by Karen Wolff
He nodded, looking almost cheerful. “It feels good to be outside doing something useful.”
He reached in his pocket for the quarter for Gram and, instead, fished out another coin. It looked like a quarter but it had a hole right in the center of it.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“That, son, is a souvenir from the day I drove a spike through the Kaiser’s head.”
“What?” I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.
He went on. “I was out on a detail to pick up the fallen after a battle. We found a German soldier, just a boy really. How he got so close to our lines was a mystery, but we loaded him onto the wagon just like the others. When I lifted him up, some coins fell out of his pants pocket. I picked up this one and saved it.”
He stared at the coin like it had a secret message on it. At last he said, “I looked at that boy’s face and my blood boiled.”
“You mean because he got so close to your lines?”
“No. I got mad at the high and mighty person who sent this kid to the front to get killed and left on the field. Mad because we had to go in there and get our American boys killed. When I got back to camp, I took a good look at that coin. One side had a profile of the Kaiser on it. When I saw it, I wanted to kill him.”
I dreaded to hear what came next. I couldn’t figure out why he was so upset over a coin.
“I walked over to the blacksmith who took care of our horses, and I asked him if there was a way to put a hole in it. He probably thought I was crazy, but he showed me how to heat it up and pound a spike through it.”
“How come you wanted to do that?” Sally asked.
“It just gave me great satisfaction to know I had put a spike through the Kaiser’s head,” he said.
I hardly knew what to say.
“I guess you figured you got even with him,” I said as I looked at the strange coin.
“No. I never got even. Not ever.”
I NOTICED THAT Dad kept a stack of gun catalogues and hunting magazines in his room. I wondered why a one-armed man would be interested in guns. He’d been a good shot before he went into the army, but now? I wasn’t brave enough to ask, but one day he showed me a picture of a rifle in one of the catalogues.
“Just look at this beauty, Harry. It’s a Savage Bolt Action Repeater. I’d sure like to have a gun like that. It costs $21.00. I may just order me one.”
“You would? What would you do with it, Dad?” I said that too fast, and was afraid that I’d touched a sore spot with him.
His face took on that distant look he got when he relived something in his past. “I had a good eye, Harry. The best in my unit. I could plug the ace of spades at fifty paces.”
“If you’d get a shotgun instead, maybe you could let me use it, Dad. You could teach me how to hunt.” I got to thinking that, at long last, I might get to handle a gun, go hunting with it. I’d wanted one for a long time. Lots of the other boys had guns. And after all, what could my father do with it?
Still lost in his thoughts, Dad didn’t answer right away. Finally he snapped out of it and said, “Nah, not likely Harry.” Then he got up and left the room.
Even though Gram had warned me not to get my hopes up, this was one of those times when I did. I so much wanted a father who would take me hunting or fishing, or even talk to me about it. I had to keep telling myself that it wasn’t going to happen. He was never going to be like my old dad, and I had to quit hoping he would change. I moped around for a while, riding my bike all over town, going nowhere in particular, Buster following with his tongue hanging out. Then I remembered I had to relieve Polly at the store so she could eat dinner.
“Dad’s talking about getting a rifle,” I told her.
“Whatever for?” she said. “What’s a one-armed man supposed to do with a rifle?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I wish he’d teach me how to shoot.”
“I don’t know, Harry. He’s so peculiar anymore. I’d hate to see him with a gun. No telling what he might do. You just never know which way the wind will blow with him.”
It was true. He seesawed back and forth between being somewhat normal, and then going off on one of his rants about the Germans, the French, or the Catholics. Polly had pretty well separated herself from Dad. She didn’t go to see him. Once in a while Gram invited him for Sunday dinner, but Polly didn’t even try to talk to him. She was disgusted with him.
My sister had finished the eighth grade and had no interest in going on to school, so she quit, and Gram made her clerk in the store every day. It wasn’t very good for the store. Polly didn’t clean the blade after she sliced meat. She didn’t sort the produce so the rotten stuff wouldn’t spoil the rest. She never did learn to make change very well, but most folks bought on credit, and she could get that written down okay.
That day, between customers, I started cleaning up the mess she’d left. It gave me a chance to chew on my talk with Dad. He was being selfish and mean to me, and it made me sore. I was his boy. Why couldn’t he help me the way other dads did? I needed to be able to hunt, and I needed him to teach me. It wasn’t so much to ask. I griped to Polly about it when she came back after dinner.
“Harry, you’ve got to quit thinking about it. You’ll just get yourself into a stew.”
She was right. I was going to have to get over it, force myself to forget and let it go, but it was hard.
“Maybe I can talk Vince into taking you hunting this fall,” Polly said in an effort to cheer me up.
Vince LeBeau was a tall, dark-haired fellow, part Indian and part French. He’d been hanging around the store all summer, buying Coke or cigarettes, but mostly flirting with Polly who was supposed to be working. Polly pretended she had no interest in Vince, but I could tell she liked him. She kept her eyes on him and made sure she was the one to wait on him, all smiling and friendly.
Vince and Polly began to see a lot of each other that fall, and nobody was too surprised when they ran off and got married after Polly turned sixteen. She and Vince stopped by the house the day after they eloped to tell us about it and to pack up her things. They couldn’t keep from grinning and blushing as they told their news.
I thought Gram would be upset, but that didn’t seem to be the case.
“Where are you going to live?” she asked.
“We’ve got a couple of rooms in a house near Vince’s folks down in Jefferson,” Polly said. She described the furnishings in her new home, the little stove and two rocking chairs. Her mother-in-law had given her a set of pretty dishes and some pans. When she heard that, Gram, not to be outdone, dug out some embroidered dishtowels and pillowcases.
“But the wedding. Where was it? Did you have a minister, or what?” Gram asked.
“St. Joseph’s,” Polly said. “Father Calhoun married us. She ducked her head and went on. “I didn’t say anything about it before, but I joined the Catholic Church a while back.”
“Really,” Gram said. “You joined the church?”
“Dad doesn’t know about this,” Polly said. “I’m afraid to tell him. He’ll be mad about me joining the Catholics. Will you tell him for me, Harry?” Her cheeks were pinked up from the excitement of it all, and I thought she looked really pretty.
I didn’t look forward to doing that, but Gram thought I should. I never knew Gram to be chicken-hearted before, but it was plain she didn’t want to face my dad over this. I thought about it for a while after they left, and then I got out my bike, dreading what I had to do. As I rode to McVay’s, I practiced the words I would use. Sally answered the door, drying her hands on her apron. She gave me her sweet smile.
“C’mon in, Harry. I’m glad to see you.”
I took a big breath and crossed the threshold.
Dad was sitting in her kitchen finishing his dinner. I went up to him, but I was so nervous I forgot my planned words and just blurted out the news.
“Polly got married, Dad.”
“What? What did you say?”
>
“I said Polly got married. To Vince LeBeau.”
“Who? LeBeau? That’s a French name. Did she marry a Frenchman?” He jumped up, his eyes wide, and came right at me. A fright went through me, and for a second I thought he might hit me.
“I think he’s just part French, Dad, and part Indian.”
“Is he Catholic?” He clenched his good fist.
I was too scared to answer, so I just nodded.
“She married a Catholic? And a Frenchman to boot? Doesn’t she have any sense? Why did Gram let her do that?”
My voice was shaky, but I managed to say, “She ran away, Dad. Anyway, Vince is a pretty good guy.”
“I don’t believe it. Not for one minute. They’re never any good. No damn good, whatsoever. This would never have happened if her mother were alive.”
Sally put a hand on his arm, but he shook her off.
“I hope she had sense enough not to join the Catholic Church.”
I didn’t have the courage to tell him about that, so I kept my mouth shut.
He commenced yelling and stomping around the kitchen. “Will you tell me why she did that? Why would she marry a damn Frog? One of those bead mumblers?” Sally retreated to a corner of the room, twisting her apron, a look of shock on her face.
“Probably gives his money to a man in a dress to buy more statues. And candles. And they probably sit around drinking wine after that.”
He carried on about the Catholics and the French, and about everything else for several minutes, saying the same ugly things over and over. Finally I just stopped listening. I didn’t pay much attention to him anymore when he got like this because he had such a big chip on his shoulder, and I was tired of it. I turned around and let myself out the door. He was still muttering to himself as I left.
I rode by Great-Aunt Lida’s house. She always had fresh baked cookies, and I figured she’d offer me some. Then I saw through the kitchen window that she and Gram were drinking coffee and, no doubt, gossiping about the elopement. I’d had enough of that, so I went to the store where several of Granddad’s pals were standing around. Ory Gabel was there too. They were talking Prohibition. Granddad said, “I don’t see how the government can spend money trying to shut down a little place like mine.”
“The ‘dries’ got the upper hand,” Walter said. “They got so stiff-necked ‘cause the WCTU goaded them into it. You watch. We’ll all pay more taxes for this mess.”“Wait a minute, gents.” Ory spoke up. “Maybe it’s part of God’s plan to help us get rid of the temptations that make us do evil things. Did you ever think of it that way?”
The men groaned and looked away. After a minute, Bill Nelson said, “That’s not
the only problem. I hear the Ku Klux Klan is getting organized. Somebody burned a cross up by Plankinton.”
“Is that right?” another said. “I hate to think what that bunch might do.”
That sounded like scary stuff, and I wanted to hear more. Just then, some women came into the store. The men said no more and began to clear out.
I finally found some of my buddies, and we went over to Harold Swanson’s pasture for a game of baseball. We didn’t have enough kids for teams, so we played workup. Pretty soon a bunch of girls came to watch. I wanted to bat a home run to show off in front of Carol Ann, but I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn that day. Instead I tapped a little foul ball that landed in a fresh cow pie, and I had to clean it off while everybody laughed.
That was the way this day had been, and I was just as happy when it ended.
SCHOOL WAS BECOMING tiresome, and I felt relief when I finally made it through the eighth grade. My teacher, Mrs. Morris was cleaning up her schoolroom on the last day of the term, and she’d asked me to stay after.
“I just want to ask, Harry, what your plans are now that you’ve finished eighth grade.” She stretched her substantial figure and began to erase the blackboard. I jumped up to help her as I had done so many times before.
“My granddad is anxious for me to work in his grocery store, so I guess that’ll be it.”
“Harry, you’re a smart and enterprising boy. I realize your grandparents need you right now, but have you thought about what you want to do? In the future?”
“I think about it all the time, Mrs. Morris. I’d really like to make something of myself, but I can’t figure out how to do it.
“Have you thought about high school, Harry? You’ve got a good head for figures. I can imagine you doing something in business, maybe banking, when you’re older. You need to go further with your education, though, so you won’t be stuck.”
I tried to imagine myself going to high school. Most of the boys I knew quit school as soon as they finished the eighth grade, and that’s what I assumed I would do too. My brothers and Polly all left school the minute they could, and it seemed like they were living more grownup lives than I was. I envied that. Still, I could see that whatever they were doing now was about what they would be doing the rest of their lives. I wondered if high school could make a difference for me. Maybe it would be right thing.
THE EIGHTH-GRADE GRADUATION ceremony would be at the Beaverton High School for all the schools in Union County. Of course Gram and Granddad couldn’t go because of the store. My dad wasn’t likely to show up either, so I wouldn’t have any family there like the other kids. I decided not to go.
Carol Ann stopped by the store a couple of days beforehand to buy a Coke. “Are you ready for graduation?” she said.
“Oh, I think I’ll skip it.”
“Harry, you have to go to graduation. Everybody else is going. You don’t want to be the only one to miss it, do you? It’ll be fun.”
“Maybe for you.”
“Oh, come on. Please go. You can ride with us.” She came over and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward her. “Pretty please, Harry?”
I couldn’t resist her. “I swear, Carol Ann. You could talk me into just about anything!”
The next day I got dressed up and rode with the Bellwoods to the Beaverton High School. We graduates sat in alphabetical order in the front of the assembly hall chattering nervously. Three men stepped onto the stage and the room got quiet. One of them prayed a while and then another one, who said he was the principal, made a speech. I didn’t like the looks of that man. His eyes were small and set close together. His mouth twisted into a sneering expression, I was bored with his speech and glad when he finally quit.
We lined up backstage and, I have to admit, I was eager as we stood waiting to walk across the stage to receive our diplomas. I heard the superintendent call out “Carol Ann Bellwood” and I could see a little bit of her in her new pink dress way ahead of me. I was happy for her and glad I’d decided to come.
Then everything changed. I didn’t mean for it to happen. Just before my name was called, I started to feel pressure in my lower regions. I was mortified and my face went hot. I wanted to fold myself into those black velvet curtains and never be seen again. But the line kept moving forward and I had to move along with it. Finally I heard the superintendent say my name, “Harry Lyle Spencer.” I bent over some and walked as fast as I could. I grabbed the diploma from the man’s hand and used it to cover up my embarrassment, and scooted off the other side. I was sure everyone in the audience had noticed. The Bellwoods. Carol Ann. Everyone. Why did this have to happen today, of all days? It had been a problem lately, especially if I was up in front of the class. But why today?
I made a beeline for the restroom and just stood around for a while waiting for my body to settle down. I didn’t want to leave, but I couldn’t stay in there all day. Finally I made up my mind to act like nothing had happened.
People had gathered in the lobby where some of the mothers had arranged cookies and punch for a party. I slipped in among them, and nobody said anything except Carol Ann who wondered where I went.
“Where do you suppose I went?” I said all smart-alecky.
“Oh,” she said, and changed the subject. “Let’s look a
round. The principal said we should if we were planning on high school.” We spent the next hour looking into classrooms, the gym, and especially at all the typewriters. I was impressed.
WHEN I GOT home that afternoon after the ceremony, I asked Gram, “What would you think if I decided to go to high school?”
She turned quickly. I could tell I’d surprised her.
“I don’t know about that. Nobody in this family has ever done it.” It sounded like she was buying time to think it over. “I thought you were sick of school. Couldn’t wait for it to end.”
“I was. I was tired of this little country school, but we looked at the high school today. There’s a shop where they teach wood working, and an indoor basketball court. I think it might be fun to go there.”
She gave me one of her stern looks. “Well, it better be for more than fun.” Then she was quiet a moment. “It would sure be different from what your brothers did.”
“I know, but I’m not like them.” After Eddie and Gabe quit school they found a couple of sisters and started courting them. I liked Ramona and Esther. They were farm girls who loved to dance and have fun. It seemed in no time, they planned a wedding and got married in a double ceremony.
“No, you’re not like them. I feel kinda sorry for them, living over there in Iowa on that ramshackle rented farm,” she said. “No money for cattle or equipment. They wouldn’t have been able to put in a crop if their Uncle Lyle hadn’t loaned them some money. Pretty soon they’ll start having babies, and it’ll be hard for them to get ahead.”
She went on. “I don’t know what to say about high school? We’d kind of assumed that you would spend more time in the store once you got out of school. Because of Polly going off and getting married.”
Gram didn’t exactly discourage me about high school, but I could tell she was thinking about what to do if I couldn’t work so much at the store. Then I had an idea. Ty was the only one of us left with Uncle Lyle and Aunt Hazel. He was a shy, bashful fellow, and I felt sorry for him staying there.
