“Hey, mister,” she called up to him as she approached the wagon, “can I have an apple for two cents?”
The man, chewing away steadily, reached behind him and handed her down an apple. She put the two pennies in his hand, and bit into her apple. Then she took a look at the horse. It was a dirty white one, and it had blinders on either side of its head. There was a deep sore over one of its legs. Veronica moved a little closer to the horse and looked at the sore. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was angry-looking, and as she inspected it the horse suddenly began shivering.
“Hey, mister,” Veronica yelled, “your horse hurt himself.”
The man just kept on chewing his sandwich.
Veronica moved around closer to the horse’s head. The horse looked straight ahead. She was just about to take another bite of her apple when the horse turned its head, regarded her, and then the apple, and whinnied.
I bet he’s hungry, Veronica thought suddenly. She held out her apple, and the horse laid his mouth on it but did not bite it.
“Go ahead, eat it, go ahead,” Veronica urged.
The horse lifted its head again and looked straight ahead.
“Hey, mister,” Veronica shouted, “what’s his name?”
“Whose name?” said the man.
“The horse’s.”
“How should I know?”
Veronica was shocked. “Didn’t you give him a name?”
The man finished his sandwich, and then began taking money out of his pockets, counting it, and putting it into a little sack.
“Well?” said Veronica.
“Look, kid, go away,” said the man. “I’m busy.”
“But why didn’t you give him a name?” Veronica insisted. “Everybody’s got a name.”
“He’s not my horse,” the man said with one of those cranky smiles grownups have when they’re getting irritated. “I rent him, and I didn’t ask what his name was.”
“Nice horse, good horse,” Veronica murmured to the horse. “I bet your name’s Silver. Silver!” she called, “here, Silver, have some apple. It’ll make you feel better.” She held out the apple again, and again the horse laid its mouth on it but did not eat.
“Hey, mister,” Veronica yelled, “doesn’t he like apples?”
A grunt from above and nothing else.
“I think he’s sick,” Veronica continued. “You should do something about it.”
The man put his money away, picked up the reins, and clicked to the horse.
“You ought to tell somebody to fix that sore on his leg,” Veronica yelled as the wagon began moving.
“Sure, sure,” the man said. “I’ll tell his mother.”
Veronica quickly took a few more bites of her apple, and then threw the core after the departing wagon. It hit one of the wheels, but the driver didn’t seem to notice.
Still chewing, Veronica walked back to her post and settled herself comfortably on the bench. A couple of times she had to stand up to stamp her feet because it was so cold. After a while, the man farther down the bench got up, folded his newspaper, and walked off.
First she saw Frances Scanlon and Lorraine Jacobs walking along. Then another girl, and behind her, a group of boys. Peter was one of them. Veronica could see his brown jacket very clearly. She waited until he came up to the crossing. Paul Lucas and Bill Stover were with him, and they were all talking and laughing, and not one of them saw her.
She stood up, and as Peter was halfway across the street, he saw her. So did Paul and Bill. Paul began moving backward, and she saw Peter take his arm and say something to him. Quickly she moved to the corner. If he ran, she’d get him anyway. But Peter did not run. He and the other two boys crossed the street and came right up to her.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Peter,” Veronica said, leering, and she reached out to grab his jacket.
“O.K., boys, let’s go!” Peter shouted, and suddenly all three of them were on her, punching and butting and kicking.
Veronica managed to free herself, and she shouted at them, outraged, “That’s not fair, three against one.”
“So is it fair for you to beat up kids smaller than yourself?” said Peter.
“Paul Lucas”—Veronica shouted at him because his eyes were blinking nervously, and she knew what a coward he was—”I’ll get you for this.”
“No you won’t,” said Peter, beginning to move in on her. “Because from now on, any kid you beat up, the rest of us will get you.”
And then they were all at her again. She popped Paul Lucas one right in the mouth, and heard him cry out. Then Peter was punching her from the front and Bill Stover from the back, and after a while, Paul Lucas returned, jabbing at her from all sides.
“You’re all cowards,” she shouted, but they were pummeling her and pushing her so hard that down she went with the three boys on top of her. Somebody was holding her hands, and somebody was sitting on her chest, and somebody was smacking her. And worst of all was the terrible knowledge that Peter had outfoxed her again.
Suddenly it was over, and a voice was shouting, “Stop it! Stop it!”
Her nose was bleeding. Her mouth was bleeding. One eye had funny lights in it, and the rest of her face felt raw and fiery. A man was picking her up, brushing her off, and talking all the time. “Ashamed of yourselves. I saw it all from across the street. The three of you against one girl—never saw such a thing in my life. Are you all right, honey?”
The man, a big, husky one, had Bill Stover by the collar, and after he had helped Veronica up, he grabbed Peter Wedemeyer. “I ought to report you to the police — a bunch of hoodlums.”
“Mister, please listen, mister,” Peter said. “You just don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand?” shouted the man. “Three boys against one girl. Even for one boy to hit one girl — that’s a disgrace. Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to hit girls?”
“But, mister,” Peter cried, “she hits us. She beats us up. She’s bigger and stronger than anybody else in the class, and none of us have a chance against her. She’s the biggest bully in the world. Ask anybody — “
And then all three boys began talking at once. It wasn’t very clear what they were saying, but the passion in their voices seemed to confuse the man, and he turned to look at Veronica.
She did something then she had never done before in her whole life. She didn’t know why she did it. She hadn’t planned on doing it. It just seemed to happen without her even thinking. She sniffed, and a little sob broke from her throat.
And that seemed to decide it. Wondering, Veronica stood by and watched as the man shook each boy, banged their heads together, threatened to call the police if it happened again, and finally chased them away.
“I just don’t know what this world is coming to,” he said savagely as he made her sit down on the bench and lean back to stop her nose from bleeding. Carefully he touched the bruised spots on her cheeks and lips with his handkerchief. “A defenseless girl. You better tell your mother to come to school and tell the principal.”
The man offered to accompany Veronica home just in case “those bullies” made a surprise attack on the way. But Veronica said she was sure they would not, thanked the man for his protection, and promised to tell her mother.
She would certainly have to tell Mama something she thought as she began walking home. The bruises all over her face would require some kind of explanation, and she was even tempted to follow her protector’s advice and ask Mama to come to school to complain. That would be a new experience all around.
Veronica shook her head, and tried to collect her thoughts. She felt dazed and confused. Her face was a mess and her right shoulder ached fiercely. But something had happened today that had never happened before. Somebody had taken her part in a fight. Somebody had rescued her. Somebody had tended to her bruises and sent her on her way with kind words instead of insults. Why?
Wasn’t she the same person she had always been? What had made this time dif
ferent from all other times? And why was she feeling so happy? Peter had beaten her or had he? He had outfoxed her, and he and his friends had beaten her up. That was certainly so. She had been defeated and yet — she was the winner. She knew she was the winner, and suddenly she knew why.
Peter’s strategy had really been brilliant. She had to hand it to him. He had organized a vigilante committee against her, and he had been right in figuring she would be defenseless against it. But he had overlooked one important fact — and it was something she had never until today appreciated. The weapon she had been searching for was one she had possessed all along, and one which she had never used before. Peter had gone down to defeat — not because she was stronger than he, or smarter, but because of something more powerful than that. She was a girl. And it was a mighty thing being a girl.
Chapter 10
Mama and Mary Rose were going at it hot and heavy when she arrived home. Mary Rose was crying and Mama was shouting, and nobody noticed the condition of her face except for Stanley.
“Wow!” he cried when she walked through the door. “What happened to you, Veronica?”
Mama was screaming, “You have no right opening my letters. I don’t care who it’s from. If you couldn’t wait until I got home, you should have brought it over to the store. I’m not going to stand for this. I’m—.”
“I wish I was dead!” Mary Rose sobbed. Veronica walked around both of them, and into the bathroom. What a day! She put her books down on the floor and looked at her face in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. “Wow!” was right. She ran the water in the sink and washed off all the blood from her face. While she was drying it, the voices outside grew louder. Then there was a thump, and a loud howl from Mary Rose. Mama must have whacked her one. Veronica hung up her towel and returned to the living room. What was it all about this time?
Mama had Mary Rose by the shoulder, and was shaking her, and saying, “Never again! If you ever do it again, I’ll —.”
Mary Rose was sobbing and struggling, and then suddenly Mama stopped shouting. All of a sudden, she just lifted Mary Rose up, carried her over to the chair, and sat down with her in her lap. She began rocking her back and forth in her arms, and—figure that out—she began kissing her over and over again. She didn’t say anything — just kept kissing Mary Rose, and Mary Rose put her arms around Mama’s neck, and instead of sobbing, began a low whining.
“What’s going on here?” Veronica demanded.
But Mama and Mary Rose were still all wrapped up in each other, and it was Stanley who answered her.
“He’s not coming, and Mary Rose opened Mama’s letter, and Mama was mad, and —.”
“Who’s not coming?” said Veronica, but she knew very well who it was.
“Your Papa,” Stanley said. “He sent money.”
Mama began talking to Mary Rose then. “Don’t feel bad, sweetie,” she said. “We’re really going to have a good time during Christmas vacation. Maybe I’ll even take you all down to Radio City, and we’ll have lunch in the Automat.”
Mary Rose didn’t say anything. Just kept her face buried in Mama’s shoulder.
Mama sighed. “Look, sweetie” — imagine Mama calling Mary Rose sweetie! — he really wanted to come. He cares for you. He really does, but he just doesn’t have the money.”
Mary Rose said in a muffled voice, her face still hidden on Mama’s shoulder, “I thought he had a lot of money. I thought he was rich.”
“Now where did you ever get that idea?” Mama said, smoothing Mary Rose’s hair.
Mary Rose didn’t answer the question. Veronica looked at her sister’s back with sympathy but with a feeling of righteousness too. Of course she couldn’t answer Mama’s question. What was she going to say — that she’d been listening behind closed doors, that she’d been eavesdropping, hearing everything wrong.
“No,” Mama said. “He tried to open a restaurant in Las Vegas, and it didn’t work out. So now he’s working for somebody else, and he just doesn’t have the money to come. But he wanted to,” she added quickly. “You can see how disappointed he sounds — and look — he sent five dollars for you and five dollars for Veronica.”
Veronica had a pretty good idea what was going to happen to the five dollars for Mary Rose and the five dollars for her. Mama would go and buy them underwear and pajamas — things like that. Any time their Papa sent them money Mama always frittered it away on useful things.
“And you know what?” Mama said cheerfully. “You can buy anything you like with the money.”
“Really?” said Veronica. And she knew exactly what she was going to do with it. She was going to take it over to the bicycle store on Third Avenue where they sold second-hand bikes. For five dollars or maybe six — and she could always raise another dollar — she’d have her own bike. What a day this was turning out to be. “Really?” she said again, stretching her sore mouth into a painful grin.
Mary Rose raised her head from Mama’s shoulder. “Anything I like?” she said.
“Uh huh.” Mama smiled.
“Well,” Mary Rose said, breathing fast. “There’s a gorgeous blue bedspread in Alexander’s. I think it’s satin with white flowers embroidered all over it. It’s the most gorgeous thing I ever saw in my whole life.”
“Satin?” Mama said, dismayed.
“And there’s curtains to match — such stunning curtains — with scallops on the bottom and, oh, Mama, it’s the most ... most ... just out of this world.”
“How much?”
“Five dollars for the bedspread and five for the drapes.”
She looked at Veronica.
“I’m buying a bike,” Veronica announced.
Mary Rose’s face fell.
Mama said, “Well, you can buy the bedspread with your five dollars, and — now I’m not promising anything — but — well, I haven’t bought your Christmas present yet — and if you think you’d rather have the drapes than anything else, maybe — and I’m not promising ...”
Mary Rose’s eyes began shining.
“I’m buying a bike,” Veronica repeated.
Mama looked at her, and then took another look. “What happened to you?” she shouted.
And it was a good thing that Mary Rose was around, because before Veronica had a chance to really think up a good story, Mary Rose started gabbing again about how she’d like to fix up the room. Then she ran off and brought back her box of decorating tips and began showing Mama all the junk she had collected there. Soon the two of them were talking away and Mama had forgotten all about Veronica.
She walked off to the bedroom, and Stanley followed her.
“Veronica,” he said, his face glowing, “I made something for Papa in school today. I’m going to give it to him for Christmas.”
“That’s nice,” Veronica said, hanging up her coat in the closet.
Stanley waited for a moment, and then he said, “Veronica!”
“What?”
“You want to know what it is?”
“O.K.,” Veronica said, hunting around on the dresser for a bobby pin. Her hair was flopping around over her eyes.
“You won’t tell anybody?”
Veronica found a pin, and shoved it through her hair on one side of her head, and began hunting for another pin.
“You promise, Veronica?”
“O.K., O.K.,” Veronica said impatiently. “What is it?”
Stanley looked around him, shut the door, and tiptoed over to her. He put up his face, and she bent down and put her ear up close to his mouth.
“It’s a Santa Claus on a string,” Stanley whispered.
“Oh!” said Veronica, beginning to straighten up, but Stanley held her down, and continued whispering. “When you jiggle the string, the Santa Claus dances up and down.”
Stanley’s breath was warm in her ear, and he smelled different from the way older people smelled — a special kind of young smell like — like fresh coconut.
So she said enthusiastically, “Oh, t
hat’s great! He’ll love that,” and rubbed his nose with the palm of her hand, and then pinched his little backside.
Stanley glowed. “What are you getting everybody for Christmas, Veronica?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it yet.”
“Look,” said Stanley, fishing down in his pocket, “look what I got.” He drew out some change and showed it to her. “Sixteen cents. Take me over to Woolworth’s, Veronica.”
“I will tomorrow,” Veronica said, smiling at him. “Where’d you get all that money?”
“I’ve been saving it,” Stanley said, “so now I can buy presents for Mama and Mary Rose and you. Let’s go now, Veronica.”
“But it’s nearly six o’clock,” Veronica said weakly.
“They’re open late today,” Stanley pleaded. “Please, Veronica. If you take me, Mama’ll let me
“Well, O.K.,” Veronica said. She and Stanley walked back into the living room. Mary Rose was showing Mama a chart of paint colors, and saying, “We could paint all the furniture white, and buy a white lampshade for the lamp, and ...”
Mama was shaking her head, and Veronica said, “Stanley and I are going out for a little while.”
“What time is it?” Mama said.
“Nearly six.”
“I’m going to make supper now.” Mama began rising.
“The paint won’t cost much,” Mary Rose insisted.
“But not white,” Mama said. “That would show up a lot of dirt. Why don’t you just leave it the way it is, and one of these days maybe we’ll be able to buy some new furniture.”
“We’ll be back soon,” said Veronica.
“You always say that,” continued Mary Rose, “but you never have the money. So let me paint it, and it’ll look like new, and you won’t have to buy new furniture.”
“Please, Mama, can we go?” said Stanley.
“Uh,” said Mama, looking at Mary Rose, then at Stanley, and then at Veronica.
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