She had barely enough time to get cleaned up and changed into her Girl Scout uniform before Colleen arrived. They always walked to the meetings together, carrying burlap bags of crushed tin cans that they had collected since the last meeting. Sometimes they made another stop or two, looking for cans to fill their bags to the very top. Their troop was way ahead of most of the other troops in Seattle in the amount of scrap they had collected.
“How much tin do you think it takes to make an airplane wing?” Colleen asked as they loaded their bags of crushed cans into Jennie’s wagon in the alley behind the hotel.
“More than we have here, that’s for sure,” Jennie replied.
“More than they had at the collection center last week after we took all our cans?”
“Probably.” Jennie grabbed the handle of the wagon and pulled, while Colleen pushed and steadied the wobbly bags. They had gone only a few feet when Jennie stopped. “Wait, I forgot to get Mr. Romano’s cans. He always has some.” The older man lived in a small apartment in the hotel just like Jennie and her family.
“You go,” Colleen said. “I’ll watch our cans. We don’t want any Boy Scouts stealing them.” She grinned. The Boy Scouts collected tin cans, too, and Jennie and Colleen were always teasing Tommy and his friend, Stan, saying that the girls could collect more than the boys could.
“I’ll be right back,” Jennie promised. Mr. Romano’s apartment was small with only a living room, a bedroom, and a tiny bathroom. He cooked on a little stove that sat right in his living room. In spite of being small, Mr. Romano’s home was overflowing with plants and flowers that he grew in pots. It was a cheerful, sunny place, just like Mr. Romano himself.
“It’s my friend Jennie,” Mr. Romano boomed as soon as the apartment door swung open. Out of the room drifted the scratchy sounds of a record player. Mr. Romano had been born in Italy and loved Italian opera, which he played endlessly on his old record player. Mr. Romano was an American citizen now, and his son was serving in the Pacific with the navy. That left him with no family any closer than New York City. “What can I do for you? Or perhaps you came for a little visit and a bite of biscotti?”
“Sounds great, but I have to get to my Girl Scout meeting,” Jennie said. Mr. Romano made wonderful treats that he liked to share. Even Jennie’s mother was amazed at what the man could cook in spite of all the food shortages and rationing. “Do you have any tin cans for crushing?”
“Indeed I do have some for you.” He bustled over to a cabinet, pulled out a paper bag, and handed it to Jennie. “I washed them and took off the bottoms, but I left the crushing to you.” He grinned.
“Thank you, Mr. Romano,” Jennie said. Her neighbor knew that the children liked to jump on the cans and flatten them, so Mr. Romano always left his cans intact. “I better go.”
“Oh, by the way, I’m expecting an air raid warning drill any night now, so be ready,” Mr. Romano said. Jennie’s neighbor was the air raid warden for the block where the hotel sat. He was in charge of making sure that everything went smoothly during the drills. He took his duties very seriously, and more than one resident on the block had received a lecture from him when their blackout curtains weren’t closed properly. Any light showing outside a house or apartment was forbidden when the air raid sirens sounded.
Jennie had just turned to leave when Mr. Romano’s bedroom door burst open. A large man stood there with his dark hair going every which way. Puzzled, Jennie stared because the man looked so familiar.
“I’m trying to sleep. First it’s that caterwauling music, and now you’re having a party out here. Can’t you keep it down?”
Mr. Romano shook his head and smiled broadly. He seemed unconcerned at the stranger’s words or his sudden appearance. “I’m glad you’re awake, Pietro. You can meet my friend Jennie. Her family is running this hotel for the owners, the Tanakas.”
“Jennie, this is my cousin, Pietro Contadino,” Mr. Romano explained.
Pietro nodded at Jennie. “So Japs own this hotel, huh?”
“They are Japanese-Americans,” Mr. Romano said. Jennie saw a hint of fire in the old man’s eyes. “The same as we are Italian Americans.”
“Right,” Pietro said. Jennie had the feeling that Pietro only said what he knew was expected of him. Jennie tried to be polite, but she wanted to stare at Mr. Romano’s cousin. Where had she seen this annoying man before?
“Pietro just arrived in Seattle today from New York City. He has come to work in the shipyard and will live with me until he can find his own place.” Mr. Romano’s smile returned. “It’s good to have someone to cook for again.”
The cousin’s sleep-lined face perked up. “Speaking of cooking,” he said, “can a guy get some food around here?”
“Coming right up.” Mr. Romano bustled over to his kitchen area.
After a quick good-bye, which Pietro ignored, Jennie escaped with her cans. She frowned as she hurried downstairs to the alley. She must be mistaken about Pietro looking familiar if the man had just arrived in Seattle today.
Colleen sat on the back step, but she stood when Jennie burst out the door. Something flashed through Jennie’s brain, and she remembered where she had seen Mr. Romano’s rude cousin. Pietro Contadino was the man she had run into after the plane crash. He was the man who had mumbled foreign words and then ignored Jennie. But that was days ago. Why had Pietro told Mr. Romano that he had only arrived today? Why was he lying? There was something fishy going on with that fellow, but what?
CHAPTER 3
Sliding into Trouble
Colleen was all ears when Jennie told her about Pietro and his claim to have arrived in Seattle just that morning. In fact, Colleen said the girls should march back up the stairs to demand the truth from Mr. Romano’s cousin.
Jennie shook her head at that idea. She wasn’t sure what to do, but facing Pietro right now didn’t appeal to her. All during the Girl Scout meeting Jennie kept thinking about the stranger. Could she have mistaken Pietro for some other dark-haired man?
At last the meeting was over, and the scouts gathered up their sacks and boxes of cans to cart off to the collection center. Jennie and Colleen joined the parade with their wagonload and cheered with the others as the pile of crushed cans towered higher.
“I still think that’s enough tin for an airplane wing,” Colleen said. The friends stood back a little from the pile. “Don’t you?”
Jennie didn’t answer.
“Jennie, don’t you?” Colleen repeated and shook her friend’s arm.
“Oh, sorry,” Jennie replied. “I was thinking about something else.”
“Are you thinking about that Pietro character? I still think we should go right up to him and ask him why he lied.” Colleen put the empty sacks in the wagon and grabbed the handle.
“I’ve thought and thought, and I’m positive that it was him last week.” Jennie shoved her hands in her pockets and walked beside Colleen, who pulled the wagon. Jennie had always been able to remember faces better than anyone else in her family, and this time was no exception.
“So let’s go find him,” Colleen insisted.
“No, if he’s up to something, it might scare him off,” Jennie said. “We’ll just keep an eye on him. See what we can find out.”
“How will we do that?” Colleen asked.
“He lives in the hotel. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
Since Jennie was helping a lot at the hotel, it was Wednesday after school before she got a chance to check up on Pietro and Mr. Romano. Wednesday was the day that Jennie and Tommy usually collected waste fat from people who lived in the hotel’s apartments. Jennie thought it was the worst smelling job of the war, but the fat could be used to make ammunition. She held her nose when possible and reminded herself that these bullets might save Roger.
Jennie and Tommy took turns carrying a big can into which people dumped their smaller cans of collected fat. After they made their rounds, they took the nearly full can of fat to the butcher’s shop, which was
the official collection center. At least that was what they used to do. Jennie had decided last week that she and Colleen would collect fat themselves. That way they could contribute the pennies they were paid for the fat to their Girl Scout troop’s war bond fund.
So today Jennie was collecting on her own, which suited her fine. That way she could visit with Mr. Romano and find out more about Cousin Pietro.
“Mr. Romano,” Jennie called after knocking on her neighbor’s door. It would be unusual for the older man to be gone this time of day, but there was no answer to Jennie’s repeated knocking.
She was just about to turn and leave when the door opened. The older man peeked out and opened the door wider when he saw Jennie.
“I came to collect your fat,” Jennie said, “just like usual.” Jennie waited for the usual jovial response from her friend, but Mr. Romano’s tired-looking face barely creased into a smile.
“Oh yes,” Mr. Romano said. “I forgot this was Wednesday. Come on in, Jennie.” He shuffled over to the stove.
Jennie looked curiously at Mr. Romano. She had never known the neighbor to forget any detail. In fact, his memory and love of details had earned the old gentleman some teasing, which he seemed to enjoy.
“Where’s your opera?” Jennie asked. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for Jennie’s taste. She didn’t understand a word of the operas that Mr. Romano played on his record player, but she liked the sounds and the way Mr. Romano would occasionally burst into song, singing along with the record.
“It was too loud for Pietro. He works the night shift at the shipyards. Besides, I was getting tired of the same old music.”
Jennie couldn’t keep her eyebrows from rising. Mr. Romano, tired of opera? That didn’t seem possible. “Are you all right?” Surprised, Jennie blurted out the question.
At last Mr. Romano gave his normal deep rumbling laugh. “I’m just fine. Maybe a bit tired, what with the new routine. You know, Pietro being here and him needing to sleep in the daytime. It’s a change, but I’ll be fine.” He carefully poured his can of grease into Jennie’s larger can. “There you go.”
“Does Pietro like his new job?” Jennie asked. Maybe this was the time to get a little more information about the mysterious cousin.
“I think so,” Mr. Romano said. “He hasn’t said otherwise.”
“Did he work in a shipyard back East?”
“I’m not sure. We haven’t talked too much about that yet.” Mr. Romano put his empty can back on the stove.
“Now you have family here again,” Jennie said.
“Yes, I do like that,” Mr. Romano said. He shook his head, and his smile faded briefly. “Pietro’s not much like the rest of my family, but he needs a place to stay.”
Before Jennie could ask any more questions, the bedroom door opened to reveal Pietro dressed for work in dark blue pants and shirt.
“Well, well, if it isn’t our little chatterbox from the other day.” Pietro smiled at Jennie, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that made her want to smile back. “You’re still collecting, I see. What is it this time?”
“Fat for making ammunition.” Jennie held up her can.
Pietro reached for a pair of gloves lying on the table and jammed them in his pocket. “All this collecting of everything is a waste of time. You can’t tell me that some poor sap’s leftover bacon grease is worth anything. All those piled-up newspapers and tin cans are just as worthless. The government is sure pulling the wool over your eyes.”
“They do so use that stuff,” Jennie said loudly. “My father said that fat makes glycerin, which helps make ammunition. He says that if we didn’t collect all that scrap rubber and tin cans and such, his job designing airplanes would be much harder. He would have to design them to use less metal and rubber, and that would be really hard.” Jennie frowned at Pietro.
“So your father designs airplanes at Boeing, does he?” Pietro asked. “That’s interesting.”
Jennie’s face felt warm, and she had a sudden urge to bolt out the door. “I can’t say exactly what he does. He works in a factory, that’s all.” Now she’d done it. The last thing she should do was tell a stranger that her father designed airplanes at Boeing. That kind of talk was downright dangerous. Pietro had been so aggravating, saying what he did about the collections, but still, Jennie knew that nobody was supposed to talk about war-related factories.
Pietro chuckled in a mean way and pushed open the door to leave. He leaned back in to say, “You’ll have to tell me more about your father’s job when we have the time.”
Jennie wanted to sink out of sight through the floor, she felt so guilty.
“Don’t mind him,” Mr. Romano spoke up. “He’s just kidding.” The old man walked over to his record player and turned it on. The opera he had so recently said he was tired of began to play. In a moment Mr. Romano broke into song himself.
Jennie grinned in spite of all the rotten feelings churning inside her. Her friend seemed restored to his old self. What had made the change? In a couple minutes, Jennie began to feel better herself. Maybe Pietro had just been teasing, and after all, everyone in the neighborhood already knew that Father worked at Boeing. Maybe she hadn’t done anything that was so awful, but she knew that she would be more careful in the future. And she knew there was more to find out about Pietro.
It was almost five o’clock by the time Jennie left Mr. Romano’s apartment with her can of fat. She’d have to hurry to make her last few stops and still get to the butcher’s shop before it closed. No matter what Pietro said, Jennie knew it was important to collect fat and scrap metal and rubber. Finally she was finished, except for Mrs. Parker. She and Tommy always left that neighbor for last because the lady was often cross and made it seem like they were making large sums of money by selling her small amount of grease. Jennie paused in the hallway. With much arguing, Jennie and Tommy had divided up the neighbors when she decided to collect fat on her own, but Mrs. Parker hadn’t been assigned to either.
After some thought, Jennie went toward Mrs. Parker’s door. Before Jennie could knock, Tommy and Stan appeared behind her.
“Wait a minute,” Tommy said. “Mrs. Parker is ours.” He carried a can that Jennie could see was almost full of fat. It was fuller than hers was by an inch or two.
“Who says?” Jennie stepped in front of Mrs. Parker’s door.
“I say so.” Tommy shoved up closer. “We divided up these apartments.”
“We forgot Mrs. Parker,” Jennie said, “and I got here first. So I get her fat.”
“That’s not fair,” Tommy said. “Is it, Stan?” The other boy looked unsure but shook his head.
“You already have your can almost full,” Jennie said, trying a different approach with her brother. “If I get hers, we’ll be even.” It wasn’t that the fat was so important to Jennie, but lately Tommy always had to win everything. It seemed like he was usually one step ahead of her, too. But not this time. That can of fat that Mrs. Parker saved on the back of her counter was Jennie’s, fair and square, and she meant to have it.
“We have more in our can because we worked harder,” Tommy said. “We even went down the street to two other places.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Jennie said. “We just divided up our old route.”
“Stan and I made the route bigger, that’s all.”
Mrs. Parker’s apartment door flew open. The middle-aged woman stood, frowning, with her hands on her hips. “What is all the ruckus out here? You children are as noisy as a herd of elephants.”
“We came to collect your fat.” Jennie and Tommy spoke at the exact same time and then gave each other dirty looks.
“Well, why didn’t you say so instead of standing out here snipping at each other?” Mrs. Parker disappeared into her apartment without inviting them in and reappeared shortly, carrying a small tin. “I should be turning this in myself,” she grumbled. “Heaven knows I could use the money. You children probably spend the money on bubble gum.”
“Here, I’ll take that,” Tommy said and put out his hand to take Mrs. Parker’s can. At the same time he handed his can to Stan.
Jennie turned sharply toward her brother to protest, causing her grip to slip on her own greasy can. She jerked her other hand up to steady it and bumped Stan, who had been leaning forward to take Tommy’s can. He in turn lurched into Tommy.
In a blink all three cans were airborne. The oily contents squirted everywhere, including down the front of Mrs. Parker’s housedress. The cans clattered to the hall floor, spewing the fat.
All was silence for a split second, and then Mrs. Parker shrieked.
“You horrible children,” she yelled after catching her breath.
Doors in the hallway popped open as tenants checked on the source of the commotion. On seeing Mrs. Parker, most of them retreated without a word.
Jennie couldn’t move. Fat dripped from her hair to her nose to her shirt. She stared at Tommy, who had a big glob of grease slowly sliding down his cheek. Stan had escaped the worst of the flow and stood with greasy hands outstretched. Jennie thought Stan was trying hard to keep from laughing but was about to fail.
Mrs. Parker continued to complain loudly about ungrateful, ill-behaved, modern children as she backed into her apartment and slammed the door behind her. Jennie looked at the pool of fat on the floor. What should she do now?
That problem was solved when Art and Trudy walked up, keeping a safe distance from their slippery younger brother and sister.
“How in the world did you manage this?” Art asked.
“Pee–uu,” Trudy said while holding her nose, “that stuff stinks.”
American Triumph: 1939-1945: 4 STORIES IN 1 Page 24