Iggie's House Page 5

  Mr. Garber sat down on the back stoop, threw his head back and laughed. He laughed deep and loud. Winnie and Tina looked at each other. If there was a joke they didn’t know what it was. “What’s so funny Daddy?” Tina finally asked.

  “Tina, come over here,” her father said in between laughs. She sat down on her father’s lap. “Tina, you don’t rub No-Shed on his fur. You put a teaspoon of it into his drinking water each day.”

  “Oh Daddy!” Tina wailed. “Did I hurt him? Will Woozie die?”

  “I’m sure he’ll recover Tina. He’ll need a good bath and then he’ll be fine. But next time you want to help, please ask first, okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy.” Tina hugged her father.

  “Hey down there,” Herbie called. “Something’s up. Germs, Incorporated is carrying some kind of sign and heading our way. Have a look, Glenn.”

  “Yeah, here she comes—marching down the street. And Clarice is right behind her. Just skipping along. I can see them real good. Mrs. Germs is wearing a red hat with cherries on top of it.”

  “I can’t read the sign—she’s got it turned the wrong way,” Herbie announced, without bothering to look through the binoculars. “Come on,” he called, “let’s go see!”

  Both boys scurried down the rope ladder from the tree house and joined Winnie and Tina, who were already hiding behind one of the big evergreen bushes. Mrs. Landon was hammering the sign into the lawn with her shoe. The cherries were dangling from her red hat and Clarice stood by, sucking a lollypop. Mrs. Landon stood back to admire her work, brushed off her hands, put her shoe back on and continued marching down the street. Clarice followed like an obedient little lamb.

  Winnie, Tina and the boys ran down to have a look. Mr. Garber came around to the front just as Herbie picked up a stone and hurled it at the sign. “I HATE HER!” he screamed. “I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! She doesn’t even know us. She’s never even talked to us! I wish I was back in Detroit where everybody’s black!” Herbie ran sobbing toward the house.

  Glenn read the sign in a hoarse and whispery voice, as if he needed to say it out loud to believe that it was real.

  GO BACK WHERE YOU BELONG. WE DON’T WANT YOUR KIND AROUND HERE!!!!!

  Mr. Garber grabbed the sign, yanked it out of the ground and broke it in half over his knee. Winnie felt her cheeks burning. She was shaking all over. “We’re not all like that,” she heard a small voice say. “We’re not … we’re not … we’re not.” She realized the voice was her own and that she was crying. She turned and fled, tears streaming down her face.

  chapter six

  Winnie opened her eyes and looked around. For a second she was not quite sure where she was. Then she remembered runing home from the Garbers. She remembered the way she had burst through the back door of her house and how her mother had chased her up the stairs, two at a time. She knew that now she was sprawled out on her bed and that no one had taken the time to fold back the blue quilted spread. Her mother was bending over her and there was a cold, wet washcloth on her forehead. Winnie rolled her eyes from side to side.

  “Thank heavens, Winnie!” Mrs. Barringer sighed. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

  “Everything hurts,” Winnie moaned.

  The expression of relief left Mrs. Barringer’s face. She got up off the bed. “I’m going to call the doctor,” she announced, “and I’ll be right back.”

  Winnie reached out and caught her mother’s arm. “Don’t leave Mom. Please stay here,” she whimpered.

  “It will only take a minute, Winnie.”

  But Winnie sat up and shouted, “I don’t want him Mom. I don’t need any doctor. I’m not sick like that!” She put her head back down on the pillow and moaned again.

  “Are you sure you’re not sick Winnie?” Mrs. Barringer sat down on the bed beside her, feeling her forehead.

  “No, I am not sick!” Winnie insisted.

  “Well then, what happened? You came into the house screaming and crying. Something must have happened. Let’s talk about it.”

  Winnie sat up again. “Do you know what she did Mom? Do you know?” she asked breathlessly. “She put a sign in their grass. A SIGN! Can you imagine! She’s the most horrible person that ever lived! And I hate her!” Winnie flopped backwards and stared up at the ceiling.

  “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Barringer asked, shaking her head. “I haven’t any idea. You’re not making sense.” She handed Winnie a tissue. “Here, blow your nose and let’s start over again.”

  Winnie sat up. She blew her nose hard, took a deep breath, and blurted out the whole dreadful story. When she had finished, her mother studied her face for a moment without speaking. Then Mrs. Barringer sighed and said, “What an awful thing to do.” She put the washcloth back on Winnie’s forehead, and brushed some loose strands of hair off her face. “But I certainly am relieved to find out there’s nothing wrong with you. You had me worried Winnie!”

  Winnie jumped back up. “Nothing wrong? How can you say that! Everything is wrong. EVERYTHING! Didn’t you hear what I just said? I ran away when I read the sign. I ran away Mom. I didn’t even say anything. I just ran. They’ll probably hate me now. I could just die!”

  Mrs. Barringer laughed softly. “Oh Winnie! You’re being ridiculous. I think you’re making too much out of the whole thing. Why should they hate you?”

  Winnie looked straight into her mother’s eyes. “Why should they hate me?” she asked. “That’s easy. I’ll tell you why. Because I’m white!”

  “Winifred! You are not thinking. Mrs. Landon is one person. You are another! No one is going to hate you for running away!” Mrs. Barringer insisted.

  “But Mom … maybe they’ll think we’re all like Mrs. Landon. She hates the Garbers and she doesn’t even know them! So maybe the Garbers will think we’re all the same! We’ve got to prove it to them Mom.”

  “Prove what, Winnie?” Mrs. Barringer asked.

  “Prove that we’re not all like Mrs. Landon!” Winnie said, throwing her hands up into the air.

  “Winnie!” Mom sighed, annoyed. “You’re carrying this thing too far. You’re devoting all your time and energy to the Garber cause. You’ve got to learn to think things through. You’re always jumping into new situations with both feet, before you know what you’re jumping into!”

  “But Mom …” Winnie began.

  “Just a minute. Just one minute, please. I’m not through yet,” Mrs. Barringer said. “Do I have to remind you that last year you started the Freedom for Turtles Club? And as President you went around ringing all the doorbells on Grove Street, telling people how wrong it was to keep little turtles cooped up inside a house. Well, do you remember that Winnie?”

  Winnie felt her cheeks redden. “Oh Mom! I was only ten then. And anyway, it’s true about turtles. They should be free to walk around outside.”

  “But my point is that it’s still the same thing. You’re jumping into something that you know nothing about.” Mrs. Barringer shook a finger at her daughter.

  “The same thing! How can you say that?” Winnie asked furiously. “Turtles are turtles! But these are people Mom. PEOPLE! Sometimes I think you’re just like Mrs. Landon,” Winnie mumbled disgustedly.

  “That is completely unfair of you Winnie!” her mother answered angrily. “Why, I would never dream of behaving the way Mrs. Landon has.”

  “Well then, why don’t you do something?” Winnie asked, raising her voice.

  “Do what? What is it you want me to do?”

  Winnie pleaded. “Anything Mom. Anything to prove we’re different. Anything to show we’re interested.”

  “Listen to me Winifred,” Mrs. Barringer argued. “These people must have known they’d have problems to face when they moved here.”

  “Well, why don’t you help them solve their problems?” Winnie screamed. “I don’t see how you and Daddy can just sit there day after day doing nothing. Are you against the Garbers?”

  Mrs. Barringer did not reply.
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  “Well, are you?” Winnie asked again.

  “No, Winnie,” her mother answered in a calm voice. “We are definitely not against the Garbers.”

  “Then why don’t you do something?” Winnie repeated.

  “Because it really isn’t any of our business, Winnie. Your father and I don’t believe in getting mixed up in other people’s lives. These things will work themselves out. Daddy and I are not crusaders.”

  “What do you mean crusaders?” Winnie asked, baffled.

  “That’s what you are Winnie. You’re a crusader. Always finding a new cause and then jumping right in to fight for it. You’re like Mrs. Landon in a way.” Winnie glared. How dare her mother say that! Mrs. Barringer got off the bed. “I’m going to fix some lunch now. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that Aunt Myrna called. She’s invited you to her Swim Club this afternoon.”

  “I’m not going!” Winnie announced, staring up at the ceiling.

  “That’s up to you. But I do think it would be good for you to get away from here for one afternoon,” Mrs. Barringer said as she left the room.

  Winnie rolled over on her side and faced the wall. Aunt Myrna and her pool seemed very unimportant at the moment. Even if Winnie did know a lot of the people who belonged to it. Even if she usually jumped at the chance to go. Her aunt had taken her and Iggie practically once a week all summer. It was fun. Aunt Myrna wasn’t bad either, considering that she didn’t know much about kids. Aunt Myrna never bothered her when she was swimming. She didn’t care much about what she and Iggie did at the pool as long as they didn’t drown. And she never told them they were blue and had to come out of the water. Aunt Myrna was too busy playing cards with her friends to notice anything like that.

  Winnie wondered if her aunt knew that Winifred Bates Barringer, her very own niece, was a CRUSADER! She wondered too if Aunt Myrna knew about the problems on Grove Street. Winnie’s guess was that Aunt Myrna knew all about everything. After all, she was her mother’s sister.

  Winnie rolled over onto her stomach. How could her mother say she was like Mrs. Landon? That was crazy! She hated Mrs. Landon! Suddenly, the most brilliant idea of the week popped into her head. If she was like Mrs. Landon, then maybe she should petition too. Winnie smiled and jumped up from the bed. She opened her bottom dresser drawer and took out her favorite bathing suit. The orange one with the brass buttons up the side. She undressed, slipped into the suit, and pulled her sweat shirt on over her head. She sat down at her desk. First she crumpled up her letter to Iggie and threw it away. She took out a fresh sheet of yellow paper. At the rate she was going she’d have all envelopes and no paper pretty soon.

  Dear Iggie,

  How are you? I’m fine but I’m positively mixed up about everything!!! My mother just called me another Mrs. Landon. Can you imagine???? Sometimes I can’t stand my mother!! I’ve got loads to tell you but right now I’ve got to run.

  She didn’t bother hiding this letter inside a book or under papers. She left it right on top of her desk. Then she carefully tore a clean piece of white paper from her notebook, and divided it into sections. She nibbled on her pencil as she tried to decide how to phrase her petition. Should she write “Negro,” like her teacher said? “Black,” like the Garbers said? Or “colored,” like her parents said? She decided that most of the people at Aunt Myrna’s swim club acted more like her parents than her teacher. And they certainly weren’t like the Garbers! They were all white. She printed across the top in capital letters:

  FEELINGS ABOUT COLORED PEOPLE

  Please check one:

  Winnie carefully folded her petition and tucked it into her red shoulder-strap pocketbook, along with a sharp pencil, her bathing hat and her nose clips. She skipped down the stairs humming and announced to her mother that she was ready to go to the pool.

  “Well,” Mom said with a smile. “You certainly changed your mind fast.”

  Winnie had no intention of sharing her plans with her mother. She wouldn’t understand anyway.

  “Call your aunt and tell her you’ll be ready in a few minutes. First you’ve got to have some lunch.”

  “I’ll call and tell her I’m ready now. I’m not hungry,” Winnie said as she picked up the phone.

  She sat on the front steps waiting for her aunt’s red sports car. As it rounded the corner of Grove Street Winnie yelled, “Bye,” to her mother and ran down to the curb. Aunt Myrna had the top down on the car. She wore big, red-framed sun glasses.

  “Hop in Winnie and let’s go,” Aunt Myrna called. “Don’t want to miss my bridge game.”

  Winnie and her aunt did not exchange one word on the fifteen-minute drive to the Swim Club. Winnie was busy thinking about her petition. As Aunt Myrna steered the car into a small parking space in the almost full lot she turned to her niece. “Are you okay Winnie? I’ve never seen you so quiet.”

  “Oh sure,” Winnie answered, surprised that her aunt had even noticed. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

  “Your mother told me about your new friends,” Aunt Myrna added.

  “That’s nice.” Winnie was not about to give out valuable information that might get back to her mother.

  They got out of the little car and walked toward the gate where Aunt Myrna had to show her membership card, even though she came to the pool every day and everyone knew her. Aunt Myrna signed the register and paid for one guest.

  “Didn’t you bring anything to change into Winnie?” her aunt asked.

  “Nope. I’ll dry off in the sun before we go home.”

  “Okay. Now remember, no drownings while I’m in charge! Here,” Aunt Myrna said, pressing a dollar bill into Winnie’s hand. “Go have a hot dog.”

  chapter seven

  Winnie clenched Aunt Myrna’s dollar bill in her sweaty hand. She kicked open the door of the screened-in refreshment stand and stepped inside, out of the hot sun. Here it was dark and cool. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the change before she was able to look around for a familiar face. There was none. She went up to the counter and waited for her turn. Two little kids were ahead of her. They were trying to decide between an ice-cream sandwich to share or a small candy bar for each of them. They counted their money again and again. Winnie began to tap her foot at them. She was starved. Her stomach was rumbling. The little kids looked up at her and finally asked for one bag of potato chips and a small raspberry sherbet. Winnie ordered a hot dog, french fries and a coke. She carried her lunch to a table in the corner. She had missed the usual Saturday lunch crowd and was glad of that. She hated to wait in line and get shoved around.

  Winnie carefully decorated her french fries with just the right amount of ketchup and bit into the hot dog. It tasted marvelous. She patted her red pocketbook several times and then opened the clasp to make sure her petition was still here. It was.

  “Well, look who’s here,” a familiar voice boomed. Winnie looked up just as Big Red pulled over a chair and sat down. “I’ll join you,” he announced, banging his coke down on her table.

  “Are you asking me or telling me?” Winnie grinned.

  “Um … don’t mind if I do!” Big Red said, paying no attention to her. He helped himself to some of Winnie’s french fries. After tasting one he reached for the ketchup. He smothered the rest of the potatoes in it and continued nibbling.

  “Those WERE my french fries, you know,” Winnie said. “And they WERE fixed the way I like them!”

  “Oh, sorry Winnie. Didn’t mean to spoil your lunch,” Big Red said, munching.

  Winnie sulked and concentrated on her hot dog.

  When Big Red had finished stuffing himself with Winnie’s potatoes he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why’d you feed me that goofy story about those colored kids? Why’d you tell me they were from Africa when you knew all the time they were just ordinary?” he asked Winnie. “And from Detroit!” he added disgustedly.

  “Because I know how you are. That’s why,” Winnie said quietly, not looking up.
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  “What do you mean, how I am?” Big Red wanted to know.

  This time Winnie looked directly into Big Red’s blue eyes. “How you are about new kids. You never let new kids play right away. You make them suffer until you think they deserve the great privilege of playing ball with you.”

  “So you lied on purpose!” Big Red accused.

  “It was just a joke, Big Red. Forget it!” Winnie said, sipping her soda.

  “I hear you’re real friendly with them,” Big Red mumbled.

  “So?”

  Big Red shrugged and said, “So nothing! I just wondered. They seemed okay to me. I mean, what do I care what color they are, right?”

  Winnie slammed her hand down on the table. “Right! What’d your folks say?” she asked.

  “Nothing much. My mother said next thing you know some nice girl from town will probably marry one.”

  “Oh … that’s just great!” Winnie said, sarcastically.

  “Yeah!” Big Red agreed. “But me, I’m not like that.”

  I’ll bet, Winnie thought to herself, as Big Red got up and left the table. Winnie finished up her coke, threw the paper plates into the garbage can and walked out into the sunshine.

  She parked herself on a chair at the side of the pool and pulled off her sweat shirt. She hung her nose clips around her neck, shaded her eyes from the sun and looked around. The swimming instructor, Mr. Berger, was on the far side of the rectangular pool. Winnie smiled and waved, but he didn’t notice her. Mr. Berger taught physical education at the high school. Two years ago Aunt Myrna had given Winnie a present of a whole series of swimming lessons from him. He didn’t approve of her nose clips, but she liked them because she never got water up her nose that way. Mr. Berger was walking in Winnie’s direction. She stood up and held her pocketbook tightly.

  “Hi Mr. Berger,” she called out, waving.

  “Well, Winnie! Glad to see you’re doing all right without Iggie. Still got those old nose clips? Time to get rid of them.” He smiled good naturedly at her.