Amazing Grace Page 2

“Shoo-Shoo Baby” set Johnny wiggling like nobody I’d ever seen. He slapped his knees, flapped his arms, twisted and turned and flipped and flopped, bouncing to the music in his own style of a hoedown.

  As Daddy adjusted the dial to get better sound, he said, “Some folks say an Italian named Marconi invented the radio back in 1895, but other folks say it was none other than Mr. Nathan Stubblefield over at Murray, Kentucky. Word has it that Stubblefield showed off his radio a good three years earlier, in 1892.”

  “Did Mr. Stubblefield talk or play music the first time he showed off his radio?” I asked.

  “I heard he spoke a few words and then played a French harp,” Daddy answered. He fiddled with the dial, and more music flowed out.

  I stopped dancing when the music stopped, but Johnny never slowed down. A man’s voice inside the box talked about the singer, Judy Garland. He said Miss Garland played Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. I loved that book. Then he said, “Here’s a song sung by none other than Miss Garland herself, along with Gene Kelly.”

  I was almost afraid to breathe, afraid I’d miss a note, as I listened to their warm-buttered voices sing “For Me and My Gal.”

  After the song finished playing, I moseyed over and laid my hand on the magic box, feeling the thrill of the touch. The voice in the box talked about Berkeley razor blades being the sharpest.

  “That’s the kind I use,” Daddy said. He listened, like me, to every word coming out of the wireless.

  A knock at the door caught our attention. Grandma’s next-door neighbor, Dorothy, had dropped by. Dorothy tuned her ears to the wireless for a few minutes and vowed and declared that she was getting a radio before the week was up, if she could find one. “Radios are hard to come by with the war going on,” she said.

  We listened to the ventriloquist Edgar Bergen and his dummy, Charlie McCarthy. Johnny giggled and slapped his leg at their jokes. Other neighbors stopped by to listen and talk about the war. All took a shine to the wireless—all but Grandma.

  “There’s nothing to be gained by listening to a talking box,” Grandma said as she sat down on her settee and picked up her knitting. “That wireless is a waste of time and money. A pure and simple waste.”

  Daddy laughed. “Ma, you’ll grow to love the wireless. Just give it some time to get used to.”

  “Son, I’ve done all the growing I’ve a mind to,” Grandma declared. “I’m much too old to get used to new foolishness.”

  Daddy turned a knob, and the music swirled louder, filling the house with “A Lovely Way to Spend an Evening” by Frank Sinatra. Daddy held Mom’s hand and danced around the parlor, into the kitchen and back again. They swayed as smoothly as honey dripping from a jar and looked as sweet.

  When a slow tune began to play, Daddy said, “Let’s dance, Gracie Girl.” He and I swayed around the settee in what he called a waltz. We glided across the room as if we were floating on air.

  But when Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra played “Boogie Boogie,” Daddy grabbed Johnny. They hopped and skipped, pranced and danced, romped and stomped out on the front porch and back. Johnny squealed with laughter and clapped his hands.

  When the next song played, Grandma walked into the kitchen and set plates and glasses on the table for supper. Daddy followed. He took Grandma’s hand, bowed at the waist and said, “Ma’am, may I have this dance?”

  “I’ll have no part of this foolishness,” Grandma said, sliding her hand out of Daddy’s grip. “That talking box is nothing more than a way to while away your time. No good will come of it. Mark my words and see.” Grandma went back to setting the table, this time with forks and knives.

  The music stopped inside the wireless. A voice began talking about World War II. Daddy stopped laughing and sat down to listen.

  Chapter 3

  The Letter

  Sunday morning, I awoke early with the music from the wireless still playing in my head. The beat reached clear down to my feet as I foot-tapped, high and wide, into the kitchen for breakfast. I twirled around the corner, humming “For Me and My Gal.”

  When I looked up, I saw Daddy, Mom and Grandma huddled together in the kitchen reading the letter—the very same letter Daddy and Mom had read at home on Saturday. Spending time with Grandma had been as sweet as her apple pie. I hoped the news in Daddy’s letter wouldn’t turn our world sour.

  They read and whispered low, so low I could not hear a word. With all the excitement of the wireless, I had completely forgotten about the mysterious letter. A shudder shivered my spine as I looked at my family. Grandma usually wore an easy smile, but the way her face looked this morning, nothing less than a chisel could lay a smile on those lips. Something about that letter made me freeze up inside, and I stopped swinging and swaying. I stood there, frozen still, afraid to ask what was in the letter, afraid to know.

  Daddy looked up and saw me. He lifted me off the floor for a big hug as Johnny dashed through the door. Daddy eased me back down. “Gracie Girl, I’ve got something to tell you,” he said. He grabbed my hand and Johnny’s and led us into the parlor, where we parked ourselves on the settee. Daddy’s face usually breaks with a smile when he sees Johnny and me, but not today. I didn’t know what was wrong, but if Daddy was sad, I was miserable.

  Daddy unfolded the letter with the rip in the bottom edge. Now that he was about to reveal the mystery, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Sometimes the most interesting part of a mystery is the not knowing. Before I could explain that I wanted to keep the mystery a mystery, Daddy started talking.

  “Uncle Sam has called me,” Daddy began. “I’ll be gone from home for a few months. While I’m away, you and your Mom will live here with Grandma.” Daddy looked from me to Johnny to Mom to Grandma.

  “I don’t know Uncle Sam,” Johnny said. “Where does he live?”

  “Uncle Sam is another name for our big old wonderful country, the United States of America,” Daddy explained. He went on to tell us all that he would be joining the U.S. Army to become a solider. He didn’t know where he’d be going or for how long, and he hated leaving us but knew it was his duty to help protect the country. “If I’m protecting our country, I’m protecting my family, and I want to do what’s right,” he said, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

  Fear engulfed me. My heart thumped a little too loud and a little too fast. Daddy talked more, but the thump-thump-thump drowned out his words. In my whole life, my whole eleven years, I had never spent one night away from Daddy. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My mind was all muddled up, like whenever the teacher said we were going to have a test and I hadn’t studied, only worse. I could live with a test gone bad, but life without Daddy? I never figured on that.

  I don’t know how long we sat there, not saying a word. I was trying not to think of Daddy leaving, but the more I tried not to think, the more the thought stuck. Panic set in.

  “I don’t want you to go,” I finally whispered. A whisper was the only voice I could find. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what Daddy had to say.

  “I have to, Gracie Girl,” Daddy answered. “You’ll be fine with your mom and grandma and Johnny. Before you know it, I’ll be back home. You’ll see. I know you will behave and be brave. I’m counting on you, my big girl.” Daddy hugged me tight.

  Then Daddy looked at Johnny and hauled my little brother up to sit on his lap. I noticed Daddy didn’t say he was counting on Johnny to behave. Good thing, too. Johnny could pester the living daylights out of a fence post.

  Mom smiled at me. “We’ll be fine, Grace Ann. Your father, grandmother and I have decided that the best thing for all of us is to stay here. We’ll miss your daddy, but we’ll be okay because we’ll all be together.” Mom’s smile looked like it might crack open at any second and leave nothing but a teary waterfall.

  I looked at Grandma. She caught a cheerful face and held it. “Nothing will make me happier than to have you, Johnny and your mom staying with me.” I knew Grandma meant every word she said. I knew she wanted us living w
ith her, but Grandma’s house is not home. No place is home without Daddy.

  Daddy pulled me close again. “You’ll be fine. You’ll like your new school. Just give it some time to get used to.”

  My mind began to race. A new school? I didn’t expect this to change, especially since I hadn’t finished this school year. My best friend, Lily, was at my school. I didn’t know anyone at the new school, and I started to worry that my whole life was about to be flipped upside down.

  My fingers grabbed my hair. Ever since I could remember, I twisted my hair when my tummy turned jittery as Jell-O. What if no one wanted to be my friend? What if I didn’t like my new teacher?

  Tears dribbled down my face. I tried to stop crying and be brave, but my chin quivered and tears spilled harder. I looked at Johnny. Johnny stared straight back at me. When he saw my tears, his own boiled over. The idea of Daddy leaving didn’t sit too well with Johnny, either.

  Mom, Daddy and Grandma hugged us and assured us that everything would be fine.

  “Living with Grandma and a new school and routine will work out,” Mom said.

  I knew exactly how Grandma felt when she said she was too old to get used to anything new. I liked living in our house in Hazard with my own room and with Daddy home. I didn’t want to get used to new things like a house and school and, most of all, friends. And especially, more than anything else, I didn’t want to get used to living without Daddy every day. I was positive I would never, ever get used to that.

  I wanted to complain. I wanted to cry. I wanted to punch something. Usually I wanted to punch Johnny. Usually he deserved it, but right then even Johnny looked too sad to punch.

  “Today,” Daddy said, “we are going home to get our belongings.”

  Daddy’s words pierced like a needle, punching holes that filled me with a trembling fear and sudden uncertainty.

  Chapter 4

  The Move

  A cold rain pecked at the windshield of the Hudson as Daddy drove us back to our house in the mountains, near Hazard. When we pulled up, I jumped out of the car and ran behind the house to check on Spot. He must have heard us coming because he came running too. As I threw out my arms to give him a hug, Spot, muddy paws and all, leaped at me. After the hugging was over, my shirt looked like I’d been in a mudball fight, but I was so pleased to see him, I didn’t mind.

  I hurried inside where Johnny and I pitched in to help pack. I boxed up everything I owned, carefully placing my belongings alongside one another in the boxes we had been given.

  “Grace Ann, the clothes that are too small for you go in a box for Sandra,” Mom said. Sandra was a little girl who lived up the road. “Box up half your dolls and stuffed animals, too. Grandma’s house is small, so keep only your favorites. Johnny, you need to do the same. Only keep half.”

  Johnny’s back was turned to Mom as she told us to give away half of our things. She didn’t see the squished-up face he made. I didn’t say anything because I knew exactly how he felt. I loved all my dolls, from Cinderella to Raggedy Ann, and I didn’t want to part with any of them. I lined up the dolls on my bed and divided all ten of them into keepers and goners.

  My favorite doll was Raggedy Ann. I’d played with her so much over the years she sure was raggedy, but I loved her even more with her worn-out dress and chocolate-smudged face. I gently placed Miss Raggedy Ann in the keeper box. My curly red-haired doll I got for Christmas, a jewelry box and a ceramic dog that looked like Spot followed.

  The hard part was next: filling the goner box. With each doll I dropped into the box, I felt a little sadder. I knew we were all giving up things to help the war effort, but it just didn’t seem fair. I knew dolls didn’t have feelings, but leaving them behind was like telling them I didn’t love them anymore. A tear splashed from my face down onto the face of my fairy princess doll. I watched the tear trail down her cheek, too. Saying goodbye is hard, even for dolls. I closed my eyes and tossed the rest of my dolls in the goner box. I didn’t want to see any more sad faces.

  My clothes came next. I tried on blouses, dresses and pants. My favorite dress, a blue-and-white plaid, was too tight to zip. I sucked in my tummy, didn’t breathe and tried to zip again. Still too tight. I threw it in the Sandra box. I kept trying on clothes, keeping some, tossing others, until I was down to a pair of black pants that I didn’t like. I tried them on. They fit. I pooshed out my belly. They still fit. I pulled them off and sneaked them under the dresses in the Sandra box.

  I had packed all my clothes that were going to Grandma’s when Johnny walked into my bedroom. “I’m finished,” he said. “Want some help?”

  Was my brother feeling well? Johnny had never offered to help me do anything, ever, in his whole life—anything that involved work, that is. I pointed to my folded quilt and sheet and told him he could stuff them in a box that Mom had brought in earlier.

  “Okey-dokey,” he answered, sounding happy to help. Mom came in and grabbed the box of clothes for Sandra.

  I gathered my precious knickknacks—a framed picture of Daddy, Mom, Johnny, Spot and me at a picnic in our backyard; a basket that held my pencils and crayons; and my favorite drinking cup with a picture of a horse on the side. I stuffed my books in another box. When I looked around a few minutes later, Johnny was gone. So were my dolls and knickknacks.

  “Johnny,” I yelled. “What’d you do with my keeper box?”

  Johnny walked back into my room. “I handed it to Daddy,” he answered. He looked all big-eyed and innocent. I’d seen that look before; there’s nothing innocent about it.

  “Did you tell Daddy to load my keeper box in the truck or to give it away?” I asked in a stern voice.

  Johnny looked at me, not saying a word. I knew right then I’d better check out the box with my things, and fast.

  “Daddy!” I screamed, running out of the house. “Where’s my box of dolls I’m keeping?”

  “I put all the toys and clothes right there in the truck bed,” Daddy said and pointed to a box stuffed with toy cars and trucks that belonged to Johnny. “Jasper Roxman, a man I work with, hauled off all the stuff we’re not keeping.”

  I searched box after box. My toys were long gone, every last one. My brother would be, too, as soon as I caught up with the sneaky little brat. Mom said we could keep half of our toys. He gave mine away and boxed up all of his. He figured the half we kept would be his.

  “Mom,” I cried. “My dolls are gone. All my dolls, my jewelry box and my stuffed bear. I can’t sleep without my teddy bear.” Aside from the struggle I was having with Daddy leaving, now all of my belongings were being taken away. Through sniffles, I told her what Johnny had done.

  “You can have half of Johnny’s toys,” Mom said. “And you can choose the half.”

  I didn’t want Johnny’s toys. I wanted mine and couldn’t understand why we were rationing all of our things.

  Daddy loaded our belongings into a truck he had borrowed from a man he worked with at Max’s Sawmill and Lumber. I watched him drive up the road and out of sight toward Ashland, wishing I could turn back the hands on the clock.

  I hugged Spot tight as we crawled into the back seat of our Hudson. Johnny sat up front as Mom drove us away. I turned around and gazed out the back window, grabbing one last look at how life used to be.

  “We will be okay,” I whispered to Spot. “Your doghouse will be outside my window at Grandma’s house. At night, I can raise the window and tell you goodnight. Won’t that be nice?” I wanted my words to sound like our world would be fine, but in my heart I didn’t believe it.

  Spot whimpered. In dog talk, that meant he didn’t believe it either.

  “Mom, can we stop by Lily’s house so I can tell her goodbye?” I asked. “I won’t stay long, I promise.”

  Mom answered with a smile in the rearview mirror.

  A few minutes later, we stopped at my best friend’s house. “I’ll miss you, Lily,” I told her as we stood on her front porch. My fingers found their way to my hair and bega
n twisting. “We’re moving to Ashland, Kentucky.”

  Lily’s big blue eyes filled with tears. “I’ll miss you too, Grace.” She hugged me and said, “Wait a minute.”

  Lily rushed into her house and came back out with a box. She removed the lid and showed me a small, red heart painted on the inside. “It’s a memory box. Every time you see this heart, you’ll think of me.”

  I thanked Lily for the box and wished I had something to give her. We hugged one last time before we waved goodbye. I wondered if I would still be her best friend when I came back home.

  Chapter 5

  My New Life

  The inky sky twinkled as we arrived at Grandma’s house. I took Spot around to the back of the house and showed him where Daddy had placed his doghouse. Spot sniffed and walked around the trees, checking out the place.

  “Grace Ann, lend a hand,” Mom called out.

  I hurried into the house and helped Daddy, Mom and Grandma shift around the furniture so all our stuff would fit. I toted my boxes into my new bedroom and couldn’t believe my eyes. My teddy bear! I had brought it to Grandma’s when we came last Saturday. I bearhugged that furry critter and danced, danced, danced.

  My bedroom was smaller than my room at home, and I had to share it with my brother, the pest. I even had to sleep by the window. I sort of liked that part because Spot slept outside beneath my window, but that’s all I liked.

  I covered my bed with a Sunbonnet Sue quilt and covered Johnny’s with his favorite train quilt. I watched where I stepped because Johnny was messy. Sometimes it felt like I had three brothers to clean up after instead of one. He also snored. I knew because he snored in the Hudson on the trip here. Loud snores, like a hog snorting. Mom said Johnny had a cold and would quit snoring when his nose cleared up.

  I looked at him and grunted, “OINK, OINK.”

  “You’d better put your stuff out of my sight,” I warned him. “If you don’t, I’m going to take half of it and give it away, like you did with all my toys.” I squinted my eyes so he’d know I meant business.