Cold War on Maplewood Street

by Gayle Rosengren

  She tried to smile. “Yeah. That’s what I keep telling myself.”

  Theo nodded quickly. “You have to think positive.”

  “That’s exactly what Sam would say!” Joanna did smile then.

  Theo looked pleased. He knew that was a compliment. Mr. Egan entered the room and Theo backed away toward his desk, grinning. “See you tomorrow night at Sherry’s party.”

  The party! Joanna groaned. Why couldn’t things ever go right for her?

  And on top of everything else, it was Slop Class day.

  Every Friday, right after they said the pledge, while the boys got to make neat things like bookends and birdhouses in shop class with jokey Mr. Lions, the girls had to make nasty things like milk toast and rice pudding in the home economics classroom with Mrs. Stubbins. And what was worse, they had to eat everything they made. Ugh! Girls long before them had nicknamed the whole disgusting experience Slop Class, and the name was still a perfect fit.

  When Mr. Egan told the girls to line up that morning, he was treated to the usual chorus of groans and he responded with his usual frown of disapproval. But he didn’t scold. He never did on these occasions. Which suggested to Joanna that somewhere deep down he felt sympathy for them. Not enough to keep him from sending them to home ec, though. Joanna joined the scraggly line that trudged miserably down the hall.

  “Okay, girls, let’s take our seats quickly,” Mrs. Stubbins clucked, clapping her hands to hurry them along. “We have a lot to do and no time to waste.” Mrs. Stubbins, who obviously enjoyed eating as much as cooking, waddled over to shut the door. She nearly closed it on an office messenger. She read his note and quickly shooed him on his way. “We’re going to make egg on a raft today,” she announced. “Won’t that be fun?”

  Joanna and her two tablemates—Debbie and Frannie—rolled their eyes at one another.

  Mrs. Stubbins demonstrated everything they were supposed to do from her table at the front of the room. When she finished, she looked them over like a sergeant reviewing her troops. “Any questions? No? Then go to your kitchens and begin.”

  Joanna’s sigh blended with those of a dozen other girls. Feet dragging, she followed Frannie and Debbie to their assigned “kitchen” at the back of the room. Each of the four cooking areas had a stove and a sink and a small refrigerator.

  “I’ll get the stuff from the fridge,” Debbie offered.

  Frannie nodded. “I’ll get the frying pans.”

  “And I’ll get the bread.” Joanna got the loaf from the bread box and counted out three slices.

  Each girl plopped half a tablespoon of margarine into a frying pan and turned on the burner beneath it. Joanna cut a circle in her slice of bread with the top of a juice glass and laid it in her sizzling pan. Then she cracked her egg carefully into the hole.

  While they waited for the eggs to cook, Frannie and Debbie whispered about what they were going to wear to Sherry’s party. Joanna pasted a smile on her face and pretended to be listening, but really she was thinking how odd it was that after last night’s dream about Sam, she was making something called egg on a raft.

  That really had been a horrible dream. Seeing poor Sam with the shreds of the yellow raft in his hand . . . ! And those bodies that had been blown into the water from the holes in the side of the ship. She’d nearly forgotten that part of the dream, but now that it came back to her, she remembered even more. She saw all those hurt and dying men in the water. She saw Sam with bullets pelting the water all around him . . .

  The bell shrilled.

  Joanna froze. Beside her, Frannie and Debbie froze, too.

  The bell wasn’t supposed to ring now.

  It blasted for what seemed like forever. Finally, it stopped just long enough for a babble of voices to break out. Then it shrilled again. Air raid!

  Joanna’s heart exploded into wild pounding. Something must have gone wrong at the quarantine! Her nightmare was coming true. The terror of it swelled inside her all over again. Sam! Mom!

  “Girls, turn off your burners!” Mrs. Stubbins shouted over the bell. She kept shouting directions, but the girls were squealing and the bell kept ringing. It was impossible to hear anything.

  Joanna imagined Mrs. Stubbins was telling them to put dirty utensils in the sink to soak before they left. That’s just the way her mind would work. The building could be bombed but the dishes should be clean! Well, Joanna didn’t care about dirty dishes. And she sure as heck didn’t want to be with Mrs. Stubbins when bombs started falling!

  Joanna was near the door. She was through it in a flash. But she didn’t turn left and start a line against the wall. She turned right and dived down the stairwell.

  The Russians were attacking! She wasn’t going to huddle on the floor of the hallway with her hands over her head.

  She was going home.

  CHAPTER 14

  Because of Harvey

  JOANNA EXPECTED TO HEAR PRINCIPAL OWENS OR MRS. Stubbins behind her, shouting, “Stop! Come back here! You can’t leave now!” But if they were, she couldn’t hear them over the long blasts of the bell. The kids and teachers she glimpsed at each floor were too busy lining up in the hallways to notice her flying around the corners of the stairway. She went down, down, and out the door without one person trying to stop her.

  Outside, Joanna looked up. She thought she might see planes swarming overhead, like in her nightmare. But the sky was empty. That could change any second, though. Planes traveled fast. Missiles traveled even faster.

  She sprinted through the school yard entrance and down the street. Past houses. Past Mr. Hillyer’s store and the mailbox on the corner. Past more houses. Home was just ahead.

  By then, Joanna’s legs were almost too heavy to lift and every breath scraped through her lungs like sandpaper. The only thing that kept her going was picturing herself bursting through the front door, scooping up Dixie, and whisking her to the closet.

  But when she finally staggered to a stop at her building, she didn’t plunge down the steps to the basement the way she’d imagined. She was halted by the sight of an almost all-black cat stumbling blindly around the side of the building with a tuna can stuck on his face.

  “Harvey!” she gasped with what little breath she had left. “What did you do to yourself?” He tried to meow in response, but it came out as a muffled merrrr.

  Stupid cat! Joanna glanced upward. The sky was still empty. She squatted down to remove the can. But when she tried, Harvey yowled in pain. Blood trickled down his cheek. She saw then just how serious his situation was. He’d managed to get his nose caught under the jagged edge of the lid and the more he tried to get free, the more he hurt himself. “Poor stupid cat,” Joanna murmured softly. “You really did a job on yourself.”

  She looked down the basement stairs. Home was just a few steps away. But she couldn’t leave Harvey out here like this. She glanced up again. The sky was still clear. For how much longer, though? There was no time to waste. She’d run Harvey upstairs, ring Mrs. Strenge’s bell, and leave him on her doormat just like she’d left that bag of groceries. She’d be downstairs with Dixie in less than a minute.

  Joanna gathered Harvey in her arms and climbed as fast as she could up the front steps. Just as she pulled open the heavy outer door, the door of the first-floor apartment opened and Mrs. Strenge appeared, dressed in a coat and leaning on a wooden cane. Joanna was so startled, she nearly dropped Harvey.

  “Oh—you found him! Thank you!” the old woman cried. “I was just going out to look for him. He was gone so long, I knew he must have gotten into some sort of mischief. And I was certainly right! Just look at him.”

  Hearing his mistress’s voice, Harvey tried to meow but with even less success than before. It came out sounding more like a moan of pain.

  “I tried to take the can off, but it’s stuck and it’s cutting him,” Joanna explained in a rush. All she
wanted was to hand over Harvey and scurry downstairs, but the cane left Mrs. Strenge with only one free hand. How could Joanna thrust the cat into the old woman’s arms when she really only had one? Yuck! There was that nasty smell again.

  The wrinkles in the old woman’s face deepened. “Poor old fellow.” She stroked the tiny patch of white on the cat’s forehead. “But you’re safe now, thanks to Joanna.” As if he understood every word she’d said, Harvey somehow managed to purr.

  But Joanna’s mind spun. “H-how do you know my name?”

  Mrs. Strenge laughed. “I’m a bit crippled, but I’m not deaf. I hear you and Pamela calling to each other all the time.”

  Joanna felt foolish. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe Mrs. Strenge really was just an ordinary old woman. But then she remembered the blond girl . . .

  There was no time to think, though. Mrs. Strenge was on the move, hobbling back a step. “If you’ll just carry Harvey inside for me, I’m sure that together we can get that can off in no time.”

  She turned and walked slowly into the apartment, the tip of her cane thumping against the wood floor. Not knowing what else to do, Joanna followed, but she left the door open a crack so she could get out quickly if she had to.

  Something about the cane’s thumps was familiar. By the time Joanna reached the living room, she realized what. The noises she’d thought were made by a prisoner trying to signal for help—they’d been the sounds of Mrs. Strenge’s cane rapping against the floor! Joanna’s cheeks burned. She really had let her imagination run away with her. But still, there was the little girl. Joanna hadn’t imagined her. Why had she run away crying?

  The nasty odor was stronger in the living room. When she got closer, Joanna realized it was coming from an open jar on the coffee table. She could only see part of the label—FOR RELIEF OF JOINT PAIN. Not poison. Medicine. Joanna sighed.

  The old woman winced painfully as she eased herself into a stuffed chair. She didn’t look like she could hurt anyone. She certainly couldn’t chase after them. Very carefully, Joanna set Harvey on her lap. Before she could turn and leave, though, Mrs. Strenge looked up at her.

  “There are clean washcloths in the bathroom,” she said. “Would you please wet one with cold water and bring it to me? And would you bring me a fork from the kitchen, too?”

  Didn’t Mrs. Strenge realize they were under attack? Or was she so determined to help Harvey that she’d forgotten?

  Desperate to get out of the first-floor apartment and into her own, Joanna hurried through the dining room. Nothing scary there. Just a stack of Green Stamps and the books to paste them into. Joanna’s mother collected Green Stamps, too. She got them nearly everywhere she shopped. And when she filled enough books, she traded them in for something they needed, like a new iron, or a set of casseroles, even a vacuum cleaner once.

  Joanna ducked into the bathroom long enough to snatch a washcloth and run it under the cold water faucet. Then she hurried into the kitchen, where she was jolted by the sight of Girl Scout Cookie boxes stacked on top of the refrigerator. It brought her earlier fears back in a rush. She had to get out of this place! She plucked a fork from the drawer next to the sink and scooted back to the living room.

  “Help me hold him still, dear, would you?” Mrs. Strenge asked as she took the fork. Joanna’s feet itched to be going, but how could she say no? She placed her hands gently but firmly on either side of Harvey’s head.

  The knuckles of Mrs. Strenge’s hands were horribly swollen, and her fingers curled so they looked like claws. Joanna didn’t see how she could manage to open a jar or even a doorknob. It had to be painful and take forever. It was no wonder her hair was usually a wild mess. She probably couldn’t handle a comb or brush, and she surely couldn’t manage bobby pins.

  She watched Mrs. Strenge try to slide one of the fork’s prongs under the jagged edge of the lid, but twice the fork slipped from her hand. The first time, it fell into her lap. The second time, it clattered onto the floor.

  Joanna picked it up. “Let me try,” she said. The old woman nodded gratefully. Carefully, Joanna caught the lid with one prong of the fork and raised it just far enough that Harvey was able to pull himself loose.

  He shook his head, then rubbed his face in Mrs. Strenge’s lap, clearly delighted to be rid of the can that had been holding him prisoner.

  “Oh, thank you, Joanna!” Mrs. Strenge cried. She pressed the washcloth to the cut on Harvey’s cheek. But Harvey’d had enough. He leaped from her lap and raced out of the room.

  The old woman shook her head and laughed. “Ungrateful little wretch!” She turned back to Joanna. “But truly, dear, it was lucky for Harvey and for me that you decided to play hooky today.”

  “Hooky? Oh, no, I came home because of the air raid,” Joanna explained.

  “Air raid?”

  “Yes. They rang the bell at school—” For the first time Joanna realized that a radio in the corner of the room was quietly playing music. If they were being attacked, shouldn’t there be a message telling listeners to tune to the emergency station?

  “Oh no!” Joanna said, clutching her head with both hands. “I’m going to look like such an idiot!”

  “What did you do that’s so awful?” Mrs. Strenge looked puzzled.

  “It was just a drill!” Joanna cried. “I thought it was a real air raid and I ran home to be with Dixie.”

  “Home is where you should run when there’s trouble,” the old woman said.

  Joanna groaned. “The other kids and my teachers won’t think so.”

  “You’ll explain. They’ll understand.” Mrs. Strenge sounded very sure.

  “I hope you’re right.” Joanna sighed. She gave the old woman a lopsided smile. “At least we’re not at war.” That was an enormous relief. But she still wanted to get out of this apartment as fast as she could. The cookie boxes in the kitchen had raised her fears about Mrs. Strenge all over again. What if she was a Russian spy and was sending secret messages to the Kremlin about how the Americans were reacting to the crisis? Maybe there were hundreds of Mrs. Strenges planted all over the country, looking out their windows and listening at their doors. She turned to leave.

  “Could you just turn off the radio before you go?” Mrs. Strenge asked. “I think after all this excitement I may be ready for a little nap.”

  Joanna hurried across the room, but then she stood and stared. There was a photo next to the radio. A blond girl—the blond girl—smiled at her from a fancy silver frame. “Who’s this?” she asked, trying not to sound as startled as she felt.

  “That’s my daughter’s child, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Strenge said, a note of pride in her voice. “She’s my only grandchild. I used to live with her and her mother. But my daughter recently remarried and they moved to Ohio. I miss them terribly. Especially Elizabeth. She calls me on the telephone every Sunday, but it’s just not the same.”

  “I know what you mean,” Joanna said. “My brother, Sam, just joined the navy and he’s going to be gone for a whole year. I miss him something awful.” She switched off the radio and turned around in time to see Mrs. Strenge wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “Is there anything else you need?” Joanna added softly.

  “A promise perhaps?” Mrs. Strenge suggested.

  Joanna blinked. “Sure. What kind of promise?”

  “That you’ll come see me sometimes. I get lonely, and the company of a lively young girl like you would be a real treat.” She smiled. “If it weren’t for Harvey, I’d even ask you to bring that cute little dog of yours.”

  Joanna laughed, imagining Dixie chasing Harvey around the apartment. “I’ll come. I promise.” She’d been such an idiot! Mrs. Strenge was just a nice, normal, lonely old lady—not a spy or a kidnapper or any of the other crazy things she had imagined.

  She sighed. There was no point in putting it off. “I’ve got to go back to school now.” She g
ave Mrs. Strenge a grim smile and squared her shoulders. “I’m going to be in big trouble.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Facing the Music

  THE WALK BACK TO SCHOOL SEEMED TO TAKE FOREVER, especially without her jacket. Now that Joanna wasn’t running, she noticed how cold it was. The only thing that warmed her was the thought that if she hadn’t run home, she wouldn’t have been there to help Harvey, and she wouldn’t have finally gotten to know Mrs. Strenge. But imagining what the other kids and her teachers would say when they saw her made her feel as if she were heading into a firing squad.

  What a baby they must think she was! Billy would probably make siren noises and yell, “Run for cover!” every time he saw her now. Theo would never talk to her again. She’d be in trouble with Mr. Egan and Mrs. Stubbins and maybe even Principal Owens—and it was all Mrs. Stubbins’s fault!

  Why hadn’t she warned them about the drill? That note the messenger had brought her at the beginning of class must have been about it. But Mrs. Stubbins hadn’t said a word. She didn’t care if a dozen girls got scared half to death. All she cared about was her stupid egg on a raft!

  The playground was empty. Joanna crunched across the gravel and slipped through the door. Then she ran up the stairs two at a time. Kindergarteners were singing “The Eensy Weensy Spider” on the first floor, and a door closed far off on the second, but she didn’t see a soul. She just smelled coffee wafting down the hall from the teachers’ lounge. It was a homey, comforting smell, and suddenly more than anything she wished she could have a cup and add milk and sugar like Mom let her do sometimes on weekend mornings in the winter.

  Her feet got heavier as she neared the third floor. Joanna had never been in any trouble at school before. Her mouth was dry. Her throat was tight.

  The door to her classroom was open. Mr. Egan was talking about prepositions. Joanna took a deep, shaky breath. She let it out and started into the classroom just as a bell rang. Recess. She back-stepped quickly into the hallway to avoid being trampled.