Aim

by Joyce Moyer Hostetter

  I thought I was starting to get the picture. These boys were playing war, like I used to on the playground at school. Or all by myself with my BB gun and imaginary enemies stalking the woods behind our barn. It hit me then how I could help. “You need a gun?” I asked. “Wait a minute and I’ll bring you one.”

  I ran to the house. “We’re being invaded by the United States Army,” I said.

  Momma was shoving firewood into the stove. She pushed the door shut and straightened up in a cloud of smoke. “Junior, what are you talking about? And why is Hammer fit to be tied?”

  “Army maneuvers, right here on Bakers Mountain. I talked to one of the fellas, and he needs a gun.”

  “The army doesn’t supply their own weapons? Why do they need guns? They can’t be shooting each other.”

  “They’re not loaded, Momma. Some of them have wooden guns. Toys. I’ll give him my BB gun.”

  Momma stared. “Your pop gave that to you.”

  I realized that. And big as I was, I wasn’t excited about losing that gun. But this was the war we were talking about. Real soldiers were practicing outside my door, and they needed equipment. Seemed like the least I could do was hand over a toy I should’ve outgrown by now. I reached for my box of BBs on the shelf.

  I turned away before Momma could get me all sentimental. The shotgun and the rifle were there too. Maybe I should take them.

  “Better hurry,” said Momma, “or they’ll be gone.”

  I could still hear the motorcycles out there. And Jesse and Butch barking to beat the band. Howling, actually. I ran out the front door, and by the time I reached the cedars the dogs had settled down. No wonder—Ann Fay was there with Jesse under one arm and Butch under the other. Leroy stood just behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

  Up the road, other neighbors were lining up to watch the excitement. Frank Jenkins was by the mailbox watching for me. “Sir,” I said, “it’s not much, but maybe it’s better than no gun at all.” I fished the box of BBs from my pocket.

  His eyes lit up like he was a young’un being handed an RC Cola. “I shall be the envy of my entire outfit,” he said. “I have a buddy who’s played one too many pranks on me, and he’s about to be bit in the butt.” Frank winked and tucked the BBs in his pocket. “After hours, of course.”

  14

  TROUBLE

  November 1941

  War maneuvers on Bakers Mountain lasted over the weekend. We’d hear shouting and vehicle noises coming from the mountain, and at night we’d see the glow of campfires.

  People came from miles around delivering hand-knitted socks and gloves and even cakes to the fellows—the ones on patrol, that is. The ones who weren’t involved in combat up on the mountain.

  The colored church next door to us made a big bonfire. Curiosity seekers warmed themselves by it and chatted with some of the army men. And the choir stood on the steps of the church and sang, “It’s me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer.”

  The army men left on Sunday evening. I headed out to the road to watch them go, but first Momma pushed some cookies and two pairs of knit socks into my hands. “Take these,” she said.

  I met Frank coming up our lane. “Here’s your gun,” he said. “I haven’t had so much fun since I signed up. I’m afraid I used all the BBs, though.”

  “You aren’t keeping the gun?”

  “We just got word our supplies are in, so I won’t be needing it. But you sure boosted troop morale.” Frank pounded my back. “Now you can say you did your bit for the war.”

  The next morning at school, the only thing people wanted to talk about was army maneuvers. Miss Hinkle even skipped handwriting exercises to discuss our experiences. Marilyn Overcash and other students who lived on the back side of the mountain had talked with soldiers from the Red Team. According to them, the Reds had won the “Battle of Bakers Mountain.”

  It hadn’t even crossed my mind to ask who won. “I loaned my BB gun to a soldier,” I said.

  “BB gun?” Dudley snorted, and everybody else in the room seemed to think it was a big joke too.

  I tried to defend myself. “The army is short on supplies. Some of those fellows were using toy guns. And the soldier I gave the gun to was thrilled. Said it boosted troop morale.”

  “Isn’t that sweet?” said Dudley.

  A few other people snickered. And for some reason all the good feelings I had about troop morale just crumbled like dry cornbread.

  “Junior makes a good point,” said Miss Hinkle. “Supplying the army is a massive undertaking. I hope your families have contributed unused metals and empty tin cans to the scrap drives.”

  This led to a discussion about the economic depression our country had been in. And not just America, but the world. According to Miss Hinkle, the depression led Germany to follow a maniac like Adolf Hitler. The German people were desperate for a leader who could turn their economy around.

  Miss Hinkle asked us to compare and contrast Adolf Hitler’s methods with President Roosevelt’s.

  Dudley said he didn’t care much for the president. He didn’t have any good reason except that Franklin Roosevelt was a Democrat. Evidently that meant he was like the devil himself.

  I pointed out that President Roosevelt had done a whole lot to make jobs for people during hard times.

  “How would you know?” asked Dudley. “Your father didn’t exactly hold down a job.”

  I heard Janie Aderholt gasp. Like she couldn’t believe Dudley would say such a thing about a dead man. Or probably she was feeling sorry for me on account of Pop being who he was.

  “I’ll have you know that my pop was a farmer,” I said. “At least he didn’t sell moonshine. Which happens to be against the law.”

  “The reason your daddy didn’t sell moonshine,” said Dudley, “is because he’d have drunk it faster than he could sell it.”

  I was on my feet then, heading toward the back of the room. But just like that, Miss Hinkle was beside me. She grabbed ahold of my shirtsleeve.

  “Sit down, Junior.” She said it real low, but there was something in her voice that told me I better listen. Or else.

  So I sat. But inside I was standing up. Inside I was marching to the back of the room and jerking that Dudley Catfish Walker up and showing him what a Democrat could do to a Republican. If he wanted a fight, I was of a mind to let him have it.

  Miss Hinkle tried to bring the discussion back to the economy and how, if we did go to war, we’d have to sacrifice on more luxuries here at home. That didn’t help because Dudley had opinions on that too, and I spoke out and said his ideas were stupid so maybe he should just dry up, and Dudley said I was dumber than a box of rocks.

  “That’s it,” said Miss Hinkle. “The two of you will stay after school.”

  At the end of the day she told us both to sit in our seats until the buses had gone home. But first she sent notes home to our parents. She asked Janie Aderholt to deliver them down the hall—one to Dudley’s brother Rob and one to Ann Fay so she could give it to my momma.

  I did not like the thought of Momma getting that note. And I wasn’t crazy about Ann Fay being the one to deliver it, either.

  The buses left and Miss Hinkle sent me to the basement to borrow a bucket and mop from the janitor. “Fill it with water and soap,” she said. When I came back, Dudley had cleaned the blackboards and Miss Hinkle had him moving all the desks so I could wash the floor.

  “Don’t you boys dare say a word to each other,” said Miss Hinkle. “If you do, you’ll find yourselves out of this classroom for the rest of the week. I might just let you sit in the principal’s office to do your work.”

  I mopped every inch of the floor that wasn’t covered with heavy furniture. Seemed like she gave me the hard work, mopping and rinsing and wringing the mop out over and over.

  But I got some satisfaction out of her sending Dudley outside to dust off the chalkboard erasers. That was almost a girl’s job. I could see him smacking them together and se
nding clouds of dust into the air. Looked like he was talking to himself the whole time. Probably cussing up a blue streak.

  When Miss Hinkle was ready to leave, she took us home in her car. We sat in the back seat crowded up against the doors, staring out opposite windows. I wasn’t all that mad anymore, so I guessed mopping had worked some of it out of my system. But I was starting to worry about what this would do to Momma.

  Miss Hinkle dropped Dudley off first. I had an idea where he lived, but I hadn’t actually ever seen his house. I didn’t expect it to be such a shack. I could have made a comment or two about his daddy not fixing the broken-down porch, but I kept my mouth shut. He hopped out of the car and started to walk away.

  Miss Hinkle stopped him in his tracks. “Come back here, Dudley.”

  He turned and came back.

  “I believe you forgot to thank me for the ride home.”

  Dudley squinted at her like his ears couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Then he looked away. He rubbed the toe of his shoe in the dirt and stared at the ground. I could tell he didn’t want to say thank you. But he finally did. “Thank you, Miss Hinkle.”

  “That’s better.”

  I told Miss Hinkle I could walk from her house, but no, she wouldn’t have that. “I am responsible for you and I will see you to your door.” So she drove up our lane and of course Jesse and Butch came out and howled like always until they saw me get out of the car. “Thank you for the ride home, Miss Hinkle,” I said.

  Momma was waiting for me in the kitchen. “Ann Fay dropped by with a note from Miss Pauline. How could you, Junior? What has gotten into you?”

  “What?”

  “You were fighting?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what the note said.”

  “We swapped a few words, that’s all. Dudley Walker was insulting Pop in front of the class.”

  “In front of the class?” Momma’s eyes narrowed and her voice went from accusing me to disliking Dudley. “What did he say?”

  I shouldn’t have told her that. Momma didn’t need more public shaming. I shrugged. “Nothing, Momma. I’m just hotheaded. That’s all.”

  Momma didn’t ask more questions. She probably didn’t want to know. I was starting to think I was too much for her to handle. She was used to having Pop there to straighten me out whenever I was ornery.

  I never was much of a troublemaker, but if I did cause her grief, Pop would say, “You go outside and leave your momma alone.” He’d put me to work hoeing weeds or chopping firewood until I was good and sorry for how I’d acted and ready to tell her so.

  Granddaddy was standing at the bedroom door listening to me and Momma. Of course he had to throw in his two cents. “Acorn sure don’t fall far from the tree.”

  I knew what he meant. Pop was the tree and I was the acorn that was turning out to be just like him.

  Granddaddy shook his finger at Momma. “I’ll tell you what’s the God’s honest truth. Whenever Axel got in trouble at school, he could sure count on double trouble when I got ahold of him. Ten licks at school meant twenty at home.”

  Momma stared into the gravy she was stirring. And I could tell she was feeling sorry for Pop—back when he was a boy. “Axel Bledsoe,” she said, and she let out a long, ragged-sounding sigh. “God rest your poor tormented soul.”

  Hearing her fret over Pop just added to my guilt. I didn’t like her being disappointed in me. After all, the two of us had always stuck together when he didn’t come home or was in one of his dark moods. Now that he wasn’t here, it seemed like we were starting to be on opposite sides.

  “How many licks did she give you?” Granddaddy headed toward me fingering his belt, like he was fixing to take it off and help Momma out.

  “Hammer, you stay out of this,” said Momma. “Axel never laid a hand on that child, and I sure won’t let you do it.”

  Granddaddy stopped in his tracks. “It figgers,” he said. “Children nowadays are spoiled plumb rotten. Watch and see if you don’t regret this.”

  Since Pop wasn’t there to punish me, I figured I’d do it for him. I could show Momma I wasn’t trying to be mean and ornery. “I’m gonna chop wood,” I told her. “There’s a big tree down behind the barn that needs cutting up.”

  Momma nodded. But she didn’t look at me. “I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

  The ax felt real good in my hands. And bringing it down on the log and sending chips flying felt even better. But it didn’t take long before I started hankering after that two-man saw hanging on the wall inside the shed.

  “Come on, Pop!” I yelled. “You expecting me to do this all by myself? You never did. No siree! You always had me there helping out. So what in tarnation makes you think you can run off and leave me here with all the work?”

  I wore myself slap out before supper and got only three sections of that log chopped off. Looked like Momma would have to put on extra layers this winter. Or pray for mild weather. Because firewood sure didn’t cut itself up, and Granddaddy wouldn’t have helped even if he had two good hands.

  Pop was right when he said he could stop me from playing baseball. Maybe he wouldn’t have let me play if he was still living. But one thing for sure. With him dead, there wasn’t a chance of me having time for fun and games.

  15

  THANKSGIVING

  November 1941

  Saturday morning before Thanksgiving, I was in the woods just behind the barn chopping away at that log and wishing I was out hunting. But much as Momma would’ve loved to have some venison to put in jars or squirrel to stew, those things wouldn’t keep us warm.

  After working for an hour, I threw a few short sections of the log onto the wagon. “Grover,” I said, slapping him on the rump, “you might want to catch yourself some shut-eye. This is going to take a while.”

  I worked for another hour and then I heard voices. Coming around the corner of the barn was Leroy Honeycutt with a two-man saw. Of course Ann Fay was with him.

  She ran ahead, waving a newspaper. “Look, Junior. Somebody famous was in town this week. Alvin York. He’s a war hero. They made a movie about him.”

  “I know that,” I said. “I heard about the movie on the radio.”

  “Well, he stayed at Hotel Hickory last week—on his way to Statesville for a movie premiere. I bet you know all about that too, don’t you?”

  “Nope,”I said. “Don’t know much about Hollywood.”

  “Peggy Sue says a premiere is the first showing of the movie. When Sergeant York comes to Hickory, me and Peggy Sue are going to see it.”

  That figured. Her and Peggy Sue. “Well, y’all have yourself a good time,” I said.

  “Wanna go? I bet her momma’ll take you too.”

  Of course I wanted to go. And Mildred probably would take me. But I sure didn’t want to be beholden to anybody. So I just shook my head. “I don’t have time for picture shows. I’ll be cutting firewood every Saturday between now and Christmas.”

  “We’re here to help with that,” said Leroy. “You got right smart of a load there, Junior. But the biggest part of that tree is still on the ground. We best get to work.”

  Well, I could just hardly believe I had help. Things went a lot faster with me and Leroy using the crosscut saw. Ann Fay climbed onto the wagon and started stacking the sections I’d already loaded—even the hefty logs that still needed to be split. If she couldn’t pick it up, she’d roll or shove it into place. I’ll say one thing for that young’un. She sure knew how to work.

  By noon we had a wagonload. “Ready to take this back to the house?” asked Leroy. “We should head home, and I ’spect you’ve worked up an appetite.”

  We led Grover back to the house and unhitched him by the chopping block in the backyard. “I sure do thank you both,” I said. “Maybe Momma will rest easy now that we have a good start on the firewood.”

  Of course I still had to split it, but I could do that, a little at a time, on weekdays after school.

>   Granddaddy was waiting for me at the back door. “Where you been? I need a haircut. And my toenails have to be trimmed.”

  I guessed he thought I was actually going to trim his toenails! But he was sure wrong about that. Momma had dinner dished up and I sat down to eat.

  Granddaddy tagged along. “Mind if I join you? After dinner we’ll get right on that haircut. And then maybe I’ll take me a bath. I could use one.”

  I could’ve agreed about him needing a bath. As usual he had tobacco stains running down his neck. But ignoring him was my best bet.

  “Hammer, I already filled you a plate,” said Momma. “It’s in your room.”

  “Can you bring it here?”

  “I could,” said Momma. “But then what would you do?” She waited for Granddaddy to leave the table, and then she sat down. “Miss Dinah came by,” she said to me. “It looks like we have an invitation for Thanksgiving.”

  I dropped my fork. “You made plans to go to the Hinkle sisters’, Momma? I can’t! I put up with Miss Pauline five days a week already.”

  Momma squinted. “You need to climb down off your high horse. Nobody said a thing about having Thanksgiving at the Hinkle sisters’. Your Uncle Tag called to invite us to China Grove for a few days. Miss Dinah just delivered the message. If you can arrange for milking and someone to tend to the animals, we’ll do it.”

  “Garland Abernethy will help with the animals,” I said. Garland’s farm was only a mile away, and he and Pop often helped each other out when one of them was away from home. We used to go regular to China Grove for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but the last few years it seemed like Pop ended up drunk around any holiday. Momma wouldn’t visit her family if he was intoxicated. Or “sick,” as she always called it.

  Before I had time to get used to the idea of leaving for a few days, I heard Granddaddy coming up behind me. Singing. “Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go …” He plopped his plate on the table, pulled out Pop’s chair, and sat beside me. “Yipee!” he said. “We’re going out of town. Yup, I’m definitely going to need a haircut.”