“Saw,” said Elizabeth.
“Where can you get one of those sulfur pits, anyway?” asked Ava.
“Just what would you do with a sulfur pit?” said Elizabeth.
“Let’s change the subject,” said Mother, who thought it best not to know too much about the inner workings of Ava’s mind.
Ava shrugged. “All right. So where’d you go, then, Frankie?”
Frankie took a drink of milk. “To the restaurant.”
“The restaurant?” said Ava, her mouth gaping. “The place where you were all day long?”
Frankie nodded.
“Man oh man,” said Ava, folding her arms across her chest, “what a waste of freedom.”
“And then down Jonathan Street,” said Frankie.
“Jonathan Street?” said Mother.
“To where the coloreds live?” said Ava, her eyes widening. She was clearly impressed.
“Frances Marie,” said Mother, “what have we told you about going to that part of town?”
Frankie started to answer, but Mother held up her hand. “Don’t say a word until your father gets here. I want him to hear this straight from the horse’s mouth.” She gave Frankie a grim look and then turned her head toward the kitchen. “Hermann? You out there?”
“He said he’d be right in,” said Frankie.
“I can go check on him, Mother,” said Elizabeth, removing her napkin from her lap.
“No, I’ll go,” said Frankie. She pushed back her chair and jumped up before Elizabeth had a chance to beat her to it. On her way to the kitchen, Frankie heard a remark from Elizabeth about her animal-like behavior, which only made Frankie grin.
Daddy wasn’t in the kitchen, though. Frankie checked the side porch and the alley. “Daddy? Are you out here? Everybody’s waiting to eat. And Martha isn’t going to make it much longer.” The alley and porch were empty, except for Bismarck, who was preoccupied with licking the long fur between the pads on his front paw.
Frankie ran to the gravel lot behind the yard. Daddy’s Studebaker wasn’t parked there in its usual place. On the way back inside, Frankie wondered what would’ve made Daddy disappear like that. One minute talking about cold lima beans, and the next, vanished. Was it because of what she’d said about Mr. Price and Mr. Stannum?
“Well?” said Mother.
“Daddy’s not here,” said Frankie. “He’s gone.”
19
“DO YOU THINK DADDY is all right?” Frankie asked Elizabeth as she buttoned up her cotton nightgown and climbed into bed. She wouldn’t normally start such a conversation with Elizabeth, but she needed to talk to someone, and Bismarck was asleep on the porch.
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth was already settled in her bed and propped up against the velvet headboard, a book in her lap. “Why wouldn’t he be all right?” she said, opening the book and finding the last page where she’d left off.
“You know, disappearing like that.” Frankie scooted herself to the center of her bed so she wouldn’t have to see Joan’s empty side.
Elizabeth didn’t look up from her page. “You don’t know the first thing about running a business, Frankie. He has a lot to do. Something you should think about the next time you go off gallivanting around town without telling anyone.”
“But what business would he have to do all of a sudden? Just as we were about to have supper?”
Elizabeth snapped her book closed. “I don’t know, but don’t you go bothering him about it. He has enough on his mind these days.”
“All right, fine,” said Frankie. Was it possible for a Number One to refrain from bossing? No, it was not. “I won’t go bothering him.”
“Good.” Elizabeth sighed and opened her book once again.
“Elizabeth?”
“What, Frankie?”
“Does anyone tease you, or give you trouble about Daddy?”
Elizabeth looked up. “About Daddy? No, why would they?”
“You know, about him being a German.”
Elizabeth sat right up in bed. “What are you talking about, Frankie Baum? Daddy is no German.”
Frankie got to her knees and gathered up a corner of the cotton sheet in her palm. “I don’t mean one of those Germans, not those Nazi Germans, the ones making trouble and war. But I just mean being from Germany, or having his family there. Does anyone say anything to you about that?”
Elizabeth shook her head. Her eyes were opened wide, as if this were the first time she’d ever heard of such a thing. Frankie wondered how it could be that she and Elizabeth shared the same mother and father—the same bedroom, even—but lived on different planets in opposite universes. Just once, Frankie wanted to visit Elizabeth’s planet, where life was easy and the biggest trouble was deciding whether to wear your hair in finger waves or pin curls. “Why, have people said something to you?”
“Not people, really,” said Frankie. “One person.”
“Who?”
“Leroy Price,” said Frankie.
“What did he say?”
“He asked if we were going to make German food at the restaurant.” Frankie winced at remembering and wished she’d gotten some swings in or a good kick up his backside. She would have, she knew, if that Seaweed hadn’t interfered.
“Oh,” said Elizabeth, looking relieved. “Is that all? Frankie, there are Italian restaurants in town, you know. Jewish delicatessens. I’m sure he was just curious about the food.”
“I heard his father say some things, too,” protested Frankie.
“Mr. Price from the Chamber of Commerce?” said Elizabeth.
Frankie nodded.
“What did he say? Things about Daddy or the restaurant?”
“Both,” said Frankie.
Elizabeth shook her head, dismissing Frankie’s concerns. “Mr. Price, I’m sure, just wants to know about the restaurant because it’s his job at the Chamber of Commerce to know about businesses in town. That’s all.”
“I don’t know,” said Frankie quietly.
“Look,” said Elizabeth, “everybody loves Daddy. He’s got friends everywhere—the Alsatias, the Owls Club, the Eagles. Do you think they’d let him into those clubs if they thought of him in . . . you know, that way?”
“You mean being a German?” said Frankie.
“Shh!” Elizabeth was very close to throwing her book at Frankie. “Would you stop saying that?”
Frankie wondered if Elizabeth had a point. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” said Elizabeth, leaning back against her pillow, as if there shouldn’t be an ounce of doubt. “Now, go to sleep.”
Frankie turned over so her back was to Elizabeth. But she did not sleep.
No, sir, she most certainly did not. For how can you sleep and listen for the door at the same time?
20
DADDY CAME HOME LATE that night.
Frankie heard the creak of the screen door in the kitchen and then Bismarck’s toenails on the hardwood floor. She climbed out of bed and stood in the doorway of her room, peeking her head into the dark hall as she strained her ears to listen.
“Hermann,” said Mother. “What happened? Where did you go?”
“Everything’s fine, Mildred,” said Daddy. “I had forgotten that I needed to see Fritz about some business matters, is all.”
“Fritz? What business could you have at this hour? And to go without saying anything?” said Mother. “I don’t understand. That wasn’t like you, Hermann. First Frances disappears and then you? My nerves can’t take much more.”
“I should’ve telephoned, and I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s not good to worry so much, you know. It does no good. No good!” Daddy’s voice funneled down the hallway and woke Elizabeth.
“What’s going on?” said Elizabeth, rubbing her eye
s.
“Nothing,” whispered Frankie. “Daddy came home.”
“Oh, Frankie, go to sleep,” she said.
Frankie ignored her.
“Shh,” Mother said to Daddy. “You’ll wake the girls.”
“Whatever is going to happen is going to happen, worry or not worry,” he said.
“Have you been drinking?” said Mother.
“Just one,” he said, and then, “I might’ve had two, or three, but it was such a small glass it hardly counts.”
“Please tell me,” said Mother, “is something the matter?”
“What could possibly be the matter?” he said. “The place of wide renown is where dreams happen to regular people. The sky above us is as wide as it is high, Millie. We’re in the dream business.”
“I thought we were in the food business,” said Mother.
“Everything’s been taken care of, dear. Come on, it’s been a long day.”
Frankie heard their footsteps heading down the hall. She ducked back inside her room and slid under her covers. Bismarck joined her soon after, walking in circles over the empty spaces on the bed until finally deciding that Joan’s pillow was an adequate resting spot. Frankie listened awhile longer but heard nothing more. Not that she could hear much over Bismarck’s heavy breathing, but still . . .
Frankie rolled over and was just about to close her eyes when Elizabeth whispered, “Frankie, you still awake?”
“Yeah,” said Frankie.
“Me too.”
21
THERE WAS SOMEONE ELSE awake across town.
Mr. Sullen Waterford Price, Esquire, was working on his speech for the July Fourth festivities on the square. He stood in the center of his study and looked at his wife, Mrs. Price, who was perched quite delicately on the edge of their striped Victorian sofa, dabbing her nose with a pink-laced handkerchief and listening intently. Then he began to read.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight as we celebrate our nation’s independence, I would like to speak to you about peace in our time, of war being outlawed, and the laying down of arms across the world. That would be appropriate on this fourth day of July, the birthday of this great country: to celebrate peace. But friends, there is evil brewing in the world and there is talk that it may soon reach our shores. Well, I stand before you to tell you that it’s already here . . .”
Mr. Price, Esquire, looked up at Mrs. Price at that point. She nodded, blinked her eyes, and dabbed some more at her nose.
After he finished and Mrs. Price went on to bed, he removed a piece of paper from a drawer in his walnut desk and started to do some figuring. First, he tallied the number of campaign posters he had delivered to businesses around town, then he ticked the number of businesses that were displaying his posters in their windows, and lastly—and most severely—he ticked those that weren’t.
George Robertson was gaining an edge with some in town, he feared. More of those blasted Robertson signs were cropping up in unexpected places. To shore up his win, his own campaign needed something more. Something that the citizens of Hagerstown couldn’t afford to vote against. Something that struck fear in their hearts.
Then he took hold of his Wahl Oxford fountain pen and, emboldened by immense patriotism and sense of duty, wrote down this name: “Hermann Baum.”
June 26, 1939
(Very early in the morning)
Dear Joanie,
I was so happy to have received your letter and am relieved you are not permitted to use Aunt Dottie’s tractor. To think of you trying to drive such a thing when I know how much trouble you have with our radio set.
Farm work seems a lot more fun than working in a restaurant kitchen, believe me. I will gladly swap places with you anytime, just say the word.
Dixie and Bismarck say hello, and don’t you worry, they are being well cared for by me. (Elizabeth hardly helps at all.)
Things are quite strange here with you gone, I must say. Daddy, for one, has not been himself. Do you know anything about Daddy being a German? I mean, not the bad kind, of course. Does Aunt Dottie talk about Germany at all? I know these are strange questions to ask, but that awful Leroy Price and his father have said some things, and with Daddy acting so strangely, I just don’t know what to think. It’s hard to think about these things without you here to think them with.
I miss you more-than-tongue-can-tell,
Frankie
June 25, 1939
Dear Frankie,
The postman has not yet delivered your reply to my last letter, but I am writing to you anyway. Writing to you makes me feel like we’re in the same place, not miles and miles apart. Oh, how I wish the mail didn’t take so many days to arrive.
Everything is so lush and green here, not at all like at home. Aunt Dottie’s cornfield and bed of zinnias are so colorful, they nearly hurt my eyes. Honestly, I’ve been here almost a month now and I still am not used to it.
There are creatures here that I have never before seen or heard. Whistle-pigs, moles, and garter snakes. At night, I fall asleep to the sounds of coyotes and crickets, and in the morning I wake to a symphony of birds, not the pigeons and robins and crows at home, but goldfinches and bluebirds and purple martins.
Aunt Dottie and I went to the county fair a few nights ago. We watched the pig races and rode the carousel. My horse had a green saddle with a matching sash. You would have liked the one done up in robin’s-egg blue right beside mine.
But you may be pleased to know that not everything here is enchanting. I made the mistake of telling Aunt Dottie how fond I am of Shirley Temple. She asked me if I’d mind if she fixed my hair in ringlets like Shirley’s, and of course, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t mind so much at first, I confess, thinking it would only be one time. But now, Aunt Dottie wants to curl my hair every day, and to be truthful, I do not know how much more of it I can stand. She’s even taken to calling me Shirley. She means no harm, I know, but the whole experience has caused me to sour on Miss Temple, and for that I know I will never be able to forgive Aunt Dottie.
I hope to receive a letter from you soon.
With sisterly affection,
Joanie
P.S. I am certain you are having great fun at the restaurant, and you will owe me ten cents. (I haven’t forgotten our wager.)
22
“LOOK WHO’S HERE,” SAID Seaweed, when Frankie pushed open the kitchen door. “Back to join us circus elephants.” He was at the Frigidaires with Mr. Washington, loading in boxes of food. He juggled apples as he pulled them from the box, tossing them into the air two at a time and catching them. Or, trying to catch them. He did catch a few, to be sure, but it is a known fact that guitar pickers just don’t play ball all that well.
Mr. Washington soon put a stop to the show. “Boy, I ain’t gonna tell you again.” He grabbed the apples from him and loaded them into the iceboxes. “More workin’, less playin’, if you aiming to keep this job.”
“I am,” said Seaweed. “I am.”
Frankie retrieved the guitar string wound in a circle from her dress pocket and handed it to him.
“Held good?” he asked.
Frankie nodded and thanked him.
“You be holdin’ good to our deal, too,” he said. “Don’t forget, now.”
She hadn’t forgotten. She had no plan about how to do it, but she hadn’t forgotten.
Then Seaweed started humming the tune of some song that had notes so low and mournful they sounded like they were climbing out of the dirt. Frankie wondered about that song, and how a boy who acted like such a clown could sing songs in the doldrums. But there was no time to ask. Because Mr. Stannum had a new job for her: cleaning the kitchen windows.
“Believe it or not,” said Mr. Stannum, handing Frankie a metal bucket and a rag, “we should be able to see out those windows. They’re covered in about an inch of grime, s
o you’ll have to put some elbow grease into it.”
“Yes, sir.” Frankie stared into the empty bucket. This is it. She was convinced. This was what she’d be doing for the rest of the summer: it would take her at least that long to clean the layers of filth off the glass.
She filled the empty bucket with soap and hot water from the spigot and then climbed onto the countertops to reach the windows. She plunged the rag into the bucket and slapped it onto the window. Soapy water dripped down her arm and spilled onto the counter. She wiped her arm on her dress and pushed the rag around the windowpane until the square glass was doused. The dirt, though, stubborn as it was, stayed put.
“Like Stannum say,” shouted Seaweed from the other side of the room, “you got to put your elbow into it.”
Mr. Washington told Seaweed to go on and mind his own business, while Frankie gritted her teeth and pressed harder, until finally some of the grime started to loosen. She kept at it, but man oh day, after a while her arm started to ache. She dropped the rag into the bucket and caught the sweat on her face with her dress collar.
As she gave her arm a rest, she watched Amy scrubbing the floor and Seaweed and Mr. Washington cleaning the grease traps. She closed her eyes and imagined a cyclone blowing into town and lifting her away to the Land of Oz. She saw herself spinning and spinning way up, up, up into the sky, leaving these dirty windows and the kitchen and the restaurant to the wind.
Good-bye.
Be seeing you.
I’ll write as soon as I get there.
“Would you look at that,” said Seaweed, laughing. “She done gone to sleep standin’ up. Like a horse.” Instantly, Frankie fell from the sky, and when she opened her eyes, she was right back in Kansas like she’d never even left. Believe me, a drop like that could make a person a little dizzy in the head, and as she shifted her feet to steady herself, her sandal slipped on the wet countertop. Down she went. For real this time.
“Gracious, you all right, girl?” said Amy, kneeling next to her.
A Tiny Piece of Sky Page 11
