Iggie's House (7 page)

“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.

“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.

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.”

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.

“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.

“Do you have a minute, Mr. Berger?” Winnie asked timidly.

Mr. Berger checked his watch. “Sure I do Winnie. My next lesson's not for another ten minutes.” He sat down on a chair beside her.

“We've got some new neighbors Mr. Berger. In Iggie's house. They're uh … they're uh … Negro,” Winnie said quietly.

Mr. Berger kept smiling at her. “Oh …”

“Yes … we're very good friends,” Winnie said excitedly. Then she paused and added, “At least we were until this morning. Mr. Berger, I've got this petition and uh … I'd like you to sign it for me. Would you?”

Mr. Berger looked at Winnie for what seemed to be a very long time. Then he said, “Well, I can't answer that until I see it. Where is your petition?”

Winnie whipped it out and presented it to him. “Here it is and here's a pencil,” she said, fumbling in the bottom of her pocketbook for the one she had sharpened so carefully.

Mr. Berger read her paper thoughtfully. “This is more of a questionnaire than a petition, Winnie. But I'll fill it out for you.” He reached for her pencil and Winnie held her breath, wondering if he would
check Like … Don't Like … Don't Care … or Don't Know.

Mr. Berger handed the questionnaire back to her. She was almost afraid to look. “Go ahead and read it Winnie,” he said.

Winnie turned away from the sun and studied the paper. Mr. Berger had signed his name in the proper space: Frank G. Berger. To the question “Feelings about Colored People” Mr. Berger had written across one whole line … What color? Green or purple?

“Mr. Berger!” Winnie sighed, embarrassed. “You know what I mean!”

“Yes, I think I do Winnie. But I can't answer a question like that by checking a box. I have many feelings. And my feelings are different for each person.”