk-ily, and wondered why Sandy hadn’t come in yet with her mother. Her thumb throbbed under its big cartoonish bandage.
“Just try to guess where she’s from,” Norma said, dangling the answer in front of the crowd like a big succulent steak.
All of the women concurred that the newcomer had to be from Sweden or Norway. After all, everyone in Rusty Nail had ancestors from those countries. The town had been a big, potato-filled Scandinavian outpost for decades.
“Wrong!” crowed Norma, and her eyes narrowed with malice. “She’s Russian! Jest imagine—a Commie right here in Rusty Nail, in the heartland of America! In the coot capital of the country.”
“Former coot capital,” someone reminded her as the rest of the women gasped all at once.
“And not only that,” Norma Smitty continued. “They say that she and Charlie’re already married—and you can bet that the ceremony wasn’t in no church either! Those Commies are a godless bunch, you know. Anyway, Charlie went back out East on a business trip and eloped with that woman in New York City. Word is that they’re off on their honeymoon, and that he’s bringin’ her back here real soon. Yessir, the Cold War’s a-comin’ right here t’ our doorsteps.”
“What does elope mean?” Franny whispered to Lorraine.
“Eloping is when a couple runs away and gets married without having a big wedding,” Lorraine said distractedly.
“Why are they letting a Commie come here?” Franny pestered her mother. “Aren’t they all supposed to be over in Russia, figuring out how to shoot nuclear missiles at us?”
Lorraine peered down at her daughter. “Why don’t you run along and see if Sandy is out in the yard?” she asked, and bustled Franny toward the exit. “I’ll be out once I finish my coffee.” And she turned her attention back to the mob.
Franny walked outside and stood at the top of the stairs, blinking in the harsh noon sunshine.
“A spy!” shouted Norma from the middle of the circus inside. “The new wife’s gotta be a spy. I’m willin’ to bet m’ shop on it. That’s the only reason a Commie comes to a town like this. What was Charlie thinkin’ ?”
And with that, all of the women began talking at once again, gabbing like a bunch of agitated hens.
Wow, thought Franny.A Russian spy in Rusty Nail, of all places! She ran down the stairs to find Sandy and tell her the news.
Under normal circumstances, the residents of Rusty Nail discussed a fairly limited roster of topics: crop prices, droughts, how much they loved President Eisenhower and hated Democrat Adlai Stevenson, and, last but certainly not least: each other. Closed doors and drawn curtains never sealed in secrets, which inevitably seeped out through keyholes and around the edges of the loose windowpanes. Everyone knew everything about everyone else—and when information was vague, rumors and speculation cemented the gaps between the bricks.
After Norma Smitty’s announcement at the Colosseum, the town’s number one topic of discussion was the bizarre betrayal by Charlie Koenig and the impending arrival of his Commie wife.
“I always knew there was somethin’ not quite right about ole Charlie,” Elmer the bartender said to his customers once the news hit the streets. “A man who doesn’t drink beer with the rest of the fellas has gotta have some-thin’ t’ hide.”
“Well, he’s always been real odd,” said Rodney the jail janitor from behind his dented beer can. “But I never woulda guessed that he’d do somethin’ like this, bein’ born and bred right here in Rusty Nail.”
At that moment, Mr. Arflot, the owner of the saddle store, was galloping down to the town hall to inform the mayor of the development. When he heard what was happening, Mayor Reverend Jerry drummed his fingers on his desk and contemplated the problem.
“We could build a big fence around their house, with a watchtower,” suggested Mr. Arflot excitedly. Too flat-footed and nearsighted to have joined the army, Mr. Arflot was thrilled to have access, finally, to a couple of war enemies. “We could all take shifts watchin’ her.”
The mayor considered this for a moment, and then shook his head. “That sounds like an awful lot of work,” he said dubiously. “We’ll jest have t’ keep a real close eye on her without the fence. You know, be real sly-like, so they don’t get suspicious that we’re on to ’em. One wrong move outta either of ’em, and I’m callin’ Senator McCarthy m’self. My Lord—what was Charlie thinkin’?”
After Mr. Arflot left, the mayor stood up and looked out the window at the gray autumn sky. First the visit of Eunice Grimes, and now this! Just what in Sam Hill did God have in mind for Rusty Nail? Feeling uneasy, Mayor Reverend Jerry guessed that they wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.
He put on his hat and walked down to Elmer’s for a beer.
Several days later, Charlie’s car appeared on the outskirts of Rusty Nail. By the time he drove into town, many people were peering out of their windows and standing on their front lawns, waiting for a glimpse of his new Commie wife.
They were sorely disappointed to discover that he was alone. He parked his car on the street outside his house. As Charlie walked toward his front porch, he noticed Norma Smitty huffing and puffing up the street in his direction. Tipping his hat to her, he scurried up the front stairs and closed the door behind him without a word. Of course, this set off a storm of Did-you-see-thats and Well-I-nevers and Ain’t-that-high-and-mightys. The town switchboard nearly blew up from the volume of kitchen-to-kitchen phone calls.
And then, the very next day, another stupefying event occurred: a truck with New York license plates rumbled into town. As it chugged down Main Street, people stared at it with the dismay of those watching incoming tanks filled with enemy troops. The truck parked in front of Charlie’s house, and a couple of men began unloading a few cloth-covered objects onto Charlie’s lawn.
The usually unpopular Mrs. Thelma Britches, who happened to be Charlie’s next-door neighbor, suddenly found herself entertaining
at least ten women who’d invited themselves over to watch the spectacle from her kitchen window. The guests gripped mismatched cups of watery coffee and peered through lace curtains at the movers.
Sandy and Franny took a less covert approach to the event. On the way home from their labors at the Klompenhower pig barn, covered in mud, they stopped on the sidewalk right in front of Charlie’s house to gawk.
“I guess she’s comin’ pretty soon,” Sandy said. “And I’m willin’ to bet she’s not a spy after all. I mean, what would a spy spy on here—the farmers milkin’ the cows? Let’s go look at her stuff.” She ambled toward one of the shrouded objects.
“Hey! Get yer dirty paws off those things, kid,” one of the movers called menacingly from the porch.
“Have you met her?” Sandy yelled back, pressing her luck. “The woman whose stuff this is?”
The mover stalked back to the truck and yanked out a big cardboard box. “ ’Course I met her. We picked up all this stuff from ’er place in New Yawk. Had to do it in the middle of the night, for some reason. Guess she works during the day or somethin’.” He started walking toward the house with the box.
Sandy and Franny looked at each other in astonishment.
“The middle-a the night!” exclaimed Sandy. “Okay, I mighta been wrong ’bout her bein’ a spy. That sounds real suspicious to me.” The girls plunked themselves down on the curb and watched the mover.
“Hey,” Franny called to the mover, pointing to the oddly shaped items on the lawn. “What’re those things?”
“I dunno,” the mover shouted over his shoulder. “Looks like a buncha instrument cases or somethin’. You know, the musical kind. Touch ’em and I’ll box yer ears— both-a-ya!”
Franny sat there, bemused. “Why would a spy need instruments?” she asked.
“Maybe the cases are carryin’ nuclear parts instead of violins,” Sandy suggested excitedly. “Safer transport—you know, like in the movies. It’s like puttin’ money into a mattress, where no one thinks to look for it. Boy, are things gonna get interestin’ out here now.”
At that moment, both movers came out of the house and climbed back into the truck. They wheeled a huge covered object to the edge of the truck’s cavern and heaved it out with tremendous care. When they finally set the object on the ground, Franny heard a familiar twang and tingling noise and suddenly knew that she was seeing her first grand piano. Even Nancy Orilee’s piano was an old upright.
“Look at that!” she said to Sandy, pointing at the piano’s black legs. Its enormous body was covered with thick blankets and wrapped in heavy tape. “A real grand piano, like the one in the White House newsreel—you know, the one with the kid who played for the president!” Her heart pounded with excitement.
“Wow,” said Sandy. “I bet you could get a mother lode of nuclear parts into that baby. We’re definitely gonna have to come back the second she gets here. But we’ll have to do it at night, you know.”
“Why—so she can’t see us?” Franny asked distractedly.
“Well, yeah—but also so they can’t,” Sandy said, pointing toward Thelma Britches’ kitchen window. All of the usual suspects from the Sunday Colosseum peered out nosily.
Franny shook her head in disbelief. “They’re worse than we are,” she said. “Let’s never be like that when we grow up.”
“Deal,” said Sandy, spitting on her palm and sticking it out for Franny to shake. Franny did the same.
When the last box had been lugged into the house, the girls walked back to Main Street. On the way, they planned their nighttime stakeout of Rusty Nail’s Russian spy.
The days dragged by, and Charlie’s wife still didn’t bother to show up. The women of Rusty Nail nearly went crazy as they waited for the Russian to arrive.
“Well, talk about bad manners,” Norma Smitty sneered a week later, holding court as usual in the Colosseum. “Remind me never to invite Mizz Russia to a party, if she’s gonna be this late to things.”
Then Mrs. Charity Engebraten chimed in: “You know, we better hire a guard to look over this church, in case she gets any ideas ’bout burnin’ it down or anything.”
“I sure hope she knows how to cut and curl her own hair, ’cause I ain’t lettin’ her near the Beauty Station,” said Melba ferociously.
“Well, I’m not gonna jest sit by and do nothin’ while some Commie sets up shop in our town,” announced Norma. “I’m gonna be startin’ a club, right here in the church, unitin’ the ladies of Rusty Nail against the Commie Threat. I ain’t thought of a name yet, but it’ll be somethin’ good—jest you all wait.”
And then the most unusual event took place, one that began a very significant era in Rusty Nail’s history.
Up to this point, Lorraine had been standing to the side of the crowd, sipping her coffee and watching quietly. But with Norma’s latest pronouncement, she suddenly straightened up.
“Now, just a minute,” she said. “Don’t you think that you’re going a little bit too far? You all don’t know a thing about this lady—I mean, besides the gossip. And, Norma, you’re hardly a perfectionist when it comes to getting the facts right all the time.”
Shocked silence filled the room. Franny stared at her mother, who was usually as mild as milk during these discussions.
Norma Smitty cleared her throat. “And jest what do you mean by that, Lorraine?”
“What I mean,” said Lorraine, setting down her cup, “is that there’re two sides to every story. She might be Russian, but does that mean that she’s a spying Communist?”
Franny tugged her mother’s sleeve. “Aren’t they the same thing?” she whispered to her mother noisily.
“Amen to that,” someone said in the back of the room.
“Not necessarily,” said Lorraine. “And that’s my point. I’ve been thinking about this a lot since last week. You all talk about Rusty Nail being all-American. But being all-American means that all folks here are innocent until proven guilty. And it also means being hospitable to strangers, and this community seems to have forgotten how to be neighborly all of a sudden.”
“W-w-well … um, yes,” stammered Mrs. Engebraten, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “Lorraine, honey, of course we’re going to show her every consideration when she arrives. We’re just all, uh, disappointed that she’s not here yet. But we’ll give her a big Rusty Nail welcome when she shows up, won’t we, ladies?”
There was another uncomfortable silence, and someone muttered, “Over my dead body” under her breath.
Franny’s heart actually skipped a beat. Lorraine stared hard at Norma while the rest of the women looked at their feet with great interest. And then, to the congregation’s relief, somebody changed the subject to the upcoming annual Halloween pageant at the Polk School.
As they walked home later, Franny tugged on Lorraine’s sleeve again. Lorraine’s little speech had stunned her. Why on earth was her own mother sticking up for the Russian?
“Mom,” she said. “Why’d you take the Commie’s side back there in the Colosseum?”
“Stop calling it that,” Lorraine snapped. “It’s the church, not the Colosseum.” She marched a little faster, and Franny scrambled to catch up.
“Okay, well, why did you stick up for the Commie at church, then?” Franny asked pestily.
Lorraine stopped and put her hands on her hips, staring down at her daughter.
“Franny, don’t say Commie—you sound like a politician,” she said. “I meant what I said back there. I just think that that sort of behavior is, well, un-Christian and un-American.”
“Why?” Franny asked. “If that woman’s a spy, aren’t we supposed to protect Rusty Nail from her?”
Lorraine sighed. “I don’t want to ruin all of your and Sandy’s fun, but I really doubt that Charlie’s wife is going to be a spy,” she said. “People like us have to take the high road. One of the things that makes Russia so bad is that they just throw people in jail without giving them trials. Now, we can’t
act the same way, or we’ll be no better than they are. Do you see?”
“No one said anything about putting her in jail,” said Franny, confused. “Melba just said that she wouldn’t do the lady’s hair, that’s all.” She thought for a minute. “Which is probably a good thing, not a punishment.”
Lorraine smiled her sideways smile. “That’s true, sweetheart,” she said. “Now let’s go home and get some lunch.
“And just remember,” she added as they walked down Main Street, “that not everything is always as it seems at first.”
At last, the big moment arrived.
Franny and her family were finishing up supper when the news reached the Hansen household that Rusty Nail’s newest resident had come. Mrs. Charity Engebraten called Lorraine and gave her a full report. After Lorraine hung up, the phone rang again almost immediately.
“Hello?” said Franny. The receiver was still warm from her mother’s ear.
“It’s time,” said a grave, urgent voice on the other end. It was Sandy, disguising her voice for some reason. “Put Plan A into action.”
“Right,” said Franny excitedly, and hung up.
It was time to spy on the spy.
But first, she had to get out of the house without raising any suspicion about the nature of her mission—especially after her mother’s lecture to her on the street that afternoon.
Franny drummed her fingers on the counter until an idea came to her. Then she opened the kitchen cabinet that held her mother’s jumbled collection of Tupperware containers and rummaged around until she found an empty jelly jar with a lid. Using a scissors like a dagger, she jabbed several holes in the top.
She marched into the living room, where her mother was knitting and her father was listening to a rerun of the Benny Goodman jazz show on the radio. Her brothers were in their room, doing homework. A swing band played in the background as a woman sang:
There’ll be a change in the weather,
a change in the sea.
Before long there’ll be a change in me.
My walk will be diff’rent, my talk
The Rising Star of Rusty Nail Page 6
