A Tiny Piece of Sky (12 page)

DADDY CAME HOME LATE
that night.

Frankie heard the creak of the screen door in the kitchen and then Bismarck's toenails on the hardwood floor. She climbed out of bed and stood in the doorway of her room, peeking her head into the dark hall as she strained her ears to listen.

“Hermann,” said Mother. “What happened? Where did you go?”

“Everything's fine, Mildred,” said Daddy. “I had forgotten that I needed to see Fritz about some business matters, is all.”

“Fritz? What business could you have at this hour? And to go without saying anything?” said Mother. “I don't understand. That wasn't like you, Hermann. First Frances disappears and then you? My nerves can't take much more.”

“I should've telephoned, and I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to worry you. It's not good to worry so much, you know. It does no good. No good!” Daddy's voice funneled down the hallway and woke Elizabeth.

“What's going on?” said Elizabeth, rubbing her eyes.

“Nothing,” whispered Frankie. “Daddy came home.”

“Oh, Frankie, go to sleep,” she said.

Frankie ignored her.

“Shh,” Mother said to Daddy. “You'll wake the girls.”

“Whatever is going to happen is going to happen, worry or not worry,” he said.

“Have you been drinking?” said Mother.

“Just one,” he said, and then, “I might've had two, or three, but it was such a small glass it hardly counts.”

“Please tell me,” said Mother, “is something the matter?”

“What could possibly be the matter?” he said. “The place of wide renown is where dreams happen to regular people. The sky above us is as wide as it is high, Millie. We're in the dream business.”

“I thought we were in the food business,” said Mother.

“Everything's been taken care of, dear. Come on, it's been a long day.”

Frankie heard their footsteps heading down the hall. She ducked back inside her room and slid under her covers. Bismarck joined her soon after, walking in circles over the empty spaces on the bed until finally deciding that Joan's pillow was an adequate resting spot. Frankie listened awhile longer but heard nothing more. Not that she could hear much over Bismarck's heavy breathing, but still . . .

Frankie rolled over and was just about to close her eyes when Elizabeth whispered, “Frankie, you still awake?”

“Yeah,” said Frankie.

“Me too.”

THERE WAS SOMEONE ELSE
awake across town.

Mr. Sullen Waterford Price, Esquire, was working on his speech for the July Fourth festivities on the square. He stood in the center of his study and looked at his wife, Mrs. Price, who was perched quite delicately on the edge of their striped Victorian sofa, dabbing her nose with a pink-laced handkerchief and listening intently. Then he began to read.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight as we celebrate our nation's independence, I would like to speak to you about peace in our time, of war being outlawed, and the laying down of arms across the world. That would be appropriate on this fourth day of July, the birthday of this great country: to celebrate peace. But friends, there is evil brewing in the world and there is talk that it may soon reach our shores. Well, I stand before you to tell you that it's already here . . .”

Mr. Price, Esquire, looked up at Mrs. Price at that point. She nodded, blinked her eyes, and dabbed some more at her nose.

After he finished and Mrs. Price went on to bed, he removed a piece of paper from a drawer in his walnut desk and started to do some figuring. First, he tallied the number of campaign posters he had delivered to businesses around town, then he ticked the number of businesses that were displaying his posters in their windows, and lastly—and most severely—he ticked those that weren't.

George Robertson was gaining an edge with some in town, he feared. More of those blasted Robertson signs were cropping up in unexpected places. To shore up his win, his own campaign needed something more. Something that the citizens of Hagerstown couldn't afford to vote against. Something that struck fear in their hearts.

Then he took hold of his Wahl Oxford fountain pen and, emboldened by immense patriotism and sense of duty, wrote down this name: “Hermann Baum.”

June 26, 1939

(Very early in the morning)

Dear Joanie,

I was so happy to have received your letter and am relieved you are not permitted to use Aunt Dottie's tractor. To think of you trying to drive such a thing when I know how much trouble you have with our radio set.

Farm work seems a lot more fun than working in a restaurant kitchen, believe me. I will gladly swap places with you anytime, just say the word.

Dixie and Bismarck say hello, and don't you worry, they are being well cared for by me. (Elizabeth hardly helps at all.)

Things are quite strange here with you gone, I must say. Daddy, for one, has not been himself. Do you know anything about Daddy being a German? I mean, not the bad kind, of course. Does Aunt Dottie talk about Germany at all? I know these are strange questions to ask, but that awful Leroy Price and his father have said some things, and with Daddy acting so strangely, I just don't know what to think. It's hard to think about these things without you here to think them with.

I miss you more-than-tongue-can-tell,

Frankie

June 25, 1939

Dear Frankie,

The postman has not yet delivered your reply to my last letter, but I am writing to you anyway. Writing to you makes me feel like we're in the same place, not miles and miles apart. Oh, how I wish the mail didn't take so many days to arrive.

Everything is so lush and green here, not at all like at home. Aunt Dottie's cornfield and bed of zinnias are so colorful, they nearly hurt my eyes. Honestly, I've been here almost a month now and I still am not used to it.

There are creatures here that I have never before seen or heard. Whistle-pigs, moles, and garter snakes. At night, I fall asleep to the sounds of coyotes and crickets, and in the morning I wake to a symphony of birds, not the pigeons and robins and crows at home, but goldfinches and bluebirds and purple martins.

Aunt Dottie and I went to the county fair a few nights ago. We watched the pig races and rode the carousel. My horse had a green saddle with a matching sash. You would have liked the one done up in robin's-egg blue right beside mine.

But you may be pleased to know that not everything here is enchanting. I made the mistake of telling Aunt Dottie how fond I am of Shirley Temple. She asked me if I'd mind if she fixed my hair in ringlets like Shirley's, and of course, I couldn't say no. I didn't mind so much at first, I confess, thinking it would only be one time. But now, Aunt Dottie wants to curl my hair every day, and to be truthful, I do not know how much more of it I can stand. She's even taken to calling me Shirley. She means no harm, I know, but the whole experience has caused me to sour
on Miss Temple, and for that I know I will never be able to forgive Aunt Dottie.

I hope to receive a letter from you soon.

With sisterly affection,

Joanie

P.S. I am certain you are having great fun at the restaurant, and you will owe me ten cents. (I haven't forgotten our wager.)

“LOOK WHO'S HERE,” SAID
Seaweed, when Frankie pushed open the kitchen door. “Back to join us circus elephants.” He was at the Frigidaires with Mr. Washington, loading in boxes of food. He juggled apples as he pulled them from the box, tossing them into the air two at a time and catching them. Or,
trying
to catch them. He did catch a few, to be sure, but it is a known fact that guitar pickers just don't play ball all that well.

Mr. Washington soon put a stop to the show. “Boy, I ain't gonna tell you again.” He grabbed the apples from him and loaded them into the iceboxes. “More workin', less playin', if you aiming to keep this job.”

“I am,” said Seaweed. “I am.”

Frankie retrieved the guitar string wound in a circle from her dress pocket and handed it to him.

“Held good?” he asked.

Frankie nodded and thanked him.

“You be holdin' good to our deal, too,” he said. “Don't forget, now.”

She hadn't forgotten. She had no plan about how to do it, but she hadn't forgotten.

Then Seaweed started humming the tune of some song that had
notes so low and mournful they sounded like they were climbing out of the dirt. Frankie wondered about that song, and how a boy who acted like such a clown could sing songs in the doldrums. But there was no time to ask. Because Mr. Stannum had a new job for her: cleaning the kitchen windows.

“Believe it or not,” said Mr. Stannum, handing Frankie a metal bucket and a rag, “we should be able to see out those windows. They're covered in about an inch of grime, so you'll have to put some elbow grease into it.”

“Yes, sir.” Frankie stared into the empty bucket.
This is it.
She was convinced. This was what she'd be doing for the rest of the summer: it would take her at least that long to clean the layers of filth off the glass.

She filled the empty bucket with soap and hot water from the spigot and then climbed onto the countertops to reach the windows. She plunged the rag into the bucket and slapped it onto the window. Soapy water dripped down her arm and spilled onto the counter. She wiped her arm on her dress and pushed the rag around the windowpane until the square glass was doused. The dirt, though, stubborn as it was, stayed put.

“Like Stannum say,” shouted Seaweed from the other side of the room, “you got to put your elbow into it.”

Mr. Washington told Seaweed to go on and mind his own business, while Frankie gritted her teeth and pressed harder, until finally some of the grime started to loosen. She kept at it, but man oh day, after a while her arm started to ache. She dropped the rag into the bucket and caught the sweat on her face with her dress collar.

As she gave her arm a rest, she watched Amy scrubbing the floor
and Seaweed and Mr. Washington cleaning the grease traps. She closed her eyes and imagined a cyclone blowing into town and lifting her away to the Land of Oz. She saw herself spinning and spinning way up, up, up into the sky, leaving these dirty windows and the kitchen and the restaurant to the wind.

Good-bye.

Be seeing you.

I'll write as soon as I get there.

“Would you look at that,” said Seaweed, laughing. “She done gone to sleep standin' up. Like a horse.” Instantly, Frankie fell from the sky, and when she opened her eyes, she was right back in Kansas like she'd never even left. Believe me, a drop like that could make a person a little dizzy in the head, and as she shifted her feet to steady herself, her sandal slipped on the wet countertop. Down she went. For real this time.

“Gracious, you all right, girl?” said Amy, kneeling next to her.

Frankie, who'd landed mostly on her backside, had wounded her pride more than her rear end. She got to her feet, wincing a little, and glanced at Seaweed. He was shaking his head at her and could barely hold back his grin. Frankie rubbed her hip. “I'm all right.”

“Maybe you should have you momma tend to you to make sure ain't nothing got broke,” said Amy.

Frankie shook her head. She knew Mother wouldn't settle for anything less than a whole lot of fussing and a trip to the doctor.

“You go on, now,” said Amy. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don't you worry none; if Mr. Stannum asks, I'll tell him your daddy come calling for you.” She winked at Frankie and nodded in the direction of the kitchen door.

Frankie didn't mind a break from the windows, and maybe now was as good a time as ever to talk to Daddy about what else she could do in the restaurant, seeing how dangerous things could be in the kitchen.

When Frankie pushed open the kitchen door, she saw the dining room crowded with workmen, tools, and an inch of sawdust. She found a path by the front door and headed up the stairs, taking them slowly on account of her aching behind.

At the top of the stairs, she glided her hand along the balcony railing until she reached Daddy's office and heard his voice. The door to his office was open partway, and she stood just outside, listening. “He knows nothing about us,” said Daddy. “It's all for show. Simply politics.”

“I think you underestimate him, Hermann,” said Fritz. “Just tell him what he wants to hear and he will leave you alone. Put his sign up in your front window like I did, and you won't have any trouble. We have to be very careful these days.”

“You don't think I'm being careful?”

“All I'm saying is that you shouldn't give Price any reason to be suspicious. What about the box? You don't have it somewhere he could find—I mean, if he or anyone saw where it came from—”

“No, no,” interrupted Daddy. “I took your advice and put it someplace safe, out of town.”

“Good,” said Fritz. “Now come to your senses about Price, hear? I better get back. See you tonight.”

Frankie bolted from the door and took the stairs four at a time. She didn't stop until she got to the kitchen, which was, incidentally,
where Mr. Stannum was, asking about her. Amy was saying something to him, but what, exactly, Frankie didn't know, because all she could think about was what she had just heard. Why did Daddy have to be careful? And perhaps most important, what was in the box and why did he have to hide it?

DADDY CAME HOME LATE
that night. And more than a few nights after that. Frankie had gotten good at staying awake way past the time she'd normally drift off, for it was easy to stay awake when you're trying to make sense of what's going on with Daddy and at the same time thinking of ways to prove to everyone that you don't belong in the kitchen, that you could do other, more important things if only you had the chance.

As good as Frankie got at keeping herself up until the wee hours of the night, she got even better at listening for the creak of the door to their apartment and Daddy's footsteps in the hall. She made Bismarck sleep by her bedroom door, instead of beside her in bed. For one thing, it was too hot to sleep next to a panting fur coat, and for another, Bismarck's ears were twice the size of Frankie's and could hear impossibly faraway things like the hiccup of a mouse.

Frankie suspected that Mother stayed awake long into the nights as well, but if she did, she and Daddy were careful to keep their talks at a whisper.