By the time we reached Calvert Road, we were all exhausted.
"Where's Barbara?" Gordy stared down the snowy stretch of road. Tire tracks made zigzag patterns on the white surface, but there was no sign of a car. Overhead a crow cawed, and the wind blew snow in our faces, making Stuart cough.
Just when we were about to give up hope, we saw a black Plymouth coming slowly toward us. As it drew nearer, we recognized Barbara at the wheel. A few feet away from us, she braked, the car slid a little, the tire chains bit into the snow, and she stopped.
Telling me to hold Brent, Barbara ran to the sled. With Gordy's help, she got Stuart on his feet and maneuvered him into the back seat. Stuart didn't seem to know what was going on, but he curled up with his head in Elizabeth's lap and fell asleep.
After hiding the bobsled in the woods, Gordy climbed in with Stuart and Elizabeth, and I sat in the front seat. Brent crowed with delight when Barbara stepped on the gas and we slid sideways. Clutching Brent, I watched Barbara struggle to point the car in the right direction. Slowly we inched forward, and I relaxed a little.
"Daddy almost didn't let me go," Barbara said. "I told him Brent was due for his checkup, and he wanted to drive us to the doctor himself. I insisted I could do it, but I'm scared to death. My leg's shaking so hard I can hardly keep my foot on the gas pedal. I never drove in snow before."
"Want me to take over?" Gordy leaned toward her. "I know how. Donald taught me."
Barbara gripped the steering wheel tighter and shook her head. "No, I'm okay," she said. "I can do it."
While we slipped and slid slowly down Calvert Road, Stuart got the idea we were on our way to a basketball game.
"We'll beat those Mustangs," he said. "Nothing can stop the Hawks." Then he sang the Hyattsdale High fight song, but he started coughing and had to stop halfway through.
"What doctor are you taking him to?" Gordy asked Barbara.
"Dr. Deitz," she said. "I picked his name out of the phone book. He doesn't know me, and I don't know him. I told the nurse that Stu was my brother. Everything will be all right, Gordy. Nobody's going to ask any questions."
"How are we going to pay him?" Gordy asked. I could tell he didn't trust Barbara any more than he trusted Elizabeth and me. He was sure something would go wrong.
"I've got money," Barbara said. "Stop worrying."
Gordy slumped down beside Stuart. "Did you hear what Barbara said?" he asked. "You're supposed to be her brother. Don't say nothing about the army or living in the woods or not wanting to kill anybody, okay? Just let the doctor look at you and keep your mouth shut."
"If I'm Barbara's brother," Stuart said, "what's my name supposed to be?"
"Smith, just like it really is," Barbara said. "That's what I told the nurse my name was."
"Smith, Barbara Smith," Stuart said slowly. He wasn't looking at her. His head was turned to the side, and he was watching the snowy landscape glide by outside. "What a nice name. I like the sound of it. Barbara Smith, Barbara Smith."
"How about us?" Elizabeth asked. "Are we in the family, too?"
"Oh, no," Gordy muttered when Barbara nodded. "Lizard and Magpie Smith—if they're supposed to be my sisters, I'm not going in that doctor's office. I'll wait in the car."
By the time Barbara parked in front of Dr. Deitz's office on Farragut Street, Gordy had calmed down, but Stuart was still confused. We had to persuade him to get out of the car and then help him to the door. He was pretty tottery, and we kept reminding him what he was supposed to tell the doctor.
"Is he going to send me to war?" Stuart asked.
"Not if you keep quiet," Gordy said. From the way he was scowling at Stuart, I had a feeling Gordy wanted to punch him. "Sometimes I think the old man socked your brains out your ears," he muttered as he opened the door.
The nurse looked up when we came in, half dragging Stuart and tracking snow all over the floor. She wasn't pleased at the mess we were making, but she told us to take a seat. "Dr. Deitz will see your brother in a couple of minutes, Miss Smith," she added as Barbara wrote her name on the sign-in sheet.
The nurse looked at Gordy, Elizabeth, and me. I was holding Brent, who was yanking on one of my braids and laughing.
"These are my brothers and sisters," Barbara said. "My parents are at work today, so I had to bring all the kids with me."
The nurse took Stuart's arm and led him out of the waiting room. We watched the door close behind him before we sat down.
The office was very quiet. Apparently, we were the only people either sick or brave enough to venture out on the snowy roads. Except for Brent's baby babble, no one spoke. We sat in the pine-paneled room on the hard black couches like strangers waiting for a bus.
On a low table near me was a pile of Life magazines. General Charles de Gaulle, the French army leader, stared at me from a November cover. Other issues showed soldiers, fighter planes, German prisoners of war, and battleships—war scene after war scene, going on and on and on as endlessly as the war itself.
Gordy pulled a magazine out of the stack and started leafing through it, stopping to look at pictures of dead soldiers and exploding bombs and crashing planes. Staring at him, I noticed how dirty the back of his neck was. Close up, his skin was gray, and his body had a stale, unpleasant odor.
As I edged away from Gordy, Barbara leaned toward me to take Brent, and I handed him over gladly. His bottom was damp, and my temple hurt from all the yanks on my braids. For a baby, he was amazingly strong.
Turning back to Gordy, I said, "Aren't your parents going to be mad because you didn't come home last night?"
"What's it to you, Magpie?" Gordy scowled at me and went on flipping through Life. Pausing at a picture of a bomber, he said, "That's a Heinkel 111. Donald's shot a lot of them right out of the sky." He pointed a finger at me and made a series of exploding sounds.
Elizabeth and Barbara looked at Gordy, and Brent tried to imitate the noise he'd made. "What did you tell your parents, Gordy?" Barbara asked.
Keeping his eyes focused on a photograph of gaunt soldiers trudging through a wasteland of rubble and bomb craters, Gordy shrugged. "I didn't tell them anything," he mumbled. "The line was busy."
That was Gordy's idea of a joke, I guessed. There wasn't any telephone in the hut.
"You mean you just didn't go home?" Elizabeth stared at Gordy. "Aren't you scared your old man will beat you?"
Gordy flashed Elizabeth a look of contempt. "Mind your own beeswax, Lizard."
As Barbara opened her mouth to speak, Dr. Deitz walked toward us, supporting Stuart with a firm hand under his elbow. At the sight of his stiff white coat, the stethoscope around his neck, and his shiny black shoes, we all stopped talking. I prayed Stuart hadn't said anything to give himself away.
"Your brother has pneumonia. He's a very sick young man," Dr. Deitz began. "I can't understand why you waited so long to bring him to me."
While the doctor spoke, Stuart sank down on the couch beside Barbara. He looked too tired to hold his head up.
"My parents don't have much money," Barbara said. "They were hoping he'd get well on his own, but he keeps getting worse."
Dr. Deitz nodded. His eyes moved back and forth, scanning us. He seemed puzzled, probably because we didn't look like a family. "He needs to be hospitalized," he told Barbara.
She shook her head. "We can't afford it."
"Just give him medicine or something," Gordy said. "He'll be okay."
"I can write a prescription," Dr. Deitz told Gordy, "but pneumonia isn't something to take lightly. Stuart needs to be taken care of, nursed."
"We can do that ourselves," Gordy said, his face reddening. From the way he was glaring at the doctor, I was worried Gordy might start swearing or something.
"It's in his best interest to go to the hospital," Dr. Deitz said, but Barbara shook her head.
"We can't pay for it," she repeated. "It's out of the question."
Elizabeth and I looked at each other. In a hospital, someon
e would be sure to discover Stuart was a deserter. He'd be sent back to the army, and then, as soon as he was well enough, he'd have to go to war.
Dr. Deitz sighed, "I can't legally force you to put this young man in a hospital," he said as he wrote out a prescription, "but I think you're making a big mistake."
Handing Barbara the prescription, he added, "Keep him warm. Make sure he stays in bed and drinks lots of liquid. Give him broth, soup, something nourishing but easy to digest."
Frowning, he watched Barbara pay the receptionist. He was still frowning when we left.
After we all got into the car, Barbara gripped the steering wheel. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "What are we going to do now?"
"Just get the medicine," Stuart mumbled. "Don't worry, I'll be okay. Gordy and I can manage."
Barbara shook her head and turned around to look at him. "You can't stay in that hut, Stu. It's too cold and damp."
When Stuart just shrugged and closed his eyes, Barbara stared at him, her forehead wrinkled with worry.
"Just leave us be, will you?" Gordy leaned forward, his face inches from Barbara's. "The Smiths take care of their own problems. We don't need help from anybody, including you!"
"Gordy," Stuart murmured drowsily, "don't talk like that. Not to Barbara."
Gordy muttered something that sounded pretty nasty and turned his head away. A gust of wind shook the car, and I looked through the windshield at the white lawns and streets of Hyattsdale. While we'd been in the doctor's office, the snowplow had come through.
Two little girls passed by, towing a younger child on a sled. Their cheeks were red, and they were laughing, but no one laughed in the Plymouth. We just sat quietly, waiting for someone to think of a way out of our predicament. We'd told Barbara about Stuart, she'd helped just like I thought she would, but we still didn't know what to do.
20
Like yesterday, the silence went on and on as we all struggled to come up with an idea. This time it was Barbara who spoke first. "I have a suggestion," she said slowly.
We all looked at her, hoping she'd thought of the perfect solution.
"We can take him to my house," she said.
"Your house?" Elizabeth and I spoke together as if it were a line we'd been practicing for a play.
"Are you crazy?" Gordy stared at her. "Your parents aren't going to want a deserter in their house. They'll turn him in quicker than this." He snapped his fingers hard right in Barbara's face, but she didn't even flinch.
"You don't know my mother," Barbara said. "She's got the biggest heart in the world. She can't even turn a stray cat away. One look at Stu and she'll have him tucked up in bed, safe and warm."
Stuart gazed at Barbara with a sort of sad, dreamy expression on his face, but he didn't say anything. Even with blankets mounded over him, he shivered as a gust of wind rocked the car.
"What about your old man?" Gordy asked. "I bet he gets rid of those stray cats fast enough."
"Believe me," Barbara said, "in our house, Dad does what Mother tells him to do."
While Gordy muttered something about henpecked husbands, Elizabeth said, "But it's against the law to help a deserter. Your parents could go to jail if anybody finds out about Stuart."
Barbara thought for a moment. "My parents don't have to know he's AWOL, do they? I'll just tell them Stuart's sick and he needs somebody to take care of him. They know about his, his—" Her voice trailed off, and she fiddled with the controls for the heater. "They'll understand," she muttered.
"Why don't you say what you mean?" Gordy leaned across the seat and glowered at Barbara. "I know how this whole stupid town feels about my family."
Gordy was yelling at Barbara, his face red with anger, and she shrank back from him, shaking her head. "My parents like Stuart," she said. "They always have. He's not—" Stopping again in midsentence, Barbara gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead at the snowy street. Her face was red, too.
"Not like the rest of us," Gordy finished. "Not poor white trash like me and Donald and Junie and Ernest and Victor." He slumped back in the seat and folded his arms across his chest.
Stuart turned toward Gordy, frowning, then looked at Barbara. His eyes glittered, his face was flushed, and he seemed to be struggling to stay awake. "Always fighting," he murmured. "'I shot at him as he at me, and killed him in his place. I shot him dead because—'" Stuart's voice faltered and he coughed.
"Talk sense!" Gordy punched Stuart's arm, and Elizabeth glared at him.
"Leave him alone," she said. "It's from that poem, The Man He Killed.' If you weren't so dumb you'd know poetry when you heard it."
Stuart tried to smile at Elizabeth, but he was coughing too hard.
Barbara leaned over the seat and stared at him. "Stu," she said softly, trying to get his attention. "What do you think? Should I take you home with me?"
Stuart nodded and tried to focus on Barbara. "If you think it's okay. I don't want to get anyone in trouble." He coughed again. "Especially you."
Gordy rolled his eyes and groaned. "Don't be such a jerk, Stuart. Her old man will get on the phone and call the army the minute he sees you. I swear you've got rocks in your head."
Stuart shrugged. "Then I'll die in the war," he said, "but if I stay in the woods, I'll die too."
Ignoring us all, Barbara started the car and drove slowly back to College Hill. When she got to Calvert Road, she stopped where she'd picked us up. "You three better get out here," she said to Elizabeth, Gordy, and me.
Elizabeth and I slid out of the warm car into the cold wind, but Gordy stayed where he was. Glaring at Barbara, he said, "My brother doesn't go anywhere without me."
"Try to understand, Gordy," Barbara said, "you've done a lot for Stu, but you can't help him now. Let me talk to my parents first. You can come to my house later this afternoon and see him."
"Do what Barbara says, Gordy," Stuart said. "You can trust her, honest you can."
Gordy frowned at his brother, but he got out of the car. The three of us watched Barbara drive away. Gordy pulled the sled out of its hiding place, and we started walking up Calvert Road toward home. The wind blew hard in our faces, stinging tears from our eyes, and the snow, packed down by the plow, was slippery under our feet.
Two or three cars passed us, and, at the sight of one, an old black Ford, Gordy stopped. Muttering a couple of curse words, he ducked behind Elizabeth and me, but he wasn't fast enough. Mrs. Smith and three or four little kids peered out the windows as the man grabbed Gordy.
"You dumb kid, where the hell have you been?" Mr. Smith yelled, shaking Gordy. "You think I got nothing better to do than waste gas looking for you? You had your mother worried to death."
While Elizabeth and I watched, Mr. Smith punched Gordy hard enough to knock him down. With blood spouting from his nose, Gordy scrambled to his feet only to be knocked down again.
"Stop it!" Elizabeth screamed. "Leave him alone!"
Mr. Smith looked at Elizabeth as if he hadn't noticed her before. Turning to Gordy, he sneered, "You got girls taking up for you now?"
Without waiting for an answer, he seized Gordy's arm and thrust him roughly into the back seat with the other kids. Sliding behind the steering wheel, Mr. Smith slammed the door and stepped on the gas. The tires spun for a couple of seconds against the icy snow, but then the old car leapt ahead, belching a cloud of exhaust into Elizabeth's and my faces. The last thing I saw was June's face pressed against the rear window as Mr. Smith drove away.
Elizabeth and I stared at each other. On the white snow at our feet were drops of red—Gordy's blood. Over our heads, a blue jay screeched, and, not far away, a train whistle blew.
"Let's go home," Elizabeth said.
Wordlessly, we trudged toward the railroad tracks. The train whistle blew again, the lights at the crossing flashed, and the bell rang. Standing in the snow, we watched the engine approach, spewing smoke and cinders into the air. The big wheels shook the ground under our feet.
De
afened by the noise, we looked up and waved at the engineer. He grinned and waved back. Troop car after troop car rocked past, thundering toward the war, and we kept on waving, waving, and waving at the soldiers. Then came jeeps and tanks and big guns, hundreds of them, it seemed.
Finally the train disappeared down the track, leaving an acrid cloud of gray smoke behind. Cinders drifted down and blackened the snow around us, and we closed our eyes to keep them out.
"If I was Gordy, I'd run away," Elizabeth said as we dragged the sled across the tracks.
"Me, too."
I watched Elizabeth slip and slide over the snow toward her house. Then I walked around to our backyard and put the bobsled under the porch. It was the first time in my whole life I hadn't wanted to go coasting.
***
Later in the afternoon I was in my room reading Anne of Green Gables for the third time when I heard Elizabeth running up the steps. Dashing through my door, she said, "Let's go to Barbara's house and see if Stuart's okay."
Outside the sun cast long, blue shadows across the snow, and I shivered as a blast of wind rocked the branches over my head. By the time we reached Barbara's house, my nose felt as cold as a carrot stuck in a snowman's face. We hesitated on the porch, staring at the wreath of holly on the door, afraid to ring the bell. Suppose Barbara had been wrong about her mother and Stuart wasn't there?
If we hadn't heard footsteps behind us, we might have sneaked away. Whirling around, we saw Gordy trudging toward the house. His head was down, and he hadn't seen us yet. For the first time it occurred to me that his jacket was too small and too thin to keep him warm.
As he drew nearer, Gordy looked up. One eye was black and nearly swollen shut, but he managed to scowl at Elizabeth and me.
"What are you jerks doing here?" he said. "Can't I ever get away from you?"
"We came to see how Stuart is," Elizabeth said. We stood our ground, facing him. At any minute, I expected to feel his fist plow into my stomach, but Gordy just stood there, kicking at the snow and frowning.
"Did your father do that?" Elizabeth peered at Gordy's eye.
Stepping on the Cracks Page 11
