by Nancy Allen
“I like my stuff out where I can see it,” Johnny said. “That way, I can always find what I want to play with.”
My squinted, glaring eyes didn’t seem to bother Johnny one bit. I scooted his toys and books out of my way. He hadn’t learned to read, but he pretended to when he looked at a book.
Daddy came into our bedroom and told us a goodnight story about when he was a little boy. I loved Daddy’s stories. He never missed a night telling us about some evil king, brave knight or adventures he had when he was young.
Sleep carried me to the place I wanted to be—Hazard. Johnny and I were whizzing snowballs at a lamppost when Johnny slugged me in the back with one. I fisted a lump of the frosty stuff, ready to wallop him, when Daddy shook me.
“Wake up, Gracie Girl,” Daddy said in a gentle voice. “It’s time for me to leave.”
Feeling like I had only slept for minutes, I woke up startled. Leave! Already?
We piled into the Hudson, and Daddy drove us to the train station on the corner of Eleventh Street and Carter Avenue. The big brick depot stood about three streets back from the river where the freight depot perched. A few other soldiers sat on benches, waiting. Our wait was way too short, and I only realized this when I heard the train whistle. A lump the size of an apple lodged in my throat. I tried to clear it, but it wouldn’t go anywhere. Daddy hugged Mom and Grandma. He swooped Johnny and me up in his arms at the same time. He kissed us on the cheeks and reminded us to be brave and to behave.
I wanted to say, “I’ll miss you” and “I love you, Daddy.” The words hung in my throat and wouldn’t budge. I figured the words couldn’t get past that lump. I couldn’t hear anything but my heart thump-thump-thumping like a beaver tail slapping the water, warning the other beavers that something was wrong. I guess my thumping heart was giving me a warning too. Something was wrong. Daddy was leaving, and we had no idea where he was going or when he would be back.
We stood there and watched him board the train. He waved and threw us a kiss with his hand. I wanted to wave goodbye, but my hands hung limp by my side. Then Daddy disappeared inside the long silver snake of a train that soon slithered westbound down the tracks.
As Mom drove us back to Grandma’s house, the car filled with a silence so quiet my ears hurt. Mom broke the hush as we climbed the steps. Avoiding eye contact with us, she cleared her throat and said, “We have to be brave.”
“We have to have gumption,” Grandma said, finding her voice, too. “It’s what your daddy would want.” Grandma smiled at Johnny and me. She swallowed deep to choke back the tears.
Grandma’s house had seemed too small for all of us when we moved in. Without Daddy, it seemed too big.
Grandma and Mom kept saying we would be fine, that Daddy would be home soon. The way they said it, over and over, reminded me of how Mom was forever telling Johnny that if he ate one more cookie, he wouldn’t get dessert after supper. Johnny always ate one more cookie, and he always got dessert. The way she said it, Johnny knew she didn’t mean it. I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d really be fine. I wondered if Daddy would ever come home. I wondered if Mom and Grandma really meant what they said.
“We need to write letters to let your Daddy know that we’re thinking of him,” Mom said.
“And write happy thoughts,” said Grandma. “We’ll cheer him up with our letters.”
Grandma walked over to the wireless and turned a knob. The newsman was talking about the war. “The Axis Powers—Germany, Japan and Italy—are trying to control the world. When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii on December 7, 1941, the United States joined Great Britain, the Soviet Union, Canada, France and other countries—the Allied Powers—to stop them. Today, March 20, 1944, the Allied forces are still fighting for freedom.”
Grandma rocked in her chair and knitted as the newsman talked. I couldn’t believe Grandma was actually listening to the wireless. Just yesterday, she had claimed the radio was a waste of time.
I immediately tugged a sheet of paper from a stack Mom had put on the table for us to use. I searched through the pencils she had stuck, point up, in a blue Ball canning jar. I grabbed the sharpest one I could find. I thought about how I hurt inside, worse than when I cut my knee on the barbed-wire fence.
I wrote what I felt.
Dear Daddy,
I don’t want you to leave us and go somewhere far away. I love Grandma, but I don’t want to live here. I like my school and my friends and my teacher. I’m nervous about going to a new school and finding new friends. I want you back home and I want to go back home. Please, please, pretty please, Daddy, come back home.
I read my words and remembered what Grandma had said. Write happy thoughts to cheer up Daddy. I reread what I wrote and remembered Daddy wanted me to be brave. I drew lines through the words.
Writing a happy letter wasn’t easy when all I felt was sad. Before, I could always tell Daddy how I was feeling. If I felt sad, he would understand. He would say something to make me feel better. If I felt happy, he would make me feel happier.
I looked at my letter once more. Daddy would be even sadder if I sent gloomy words. I wadded the paper and tossed it into the fireplace. Flames licked it away.
I walked to my bedroom, snatched my box of crayons and began to draw. I pictured Grandma turning a knob on the wireless. Daddy would be pleased. Mom and I were sitting beside Grandma listening to the news. Then I added Johnny with his eyes crossed.
Dear Daddy,
I drew a special picture of Mom, Grandma, Johnny and me. We’re listening to the wireless. The second picture is Johnny’s and my bedroom. Can you guess which side of the room belongs to Johnny? You will probably want to hang this picture on a wall when you get to where you will live.
The newsmen have been talking about the war. I listened to every word they said, but they didn’t say your name like I hoped they would. We’ll keep listening.
I miss you, Daddy.
I love you,
Gracie Girl
P.S. Here are two pictures of Spot. The first one is him barking at the moon. I think he’s trying to wake me up so I’ll raise the window and talk to him. The second picture is Spot chasing his tail.
When I finished drawing the pictures, I scurried outside to show them to Spot. I could tell Spot missed his friend Abby, the hound dog that lived next door to us back home. I hugged Spot and told him I knew how he felt. He wasn’t the only one that missed a friend back home. When I told Spot that we had to have gumption, he grunted a little. In dog talk, that meant he would do the best he could, but he promised nothing. Spot had an uncanny way of knowing exactly how I felt.
Back inside, I redrew the pictures and rewrote the letter on a V Mail sheet. The V Mail stood for Victory Mail and was a sheet about four and a half inches wide by five inches long. I had to draw and write small to squeeze in everything I wanted to send. I folded the sheet that formed its own envelope. As I held my letter, I wondered when Daddy would come back home.
Chapter 6
My New School
My day started before the rooster crowed. I washed my face and raked a brush through my hair. Didn’t do much good. My hair sprung out like tree branches from a night of head tossing on a feather pillow. When I tried to brush it out, my hair pulled, so I figured I’d tie it all up in a ponytail. My day was off to a bad start. Another thing I figured was that the bad would turn to worse when I set foot in my new school.
I was real careful how I moved, making sure I kept my back turned away from everybody. When I met Mom or Grandma, I backed up and let them pass. My plan worked until that brat of a brother of mine stuck his nose into a place it didn’t belong—my business.
“Mom, Grace Ann’s got a rat’s nest in the back of her head,” Johnny bigmouthed. Then he bent over with a belly laugh, pointed at my head and squeaked like a rat.
I pitched him a squint-eyed look, but he kept on pointing and cackling.
Mom said, “Grace, let me see your hair in back.”
That’s all it took. Mom grabbed a brush and swiped it through my hair. Mom didn’t quit until she had untangled the wad. Finally, she kissed the top of my head and declared that my hairdo did me proud.
After I pulled on a green-and-white checked dress and yellow sweater, I stuck my socked feet into my patent leather shoes and walked into the kitchen. I sat down to a bowl of cornflakes Grandma had set out for me. Most of the time I scarfed down a bowl of cornflakes and loaded up on seconds, but today, my tummy jiggled and wiggled from my nerves. I crammed a spoonful of milk and flakes into my mouth, but somehow I didn’t feel like eating.
Grandma walked over and patted me on the shoulder.
Johnny charged through the kitchen, all smiles and jabbering. “Mom said I’ll make new friends at school.”
“I don’t want new friends, Johnny,” I told him. “I want my old friends. My old school. My old teacher. My old house.” Tears dribbled down my face. When Johnny saw my tears, his eyes clouded up and rained too.
Mom came into the kitchen and told me I shouldn’t upset my brother. “He was looking forward to the new school, and now you’ve got him worried,” she snapped at me.
I didn’t mean to upset Johnny. Or Mom. I stomped out of the kitchen and yelled, “Nobody cares how I feel!” I missed my dad and how he would always listen to how I was feeling or what I had to say.
Mom followed me. She wrapped her arms around me in a big hug and said everything would be all right. I could tell by the way she said it that she didn’t really mean that everything would be all right. What Mom meant was that I would have to live with my new life and my new school.
I raced outside to kiss Spot goodbye before school. “I’ll miss you today. I know you didn’t want to move here, but remember, we’ve got to have gumption.”
Spot yipped. In dog talk that meant, “I may have to move, but I don’t have to like it.”
“I wish you could go to school with me,” I whispered.
Spot drooped his tail as if to say he was sorry he couldn’t go.
I looked at my sweet mutt, and the words Grandpa used to say burst out of my mouth: “If wishes were fishes, we’d have a fry.”
Spot whined to agree.
“You’re right, wishing won’t make it happen,” I told Spot. “The wish fairy must be on vacation.”
A few minutes later, Mom walked Johnny and me to our new school. Each grade had a separate room. Johnny was in first grade; I was in sixth. That meant Johnny was in one room and I was in another. Phooey. I wouldn’t know one person in school. Double phooey. Johnny would be scared. Triple phooey. My brother was a big-time pest, but I didn’t want him terrified the way I felt.
Mom introduced us to his teacher, Mrs. Short. “This is my daughter, Grace Ann, and my son, Johnny.”
Mrs. Short welcomed us and said she was glad to have Johnny in her class.
Mom hugged Johnny. We stood in the room a minute longer as Mom talked with his teacher. I snagged a lock of my hair and twisted it as I looked at my brother. His eyes searched the classroom, but he didn’t seem scared or upset. How could he not be upset? How could he not have a hole in the bottom of his stomach? How could he not be shaking?
Mrs. Short reached for Johnny’s hand and led him over to a group of students. They began talking with him, and he talked back with a big grin on his face, as if he actually liked being here, surrounded by strangers. My brother is as weird as they come.
Mom and I walked down to the sixth-grade classroom. Mrs. Martin, my teacher, introduced herself. She and Mom talked for a minute or two as my eyes swept across all the unfamiliar faces. I turned back around and saw that Mom had left.
A lump made a home in my throat like the one I had when Daddy left. I swallowed hard and told myself to be brave, the way Daddy wanted me to be. The stubborn lump hung in there, but the tears didn’t spill over like I was afraid they would. My eyes sort of watered up is all.
Mrs. Martin introduced me to the class. The students stood, one by one, eyes pasted on me, and told me their names. My toes began to wiggle, but I willed them to stop. What I really wanted to do was run to a corner, ball up and hide. On top of that, I could not remember the name of one student.
The teacher led me to a desk and told me it was mine; then she opened a book and asked me to read for her. I knew most of the words, all but three. After I read, she handed me an arithmetic book.
“Turn to page seventy-five, please, Grace,” she said in a kind voice, as if she knew I was scared clear to the bone. I opened the book, and she pointed to a reading problem. I read the problem about a farmer who had a load of apples to divide into bushels and pecks.
“Show me how you would solve the problem,” Mrs. Martin said.
I opened my notebook, grabbed a pencil and worked the long division problem. When I finished, Mrs. Martin patted me on the shoulder and said, “Good work.” She asked me to work all the problems on the page, and she moved over two rows to work with another student.
As I tackled the next problem, the girl behind me whispered in my ear, “Teacher’s pet.” I turned around to see who was talking to me and saw the biggest girl I had ever seen in sixth grade. She squinted her face into a bunched-up frown and whispered, “Showoff.”
I scooted back around in my seat. As I multiplied and divided numbers, a sharp pencil jabbed me in the shoulder. When I turned back around to see if the girl had jabbed me by accident, she stuck her tongue out at me. Like a bear, she was big and grumpy with sharp claws. I’d never actually seen a bear or heard one growl, but she reminded me of a grizzly, all the same. For certain, her pencils were as sharp as claws.
I didn’t know what to do. Everyone in front of me was busy working. So were the students on both sides of me. The only two in the whole classroom not doing what they were supposed to were Miss Bear Claws and me. How could this day get any worse? I started working on the next problem. Before I was half finished, pain throbbed my right shoulder from another pencil jab. I tried to ignore her, but pain has a way of grabbing my attention.
Chapter 7
The Bully
At recess, I walked in line with the students to the playground and kept a safe distance from Miss Bear Claws. Standing on the top step, I looked around, hoping to see Mom, but she was nowhere in sight. Some kids ran to the swings, some ran to the basketball court and some jumped rope. I stood there and watched, feeling like a numbskull because I couldn’t remember anyone’s name.
I looked for Johnny. Where was that boy?
“Grace Ann!” I heard my name. I looked up and saw my brother. He was flying low on the sixth swing. I waved at Johnny and was thankful to see someone I knew, thankful he was okay. As much as I couldn’t understand how he could enjoy this school, even more I was glad that one of us was having a good day.
“Come over here and push me,” Johnny called. The wide grin on his face made me smile for the first time all morning. I couldn’t resist his request, so I walked over and pushed his swing.
“Higher,” he called, kicking his feet to help propel the swing.
Johnny looked back at me and said, “You want to swing, Gracie Girl? I’ll push you.”
Sometimes, like once in a blue moon, Johnny wasn’t such a pest. That was one of those blue-moon moments. I didn’t tell him though. He’d never let me hear the last of it.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I answered.
I looked over near the side of the school building and saw Miss Bear Claws standing alone with her back to the playground. I kept watching as she stood there, all by her lonesome. No one walked near her. I sure wasn’t about to.
A few minutes later, a boy rang the bell that signaled recess had ended. Back inside, I noticed a large shelf was home to lots of books, so I wandered over. The Wizard of Oz, Mr. Popper’s Penguins and Little House in the Big Woods were there for the taking. I’d read each of those books and loved them. Then I saw another book, one that I’d heard about and had been itching to wrap my hands around.
Mr
s. Martin walked up. “Do you see a book you’d like to read, Grace?”
“This one.” I pointed to The Gremlins. I signed my name on a sheet, wrote the date and the title and took the book to my desk. Mrs. Martin said I could take the book home with me and read it at night. That sounded like a great idea.
“I love that book,” a girl said as she walked up to me. “I’m Janie.”
“Grace Ann,” I said as Mrs. Martin asked all of us to return to our seats.
I placed my new treasure with my arithmetic and spelling books. As students scrambled to their seats, my eyes swept the room. Drawings, some not recognizable, others flaunting talent, decorated the windows. Stories written in pencil on lined paper hung on the walls. I liked the look of the classroom, the way every student’s drawings, stories or best work found a place of honor. I wondered when I would see my work displayed for all to see.
I checked out the students. Eighteen of us claimed desks arranged in four straight rows. Five girls sat in desks in front of the windows. Five boys sat in the second row. My desk was next to last in the third row, made up of five girls. Three boys finished the count in the fourth row.
My tummy grumbled. I wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or a bad case of the jitters. What if this bully behind me won’t leave me alone?
Mrs. Martin interrupted my worrisome question when she asked everyone to line up in one big circle around the walls. “We’re having our weekly spelling bee,” she explained. “If you misspell a word, you will return to your desk and have a seat.”
The first few words were simple. Cart. Porch. Tiger. Mrs. Martin picked up a different spelling book. I could see right off that the words were harder. Picnic. Mixture. Contest.
My turn was next. Museum.
“Museum,” I said as I listened to the way it sounded. “M-U-S-E-U-M.” Whew, I spelled it.
I didn’t realize the bully was standing next to me until she whispered, “Showoff.”
