Duke

“This poem is called, ‘An Autumn Greeting,’ and it’s by Anonymous.”

  June clapped.

  Hobie cleared his throat.

  “Come,” said the Wind to the Leaves one day.

  “Come over the meadow and we will play.

  “Put on your dresses of red and gold

  “For summer is gone and the days grow cold.”

  Mom applauded. “Very dramatic,” she said.

  “That one was kind of short,” said June. “Thank goodness.”

  “June!” Mom play-spanked her.

  “Wait till you hear the one for next week,” Hobie said. “It goes on forever.”

  “Oh no.” June put her hands over her ears.

  “You two!” Mom began to clear the table. “A little culture will do you both good.”

  Hobie looked at June and crossed his eyes. She pressed Kitty to her mouth to smother her giggle.

  At school the next day, Hobie passed Mrs. Thornton in the hallway as he was returning from the boys’ room.

  “Hobie!” She greeted him warmly. “You haven’t forgotten me, now that you’re a big sixth grader, have you?”

  He felt his face get hot. “No.”

  “What good luck that I’ve run into you.” Mrs. Thornton tugged on the locket at her neck. “I’ve got a bookcase that needs moving. Would you be able to help at lunchtime?”

  “Sure.” Hobie waved. “See you then.”

  Later, as his class lined up for lunch, Hobie saw the principal, Miss Maynard, motion Mrs. Thornton into the hall, leaning into her with a whisper. Mrs. Thornton looked up, startled, then hurried toward the office. As Miss Maynard stepped into the fifth-grade classroom, Hobie heard her say, “Class, I need your attention.”

  Catherine Small carried the news to the sixth-grade lunch table. Her eyes and nose were red and her words came out in jagged chunks. “He was killed in action,” she said. “Mr. Thornton. In Italy.”

  Other girls’ sobs joined Catherine’s. None of the boys could cry, of course. Not at school. But there was plenty of throat clearing.

  Their beautiful movie-star teacher and her movie-star husband. It couldn’t be true. Couldn’t be possible.

  When they returned to the classroom, Mr. Case confirmed Catherine’s report. “I know you children are very fond of Mrs. Thornton,” he said, clearing his own throat several times. “I’m sure you and your families will keep her in your prayers.” He slumped at his desk.

  After a few moments, Dorine raised her hand. “Mr. Case? Shall we work on our essays?”

  He looked startled, as if surprised to find himself in the teacher’s chair. “Yes. Yes. Good idea.” He picked up a pen and began to scribble in the notebook he kept on his desk.

  Somehow the sixth graders made it through the rest of the day. The classroom had been quiet. Too quiet. That all changed the minute the last bell rang, in the cloakroom.

  Mitch flew at Max, tackling him to the ground. “You dirty Kraut!” Mitch screamed. “It’s all your fault.”

  “Knock it off.” Marty struggled to pull Mitch and Max apart. “Max didn’t do anything.”

  A tear ran down Mitch’s face. Hobie saw it before he swiped it away.

  “Dirty Germans,” Mitch yelled. “And he’s one of them.” He drew his fist back. Hobie wasn’t sure what would be left of Max once Mitch got started. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Go ahead,” Max said, getting to his feet. He could have been a cucumber, he was that cool. Hobie had no idea how he could be. He was trembling.

  “Hit me.” Max lifted up his chin.

  Mitch stopped.

  “Max!” Hobie couldn’t help himself. “What are you doing?”

  Catherine rushed up. “What’s going on?”

  Max locked gazes with Mitch. It was a game of chicken. Who would turn away first?

  “I feel as bad as you do,” Max continued, staring right at Mitch. “About Mrs. Thornton.”

  Hobie moved next to his friend, his eyes locked in on Mitch’s, just like Duke that time. “If it makes you feel better, you can hit me, too.” Hobie’s legs were Jell-O, but he didn’t move from Max’s side.

  A few of the other sixth graders crowded closer. Stood alongside Hobie and Max.

  Marty. Preston. Catherine. Dorine.

  Mitch’s fists dropped. “You guys are nutso,” he said. He brushed off his clothes and marched away.

  “You guys are nutso,” Catherie said, punching both Hobie and Max on the arm. But there was pride in her voice. “He could have killed you.”

  Hobie rubbed his arm. “Yeah. Nutso.” He was suddenly very sad. He hadn’t helped Mrs. Thornton with that bookcase.

  “I would’ve punched the first German I saw, too,” Catherine admitted. “If I’d seen one.” She nudged Max with her shoulder.

  Max reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Black Jack gum. He gave Hobie and Catherine each a piece.

  And then he put the pack back in his pocket.

  “You’ll wear out that window,” Mom teased as Hobie made his tenth trip through the front room.

  “You don’t think he got lost?” Hobie asked. Marv wasn’t from Seattle. He might have a hard time finding his way around.

  “He’ll be here soon.” Mom straightened the collar on Hobie’s shirt.

  Hobie ducked away before she could fuss with his hair. He had waited so long for this day to come. And now, finally, finally Duke would be home. Away from the jungle snakes and bugs and Japanese soldiers.

  “Will Duke remember us?” June asked.

  “He’ll remember.” Hobie picked up a comic book, scanning the same page a dozen times. He knew Duke would remember them. What he hoped was that Marv wouldn’t remember the letters. The ones asking for Duke back. That thought tugged Hobie’s spirits down as if it was an anchor as heavy as the one on the Lily Bess.

  Just when he thought he might turn inside out with the misery of waiting, an old jalopy rattled to a stop in front of their house.

  “They’re here!” Hobie tore out the door and down the steps, skidding to a stop at the curb. The driver’s door popped open, and Hobie stepped back. Even though he and Marv had been writing back and forth all this time, they were strangers.

  “Hobie!” Marv slid out from under the steering wheel and out of the car. “Man, it’s good to meet you!” When he smiled, the scar across his cheek and eyebrow puckered. But that smile made Hobie feel at ease. Marv was old — twenty-two — but he looked younger than Hobie thought he would.

  Marv limped a few steps to open the back door. “Here’s the guy you’ve really been waiting for.”

  Duke shook himself in the backseat, and Hobie’s breath caught in his chest. Duke was thinner than when he’d left. More muscular, too. His ears twitched when he saw Hobie and his tail tick-tocked, but he didn’t move.

  “It’s okay, Duke,” Marv said. “Go.”

  At Marv’s words, Duke bounded forward, waggling his long body and licking Hobie all at the same time. A few tears snuck out. Duke licked them away.

  “He sure is glad to be home,” Marv said.

  “Yeah.” Hobie choked the word out.

  Mom stood on the porch, wiping her eyes with her apron. “Come on in, you boys. I’ve got lunch all ready.”

  Marv took the steps one at a time. Step-thump. Step-thump. A ring of white formed around his mouth as he made his way up. But he didn’t say a word. Hobie guessed that his leg must hurt. A lot.

  Mom introduced herself and June, and they all went into the kitchen. Hobie had put Duke’s blanket right by the stove, in his favorite place. But Duke stayed glued to Marv’s side.

  “Hey, boy, no.” Marv gestured with his hand. “You can’t be at the table.” He caught sight of the blanket and told Duke, “Down.” Duke sighed, but padded to the corner and, after turning around three times, flopped on the blanket.

  “Ever since I took that bullet, he doesn’t want to leave me alone,” said Marv. “The darn dog would follow me into the latrine, if I le
t him.”

  “He’s very loyal,” Mom said, setting a big platter of sandwiches on the table.

  “And that’s only the half of it.” Marv took one sandwich.

  “Oh, take another,” Mom said. “You look like you could use some fattening up.”

  “Well, K-rations will do that to you.” Marv opened his napkin. “And various jungle ailments.”

  Hobie took a sandwich when the platter was passed his way. But he wasn’t all that hungry.

  “Will your leg get better?” Hobie asked, peeling off the crust.

  “Hobie!” Mom scolded. She made a face that said, “That’s not a question to ask.”

  “It’s okay, ma’am.” Marv set down his sandwich. “Good buddies can ask each other stuff. And me and Hobie are good buddies.” He leaned forward. “Let me put it this way. The leg won’t get better, but I’ll get better at using it.” Marv glanced over at Duke. “If it weren’t for that guy over there, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

  They all sat quietly for a few minutes. Hobie thought about what Marv had written him from the hospital. What Duke had done to protect Marv. And what he’d done afterward, too, staying with him, bullets flying, until the medics came, despite his own wounds. Tears burned at the back of his eyes. He felt worse than ever about writing those letters.

  Mom poured Marv a cup of coffee. “Dogs truly are a man’s best friend.”

  “You got that right.” Marv took a sip. “Duke and his buddies sure made Uncle Sam proud.”

  Hearing his name, Duke stirred. Hobie watched him watching Marv. Duke’s brown eyes tracked every move Marv made.

  “That was delicious, ma’am,” Marv said. “Thank you so much.” He turned to Hobie. “Hey, buddy. Wanna play some catch?”

  They went outside, Duke on their heels, and tossed the ball back and forth. “You’ve got a good arm there,” Marv told Hobie. He showed him how to get under a pop fly and how to scoop up a grounder. His bum leg didn’t seem to hurt his catching skills.

  Mom called them in for some dessert. Hobie hesitated.

  “Can I ask you another question?” he said.

  “Shoot.” Marv rolled the ball between his hands.

  Mom had warned Hobie not to press Marv about what happened the day he got hurt. But there was something he wanted to know. “You said the lieutenant gave the all clear. What made you know that it wasn’t all clear?”

  “I didn’t know,” Marv said. He tipped his head toward Duke, on the ground next to them. “But he did. It was just like you told me. His ears perked up and I knew there was trouble.” Marv leaned over and scratched Duke’s head. “This guy saved a lot of lives that day.” He sat up and looked at Hobie. “You saved a lot of lives that day.”

  Goose bumps broke out on Hobie’s arms. What if he hadn’t told Marv about Duke’s warning signal? Who knows what would have happened to that patrol. To Marv. To Duke. Thinking about it made Hobie’s hands shake. He tucked them behind his back so Marv wouldn’t see. Who would have thought that doing the right thing could be something as small as writing a letter?

  Writing a letter. Hobie swallowed. Hard. “I wish I hadn’t written those letters,” he said. He couldn’t even look at Marv.

  Marv nodded. “I know.” He winked. “The bit about your sister was good,” he said.

  Hobie’s face burned.

  “Hey.” Marv tapped him on the arm. “Forget about it. If you hadn’t wanted Duke back, I would’ve thought there was something wrong with you. In the end, you did the right thing, Hobie. That’s what counts. Savvy?” He bent down to catch Hobie’s eye. “We’re square,” he said. “More than square.”

  Hobie met Marv’s eyes. He could tell he meant what he was saying. That anchor unhooked itself from Hobie’s heart.

  Duke got up and stretched, head down, hind end in the air.

  “Now, I’ve got a question for you,” said Marv. “Why do dogs run in circles?”

  Hobie grinned. “Because it’s hard to run in squares.”

  Marv chuckled. “Well, I tried.”

  “Are you boys coming in?” Mom called again.

  “For dessert? Yes, ma’am!” Marv made his way slowly and stiffly up the back steps, to the kitchen, where Mom had huge slices of cake waiting for them.

  After the last crumb was devoured, Marv pushed himself off the chair, struggling to stand. “Well, pardner. This was a real nice day. I’m so glad I got to meet you and your family.”

  Marv thanked Mom again for lunch. “I’ve got to take off for now — some things to do in town. But I was wondering if I could come back tomorrow morning, before I go home to Ohio.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “To say good-bye to old Duke here.”

  “Of course!” Mom said. She’d wrapped up some sandwiches and cake and pressed those on Marv.

  But Marv was looking at Hobie. Waiting for him to answer.

  “Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “Of course.”

  “Hey, pard, there’s something I completely forgot to tell you.” Marv shifted to stand on his good leg. “About Duke.”

  Hobie caught his breath. Was Marv going to ask to keep him? And if he did, what would Hobie do?

  “And Missy,” Marv continued. “Even though Uncle Sam said ‘verboten’ to fraternization, those two” — he turned his head away from Mom and June and coughed — “met up. We think it was sometime in Pearl Harbor.” Marv scratched his head. “The upshot is six puppies. Spitting image of their dad.”

  “Puppies?” June said.

  “Yep.” Marv winked. “And there is a little girl named Duchess that will be going home with this soldier” — he jabbed his thumb at himself — “as soon as she gets out of quarantine.”

  “Hobie, are you crying?” June asked.

  “No!” Hobie said. “I’ve got something in my eye.”

  Marv tapped Hobie on the shoulder, then snapped off a salute. “Semper Fi, buddy.” He reached over and stroked Duke’s head. “Semper Fi.”

  The Marine Corps’ motto. Semper Fidelis. Always faithful. Semper Fi. “Semper Fido!” Hobie blurted out.

  Marv laughed. “You said it.” He limped to the door and down the stairs.

  Duke followed.

  Marv pulled open the car door. Duke nosed his way inside. Like he wanted to go, too.

  Hobie froze. Should he call him? Let him come on his own? What if he called and Duke didn’t come? He felt like he was on the Lily Bess, tossed up and down by stormy seas.

  Marv gave Duke a pat. “You take care, buddy.”

  Duke licked Marv’s face. He hopped out of the car and ran to Hobie.

  Marv closed the door, his arm out the open window. “See you tomorrow!”

  Duke barked. Then he dove under the rhody bush, digging up a ball he’d left there who knows when. He trotted up to Hobie, nudging the dirty ball into his hand.

  Hobie’s heart felt like it might float right out of his chest, he was that happy. He ruffled Duke’s fur. Then he took the ball and threw it as far as he could.

  And before it hit the ground, Duke snagged it. He trotted back, ball in mouth, ready for more.

  Just like Hobie.

  On Victory in Europe — V-E — Day, Hobie, Mom, and June got up at six in the morning to listen to President Truman’s speech. Uncle Tryg’s family came over to listen with them.

  The president’s voice was soft and sad as he spoke. “I only wish that Franklin D. Roosevelt had lived to witness this day,” he said, right off the bat.

  That made Mom sniffle and reach for her hanky.

  Uncle Tryg put his hand over his heart. “That was a good man,” he said. “A good man.”

  Hobie got the chills when President Truman talked about the flags of freedom flying all over Europe. Maybe they were flying over Dad, too, in Stalag Luft 1.

  There was a knock at the door. Hobie opened it to find Max and Pepper.

  “Come on!” Max shouted, his arms full of old newspapers.

  Emil, Erik, and Duke ran out the door behind H
obie.

  They shredded the papers into tiny bits. Then they ran up and down the street, tossing the scraps and hollering. Duke and Pepper followed along, howling and barking, howling and barking. Somewhere along the way, the boys found some dented pots and pans that they beat with abandon.

  “Hear, hear!” Mr. Gilbert cheered them on from his porch.

  “Well done,” shouted Mrs. Lee, her hair still in pin curls.

  “Hooray!” called Catherine Small. She came running out of her house to join them. Hobie handed her a fistful of confetti.

  When they ran out of energy and paper, they ended up back at Hobie’s, where Mom was cutting into her freshly baked “Victory coffee cake.” “Who wants the first slice?” she asked.

  At that moment, the doorbell rang. Uncle Tryg set down his coffee cup and went to answer it. He came back holding a telegram. Mom’s face whitened. She read it and then burst into tears.

  Hobie grabbed Duke’s collar.

  Mom pressed her hand to her mouth, handing the telegram over to Uncle Tryg. He read it, then grabbed Mom and spun her around. “Takk Gud!” he shouted. “Thank God!”

  “The camp was liberated! May first!” Mom laughed and cried all at the same time. “Dad’s free!”

  “Free!” cried June, swinging Kitty above her head. “I’m going to give him my spelling ribbons!”

  Uncle Tryg held out the telegram for Hobie to read.

  Dad. A prisoner of war no more. “When’s he coming home?” Hobie asked, trying to take it all in.

  Mom put her hand to her cheek. “A month. Maybe two?” She mussed up Hobie’s hair. “We are going to have quite the party,” she said.

  “I’ll bring cookies,” said Catherine.

  “And I’ll bring Pepper!” cried Max.

  “And I’ll bring the best thing of all,” said Hobie. “My dad.”

  Hobie stepped into the kitchen, sniffing. Mom had two pies cooling and a cake in the oven for Dad’s homecoming party. She brushed her hands on her apron. “I’m nearly out of sugar. Can you run to Lee’s for me?” Of course, she thought of a few other items to add to the grocery list. Hobie would have gladly carted home an elephant, he was that happy.