The Green Years (ARC) Read online

  “Rest a minute, Cal,” Doc said. “Just think in your head about the motion you need to make. Practice it with your left arm so you feel what it’s like to move that bicep.”

  He did what the doctor said.

  “That’s it. You have to make it feel like that on the right side. I’m going to wrap my fingers around your arm and squeeze, and I want you to squeeze back with that muscle. Do you see what I mean?” Dad nodded.

  I was glad it was Doc doing it and not me. It made me squeamish to think of putting my fingers around his stumpy arm, and I turned my head away, ashamed of being such a coward.

  They tried over and over, and my mouth was mealy with fear that it wouldn’t work. I lost count of how many times they tried. It was at least fifteen or twenty before the hook finally moved a little, and we all yelled again. Dad sat down, gray-faced, exhausted by the effort.

  “When they tried this with me in the army, I was so weak, I could barely hold the thing up,” he said. He sat breathing heavily for a moment and then raised his left hand to cover his eyes.

  “Who did this? Whose idea was it?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  “Your boys did it, Cal. They got the thing in motion,” Uncle Lyle said.

  Dad raised his head and looked straight at Ty and then at me, his eyes blazing. Fear tore through me and I squirmed. I thought he would tell us we should mind our own business. Stay out of his affairs. I was scared he would take off the arm and fling it at us. Then I realized it didn’t matter if he got mad at us, if he just kept working the arm. I could take that. What I couldn’t take was if he went into a sulk and didn’t even try to use it.

  Ty said, “It was Harry’s idea, Dad, but I sure went along with it. And Gram helped too.”

  Dad looked at the arm in his lap and blinked back tears. “Harry,” he said to himself. “My youngest boy.”

  Sally handed him a handkerchief. He took it and wiped his eyes.

  “I’ve been no good to you, Harry.”

  “It’s all right, Dad,” I said. “I’m getting by all right.” I felt my eyes start to water too, but I wasn’t going to let myself cry. I wanted to pop with joy now that it seemed this new arm might work and he wasn’t going to be mad.

  Dad turned to Uncle Lyle and the doctor. “When Sally told me you were coming to see me, I thought you were going to take me to the insane asylum or the county farm, Doc.”

  “Oh Cal,” Sally burst in. “I told you it’d be a pleasant surprise.”

  “If I were going to do that to you, Cal, I would have done it a long time ago,” Doc said.

  “I think we should celebrate,” Sally said. “Cal’s got a new arm, and he’s going to be able to make it work.” The tension broke in the room, and I sagged with relief. She brought out a pitcher of lemonade and some brown sugar cookies. We all sat at her kitchen table, finally able to relax a bit. We laughed and talked, and it was almost like it used to be with Dad.

  “Where did you get the idea for this, Harry?” Sally asked.

  I had a fleeting vision of Carol Ann on our walk home from River Sioux. “I…I guess it was that pirate story, you know the one about Captain Hook,” I said. Boy, I made that one up in a hurry.

  Sally turned to Dad, “I sure hope you don’t get as mean as Captain Hook, Cal.”

  “I don’t think I will.”

  With Sally listening closely, Doc explained to Dad how to take the arm on and off and how important it would be to exercise every day to build up his strength. After we finished our refreshments, it didn’t seem like there was anything more to do, so we thanked Sally and left together. Dad walked to the porch with us still wearing the arm, his eyes red-rimmed.

  When we were out of sight of the house, Ty and I shook hands, so happy with our success. But that wasn’t enough. We grabbed each other in a big bear hug, banging each other on the back in our jubilation. I wanted to sing and shout, I was so relieved and happy. I couldn’t get to Carol Ann’s house fast enough. Her little brother, Jerry, was playing in the front yard.

  “Hey, Jerry. Where’s Carol Ann?”

  “Mama’s got her out back in the garden, pickin’ tomatoes and string beans.”

  I hightailed it around the house and saw Carol Ann bent over the rows of beans, a sunbonnet shading her face. She straightened up when she heard me coming.

  “Harry. My goodness. What are you doing here?” Then she remembered what was supposed to happen that day. “How did it go?” Her anxious face was rosy with the heat and the freckles on her nose stood out.

  “It worked, Carol Ann. It worked.” I wanted to grab her and swing her around. Mrs. Bellwood looked up just then from the tomato plants, so I held back.

  “Dr. Brunner brought the artificial arm out today just like he said he would, and Dad actually let him put it on, and he tried it out.”

  “Oh my. That’s wonderful news, Harry.” She pulled her sunbonnet off, and I could see where the perspiration had darkened her hair. She turned to her mother.

  “Mama, I want to talk to Harry for a minute.”

  “All right, but don’t run off. We’re nowhere near done with this job.”

  She led me over to the apple tree, and we sat down in the shade while I told her about the whole thing. “He teared up when it was over. I thought maybe he’d be mad, but he wasn’t. Sally really helped get him to try it out, and he was able to move it up and down. He was even able to make the hook move a little bit. His arm is weak and he’ll have to work hard at it.” I burbled on and on, talking about how the arm worked with a flexion strap and how Sally served cookies and lemonade.

  “He actually laughed out loud.” I paused. “You know, this never could have happened without you, Carol Ann. It was all your idea. I just can’t thank you enough. Dad doesn’t know that it was your idea, but I plan to tell him one of these days. Maybe I’ll take you over there to meet him.”

  “I’m thrilled it worked. It’s wonderful, but you’re the one who followed through and got everybody going on it. It’s a fine thing you did, Harry.”

  Mrs. Bellwood was bent over her tomatoes so I decided to lean over and give Carol Ann a kiss.

  She laughed. “Harry, I’m so hot and sweaty. I don’t think you want to come near me.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m just so happy.” I took her face in my hands, feeling her damp, glowing skin. We had a long kiss, and she kissed me back. I loved the hot salty taste of her, her soft lips, even her grubby hands. I loved the way her sunbonnet hung around her neck all tangled up with her hair. In fact, I knew then that I loved everything there was about that girl.

  MONDAY MORNING WAS the start of high school. I went very early to Sally McVay’s to pick up Dad’s laundry before leaving for school. He was on the porch, and my eyes lighted immediately on his right arm. I was reassured to see his hook in place.

  “Hi, Dad. Didn’t expect to see you out so early this morning. What are you doing?”

  “I’m just fooling with this darned thing.” The worry lines on his forehead were puckered up. “I can’t control the hook, and if I can’t control that, I might as well throw the thing away.”

  “Doc said it would take a while. Remember? Want me to squeeze your bicep like he did?” I didn’t mind doing it so much with his long sleeve covering the bare stump. He waved me away impatiently. Just then someone rattled by on the road in a Model T. I smiled to recall Carol Ann’s advice.

  “Dad. Know why a Model T doesn’t need a speedometer?”

  He looked at me frowning, a question in his eyes.

  “It’s ‘cause if you’re going twenty miles an hour, the trunk rattles. If you’re going thirty miles an hour, the hood rattles. If you’re going forty miles an hour, the transmission falls out.”

  He stared at me and finally a tiny grin showed up in the corner of his mouth. Relief. He got the joke.

  “I’ve got a big day today, Dad. I’m going to start high school.”

  He nodded. “I suppose you’re gonna try to make something of yourself.”


  “I sure hope so. That’s my plan.”

  He smirked. “Plans don’t always work out, Harry. I can tell you that.”

  “I’ve made up my mind to try, Dad.”

  I grabbed his bag of dirty clothes and left. I wasn’t going to let him get me down.

  EVERYTHING WAS FRESH and clean at the school. The floors were waxed to glossy perfection. The teachers were dressed up and smiling. Bright signs welcomed the freshmen and directed us to the assembly hall. Carol Ann went to sit with some girls, so I talked to Billy Snyder and Jim Blankenship and several others I knew. I hadn’t seen them since last May, and they’d all grown taller. Their faces were tan, their hair bleached from the summer sun. We were all slicked up, combed, and ready for the year. My new clothes felt stiff and hot, but they seemed just right as I compared myself to the others. I was glad I had a job at the skating rink so I could buy them.

  Mr. Lyman, the principal with the pinched, mean-looking face I remembered from eighth-grade graduation, welcomed us to the school and explained how the class schedule worked. As freshmen we would take English, math, history, and science. We would also have calisthenics three times a week. Then we were divided into four groups, each led by a teacher. I was assigned to Miss Birde Baldwin. Birde, I thought, what a silly name. She looked like her name, skinny with a twittery voice, overly cheerful.

  “You are going to have such fun,” she told us, “because learning is fun.”

  Oh brother. I could only take so much of her. I hoped she taught sewing or something. She repeated all over again what Mr. Lyman had just told us. Then we filled out schedule cards. Each of us had a short conference with her while she checked our cards.

  I said, “What about the shop classes? Can I take something there?”

  “It’s ‘may I,’ Harry,” she said, smiling as if that were the funniest thing she had ever heard. “Shop classes come when you are a junior, and you have room for electives in your schedule.”

  “Well, how a business class? That’s really what I want to learn.”

  “No, those are electives in the commercial track. You won’t be ready for those for a couple of years.”

  “A couple of years,” I said in disbelief. I didn’t like the way this felt, and I hoped I hadn’t made a big mistake starting high school. I wanted to talk to Carol Ann to see what she thought, but she was in a different section.

  We started our abbreviated class schedule. I felt some relief when I got to algebra class. I was good at arithmetic. The teacher, Mr. Hummel, had a relaxed way of explaining things. He gave a big assignment due the next day and I was eager to start on it.

  History began with a long talk about the cradle of civilization, whatever that was. The class might be all right, but I was glad when it ended because it was noontime, and I was starved. We followed our noses to the lunchroom where the smell of hot cooked food made my mouth water. I could hardly stand to pass it by, but I had to save my money and eat what Gram had packed for me—a sandwich of thick slices of chicken on her homemade bread, two hard-boiled eggs, a tomato from the garden, and two molasses cookies. I spent two cents for milk. It was a perfectly good food, better than most, but I craved the hot stew and biscuits. The counter with its luscious looking pies and cakes was hard to pass up. It seemed like the older, savvier kids ate the hot meal, and we sorry freshmen brought ours from home.

  I looked around for Carol Ann and saw that she was eating with some of her girlfriends. I sat with some of the boys I knew and wolfed down my food. Sam and Bucky invited me to go outside and play ball before the next class, but I decided to take a walk around the school.

  I went up to the third floor where the business classes were taught, hoping to see the teacher to plead my case. Through the window of the typing room, I could see students busy at their machines and the teacher explaining things up in front. I wanted to be in there with them, learning how to do that too.

  Mr. Lyman came by at just that moment and said, “What are you doing here, young man?”

  “Just watching the typing class, Mr. Lyman.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Harry Spencer, sir.”

  “Well Harry, I don’t know why you are up here, but it’s time you went to your next class.” He checked his watch. “You’d better get a move on. Don’t just wander around the building like this anymore.”

  I left in a hurry. By the time I found my English class and sank into a seat, I was well aware of my new shoes, for they were sending some painful messages to my toes. I was also sleepy. Mrs. Kleinsasser had us start right out by reading the essay “On Pragmatism” by Ralph Waldo Emerson, after which there was to be a discussion. She’d written questions on the board. I tried and tried to read, but my eyes grew heavy; I couldn’t make sense of the words. My head drooped and I jerked upright. I felt it droop again a couple of times, and then I slept. I don’t know for how long, but when I came to, I was alone in the room except for Mrs. Kleinsasser who still sat at her desk.

  “Are you Harry Spencer?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Oh, did I feel sheepish.

  “Well Harry, I suggest you go to bed tonight with the chickens because you may not sleep in my class ever again, tempting as it is after you have eaten lunch.” She glared at me a moment and then softened.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what came over me.” I was embarrassed to have this happen on my first day.

  “I’ll tell you what, Harry. You read the Emerson essay tonight. Answer the five questions about it, and we’ll call it square. But don’t you dare sleep in my class again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I struggled to collect my things and leave the room as fast as I could.

  “Goodbye, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t worry. We’re going to be friends.”

  I wondered about that. She must think I was a dolt.

  Somehow I got through the rest of the day. When classes were over at four o’clock, I caught up with Carol Ann at the front door. We said goodbye and waved to all the other kids as they hurried by us, headed for home. Finally we were the only two left. We sat down on the bench to wait for her dad to pick us up.

  I told her about the disaster in English class.

  “I can just imagine,” she said. “You must have felt so embarrassed. Our English teacher said we were supposed to read the Emerson essay too, but she thought we weren’t ready for it. We read some poems out loud instead, and then she read some Mark Twain to us. It was fun.”

  “That sounds better to me. I wish I was in your class.”

  We sat idly. “They won’t let me take any shop or business classes until I’m a junior,” I said. “That’s really what I want. I don’t know if I can stand to wait that long. How am I ever going to make something of myself if I can’t find out about that stuff? That’s why I signed up for high school.”

  “Maybe after they know you better, they’ll let you do it. If you do really well in your other classes.”

  “I’d like to play football too, but they practice every day after school until 6:30, so I guess that’s out unless I can find a ride with somebody else.”

  “I’m sorry, Harry. We’ve got to find something that you will really enjoy about high school.” She sat thinking for a moment. “I know. What if we try out for chorus? They rehearse from four to five every day. That’ll give us something to do while we wait for Dad.”

  I turned that idea over in my mind. I liked to sing, but I wondered what the other boys would think if I joined the chorus.

  “Oh, Harry. It’s a mixed chorus, both boys and girls.” She laughed at me. “You won’t be the only boy.”

  So I agreed to think about it, and then her dad showed up to take us home.

  EVERYTHING WAS EASIER on the second day. I managed to cadge a cup of coffee from the cooks at lunchtime, hoping it would keep me awake during English class. Mrs. Kleinsasser gave me a smile when I handed in the Emerson assignment.

  “Did you get some sleep, Harry?�
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  “Yes, ma’am. I’m ready to go today.” I could tell I was going to like her as a teacher even after my rocky start.

  After school, Carol Ann and I went to the music room where Miss Dysart listened to each student sing individually. I had never been nervous about my singing before, and it took me a few tries before I got going so she could find out how high and low my voice would go. Then she asked me to sing any song I wanted, anything I knew. I wondered about popular songs, but thought maybe she wouldn’t approve, so I sang a hymn, “The Old Rugged Cross.” I saw her stifle a grin, but when I was finished, she said, “You have a really nice voice, Harry, and I’d like you to sing baritone in the chorus. Everybody is going to have to work hard at learning to read music. You won’t be the only one.”

  FOR PURE FUN, nothing beat the calisthenics class. Freshmen boys met just before lunch on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It was great to get outside in the warm fall weather and cut loose for a while. The calisthenics coach was Mr. Hummel, my algebra teacher, whom I already liked. He showed us lots of strengthening exercises—pushups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and he did them right along with us. We tried hard to please him because he was so good at everything and set a fine example.

  One day, during our second class, the lady, who lived on the other side of the schoolyard fence, began calling, “Mr. Hummel. Mr. Hummel.”

  He turned around to see who it was, and she beckoned him to the fence. Her face was red, and her voice was loud enough that we could hear most of what she said.

  “Mr. Hummel. Every morning I put my baby boy in the yard in his buggy for a nap, and every time you hold this class, the noise wakes him up, and he starts to cry.”

  Mr. Hummel’s back was to us and we couldn’t hear what he said, but we heard low, soothing sounds like he was trying to calm her down.

  She went right on. “I’ve read all the baby books that say a child needs to be out in the fresh air and sunshine, and that naptime is a good time for that. But my little McDermott can’t sleep with all the noise. Can’t you get those boys to hold it down?”