Keeping Score (11 page)

She tried to imagine it. Bursts of gunfire. Grenades exploding. Airplanes dropping bombs.

Right around your house.

Maggie got a picture in her head. Jay sitting quietly, studying the baseball cards she had sent him. And then a huge
BOOM!
and the house shaking like crazy and Jay diving to the floor and lying there curled up in a little ball, the cards scattered around him....

Was that what it was like? Being really scared almost every minute all day long?

Now she had two reasons for wanting the war to end: So Jim could come home, and so Jay wouldn't have to be scared all the time.

Maggie understood a whole lot more about the war now. But that didn't magically produce a letter from Jim.

She had stopped asking Dad if he had heard any news about Jim. The answer was always the same: No—but he would tell her as soon as he heard. Maggie was sick of asking, and she was sure that Dad was just as sick of giving the same answer every time.

She continued to write to Jim—not as often as before, but she had been writing to him for so long now that it felt like it would be wrong to stop.

April 14, 1953

Dear Jim,

Opening Day—FINALLY! Good news for both of us: The Dodgers beat the Pirates 8–5 and the Giants beat the Phillies 4–1....

May 31, 1953

Dear Jim,

I got something great to write to you about today. During the World Series last year (that's not the great part, in fact I HATE thinking about it) Gil Hodges didn't get a single hit, he went 0 for 21. And he started off this year the same way—he was hitting just AWFUL, and he even got BENCHED and he hasn't been benched in AGES.

So in the paper I read about how people were all worried about him—they were writing him letters and sending him good-luck charms and everything. There was even a priest who asked for prayers for him.

Anyway, then Treecie told me that her mom told her what happened at knitting circle. The ladies always end knitting circle with a prayer, and my mom asked everyone to pray for Gil Hodges! She must have read that same article, and I never asked her but I bet he's her favorite player.

And this is the best part—it WORKED. Yesterday the Dodgers beat the Pirates 4–1, and Gil Hodges hit TWO home runs. Isn't that amazing?

June 27, 1953

Dear Jim,

In case you don't know already: Willie Mays is FINE. My dad found out from a
magazine—Willie never went overseas at all. He said he would have gone to Korea but they never asked him to. And the best part is, his job in the Army is to play baseball! Maybe you know this already, that the Army has a baseball team that goes around playing games so the soldiers can watch. That's what Willie does. Maybe you'll get to see him!

As the weeks went by, Maggie continued to read the newspaper faithfully, both the baseball news and articles about the war. Once in a while, she drew a new map in her war notebook, but every single one of them was identical to the one before it, and all of them looked like map 7, from June 1951.

Two whole years ... and the line hadn't budged.

One afternoon as she finished reading yet another article about the war, Maggie noticed an item on the same page of the paper:

Casualties from New York

And there was a long list of names.

Killed in action. Died of wounds. Wounded.

Maggie gasped. How was it that she had never seen a list like this before? Maybe it was because the print was so tiny—the smallest print on the whole page. Almost as though the newspaper was trying to hide it.

Killed in action.... What if Jim's name was on that list ages ago—and I missed it?

The moment of panic subsided quickly: She reminded herself again that if Jim had been killed, Dad would have told her about it.

Just then there was a knock at the door, and she heard Treecie's voice. "Hi, Mrs. Fortini. Maggie home?"

Treecie rushed up the stairs and into the room. "Look!" she said and held out an envelope.

A letter from Jim?

Maggie took the envelope from Treecie. It was addressed to people she didn't know—Christopher and Claire Moran—and it wasn't Jim's handwriting.

"What is this?" she demanded.

Treecie plopped down on the bed, blew out her breath, and caught it again. "It's friends of my mom's. Their son, his name is Carl, he's in Korea. Mrs. Moran came over today and brought this letter to show my mom, and I heard her read it out loud and I asked if I could borrow it to show you, and she let me take it but I have to bring it right back."

Maggie read:

June 1, 1953

Dear Mom and Dad,

You asked if I'd be home for Mom's birthday. Here's how it works: You need 36 points to go home, you get 3 points for every month in the rear and 4 points if you're on the front lines. We moved to the front in October but the Army has its little tricks, if you don't have a full month at the front you
only get 3 points so we were three days short of the full month when they moved us. That means I got 14 points so far, 3 points for Feb. and Mar. and 4 points for Apr and May. That's almost halfway there already, only 22 points to go, if I'm on the front the whole time that means only 6 months more, maybe I'll make it home in time....

Maggie stopped reading, her eyes wide.

"Treece..."

"I know, I know!"

They looked at each other, and Maggie knew they were both thinking the same thing.

Jim had left in January 1952. He didn't get to Korea until February, or maybe even March. And he probably didn't get to count four points for each month because he wasn't on the front lines the whole time—he'd be driving the ambulance back and forth between the front lines and the army hospitals in the rear. So that meant three points for each month. It was almost the end of June now, so if she started counting from March of last year, that meant 15 months....

Jim should have 45 points by now! He would have had 36 points three months ago. Why wasn't he home?

Maggie jumped to her feet. She called over her shoulder as she went out the door. "Mom, going to the firehouse for just a minute, be right back!"

Treecie was right behind her as she raced down the street. "Why the firehouse?" she asked.

"You'll see," Maggie panted.

They ran all the way, Charky meeting them as usual and barking as he galloped alongside them. "Shh, shh, it's okay, Charks," Maggie said and patted him on the head as she slowed and walked the last few steps.

The bay doors were open, but the guys weren't out front. Maggie peered past the engines and saw that the door to the back room was open. "Hello?" she called.

"Come on in, Maggie-o," George answered. He was tipping back in his chair so he could lean out and see them. "Hey, Treecie."

The girls walked between the two trucks. George and the other guys, Vince and Terry and Charlie, were playing cards. An electric fan was on, doing little more than blowing the hot air around the room.

"Hi, George. Hi, everyone," Maggie said from the doorway. Then she plunged right in, still a little breathless from her run. "George—I just came to ask—remember you told me that one time about when Jim's sister called and she'd gotten a letter from him—well, I was wondering, did she call again?"

She took a breath and went on. "I mean, has she gotten any more letters from him, and did she say how he's doing? And maybe when he'll be coming home? It's been a while and I figured somebody must have heard from him since then—" She stopped, suddenly aware of how fast she was talking.

"Because we just found out about the points, see, and he should have enough to come home by now," Treecie added. Which wasn't terribly helpful, Maggie thought, if you didn't know what she was talking about.

George was sitting very still, looking down at the cards in his hand. Maggie looked from him to Terry, who was suddenly busy adjusting a suspender strap.

The silence in the room made the air seem thicker somehow. Maggie drew in a deep breath and felt as though she could hear it all the way down to her lungs.

"George?" she said.

"Uh, yeah." George closed the fan of his cards and tapped the stack on the tabletop a few times. Finally, he looked up at her. "Maggie-o, I don't know how much I oughta say, and anyways I don't know much. I don't wanna make any trouble."

Maggie stared at him. Trouble? What kind of trouble?

George sighed. "Listen, maybe he's gonna be mad at me for this, but I don't know what else to do. What you asked me just now—you go on home and ask Teeny Joe. You tell him it's my fault if you want."

His fault? His fault for doing what? And who was going to be mad? Maggie was so utterly bewildered that she blinked twice hard, as if clearing her vision might help.

"Who? Who's going to be mad?" Treecie asked right out.

George glanced at her, then shook his head. "Maggie, you talk to your dad, okay?" Then he fanned out his cards again. "You gonna play, or what?" he growled at Charlie.

"Yeah, yeah," Charlie said.

It was clear that they had been dismissed.

"C'mon, Maggie," Treecie said.

They turned and walked slowly out of the fire-house.

Treecie went home to deliver the letter safely back to Mrs. Moran. Maggie sat down on the front stoop and watched and waited. She knew it was Dad as soon as he turned the corner; she couldn't see his face clearly at this distance, but she could tell by the way he limped.

Maggie jumped up and ran to meet him. Dad looked at her and smiled, but it was a quiet smile, not his usual big open grin. Which meant that he had stopped by the firehouse and had already talked to George.

"Hey, Maggie-o," he said.

She fell in step beside him. They were both silent for half a block, until Maggie couldn't stand it any longer.

"Dad?" she said.

They walked the rest of the way to the house. Dad sat down on the front stoop and nodded at the space next to him. Maggie sat, too, and waited.

"I'm sorry, Maggie-o," he said at last. "About a bunch of things"

He sighed and pulled at his mustache. "I didn't mean to keep stuff from you. I thought I was just taking the time to decide what to tell you, and then I was hoping that—that things would get better and I could give you some good news, and then—well, before I knew it, a lotta weeks had passed and it got easier not to tell you anything. And the whole time I was still hopin' for good news." He raised his head and looked at her. "I almost told you a million times, but I could never—I dunno, I couldn't seem to find the right time. So that's the first thing I'm sorry for."

"Okay." She didn't know what else to say.

He went on. "Remember when George told you that Jim's sister had called? The truth of it is, it was me she called. And I told George and the guys what she told me, but I asked them not to say much of anything to you until ... until I could figure what you should know. They—they sorta fibbed, I guess, but it was because I asked them to. I'm sorry about that, too."

Maggie twisted away from him, so she could turn and look at him straight on. "Dad, please just tell me."

His answer came slowly. "What his sister said was, there was a big battle. And Jim was with the ambulance guys—you know that, right? So there's this battle, and he works like a crazy man to take care of as many injured people as he can. All day and all night and most of the next day, without taking a single break."

Maggie pictured Jim helping carry a stretcher, but even as the image popped into her head, she knew it was wrong. For one thing, she imagined him in his fireman kit. That wasn't right; he would have been wearing a soldier's uniform. And his face all sooty, like after a fire. But maybe that was okay; maybe you got sooty in the middle of a battle too, all those guns and grenades and bombs going off around you.

"Finally, his officer told him to get some rest. So Jim got into his bunk and then ... well, he just sorta stayed there."

"What do you mean?'

Her father sighed again. "He didn't get up. Not for a meal, not for his next shift on duty. His buddies tried everything they could think of to get him out of bed, finally called in their officer, and the guy even threatened Jim with jail time. But nothing happened. He was kinda, like, frozen."

"Frozen?" From the newspaper articles, Maggie had learned that it was really cold in Korea in the winter, much colder than in Brooklyn.

"Well, no, I don't mean frozen like cold. I mean, he didn't move, didn't say a word, didn't even look at anyone. Just sort of stared at nothin' the whole time."

"But what was wrong with him? Was he hurt?"

Dad shook his head. "Not physically. Not anything they could find. He was in the hospital in Japan for a while, and then in Seattle, and finally he ended up in Washington, D.C. That's where he's been for the past year."

Maggie's mouth dropped open. "But—but my letters! I've been sending them to Korea...."

All those letters, and he hadn't even gotten them?

Dad patted her arm. "Now, Maggie-o, I seen you writing all them letters, and keeping score of the Giants' games for him, and those cookies—don't you think I'd make sure they got to where they were supposed to?"

Maggie sat there thinking hard. Her letter-mailing routine: She would address the envelope, then leave it on the little table in the hall ... and Dad would pick it up in the morning on his way out the door for work.

He was the one who would put a stamp on it and mail it.

So you...

He nodded. "I kept track the whole time, where he was. Through his sister, her name's Carol, and I made sure to send 'em to the right place. And she mentioned your letters, said what a great girl you are, to write to him so regular like that. She told me she reads 'em aloud to him, every one of 'em.

"He's up out of the wheelchair now, some of the time, walking a little, feeding himself ... but he still hasn't said a single word to anyone," Dad went on. "Anyway, they don't think there's anything more they can do for him at the hospital, so they're sending him home."