"Mrs. White?" I ventured.
The woman stared straight ahead, seeming not to hear.
"Mrs. White?" I repeated, louder this time. The head lolled in my direction and a pair of blank eyes met mine briefly, then turned away again.
There was a sudden crashing in the bushes beside me, and I turned just as someone burst out of the woods and ran directly into me. I staggered back a few steps, but kept my balance. The stranger had dropped some bundles in the collision and fell to his knees to pick them up. I stooped to help him, then jerked back. The "bundles" were dead pigeons, their heads dangling limply from their twisted necks.
"Jesus," I whispered, "What the..."
My voice caught in my throat. The face that looked up into mine was Luther White's.
"Luther?" I said.
Luther quickly shoved the pigeons inside his coat and stood up.
"Get lost," he said.
"But Luther, it's me, Danny."
Luther went over and dumped the pigeons inside the piano crate, then he came back and grabbed the front of my jacket.
"I said get lost," he repeated.
I stared at him. "Luther, I just want to help."
The hold on my jacket tightened.
"My name ain't Luther," he said, "and I ain't never seen you before, and if you ain't outta here in five seconds, ain't nobody ever gonna see you again. Got it?"
"Yeah." I nodded. "I got it."
He let me go, and I stood staring a moment longer into his proud, angry eyes.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I must have been mistaken."
THIRTY-TWO
The snow had gotten deeper and it took me a long time to get home. The streetlamps were on by the time I reached our block, and a huge mound of snow, piled high by the plow, stood in front of our stoop. The whole neighborhood was out, playing king of the mountain.
"Hey, Dan," shouted Mickey, "where've you been? Come on up."
"Nah. I got homework."
"Come on," called Maggie, "there won't be any school tomorrow."
A snowball grazed my head, then another hit me square in the mouth. Suddenly king of the mountain sounded like a great idea. I fought my way up the hill, flinging aside everybody in my path. Mickey was at the top. I came up behind him, shoved both my knees into the backs of his, making them buckle, gave him a sideways push, and down he went.
"King of the mountain," I shouted, beating my chest.
Maggie tackled me around the knees, knocking me off balance, but I grabbed her around the waist as I went down, pulling her with me. We tumbled head over heels until we landed at the bottom, her on her back on the ground, and me on top of her. I grabbed her wrists and pinned them down.
"Say uncle," I said.
Maggie bit her lip and struggled to get free. Maggie would rather die than say uncle. I laughed, secretly liking the feel of her body against mine.
"Say uncle," I yelled again.
A great force suddenly shoved me sideways and a heavy foot came down on my head, grinding my face into the snow. I came up sputtering to see Harry Sullivan scrambling right over me and up the snow mound. I lunged for his leg and missed. Harry let out a whooping laugh and kept going.
"King of the mountain," he shouted when he got to the top.
I scrambled up after him.
"Come on!" he shouted. "Come up and get your face shoved in the snow again."
He kicked out at my face as I neared the top. He wasn't fooling around. The kick probably would've broken my jaw if it'd landed square. As it was I ended up with a stinging blow to the ear. I rolled over and grabbed the foot he'd kicked with, and I twisted. Harry's heavy body crashed over mine and we rolled together down the hill, him landing on top.
"Now you say uncle," he growled, pinning me the same way I'd pinned Maggie.
I struggled against his weight and he brought his knee up and ground it down painfully between my legs.
"Say uncle," he repeated, huffing with exertion. "Or are you gonna call your daddy? Oh, that's right. Your daddy run off, didn't he? I forgot your daddy run off...."
All the anger that had been building inside me for weeks suddenly boiled up and blew. I was punching, biting, kicking, thrashing. The next thing I knew, I was on top and Harry was on the bottom. My hands closed around his neck.
"My pa didn't run off!" I shouted. "You take that back."
Harry gasped and tried to push me off, but my arms were like steel. I could have killed him if I wanted to, and he knew it.
"F-Frank," he gasped. "F-Frank, h-h-help!"
I looked up sharply, ready to take on Frank, too, if I had to. But Frank made no move to help his brother. He was actually smiling, seeming to enjoy the whole thing. Something about that drained all the fire out of me. Harry's own brother hated him.
I let Harry go, and he lay there for a while, rubbing his neck and gasping for breath. Then slowly he got to his feet. I actually felt sorry for him.
"Hey, Harry," I said.
He scowled at me. "What?"
"What do you say we forget all this and start over?" I reached out my hand to shake. Harry looked at my hand, then he looked at the crowd of faces that had gathered around us. Then he spit in my hand and walked away.
I shook my head and wiped my hand off in the snow. Frank still stood beside me. He and I stared at each other a moment, then he stuck his hand out. I took it and smiled. He smiled back, then he looked up the street after Harry and his smile faded.
"I guess I better go," he said.
"You don't have to," I told him.
Frank looked around the circle of faces, then he looked at Harry again.
"I guess I do," he said. "He's my brother."
I nodded. "Well, come around anytime," I told him.
"Thanks," he said, "maybe I will ... sometime," then he shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Harry up the street.
"C'mon," said Mickey, starting up the mountain again.
"Nah," I said, "I'm tired." I sat down on the stoop and watched for a while. I found myself thinking about Luther White and his mother. What had happened to change them so in the past few months? Where was the rest of Luther's family? Where was his pa? Had he run off?
Then it wasn't Luther's pa I was wondering about. It was my own. Could Pa have run off like Harry said? The Pa I knew wouldn't—but suppose he'd changed, like Luther, or worse, like Luther's ma. How would we ever know? How long could Ma and I go on waiting?
I climbed the stairs with all those questions still spinning around in my head, but when I pushed the door open and saw Ma bent over her writing paper, I knew the answer to the last one at least. We'll go on waiting forever.
THIRTY-THREE
Friday, February 17, 1933
I'm not sure when I started thinking about going after Pa, but now that I've started, I can't stop. It's become the most important thing in my life. I'm not sure when I'll go. I'll have to wait until after the baby's born at least, maybe 'til school gets out. I've been listening to "True Detective Mystery" on the radio, trying to study up as much as I can on following clues and tracking people down. I already know my first clue—New London, Connecticut—the place Pa's letter came from. It ought to be easy enough to find someone there who'll recognize Pa's picture and who knows where he's gone. I've begun to spend all my spare time dreaming about how I will find him, about what he'll say when he first lays eyes on me, about how Mama will look when I bring him home again.
Just making my plans, knowing that I will go, helps to lift the weight from my chest. I wish I could let Mama in on my plans and lighten her burden, too, but I can't. She would never agree to let me go.
Mama's headaches and the swelling in her legs have begun again, just like with Maureen.
A couple of weeks ago when she was ironing, she suddenly put the iron down and staggered over to a chair, holding her head.
"I'm going to call Doc Davis," I told her.
"No, no," she said. "It's just a spell. It'll pass."
"It'
s not a spell, Mama. It's the same as it was before," I argued. "Look at your legs. They're as fat as old Mrs. Tharp's downstairs."
That made her smile. "Well, thank you kindly for the compliment," she said, "but I'm all right. I'll call the doctor if I need him."
"No you won't. You're too proud because you know we can't pay."
"Pride's a fine thing, but I'm not fool enough to die of it, Danny."
I believed her and I felt better for it. But I guess I was the fool, because today I came home to find Doc Davis's hat on the table, the curtain pulled over Ma's door, and Mrs. Riley washing out bloody towels in the sink.
"Now don't go jumping to conclusions," Mrs. Riley warned when she caught sight of my face. "It's not as bad as it looks. Just a little spotting is all. You run along back outside and I'll call you when the doctor is through."
"No," I said, heading for the bedroom door. Mrs. Riley scurried over and parked herself in my path.
"You'll embarrass your mother to death if you go in there now," she said. "Run along, like I said."
"No," I repeated.
Mrs. Riley put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "You are as stubborn as a mule," she said. "All right then, stay, but you sit in that chair over there and wait until the doctor comes out."
I picked Maureen up from the floor where she was playing with her coffeepot and did as Mrs. Riley said. I could hear the murmur of voices on the other side of the curtain, and I strained to listen, but Mrs. Riley was carrying on a nonstop, one-sided conversation that seemed designed to frustrate me.
The voices on the other side of the curtain began to rise, and Mrs. Riley's rose with them.
"Mrs. Riley, you're shouting," I told her.
"Am I?" She laughed nervously. "You know, I think it comes of having nine children. The girls are always telling me, 'Mama, you're shouting,' and I don't even realize it. Sometimes I think..."
She went on and on, but I paid no attention. Mama and Doc Davis were shouting now, too, and I could hear them clearly over Mrs. Riley's prattle.
"I can't," Mama shouted.
"You don't, and I won't be responsible for the baby's life, or your own."
"But what of my ironing?"
"You should have thought of that six months ago. I told you another child would be the death of you."
A shiver of fear ran up my spine, and I hugged Maureen tighter.
"I'm a Catholic, doctor," came Mama'$ reply.
"You're a fool, woman!" the doctor shouted. "Don't you realize you've two other children to care for?"
A silence followed, and I looked over at Mrs. Riley. She made a face and shook her head. "Don't go paying him no mind," she said. "Doc just loves to scare people."
When Doc spoke again, it was obvious that his temper had cooled some. "Now, I'll see you through this," he said, "and the baby, too, but you damn well better be in that bed every time I check on you. And you send that boy of yours at the first sign of any more bleeding. Understand?"
Mama mumbled something, and a moment later the curtain was jerked aside and Doc strode out. He nodded shortly to Mrs. Riley and me, picked up his hat, and left without a word.
Mrs. Riley shook her head. "Some bedside manner," she said. "If he wasn't such a good doctor I'd have sent him packing years ago." She took Maureen from my arms and nodded toward the bedroom doorway.
Mama was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. When she saw me her eyes grew moist.
"Oh, Danny," she said, "what're we gonna do now?"
I remembered what she had said that time, about it giving her comfort to write to Pa, even though she didn't know where to send the letters. I went over to her dresser and took out her letter paper.
"Here," I told her. "You're gonna write to Pa, and I'm gonna start the laundry."
THIRTY-FOUR
Saturday, March H, 1933
Ma always made it look so easy. She never told me the laundry had a mind of its own. By the end of the first week I had a permanent backache; my hands were red raw; I couldn't get the smell of Octagon soap and bleach out of my nose; and I had burns on my hands, my arms, and even my chin—I'm not going to even try and explain how I managed that.
Take everything I just said and double it, and that'd just about cover the second week. Meals were makeshift at best, and we probably wouldn't have survived without donations from ladies in the building. By last Saturday, despite Mama's constant praise and encouragement, I was feeling pretty low. The only thing that saved me was that it was Inauguration Day, and somehow I believed that President Roosevelt was going to make things better. Mama and I sat by the radio and listened to his speech.
"I am certain," he said, "that my fellow Americans expect that on my induction into the Presidency I will address them with a candor and a decision which the present situation of our nation impels." He said some other big words, then he said something that gave me hope. "This great nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself...."
As he went on talking, I began to believe that he was right. America can lick the depression, and if America can lick the depression, I can sure lick the laundry. I went at it again, more determined than ever, and by the end of this week, I got it down to a science. Laundry into the tub to soak at night. Get up at half past four. Scrub, soap, and bleach. Rinse. Laundry back into the tub with bluing. Go shine shoes. Come home. Rinse again, twist, and hang out. Go to school. Come home. Take the wash in, dampen, and roll up. Do homework. Fix supper. Iron and listen to the radio. Give Maureen her bath and put her to bed. Put in another load to soak for the morning. Iron again until bedtime. There's no time for anything else. I haven't seen Mickey in weeks, or any of the other guys, either, except in school.
I'm managing, though, and I felt pretty good about myself this morning as I loaded the last of the laundry into the wagon and headed down to Miss Emily's.
Sadie, unlike her usual jolly self, seemed anxious and fretful when she let me in.
"Something wrong, Sadie?" I asked.
"Oh, no. Nothin', child. Nothin' for you to worry your head about." She fidgeted absentmindedly about the kitchen with her washrag, too distracted to remember to tell Miss Emily that I'd come.
"Come on, Sadie," I insisted. "I can see that something's wrong."
"Oh, it's the bank," she blurted out, her eyes near tears. "The bank's gone and closed its doors, just like that, without a word of warning."
"Don't worry, Sadie," I told her, feeling very smart because we'd just discussed the banking crisis in school. "That's only because of the bank holiday. President Roosevelt closed the banks to keep everybody from panicking and taking their money out. I'm sure your bank will open up again. Lots of them already have."
Sadie shook her head. "I shore wish I could believe that," she said, "but that bank holiday ended on Thursday, and my bank is still locked up tight."
It's true that lots of banks have gone out of business since the depression started, and lots of folks have lost their savings. There's a good chance that Sadie's bank will open up again, but I can't blame her for being scared. "Do you have a lot of money in it?" I asked.
Sadie twisted the washrag in her hands.
"Every week," she said, her voice hushed, "for ten years now, I been puttin' a little somethin' aside. Didn't tell a soul, not even my husband. My boy Jim, see, he's real smart and I said to myself, 'Sadie, that boy's gonna make somethin' of hisself. That boy is college material, and you just better be ready when the time comes around.'"
The tears spilled out of her eyes now and she dabbed at them with the rag. "Well, here it is, nearly time, and the bank's gone and closed up. Who would believe such a thing?" She heaved a sigh and her great bosom rose and fell with the weight of it.
I searched for something to say, something strong and comforting, then I remembered President Roosevelt's speech. I reached out and put my hand on her arm. "Sadie," I said so
lemnly, "you have nothing to fear but fear itself."
Sadie looked at me a moment, then her face cracked into a wide smile and a hearty laugh bubbled up from deep inside her. She threw her head back and laughed and laughed, her bosom shaking mightily, until tears rolled down her cheeks. I stared at her in complete confusion.
"Oh Lawd, Lawd," she said, slowing down at last and catching her breath. "Lawd, that felt good. Thank you, child. Ain't nothin' like a good laugh to put your problems back in perspective."
I shrugged, glad I'd helped, but not quite sure how I'd done it.
"Just a minute now," Sadie went on, "I'll go tell Miss Emily you're here."
I started unloading the wagon, and a few minutes later Sadie came back through the door, looking strangely white for a black person. She put the money into my hand, then she stood there, continuing to hold my hand in hers. Something in her look frightened me.
"Sadie? What is it?"
Sadie squeezed my hand and looked at me mournfully. "Miss Emily says," she began, "Miss Emily says the quality of your mama's work done fallen off some. She says she has found another laundress."
My mouth fell open and I could actually feel the blood draining from my face. I shook my head.
"No, Sadie ... she can't mean that."
Sadie nodded her head sadly. "She mean it okay, child. Miss Emily don't say nothin' she don't mean."
I grabbed Sadie's arm desperately. "No, Sadie. She can't. She doesn't understand. It's my fault. Ma's pregnant and sick. I been doin' the laundry. I admit, I didn't do so good the first couple of weeks, but I got it down now. I'm doin' good now—look."
I grabbed a tablecloth from the pile and handed it to her. "See? Take this. Show it to her, please. She's got to give me another chance."
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