Stepping on the Cracks

by Mary Downing Hahn

  As soon as the door shut behind the boys, Elizabeth and I ran through the woods toward home. The ground was slippery, and the wind whirled the snow in our faces, almost blinding us. By the time we crossed the train tracks, my feet felt like lumps of ice. Elizabeth's hair was frosted white, and snow clung to her eyelashes. She looked like the queen of winter.

  "First we go inside so our mothers will think we're just getting home from school," Elizabeth said. "Then we change our clothes and go to Barbara's house."

  She dashed home, and I tore across the yard and up the back steps. When I burst into the kitchen, stamping snow off my feet, Mother wasn't pleased. I was sure to catch my death, she said. But, after making sure I was swaddled in mittens and scarves and boots and extra socks, she begrudgingly let me go outside to play in the snow.

  "School's closed tomorrow," Elizabeth told me gleefully as I stumped down the sidewalk toward her. "Mother heard it on the radio. We're supposed to get at least seven or eight inches of snow before it stops. And Christmas vacation starts Wednesday. That gives us a whole extra day not to worry about Mrs. Hitler."

  All the way to Barbara's big brick house on Beech Drive, I found myself looking for Gordy. Usually he took the fun out of days like this by ambushing us with snowballs packed hard as rocks. But not today. He was down in the woods with Stuart, and we were safe.

  Kids were already sled riding on Beech Drive. As we started down the hill, Frankie and Bruce whizzed past and yelled at us to join them, but Elizabeth and I shook our heads and trudged into Barbara's yard. Luckily for us, she was just coming around the corner of her house, pulling Brent on a little sled.

  Barbara smiled when she saw us. "You must think I'm crazy, dragging a baby out in a snowstorm, but this is his first one. I wanted him to see it."

  Flanked by Elizabeth and me, Barbara pulled the sled out of the yard and down the street. All around us the snow tumbled down in flakes as big as duck feathers. When I tilted my head back and looked at the sky, I felt dizzy. It was like being trapped inside a glass paperweight shaken by a giant.

  After we'd walked a block or so, I looked at Barbara. Her face was as rosy as Elizabeth's, and her eyelashes sparkled with snow. I could remember watching her skin the cat on the jungle gym and wondering if I'd ever be as big and strong as she was. She'd worn her hair in long, thick braids then, like I wore mine now. Surely we could trust Barbara.

  Taking a deep breath, I looked up into her smiling face. "Do you remember Stuart Smith?" I asked her.

  "Oh, Margaret," Barbara whispered, her eyes wide with alarm. "Don't tell me. He's not hurt—or...? Nothing's happened to Stu, not this close to Christmas?"

  I shook my head, and, under a casing of snow, my braids hit my cheeks with the sting of frozen rope. "You like Stuart, don't you?"

  "Of course." Barbara stared at me. "Are you sure he's all right, Margaret?"

  While I tried to think of the best way to tell her the truth about Stuart, Barbara said, "It was bad enough to lose Butch. Now it seems like every day someone else I went to school with dies. I can't stand much more." Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her mittened hand.

  I glanced at Elizabeth, hoping she might butt in and say something, but she just bit her lower lip and kicked at the snow as we walked along. It was up to me.

  "What if I told you Stuart deserted?" I asked. "Would you turn him in?"

  Barbara stopped so suddenly the sled bumped her heels and Brent almost fell off. She looked at me, then at Elizabeth. All around us the snow fell, covering bushes and trees and roofs, softening the edges of houses, blending streets and lawns and sky together so you could hardly see where one thing ended and something else began.

  "Where is he?" Barbara whispered.

  "First you have to promise not to tell anyone," I said.

  "Not a single living soul," Elizabeth added.

  "You can tell me," Barbara said. "I'd never betray Stuart, no matter what he's done."

  "He's down in the woods across the train tracks," I told her. "Gordy's been hiding him since last summer."

  "And he's sick," Elizabeth said. "Really sick."

  "We're afraid he's going to die." As soon as I said it, I started to cry.

  For a moment Barbara didn't speak. She stood motionless in the falling snow. "What can I do to help?" she asked at last.

  "He needs a doctor," I said.

  "And you know how to drive," Elizabeth said. "You can take him to one."

  "Will you do it?" I asked her. "Please? Stuart doesn't believe in wars and killing. Even if the army caught him, he wouldn't shoot anybody. He said so."

  "Gordy thinks you won't help him." Elizabeth tugged at Barbara's sleeve to get her attention. "He says you'll hate Stuart for deserting because Butch got killed."

  Barbara shook her head. "Hate Stuart? No," she said slowly. "We've been friends since we were in kindergarten. Once I actually beat up Donald because he made Stu cry. He was such a bully, I hated him, but Stu was like a brother to me."

  She bent down to retrieve a mitten Brent had thrown into the snow. "I guess I'm not surprised Stu deserted," she said. "Some people just aren't meant to be soldiers."

  "Will you help us, then?" I asked.

  Barbara stuck Brent's hand back into his mitten and straightened up. "Show me where he is," she said. "I'll do whatever I can."

  Hurrying through the snow, we led her across the train tracks and took turns pulling Brent's sled through the woods. When we finally reached the clearing, Barbara was out of breath, and Brent was whimpering. She scooped him up into her arms and stared at the hut. Never had it looked more desolate. Dusk was graying the snow, and the wind rattled the treetops. Shivering, we followed Barbara to the door.

  18

  When we came inside, stamping off snow, Gordy scowled at all of us, but Stuart didn't move. He lay still, his eyes closed.

  Handing Brent to me, Barbara knelt beside Stuart. Laying a hand on his forehead, she winced as if his flesh had burned her.

  At the touch of her hand, Stuart woke up. Reaching toward her, he brushed her face with his fingertips as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Barb, is it really you?" he asked hoarsely. "What are you doing here?'"

  "Stu," she whispered. "Oh, Stu, what kind of a mess have you gotten yourself into?"

  "Something even you can't get me out of, Barb," he murmured.

  Barbara seized both his hands and held them tightly. "How long have you been sick?" she asked.

  "Don't know," he mumbled. "Forever, I think. Can't remember where or when."

  Barbara turned to Gordy as Stuart closed his eyes again. "When did this start?"

  "He had a cold, a cough, that's all," Gordy said. "Then it got lots worse a few days ago. We been taking care of him. Even Lizard and Magpie. But he just keeps getting worse."

  "Can you stay with him tonight and keep him warm?" Barbara asked.

  Gordy shrugged. "Yeah, sure. I guess so."

  "I'll call a doctor tomorrow and borrow Dad's car, but you'll have to get him to Calvert Road. Can you do that?"

  "He's too weak to walk that far," Gordy said.

  "I'll bring Jimmy's bobsled," I said. "We can pull him through the woods on it."

  "Meet me at ten-thirty tomorrow morning," Barbara said. "Just across the train tracks. Give him more aspirin tonight, and make sure he drinks lots of water. Melt snow if you have to."

  Bending over Stuart, Barbara kissed his forehead. "Don't you dare get any worse, Stuart Smith," she whispered.

  He stared up at her, frowning as if he'd just thought of something. "Don't tell anybody where I am," he said. "Don't tell my mother or the old man. Nobody must know. Secret."

  "I promise, Stu," Barbara said. "I won't say a word. Just rest, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

  Outside, the snow was still falling. Big flakes blew in my face, chilling my forehead till it ached. My nose ran, my toes and fingers hurt, my leg muscles ached with weariness. It was almost dark, and Brent was
fussing. Barbara carried him, and I pulled the sled.

  "What's wrong with him?" Elizabeth asked Barbara.

  "It's probably pneumonia," Barbara said.

  "Do you think he'll be all right?" I asked. We were crossing the train tracks, and I was having trouble yanking the sled over the rails. When Barbara didn't answer, I looked at her. She was frowning.

  "I hope so," she said at last. Hugging Brent, Barbara took the sled from me. After scrambling up the slippery bank to the road, she turned to look back at Elizabeth and me. "You two better go home," she said. "It must be past five."

  ***

  I was worried my parents would punish me for coming home so late, but when I slipped into the house they were sitting at the kitchen table reading the Evening Star. They were both too absorbed in the war news to notice my wet clothes or the time. A pot of stew simmered on the stove, and the windows were so steamy you couldn't see the snow whirling down outside. Except for the noise of the stew bubbling and the clock ticking, the room was silent, too silent.

  "What's wrong?" A lump filled my throat as they turned to me, and my knees went suddenly weak. "Has something happened?"

  Daddy shook his head and shoved the newspaper away. "The Nazis are hitting us with everything they've got. It looks bad for Jimmy." Shoving his chair back, he grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door.

  "Walt," Mother said. "Don't go out now. Dinner's ready."

  "You and Margaret go ahead and eat," Daddy said. "I'm not hungry."

  A swirl of windblown snow eddied in the doorway. Then Daddy was gone.

  "Where's he going?" I turned to Mother.

  "Don't worry about him," Mother said. "He needs some thinking time, that's all." She went to the door and pushed the window curtain aside. Peering out into the white darkness, she stood quietly for a few seconds.

  "Get those wet shoes off," she said without looking at me, "and sit down."

  Going to the stove, she ladled stew onto our plates, and we sat down to eat. Although I didn't want to think about the war, I couldn't keep my eyes from the newspaper Daddy had left on the table. "Heavy casualties," it said. "High death toll for Allies."

  Poking at the meat on my plate, I remembered the day Jimmy left for the war, tall and thin and freckled like me, but suddenly grown-up, a stranger in his uniform, hugging us all, swinging me off the ground. "Be a good girl, Maggie May," he'd said. "Keep on stepping on those cracks till you break Hitler's back."

  Then he'd picked up his duffle bag and gotten on the train. We stood on the platform, Mother, Daddy, and I. Smoke plumed up into the sky from the engine, and steam hissed out in a cloud from under the wheels. The train began to move, slowly at first, its pistons pumping louder and harder as it picked up speed. The whistle blew, a long, loud blast that hurt my ears, and we waved to Jimmy as his car passed.

  The car windows were open, and the soldiers leaned out, waving and waving, their good-byes drowned out by the whistle and the chug, chug, chug of the locomotive pulling them out of sight. Then the train was gone. Our family and all the other families walked slowly home.

  Poking at my stew, I gazed at the steamy kitchen window and thought about the funny pictures Jimmy used to draw on the wet surface. Dogs smoking pipes, fish taking walks, mice chasing cats. The next morning you could still see the lines on the glass, ghosts of dogs and fish and mice, which made Mother sigh and shake her head.

  In those days, Jimmy roughhoused with Joe Crawford and played football, carried me piggyback all over College Hill and called me silly names like Princess Pea. Now he was far away in a forest whose name I couldn't pronounce, and enemy soldiers were shooting at him.

  Oh, why hadn't my brother stayed home like Stuart? I could have hidden him in the woods and taken care of him. Joe, too. They wouldn't have gotten sick, either, Elizabeth and I wouldn't have let them.

  "Margaret, eat your dinner." Mother was looking at me and frowning. "It's a sin to waste food."

  To make her happy, I choked down the rest of my stew. As she took my empty plate, I looked up at Mother. "You don't think anything has happened to Jimmy, do you?"

  A tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away. It was the first time I'd ever seen her cry. The sight of that tear scared me more than the big black headlines on the front page.

  "Just pray for him," she whispered. "Pray for him and all our boys."

  "Don't you wish Jimmy hadn't been drafted?" I asked her. "Don't you wish he was right here?"

  Mother wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron and stared at me. "What a thing to say, Margaret. It was Jimmy's duty to go to war. As an American, he had no choice but to fight for his country."

  I looked at her for a moment. Her face was set, her voice was sure. She had no doubts. When war came, you fought. You had no choice.

  I couldn't tell her what Stuart believed. She wouldn't understand.

  Silently, I helped clear the table. As we filled the sink with hot water, we heard Daddy on the back porch, stamping the snow off his feet."What a night," he said. "The snow is coming down like it's never going to stop."

  "Do you want your dinner now?" Mother asked. "I kept it hot for you."

  Daddy shook his head and went into the living room. Turning on the radio, he sank down in his armchair to listen to H. V. Kaltenborn talk about the war. Tonight his deep voice was scarier than the Shadow's. The evil he was talking about was real. To avoid hearing him, I ran up to my room and shut my door.

  Outside the warmth of our house, the snow fell thicker and harder than ever. Pressing my nose against the window, I watched the big flakes swirl to earth in the funnel of light from a street lamp. Barely visible, Mr. Zimmerman walked Major past our house. The dog leapt ahead, bounding in and out of snow, but Mr. Zimmerman moved slowly, cautiously, as if he were afraid of falling.

  As I got into bed, a train blew its whistle, reminding me of Stuart down in the woods, cold and sick, with no one but Gordy to keep him safe. Even worse, somewhere across the ocean, Jimmy crouched in a foxhole. Maybe it was snowing there too, but mixed with the white flakes were bombs and bullets. Men were hurt and dying, lying in the snow, turning it red with their blood. Men who might have been friends if they hadn't had to shoot at each other.

  Closing my eyes, I huddled into a ball under my covers and tried to think of something else. The war ending. Jimmy and Joe coming home. Everything being the way it used to be.

  But how was that? The war had lasted so long I couldn't remember a time when people didn't hate the Japanese and the Nazis. Had there really been days when we could have all the sugar and butter we wanted, when nothing was rationed, when no bombs fell anywhere?

  19

  The next morning I woke up with the sun shining in my eyes. College Hill was sparkling white, buried under nine inches of snow. It wouldn't last long, a couple of days maybe, and then the temperature would rise and melt it all away, but this morning the thermometer on our back porch said it was only eighteen degrees. The wind was blowing, sending snow flying across the yard, making it even colder.

  "Where do you think you're going?" Mother asked when she saw me struggling to pull my boots over my shoes.

  "Coasting on Beech Drive," I said, careful to keep my head lowered so she wouldn't see my face and know I was lying. "I promised Elizabeth I'd bring the bobsled. All the kids are going to be there."

  "You know how easily you get sick," Mother said. "One more strep throat, and Dr. Brinkley will have your tonsils out."

  "I'll be okay," I said. "Mrs. Katz always invites us in for hot chocolate."

  "What's in that bag?" Mother pointed at a paper sack I'd filled with Jimmy's old clothes. Stuart couldn't go to the doctor in the rags of his uniform, so I'd borrowed a few things for him. I was sure Jimmy wouldn't mind. Like Barbara, he'd understand about Stuart.

  "It's some spare clothes," I said. "In case I get wet. I can change at Judy's." Ashamed to look at Mother, I zipped my jacket. Never had I told so many lies. I felt bad and wicked, but s
aving Stuart's life was more important than telling my mother the truth.

  "That's very sensible," Mother said, making me feel even worse.

  Without meeting her eyes, I ran out the back door and down the steps. After pulling the bobsled out from under the porch, I plowed through the snow to Elizabeth's house.

  Mrs. Crawford opened the door and stared at me. "You and Elizabeth," she said. "What a pair. Why anyone would want to leave a nice, warm house on a day like this is beyond me."

  Elizabeth squeezed around her mother. The layers of clothes she wore made her look as if she'd gained twenty pounds overnight.

  With the bobsled bouncing at our heels, we ran down the alley, crossed the train tracks, and headed for the woods. Gordy was waiting for us outside the hut, pacing back and forth, trampling down the snow.

  "Where have you dopes been?" he asked. "It's almost ten o'clock."

  Ignoring Gordy, we pushed past him. Inside the hut, Elizabeth peeled off several layers of Joe's clothes, and I pulled things out of my bag, including a razor and a pair of scissors. By the time he was shaved and dressed in Jimmy's and Joe's sweaters and jeans, Stuart looked like a high school student, someone much too young to be a soldier.

  The only bad thing was his hair. None of us knew a thing about bartering, but Elizabeth insisted he couldn't go anywhere till it was cut. When she finished hacking at it, Stuart's hair looked like badly mowed grass.

  "I guess there's more to being a barber than I thought," Elizabeth admitted as we all stared glumly at Stuart. "But at least he doesn't look like the crazy man from the experimental farm anymore," she added. "Just some poor guy who let his mother cut his hair."

  Flushed with fever and unsteady on his feet, Stuart followed us outside and collapsed on the bobsled. The effort made him cough.

  "Angels," he murmured as Elizabeth and I covered him with blankets. "Angels guard my sled at night."

  Gordy grabbed the rope and began to pull. It was hard work. The ground was uneven, and the snow hid roots and rocks, making the sled bounce and jolt. To help, Elizabeth pushed, and I tried to steady Stuart. We could have used Toad and Doug, but they hadn't shown up, and we couldn't wait for them.