Cold War on Maplewood Street

by Gayle Rosengren

  He bit his lip. “I didn’t mean it that way. I know you’re not a kid. But that’s just the point. You’re old enough to understand why I’m doing this.” He sighed. Was he sad? Or was he frustrated, even irritated, with her? Was he wishing his taxi would hurry up and arrive so he could go and begin his new, exciting life without her?

  “All I understand is that I’m going to miss you,” she said stiffly.

  “Come on, Joanna,” he coaxed. “It’s not the end of the world. You’ll still have Mom and Dixie and Pamela. We’ll write long letters to each other. And when I come home on leave, we’ll do all kinds of fun things together—”

  He meant his words to soothe her, she knew. But each one felt like another blow to her already breaking heart. He made his leaving sound like such a small thing. Like she should be able to get over missing him in an afternoon. Maybe because that’s the way it was going to be for him. He was going to go off on his adventures and not even think about how much Joanna was missing him. He’d probably hardly think about her at all!

  Her simmering anger suddenly boiled over. “I don’t care about doing things when you come home,” she exploded. “I don’t want you to go. I asked you over and over again not to sign up. But you didn’t listen. You didn’t care what I wanted.” Her voice hardened. “You promised you’d never leave me, but you are. You’re leaving just like Dad did.”

  The part about their dad seemed to have come from nowhere. But once she said it, she knew it was a truth she’d been hiding from for months.

  Sam’s eyes widened. He started to protest, “Joanna—!” But then his mouth just hung open, silent, as if he didn’t know what to say, or how to defend himself. As if he acknowledged the truth of what she’d said. And that just made Joanna feel more justified in her anger.

  She put her hands on her hips. She jutted out her chin. “All you care about is yourself,” she cried. “Not me. Not Mom.” She shook her head. A tear flew onto Sam’s hand and glistened there. She forced her eyes to look away from it, back into her brother’s shocked face. “Maybe Mom can forgive you, but I can’t. So don’t expect any letters from me. I’m not going to write a single one.” She glared up at him. “That’s a promise—and unlike some people, I keep my promises.”

  Her last view of Sam was a white-and-blue blur, because by the time she finished, she was bawling like a baby. She stumbled blindly back into the house, just missing crashing into Mom coming out with her camera.

  That terrible day in September, Joanna had been glad to know she’d hurt Sam. But now thinking of it made her squirm with shame.

  She sighed, and as if she were waking from a dream, she looked around. While she’d been lost in her memories, the room had gotten dark. The good thing about that was she couldn’t see Sam’s eyes staring back at her from the photo, looking hurt and disappointed. At least that’s how they always looked to her.

  She stood to turn on the lamp. But before she could reach it, the front doorknob rattled.

  Joanna froze. Mom was at night school.

  Her heart pounded so hard, it was all she could hear. She tried to yell “Who’s there?” but her throat had twisted shut. No sound came out.

  She wanted to run and hide in her closet. But to do that, she’d have to pass the door. And it was opening.

  Who was going to come in?

  Mrs. Strenge?

  Or a burglar who thought no one was home because the apartment was dark?

  CHAPTER 7

  Letters

  DIXIE RACED INTO THE ROOM BARKING FRANTICALLY AS a shadowy figure entered the apartment. Joanna gripped the back of the chair tightly. Maybe Dixie would scare whoever it was away!

  The door closed quickly. Joanna couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Had the burglar run away? Or was he inside the house with the door locked behind him? Dixie’s barking stopped abruptly. She gave a little yelp. Had the burglar hurt her?

  Then light flooded the room, and there was Mom, with Dixie wagging hello at her feet. “How come you’re standing in the dark?” Mom asked.

  Joanna’s heart stuttered back to life. “Oh my gosh!” Her knees gave out and she sagged against the chair. “You scared me!”

  “My goodness, you’re white as a sheet! I’m sorry. I guess I should have called to tell you my class was cancelled.” Mom shrugged off her coat. “But who else would it be but me?”

  Joanna’s voice shook. “A burglar. A kidnapper. Anyone.” She followed Mom to the kitchen on wobbly legs.

  “You and your imagination,” Mom teased.

  “You were supposed to be late tonight,” Joanna defended herself. “Besides, it’s not just my imagination. The lady on the first floor is really creepy. You should see the way she stares at me from her window. And awful smells come out of her apartment. I’ll bet she brews pots of poison.”

  Mom gave her a quick hug. “Joanna, I know it’s hard being home alone so much. And I’m sorry. But letting your imagination run away with you will only make matters worse. You have nothing to fear from Mrs. Strenge. She’s just an ordinary old woman, not some kind of monster.”

  “But remember that girl I told you about?” Joanna pressed. “The one who ran out of Mrs. Strenge’s apartment crying?”

  “She could have been frightened by any number of things,” Mom said on her way to the refrigerator. “The wild white hair, the wrinkles. Who knows?”

  An idea struck Joanna with such force that she gasped. “What if Mrs. Strenge isn’t old at all,” she suggested. “What if that’s just a disguise she wears so people think she’s old and harmless. But really she’s—”

  “Joanna—” Mom began.

  “No, really, Mom. She’s got that funny accent. Maybe she’s a Russian spy and she—”

  “Joanna Maxwell, that’s enough! You’re going to give yourself more nightmares.”

  Joanna stopped, but she wasn’t convinced.

  “Now,” Mom said, opening the refrigerator, “what shall we have for supper?”

  Joanna, sulking, didn’t reply.

  “How about some bacon and eggs?” Mom suggested.

  Joanna grunted.

  Mom must have taken that for a yes. She pulled out the carton of eggs. Before she cracked even one, though, the phone rang. It was Aunt Violet. They could talk for hours. Joanna slipped away to watch Love That Bob, a comedy that would hopefully restore her sense of humor.

  Half an hour later, Mom hung up the phone and called Joanna to set the table. When they finished eating, Joanna cleared the dirty dishes while Mom ran soapy water into the sink. Joanna checked the clock on the wall. Nearly six. “I’ll dry the dishes after I watch the news.”

  “You? The news?” Mom repeated in astonishment.

  “I want to know what’s happening with Cuba,” Joanna explained.

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” Mom said. “Get a head start on your homework instead.”

  “Mo-om, this is important,” Joanna said. Then she had her second brainstorm of the day. She crossed her fingers behind her back. “We’re supposed to watch for social studies. There’ll probably be a quiz tomorrow.”

  Mom sighed. “Okay. Watch. Just remember, everything is going to be fine.”

  Joanna nodded. “Yeah. Sure. I know.” But she wasn’t as sure today as she had been yesterday. And the news didn’t help.

  The “quarantine” of Cuba would go into effect the next morning, Walter Cronkite announced. No ships carrying missiles or launching equipment would be allowed past the American ships guarding the shoreline. If they tried to slip through, they would be fired on and sunk.

  Fired on! What if Sam’s ship was part of the quarantine? What if one of the Russian ships fired back? What if Sam’s ship was blown up or sunk? Joanna clasped her arms around her knees to try to keep them from trembling worse than they had when she’d thought there was a burglar breaki
ng in.

  “Time to turn off the television and do homework,” Mom called.

  Joanna forced herself to stand and walk. She turned off the TV with a hand that was freezing cold and sweating at the same time.

  When Mom didn’t ask her about the news, Joanna volunteered, “Ships are surrounding Cuba so no more missiles can get through.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” Mom said as she sat down across from Joanna and opened a thick book.

  “If the ships don’t stop to be inspected, we’re going to blow them up,” Joanna added, watching her mother closely.

  Mom looked up, but only to ask, “How was school today?”

  Joanna felt a surge of anger, but she kept her voice even. “We had an air-raid drill. Somebody started crying. You know. The usual.”

  Mom blinked. She fiddled with one of the blue buttons on her dress. “We were busy today,” she said at last. “Everyone seemed to need towels.”

  Towels? Joanna wanted to talk about the scary things going on in the world, and all Mom cared about were towels? She gave up and opened her notebook, but she had a hard time concentrating. Mom, though, sitting right across from her, seemed to have no trouble at all. While Joanna’s eyes kept stalling over the words and she read the same sentences over and over, Mom’s skimmed smoothly over page after page.

  It took Joanna twice as long as it should have, but finally she finished her assignment. She went into her bedroom to get the horse story she’d checked out of the library. But when she took the book from her bedside table, she bumped the snapshot of Sam and it fell to the floor. Quickly, she picked it up and carefully leaned it back against the lamp. She couldn’t help sighing as she looked at her brother. If only she could talk to Sam, for even a minute, so he could tell her if he was part of the quarantine—and so she could tell him she was sorry for the horrible things she’d said to him.

  But there were no telephones on ships. The only way to talk to him now was by letter—and she’d promised she wouldn’t write. She set her library book back on the table and looked at Sam’s photo thoughtfully. Then she went to her dresser and opened the top drawer. She pulled the little pile of envelopes out from under her socks.

  The most recent letter was on top and they were tied together with the pink ribbon Sam had wrapped around her radio when he’d sent it. Joanna slipped off the ribbon and took the envelopes to her bed. She opened the oldest letter first:

  September 10

  Dear Jo,

  I wish you could see the Pierce! She’s an amazing destroyer with an impressive history. I’m lucky to have been assigned to her. I’ve already met some nice guys and I know I’m going to do important work here and learn a lot. But I’ll never be truly happy if you can’t accept my decision. I hope you’ll write soon and tell me you’ve forgiven me . . .

  September 17

  Dear Jo,

  They’re keeping us busy, but that’s good because it helps me to miss Mom and you a little less. I like my work in the radio room, and I like the ocean. I confess I was a little worried that I might get seasick. After all, I’d never even seen the ocean before. Can you imagine how embarrassing seasickness would be for a sailor?

  He had drawn a cartoon figure of himself with one hand holding his stomach and the other covering his mouth. Joanna giggled.

  She read letter after letter.

  September 21

  Dear Joanna,

  You would like my best buddy, Jakes. (That’s his last name, not his first.) He comes from Kentucky and his family raises racehorses! He says sometime on leave I can bring you down for a visit. Wouldn’t that be something? Someday we might even go to the Kentucky Derby!

  October 1

  Dear Jo,

  I’m really sorry my decision to join the navy hurt you so deeply. But it’s what I needed to do—for myself, yes. But for my country, and for you and for Mom, too. Please try to understand and write to me. You and Mom are the two most important people in the world to me. I hate to think that I’ve let you down.

  Joanna stared at this letter. The one sentence always confused her. What did Sam mean, he’d joined the navy for Mom and her? She’d begged him not to go.

  October 7

  Dear Joanna,

  I learned how to play a card game called cribbage. It’s a lot of fun. Remind me to teach you how to play when I come home on leave.

  I wish I could have left at a better time, when you wouldn’t have to be alone so much. I know it can get pretty scary in that basement at night. There’s so many weird noises from the pipes and stuff. But Dixie will sound the alarm if there’s anything to really worry about. And you can call Pamela’s apartment. Her mom or dad would be there for you in a flash.

  I’m still waiting for a letter, kiddo. I want to hear what you’ve been up to. Write, will you?

  I have to hurry to my post now. I’ll drop this in the mail chute on the way.

  Give Dixie a pat from me.

  Love,

  Sam

  Joanna reread the part where Sam talked about the apartment being scary at night. He sounded like even he had been frightened sometimes. But she couldn’t quite believe that. He was probably just saying it to make her feel better. He’d sure never acted scared.

  She began the last letter.

  October 13

  Dear Joanna,

  We’re doubling up on our exercises. Something must be up. Don’t worry if you don’t hear anything from me for a while. It just means we’re doing some special maneuvers . . . and remember that I’m doing what I want to do.

  Will you please get moving on a letter or two (or five or six) to me? I want to see if your spelling has improved.

  Take care of Mom.

  Love Always,

  Sam

  Joanna swallowed hard. This last letter had arrived less than a week ago, before all the trouble with Cuba started. When she’d read it then, she hadn’t given much thought to the part about “something must be up” or the way Sam had signed the letter “Love Always” and told her to take care of Mom. Now suddenly everything in that letter took on another, darker meaning. Especially his reminder that he was doing what he wanted to do.

  The hair on Joanna’s arms stood up. She knew, as surely as she knew her name was Joanna, that the Pierce was part of the quarantine.

  Mom had finished typing and was watching The Red Skelton Show. On a normal Tuesday night, Joanna would have been watching with her, laughing at the silly skits. But tonight wasn’t a normal night. And Joanna had something important she had to do.

  She sat down at the kitchen table with a fresh sheet of notebook paper and her pen. Then she took a deep breath and began to write.

  October 23

  Dear Sam,

  How are you? I’m sorry I haven’t written to you before. And I’m sorry I was so horrible to you when you left. I didn’t mean what I said about you leaving like Dad did. I still don’t really understand why you had to go, but you’ve always been the best brother in the world. You always do the right thing, so this must be right, too.

  Ever since President Kennedy’s speech I’ve been awfully worried about you. Things here are so strange. We had an air-raid drill at school today and somebody cried. It was creepy. A lot of grown-ups are scared, too, like Grandma and Mrs. Waterman. Mom says everything will be fine. I wish you were here to tell me what you think. They said on the news that there’s going to be what they call a quarantine so our ships can keep Russian ships from taking more weapons into Cuba. I hope you aren’t part of it. There could be shooting!

  Sherry Bellano is having a boy-girl party on Saturday night but Mom won’t let me go. She says I’m too young for boy-girl parties! She’s so unfair sometimes. I wish you were here to help me change her mind.

  Thanks for the transistor radio. I listen to it all the time. No one else has one half as nice.


  Love,

  Joanna

  PS I miss you!

  Joanna read over her letter. She sat for a moment deep in thought. Then she added:

  PPS I’m proud of you.

  CHAPTER 8

  Missed Opportunities

  JOANNA WOKE UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING AND TURNED on her radio. The news didn’t start off much better than it had the night before.

  “According to Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, as many as twenty-five Russian ships are presently on their way to Cuba despite the quarantine, which goes into effect this morning,” the newscaster reported.

  Twenty-five ships! Joanna wanted the newscaster to say how many ships were in the US quarantine, but he didn’t. She hoped there were a lot more than twenty-five! Maybe it would say in the newspaper. She’d have to remember to check when she was at the Watermans’ later. In the meantime, she listened to how America’s delegate to the United Nations delivered a speech the night before that could have been a direct message to Khrushchev. He warned that Americans were patient but they were not afraid, and they would use their weapons if they had to.

  Joanna groaned. Now she was more worried than ever. But it didn’t sound as if Sam would be in any danger today, at least. And maybe Khrushchev would back down by tomorrow.

  Before Mom left for work, Joanna asked her for an envelope and a stamp.

  Mom’s face lit up. “You wrote to Sam!”

  Joanna nodded, cheeks burning. “How long does it take to get a letter to him?” She followed Mom to her bedroom, where she took an already stamped and addressed envelope from a box on top of her dresser.

  Mom gave a tiny shrug. “It’s hard to know for certain, but it seems like somewhere between five and seven days.”

  “That long?” Joanna cried.

  “It will go by quickly, you’ll see.” Mom kissed Joanna’s forehead before returning to the bathroom to finish combing her hair. Joanna looked at the envelope in her hand and sighed. She had wasted so much time.