by Karen Wolff
Mid-year a new girl came to our school. Carol Ann Bellwood wore her long, yellow hair in sausage-shaped curls with a ribbon tied on top of her head. The ribbons changed color every day to match her dress. Her eyes were blue and all sparkly when she smiled. Everybody liked Carol Ann, and I thought she was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. The other boys, even the older ones, thought so too.
In my imagination I talked to Carol Ann. I pretended she would tell me what a good ball player I was or notice when I got the answers right on an arithmetic paper. I would admire the picture she painted of her pet kitten. None of that ever happened. For some reason I couldn’t think of anything to say when she looked my way, so I did dumb stuff like throwing a paper wad at her or bumping her desk to mess up her penmanship. I wanted her attention, and I got it, but mostly she just got irked at me. Sometimes I sat next to her when we changed seats for spelling class because she smelled so soapy and clean, though I always made it seem accidental.
One day we played a game of tag at recess, and I snagged her hair ribbon and pulled her hair.
“You are the meanest boy,” she said as she tried to grab the ribbon from me.
Keeping it from her was great fun, but instead of staying at it, she said, “Come on, girls. Let’s don’t play with them anymore. They’re too rough.” Of course they all followed her to the other side of the playground.
That left me standing there holding the stupid ribbon. “I guess we got rid of those sissies,” I said to the boys. But I hadn’t meant that to happen. I dumped the ribbon in the trash.
After that, I was surprised when I got an invitation to her birthday party. It came in the mail, so Gram and Polly saw it before I did.
“Harry’s got a girlfriend,” Polly said in a singsong voice.
“I do not,” I protested.
“You gonna get her a present, Harry? For your girlfriend?” Polly just wouldn’t give up. It made me squirm.
I’d never been to a birthday party, but I wasn’t going to miss this one for anything. Polly said I should take present. What could I get her? No money. No place to buy anything in this town. I had to make a plan.
I went to see Great-Aunt Lida. I told her I was interested in making some money and did she need any odd jobs done.
She said, “Why do you need the money, Harry?”
“I…I’d like to buy some new Sunday clothes to wear to church,” I lied. I didn’t like to lie, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I wanted to buy a present for a girl.
She seemed pleased. Anybody interested in church was in her good graces.
“My windows need washing. Do you think you could do that?”
I began counting up in my head the number of windows in her house. She had a big porch and had replaced the screens with windows so she could use the room all year. I started seeing dollar signs.
“I’ll do it,” I said, “for ten cents a window.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Inside and out?”
I sighed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll start tomorrow after school.”
It took three afternoons and about killed me, but I washed thirty windows and collected my three dollars. Now I had to figure out a way to get to town so I could buy Carol Ann a present.
Lots of folks went to Beaverton on Saturday night. All the stores stayed open so people could shop. We didn’t go ‘cause our own store had to stay open. If I wanted to buy Carol Ann a gift, I’d have to get a ride with someone. I started hanging around Bobby Granholm. He was kind of a pantywaist and not my favorite, but he was flattered when I suggested we play ball.
“Are you going to town tomorrow night?” I asked him after a long session of playing catch and him missing the ball half the time.
“Yeah, probably. We usually do.”
“S’pose I could ride along?”
“Sure. I’ll ask Ma.”
Mrs. Granholm was so tickled that Bobby had me for a friend that she fell all over herself inviting me along for the trip. She even got permission from Gram.
I was nervous all the way to town, embarrassed to buy a present for a girl. It was silly to be so squirmy about picking out a gift in front of Bobby or his mother, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to think of a way to ditch them for a few minutes.
We went to the variety store, and Bobby stuck to me like syrup on pancakes. We looked around for a long time, but I didn’t see anything that would do for Carol Ann. I was beginning to panic. If I couldn’t find something pretty soon, I was in trouble.
“Bobby,” said Mrs. Granholm, “I think we ought to see if we can find some new shoes for you. They’re on sale this week.”
“Oh, Mom. We wanted to look at the baseball gloves and stuff.”
“There’ll still be time, dear. I think we’d better take this opportunity to save a little money while we can.”
I was relieved and said, “It’s okay, Bobby. I’ll just look around while you try on shoes.”
As soon as they went on their way, I started covering those aisles lickety-split. I saw piles of clothing, men’s overalls and hats, women’s purses and shoes. In the household section were frying pans and rolling pins. I fiddled for a minute with an apple corer, but that didn’t seem right. Somehow I got into the sewing section and meant to leave in a hurry, but I saw rolls and rolls of ribbon. That would be it! I had ruined her hair ribbon, so I would get her a replacement. I bought a yard of wide yellow satin ribbon and a yard of narrow blue lacey stuff. The clerk rolled them up, and I managed to get them into my pocket before I met up with Bobby. I felt a huge surge of relief now that the gift business was settled, and I was ready to enjoy the rest of my night in town. We tried out baseball gloves and looked at fishing equipment. I didn’t have to pay attention to girl stuff anymore, and I even liked Bobby better. He and I bought some wax candies with nectar inside and walked down the street chewing the sweet wax. At the last minute I decided I had enough money to buy myself a shirt for Sunday school. That would erase my lie to Aunt Lida.
ON SUNDAY, I cleaned up for church. Polly did her best to smooth out the cowlicks in my coarse hair. I put on my new shirt and tried to stay neat until Carol Ann’s party. I walked to her house that afternoon nervous because I didn’t know what to expect. It turned out to be fun. We played games—pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and tag. Then it was time for Carol Ann to open her presents.
Her mother had put a big, blue-checked tablecloth on the picnic table in the backyard and stacked up the presents in front of Carol Ann. As she started to open them, my hands began to sweat. I’d pictured her smiling at me and “oohing” and “aahing” over the pretty ribbons, but now I was uncertain and worried about my present. All the others were wrapped with fancy paper and ribbon, even the ones from boys. Mine was in a plain white envelope. She got lacy handkerchiefs, bath oil, a set of watercolors, all kinds of girl stuff. My present seemed silly and cheap. I knew she would hate it and think I was a dunce. I got more and more nervous and could hardly sit still. When she reached for my envelope, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I jumped up from the table and ran toward the front yard, around the house, and down the street for several blocks.
It felt good to run, but it didn’t take me long to realize I was going to look like a complete fool to everybody. Maybe I should just go on home and forget about the party. Then I remembered the ice cream and chocolate birthday cake, so I headed back. By the time I got there, everybody was singing “Happy Birthday,” and Mrs. Bellwood was serving the cake. I slipped into my place, and nobody noticed that I’d been away. I was sure glad. I spooned up some cake with fudge frosting and vanilla ice cream and forgot about the darned present.
When the party started to break up, Carol Ann came over to me and touched my arm. “I saw you leave, Harry. Why did you do that? I didn’t get a chance to thank you for the hair ribbons.” She smiled, and I felt my insides squeeze up. I sure couldn’t tell her why I left.
“I think they’re beautiful, and I can’t wait to wear them
.”
I could only mumble. “You do? I…I didn’t know what to get you.” Another one of my dumb conversations, but this time it was real, not pretend.
“It was very thoughtful of you. I don’t know which one I’ll wear first.” She played with them, looping them around her hair and twirling.
“I…I’m glad you liked them,” I didn’t want to leave, but I couldn’t just stand there and stare, so I pulled myself away, figuring maybe she didn’t hate me after all. In fact, I think she kind of liked me, and I thought she was the most wonderful girl in the world. I turned around as I walked away and looked back at her. She smiled and waved.
I GOT HOME just in time to say goodbye to Uncle Lyle and Aunt Hazel who had stopped in to see Gram that afternoon.
“Well, Harry. It looks like your dad will soon be living here in town.”
My heart soared. “What? Right here in Richmond?” I could scarcely believe it. I would have my dad here where I could see him and talk to him. I was overjoyed.
“Yes. Your Uncle Lyle thinks it would help your dad to be around people. They think he’s too isolated on the farm. He never goes anywhere, never sees anyone, and they don’t think it’s healthy for him. Besides, Hazel is going to have a baby after waiting all these years, so that’s part of it too.”
“Where will he live, Gram? Here? With us?”
“No, not here. There’s not enough room. I’m going to see Sally McVay at her boarding house tomorrow. She usually has a room or two for rent.”
“Does Dad know about this?
“Your Uncle Lyle is going to talk to him tonight,” she said.
“Will it make him mad, do you think? To have people deciding these things for him?”
“Oh, I think Lyle will handle it well. Who knows? Maybe Cal would just as soon be living somewhere else.”
I was thrilled. Surely my dad would start acting like himself and would care about us again. I ran to the store to find my sister.
“Polly, Polly. Guess what? Dad’s going to move here to Richmond.”
She was as stunned as I was. Her big black eyes bugged out as she stared at me and took in the news.
“We’re going to get our dad back. I just can’t wait. Isn’t it terrific?” I expected her to be as thrilled as I was, but she was quiet for a moment.
“I feel like I’ve just gotten used to him being away,” she said. “It hasn’t been much fun to be around him since the war, the way he is. He’s not like he used to be.”
I hadn’t really thought about that until she said it. My stomach, full of cake and ice cream, knotted up. What if he didn’t change? What if he stayed so far off and uninterested in us? I didn’t know if I could stand it to be around him every day and have him be so strange.
All that evening I went back and forth between relief and happiness that my father soon would be nearby, and then I’d think of Polly’s words, and worry that things might not turn out so well after all.
I said to Gram, “How do you think it’ll be with Dad here in Richmond?”
“Well, you shouldn’t get your hopes up too high, Harry. He’s not over this thing yet. It took your grandfather Preston a long time to get over all the ugliness in the Civil War, and he wasn’t even wounded. He was just fifteen when he signed up, and he saw way too much death and destruction. It affects people. It may take your dad a while longer to recover.”
THE NEXT DAY Gram and I walked out to Sally McVay’s with Buster tagging along. The house was the nearest thing our town had to a mansion. It was a huge two-story affair with wide porches around three sides. There were apple and plum trees and a grape arbor out back, and we sometimes snitched fruit there. If Sally knew, she didn’t seem to mind.
One of our schoolteachers, Miss Foster, stayed there. Sometimes families sent their overflow company when there was a wedding or a funeral, and occasionally Sally would rent to a traveling salesman.
Sally met us on the front porch and invited us in. She was a round, sweet-faced Irish woman who laughed and smiled a lot. Everybody in town knew her and loved her. While she and Gram discussed arrangements for Dad’s board and room, I looked around at the high ceilings and golden oak woodwork everywhere. The doors even had crystal knobs. I thought Dad was lucky to live in such a house.
As we walked home I asked, “Does Sally have a husband?”
“No,” Gram said. “I’ve heard there was somebody years ago, but it didn’t work out. I don’t know why, ‘cause she’d make a good wife for somebody.”
UNCLE LYLE BROUGHT Dad and his belongings to Richmond a few days later. When they pulled up in front of our house. Granddad greeted them, “Welcome back to Richmond, Cal. How’re you feeling?“
“I feel like hell. What were you expecting?” Dad’s wild hair had grown out and hung down over his ears. He stared straight ahead and made no move to get out of the truck.
Granddad didn’t give up. “Bess just made some coffee. You want a cup?”
“No,” Dad said. “I don’t want anything.”
His voice was ugly. I tried to figure out what he thought about this move. It didn’t look good. Silent and afraid, Polly and I climbed into the back end of the truck and rode to Sally McVay’s.
As we got out, I heard Lyle say, “Why’d you treat Alfie like that, Cal? He was just being friendly.”
“I dunno. When I see him and remember he’s a Frenchman, I get mad. He’s just like them over there. They don’t think about anything except having a good time and drinking wine. Only difference is that Alfie drinks beer. I hated the Germans, but they’d fight. Damn Frogs let the Yanks do their fighting.”
“For God’s sake, Cal. Alfie’s lived in America since he was two years old. He and Bess have taken in your kids and given them a place to live. How can you talk like that?”
Dad said nothing. He watched as we hauled in his suitcase and a few boxes of things. His room was on the east end of the house next to the kitchen. It was like a sunroom, cheerful because of the big windows that faced the garden. The bed was made up and looked clean enough to please even Gram. Polly and I started unpacking his things, but Dad said, “I can do that myself. Leave it.” So we stood back, feeling useless.
As Uncle Lyle started to leave, Dad snarled at him, “Is Sally a damn Catholic?”
Uncle Lyle said, “I guess so. That doesn’t make any difference, does it, Cal?”
Dad snatched the crucifix hanging over the bed and shoved it into a dresser drawer. “I don’t want to look at that thing,” he said, his face an angry scowl. “At least Sally isn’t French.”
Lyle looked shocked. “You better get over it, Cal. You’ve got to live in this
world. You’ve got to get along with people.”
Dad glared. “The hell I do.”
Lyle threw up his hands, turned around and walked out. I didn’t know what to do, so I said, “Do you want a glass of water or anything?”
“No. I don’t. You can go now.”
He stood awkwardly as if uncertain what he wanted. Polly said, “Why don’t you sit in the rocker, Dad? It looks comfortable.”
“I will. I will.” He turned his back to us and stared out the window, so we crept out and went home not very happy.
“Well, at least we don’t have to spend every minute with him,” said Polly.
I nodded, but I was dejected and heartsick. Why did Dad hate Granddad, of all people, just because he was French? Or Sally because she was Catholic? I went outside to play with Buster for a while. He licked my hands and face, and that always made me feel better. I knew he cared about me.
DAD MADE ARRANGEMENTS with Gram to do his washing and ironing every week. For this he paid her twenty-five cents. Early on Monday morning, I’d hop on my bike and go to the boarding house to pick up Dad’s dirty clothes. Often he’d place his laundry bag on the porch, and I wouldn’t even see him. On Wednesday I would return with the fresh batch, the shirts starched and ironed to a fare-thee-well with the right sleeves folded up and fastened with a safe
ty pin. He couldn’t very well avoid me when I delivered the clean things. I usually found him in his room reading a magazine or newspaper. He’d say, “Just put them there, Harry,” and go on reading.
I ached to talk to him, but I couldn’t think of anything to say that interested him. One day I found myself whistling “Yankee Doodle” as I rode to his place. When I got inside I put down his clothes, and he handed me a quarter for Gram.
“Dad, do you remember how you tried to teach me to whistle when I was little?” He looked up. “Just listen to this,” and I let forth with my best effort. He watched and listened to the whole thing and then stared at me when I was finished, his face expressionless. Finally he nodded and said, “Not bad, Harry,” and went back to his reading.
I was thrilled. It was the first time he had paid attention to me for anything. Usually he made me feel like I was someone he didn’t know very well. The moment didn’t last long, but I thought it was a start.
I told Gram, “Dad liked my whistling. He said it wasn’t bad!”
“Maybe you’re making progress with him, Harry.”
She took the quarter from me and tucked it into her rainy day jar without ever offering me anything for my efforts. It grated that she never paid me for my part in keeping Dad in clean clothes. I never had any money, and I was impatient to become rich. But that was the way she was.
The Monday-Wednesday routine continued all summer. Dad rarely said much to me and didn’t seem to care about hearing me whistle any more. Yet one day I found him sitting in a rocker on the front porch with Sally McVay. She always greeted me with a big hello, and today was no different.
“Your dad’s been helping me in the garden picking the everlasting beans. I thought we needed a rest.”
“That’s what Gram has had me doing too.” I smiled at him. “Gets tiresome, doesn’t it?”
