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The sun was working up its courage to face the day, so I decided to get a head start myself. Eleanor was sleeping in her stall. “Rise and shine,” I said, nudging her to her feet. She bawled the whole time. “Never you mind,” I told her. “Ain't none of your beeswax what I'm doing here so early or where I was last night.” I put some oats in her bucket and pulled up the milking stool. “You don't have any idea what it feels like to be Junior Bledsoe. So don't be judging me.”

When I took the milk inside, I heard Momma stirring in her room. I poured the milk into jars and set them in the icebox. Momma came into the kitchen squinting. And yawning. “Have mercy! You did the milking already?”

“That boy stayed out all night,” yelled Granddaddy from the bedroom.

Good grief! I couldn't get by with anything. “I slept in the barn,” I told Momma. “Granddaddy snores too loud.”

“Wasn't snoring when I heard you go out the back door.”

“Okay, Granddaddy. But I still slept in the barn.”

“Hmph. Bet you think I wasn't a boy once.” Now he was leaning on the doorframe between his room and the kitchen. “I could teach you a thing or two about sowing some wild oats.”

Momma was, for sure, awake now. She put her hand on my arm. “Is there something you should be telling me?”

“I slept in the barn,” I said. “There's nothing more to say about that.”

She leaned in and sniffed. “Why do I smell cherry cigars?”

And why didn't I think about me carrying that smell home? “Momma,” I said, “if I walked into your room right now I'd smell cherry cigars. The scent of them never left when he did.”

“Maybe.” She pulled away. “Or maybe you've taken up smoking. Junior, we don't have money for foolishness. And that Walker boy. If he's anything like his daddy. I beg you to stay away from him.”

“The way Calvin Settlemyre avoids me?” I asked. “Because, after all, I might be just like Pop. Momma, I've never touched a drop of liquor. I promise you.”

“Acorn don't fall far from the tree,” said Granddaddy. He was standing not two feet away from me and Momma. And it was like she believed him more than me.

“Your father promised too,” she said. “But it didn't stop him from drinking.”

I probably shouldn't have blamed her for thinking ill of me like that. After all, my name was Axel Bledsoe. “Well, if you don't believe me, then,” I said, “I reckon you didn't call me Junior for nothing.”

I heard her gasp, and the sound of it was ragged. I wasn't trying to hurt her. “Momma,” I said, “you watch. I'm going to do better than Pop did.”

So far I hadn't accomplished much in that department. In fact, I was failing. Sure, Pop was a drunk, and everybody knew it. But nobody could say he was a car thief.

May 1942

I was in the garden, planting squash hills and minding my own business, when I heard Ann Fay's voice behind me. “Hey, Junior. Look who's in the paper. The real Sergeant York. He had to register for the army.”

“I'll look in a minute,” I said. I pulled a few seeds out of the paper poke and dropped them into the ground.

She parked herself beside me, right in the dirt. “The president registered too. Only he won't have to serve on account of having polio.”

“No,” I said. “President Roosevelt doesn't have to fight because he's already serving our country—meeting with world leaders and making important decisions. And the reason he signed up was every man between forty-five and sixty-five has to get a draft number. He just turned sixty.”

“I know that,” said Ann Fay. “Back in January. I saw it in the paper.”

“It's all propaganda, you know. Same with Sergeant
York. People see pictures of them signing up and it makes them want to register too.”

Ann Fay turned real quiet then and put the paper on the ground so she could cuddle Jesse and Butch. “I want me a dog,” she said. “That way, if Daddy has to go off to war, I'll have somebody else to love me while he's gone.”

“Dogs are a dime a dozen,” I said. “Pop got Butch from Garland Abernethy, and I found Jesse in the side ditch.”

Ann Fay snorted. “Huh, I ride up the road practically every day and never once have I seen a dog in the ditch waiting for me to take it home.” She kissed Butch and then Jesse on the tops of their heads. She scratched them behind the ears and stared into space like she forgot I was even there. I went back to hoeing and after a while I heard her again.

“What if they pick Daddy's number? And what if he don't come home?”

I probably should have been more understanding. After all, if Leroy was called up, I'd be scared for him too. Still, I couldn't help thinking Ann Fay should be glad she even
had
a daddy to worry about. “Don't be fretting about something that hasn't happened yet,” I told her. “Speaking of worrying, your momma's gonna think the bus forgot to drop you off.”

“School let out early today,” she said. “On account of sugar rationing. The teachers have to do the registrations. Did Bessie sign up?”

“Not yet. But she will. All the baking she does, we're gonna need sugar.”

“Yeah,” said Ann Fay. And then she finally told me her real reason for dropping by—besides bringing me the paper, that is. “Rob Walker said his brother Dudley stayed out all night on Friday. Wonder who he done that with.”

Ann Fay had my attention for sure. But I just grunted, not letting on that I knew what she was talking about.

“Some people are just trouble, is what they are.”

“Yep,” I said. “Like Rob Walker.” I covered the seeds with dirt. “Why're you talking to him anyway?”

“He was telling somebody else. I just happened to hear it. He said Dudley was with you.”

I didn't like where this conversation was heading, and I especially didn't like thinking about what would happen if certain people found out where I was on Friday night. But I told myself to stay calm.

“You covering something up, Junior?”

“Yup. And they're called squash seeds. Wanna help?”

“Can't. I got my school clothes on.”

I looked at her and shook my head. “And there you are—sitting in the dirt. What's your momma gonna say?”

“My dress is just fine,” she said. “But where'd you go on Friday night?”

“To bed. Actually, I slept in the barn. Granddaddy snores.”

“Rob said Dudley came sneaking in the house with hay in his hair. When his daddy found out, he took a beating for it.”

I started hacking at a thistle coming up through the dirt, hoping she didn't see worry on my face. “Wayne Walker sure ain't like Leroy Honeycutt,” I said. “Count your blessings on having Leroy for a daddy, Ann Fay.”

She stood up and brushed the dirt off the back of her dress. “Reckon I better go. Like you said, Momma'll be fretting. Don't worry, Junior. I won't tell my daddy what people are saying about you and Dudley.”

“That's big of you,” I said.

Ann Fay stood there scowling like she was expecting a thank-you for being so neighborly and all. Maybe she
was
doing me a favor.

“Thanks for the report. And the newspaper.”

Evidently that's what she wanted to hear, on account of she turned and walked off. I sure hoped her momma could get the red dirt out of her skirt tail.

But I will say, she had me worrying. And wondering about Dudley. Did he know all along he would take a beating for what he did? Why would he take that chance just on account of me and my pop?

I couldn't stop wondering about that. If Dudley was in trouble, would I be next? How did I know Ann Fay wouldn't go telling Leroy what she heard?

May 1941

Two days later, Leroy came by the house. I couldn't tell if he'd heard anything suspicious sounding about me or not. But at least he didn't preach any sermons or ask me what I'd been up to. “How's the job hunt coming along?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I do odd jobs here and there. But it's hit or miss. I need something I can count on, like a factory job.”

“And how is that better than going to school?”

I shrugged. There wasn't a good answer for his question, so I just said, “School used to be okay. But this year it was useless.”

Leroy nodded. “Maybe everything feels useless right now. It might take a while, Junior.”

I didn't ask him what he meant. I was pretty sure he was talking about me getting over Pop dying.

“I'll tell you what. How about I ask Mark Hefner to give you a chance over at Brookford?”

“Really?”

Leroy nodded. “Really.”

The very next day, Leroy came by after work and told Momma that Mr. Hefner had decided to give me a chance. “I'll drop Junior off at the mill,” he said. “And pick him up on my way home.”

I couldn't believe it was that easy. The next morning we passed all kinds of people walking through Brookford, heading to the mill with their lunchboxes. I felt right proud to be joining them.

I went into the office building and it was like Mr. Hefner was waiting for me. “Junior, I'm glad you're here.” He offered his hand.

“Thank you, sir. I'm glad too. I'll even sweep floors if you need me to.”

Mr. Hefner shook his head. “I have a real job for you. Doffing. At the end of the day, drop by my office and we'll talk about your future here. Let's go on over to the mill.”

“Yes, sir.” I could hardly believe it. Not long ago he'd said he couldn't give me a job. Now he was talking about my future. And all because Leroy had put in a word for me.

Mr. Hefner led the way to the factory building. “You'll be on Louise Canipe's spinning frame. You'll take off the filled spools and put empty ones on. The frames do most of the work automatically and Louise keeps it all running smoothly. She won't like it if you start daydreaming or get behind. That cuts down on her production.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “But I won't be daydreaming.”

I noticed right off that it was hotter
inside
the mill than out. Noisier, too. Before Mr. Hefner opened the next door, I heard machinery clacking away. He took me into a huge room with high ceilings and tall windows. First thing I noticed, besides the racket, was how it looked like it was raining inside that room. But what I was actually seeing was cotton dust floating in the air.

Machines—or frames, as Mr. Hefner called them—filled that huge room from one end to the other, looking like they each had a thousand spools of white thread spinning away. Belts ran up toward the ceiling and across the room. Lots of people scurried here and there pulling levers, tying threads, moving spools, and I don't know what-all.

Louise was wearing a canvas apron. She pulled out a tool that looked like a nut pick and was digging around in the frame with it, cleaning out lint, I think. But lint was everywhere, so what was the use of that?

She looked me over while Mr. Hefner practically shouted to her that I'd be learning to doff. I thought Louise could at least say hello to me, but she just gave me a nod, thanked Mr. Hefner, and went back to work. Something told me she didn't like having a beginner working on her frame. Or maybe she just didn't feel like shouting.

A few feet away there was someone else, a fellow who looked old enough to be serving in the war, snatching
spools of thread off the frames and dropping them into a metal cart. Mr. Hefner led me over to him. “Watch,” he said.

The man reached into another cart and picked up empty spools.

Mr. Hefner let out a high-pitched
woo
sound to get his attention. “Jake, this is Junior,” he yelled. “Train him.”

Jake nodded. “Yes, Mr. Hefner.” I doubt the boss even heard him because he was already heading back to some peace and quiet. Jake stuck out his hand. “Howdy,” he yelled. “Here's how it works. See these spools?”

How could I miss all that spinning white stuff? It was making me plumb dizzy.

Jake picked up a handful of empty spools, dropped them on some posts, and quick as could be, he fastened thread to each one. When they were all done the frame started up again and the spools turned white with thread wrapping around them.

He pointed to a section of spools that had stopped. “Help me.”

I tried to snatch the spools off fast like he did, but when I dropped them into the metal cart I knocked his spools over. And he wouldn't let me straighten up the mess.

“That's it,” shouted Jake. “Take these two sections.” He pointed from where we were standing all the way to the end of the row. “I'll do the rest. For now. Later, I'll give you more.” And off he went.

I took a deep breath and wiped at the sweat running
down my face. By this time I was staring at another section of empty spools. It didn't take me long to start thinking about fixing cars.

And wouldn't you know, Louise frowned and made a hurry-up motion with her hands. It was looking to be a long day. I almost started praying the spinning frame would break down. Maybe then I could figure out how to fix it and Mr. Hefner would find out what I was really good for.

Fluffs of cotton scattered across the floors like dust balls under Granddaddy's bed. The big, high windows sent slants of light toward the spinning machines, and in those slants, bits of lint hovered in the air like they were looking for a landing place. Mostly it felt like the lint was settling in my eyeballs and sneaking into my nose and throat every time I took a breath. My head felt as if it was spinning faster than those frames.

I needed the open air of the woods with sunlight slanting through the trees. I wanted the racket to fade away and a woodpecker to take up the rhythm of the machines.

I tried to work faster. But the threads tangled and I had to straighten them out and that just slowed everything down. It seemed like Jake was flying up and down the row, changing out spools. A woman would come by with an empty cart for him and take away the one he'd just filled. She'd replace my carts too, but I wasn't filling them near fast enough.