Gingersnap (8 page)

“No letters from my father,” he said, facing Elise. “Fifteen days now. But that’s all right. The war in Germany is over.”

He turned to me. “He was in all the big battles. He’s tough even though he doesn’t look it. I saw him lift a stove once. I knew nothing was going to happen to him.”

He talked so fast, it was almost as if he were a kite and I was trying to hang on, sailing along behind him.

Elise kept making gentle sounds as she worked with the dough.

I saw the cat carrier under the table. It wasn’t empty! Theresa was back inside, looking like her usual calm self, blinking once, then closing her eyes.

I bent over to poke my fingers into the mesh; I ran my fingers over the edge of her shell. “Oh, Theresa.” I looked toward the boy. “Did you find her? Where was she?”

“That carrier is a terrible place for a turtle,” he said. He sounded like a commercial on the radio, one that said some soaps were so terrible they made holes in the wash.

“I know it isn’t a good place for her, but for now …”

Elise nodded a little.

“A box turtle.” His voice rushed along. “People used to carve their initials into their shells, sometimes the dates. One lived about a hundred thirty-eight years. But you’ll probably kill this one before she’s ten, keeping her in a cage.…”

I opened my mouth to answer him angrily, but then I saw he was trying not to smile.

“Probably,” I said. There was something about that face, that turned-up nose, his two chipped teeth, that made me want to smile.

Would we be friends?

But Elise said, “Jayna’s going home today.”

“With the turtle?” the boy asked.

“Of course with the turtle.”

“She’s mine,” I said.

“Actually, she should be mine now,” he said. “I found her. I read about that. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Just try to take her.”

“Tough girl.” He nodded at Elise as she slid the tray of rolls into the oven.

“I can’t go home,” I said.

The bedroom upstairs with the red roses on the wallpaper, the church bells ringing, this enormous kitchen
.

Elise, who might be my grandmother!

Elise wiped her hands on her apron. “Your family must be worried.”

“You’d be worried if you were my grandmother?”

“Yes.”

“I really can’t go home,” I said, almost bursting with it. “There’s no one there. My brother, Rob, is somewhere in the Pacific, missing. There’s only a landlady.”

The boy looked sorry for me. “No family?”

Outside I heard a piercing whistle.

Elise and Andrew glanced at each other. Andrew was grinning now. “That’s my sister, Millie. Time for school.” He turned to me. “Don’t kill that poor turtle while I’m gone,” he said, and he was out the door.

Elise bent down to the stove, and I began again. “Celine, the landlady, really doesn’t want me there. She wants her life back. I heard her say it, but I knew it anyway.”

“Tell me about this landlady. Tell me about your brother.”

And so I told her everything. I talked about Mrs. Alman at the last foster home, about Rob rescuing me.
I told her about Celine with the hairpiece; Celine, who was teaching me manners; Celine, whose vase was in a hundred pieces.

I talked until I was out of breath, and Elise got up from the table and poured me a glass of cool water from the faucet.

The only things I left out were what Rob had said about a grandmother, the recipe book, and the name Gingersnap. Instead I begged her, “Let me stay.”

She sat there, head tilted, wisps of hair escaping from that bun. “So many children are displaced because of the war. Every war.”

Displaced. Yes.

I wanted to tell her about what Rob had said, about finding the book, about the girl with braids, but Elise came to the table and sat opposite me. She reached out and touched my hands. “We lived in an old stone house until the Great War came.”

Her head was bowed. I could see the part running through her hair. It was almost as if she were talking to herself, whispering, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “We couldn’t stop to take anything with us but warm coats and our identity papers.”

She shook herself and looked at me. “I know what we’ll do.” I could see it in her eyes. She was going to let me stay. But the bell jingled in front of the shop. The curtain was open, so I could see all the way to the door. It was the man with the little white pug.

Elise stood up. “It’s Mr. Ohland and Ella, my two best customers. They want their breakfast.”

She went through to the front and turned back. “We’ll call that landlady together. We’ll see what she says. Give me a minute and I’ll go with you.”

I looked up to see the ghost’s fingers with my nail polish. Two of them were crossed.

E
lise led the way across the street.

“Could I use the phone?” I asked the man behind the counter.

“If you have a nickel.” He grinned at Elise. He was an old man with crinkly gray hair and a mustache that moved up and down when he spoke. “On the side wall,” he said.

Elise reached into her pocket, but I shook my head. “I have it.”

I picked up the receiver. My hands were damp. Suppose Celine said no? Suppose she wanted me back right away?

“Number, please,” the operator said.

The old man stacked bundles of newspapers against the other wall, talking to Elise as I waited for the operator to find Celine in North River.

I heard Celine’s voice, almost as if she were standing next to me. “Wait, I have to sit down. I’ve been frantic. Jayna? Is that you? How could you run away like that?”

“I’m all right.” I looked over my shoulder. Elise was still talking to the man. “I’m fine, really fine.” I lowered my voice. “I’m with my grandmother.”

“A grandmother?” Her voice rose in surprise. “How can that be? Why didn’t I ever hear …” She was silent for a moment. “I’m glad you have someone.”

It was my turn to be silent. I’d forgotten she could be that kind. But hadn’t she reached out to me after I’d read the telegram? “I’m in Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn? How did you possibly—”

“A bus,” I cut in. “Then I took the subway.”

“Exactly where in Brooklyn?”

I ran the phone cord through my fingers. There was no help for it; I had to tell her. She’d be the one to get the news about Rob or his letters if they came. “She has a bakery. It’s on Carey Street.”

Elise was next to me now, her hand out.

“Listen, Celine,” I said, “I’ll let you talk to her.”

I stood there, eyes closed. Please don’t let Celine mention
grandmother
.

“Jayna’s here,” Elise said. “I’m not sure how you feel about her staying.”

I stepped closer, trying to hear what she’d say. Whatever it was seemed fine.

“I’ll take care of her,” Elise said. “You can be sure of that.”

Celine said something else.

“For a few weeks?” Elise said. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do.” She handed the phone back to me.

“I don’t know about all this.” Celine sounded uneasy, worried. “Your brother’s sent money.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “He’d want you to have it.”

“Will you call me?”

“Yes, all the time,” I promised. I gave her the number of the stationery store phone. “If you hear from Rob, call. Call right way.”

“Of course I will. But the money …”

“It’s yours, Celine. Rob wanted you to have it.”

She hesitated. “We’ll talk about it when he’s home.”

When he’s home
.

I put the receiver down gently.

What did I care about money?

I cared about Rob. I cared about that bedroom with the roses. I cared about that kitchen, the pots hanging on one wall. Already I cared about Elise.

I pulled my hair back with one hand, my unruly ginger hair, curly hair. I’d wet it down, tie it back.

Mrs. Murtha’s voice:
“You’re as organized as your hair.”

I would be organized. I’d make Elise love me. I’d help. I’d take care of Theresa. I’d …

“… do anything,” the voice said. “I believe in you.”

When Rob came back, we’d rent that empty shop next to the bookstore. We’d stay here forever, a family, back and forth across the street to the bakery.

As we left, Elise looked as uneasy as Celine had sounded. “We’ll just have to see.”

“Goodbye,” the man called after us.

Back at the bakery, sun gleamed through the window.

Elise went to the front. I had time to see the kitchen. Rob would have loved it. I turned around slowly, looking at every corner. It was as if someone had dusted not only the table, but also all of it, floor, ceiling, walls. Flour floated in the air. It covered the window, the nests of pans stacked on a red countertop, and the old pots that hung on hooks over the table.

It was a perfect room, in a perfect place, except for the radio on a shelf. It wasn’t loud, but it was clear: the announcer spoke about Okinawa, ground forces closing in on the Suri Temple area, which seemed to divide the island in half.

I stood entirely still. Then I turned off the radio.

“Good girl,” said the voice. I turned. She was as dusty as the rest of the kitchen, her hair covered with it.

A floury ghost.

I crossed the room to the window, my shoes leaving imprints on the floor. The window was so coated with flour it was hard to see out.

I found a cloth and searched through the icebox for vinegar. I mixed the vinegar with water and found old newspapers. I knew how to wash a window, thanks to Celine.

Moments later, I stared through the glass, still dusty on the outside. If only I could tell Rob about everything. If only I could see him for even five minutes.

I went upstairs and reached for the stone girl. I held it in my hands, rolling it gently, thinking about that day at the pond, Theresa on a log, Rob and I both muddy. All of us gone now.

“Don’t give up,” I whispered to him.

I found Theresa’s food. The box was nearly empty. Downstairs, I sprinkled it in the cage, watching as she snapped at the dark specks. I gave her water, then brought her to the garden and opened the cage door. I kept my eyes on her as she circled a gnarled little tree and then folded herself into her shell and slept.

I began to wash the outside of the window, thinking of the word
hope
, a breath of a word. I even said it aloud. If only Rob could hear me.

Please let him be alive
.

Just get him home
.

Just get him to Brooklyn
.

Reaching into my pocket, I touched the stone girl again. It’d been around forever, tumbling off a mountain, rising up from the sea.

The outside of the window was harder to clean than the inside. Mud must have spattered up from a rainstorm, but after a few minutes, I could see the shine of the glass. Before I took Theresa back inside, I stopped to look at that overgrown yard.

It must have been lovely once. Along the jagged fence, small flowers were beginning to bud. Shiny leaves covered the tree.

I saw Elise come into the kitchen. She smiled at me through the window, then reached into the stove to pull out the tray of twisted rolls.

I went inside. “Let me cook something,” I said. “Let me make soup for dinner.”

“What would you cook?” Elise asked.

“Stew? A chicken stew with carrots? With noodles?”

“Really?”

“I can.”

“You’ll have to go to the butcher. See what he’ll give you. Tell him you belong to …” She hesitated. “To the bakery. He’ll put it on our bill.” She hesitated. “And take the ration book from the shelf. You’ll need the stamps for the meat.” She pushed back her hair. “So much is rationed now. Sugar, coffee, meat. The list goes on and on.”

I set out with her directions in my head. Two blocks left, one right, past the school …

The school.

I stood in front of that big red building.
GIRLS
it said over one door,
BOYS
over the other. The schoolyard was filled with kids.

I walked away quickly. I wouldn’t pass that block again. Better that no one knew I wasn’t in school for the rest of the term. How many days left? Only a few. Next fall, I’d go back.

The ghost came along behind me.

“Do you think a ship will find Rob? Do you think he’ll really come home?” I asked slowly.

I was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I’m not sure,” she said, just as slowly. “We just have to believe it.”

I sent him a message in my head.
I believe it
.

I found the butcher shop,
HARRY
’
S MEATS
written in flaking gold across the window, a banner with two blue stars: two men who were soldiers or sailors. Harry’s sons? His brothers?

Inside, the butcher leaned forward. He wore a white cap on his head. “You look like someone I know.”

I didn’t ask who it was. I pretended it was Elise and just smiled. I held out Elise’s ration book and my own money.

“Do you think I could have a chicken?” I asked.

“Why not? Anything for a girl with hair like yours.”

He brought out the chicken and wrapped it. I handed him the money and tore a stamp out of the book.