That night at dinner, while Mother and Gramp finished off the bit of roast chicken that was left, Alice sat with a plate of vegetables—yucky broccoli, mushy turnips, and upchucky carrots—and moved them around from one side of the plate to the other, like toy soldiers that had lost a battle.
“I’m sure the crow is enjoying your share of the meat tonight,” said Mother—cruelly, Alice thought.
* * *
Alice hadn’t told Gladys the whole story of what had really happened the week before. Only about the cat, because it was funnier and would make Gladys laugh. What had really happened, a week before that, Alice would never forget. That time, she was the one out the window.
She was focusing the binoculars despite the bad weather when a sudden gust of wind snatched her logbook from her dormer window and blew it clear away, down along the roof to the gutter. Alice saw it lying there, soaking up the freezing rain, the ink fading fast. She was sure all of her notes little by little were being washed away in the downpour. Alice watched crestfallen while the wind whipped the pages of the book back and forth. Another burst of wind would tear them out in no time. All of her work would be lost—all of those months of note-taking wiped out! She had to retrieve it, so she grabbed the side of the window and climbed out onto the roof. Immediately she was almost blown over by the fierce gusts, and she realized the slippery leather soles of her shoes would never keep her from falling. Whipped by the wind, she lost her grip on the windowsill and began rapidly slipping down the roof toward the gutter.
Terrified, half crouching, she reached and grabbed at the edge of some shingles, barely able to get hold of them. While the wind blasted at her face, she lay on her belly and hung on to the shingles. But a minute later they broke away in her hand, and she slid down farther. She cried, “Mother! Gramp!” with a whiney little voice no one could hear, because it was whipped away in the wind. Hoping her clothes would provide some resistance against a fall, she twisted herself up, both her hands reaching blindly around, her fingers scraped and bleeding, searching, grabbing what they could find. Then a stronger gust of wind tore at her clothes, and she slid down inches closer to the edge. Terrified, she realized that when she reached the gutter, it would break away. It would be too weak to hold her, even if she could get a foothold. Now, sobbing and crying, she was sliding down again until her feet touched down on the flimsy metal. She heard a crack and felt the unsteady sway of it under her weight. She screamed. She heard the sound of an engine through the wind and rain, but there was nothing she could do now but to stay absolutely still so the gutter under her toes, which was swaying with each gust, would not give away—would not collapse at any minute taking her plunging to the ground below.
From the corner of her eye, she could see the book being lifted into the air by the wind and flying off like a wounded bird over the roof and out of sight. Alice didn’t want to hold on any longer then because what was the point? She might as well let go. She was about to do just that when a head with a steel helmet on it come into sight, and a fireman quickly lifted her up and carried her down the ladder and into the eager arms of both Mother and Gramp. It was Gramp who handed her the logbook, soaking but still readable, and said to Alice with a smile, “Might ye be lookin’ for this, little girlie?”
Chapter Nine
The Bracelet
The next morning, Alice was up early, awakened by a squadron of planes flying low over the house. She jumped out of bed, but they had already flown off except for the tail end of what she thought was a B 25 bomber disappearing into the cumulous clouds. She noted the date, the time and probable number of planes into her logbook. Then she got her books and notebooks out ready for school.
Alice bounced down the stairs to the dining room, singing, “Shuttin’ my mouth, yes I am. Shuttin’ my mouth for Uncle Sam.”
Not that Alice herself knew any military secrets she could tell, but she liked this catchy little tune they played before the newsreels at the movies.
She had already planned out her day. There was school, of course, and plane spotting, but she was also eager to see Mrs. Brownell, in case she had any news of Jimmy.
Beside her plate at the breakfast table, she found a little package covered with stamps of all different colors and writing that looked like shorthand. She knew at a glance that it was from Uncle David, and a sinking feeling in her tummy reminded her that she had not written to him since seeing Jimmy.
Alice tore open the package and found a bracelet of scarabs promenading in a circle on an elastic band. Trying it on, she was glad to find it fit snugly and didn’t hang off her wrist, like most bracelets did. Bagheera, her cat, looked on with interest from behind the sugar bowl.
Alice never had any trouble writing thank-you notes. She started one immediately, throwing her school books on the couch and extracting from her binder one of the special aerogram forms that were only one page long. To close it, you folded the edges up and licked. If you wanted to write more, which Alice often did, you had to start a new one.
Settling herself at the breakfast table again, she brushed away the crumbs from her place setting but didn’t manage to avoid staining the letter with a spot of grease from the butter. She thought about sticking one or two of Bagheera’s whiskers on to it for a souvenir but decided not to. Bagheera was a panther, after all, and too dignified to have his whiskers pulled.
Dear Uncle David,
Thank you SO MUCH for the beautiful scarab bracelet that fits me perfectly thanks to the rubber band. Did it come from an Egyptian tomb? And if it did, then are you sure it doesn’t carry a teeny bit of King Tut’s curse on it that killed those arkiologists? Ha-ha just kidding.
I’m S-O-O sorry I didn’t write last week, but let me tell you why.
And here, Alice told her uncle all about her meeting with Jimmy and his joining CAP and how Alice wanted to join too but realized she couldn’t find a way, being too young and without a plane of her own, and how unfair everything was.
She was surprised to get an answer from Uncle David soon after she’d sent hers, which read:
Alice, you already are working two jobs for the war effort. Just think. That’s more than all the girls in your school. You are a lucky girl. You should be very proud of your efforts and not keep wanting something more; otherwise, you’ll neglect your schoolwork, and you know what that means? It means you won’t be eligible to do interesting work in the future, maybe in aviation or engineering. They’ll say, “Sorry, Alice, your grades aren’t good enough.” And you’ll have to go sell hankies at Woolworth’s.
Hankies at Woolworth’s! How insulting! Alice dropped the letter on the floor. She’d never even thought of such a thing. She wondered what eligible meant but guessed it meant something hard to do, probably involving studying. Studying was okay, but what if you didn’t like the subject? What if you liked learning to write Chinese better? She thought of her special calligraphy brushes upstairs. They didn’t even teach Chinese at her school.
She thought about going to Chinatown in Boston and finding a teacher, preferably a man without a pigtail who wasn’t too busy selling cabbages or firecrackers, and getting him to move to Providence, so he could teach Chinese at Miss Whittaker’s or at least give Alice private lessons.
Maybe Uncle David could teach Arabic when he got back, with the fancy shorthand lettering and the throaty sounds. That would be fun.
Later, with these thoughts still in mind, Alice stood outside the grocery store hoping for the third time to catch Mrs. Brownell when she came out. Alice was determined to meet her “by accident” and not have to climb the stairs to Mrs. Brownell’s house and knock on her door. She’s most likely to be at the grocery store, not the butcher, thought Alice, since meat at the butcher takes up all the rationing stamps. People only go there once a week. The grocer’s is more likely.
But Alice had waited around after school for two days in a row now and
hadn’t seen Mrs. Brownell come out of the grocers or out of any other store. Had she stopped eating since Jimmy left? Had she taken to her bed, with Mr. Brownell having to spoon feed her Gerber’s baby food all this time? Was she on the brink of death?
Alice was trying to reason this out when, to her complete surprise, Mrs. Brownell came walking out of the post office down by the corner, clearly in good health and firm on her feet.
“Oh hello, Mrs. Brownell.” Alice caught up to her. “I’m glad to see you’re well and strong again and not having to eat baby food.”
“Why hello, Alice. Yes, uh, I’m quite well, thank you. I haven’t eaten baby food for quite some time, you know.” She smiled. “And I haven’t been sick, now that you mention it. Luckily, with the flu going around.”
A gust of wind almost carried off Mrs. Brownell’s felt hat, but she caught it in time and placed it snugly where it belonged.
“Have you had any news from Jimmy?” Alice wasn’t going to wait around talking empty talk.
“Ye-e-es. Did you know he was away? In Atlanta for the training. He’s doing very well, he says. Be back in a week or so. He told me you’d had a chat down at the drugstore.”
“In a week or so?”
“Yes.”
“I’m very interested in what he’s doing—in the CAP work.”
“Hmm. I’m not so happy about that. It’s dangerous work, you know, Alice.” She tugged at her hat.
“I know! Isn’t it wonderful?” Alice said enviously. “A great opportunity!”
Mrs. Brownell raised her eyes heavenward. “Everyone seems to think so except me. I call it a dangerous opportunity.”
“Well, good-bye now.” Alice extended her hand and did a little curtsey, thereby sending Mrs. Brownell on her way, having gotten the information she had been looking for. “Oh,” she called after her. “Could you tell him to see me when he comes back?”
Mrs. Brownell stopped and turned around, looking slightly surprised. “I will,” she said.
As Mrs. Brownell walked off, Alice noticed a dark figure following her down the street. It looked like a woman dressed in a black raincoat. That was strange; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Why was she following Mrs. Brownell? Mrs. Brownell turned the corner, and so did the woman. There could only be one answer to that, thought Alice. She must be a spy! Alice figured the woman must be trying to find out where Jimmy’s base was located. Maybe she wanted to kidnap Mrs. Brownell and force her to tell. Alice went home wondering if she should do anything about this but decided to put it off. Mother would only say what she always said: “Mind your own business.”
The days dragged by, and Jimmy hadn’t returned. Except for plane sighting and the folding of bandages, which she could do almost without thinking now, she had only schoolwork to occupy herself with. She forced herself to finish most of it every night, promising herself a cookie (only one!) afterward. When she didn’t finish, visions of Woolworth hankies lined up before her like little packages from hell.
Alice proudly wore her bracelet to school Monday morning, and one of the girls said, “Ugh! You’ve got bugs on your wrist.”
“They’re scarabs, stupid,” Alice snapped back. “All the way from Egypt.”
“Well they look like bugs. All the way from Rhode Island.”
“You’re a bug. And a real ugly one. Plus, you don’t know what a scarab is, dumbbell.”
Laughter broke out in the classroom.
“Alice!” The teacher had overheard her. “Would you like to go see Miss Prichard?”
“Yes, please!” answered Alice. “She’s a good friend of mine.” She turned and grinned at the class.
A couple of the girls laughed louder.
“Do not be sassy, Alice,” her teacher admonished.
Some of the kids laughed again. Alice wasn’t sure whether it was with her or against her. “Grunty,” she said under her breath. Fortunately, no one heard her.
At recess, most of the girls carried around playing cards in boxes. They would find a place in the schoolyard sheltered from the wind and trade them whenever they weren’t in class. Everybody had playing cards except Alice. Some were plain bicycle cards; some were very fancy: hunting scenes or copies of famous paintings from the museum. The girls themselves decided which ones were the most valuable. A fancy painting was worth three bunnies and a bouquet of flowers.
Silvia, for instance, always had the very fanciest of all. Her parents bought the most elegant packs of cards and would play bridge by candlelight during the dimming, which was not allowed.
Once in a while Alice, in a wistful mood, regretted not joining the other girls. She would walk by and say, “Anybody want to trade a Lockheed B-25 for a Grumman?” They’d look at her and at each other and shake their heads.
One of Alice’s teachers—the one who had asked if she wanted to see Miss Prichard—called her over during recess the following day.
“I’ve thought of an excellent project for you. A little task in order to remind you not to show off to people,” she said. “Just come over to the library—you like the library, don’t you, Alice?
“It depends.”
They went in and sat down, Alice with one eye on the wall clock behind the teacher’s head. This was going to take all day.
“Even though you were rude to Deborah, which was wrong, you were right in frowning when she didn’t know what a scarab was.”
“I didn’t frown. I called her a dumbbell.”
“Yes, well that was rude. Now, since you know what a scarab is and have a bracelet of them, I’d like you to do a little research and present the class with a paper on the subject.”
“How?”
“My name is Miss Higgenbottom, Alice. Remember?
“How, Miss Higgenbottom?”
The big hand was way past the six. They’d been sitting there ten minutes already. Alice could think of a dozen things to do in ten minutes: feed Bagheera, look for the missing plane card, hide Suzie’s dolls in the washer …
“Let me introduce you to the encyclopedia index, in case you’ve never used it.”
Alice sighed. Not the encyclopedia. It took hours to look something up and even longer to read about it.
“This’ll take forever,” Alice moaned as she opened her binder. A torn sheet of Chinese characters fell out along with the drawing of a shark-mouthed Curtiss. Alice stuffed them back in.
“That’s the beauty of it, Alice. You’re a bright girl, and you secretly like difficult words and long sentences, don’t you? You can start right now. And let’s not copy. We teachers know all about copying, you know.” She pinched Alice’s arm slightly on the way out.
Looking up scarabs in the index of the encyclopedia wasn’t so bad, but finding the S volume was a nuisance. Alice didn’t want to bother, so she asked the librarian to help her.
The librarian said laughingly, “Next time, why don’t you just memorize the alphabet? You know, A B C D E F G,” she sang.
Behind her back, Alice stuck out the tip of her tongue.
She sighed, took up the heavy book, leafed through, and found some interesting words: scab, what you pick when you’ve skinned your knee; scaffold, what you hang murderers from; scalpel, what the doctor uses to cut you up; scandal, what you create when you do bad things (like write in chalk on the pavement). There it was: scarab, with a photo that looked just like the ones promenading around her wrist.
She began reading and taking notes on the back of her binder paper where she’d drawn the nine pen and ink chi symbols.
It was five o’clock by the time she had finished and packed up her things. She was nearing home when she heard a terrific racket. It was coming from in front of her house! Amid the screeching and barking, she saw Bagheera confronting a hefty German shepherd who must have escaped his owner. The huge dog was b
ouncing around wagging his tail, clearly wanting to play. Bagheera, on the other hand, was stretched up on his hind legs and boxing the dog’s snout with both paws, sharp claws extended, and spitting at the mutt like a garden sprinkler. With each scratch, the dog would whine and back away.
“Call off your cat!” boomed the owner who came stomping up. “You should get a leash for that crazy wildcat. He’s dangerous!”
“Where’s your dog’s leash?” replied Alice.
“Here, Aloysius, poor little doggy-woggy,” the man called to the panting eighty-pounder.
Bagheera, meanwhile, had hopped up on a parked car and was calmly licking himself, lamb-chop style.
Alice gathered him up and carried him inside. “I told you not to go out. You might hurt somebody,” she giggled.
Chapter Ten
At the Corner Drugstore
Was that wing curved or squared at the tip? Alice squinted as she peered through her grandmother’s mother-of-pearl binoculars and then looked down at the cards. It didn’t mean that she could always see clearly to identify the plane, if the cloud cover was too low and blotted it out or if wispy mares’ tails got in the way. But she could tell for sure it wasn’t an enemy plane, with the big, black insignia on the wings. Alice checked her watch, sighted the plane again, and wrote in her logbook: “Thurs 12 1700 Lockheed P40 heading SSW Alt 200.”
Alice heard the phone ringing downstairs and then footsteps approaching the stairwell.
“It’s for you, Alice,” Mother called.
Alice’s heart did a little dance as she went down to answer. She picked up the receiver. Hearing Jimmy’s voice on the other end and seeing that Mother was still in the entry room, she pulled the neck of her sweater over the mouthpiece.
Alice At The Home Front Page 6
