Voices at Whisper Bend (9 page)

She sighed and looked back over the letter she'd written, checking it. She'd been careful. She hadn't put in anything the censors might snip out, like their town, or the name of the mill, or what Ma was working on. No defense secrets at all.

Then she frowned. She herself had been a censor. She'd left out something important. It wasn't something they would cut out of her letter with their tiny, sharp scissors. But it wasn't a thing Charlotte could admit, even to her brother. Yes, what she'd written was true. She missed him and wanted him to come home safe. But her reasons—they weren't all so good. She scratched a few words on the back of an old arithmetic paper.

Come home, Jim. We miss you. I miss you. I want you back here where you belong so Ma gets that gray look out of her eyes and remembers how to smile again. I miss the old Ma. And it sure would make Pa happy to have you working on the Rose like you used to. And then I wouldn't have to
.

Charlotte blinked back tears. How could a person say such a selfish thing? Or even think it? She balled up the paper and threw it into the trash.

C
HAPTER
8

D
OWN BY THE
T
RACKS

The next morning, Charlotte had to take Robbie to get his stitches out before school. She had a late-note for Robbie's teacher and one for Mrs. Alexander too. It must have been a morning for notes, for when she reached into her desk for her history book, she found a folded scrap of paper with her name written in careful letters. She opened it quickly.

Meet me at recess! The mystery is solved! Sophie
.

Was that possible? Had something happened this morning while she was getting Robbie to the doctor? Charlotte glanced at Betsy and motioned toward Sophie's desk. Betsy shrugged, then turned back to her book.

The morning seemed to go on forever. Finally lunch-time arrived, and after lunch, recess. In the school yard, Charlotte spotted Sophie partly hidden in the shadows of the building, talking to her older sister.

Sophie looked like she was asking for something. Her sister Helen was shaking her head. Sophie turned and pointed toward Charlotte and Betsy. Helen kept on shaking her head. Finally Sophie snatched something from Helen's pocket and hurried over to where the girls stood.

She pulled on Charlotte's arm. “Come on. Over there in the corner. Where nobody will see.” She held something in her hand.

“What is it, Sophie?”

“Charlotte?” Mrs. Alexander's voice came up behind her.

Sophie spun around and quickly stuck her hand into her jacket pocket.

“Charlotte, dear, I came over to ask about your brother's injury, but I seem to have interrupted something. Sophie, what's that in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

Mrs. Alexander held out her hand. “Sophie Jaworski …”

Sophie reached into her pocket and pulled out two small squares of stiff paper. She gave them to the teacher, then looked down at her shoes.

“Why … whatever is going on? The three of you, follow me.”

Next thing Charlotte knew, the girls were upstairs sitting on stools in Mr. Costa's science room. He and Mrs. Alexander were shaking their heads. What had Sophie gotten them into?

“Charlotte Campbell, what's going on?”

“I don't know, ma'am. You got there just when I did.” Her voice quavered. Charlotte wasn't a tattletale, but even if she were, this time she had no idea what Sophie was up to.

“Betsy?”

“Me neither. I don't know what Sophie had.”

“What she had is quite clear,” Mrs. Alexander said. “Mr. Costa's draft card. And a club membership card. How and why is not clear. Sophie Jaworski, did you take these?”

Sophie shook her head slowly. “No, ma'am. I didn't take anything.”

Mr. Costa frowned at them. “Jaworski. You have a sister? Helen? In the eighth grade?”

Sophie nodded, looking more miserable every second.

“Shall we get Helen, or do you want to tell us what happened?” Mrs. Alexander's eyes had turned so dark they looked black.

“I think I know what's going on,” the science teacher said. He sighed, then sat behind his desk. “Midmorning sometime, I discovered my wallet lying on the floor next to the windows. I checked it and no money was missing, so I thought I'd somehow dropped it. I hadn't dropped it, though, had I, Sophie?”

She didn't speak, just shook her head and looked sick.

“I don't understand,” Mrs. Alexander said.

By now, Charlotte was beginning to. Apparently, so was Mr. Costa. “Your sister and her friends,” he began. “They've had their suspicions, haven't they?” He turned to Mrs. Alexander. “Ever since the metal was taken, the eighth grade has been buzzing like a hive of yellowjackets. Evidently, I'm one of their suspects.”

“But why?” Mrs. Alexander looked shocked. “Sophie …”

“That—that draft card,” Sophie stammered. “Helen says if you have one, it means you're supposed to be in the Army. And you're not. That other card, it says ‘Sons of Italy.' Helen says it means you're on the wrong side in the war. With that Mussolini …”

Mr. Costa turned toward Sophie, and Charlotte could see how young he was. “Oh, Sophie. I'd hoped I wouldn't have to go into all this. But clearly, there's been some confusion. A draft card simply means a man has registered for the draft. It doesn't mean he can join up.”

Mrs. Alexander shot such a ferocious glare at Sophie, it made Charlotte feel the tiniest bit sorry for the girl.

Mr. Costa took a tired breath and went on. “I tried to enlist, you see. I argued and argued with Mr. Butler down at the draft board, but it didn't do any good. They classified me 4-F—unfit for combat.” He pointed to a spot on the card. “I had rheumatic fever as a child. It damaged my heart.” He put the draft card in his pocket.

“As you now may understand, I can't serve in the Army, much as I'd like to. I'm not a coward or a slacker, just not strong enough. I hope my draft status is clear now, although it would have been much easier just to ask me, wouldn't it?” He lifted the other card and looked at it before he put it in his pocket. “The Sons of Italy is a lodge, sort of like the Elks or the Moose lodges. I joined because my father asked me to. Not because of Mussolini.”

“What should we do next?” Mrs. Alexander asked.

“These girls aren't to blame,” he said in a quiet voice. “I'll deal with the eighth graders.”

Charlotte let out her breath as they walked down the hall. Poor Mr. Costa. He'd been innocent all along. “Sophie Jaworski, I'm never believing another thing you say. You got us into big trouble.”

“We're not in trouble, not yet,” Betsy said. Her blue eyes had dark circles underneath and she was frowning. “But we will be.”

“Why? What's the matter?”

“This morning before school, while you were taking Robbie to the doctor …” Betsy hugged herself.

“What?”

“I'll tell you what,” Sophie interrupted. “Zalenchak and Merkow came back to school today.”

“And?” Charlotte really didn't want to know, but she had a feeling she couldn't escape this one.

“They've challenged Pete and his friends to a fight today, that's what,” Betsy said. “Down by the tracks. After school.”

Charlotte's stomach turned. A fight wouldn't solve anything. It would just make things worse. For a moment, Charlotte imagined she had some of Pa's heavy line in her hands. Wished she could swing a rope around those mean eighth graders and stop the fight.

But Zalenchak and Merkow weren't like barges. They had minds of their own and they'd steer where they wanted. She couldn't do anything to stop them.

There was an empty place, down near the river and the railroad tracks, where the houses stopped and before the factories started. Once a long row of houses had stood there, with families and kids and dogs filling the street with noise. But years back, one of the houses had caught a spark from the mill and the whole row had burned. Now, only crumbling stone foundations marked where the houses had stood. Nobody wanted to rebuild there, on the chance that another spark might find a roof. So the street was clear for the whole length of a block, and a person could see a fair distance in both directions.

When anybody said a fight
down by the tracks
, they meant that spot. Charlotte knew about it; every kid in school knew, even the little ones. But she hadn't ever gone there and watched before. Sure, she'd walked by, but only when it was empty, a weedy patch with old cracked cement, tumbling-down stones, and a broken bottle or two.

She held tight to her schoolbooks and hurried along, wishing she didn't have to go. She glanced sideways at Betsy, whose face was pale and stiff-looking. “You sure you want to see this?”

“I don't want to. I have to. Pete's my cousin. He got into this trouble because of me. You don't have to come, Charlotte.”

“Of course I do. If I hadn't gotten this dumb idea of collecting scrap, and if we hadn't been so darn good at it, nobody would have stolen anything. So it's my fault too.”

“Charlotte—”

“It's true, Bets. People are all fighting and snooping and suspecting each other. I wish we'd never started the drive.”

“Too late for that,” Betsy said. “Come on. We can stand over there, near the alley. So we won't be in the middle of things.”

Other kids were gathering in the alley, and some had climbed onto old foundation stones for a better view. At least half the school had shown up for the fight. A familiar shape brushed past. Charlotte reached out and grabbed Robbie. “What are you doing here, buster?”

“Watching.”

“Nope. You get home.”

“Will not.”

“Come on, Robbie. You could get hurt.”

“So could you.”

“I don't think they'll punch any girls. But you—”

“They won't mess with little kids either. So, is it true? Is Betsy's cousin going to plaster them?”

Betsy nodded. “That's what Pete says. He's got five of his pals to back him up. Look.” She pointed.

Pete Schmidt and five other seventh-grade boys marched down the street and across the tracks. From the other direction, Zalenchak and Merkow and their friends swaggered up.

Betsy grabbed Charlotte's arm. “It's really going to happen.”

“There are so many people, I can't see from here.” Robbie grumbled and tried to pull loose.

Charlotte held him tight by his belt. “You're sticking with us, buster. I got in enough trouble when you cut your hand. What do you think Ma would do to me if I let some kid crack you in the head? Now be quiet and stop squirming.”

Near the tracks, the two lines of boys stepped closer to each other. The onlookers bunched together in tight little knots and stopped whispering. Pete's chin jutted out and his cheeks burned bright red.

Frankie Zalenchak had on the meanest scowl Charlotte had ever seen. And he was bigger than Pete. “Filthy Kraut! Nazi scum!” Frankie yelled.

Pete stepped closer. “Dirty stinking Hunky,” he shouted. “Go back to Hungary or wherever you came from. You don't belong here.”

“Who's gonna make me leave, huh?” Frankie stuck his chin out. “
You
, pip-squeak?”

Pete hauled back and socked Frankie in the stomach.

Frankie popped him one in the jaw.

After that, it was all grunts and punches and kicks. The other fellas made a circle around the fighters with their hands bunched into fists at their sides. How long until the whole lot of them started pounding on each other? A smell rose in the air, dust and sweat. Charlotte's stomach jumped around.

“Get him, Pete, get him,” Robbie yelled.

Charlotte clapped her hand over his mouth. “You hush. You want them coming over here and smacking you?”

He shook his head and she let go, putting her arm around Betsy's waist. She could feel her friend shaking. Or maybe Charlotte was the one shaking.

A car engine sounded from the avenue. One of the boys in the circle turned, then shouted, “Hey, Frankie Z. Hold up, Frank, somebody's coming.”

Boys from the circle stepped in and pulled Pete and Frankie apart. But they didn't seem to be looking at the dirty faces and bloody noses. They all turned and stared toward the avenue. Even Frankie and Pete. It was so quiet you could hear the spin of tires on pavement.

Charlotte turned, and what she saw made her breath catch. The brown car from the government. The car every family dreaded.

Frozen in place like the rest, she could only watch and mumble prayers. “Please, please, not my house. Don't stop at my house. Please.”

The brown car crossed the tracks and turned onto Talbott Avenue. She hugged Betsy tighter and felt Robbie pull close on her other side.

“No. No. No,” she whispered.

One of the boys in the circle crossed himself.