Defiant Heart (12 page)

Jeff spotted Jon standing in the doorway. He tapped Vernon on the arm and inclined his head in Jon’s direction. Vernon turned quickly. As Jon stepped through the door, both Vernon and Jeff suddenly squinted their eyes and crinkled their noses.

“Ah,” they said in tandem, drawing the word out as if holding back a sneeze. “Ah,” they repeated, a little louder and longer, each tilting his head back and contorting his face as though the coming sneeze were putting him in great distress. “Ah,” this time almost yelling. Then, together, they threw their heads forward and exclaimed, “A Jew!”

Vernon sat back, a vicious smile on his face. Jeff made a show of wiping his nose as though it was running.

“Goodness,” Miss Tremaine said, looking up from the book on her desk. “Are you boys coming down with colds?”

“Oh, no, Miss Tremaine,” Vernon said. “I think there must be something in this room that doesn’t agree with us.”

“Really?” she replied, a mixture of confusion and concern playing on her face. “Well, I don’t know what it might be.”

“It’s ok, Miss Tremaine,” Vernon said quickly. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” Jeff said. “We can manage. But thank you, Miss Tremaine.”

Jon walked slowly to his desk and sat down, feeling that he was being watched. When he glanced up, however, the only ones looking in his direction were Vernon and Jeff. They both had smug expressions. Vernon winked.

Jon looked back, holding their gaze. After a long moment, Jeff looked away, but Vernon continued to stare, his expression becoming more serious. Then, after a few more seconds, he smirked and looked away as well. Only then did Jon turn his attention to the classroom door.

A long minute passed, and then Mary entered the classroom. As she did, she gave a quick sideways glance in the direction of Jon’s desk. He felt a jolt of adrenalin, but, the instant their eyes met, she turned away. The bile began to rise again in the back of his throat.

After a second, however, Mary pivoted, looked directly at him, and gave him the most wonderful smile he had ever seen.

#

“Are you going to tell me what’s up?” Sam asked.

Mary continued staring into the distance. After a long moment, she said, “Do you think it’s possible they could be any more puerile?”

“Puerile?”

“Childish. Immature.”

“Do I need to carry around a dictionary when we’re talking?”

Mary didn’t reply. The two of them were sitting at one of the long benches in the outdoor eating area adjacent to the school cafeteria. Though it was a slightly windy, overcast day carrying the threat of rain at any moment, they’d chosen to sit outdoors, rather than in the main indoor area, which could be quite loud when full of students.

Sam studied Mary carefully. Mary had been distracted all morning. At the outset of the day, she’d been cheerful. Her mood, however, had soured quickly. Given her most recent comment, Sam wondered if it might have something to do with the developments concerning the new boy, Jon Meyer.

The school had been abuzz with the revelation that Jon was a Jew. To Sam, it seemed much ado about nothing. So what if the guy was Jewish? Why should that bother anyone? Apparently, however, the opportunity to engage in mischief at the expense of another had been too much for one or more of her classmates to resist. The vandalism of Jon’s locker had been shocking. And, yes, immature. But Sam knew the whole thing would blow over in a day or two. After all, who cares?

Perhaps, however, it had struck a chord with Mary. She was uncharacteristically subdued. There were worry lines around her pretty blue eyes, and her usual smile was gone, lips instead tightly compressed in a contemplative frown. No, Sam thought, whatever was bothering her friend had to be really significant. It couldn’t just be Jon Meyer.

She was about to probe further when there was a movement, and Gwenda slid onto the bench next to her.

“I’ve got something really important,” Gwenda said, looking at Mary. When Mary did not react, Gwenda turned to Sam and gave her a quizzical look. Sam shrugged, then leaned forward and waved a hand in front of Mary’s face.

“Hello, anybody home?”

After a moment, Mary refocused and looked at Sam. “Hmm?”

Sam extended an index finger and, with an exaggerated motion, pointed it at Gwenda, who was leaning forward, a look of excitement on her face. Mary looked at Gwenda.

“You know about the dance tomorrow night, right?” Gwenda asked. It was a rhetorical question. Of course they all knew about the dance. Gwenda would be going with Billy, but Mary and Sam planned to tag along. It was the first dance of the school year, and they’d been looking forward to it.

“Well, I just talked to Billy,” Gwenda continued, “and he told me Vernon wants to go with you. Isn’t that great!” She put an emphasis on the last word so it came out almost as a squeal.

Mary blinked a couple of times. Finally, she said, flatly, “Oh.”

Sam and Gwenda exchanged glances. After a moment, Sam said, “Oh? That’s your response? Gee, let’s try to contain our enthusiasm. I mean, you don’t want to be too easy. God forbid anyone gets the wrong impression.”

Mary looked back and forth between Sam and Gwenda. Sam could see that Gwenda had a shocked expression on her face.

Mary suddenly reached out and cupped Gwenda’s hands with hers. “Oh, Gwenda, I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind right now. Thank you for letting me know.”

Her excitement returning, Gwenda asked, “So I can let Billy know you’re planning to go with Vernon.”

“No.”

“No?” repeated Gwenda. “Why not?”

“Hmm,” Mary said, leaning back and looking up. “Why not, indeed? Let’s see, where do I start?” She adopted a pensive look, compressed her lips and took a deep breath through her nose, letting it out slowly. “Why don’t we start with the fact that he didn’t have the nerve to ask me directly? Heck,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “he didn’t even ask you directly. He had to go through two people.”

“Well,” Gwenda started to say in a half-hearted way, but Mary cut her off.

“Oh, I know. The King is just too grand to be asking girls out in person. That simply won’t do for someone of his prominence. But let’s set that aside,” she continued, “and talk about what’s really important. The fact of the matter is Vernon King has got to be the most mean, arrogant, self-absorbed, inconsiderate…” She paused, searching for words.

“Puerile?” suggested Sam.

“Yes, good,” Mary said. “Honestly, I would sooner poke my eyes out with a knitting needle than go the dance with that ape.”

There was a look of shock on Gwenda’s face now. Shock coupled with something almost akin to fear. She looked to Sam for help, but Sam merely shook her head.

“What do I tell Billy?” Gwenda asked.

“Tell him I already have a date,” Mary replied.

Sam started. “You do?”

“No,” Mary said. “I would have told you, of course.” Turning to Gwenda, she said, “But he doesn’t have to know that.”

“Won’t it be obvious it’s not true when you show up at the dance without an escort?”

Mary made a noncommittal sound, then said, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Gwenda again looked at Sam, then back at Mary. She puffed out her cheeks and expelled a big breath of air. “Ok,” she said, uncertainly. “I’ll tell him.” She hesitated a second, then rose, and walked back into the building.

Sam watched her go, then turned her attention to Mary. “Seriously, are you going to tell me what’s gotten into you?”

“What? Because I don’t want to go to the dance with Vernon?”

“No, I get that. But there’s something else going on, right?”

Mary looked away, and Sam waited patiently. When Mary turned back, there was a new look in her eyes. “What do you think of the new boy, Jon?”

Sam shrugged. “He’s Jewish?”

“Apparently,” Mary said, with a touch of sarcasm. “Either that, or someone got pretty worked up for nothing. But that’s not what I’m talking about. What do you
think
of him?”

Sam looked at Mary, who stared back with an expectant expression.

And then it finally hit her. It had only taken Mary sixteen years to become interested in a boy, but it had actually happened. Sam took a deep breath. “Well it’s about time,” she said.

#

Walt Gallagher was in high spirits when he opened the store on Saturday morning. He had gotten used to having Jon around, and, when Jon started school, Walt found himself missing his company during the day and anticipating the late afternoon hours when Jon would join him at the store. Today, Jon would be working most of the day.

He set his knapsack on the floor behind the counter and pulled out the book Jon had given to him. He’d finished the first chapter and was looking forward to talking to Jon about it.

Things got busy for the first hour or so, and there was no opportunity for them to speak. As the morning rush died down and the last of several customers walked out, Walt settled himself on his stool, reached for the book and set it down on the counter. He tapped it with a finger and looked at Jon. “I read the first chapter,” he said proudly.

“And?”

“The guy gave away his wife and his daughter. How could he do that?” He fixed Jon with a serious look. “So, is he gonna get ‘em back?”

Jon arched his eyebrows and looked from Walt to the book and back.

“Oh, I know what you’re sayin’. I gotta read the book. And I’m gonna, ‘cause I wanna know what happens. But…”

The front door opened and Mr. Dahlgren came in. He glanced briefly in their direction, but said nothing.

“Hey boss,” Walt called out. Mr. Dahlgren did not reply. He made straight for the stairway and ascended the steps.

Walt made a face. “I don’t think the boss is in a good mood today.”

Mr. Dahlgren was back in less than two minutes with an envelope in his hand. He walked directly up to the counter, set the envelope down in front of Jon, and said, “Here’s your pay for the week. I even included an amount for the entire day today. I’m letting you go.”

Walt experienced a sensation, like a fluttering. Thinking that he had misunderstood what Mr. Dahlgren had said, he looked quickly at Jon, then at Mr. Dahlgren. Jon’s face had a bewildered expression. Mr. Dahlgren’s was stern and resolute, and he was staring intently at Jon.

“No, wait,” Walt blurted.

“You stay out of this, Walt,” Mr. Dahlgren said, his focus still on Jon. “This is none of your concern.”

Jon blinked. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.

Mr. Dahlgren pointed to Jon’s books, which Jon had set on the side of the counter when he’d come in that morning. “Gather your things and go now.”

Jon looked at his books, then at the envelope on the counter. A few seconds passed. Then, wordlessly, Jon slid off the stool and collected his books. He started to turn, stopped, and reached out to pick up the envelope. Walt could see there was a tremor in Jon’s hand. Jon tucked the envelope inside one of the books, stepped around the counter and walked to the door.

“One more thing,” Mr. Dahlgren said. Jon stopped and turned.

“I want you to stay away from Mary. You leave her alone. Do you understand?”

Jon hesitated, then nodded, silently. He looked past Mr. Dahlgren and met Walt’s gaze. There was a deep sadness in his eyes. Then he turned and walked out the door.

Walt stared at Mr. Dahlgren’s back, waiting for him to turn around. When he finally did, Walt asked, plaintively, “Why boss?”

Mr. Dahlgren took a deep breath. “Walt, I had to do that.”

“But why?”

“You probably didn’t know this. I just learned it myself. Turns out Jon is a Jew.”

“No he’s not,” Walt said, quickly. “He’s a good guy. He’s honest and he’s a hard worker.”

Mr. Dahlgren gave Walt a puzzled look. Then, as if a light were coming on, he nodded. “I don’t mean it that way, Walt. When I say he’s a Jew, I mean he’s a member of the Jewish race. I’m not saying he’s a bad person, I’m saying he comes from a group of people that others don’t want to have anything to do with.”

“Because they’re bad people?”

“Well,” Mr. Dahlgren started to reply, then stopped. After a long moment, he made as if to speak, then stopped again. Finally, he said, “It’s complicated. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Mr. Dahlgren turned and headed toward the stairs.

Walt started to make a response, but bit it back. He had never, ever crossed Mr. Dahlgren. Involuntarily, his mouth opened. Before any sound came out, however, he clamped it shut. He cursed himself. Mr. Dahlgren had reached the bottom of the stairs. Walt balled his hand into a fist and punched himself in the leg. He opened his mouth again to speak, and again he froze. Mr. Dahlgren was climbing the stairs. He shut his eyes and squeezed them tight.

“Boss!”

Mr. Dahlgren stopped. Stepping backwards, he descended to a point where, bending down and leaning out, he could look at Walt.

“Boss, you know I always agree with you. And that’s because you’re always right. Every time.”

Mr. Dahlgren looked at him, but said nothing.

“Every time,” Walt repeated. “Except now.”

Speaking rapidly, Walt continued. “I don’t know about this Jewish race thing, but I know this. Jon is not a bad person. He’s not. He’s actually a good guy. A really good guy. He’s good for the store, too. The customers like him. A lot. And he’s smart. He’s really, really smart. But he doesn’t make you feel bad about that. And, he’s fun to work with. And… and…”

And he had run out of things to say.

Mr. Dahlgren was silent for a few seconds. Then he leaned closer, squinted and asked, “Are you crying Walt?”

Walt rubbed a sleeve across his face. “No boss.”

Mr. Dahlgren tapped the handrail absently. “Well,” he said, after a moment, “like I told you, it’s complicated.” Then he straightened and resumed climbing the stairs.

#

Mary had given this a great deal of thought. Thursday afternoon had been too unplanned, too unstructured. She did not want a repeat of that. She had mapped out a strategy. She knew her lines. She had responses ready, including options, depending on his responses. Victory would be Jon’s invitation to her to accompany him to the dance. Partial victory would be his accepting her invitation to join the group. The latter was a little risqué, she knew, but she didn’t care.