Doing My Part

alone. I imagine her sitting over there missing her son, and I feel a little ashamed for thinking my own problems are so big. There’s no light from her kitchen window. She won’t be checking on her garden tonight either. In this heat, it will wilt quickly if no one tends it. She has little enough to eat as it is. I make up my mind what I should do.

  Grandma has made it clear I should leave Mrs. Osthoff alone, but sometimes you gotta help people even when they don’t think they want you to. Maybe that’s why Hal told his friends his plan. Maybe he wanted someone to stop him, and I just didn’t act fast enough. I wait until the radio goes silent and I hear Grandma and Grandpa close their bedroom door, and then I wait fifteen minutes more until I hear Grandpa’s snores on the other side of my wall. Then I sneak down the stairs and out the back. I grab the watering can and fill it at the back sink, hoping no one will come down to check when they hear the water running. But no one does, so I push open our back gate, cross the alley and step over the foot-high wall that edges Mrs. Osthoff’s property.

  In the light of the moon, I water that little garden, squatting down to pick out a weed or two from around the carrots and beets and small cabbage heads. When I’m finished, I hurry back to my own yard, careful to put the can back exactly as I found it. I get that old feeling that I’m being watched, but when I look back toward Mrs. Osthoff’s windows, I see nothing. The garden will need more than one can of water, I realize. Tomorrow evening I’ll use the hose to fill the can and a pail or two before everyone goes to bed, so I don’t have to risk the noise again.

  I’m feeling better now. Grandpa once told me that growing up doesn’t mean we stop making mistakes, it means we start making up for the mistakes we make.

  9 - The Spy

  The following Saturday afternoon, I return from running an errand for Grandma to find all thirteen members of the Hayden’s Valley Women’s Club perched in chairs in my backyard. They look very summery in their lightweight cotton dresses in floral prints, fanning themselves and drinking lemonade from tall glasses. Mother nods me over, and I drop down on the grass at her feet.

  “Did you return the books to the library?” Grandma asks.

  “Yep. Oh and they’re doing a rubber drive at the filling station, Grandma,” I say. “They’re collecting all kinds of things. Garden hoses, baby dolls, even girdles.”

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Anderson says. “Well, they can certainly have mine if they want it.”

  As the rest of the women joke about what other undergarments they’d love to get rid of, Mother leans down and asks me, “Did you see Janie in town?”

  “No. I went by her house, but she wasn’t home. Mrs. Brey says they’ve had a telegram from Hal, though. He’s headed to basic training, but he didn’t say where. I guess he’s still afraid they’ll try to find him. I told Mrs. Brey again how sorry I am, and she said it wasn’t my fault. I guess Janie still thinks it is though. I’m sure that’s why she quit her job at Westclox.”

  “She’ll come around,” Mother says. “Friends always do.”

  I rest my arms lightly across Mother’s lap and lean my chin on my arms. If her hands were free, she’d rub my back as she’s done since I was a little girl, when we used to sit like this and listen to Little Orphan Annie on the radio.

  “How’s your job, Helen?” Mrs. Anderson says, and I raise my head.

  “It’s fine,” I say, and it is right now, except that Janie’s gone. But Martha left on Wednesday to visit her mother in Chicago and won’t be back for a week. Without her at work, Betty seems to have lost her courage for stirring up trouble. Rita is back from her quick honeymoon, and she’s smiling again, and the line is moving along nicely.

  “Well, your mother tells us you’ve been working awfully hard this summer,” Mrs. Anderson continues. “She’s quite proud of you.”

  “Yes, we’re all proud of her,” Grandma interrupts. “Now if she’d only put as much effort into her chores at home. Was there something I asked you to do before you left, Helen?”

  I blush as I remember the wash I was supposed to hang on the line.

  “Sorry, Grandma,” I say, sitting up.

  “Oh don’t be too hard on her, Kate. This is an exciting time for young girls,” Mrs. Land says. “My own Maxine went to a dance in Streator the other day with her cousin and met a soldier there. Said she danced with him all night. She was wearing her navy blue jacket dress, the one with the organdy trim. That dress would look quite fetching on you, Helen. I’m sure Maxine would let you borrow it sometime, but of course you’re too tall for it.”

  I start to slouch, just like I always do when someone mentions my height, but Mother nudges me with her knee, and I straighten back up. Then, thankfully, Mother changes the subject.

  “We’re meeting here to decide on a service project, Helen. We’re going to knit socks and mufflers for the soldiers. Grandma says she’ll teach you how to knit if you want to help.”

  Before I can answer, a high, piercing scream splits the air. The fans stop in the women’s hands, and all eyes turn to Mrs. Osthoff’s house.

  “That woman,” Mrs. Fuller says. “Will she never let up?”

  “She lost her son,” Mother says quietly. “I expect that gives her reason to be upset.”

  “Now, Barbara, she carried on like that before Frederick died. You know that. If you ask me, she’s pining away for her homeland, wishing she could go back.”

  “Then you think it’s true what they say?” Mrs. Land asks. “You think she’s some sort of German spy?”

  “Well, I don’t know. But take a look at that weather vane atop the house. Do you see that it’s stuck? My Stanley pointed that out. And it’s facing north, right toward the center of town. Could be a signal, don’t you think? For the Nazi bombers?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I hear myself say. The women all turn to look at me with surprise, so I rush to explain. “Grandpa says the German planes won’t come this far inland and, besides, a pilot would need something bigger than a weather vane for a signal. He’d never see something that small from a cockpit. Everyone knows that.”

  “Helen,” Grandma cautions. “Careful of your tone.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandma, but it’s true. If John were here, he’d tell you.” I glare at Mrs. Land. “Mrs. Osthoff is not a spy.”

  “Well, there’s something strange about that woman,” Mrs. Land says. “It’s just not normal keeping oneself shut up like that. Especially not in times like these.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Mrs. Fuller says. “Here we sit, after all, proving our devotion to the war effort, and she’s the one who has something to prove.”

  “Did you invite her to join you?” I ask. “Maybe she would have wanted to knit socks for the soldiers. You didn’t even give her a chance.”

  “Helen,” Grandma Kate says. “That’s quite enough.”

  “Well, it isn’t fair,” I mumble. “Mrs. Osthoff isn’t bothering anyone. Why can’t people just leave her alone?”

  Mrs. Fuller cocks her head and studies me. “Well, I didn’t realize you were so fond of the elusive Mrs. Osthoff, Helen. Why is that?”

  I think back on how Mrs. Osthoff looked when Grandma Kate told her the news about Frederick, how even sitting there with Grandma’s arm around her shoulder she looked so totally alone. It seemed so unfair for one person to suffer so much.

  “I just feel sorry for her, that’s all,” I answer back.

  “I think we all do,” Mrs. Anderson says, smiling at me gently.

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Land continues, taking a sip of her lemonade. “But that weather vane is most certainly stuck.”

  All eyes return to Mrs. Osthoff’s house, and it’s not until Grandma Kate brings up yarn color for the mufflers that the conversation turns back to the war effort. Grandma hands me the knitting patterns she’d brought out and sends me inside to put them away.

  “Bunch of old biddies,” I say to myself as I cross the living room toward Grandma’s favorite chair. As I reach for her kni
tting sack, I realize I’m mad at her too. She could have stood up for Mrs. Osthoff. She knows her better than any of us. But she didn’t. She just sat there rubbing her eyes.

  Grandpa George stirs. I hadn’t noticed him dozing in his chair, the morning newspaper spread across his lap. He sits upright, rubbing his neck.

  “Did I wake you?” I ask.

  “That’s all right,” he says, readjusting his glasses. “I’m just going to finish this paper, then get myself a snack.” He picks up the newspaper and starts to read. I lean across the settee and look out the front window up and down the street. I don’t see any of the neighbor kids. I plop down on the settee, bored, and watch Grandpa read.

  “How’s it going?” I ask. “I mean the war.”

  Grandpa glances at me over the paper. “I didn’t think you were interested.”

  “I wasn’t,” I admit. “I kind of hoped it would all just go away, but that’s not going to happen, is it?”

  “No, it’s not, honey. Things are not going in the Allies’ favor. We’ve got a long, hard fight ahead of us.”

  I go and sit on the arm of his chair as he folds up his newspaper. “Where will John be stationed?”

  “Don’t know yet. We set up a code so he can tell us when he gets there.”

  “How will it work?”

  “He’s going to spell out the name of the base where he’s stationed. Each time he sends a letter to your aunt, he’ll use a different middle initial, and eventually the initials will