Amazing Grace

by Nancy Allen

  I watched as Grandma and two more neighbors walked down the road and onto his porch. “Mr. Wick, we heard about your loss,” Grandma said. “We’re sorry.”

  Johnny, Spot and I left. We picked up more tin cans, toothpaste tubes, rakes, chairs, pots and pans. I wanted to do everything possible to help Daddy so we would never have to change the blue star to gold on the flag hanging in Grandma’s window. I wanted to do something to make Mr. Wick feel better too.

  Chapter 19

  Canine Surprise

  The junk rally was still going strong in Ashland. On Tuesdays, Johnny, Spot and I collected from our neighbors. One afternoon, we stopped by Mrs. Sizemore’s house to pick up an old metal chair and a few tin cans.

  “Look, Grace Ann,” Johnny said. Johnny pointed to Spot, who ran over to three little puppies rolling around the yard.

  “Would you kids know anyone who would like a puppy?” Mrs. Sizemore asked.

  “What kind of dogs are they?” Johnny asked.

  “Oh, they’re a little of this and a lot of that and not much of any one breed, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Sizemore said. “But they’re cute. And sweet. I’m keeping two, but I need to find a good home for one.”

  I walked over and saw three bundles of fun rollicking around in the grass. One looked like a husky, one like a hound and one like Lassie in the picture show Johnny and I saw. “I might have a home for the yellow puppy,” I said. “Could we borrow her for a few minutes?”

  Mrs. Sizemore wrapped the puppy in a blanket. I carried the little bundle while Johnny pulled the wagon up the path to Mr. Wick’s house.

  As we walked into his yard, he walked around the house carrying a big sack stuffed full of something.

  “Hello, Grace, Johnny. Hello, Spot,” Mr. Wick said. He laid the sack on the ground and rubbed Spot’s head. “A fine specimen of a canine, right here.”

  Spot pranced and danced and set his tail in a wild swing.

  A few strange-looking pods rolled out of the sack. “What’s that?” Johnny asked.

  “Oh, that?” Mr. Wick asked. “I’ve been up in the hills collecting milkweed pods for the government. They’re used to fill life jackets for the marine and navy personnel. These pods might help save a life.” He looked sad as he talked. I knew he was thinking about his son. He pointed to the bundle I held firmly to my chest. “I’m going to ask you the same question. What’s that?”

  Suddenly, I froze. What if Mr. Wick didn’t want a dog? My mouth refused to move. I wanted to say, “We’ve got to go,” but before the words formed, my little bundle wiggled and squirmed and yipped. She must have been too hot under the blanket.

  “What have you got in there?” Mr. Wick asked.

  The puppy popped her head out of a hole in the blanket and yipped again. I pulled back the blanket and set the little collie on the ground. She ran straight to Mr. Wick, tumbled and rolled.

  “Mrs. Sizemore is looking for a home for the little girl,” I said. “Do you know anyone who might be interested in having some canine company?”

  Mr. Wick looked at me.

  “We thought you might be interested,” Johnny said.

  Mr. Wick cast his eyes toward Johnny. He turned his back, picked up the sack of milkweed pods and walked up the steps to his porch. “Too late to make up for past mistakes,” he said. “I needed a dog when John Mark was young. Got no use for one now.” He opened the front door and walked inside his house. I noticed the “sons of service” flag with the gold star still hung in his window.

  I grabbed the feisty little puppy, and we returned her to Mrs. Sizemore.

  “Do you think Mr. Wick is mad at us, Gracie?” Johnny asked a few minutes later as we hauled another wagonload to the collection center.

  “Maybe,” I answered. Probably, I thought. “I guess we shouldn’t have taken the dog to him without asking first. He feels bad about not giving his son a collie. We reminded him of something he’d rather forget.”

  “I’m sorry,” Johnny said. He voice dripped with sadness.

  We wheeled five more wagonloads of junk to the collection center that day. Spot trotted along on each trip. By the time we returned home, Grandma and Mom had supper on the table. I told them about collecting for the junk rally. I wanted to forget about Mr. Wick and the puppy, but that’s all Johnny had on his mind.

  “Your heart was in the right place,” Grandma said. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  After supper, we listened to the wireless. The newsman said, “This report just in. Yesterday, August 25, the Allied troops entered Paris, France. France is now free of German Nazi rule.”

  “Glory be,” Mom said and clapped her hands. Grandma, Mom, Johnny and I hugged and hugged; then we walked over to the big wall map and found Paris.

  We still hadn’t gotten a letter from Daddy. Mom figured that he was so busy with the troops he didn’t have time to write.

  “Gumption,” Grandma said as she reminded us daily to think positive thoughts.

  A knock drew our attention away from the map. I ran across the room and opened the front door. Mr. Wick stood there with his hat in his hands. “May I come in?”

  I stood back to let him enter. “Mr. Wick, I’m sorry about bringing the puppy to you without asking.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about, Grace,” he said. “I was wrong. I hope I can learn from my mistakes. John Mark would have wanted me to give that little collie a home. You said something about canine company. I could use some canine company in my life about now. That is, if she’s still available.”

  Johnny and I walked to Mrs. Sizemore’s house with Mr. Wick. When we arrived, the little collie was rolling around the yard with the two other puppies. Mr. Wick picked up the yellow dog and looked it over. The furball licked his face.

  “A girl, I see,” Mr. Wick said. “I wonder how the name Holly would fit?” He looked at me and then at Johnny.

  “Holly the Collie,” I said.

  “The name fits,” Johnny agreed.

  “This is one fine specimen of a canine,” Mr. Wick said as he held the puppy in his arms.

  I was happy for Mr. Wick and Holly the Collie. Mr. Wick found a canine friend, and the puppy found a home.

  With all the good news, I grabbed a V-mail letter and wrote to Daddy to tell him all about Holly the Collie and Johnny, Spot and me working the junk rally. I folded the V-mail and addressed it.

  I hoped Daddy found his way back home soon.

  Chapter 20

  The Harvest

  My victory garden painted Grandma’s front yard a rainbow of colors—tomatoes a flag-stripe red, marigolds all orangey, cantaloupes yellow and corn yellower, leaves in every shade of green, berry bushes polka-dotted blue, bachelor buttons bright indigo and eggplants a shiny, purpley violet. Before long, we’d plucked every vegetable, every berry and every flower. We either dished it, canned it or stuck it in a vase.

  “Grace Ann,” Grandma said, “the pot at the end of your rainbow is filled with stew and is simmering on the stove. That’s as good as gold.”

  Her words kicked up a tickle that made me whoop.

  Each week, I watched the growing arms of the pumpkin vines grab for extra ground. Mr. Wick hauled more of Moonglow’s mule pies and helped me spread the fertilizer around my pumpkin patch. The plants grew up, out and over the fence, as if they owned the place. By the third Saturday of September, my pumpkins were the talk of Ashland.

  I plucked the pumpkins, big and small, from the vines. As I clutched a five-gallon-bucket-size pumpkin, Grandma walked up.

  “Child, let me help you.” Grandma grabbed one side of the load, and I grabbed the other. “These rascals have gone through a serious growth spurt,” she said.

  We carried the pumpkins out to a wide place by the two-lane road that ran between Grandma’s house and the Ohio River. I propped up my hand-painted “Pumpkins for Sale” sign against a maple tree and turned a big wooden crate upside down to use as a table. Grandma let me use an old cigar box that belonged to Grandpa to stor
e the money I collected.

  Instead of seeing plain old pumpkins when I looked at my mountain of orange goods, I saw a shiny red bicycle with me pedaling. My sweet daydream came to a sudden halt when a woman drove by, stepped on the brakes and threw her snazzy black Packard in reverse.

  “How much for the pumpkin, the one with some leaves hanging onto the stem?” she asked. She stuck her arm out the open window and pointed to a round beauty.

  “Quarter,” I answered.

  “Sold.” The woman bought that pumpkin and four more. I placed them in the trunk of her automobile and watched her drive off.

  “My first sale,” I told Spot.

  Spot’s tail tip-tapped the ground in a rhythm that sent me into a hand-clapping, arm-flapping, head-bopping, feet-flying boogie. Spot pranced and danced around me. I twirled on one foot, then the other, until I got so dizzy I staggered when I tried to walk to my pumpkin that I used as a chair.

  As the day wore on, I sold pumpkins to people who walked by, pedaled by and drove by. I even sold pumpkins to a couple who floated by. They tied up their boat, climbed up the bank and left with three big beauties.

  Falling red and yellow maple leaves fluttered around me like butterflies as Mr. Wick and Holly the Collie walked up. Spot ran up to Holly and wagged his tail. Mr. Wick leaned down and patted Spot’s head. “Good day, Spot and Grace. Looks like you’ve got yourself a fine crop of pumpkins.”

  “I’m glad you came by,” I said. “Spot and I have the perfect pumpkin for you and two more for Moonglow and Holly the Collie, just in time to decorate for Halloween and pie for Thanksgiving.” I showed Mr. Wick the first pumpkin. “See why it’s perfect for you?” I asked. The pumpkin had an outline of two quarter-sized circles that made the pumpkin look like it was wearing glasses exactly like those Mr. Wick wore.

  Mr. Wick held up the pumpkin, eyed it for a few seconds and laughed. “Right you are. This is the perfect pumpkin for me.” He picked out two more for Moonglow and Holly the Collie. “They’re not much for pie, but both will appreciate a nice jack-o’-lantern, for sure. How much for the three of them?”

  “For you, nothing,” I said. “I’m charging you the same price you charged me for rescuing Spot. And Moonglow’s mule pies were the trick to growing my garden.”

  “Holly the Collie, Moonglow and I are much obliged, Grace,” Mr. Wick said. He placed one dollar and three quarters on the table and picked up the three pumpkins. “One quarter is for Spot. Buy him a treat. He’s a fine specimen of a canine.”

  As the sun sunk low over the treetops, I sold my last pumpkin to another neighbor.

  I kissed Spot on the head, thanked him for helping me all day and showed him his quarter.

  Spot whimpered. In dog talk that meant, “When do I get my treat?”

  “As soon as I get to the store to buy you something,” I answered.

  I walked into the house and emptied my earnings onto the red-and-white checked oilcloth that covered the kitchen table. I counted the money and counted it again. I wanted to be certain I had enough to buy a bicycle, if Mr. Wilson ever got another one. The jitters set in as I counted the last quarter: $17.25, and a quarter for Spot.

  I had never had so much money in my life. Neither had Spot. I tingled down to my toes when I thought about the other red bicycle that sold for fifteen dollars. I showed Grandma and Johnny my money.

  “What are you going to buy me?” Johnny wanted to know, first thing.

  “I’m going to buy you a muzzle that fits over your big mouth so I won’t have to listen to you,” I answered.

  “Humph,” Johnny grumbled and walked into our bedroom. He came back out with his favorite toy truck.

  “Grace, your pumpkin harvest turned out so well, I think I’ll do a little harvesting of my own,” Grandma said.

  “What are you harvesting, Grandma?” I asked.

  “I’m going to rob two of my beehives,” she answered.

  “Your bees buzzed around my pumpkin vines all spring and summer,” I said. “They helped me raise some fine pumpkins.”

  “And your pumpkin blossoms helped my bees make some mighty fine honey,” Grandma said. “Especially Polly Nate.”

  We looked at each other and giggled as we remembered Johnny thinking “pollinate” was a person.

  Grandma pulled on a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of long pants under her dress and some kind of hood over her head that had netting. She called it a veil. That woman looked like a Halloween spook and could have won first prize for her costume.

  Grandma walked into her garden shed and came out carrying a square metal box with leather pleats like an accordion.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A smoker,” Grandma answered. “Hot coals go in the metal part, the burner. When I squeeze the bellow,” she pointed to the leather pleats, “smoke blows out of this hole.” She turned the smoker to the side so I could see each part.

  I stared at the strange-looking contraption and asked, “Why do you need smoke?”

  “Smoke quiets the bees, and I can extract the honey without getting stung,” Grandma answered. “You stay here if you want to watch. I’m going into the kitchen to get the hot wood coals.” She tugged on a pair of gloves as she walked away.

  I watched Grandma hike to the beehives. In a few minutes, she shuffled back, lugging a bucket full of honey. After she poured the honey into canning jars and sealed each with a lid and a screw-on cap, Johnny and I grabbed the bucket. We swiped warm biscuits along the inside to sop up the leftover syrupy treat.

  When Mom came home from working in the apple orchard, I told her about my day. Together, we counted my money one more time: $17.25 and a quarter for Spot.

  “I’m so proud of my amazing Grace,” Mom said. “I’ll talk with Mr. Wilson about finding another bicycle for you.”

  I had lots of news for Daddy, so I fired off a letter.

  Dear Daddy,

  Grandma said my pumpkins were bodayshus bodacious. I watered and hoed them and pulled weeds all summer. Those orange balls started out marble-size and some ended up as big as a washtub. Really. The big green vines grew like weeds. That’s what Grandma says I’m doing, too, growing like a weed.

  My pumpkins sold, right down to the last one. I saved two for Johnny and me and two for my friend Vickie. She’s the girl in my class who gave me her pumpkin seeds. Vickie is going to carve jack-o’-lanterns out of the pumpkins, and her mom is going to make pumpkin pies. Mr. Wick took three—one for him, one for Holly the Collie and one for his mule, Moonglow, the future Kentucky Derby winner. He paid me for the pumpkins and even gave Spot a quarter, which he spent on a treat from Mr. Wilson’s store. Spot said it was bodacious too. Johnny and I are saving our pumpkins to carve into jack-o’-lanterns, and Grandma is going to make pies.

  Some of the pumpkins were so big Grandma had to help me carry them out of the patch. Johnny wanted to help. First thing, he dropped a pumpkin and broke it. Grandma said that was good, because she would use it to make a pie. Grandma’s pie was spicy, sweet and scrumptious. Johnny said the whole pie should be his since Grandma wouldn’t have baked it if he hadn’t dropped the pumpkin. When I asked for a piece of pie, that boy handed me a carrot. I told him if I didn’t get any pie, he owed me for the pumpkin he broke, that I’d take one of his toys for pay. He dropped the carrot and handed over a slice of the sweet stuff.

  I wish you could have seen my cantaloupes lope. The scampering vines scooted all over my garden, but they sprouted mouthwatering melons, so we’re not complaining.

  Mr. Wilson has had trouble finding a bicycle to fix up. He promised I could have the next one. Mom says I have enough money to buy it.

  I saw a poster “Even a little can help a lot—Now” urging us to buy savings bond stamps. And I did with some of my pumpkin money. My book is growing with saving stamps. When the book is full, I’ll buy a victory bond. Grandma said I was helping the soldiers and helping myself at the same time.

  Mrs. Howard, my new teacher, told me I
’m the best reader in seventh grade. I’ve been reading “Rabbit Hill.” Johnny has learned to read too. His new teacher is Mrs. Eversole. Johnny knows the alphabet forward, but he can’t say it backward the way I can.

  We still listen to the wireless every evening. The newsman said some troops had moved into Germany and that the end of the war is closer. We cheered when we heard those words.

  Please hurry home.

  I love you,

  Gracie Girl

  P.S. Spot howls at the moon until I raise my window and tell him goodnight. Johnny says my sweet mutt is chasing away ghosts and goblins. I think he’s practicing dog talk. Spot needs the practice so he’ll be able to talk with his pal Abby when we move back to Hazard.

  On Saturday, I mailed my letter to Daddy. Saturday was a sad day. First, Farmer Smith said he couldn’t pay Mom. This had been a bad year for apples. Second, Mom couldn’t pay the bill at Mr. Wilson’s store. This year has not been so great for us either.

  Chapter 21

  Tough Times

  October rolled in with no letter from Daddy—not one word since June. Daddy had been faithful about writing to us until the Normandy invasion.

  “No news is good news,” Mom said.

  Scary thoughts filled my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would ever hug my daddy again, dance with him or listen to one of his goodnight stories. My thoughts floated clear across the ocean. I checked the map—the Atlantic Ocean.