Willie Bea and the Time the Martians Landed

by Virginia Hamilton

  With that, her papa gave her a look of love, of sympathy, and went out, closing the door behind him.

  Willie Bea sat still. She stared at the closed door with a clothes hook just low enough for her to reach when she stood on tiptoes. She heard her papa grunt, lifting Bay in his arms to carry him down. All of a sudden, she heard the outdoors, sounds she had not been aware of the whole day. And yet they were sounds she was used to. The hogs squealing occasionally. A car going by. Kids, noisy, running home from school. Then she listened to someone coming up the stairs. By the noise, she knew it was Bay Sister. The door swung open.

  “Hey! I’m home again!” Bay Sister said.

  Willie Bea looked down at her lap. She let the pamphlet lie there on her knees, lightly touching its edges with her fingers.

  “What’s a wrong?” Bay Sister said softly.

  “I’ll be down in a while for supper,” Willie Bea said. Her throat felt scratchy and full. She didn’t want to talk any more.

  “My room, too,” Bay Sister said, pouting.

  Willie Bea gave her a hard look. “You get on down the stairs!” she said, harsher than she had meant to.

  Bay Sister backed out of the door and ran for her mama downstairs. Willie Bea knew that her mama would tell Bay Sister to leave her alone awhile.

  I’ll make it up to her later on, Willie Bea told herself. But now she had to think. Her papa. All the papers. This pamphlet. She had to look at it. Had to see it. You couldn’t avoid facts, her papa always did say.

  Combine was what it was about, that pamphlet. And other farming machinery. Right on the front was a drawing of the latest combine design, with a man at its steering wheel, and all of its parts named.

  “How a Combine Works,” was printed in black above the picture. A combine was house-tall. It had a fan, it had a straw rack, a chaffer, a sieve. It had a grain bin. It had a grain auger and elevator, sort of like a wide chimney. It had a feeder beater and a cutter bar. It had attachments for harvesting corn.

  What a combine did was cut a standing crop of grain. Then it separated the grain. (Willie Bea read this inside the pamphlet.) It threshed the grain, and discarded the straw and the husks. The combine that was pictured on the front of the pamphlet was self-propelled. It could cut a crop twenty feet wide at one time. And it could harvest an acre in from five to eight minutes.

  Goodness! Willie Bea thought. Even she, who had known nothing about a thing called a combine yesterday, knew today that it was a wondrous machine.

  A whole acre!

  But it was something else about it that really caught her eye.

  The combine had a second auger on one side of it, like a very large stovepipe about twenty feet long. It was an unloading auger used when the machine was ready to unload the corn into waiting wagons or trucks. Willie Bea stared at it.

  The unloading auger went up so high and out away from the combine on a slant. Such a long, long neck it had. At the end of the neck was this peculiar shape, like a triangle.

  The strangeness of it, so high above her. So awfully scary. At the height of it was fitted that triangle.

  Willie Bea dropped the pamphlet. She felt an awful fear rising. She was filled with terrible sensations, visions of the dangerous night before.

  There at the Kelly place. The thing coming at her. A hulking, huge blackness moving. Rumbling. Bending, turning, reaching for her in the one-eyed light of dark.

  Monster of the night!

  The horrid, V-shaped head.

  13

  It might have been night in Willie Bea’s bedroom. With the window blinds drawn on the clear October light, it seemed perpetual evening along the dim wallpaper design—vases of fading flowers in neat rows. There was a light on, not so bright. Willie Bea could see well enough. She leaned close to the newspaper she held. The pamphlet she’d been reading had slid to the side.

  It had taken her some time to get over that panic feeling of the night before. And now she’d had her fill of combines.

  Make me sick to see that picture, she thought, shoving the pamphlet aside.

  There had been the monster as big as life. Just a silly farm machine. It was almost impossible to believe. But facts were facts.

  Willie Bea’s mouth tasted sour. She got up, went out, found some water left in the water pitcher on her mama’s dresser. She drank right out of the pitcher. Next she used the chamber pot. Her legs felt none too sturdy.

  That’s because I’ve been restin’ so long, she thought. Goodness, the way I feel, I wish the world would end.

  She felt pretty awful. Not so much from bumps and bruises, but from having to face herself. Finished, she hurried back to bed.

  “I think I made a fool of myself,” she told herself. “I think Uncle Jimmy is right about me.” Sadness came over her and she felt as lonely as she could be.

  Back in bed, she forced herself to look at a newspaper. The Xenia, Ohio, paper, October 31, 1938.

  “That’s today,” she said out loud. But her own voice was no comfort now.

  “‘MARS INVADES U.S.,’” she read the lead headline in a whisper, “‘BUT BY BROADCAST.’”

  Willie Bea sighed, steeled herself inside and read on, her lips moving, whispering. It was a forlorn sound in the otherwise silent room.

  “Washington, October thirty-first.” That’s today, Monday, Willie Bea thought.

  “Chairman Frank R. McNinch of the Federal Communications Commission today wired the Columbia Broadcasting System for a copy of the radio script and a transcription of the broadcast ‘The War of the Worlds’ broadcast over the Columbia network last night with startling results.

  “The chairman said the program, which aroused the entire country with its portrayal of the imaginary attack on Princeton, N.J., by mysterious monsters of Mars, will be considered at an early meeting of the commission.”

  Willie Bea studied the words and understood them. Not monsters of Mars, she thought vaguely. That Orson fellow is sure gonna get it, too.

  The paper went on to say that the radio program caused thousands of people in every part of the country to believe that the eastern United States had been invaded by creatures from the planet Mars. It was the first engagement in a “war of the worlds.” But the hysteria was not limited to the East.

  “In Indianapolis, an unidentified woman ran down the main aisle of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, crying, ‘The world is coming to an end.’ The congregation was hastily dismissed.

  “In Toledo, Ohio, three persons fainted at telephones while trying to call police.

  “But in the East …” Willie Bea skipped part of the account. “… Several persons came forward to swear they saw the rocket land and ‘strange creatures’ climb out of it.”

  Well, I’m not the only one, she thought. She didn’t feel so bad then. Other folks saw things, too.

  “In Newark, N.J., hundreds fled from two city blocks, carrying what possessions they could snatch up …” Well, I’ll be! she thought.

  “Telegraph companies reported that they were delivering telegrams from as distant as California inquiring of the fate of relatives …” Goodness!

  “‘They’re bombing New Jersey,’ one excited voice informed police.

  “‘How do you know?’

  “‘I heard it on the radio, then I went to the roof and saw the smoke from bombs drifting toward New York. What shall I do?’”

  Willie Bea read on, but there was no answer from the police as to what that person should have done.

  I would a gone down in the basement away from the bombs, she thought. But maybe that person’s basement was flooded. Willie Bea’s own basement usually had at least an inch of water in it. It wasn’t completely dug out. Half of it was four feet of good black soil gone sour from too much standing water. They used the basement only for storing her mama’s canned goods on high wood shelves away from the ground water—grape jelly, tomato jam, string beans and young cucumbers miraculously changing into sweet pickles. Every winter they’d hear pop, pop, pop
in the night as unsettled glass Mason jars under too much pressure exploded. Good thing her mama canned more than enough, too.

  The last account of the Mars invasion Willie Bea read came clear from New York, the paper said.

  “The New York Times reported that it had received a telephone call from a man in Dayton, Ohio …” Well, I’ll be! Only eighteen miles from here, Dayton.

  Willie Bea hadn’t been to Dayton yet. She had no reason to go. But she was sure she would get to go sometime. Her papa had mentioned something about the circus coming next summer and seeing that great star gorilla, Gargantua, in his air-conditioned glass cage. Willie Bea just couldn’t picture some animal living swell in some glass room full of cold air. It just didn’t make sense to her.

  “… who wanted to know what time the world was going to end.” That was what the man from Dayton, Ohio, wanted to know.

  Just like Aunt Leah, Willie Bea thought. Aunt Leah had kept saying the world was coming to an end.

  Willie Bea laid the paper aside. Leaned back and closed her eyes. Darkness swam there, making her dizzy. Her eyelids fluttered open quickly after that.

  Am I sick? Or just hungry? Willie Bea couldn’t tell what was wrong with her.

  Just don’t feel right, is all. She felt awful, out of sorts, jumpy. A bit ashamed now, she wasn’t sure why.

  What have I done? Did I do something wrong? She closed her eyes again. Now she could keep them closed. Wish they’d call me to supper. But nobody called her. Not yet time, she supposed. No early feast with lots of relatives, like on Sunday-company.

  She thought she knew when the sun went down, when it began to get dark, but she might have been dreaming. She thought she heard—no, felt—the presence of someone on the other side of her bedroom door. She dreamed the door opening, somebody doing something for a moment at the clothes hook on the back of the door. And then opening the door wide so that the back of it was against the wall. A paper-rustling sound there.

  Somebody came near. She felt the presence sit down gently beside her. She knew she wasn’t dreaming now, although she was half asleep. Who was it? Her mama? She didn’t feel like opening her eyes. In case it was her papa.

  “Have you read the papers yet, Willie Bea?” he would ask her. “Did you study that pamphlet, Willie Bea? Now you know it all, Willie Bea. Facts are facts.”

  He would give her a lecture about making up things. About running off on adventures—walking high beams and stilt-walking with monsters. Actually, his lectures, like a teacher teaching, were his way of scolding. It always made Willie Bea feel sick inside at the thought of a serious lecture from her papa.

  She dreamed it happened and she felt just so black and blue inside. She dreamed she ran off after a severe scolding. She stilted far, far away out into the ether that filled all space beyond the moon. Gramp Wing had told her about the ether, and so she believed. She dreamed a monster came and carried her up a closed staircase to the stars.

  “Willie Beatrime,” she dreamed someone called. Mama? Papa?

  “Willie Beatrime, wake up!”

  Willie Bea came to, but she kept her eyes closed. Huh?

  “Willie Beatrime, baby!” someone whispered. Smoothed back her hair.

  Suddenly, Willie Bea was aware of a scent sweeter than powdered sachet. It was a scent finer than the smell of roses in summer. A perfume of evenings in ballrooms, of silken evening gowns. The rare, rich fragrance of carnations eased Willie Bea’s waking.

  No. It couldn’t be. “Aunt Leah?” Willie Bea opened her eyes. “Oh, my goodness, it is you!”

  “Honey, and who else? This being Halloween,” Aunt Leah said. There was laughter in her eyes.

  She was dressed all in blue. Willie Bea couldn’t believe how beautiful her outfit was. Aunt Leah had on what appeared to be a new fall coat. It was called a bouclé material dyed blue, a cloth with a tufted or knotted texture. It was just beautiful. Under the open coat, Aunt Leah had on a blue shirtwaist dress with a high collar. Pleated all around. It was lovely. And a gold pendant. And gold bracelets.

  “Aunt Leah, my goodness!” Willie Bea whispered. Aunt Leah hugged her, kissed her cheek. She leaned back to study her niece’s face, that nasty bump.

  “Baby girl, you sure suffered, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Willie Bea said, holding close.

  “Well, don’t you worry. I taken all the blame.”

  “What?” said Willie Bea.

  “Gettin’ everybody all so excited.” She watched Willie Bea. “I told your papa it was all my fault, too. Just now I told him.”

  “It’s all right,” Willie Bea said. “I didn’t mind. But did he scold you, Aunt Leah?”

  “Huh,” Aunt Leah laughed. “Your papa don’t scare me, honey, like he does everybody. Well, you know, knowing so much and everything. I think after while he was believin’ somethin’ himself.” She smiled, eyes still playful, like she was still up to something.

  “They told me over home what all happen to you,” she went on. “I never knew you were the best of stilting in this whole county, Willie Beatrime.”

  “Me?” said Willie Bea.

  “That’s what everybody sayin’, baby. Didn’t you know you were the best?”

  Willie Bea thought about it. “Not until last night I didn’t.”

  “And that’s not all you the best at, is it?” Aunt Leah said. “You take after me, there.”

  “What do you mean?” Willie Bea said.

  Aunt Leah smiled. Willie Bea thought she was just beautiful when she smiled. Her face was so smooth, her cheeks and lips just the right amount of pink-rose.

  “Oh, out there, what you chanced to see at the Kelly farm,” Aunt Leah said.

  “Yeah,” muttered Willie Bea, “I chanced to see, all right. I made it up, you mean. Aunt Leah, it’s all in the papers. That was a radio play you heard.”

  “I seen the papers,” Aunt Leah said. She looked unconcerned, her kind eyes studying her niece’s face.

  “Does Papa know you are up here?” Willie Bea thought to ask.

  “He does,” Aunt Leah said, nodding. “So does your mama by now. I slipped by the kids—they were in the kitchen with Marva, cooking supper. Jason was by the radio in the living room.”

  “Well, anyway,” Willie Bea continued, “what I saw was a new, great old big farm machine—three of ’em—called a combine. Never saw anything like it before in my whole life.”

  “And you’ve had such a long life, too,” Aunt Leah said. She wasn’t laughing, but her eyes were bright, shining. A shadow of a smile touched her lips.

  “Uh-huh,” Willie Bea said. She played with the rings on Aunt Leah’s right hand until Leah took Willie Bea’s hand in hers. “I feel just awful about what I done,” Willie Bea went on. “And Big stayed the day with me. And now Uncle Jimmy will punish him, once Little tells he wasn’t in school. And my papa took Big’s bow and arrows, Big thinks. Everything’s just terrible! How will I ever face everybody, especially Papa? Little’s so mean. She gets to go to the parade in Xenia and wear a costume bought at the store. A Little Red Riding Hood.”

  It was all too much for Willie Beatrime. She lifted Aunt Leah’s slender fingers to her eyes and cried bitter tears into the palm of Leah’s hand.

  “Oh, now, baby, Willie Beatrime, don’t do that. Don’t cry so. I can’t stand to see my baby cry!” Aunt Leah said. She really sounded like she cared a lot about Willie Bea.

  But Willie Bea couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop crying. Only when her nose started running did she let go of Aunt Leah’s hand.

  “Here, baby,” Aunt Leah said, taking out a handkerchief. “Don’t you cry any more.”

  Willie Bea took the handkerchief, but shook her head. “It’s … too … pretty to … use,” she sighed, sniffling.

  “Use it,” commanded Aunt Leah. “I give it to you. Got lots of hankies. Use it and wash it and hang it to dry. It will be like new.”

  “Real … ly?” Willie Bea said, drying her tears.

 
“Now,” Aunt Leah said, “I can’t stay too long. I’ve been all over the countryside today, seein’ folks I upset last night.” She grinned, and for the first time seemed slightly ashamed of herself. But quickly that look disappeared.

  “Now listen to me, Willie Beatrime.” Aunt Leah took Willie Bea by the chin and looked in her face. “You listenin’?”

  Willie Bea nodded. “Yes,” she sighed, looking red-eyed and sad-faced.

  “Nobody’s goin’ to any parade tonight,” Aunt Leah said. “Jimmy found out from Little that Big didn’t go to school. Guess she sorry now she told, for Jimmy punish Big, and make Little stay home from the parade for telling on him.”

  “No!” Willie Bea said.

  “Oh, yes,” said Aunt Leah. “She’ll have that Little Red Riding Hood next year, but not this year.”

  Willie Bea couldn’t help giggling into her hands. For once, Little had got what was coming to her.

  “Let’s not laugh at our cousin, Willie Beatrime,” sniffed Aunt Leah, but she couldn’t help a tiny smile of triumph herself. “But what I want to say about something else,” she went on. “Are you still listenin’, honey?”

  Willie Bea nodded again. “Yes, but what else do you want to tell me?”

  “Just this,” Aunt Leah said, her voice quiet and light as air. “Don’t dismiss too soon,” she said. “Know what I mean by that?”

  Willie Bea shook her head. “No, Aunt Leah.” She held the hankie tightly.

  “I mean, don’t think just because it was just a radio play, there was nothin to it. Don’t think that because what you saw turned out to be just a combine, wasn’t something behind it.”

  “Wha … what, Aunt Leah?”

  “Honey,” said Aunt Leah, “ain’t it strange that that radio play come on when it did, and I hear it, and hundreds, thousands hear it? Ain’t it strange that you see that combine and hear it talkin’? It’s all too strange! There has to be something behind it, oh, yes!”

  “Aunt Leah!”

  Aunt Leah’s eyes were bright. She wasn’t looking at Willie Bea now. Yet she still had her hands on her. One hand on Willie Bea’s arm and the other lightly touching Willie Bea’s fingers clutching the hankie. Willie Bea was sure she could feel the strength, the power of fortune, through Leah’s hands.