by Nancy Allen
We never talked much about why Daddy’s letters stopped coming in the mail, but we clung to all the news reports on the wireless. Music, we didn’t listen to it. Singing and dancing were not the same with Daddy gone. Instead, we listened to a different kind of music—Grandma’s humming. For the last few days, Grandma had been humming all the time. I don’t know if she hummed a real song or not. She hummed um hummmm hum over and over, real low like the humming was meant just for her.
One afternoon, Mom said, “You and Johnny, go clean your room.” As I walked to our bedroom, I heard Grandma and Mom talking quietly. I walked real slow so I wouldn’t miss too much.
“I have to find a job soon,” Mom said in a hushed voice. “Farmer Smith said he would pay me when he could, but that could be next year.”
“Farmer Smith should have borrowed my bees to pollinate his apple crop,” Grandma said. “That man wouldn’t listen to reason. He claimed blight caused his apples to be puny little knobs of nothing. Blight had nothing to do with it.”
“This was his first year owning the orchard,” Mom said. “He’s already said he wants to buy some bees for next year’s crop, but that won’t help me now. I need to pay Mr. Wilson the bill for groceries that I’ve run up at his store.”
I glanced back. Mom looked sad, and sad didn’t look good on Mom. All my life I was used to seeing Mom happy—until Daddy left.
I eased out the back door to talk with Spot. Somehow, I always felt better after talking with that clever mutt. Spot bounded over. He stood, and I sat on a big rock.
“We didn’t get a letter from Daddy again today. I thought you’d want to know. That’s over four months. Mrs. Jones—you know Mrs. Jones, Spot, she’s the woman who wears the big hats that you bark at.” Spot looked at me and blinked his eyes. He reminded me of Johnny trying to act so innocent. “Anyway, Mrs. Jones brought our mail to us today, and we didn’t have a letter from Daddy.”
Spot stared; he didn’t move a muscle, not even a blink.
“I don’t know what could be wrong.” Any reason I came up with was so worrisome the words refused to come. That sweet mutt continued to stare at me. He didn’t have anything to say either. I guess Spot was as worried as I was. After a few minutes, I kissed him on his head and told him goodnight.
The next evening, Johnny and I dressed up for trick-or-treating. An old sheet with two holes for the eyes covered me. Johnny said he wanted to be like Dad, so Mom dressed him as a soldier.
Johnny bounded out the door and down the steps with a paper sack in his hand, ready to collect goodies and fill his treat bag. I snuck out the kitchen door and across the yard to hide behind the big oak tree. Johnny turned in a circle looking for me. I sneaked up behind him and moaned real low. He turned around and saw me and streaked up the steps so fast he missed the top two, yelling, “Haints! Haints are on the prowl in the front yard!” He darted into the house and slammed the door.
I slipped through the kitchen door and walked into Grandma’s parlor.
“There’s no haint in the front yard,” Mom said.
“Oh yes there is,” Johnny corrected her. “I saw one.”
“There’s the ghost you saw,” Mom said. “Your sister.”
Johnny narrowed his eyes and looked at me. “Uh-uh,” he said. “She’s not the same haint I saw out in the yard.”
“Come on, scaredy cat,” I joked as I opened the door. “Let’s go trick-or-treating.”
“I’m not going,” Johnny said. He crossed his arms over his chest, a sure sign that a stubborn spell had come over him.
“Let’s go, Johnny,” Mom said. “I’ll be with you.”
“Uh-uh,” that boy mumbled.
“I guess I’ll be the only one to get candy or cake,” I told him.
“I’m ready,” he said. Candy was the magic word with him. He stuck his head out the door and eyed the front yard. He mouthed, “No ghosts,” to Mom.
Mom mouthed, “No ghosts,” back to Johnny, and off we went to our school for a Halloween costume party. Sugar and chocolate were rationed, so we didn’t get a lot of candy, but we did get some bubble gum and popcorn balls.
The next afternoon when I got home from school, Mom walked into our bedroom. I showed her Rubble Trouble’s stuff scattered everywhere on his side of the room and on my side. Worry carved lines on Mom’s face, lines I hadn’t seen before. Instead of complaining, I said, “Where are you going to work now, Mom?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I’ll find work somewhere. Maybe at the Clayton Lambert Munitions Factory. They make shell casings for the navy. Or maybe a store in town.” Then Mom smiled. “I have good news. Mr. Wilson found a bicycle for you, and he painted it red. You’ve got time to go buy it before the store closes if you hurry.”
A bicycle! That was all I needed to hear. I emptied my piggy bank into my pink pocketbook and skedaddled out of the house and down to the store. Spot trotted along beside me.
The red bicycle was shiny and slick, standing in the middle of the store, strutting its stuff. I got all jumpy inside, and when I touched the handlebars, my knees wilted. Mine. All mine. The bicycle was a beauty, prettier even than the first red one I had my heart set on. With a hop, I eased onto the seat and moved the handlebars, pretending to ride.
I had the jitters and the dumps at the same time. The bicycle was perfect, but as I looked at it, I saw Mom’s sad face in my mind. I had enough money to buy it, but I wondered: Was this bicycle really what I wanted? I asked myself that question again and again.
The clock on the wall rang loudly. Time was running out. The store closed at six o’clock. I had to make up my mind, fast.
Mr. Wilson walked over. “Well, Grace, what do you think of this fine piece of machinery? I saved it for you.”
I didn’t know what to say to Mr. Wilson. I knew he had worked hard to paint the bicycle and make it all spiffy, but I had figured out what I wanted even more than the shiny red beauty. I wanted to make Mom feel better, so I used my pumpkin money to help pay the grocery bill.
Mom, Grandma and Johnny were waiting on the front porch for me when I walked back home with Spot.
“Where’s the bicycle?” Johnny asked.
After I explained why I didn’t buy the bicycle, Mom turned and walked into the house. Never said a word. Grandma gathered up her knitting and rocked and hummed and mumbled something about gumption.
Chapter 22
Surprises
By the middle of November, we still hadn’t received a letter from Daddy. Five whole months had gone by. More and more injured soldiers returned home. Mom talked with many of them. Grandma did too. After each conversation, Grandma said, “No news is good news.” Mom agreed.
Each day when I got home from school, I asked if we had gotten a letter.
Mom’s answer was always the same: “Not today; maybe tomorrow.”
Sadness sneaked in and staked a claim with me. I walked out back to talk with Spot. “We should have heard from Daddy by now,” I said.
Spot whined. That’s dog talk for telling me he agreed.
One Saturday morning, I crawled out of bed and found Johnny’s stuff—clothes, toys and scraps of food—scattered all over the floor, all over the beds, all over our room. I gathered up all his stuff and piled it on top of his bed. I found a ball of Grandma’s red yarn and strung a line across the middle of the floor.
“Johnny, come here!” I called out plenty loud enough for him to hear.
He never came. I guess he thought I wanted him to clean up his mess. I did, but even more, I wanted to show him his half of the room.
“Rubble Trouble!” I squalled, loud enough that time for Spot to start barking.
Johnny stuck his head around the corner wanting to know what I was yelling about.
I pointed to the red line running down the middle of the floor. “Your rubble has to stay on your half of the room, or there will be trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” that little scalawag had the nerve to ask.
“Ah!” Johnny said, but I noticed he picked up his toys and put them in a box for safekeeping.
On Monday afternoon, when I had finished folding my clothes and putting them in a drawer, Grandma did something I hadn’t heard her do in days. She laughed long and loud.
“Land’s sake!” she said as she looked out the window.
Johnny and I dashed over to the window where Grandma stood. Mom pedaled down the path on a bright red bicycle. We dashed out the door to meet her.
“Mr. Wilson hired me to work at his store,” Mom said as she wheeled up to the steps. “He is letting me work for the money to pay off our bill. This bicycle is yours, Grace. You worked for it. You earned it.”
My heart pounded as I touched the handlebars. I couldn’t believe that bicycle was really mine. All mine. I ran my hands over the black seat, climbed on and pedaled hard. The wind whipped through my hair as I cut right to miss a rock. The bounces and bumps of the rough ride made my heart race. I felt like Christmas morning had come early this year.
I rode down the path and waved at Mom, Grandma and Johnny as I pumped harder and harder. The bike glided down the trail, carrying me faster and faster. I spun around and turned toward home. Mom and Grandma clapped when I pulled up. Johnny stared. “Your turn,” I said.
He grinned and jumped on. He made figure eights in the yard before he pedaled off around the house.
Johnny had been keeping his rubble on his side of the room the last two days. All it took was the red line and a reminder of Spot’s chewing habits. I figured if he kept our bedroom halfway picked up, he could ride the bike. When it came to neatness, halfway is good for Rubble Trouble.
We rode the bike until darkness wrapped around us. I put the bicycle in Grandma’s garden shed; then Johnny and I hurried into the house to get ready for bed. I asked Mom if we had a letter from Daddy today.
“Not today, maybe tomorrow,” Mom answered. “But think positive.”
Chapter 23
More Surprises
Thanksgiving Day had everybody thinking positive. Grandma asked us what we wanted for our special supper.
“Beats me,” Johnny said as he threw up his hands and snickered.
Mom laughed. “Beets it is. Grace Ann, what do you want?”
I didn’t have to think twice. “Pumpkin pie.”
By the end of the meal, the turkey wasn’t the only thing stuffed. I had polished off two slices of the bird, dressing, shucky beans, pickled beets and, best of all, a second piece of pumpkin pie. My mind yelled Bodacious! but my belly pleaded for mercy.
On Monday morning, I pulled on my pants, and they rode high—too high, above my ankles. I tugged at the hem to try to stretch them, but my pants were as stubborn as my brother. The legs refused to stretch.
When I walked into the kitchen, Mom said, “Gracie Girl, you’re getting as tall as a cornstalk.”
“Where’s the flood?” Johnny joked when he saw me. “You’re wearing high-water britches.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. He looked at me and laughed louder.
I scurried back to our bedroom to change clothes. I tore off my pants and jumped into another pair that climbed above my ankles, but not as high. I grabbed my books and called out to that pest of a brother, “Come on, Johnny. We don’t want to be late.”
“Being late wouldn’t bother me,” Johnny said, always wanting the last word.
At school, Vickie sat beside me, not behind me, like last year. Sometimes we whispered when Mrs. Howard wasn’t looking our way.
“Thanks for the two pumpkins.” Vickie’s voice was soft as velvet. “I made two jack-o’-lanterns, and Mom made a couple of pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving.”
I looked at Vickie and smiled. “Thanks for the seeds.” At least once a day, Vickie thanked me for the pumpkins. When she thanked me, I thanked her for the seeds. I noticed that Vickie was growing taller too. She wore a different outfit this year, and she wore it every day. Her pants rode up her legs, shorter than mine, and her shirt was at least two sizes too small.
On Friday, Mrs. Howard asked us to put our pencils down and close our books. She had an announcement to make. “The annual Christmas play will be held here at the school on Christmas Eve. We have four weeks to practice, and we’ll begin Monday. Our class is going to team with Miss Eversole’s class to present the play.”
Miss Eversole taught second grade, Johnny’s class. That meant he and I would be on stage together.
Mrs. Howard assigned all the students a part in the play. Carolyn and Vickie were shepherds, and Janie and I were angels. My heart flitted and fluttered when Mrs. Howard said the angels would wear white dresses and glide across the stage, slowly, smoothly, as if we were drifting through the air. I imagined me, an angel, on stage, drifting. I couldn’t wait to tell Mom and Grandma.
On the way home, I told Johnny the good news.
“So what,” my brother said. “I’m going to be a lamb.” Every other step a baaaaa bawled out of that boy’s mouth.
When I got home, Grandma had another surprise.
“Whose clothes are these?” I asked as I grabbed an oatmeal cookie and stuffed it in my mouth. The kitchen table looked like a mountain with pants, shirts, skirts and blouses piled high.
“They belong to anyone who can wear them,” Grandma answered. “My neighbor Adeline Young has a daughter a little older than you and a son a little older than Johnny. They outgrew the clothes, so she passed them along. Want to try them on?”
“You bet,” I said as I rummaged through the pile of plaids, flowers and stripes.
“This is way, way too big for me,” I said as I held up a green and yellow skirt with a flowery inset. “And here’s a blouse that matches. Too bad; I really like this set.”
“Those belonged to Adeline,” Grandma answered. “I’ll pass what we can’t wear along to someone who can.”
That’s when it hit me, the idea. I whispered it to Grandma. I didn’t want Johnny to hear me and blab his big mouth all over the neighborhood.
Just then, Mom opened the door and walked in.
“Did we get a letter from Daddy today?” I asked.
“No, sweetie. Maybe tomorrow,” Mom answered. “Think positive.”
“We’ll get a letter soon. I know it,” Grandma said. She showed Mom the clothes.
Mom fished out five shirts and five pairs of pants and tried them on Johnny. “Perfect fit, young man,” she said and ruffled his hair with her hand.
Mom turned toward me. “Let’s see what we have here for you.” I tried on two skirts and five blouses. They fit and I loved them. I twirled and strutted around the kitchen, showing off the clothes for Mom and Grandma. Next, I tried on pants. Three fit exactly, and two were a tad too long so I cuffed them. I found more that were too big for me but looked to be perfect for my idea.
While I picked through all the clothes, I remembered my good news. “Mom, I’m going to be an angel in the Christmas play. Mrs. Howard said I should wear a white dress.”
“That’s wonderful, Gracie Girl,” Mom said. “I can’t wait to see you perform.”
“I want a fancy dress so I’ll look like an angel,” I said.
Mom looked at me and pulled me in close for a hug.
“Grace, clean out all of your clothes that are too small to make room for these,” Grandma said. “I’m going to pass your old clothes on to anyone who can wear them.”
I busied myself for the next hour, trying on clothes and pitching the things that were too small. I folded each give-away piece and placed them all in a box.
On Saturday morning, Grandma left right after breakfast. When she returned, she whispered in my ear that she had carried out my idea. I could hardly wait until Monday to see if it worked.
I arrived early at school and
helped Mrs. Howard clean the chalkboard erasers. When the bell rang, I hurried to my seat. Vickie walked in smiling, wearing a green and yellow skirt with a flowery inset and a matching blouse. I recognized her shoes too. Mom always wore them when she dressed up.
“Pretty skirt and blouse, Vickie,” I whispered when Mrs. Howard walked to the map and worked with two students.
“Thanks,” Vickie answered. “I like your dress too.”
All morning long, Vickie smiled, even during a test.
At recess, Vickie, Carolyn, Janie and I stood together and talked about the math test papers Mrs. Howard had handed back. Vickie scored 100 percent on the equations but missed half the reading problems. Carolyn, Janie and I did well on the reading problems but missed many of the equations.
Vickie looked at our tests and pointed out what we did wrong. “Here, let me show you how to work this,” she said. Vickie grabbed a pencil from behind her ear and showed me my mistakes. She did the same with Carolyn and then with Janie.
The bell rang. Recess was over. As we walked back into the classroom, I told Vickie I would stay with her after school for a few minutes and help her with the reading problems.
Her face crinkled into a smile as she said, “Thanks.”
When I walked into Grandma’s kitchen that afternoon, Mom stood at the stove frying potatoes, or as Johnny calls them, poe-TAH-toes.
“Did we get a letter from Daddy?” I asked.
Johnny stopped in his tracks to hear the answer.
“Not today, maybe tomorrow,” Mom answered. “Remember, we have to think positive.”
Spot yelped. I changed into my play clothes and ran outside to romp with him. When Spot saw me, he grabbed a stick, ran to me and dropped it at my feet. I tossed it high and wide. Spot shot out after the stick, jumped in midair and caught it. He pranced back to me with the stick in his mouth and tail wagging.
