by Jean Little
“I don’t know,” Anna said, shamefaced.
“Well, I’d better phone Mr. Appleby now before it’s too late.”
Anna listened and heard Mrs. Schumacher begin to explain. Then she broke off, a look of surprise on her face, thanked the principal and hung up.
“It’s all taken care of,” she said, as startled as Anna. “He said a teacher pointed out your problem at the last staff meeting and offered to type out all your examination papers on a primer-type typewriter exactly as I did. And it’s been done. They’re ready for you. Are you ready for them?”
“I will be,” Anna declared, “but I’d better go home and cram. It must have been Miss Sutcliff … Mr. McNair might have … No. I’m sure it was Miss Sutcliff. I’ll have to go thank her.”
On Monday afternoon, with two examinations over and, she thought, passed, Anna went to Miss Sutcliff’s classroom. She waited while the teacher dealt with a couple of other students.
“Did you want to see me, Anna?” she asked then.
Anna smiled at her, feeling shy.
“I came to thank you,” she said.
“Well, that’s lovely,” the teacher answered, “but for what?”
Anna felt embarrassed. Hadn’t Miss Sutcliff known that she would guess?
“For typing out the exams in big print.”
Miss Sutcliff looked steadily at Anna.
“Thank you for thinking I was the one who was kind enough to think of that,” she said, “but it was Mr. Lloyd, Anna. Once he made the suggestion, we all realized that you would have had difficulty; but he not only drew our attention to you, he typed the papers for all of us. It must have taken him quite some time. How many examinations are you writing?”
“Nine,” Anna said, grateful that Miss Sutcliff had gone on talking long enough for her to regain her composure. “I … I guess I’d better go and thank him then.”
“That would be a very nice thing to do,” Miss Sutcliff answered. “Have a happy holiday, Anna. It’s been a joy having you in my class.”
“Me too,” Anna said incoherently. “Merry Christmas.”
Then she was back in the hall and wondering what to do next. Maybe she should leave it till another day. There was no real reason to thank him right now. Maggie was waiting at the locker. She’d better go and tell her anyway. Maybe, just maybe, Maggie could be persuaded to come with her and help her get it over with.
“Mr. Lloyd?” Maggie said.
“That’s just how I felt. I still can’t believe it except I know Miss Sutcliff wouldn’t lie. Come with me, Maggie.”
“I’ll wait outside the door and pick up the pieces when you come out,” Maggie offered.
“Oh, come on in with me. I’m scared.”
“I’d be petrified,” Maggie said.
They walked to 9E together. Maggie flatly refused to come further than the open door. Mr. Lloyd had no students waiting to talk with him. But he did not look up till Anna was right beside his desk.
“Yes,” he said, his expression as cold as usual.
“I came to thank you,” Anna said, all in a rush, her cheeks scarlet. “For typing out the exams so I can read them. I mean, I was really worried and I didn’t know what to do and Miss Sutcliff told me you were the one …”
The words dried up in her mouth. She stood where she was, as helpless as a fish on a hook, unable to go, unwilling to stay.
“I had not intended that you know,” he said, his voice crisp and dry. “You are welcome, Miss Solden. I’m glad to have helped.”
He did not sound glad and yet, he had suggested it and done all the work of his own free will. Why? How had he guessed …? Her eyes dropped to the desk in front of him. His notebook lay open before him. She had never seen inside it before. The notes were typed in primer type. She stared.
He coughed, made a quick movement as if to close the book, and then left it as it was. His voice lowered slightly, although it still was not warm.
“I share your problem, as you have discovered. I have been interested to see you managing as well as you have. I myself was privately tutored during my high school years. College was much easier because the teaching was done through lectures. Like yourself, Miss Solden, I acquired a better than average memory.”
“Oh,” Anna said lamely. “I never thought … Sir, thank you very much for understanding.”
He stood up suddenly, pushing back his chair as he did so.
“I admire courage wherever I find it,” he said, still with no hint of a smile. “You should go far, Miss Solden. I believe you have a good mind.”
“Thank you,” Anna said again. Then gathering up the courage he had mentioned, she gave him her warmest smile, held out her hand, and said firmly, “Merry Christmas, sir.”
He looked at her hand. Then he shook it quickly as though that was an unpleasant duty he had to perform. But she saw, in that instant, that he did not mean it to be that way. He was almost paralyzed with shyness and he did not know how to be friendly.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
Maggie, who had only heard the last exchange, came rushing up, her eyes wide.
“How did you ever have the nerve?” she gasped.
Anna could not answer.
Chapter 18
Winter passed. Anna grew used to having curls. In time, they did calm down, as Antoine had promised. Before long, even the night of the dance seemed far behind her.
One afternoon in the middle of March, when the gang was walking home from school, the girls had to stop and wait while some soldiers marched by. The men were chanting as they marched:
Left! Left!
I had a good job and I … left!
First they hired me;
Then they fired me.
Then, by golly, I … left!
Each time they said the word “left,” they stepped forward with their left foot. All, that is, but one soldier right at the back. He didn’t seem to care. He had his head high, his cap on at a jaunty angle. His hair was the colour of straw. Like Rudi’s.
“He should switch feet and get back in step,” Suzy said, watching him.
“I’ve never been able to do that,” Anna admitted.
“It’s simple,” Suzy said, her voice just touched with scorn.
Anna felt her cheeks grow hot and was angry at herself, but Suzy was still intent on the soldiers.
Suddenly, the out-of-step one began to sing and, almost immediately, the rest had joined in. The girls, instead of moving on, stood looking after them and listening.
I’ve got sixpence, jolly, jolly sixpence.
I’ve got sixpence to last me all my life.
I’ve got sixpence to spend
And sixpence to lend
And sixpence to send home to my wife, poor wife!
No cares have I to grieve me,
No pretty little girls to deceive me.
I’m as happy as a lark, believe me,
As I go rolling, rolling home …
The platoon rounded the corner and disappeared from sight although their song still drifted back to the girls.
“He sure was good looking!” Suzy said, with an exaggerated sigh. “He didn’t look all that old either.”
“He’d have to be at least eighteen and that’s a little too advanced even for you, Suzanne Hughes,” Maggie said. “He didn’t even know we were here. He’s probably engaged.”
“Married, most likely,” Paula put in, laughing at Suzy’s pouting face. “You know what? I meant to tell you before but I forgot. My cousin joined the Army last weekend. He said he just couldn’t wait any longer, even though he’s only turned twenty and not even halfway through college. My Uncle Edward was fit to be tied but there wasn’t a thing they could do.”
They crossed the street while she was talking and started up the stretch that led to their homes. Anna, her feet moving along automatically, heard bits and pieces of things they had just said sounding again in her mind.
“He’d have to be at least eighteen.�
��
“He said he just couldn’t wait any longer.”
“… not even halfway through college.”
When the news about Aunt Tania had come, Rudi had seemed tortured, wanting to stay in school and yet feeling a need to prove himself by enlisting. She had overheard more than one conversation between him and Papa, had seen for herself how tense he was. But just as she had begun to grow anxious, he had become more relaxed. He seemed to have accepted Papa’s counsel. As the winter wore on, he grew more absorbed in his studies and also in tutoring her. Where she had before felt close only to Papa, she more and more came to depend on Rudi’s friendship.
He cares about me too, she thought.
Was the peace in her home in danger? Suzy’s father was predicting that the war would be over by May, but Papa and Maggie’s father, and Paula’s father too, all felt that when spring came the real fighting would begin.
“Anna, I can teach you to get back in step if you want,” Suzy offered, breaking in on her panic. “It’s easy. Look.”
Anna started to explain she didn’t think she could see but Suzy, every so often, showed more perception than they credited her with. She had grown to understand, over the months, what it took to teach Anna and, as she moved, she talked, describing exactly what she was doing.
Then it was like the historic day when Rudi had first helped her to penetrate the mysteries of algebra. In no time flat, she realized what Suzy meant. Trying it out for herself, she found that she could do it with no trouble at all.
They practised then, all starting out together on the same foot, marching along in step for eight or ten strides and then, on Suzy’s command, all switching over at once.
Then Anna, who picked up things by memory most quickly, began to recite:
Left! … Left! …
I had a good job and I … left!
First they hired me;
Then they fired me.
Then, by golly, I … left!
They had to skirt frequent puddles, for the March sidewalk, though free of snow after a thaw, was still very wet. But it was fun!
When Anna left them, after standing at the corner for an extra half-hour talking, she went on marching in step and then changing, pretending she was that young soldier who had started the singing and that one of the others had just taught her how to get back in step, once you were out. A moment later, she found herself singing the words the soldiers had sung.
No cares have I to grieve me,
No pretty little girls to deceive me.
I’m happy as a lark, believe me …
The song stopped in her throat. Her feet slowed to a walk. It was not a game, being a soldier. How could they sing like that? They were leaving home. They were going away, maybe … maybe to be killed.
“Don’t let Rudi go,” she whispered suddenly to God, to whatever power might be listening. “Don’t let him. Please!”
When she went into the house, everything was normal. She pulled off her rubbers and hung up her coat, leaving her mittens stuffed in the pockets, and went to help get supper. As she peeled hard-boiled eggs, sliced meat, went down cellar for a jar of preserved plums to help Frieda, and then set the table — which had been her special job as far back as she could remember — she felt that, simply by behaving as always, she was keeping her entire family safe from some terrible danger. It made no sense; she knew, really, that she was not that important. Yet the feeling persisted and she deliberately sang as she worked.
When it was almost time to eat, Frieda was still out in the kitchen keeping an eye on things. Fritz, who had recently become addicted to western novels, was actually reading, of his own free will, the latest Zane Grey. Rudi came into the dining room and sat down, relaxing while he waited. Gretchen, coming down from upstairs, joined him and Anna.
“What are you giving Mama for her birthday?” she quizzed her older brother, sitting down across from him.
“I don’t know yet,” Rudi said. His face, half-smiling a second before, grew unexpectedly grave. “I want it to be something really special this time.”
Gretchen looked faintly surprised at his tone. “Last year was when she needed something special,” she said, “when she turned forty.”
“I suppose so,” Rudi said, but his thoughtful expression did not change.
“Gretchen, come here for a minute,” Frieda called. “I need you.”
Gretchen departed.
“Anna, you think for me,” Rudi said. “I need help too. I’m stuck.”
She looked to see if he were teasing but he wasn’t.
“I want it to be a really happy present. Something happy that will last a long time.”
Anna’s feeling of danger returned instantly but she did not let him see it. Maybe she was wrong. As long as there was the slightest chance she might be mistaken, she would say nothing.
“There must be just the right thing,” she said. “I promise I’ll think.”
Mama’s birthday was not till April 29th. She still had lots of time.
That evening, the two of them worked on her algebra as usual. Then they read over some history together. Teaching her had been important, just as Papa had said, but in an unexpected way. Rudi had discovered in himself a love for teaching, and he had decided that when he graduated he would become a high school teacher.
“Soon there’ll be nothing left for me to teach you,” he said lightly as she looked for the page they wanted.
Anna glanced up quickly. “I’ll always need help,” she cried, as though he had said he was leaving her.
“Right now, I’m here,” he said. “I don’t think much of Cromwell, do you?”
“No,” Anna said. “He’s such a bully. But the king seems so idiotic that it’s hard to know.”
“It’s always hard,” her brother said.
Ten days later, Elizabeth Anna Schumacher was born. Her parents had simply turned Anna’s name around and given it to their daughter.
“Because, without you and your family helping things along, I don’t think Franz would ever have had the courage to propose,” Eileen Schumacher told them, when they went to see her and the baby. “And, in that case, there wouldn’t have been an Elizabeth.”
Anna was so pleased she was speechless, but Elizabeth Anna’s mother seemed to understand. From that day onward, whenever Anna was not at home, at school, or at the library, she was sure to be at the Schumachers, helping to bring up her namesake.
But she did not forget Rudi’s entreaty for help. In the middle of April, she decided what the gift for her mother should be.
“It’s your turn to meet me after school,” she said to Rudi. “I want to show you, not just tell you.”
She took him straight to the pet shop. Leading the way, she went inside for the first time. There seemed to be puppies everywhere, standing on their hind paws, cuddled up together snoozing, tumbling over each other and growling in mock battles, or simply sitting and looking wistful. But Anna did not even look at the one which was her latest favourite nor did she tell Rudi about the hours she had spent dreaming outside the shop window.
“A bird,” she said, pointing. “A little yellow canary like the one we had in Frankfurt that she loved so. I just barely remember but I’m sure I’m right.”
“Jenny,” he said, his eyes as bright as hers. “She named it after Jenny Lind, the singer, although it wasn’t a she at all. Only the males sing.”
“That’s right,” the pet shop man said. “These are extra special singers over here. Roller canaries. We’ve only had them a few days and I just have three left. It’s funny. People seem to want a song in their homes these days. I guess it’s not so funny at that.”
“That’s what I want,” Rudi said. “Anna, you’re a genius. A song in the house. How much are they?”
They were expensive. Rudi hesitated. Anna tugged at his sleeve.
“Let me pay half,” she begged. “I have the money. I’ve been saving for a long time.”
“Not for this. What for
?” he asked.
The puppy Anna had been calling hers for the last month turned a perfect somersault and sat up, cocking his head on one side. She had called him McNair because he was a Scottie.
Now she did not even turn her head in his direction in case Rudi should guess.
“I changed my mind,” she said. “I don’t want what I thought I did any longer. I’m too grown up. I’d honestly love to pay half for the bird.”
“I shouldn’t let you but I’ve been saving too. I want to give Papa some money before … Okay, Anna, it’s a deal.”
Anna wanted to ask, “Before what?” but the moment passed.
The shopkeeper promised to keep the bird for them till the birthday came.
When Mama saw the canary sitting fluffed up a bit, lonesome looking in his new cage, she was overcome. She hugged the pair of them, Rudi a little longer. That was only right, Anna thought. Rudi had always been her favourite and she had not tried to hide it, even though she had always denied it when they accused her outright.
“The man at the pet store said he might not sing for the first few days,” Rudi warned, as Mama examined her new treasure.
Anna hoped the man at the store had been right and that the bird would sing then. The poor little thing looked so lost, so miserable.
“Pooh,” said Mama. “What does some man at a store know about my bird?”
Then she made a soft trilling whistle that Anna remembered instantly, even though she had not heard it since Jenny died when she, Anna, was only six or seven.
The bird lifted his head, cocked it slightly, and listened intently.
The rest of the Soldens held their breaths.
Mama sang her coaxing little trill again.
And the bird sang back. Just a couple of notes but still singing.
“Where did you learn to do that, Mama?” Fritz asked, in awe.
“The birds taught me,” Mama said proudly. “I used to go out into the woods in the summer and practise singing back to them when I was a child. And my mother always sang to her birds. What shall we call him?”
Nobody said anything for a moment. Then Anna said quickly, almost gruffly,
