Camp X (11 page)

We came up to our house. Our porch light was on too, and for an instant I was afraid that Mom was home until I remembered we'd switched it on before leaving that afternoon. We probably shouldn't have left the light on—it was wasting energy and that could hurt the war effort—but we hadn't wanted to come home to a totally dark house. We circled around and went in through the side door. Jack threw on a light.

“Hello!” he called out.

“Who are you calling?”

“Just making sure Mom's not home yet,” Jack answered. “We'd better get into bed, it's incredibly late.”

I looked up at the clock above the piano. It was three minutes before two. If I hadn't known where Mom was I would have been worried to death. She was always home by twelve-thirty, or quarter to one at the latest.

Jack and I went to our bedroom and quickly changed into our pajamas. My brother threw his clothes onto the floor and kicked them around with his foot.

“We have to make it look lived in,” he said. “We'll just turn out the lights and . . . Supper—we didn't clean up after supper! The kitchen is still a mess! We have to clean it or Mom will kill us!”

We rushed to the kitchen. There were dishes everywhere. We'd figured we'd have plenty of time to clean up sometime between getting home and getting to bed. We hadn't figured on not getting home until two in the morning.

Jack filled up the sink and rubbed the cloth against a small piece of dish soap. I frantically started scraping the plates off and tossing them into the water.

“I'll wash, you dry and put things away,” Jack ordered. “Wipe down the counter and the table.”

I grabbed a cloth from the sink and started to follow his directions, beginning with the table. I wiped part and then moved dishes to the sink, returning to wipe down another section. Soon both the counter and table were clean, so I took a tea towel and started to dry part of the growing dish pile. We'd never cleaned up so fast. Jack finished scrubbing out the
casserole dish—Mom had made us a casserole for supper and all we'd had to do was heat it up. He then took a broom and began to sweep the floor.

“We don't usually sweep up,” I said.

He looked at me, then the broom, and shrugged. “You're right. I'll help you finish that up, and then we gotta be in bed before Mom comes through that door or we're dead. She'll have old lady Henderson sitting us starting tomorrow.”

Jack hadn't meant that as a threat but it certainly made me move just a little bit faster. Jack had gotten another tea towel and pitched in. Within a minute I was drying the last of the cutlery and dropping it into the drawer.

“Great, now let's get upstairs and—”

The door burst open. “Boys, I'm home!” Mom called out.

We were dead.

Mom rushed over and to my complete shock threw one arm around me and the other around Jack, pulling us close to her. My eyes caught Jack's. He looked as surprised as me.

“I'm so sorry, boys! It wasn't my fault I'm so late. You must be worried sick!”

“We knew there was trouble with the bus,” I said.

“You did? How did you know that?”

“Um . . . I . . .” Of course there was no possible way I could have known.

“We figured it
must
be trouble with the bus,” Jack said, jumping in to rescue me. “You know how you're always saying how broken down it is?”

“Yes . . . I guess I have mentioned that a couple of times . . .”

“So is that what happened?” Jack asked.

“Yes, but—”

“I told George that was all that happened. He didn't believe me, but I told him not to worry, that you'd be home soon.”

“I thought you'd both be frantic,” she said.

“Come on, Mom, I'm fourteen and in charge. There was nothing to worry about,” Jack reassured her. “I tried to send him to bed, but he was too worried, so that's why we're still up. That's okay, isn't it?”

“That's all right,” Mom said. She gave me a little kiss on the cheek and then did the same to Jack. “I thought you'd be worried, especially after I wasn't able to call you on my break like I always do.”

“We were so busy cleaning up the kitchen that we didn't even notice you didn't call until later,” Jack said. “You know there's nothing to worry about as long as I'm in charge.”

“You really are the man of the house,” she said, giving him another kiss. “Now, I think it's time that all of us got to bed.”

We said our goodnights and then headed for our bedroom. I snuggled down into the sheets while Jack turned off the lights.

“That was a good one,” Jack said sarcastically.

“What?”

“About the bus. We'd better hope there are no Nazi spies around here or they won't need to torture you to get the truth.”

“It just sort of slipped out,” I apologized.

“Just 'cause you're my little brother doesn't mean you have to be my
stupid
little brother.”

I wanted to say something to Jack but didn't know if I could. I swallowed hard.

“Jack?”

“What?”

“Thanks . . . thanks for being there and everything.”

“Sure. Go to sleep . . . and try not to be so stupid in the future, okay?”

“I'll try. Goodnight.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“
HOW ARE YOU DOING
today, boys?” Mr. Krum asked.

“Good,” Jack said.

“Yeah, good. Really good,” I added.

We were out on the loading dock at the newspaper offices getting Jack's papers ready to deliver.

“Peter Cook just called in sick. I was wondering if you could deliver an extra route for me today,” Mr. Krum asked. “If you do not have anything else to do?”

Jack looked at me. “I guess I could. My brother could help me. He's responsible enough that he could do a route all by himself.”

Jack thought I was responsible? Where did that come from?

“How old are you, George?”

“Almost twelve.”

“In just a few days,” Jack added.

“I usually like my delivery boys to be at least thirteen, but
sometimes rules are meant to be broken, especially for a responsible young man.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“No promises, you understand, and there are no routes available today, but helping today—and you will be paid for your efforts, of course—only works in your favour.”

“That's great,” Jack said.

“A little extra money could buy an extra treat or two.” Mr. Krum smiled.

“We don't buy many treats,” Jack told him. “I use most of my money to buy war saving stamps.”

“Me too,” I said.

The stamps were issued by the government, and people bought them to support the war. Each stamp cost twenty-five cents, and when you saved sixteen of them your book was filled and you traded it in for a certificate. Then in seven years the government would give you five dollars for your certificate.

“Two more stamps and my book will be full,” Jack said proudly.

“Very commendable,” Mr. Krum said. “It is nice to know that you are not simply wasting your money.”

“Do you save stamps?” I asked Mr. Krum.

“Oh, believe me, I am doing my part to make sure the right side wins this war. Now, back to the business at hand. You'll need another newspaper bag and the list of Peter's customers, and you'll have to prepare his papers. Do you know how to do that, George?”

“Sure. No problem.” It wasn't difficult. It involved making sure that all the sections were in place, slipping in any advertisement supplements and then folding it so it would hold together when it was thrown.

“Come and we'll get that bag and list.”

I followed him back through the loading area, passing by the familiar posters. The one that said “Your Country Needs You!” meant a lot more to me than it had the day before. I was now an “agent” of my country.

“So George, I trust that you and your brother have not been back up to that farm we talked about?”

“No, no we haven't,” I said. I felt uncomfortable. Was I breaking the oath by even talking about it?

“That pleases me, but also surprises me. It remains the best mystery around here. I thought you and your brother would be standing on the fence and looking in as far as you could see.”

“You told us we shouldn't go.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you said we shouldn't go up there, so we didn't.”

“I wish everybody would listen to me that well.” He handed me a canvas sack.

“Thank you. I'll return it right after I deliver the papers.”

“That's all right. You hang onto it. It might not be that long before you will be needing it every day,” he added with a smile. “Did you know that many of the finest reporters started out as paper boys? And in some remarkable cases they had their first big break and wrote their first stories for the paper while they were still delivering it. Is that not remarkable?”

“It is,” I agreed.

“And that is why it is important always to keep your eyes open. Now here is a copy of Peter's delivery list,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket. “His route is smaller than your brother's. He has only eighty-seven papers to deliver.”

“That won't take too long.”

I followed Mr. Krum back out to where my brother was just finishing up the last of his papers.

“Today you and your brother should work together. Later, if this becomes a regular assignment, that will not be necessary.”

That was fine with me. The last thing I wanted was to run into those boys again when Jack wasn't around. I didn't want to rely on the police chief chancing by . . . actually, I didn't want to run into him, either.

“I was talking to your brother about the old Sinclair property. He said you did not have any interest in going out there any more.”

Jack looked at me with alarm, and then his expression softened. “We just haven't had any time lately.”

“Really? What have you been doing instead?”

“Nothing much . . . swimming in the creek.”

“Corbett's Creek?”

“I think that's what it's called,” Jack said.

“That is actually the western boundary of the Sinclair property. Did you not know that?” Mr. Krum asked.

“No, I just knew it was a nice place to swim.”

“Is the water deep?”

“In some places,” Jack said. “Mostly shallow. We like to just float in our inner tubes.”

“That would be relaxing. Could I suggest that while you are floating you keep your eyes open?”

“I guess we could,” Jack said.

“Excellent. As I was saying to your brother, the best story around these parts is contained within the boundaries of that farm. Of that I am certain.”

“If we see anything, we'll let you know about it,” Jack agreed.

“Who knows? You might be the ones who break the story.”

“But won't they block the story, you know, not let you run it, if it has to do with the army?” I asked.

“You are correct,” he said. “They will most likely not allow it to be published. It might simply be something that is shared with me to satisfy my curiosity. As I mentioned, newspapermen are most curious and nosy by nature. So if you hear or see anything, you tell me, and if I find out anything, I will tell you. Agreed?”

“Sure, no problem,” Jack told him.

“I guess so.”

“There is nothing to guess. We are all members of the same family, the same newspaper family, and we will share information. That is how good newspapermen work. Now I shall get back to the job of running the paper, and you get back to delivering it.”

We watched him go back inside, leaving us alone.

I leaned in close to Jack. “You didn't mean any of that, did you?”

“About sharing information?”

I nodded.

“Of course not. Let's not talk about it now. Fold papers.”

Jack went inside to get more newspapers and I continued to fold. A couple of the other carriers came out with their bundles. They nodded a greeting and one walked off while the second climbed onto a bike and rode away. Jack returned with his arms full of papers. I wanted to talk so I tried to get mine ready as quickly as I could.

“The money for doing this extra route today will go in my pay packet,” Jack said. “You can have all of it.”

“I think we should split it. You're coming with me to help deliver.”

“And you're coming along with me to deliver my route,” he said.

“But I always come with you.”

“Yeah, so maybe I should always be giving you a split of my pay.”

“Are you serious?” I couldn't believe my ears.

“Not much, but something . . . as long as you don't bug me.”

“I guess that means I'll
never
see a cent of it.”

Jack flashed me a smile. “There's always a chance you won't bug me . . . at least, not too much.”

Trucks pulled up and left, and four more paper boys arrived and started to prepare their bundles. Jack liked to
arrive early because sometimes there was a foul-up with the press and there weren't enough papers until later. Mr. Krum appeared at the door of the loading dock, and for a second I thought he was coming out to talk to us, but then he disappeared back inside again.

“That's the last of them,” Jack said as he stuffed two more papers into my bag. “Can you carry them?”

“Of course I can.” I stood up and almost staggered under the weight. I'd never carried his bag when it was full and I was shocked by how much it weighed.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” I groaned through clenched teeth.

“Now you know why the most popular routes are the ones that start close by. You can start unloading the bag right away instead of carting it halfway across town first.” He started walking.

“Is Peter's route halfway across town?” I asked.