Voices at Whisper Bend

by Katherine Ayres

  “What should we do next?” Mrs. Alexander asked.

  “These girls aren’t to blame,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’ll deal with the eighth graders.”

  Charlotte let out her breath as they walked down the hall. Poor Mr. Costa. He’d been innocent all along. “Sophie Jaworski, I’m never believing another thing you say. You got us into big trouble.”

  “We’re not in trouble, not yet,” Betsy said. Her blue eyes had dark circles underneath and she was frowning. “But we will be.”

  “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “This morning before school, while you were taking Robbie to the doctor …” Betsy hugged herself.

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Sophie interrupted. “Zalenchak and Merkow came back to school today.”

  “And?” Charlotte really didn’t want to know, but she had a feeling she couldn’t escape this one.

  “They’ve challenged Pete and his friends to a fight today, that’s what,” Betsy said. “Down by the tracks. After school.”

  Charlotte’s stomach turned. A fight wouldn’t solve anything. It would just make things worse. For a moment, Charlotte imagined she had some of Pa’s heavy line in her hands. Wished she could swing a rope around those mean eighth graders and stop the fight.

  But Zalenchak and Merkow weren’t like barges. They had minds of their own and they’d steer where they wanted. She couldn’t do anything to stop them.

  There was an empty place, down near the river and the railroad tracks, where the houses stopped and before the factories started. Once a long row of houses had stood there, with families and kids and dogs filling the street with noise. But years back, one of the houses had caught a spark from the mill and the whole row had burned. Now, only crumbling stone foundations marked where the houses had stood. Nobody wanted to rebuild there, on the chance that another spark might find a roof. So the street was clear for the whole length of a block, and a person could see a fair distance in both directions.

  When anybody said a fight down by the tracks, they meant that spot. Charlotte knew about it; every kid in school knew, even the little ones. But she hadn’t ever gone there and watched before. Sure, she’d walked by, but only when it was empty, a weedy patch with old cracked cement, tumbling-down stones, and a broken bottle or two.

  She held tight to her schoolbooks and hurried along, wishing she didn’t have to go. She glanced sideways at Betsy, whose face was pale and stiff-looking. “You sure you want to see this?”

  “I don’t want to. I have to. Pete’s my cousin. He got into this trouble because of me. You don’t have to come, Charlotte.”

  “Of course I do. If I hadn’t gotten this dumb idea of collecting scrap, and if we hadn’t been so darn good at it, nobody would have stolen anything. So it’s my fault too.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “It’s true, Bets. People are all fighting and snooping and suspecting each other. I wish we’d never started the drive.”

  “Too late for that,” Betsy said. “Come on. We can stand over there, near the alley. So we won’t be in the middle of things.”

  Other kids were gathering in the alley, and some had climbed onto old foundation stones for a better view. At least half the school had shown up for the fight. A familiar shape brushed past. Charlotte reached out and grabbed Robbie. “What are you doing here, buster?”

  “Watching.”

  “Nope. You get home.”

  “Will not.”

  “Come on, Robbie. You could get hurt.”

  “So could you.”

  “I don’t think they’ll punch any girls. But you—”

  “They won’t mess with little kids either. So, is it true? Is Betsy’s cousin going to plaster them?”

  Betsy nodded. “That’s what Pete says. He’s got five of his pals to back him up. Look.” She pointed.

  Pete Schmidt and five other seventh-grade boys marched down the street and across the tracks. From the other direction, Zalenchak and Merkow and their friends swaggered up.

  Betsy grabbed Charlotte’s arm. “It’s really going to happen.”

  “There are so many people, I can’t see from here.” Robbie grumbled and tried to pull loose.

  Charlotte held him tight by his belt. “You’re sticking with us, buster. I got in enough trouble when you cut your hand. What do you think Ma would do to me if I let some kid crack you in the head? Now be quiet and stop squirming.”

  Near the tracks, the two lines of boys stepped closer to each other. The onlookers bunched together in tight little knots and stopped whispering. Pete’s chin jutted out and his cheeks burned bright red.

  Frankie Zalenchak had on the meanest scowl Charlotte had ever seen. And he was bigger than Pete. “Filthy Kraut! Nazi scum!” Frankie yelled.

  Pete stepped closer. “Dirty stinking Hunky,” he shouted. “Go back to Hungary or wherever you came from. You don’t belong here.”

  “Who’s gonna make me leave, huh?” Frankie stuck his chin out. “You, pip-squeak?”

  Pete hauled back and socked Frankie in the stomach.

  Frankie popped him one in the jaw.

  After that, it was all grunts and punches and kicks. The other fellas made a circle around the fighters with their hands bunched into fists at their sides. How long until the whole lot of them started pounding on each other? A smell rose in the air, dust and sweat. Charlotte’s stomach jumped around.

  “Get him, Pete, get him,” Robbie yelled.

  Charlotte clapped her hand over his mouth. “You hush. You want them coming over here and smacking you?”

  He shook his head and she let go, putting her arm around Betsy’s waist. She could feel her friend shaking. Or maybe Charlotte was the one shaking.

  A car engine sounded from the avenue. One of the boys in the circle turned, then shouted, “Hey, Frankie Z. Hold up, Frank, somebody’s coming.”

  Boys from the circle stepped in and pulled Pete and Frankie apart. But they didn’t seem to be looking at the dirty faces and bloody noses. They all turned and stared toward the avenue. Even Frankie and Pete. It was so quiet you could hear the spin of tires on pavement.

  Charlotte turned, and what she saw made her breath catch. The brown car from the government. The car every family dreaded.

  Frozen in place like the rest, she could only watch and mumble prayers. “Please, please, not my house. Don’t stop at my house. Please.”

  The brown car crossed the tracks and turned onto Talbott Avenue. She hugged Betsy tighter and felt Robbie pull close on her other side.

  “No. No. No,” she whispered.

  One of the boys in the circle crossed himself.

  “Keep going. Keep going.”

  The only thing that moved was the brown car. It rolled slowly down Talbott Avenue, stopping at the cross streets and then starting up again.

  Charlotte could tell when the car had passed a boy’s street, when his shoulders let down and he could breathe again. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

  “Jim?” Robbie whispered.

  “Hush. Don’t say it. Don’t say anything.” She gripped his arm.

  She stared down the avenue, and at last the brown car passed by her house and Betsy’s and turned up a side street. It parked there, still in sight.

  She felt her breath come out, and she drew in fresh, sweet air. She stretched her shoulders, but still she couldn’t take her eyes off the street, off the man who was climbing out of the brown car. Now he was shutting the car door, and now, walking around the front and up the steps to the second house in from the corner.

  “No! Not Tony. Oh, Ma …”

  A cry rose from the knot of boys, and they separated. One kid stood alone for a moment rubbing his eyes. Then he dug his heels into the pavement and ran down the avenue, pumping his arms and legs so hard Charlotte could feel sweat rise on her own body.

  Every kid watched him run, sorry as could be, except for that one part, the selfish part that was saying thank you. Thank you fo
r not letting it stop in front of my house.

  Slowly, one at a time, the kids drifted down the avenue. Charlotte held tight to Betsy and Robbie as her feet began to move.

  Nobody said anything. Nobody had to. Everybody knew that by tomorrow, Frankie Zalenchak’s ma would have a gold star hanging in her front window instead of a blue one.

  CHAPTER 9

  A ROCKY COVE

  When they reached home, Robbie ran for the third floor. Charlotte went to her room and sat on the bed, trying to make her legs stop trembling. She searched among her schoolbooks and papers for her history book, then flipped through until she found her list of suspects. As she read the names, all she could feel was shame. Who was she to accuse these people of stealing?

  And what a list she’d made—Paul Rossi, who had brothers fighting; Mr. Costa, who wanted to enlist and couldn’t; the school janitor, who’d only been nice to everybody for his whole life; some poor little kid in Robbie’s class with a busted lunch pail. And there at the bottom, Zalenchak and Merkow. Seeing Frankie Zalenchak’s name on her list was the worst. She tore up the paper and flushed the little pieces down the toilet.

  She gathered her books and wandered downstairs to the kitchen, wishing hard that today of all days Ma could be home. But she wasn’t. She’d made a noodle casserole for supper, and Charlotte was supposed to put it in to heat. She did that, then settled at the kitchen table to do her homework. But no matter how many times she stared at the fractions in her arithmetic book, all she could see was the brown car. All she could hear was Frankie Zalenchak’s voice crying out, “No! Not Tony.”

  She stood and paced around the house, then stopped by the front window to touch the points of Jim’s blue star. Could have been me, she thought. Could have been Robbie and me, or Betsy or anybody. We’ve all got brothers.

  Ma had heard about Frankie’s brother at the mill. When she walked in the door, grimy as she was, she grabbed onto Charlotte and hugged her so hard it hurt. “You heard?”

  Charlotte nodded. “We saw the brown car come. I was afraid—”

  “Oh, honey, this is so hard.” Ma buried her face in Charlotte’s hair.

  “I hate it, Ma. I want it all to just go away. I want to close my eyes, and when I open them again, it will all be over—the war and the fighting and the ships going down and that brown car …”

  “I know, honey, I know. We all want that. But …”

  They stood holding on to each other for a long time, then Ma seemed to straighten herself. “I’m going to take my bath. Will you set the table? Your pa should be home soon.”

  Pa came home wearing a stern face, but carrying two bundles. He set one at Robbie’s place and one at Charlotte’s. “I bought these this morning to celebrate my brave crew of yesterday,” he began. “Maybe after supper …”

  When they sat to eat, nobody seemed very hungry. Robbie’s eyes were puffy and red, and so were Ma’s. Charlotte couldn’t tell if she’d scorched the casserole or if the odd taste in her mouth came from seeing the brown car. Somehow they managed to eat part of the meal, and after a while, they began to talk, about ordinary things.

  “I’ve got a long haul coming,” Pa said. “One of the big tugs is down for repair, and they need me to tow coal in from a mine down in Fayette County. I’ll be gone most of the week. Will you be all right?”

  Ma shook her head. “Seems like everything goes wrong at once. Somebody’s sick at the mill and they asked me to cover the swing shift for the rest of the week. Charlotte, can you manage here alone from four until midnight? I could get somebody to stay, but …”

  “She won’t be alone,” Robbie said. “I’ll be here too. We aren’t babies.”

  “We’ll be fine, Ma,” Charlotte said. “Betsy’s right next door. Her ma will help if we need anything.”

  Ma patted Charlotte’s hand. “Thanks, honey. In spite of everything, we do have to keep going.”

  Then Pa pointed to the packages. “I know this is a bad night. With a war on, we’ll have some bad nights, no hiding from that. We’ve all got to hang on to each other to make it through the rough spots. But yesterday was a good day. I was very proud of both of you. So today I stopped by the store and … well, open them up.”

  Robbie smiled a little as he lifted the box lid. He held up a white shirt with a square collar and a tie in the front. A boy-size Navy shirt. “Neat, Pa. It’s like Jim’s. Can I put it on right now?”

  “Let Charlotte open hers first,” Ma said.

  Charlotte slipped her box open. Inside, she saw tan cloth—a jacket with wide lapels and buttons. Underneath, she found a matching skirt. “Oh, Pa. It’s a WAC suit? Really?” It was like a woman’s Army uniform, but in her size. The Cussick twins had worn suits just like this to school last week, and Sophie Jaworski had bragged that her ma was buying one too. Last week Charlotte would have loved the suit, loved the chance to wear it before Sophie got one. But now it just made the war seem closer.

  “Thanks, Pa,” she whispered. “It’s really swell.”

  Pa nodded. “I’ll understand if you want to wait a few days …”

  After supper was finally over and the kitchen clean, Charlotte sat in her room to study for a history test. The WAC uniform hung on the doorknob, sturdy and serious. A knock came at the door.

  “Charlie, can I come in? It’s important.”

  “Sure, Robbie.” She set her book aside.

  He stepped into her room, wearing his sailor shirt. He’d tied a square knot in the front, but it was crooked.

  “You want me to fix that?”

  “I guess.” He stood and fidgeted while she straightened the knot.

  “There. You look like a real sailor,” she said.

  He frowned at her, then took a deep breath. “I didn’t really come about shirts or knots, Charlie. We have to go get more scrap, right away. I got my stitches out now.”

  “Ma doesn’t want us collecting scrap,” Charlotte warned.

  “Ma doesn’t have to know. Come on, Charlie. It’s important. If we keep on collecting metal, maybe they can make a ship or a plane with it. So we can beat the Japs and the Germans. So Jim doesn’t … you know.” He wouldn’t look at her.

  “The brown car?”

  He nodded and sat next to her on the bed. He swung his legs. “We gotta do something, Charlie. We can’t just sit around. If you won’t help, I’ll do it by myself.”

  “You’ll do what by yourself?”

  “Promise not to tell.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Okay. You know that pile of metal we saw from the Rose? I want to get it and take it to school.”

  Charlotte’s stomach tightened. “It was steep there. We’ll never find that junk from the riverbank.”

  “So what? We’ll find it from the water then. Unless you’re too scared. Unless you’re such a chicken you’d rather sit home than help win this war.”

  Charlotte winced. Was she a chicken? She didn’t like the river, that wasn’t news. But she had helped Pa rope in those barges. So maybe she could at least try to find the metal. “How about looking from the bank first? After school tomorrow? We’ll ask Betsy to come along.”

  “And your friend Paul. I like that guy,” Robbie said. “He knows about stitches and shots. Besides, he carried me—imagine how much junk he can lift.”

  “I guess,” Charlotte said. “With Ma working the swing shift and Pa on a long haul, we could spend a while there. But don’t wear your new shirt unless you want Ma to figure out what we’re up to.”

  Robbie saluted. “Aye, aye. Top secret. No uniforms.” He raced from her room and she heard his footsteps thumping up to the third floor.

  As she stood to close her door, she ran her hand along the shoulder of the WAC uniform. In her mind, she heard again the voice of the President, calling for sacrifice on the home front.

  “It is for them. It is for us. It is for victory.”

  But how much will victory cost, she wondered. How many more brown cars?

&nb
sp; “We can’t go down there. It’s too steep,” Charlotte said the next day after school. They’d trudged along the railroad tracks into North Braddock—upriver, past the mill, past the railroad bridge. Here the banks narrowed, with weeds and small trees clinging to the slope, a tumble of pale spring greens and golds. Instead of flats with houses, massive piles of limestone boulders guarded the water’s edge. On the other side, a rocky hill seemed to climb straight out of the muddy Mon. She peered down through overgrown bushes toward the river, holding tight to a small tree so she wouldn’t slip.

  “But, Charlie, there’s so much good stuff down there. And it’s ours, if we just climb down and—”

  “And what, buster? Get your other hand torn up? What do you want, a matched set? We aren’t going down.”

  Betsy gave Charlotte a hand and pulled her up higher where the bank flattened out. “Can’t we do anything? There is a lot of metal down there. You can see it shine in the sun.”

  Robbie grinned at Betsy, like she’d taken his side. “Yeah, Charlie. Can’t we? Not everybody is a scaredy-cat. How about it, Paul?”

  Paul Rossi had been standing to the side, studying the rocky wall that dropped down toward the river. He looked up when Robbie mentioned his name. “Your sister’s right. We can’t climb down this, and even if we could, we’d never be able to carry the stuff out. It’s too steep.”

  “So it’s a dead end?” Charlotte sighed. Partly she was relieved, but there was a lot of scrap down there, metal for bombs or bullets.

  Paul shook his head. “I didn’t say it was a dead end. I just said we couldn’t climb down. No reason we can’t get in there with a boat.”

  “If we had a boat,” Betsy said. “Charlotte’s father has a tug, but he’s away all week.”

  “We don’t need a tug,” Paul said. “I got a rowboat at home. Belongs to my brothers, but they’d let me use it. Especially for this.”

  “But—” Charlotte began.