Stepping on the Cracks

by Mary Downing Hahn

  She turned to me. "How about you, Margaret? Wouldn't you be mad if Jimmy died and old sissy baby Stuart was right here, safe in the woods?"

  Without wanting to, I looked at Stuart. His long, dark hair hid most of his face, but I could see how thin he was. Like me, he was all elbows and knees and wrist bones. How could I wish him dead? I didn't want anybody to die. Not Jimmy, not Joe, not Stuart. I just wanted the war to be over.

  When I didn't say anything, Stuart said, "There's been too much killing already. Even if they catch me and send me overseas, I won't shoot anybody. War's wrong."

  "Tell Hitler about it," Elizabeth said scornfully. "He started it, not us. Him and the Japs. If we don't kill them, they'll kill us. Is that what you want?"

  "Of course not," Stuart said. His voice faltered and he coughed. Running his hands through his hair, he looked at all of us. His face was very pale. "It's so complicated, I can't explain it. Killing's wrong. Wrong of them, wrong of us. I know it is."

  Stuart stared at Elizabeth and me as if he hoped we'd understand what he meant, but we didn't say anything. As Elizabeth said, America hadn't started the war. Like it or not, we had to stop Hitler. Everybody knew that.

  "Look," Stuart tried again. "The Germans and the Japs and the Italians are all people, right? Just like us. They have mothers and fathers, they have wives, they have little kids. They don't want to kill me any more than I want to kill them. They just want to live their lives and let me live mine. You know, tell a few jokes, sit in the sun, eat dinner, go for a walk, stuff like that. Same as us."

  Elizabeth turned to me. "You were right after all, Margaret. There really is a crazy man in the woods."

  Stuart shoved his hands deep in his pockets and lowered his head. He looked so confused and unhappy I couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

  I glanced at Gordy to see if he understood what Stuart was trying to say, but he was leaning against the door, scowling at the ground and shaking his head. He didn't agree with Stuart any more than Elizabeth did.

  "You're just a sissy." Elizabeth scowled at Stuart. "Like my brother always said you were. Isn't he, Margaret?"

  Since Elizabeth expected me to agree with her, I nodded, but I felt as if a crack had opened in the solid earth under my feet. When Jimmy was drafted, I'd never thought to ask him how he felt about going to war. Until now, it hadn't occurred to me that he might not want to kill anyone. In fact, I'd never really thought about his pointing a gun at a human being and pulling the trigger. How could Jimmy do that? How could anyone?

  Silence filled the hut, sucking in the air, suffocating us. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Outside the wind rattled the treetops and sneaked through the cracks between the boards. Its cold currents circled our ankles and crept down our necks. Like a noise offstage, a train blew its whistle for the Calvert Road crossing. Once, twice, three times, getting louder each time. When the engine thundered past, it drowned out the sound of the wind and shook the hut's walls.

  I studied Stuart's pale face and tried to understand. Was war something you could walk away from like a fight on the playground? Shivering in the cold, I wished Jimmy was here so I could ask him what he thought. If anyone could explain, he could. My brother knew everything.

  12

  In the quiet the train left behind, Gordy looked at Elizabeth and me Promise you wont tell, he said. Stuart can't fight, he never could. He'd be a lousy soldier."

  Stuart glanced at his brother. "How many times do I have to tell you? Fighting's not everything, Gordy."

  Ignoring Stuart, Gordy kept his eyes on Elizabeth and me, waiting for us to speak.

  Elizabeth tilted her head and peered at Gordy through a tangle of hair. "What's it worth to you for us to keep our mouths shut?"

  Gordy and Doug exchanged looks. "We'll leave you alone," Gordy said. "We'll quit picking on you."

  "How about those boards you stole from us?" Elizabeth asked. "How about our tree house?"

  "We'll build you another one," Gordy muttered. "Better than that crummy thing you had."

  "What do you think, Margaret?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Sounds okay to me," I said. All I really wanted to do was get out of that hut and go home. I'd have agreed to anything just to escape. I didn't want to hear another word from Stuart, I didn't want to look at his sad face. Most of all, I didn't want to feel sorry for him.

  "All right," Elizabeth said to Gordy. "But you better build us the best tree house in College Hill."

  "Promise not to say nothing about Stuart." Gordy glared at us, but he was beaten. He knew it, and we knew it.

  "Cross my heart and hope to die, if I ever tell a lie," we said.

  "Now get out of here," Gordy said, a little bit of the old menace creeping into his voice. "And don't come back."

  He stepped aside and opened the door. Elizabeth walked out first, but I hesitated. Stuart was coughing. It sounded deep and loose, like it was coming from way down in his chest.

  "Is he all right?" I asked Gordy.

  "Scram, Magpie," Gordy said. "I can take care of Stuart. I don't need any stupid girls hanging around!"

  He looked out the door at Elizabeth. "You, too, Lizard!" he shouted. "Get lost, both of you!"

  Without looking back, Elizabeth and I raced for home. When we were safely across the train tracks, Elizabeth turned to me.

  "Aren't you glad we went down there?" she asked. "Now we have Gordy right where we want him."

  I twisted a braid around one finger and looked up at the sky. It was blue and clear. You could see straight up, through miles and miles of air, maybe all the way to heaven if your eyes were only sharp enough to recognize it.

  "Do you think our brothers wanted to go to war?" I asked Elizabeth.

  "Of course," she said. "They're not cowards like Stuart."

  "But what he said about killing. Do you think he's right?"

  "Don't be stupid, Margaret. The Nazis and the Japs want to take over the whole world. Look at all the people they've killed. Not just soldiers like Butch and Harold, but old men, women, children, little babies. We have to stop them. If everybody acted like Stuart, Hitler would be in the White House right now. Is that what you want?"

  "No. I hate Hitler just as much as you do."

  Elizabeth stared at me. "Well, then, forget what Stuart said. He's a sissy, that's all. Sometimes you have to fight, you can't just let bad things happen."

  I shivered as a cold edge of wind worked its way down my neck. With all my heart, I wished Hitler was dead and the war was over and my brother was safe at home. Then nobody would have to kill anybody else, nobody would have to die.

  ***

  On Sunday afternoon, I was out in the backyard helping Mother hang out the laundry when Elizabeth showed up at my back gate with Gordy, Doug, and Toad. Gordy's wagon was piled high with boards, and Toad was carrying a coffee can full of nails. Where they found so much stuff was anybody's guess. I hoped they hadn't stolen it.

  Taking the clothespins out of her mouth, Mother smiled at Gordy. "Well, well," she said. "I haven't seen you since you used to tag along behind Stuart and Donald. If I'm not mistaken, they pulled you all over College Hill in that wagon when you were knee-high to a grasshopper."

  Doug and Toad laughed, and Gordy actually blushed. Unaware of his embarrassment, Mother went right on talking.

  "Seems like yesterday all the boys were playing here in the backyard," she said. "Jimmy, Joe, Donald, Stuart, Butch, Harold. And you, watching them from the wagon. Lord, how time flies."

  Mother focused on Gordy again, noticed his red face, and finally realized he wasn't the kind of boy who liked to be reminded he was once a little kid riding in a wagon.

  "How are your brothers?" she asked to change the subject. "Do you hear from them regularly?"

  Gordy nodded. "They're fine."

  "Well, you be sure and tell Stuart how much I miss him. He was the best paperboy we ever had. No matter what the weather was like, he never missed a day."

  "Yes, ma'am," Gordy sa
id, but it was me he was looking at. Worried I might let the cat out of the bag, I suppose.

  "Gordy's here to help Elizabeth and me build a new tree house," I told Mother. "Do you need me anymore?"

  "No, we've gotten all the sheets up. All that's left is underwear. I can manage that by myself. You run along, Margaret."

  And I did, as fast as I could, praying Gordy hadn't noticed the pink panties Mother was pegging to the line.

  ***

  Despite ourselves, Elizabeth and I were impressed at how quickly the boys nailed the platform together. Much as we hated to admit it, the new tree house was bigger and better than the old one. When it was finished, all five of us had room to sit, legs dangling, eating the apples Mother brought out to us.

  "So how long is Stuart going to hide over there?" Elizabeth gestured with her apple at the woods.

  "Till the war's over," Gordy mumbled.

  "That could be a long, long time," Elizabeth said.

  We all nodded and swung our legs. Toad challenged Doug and Gordy to an apple seed-spitting contest. Uninvited, Elizabeth joined in and won. It was very warm for December. The boys' jackets hung over tree limbs, and Elizabeth's pea coat was unbuttoned. Her curls fluffed around her face as she turned to Gordy with more questions.

  "Do you agree with Stuart?" she asked. "About killing being wrong, no matter what?"

  "Hell, no," Gordy said, daring anybody to tell him not to cuss. "The only good Nazi's a dead Nazi. And that's true of the Japs, too. Stuart's got some crackpot ideas."

  "Then how come you're hiding him?" Elizabeth wanted to know. "Why don't you turn him in?"

  "He might be nuts," Gordy said, "but he's my brother."

  Elizabeth swung her head toward Doug and Toad. "What about you-all? Stuart's not your brother. Don't you think it's wrong to hide a deserter?"

  Toad shot a look at Gordy and shrugged. There was no way he'd go against his leader. "Stu's a good guy," he said. "A little dumb, maybe, but nice. If he doesn't want to go to war, it's okay with me."

  When Elizabeth turned to him, Doug frowned and shoved his hair out of his face. "It might be against the law," he said, "but I've known Stu a long time. I got no reason to turn him in."

  Doug paused and glared at Elizabeth through narrowed eyes. "You got no reason either," he said. "Stu never did anything to hurt you, did he?"

  "Hurt's got nothing to do with it," Elizabeth said. "If you ask me, Stuart's scared of being killed so he made up some highfalutin reason for not going to war. Did you ever think of that?" As she spoke, Elizabeth wisely put some distance between herself and Gordy.

  "Stuart's no coward." Gordy leaned toward Elizabeth, his face red with anger. "He's taken more than one beating for me."

  Elizabeth stared at him. "Does your father beat you?" she asked. "Is that how you got that black eye?"

  "Shut up, Lizard. I'm sick of your stupid questions. Just mind your own beeswax and let me worry about my brother, okay?"

  Grabbing a limb, Gordy swung out of the tree, and Toad and Doug followed him. Pulling the empty wagon behind them, they sauntered up the alley toward Dartmoor Avenue.

  "Dumbo!" Elizabeth shouted at them.

  The only response she got was a dirty gesture from Gordy.

  Turning to me, she said, "I hate Gordy. If his father beats him, he probably deserves it. Maybe we should turn Stuart in after all."

  "Oh, no, Elizabeth," I said. "We promised not to. And besides," I added, "Gordy would kill us if we did, and you know it."

  Elizabeth frowned and buttoned her pea coat. The sun was resting on the treetops, getting ready to dive down into the dark, and I shivered as I zipped my jacket.

  "You're right," she said reluctantly. Then she grinned. "Well, at least we got a good tree house out of them."

  13

  In the middle of the week, the weather turned much colder. On the way to school, the wind slashed me to the bone and made my ears ache. For once, I was happy to race inside the building and take my seat near the radiator. The waves of heat made my legs itch under my high wool socks, but I was glad for the warmth.

  While Mrs. Wagner went over our arithmetic problems, I thought about Stuart in his hut in the woods. The little stove Gordy had rigged up didn't look like it would put out enough heat to make up for the cold air whistling through the cracks. I imagined Stuart huddled under blankets, shivering and coughing. Suppose he got really sick?

  I looked around the room for Gordy. That was when I noticed he was absent. He'd been out yesterday, too, I realized. As much as he hated school, Gordy was usually present. He must be pretty sick to miss a couple of days, I thought.

  While I gazed out the window, thinking about Stuart and Gordy, I gradually became aware of a silence all around me. No pages rustled, no desks squeaked, no voices spoke. Uncomfortably, I forced myself to look at Mrs. Wagner. Just as I feared, she was staring at me, a frown creasing her forehead.

  "Do you know the answer, Margaret?" she asked.

  "No, ma'am," I whispered. I didn't even know the question, let alone the answer.

  All around me, people whispered the page number and the question, but I was too upset to understand anything they said. I just sat there, my head lowered, feeling stupid.

  Other kids raised their hands and waved them at Mrs. Wagner, eager to show her they'd been paying attention. Unlike me, they knew both the question and the answer.

  "Page sixty-three, Margaret," Mrs. Wagner said patiently. "Question five."

  With fumbly fingers, I turned to the right page and started at question five. "Jimmy has seven apples," I read. "He wants to share them equally with his three friends. What is the best way to do this?"

  I shook my head. The problem seemed insurmountable. I had no idea what Jimmy should do. Maybe some of his friends weren't hungry. Maybe one or two of them didn't even like apples. The only Jimmy I knew was somewhere in France or Belgium. I was pretty sure he wasn't worrying about apples.

  "Please pay attention," Mrs. Wagner said. "I'll call on you later, Margaret."

  Leaving me to worry about the question she'd ask me next, I listened to Doug give the correct answer.

  After school, I asked Elizabeth if she'd noticed Gordy had been absent for two days in a row. "I hope he doesn't have anything contagious," I said. "Last Sunday we were sitting right next to him."

  Elizabeth frowned for a moment. We were walking along the trolley tracks, and, as usual, she was trying to balance on a rail. Even with her arms outspread, the wind was making her wobble. Giving up, she put one foot on the gravel and turned to me.

  "Maybe Stuart's gotten worse," she said, "and Gordy's taking care of him."

  I stared at Elizabeth, bracing myself for what she might say next. The wind tugged at my braids, and I shivered.

  "Let's go to Gordy's house," she said, "and see if he's sick. We can tell his mother Mrs. Wagner asked us to give him his homework. I've always wanted to see what his house is like inside."

  Without giving me a chance to say a word, Elizabeth ran up the trolley tracks toward Davis Road, and I dashed after her. When we reached Gordy's house, Elizabeth paused, took a deep breath, and marched up the sidewalk. The same naked baby doll lay on the porch, and the same cat waited by the door. When it saw us, it meowed hopefully and watched Elizabeth press the bell.

  For a few minutes, nothing happened. The cat rubbed against my legs and purred, and the wind rattled the bare tree limbs. From the yard next door, a dog barked at us.

  "Maybe the bell doesn't work," I said. What I was hoping was that no one was home. The longer we stood on Gordy's porch, the more scared I grew. Suppose Mr. Smith came to the door and yelled at us?

  Elizabeth knocked hard, and I began edging away. As I teetered on the top step, I heard someone moving around inside the house. I wanted to run, but I knew Elizabeth would never forgive me if I did.

  While I stood there, a thin woman opened the door and stared at us. She was holding a baby on one hip, an older girl clung to her skirt,
and behind her were two little boys, miniatures of Gordy. Something about Mrs. Smith scared me, and I took a step or two away from her, treading on the cat's paw as I did so. When it meowed, I bent down to pet it, glad for an excuse to lower my eyes.

  "Is Gordy here?" Elizabeth asked.

  "He's not home from school yet," Mrs. Smith said. Her voice was flat and unfriendly. She neither frowned nor smiled. Even the baby looked sullen and suspicious.

  Elizabeth and I glanced at each other. Without knowing it, Mrs. Smith had just told us where Gordy probably was.

  "You have a nice cat," I said, hoping to make her smile.

  "That scrawny old thing?" Mrs. Smith frowned at the cat, but the little girl opened the screen door.

  "Mittens, come here," she called as it ran inside, dodging the fingers reaching out to grab it.

  "Shut the door, stupid," a man's voice rumbled from inside. "You trying to freeze me to death?"

  As Mrs. Smith glanced behind her, Elizabeth stared through the screen door. I knew she was dying to go inside and see everything in Gordy's house, including the owner of the deep, nasty voice.

  Just as Mrs. Smith started to close the door, a man strode down the hall toward us. He was tall and skinny, as pale as Gordy and Stuart, and his eyes were small and mean. In one hand, he held the squirming cat by the nape of its neck. The little girl ran behind him, crying.

  Mrs. Smith stepped aside as he opened the screen door and hurled the cat past Elizabeth and me. Horrified, I watched it fly through the air, land on all four feet, and run off through a hole in the hedge.

  "I told you not to let that thing in the house!" the man yelled.

  Mrs. Smith cringed, the little kids began to cry, and the girl ran down the steps barefoot and coatless, calling for the cat.

  "Come back here, June!" Mr. Smith shouted.

  The girl stopped halfway down the sidewalk. Her nose was running, and tears streaked her cheeks. "I hate you!" she cried. "I hate you!"

  Mr. Smith looked at Elizabeth and me as if he'd just noticed us. "What the hell do you want?" he asked. "If you're selling magazines, we don't want any."