Alice At The Home Front Read online

  But Alice, in her bed that night, worried what the other kids would say about her gleaming stockings and ugly dress. And even uglier, stringy brown hair, like a limp horse’s tail. She knew there’d be snickering behind her back. Why should she care? She sniffed. But that was the trouble. Hating to admit it, she did care.

  Chapter Five

  Dancing School

  Hunched down in the front seat of the car on the way to dancing school, Alice kept scratching away at her rayon-covered legs. “I’m itching like a dog with fleas,” she complained, but her mother kept her eyes on the road. “Shoot. I’ll be scratching like this through the whole dancing lesson.”

  Mother, as usual, remained patiently silent. There was nothing they could do about it; rayon was rayon.

  Alice thought Frobel Hall was an attractive building, with the windows all around it and box hedges in front. The toughest boys didn’t object to going to dancing school, even if they’d have to scrub with soap, plaster their hair down, and struggle into a suit and polished shoes. The boys from Moses Brown loved dancing, and they’d been scrubbing without complaining since before the war—all except Jimmy Brownell.

  When Alice had asked him why he never went to dancing school, he had said, laughing, “What, and wear a monkey suit? Are you kidding?” Jimmy was different. That’s what she liked about him.

  Inside, Alice took a seat and smiled at her teacher, a slim blonde lady with a silky hairdo and an enviable long dress that rustled when she walked. Alice’s stringy brown hair was brushed back and caught tightly in a boring-looking barrette. In her straight dress and these darn stockings, she felt really ugly.

  On account of the war, the girls were coming in late because many of them had to share rides, and the boys’ suits were mussed up from riding their bicycles. They all scrambled in and filled the empty chairs.

  Alice stared at each pair of girl’s legs. About half of them had decent stockings on, and the other half looked as miserable as she was. Their rayons reflected an ugly shine in the overhead lighting, as if they’d been made of kitchenware. Alice reminded herself of her pilot’s silky parachute.

  The teacher glided to the middle of the floor and stood for a moment with one hand raised to shush the talking. (She wore Pink Lightning nail polish by Revlon, Alice noticed.) Then she lowered her arm as a signal for the boys to make their choice of partners. Alice felt sorry for Betty Nielson sitting beside her, who was taller than most boys. They were terrified they’d be stuck with her, not being able to see over her shoulder, so they kept their distance. Poor Betty. Teacher would have to assign her a partner, and the boys would snicker behind his back.

  For once, Alice was so-o-o glad she wasn’t tall. She was just feeling sorry for Betty when she changed her mind in a flash. Were those silk stockings on Betty’s scrawny legs? Furious, Alice leaned over. “I suppose you’ve never heard of parachutes,” she spat out.

  Betty was mystified. “What?”

  Alice immediately regretted her temper. “Never mind,” she said.

  The pianist banged out the old marching song “Over There!” Disobeying the shrieks from the teacher’s whistle, the boys raced across the dance floor as if it were a football field to choose their partners.

  Alice could imagine how it would be if Jimmy were there. He certainly wouldn’t come charging over like a herd of buffalo. He’d be whistling along, taking his time, or maybe even stop to say hi to the teacher or try out a note or two on the piano. Then he’d sidle by the girls, looking them over like doughnuts in a bakery to see which he’d choose. Or he might even turn back to the teacher and say, “Let’s go, Miss, you’re the prettiest of the lot.” Alice laughed out loud. And then, when the teacher would back away embarrassed, he’d come over and choose her. That’d be Jimmy at dancing school!

  Alice eyed the stampede. There went Pimple Chin Peter, B.O. Severnson and Lame Larry Baxter heading across the room towards the Hershey twins and Cathy Beaumont. And here they come, Gorgeous George Hickock, Danny from Warwick, and a bunch of his friends. They skidded up to Alice and bowed, one arm in front and the other in back, in the proper fashion. This was always a thrilling moment for Alice, who quickly picked a dark boy with amazingly long eyelashes. He bowed again, glanced at the others with a grin, and took her arm. Alice didn’t quite understand why she was popular, because she wasn’t pretty like Cynthia Beaumont with curly blonde hair. She decided it was because she said what she thought, like a boy, and that made them feel comfortable.

  “Just don’t look down at my legs,” she told her long-lashed partner. He immediately did so, and she landed him an “accidental” kick in the shins.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Alice, smiling.

  The pianist had chosen an easy fox-trot for the first number. They all danced without incident through the first few bars of “When the Lights Come on Again All Over the World.” The teacher had allowed them to chat a little or look around to find their friends from last year before beginning the lesson. But Alice had heard a plane and immediately raced to the window. Taking a quick look and seeing nothing, she ran back and took up her position with her astonished partner.

  Suddenly all the eyes on the dance floor were facing the same direction. Something was happening in a corner of the room, and everyone was whispering and chitter-chattering. Alice began pushing her partner forward to see what it was all about and let out a little gasp. There was Sally Nicolosi, red-faced and eyes lowered in embarrassment, dancing with a new boy. This new boy was taller and slimmer than anyone in the room. He had on a handsome suit, not a cheap one like the other boys. He was clenching Sally around her waist grown-up style. Everybody knew the dancing school position was five inches between partners, but this was zero inches in between!

  Their cheeks were almost touching, and his left hand was curled around Sally’s and placed on his chest—near his heart of all things! Alice watched as they twirled over the dance floor. The new boy was leading her firmly, but he was staring at a nonexistent horizon with a bored expression! He’s decidedly stuck up, thought Alice, but how impressive! Sally, on her part, was obviously eager for the dance to be over. Her underarms were stained with sweat, Alice noticed, and she never once looked up.

  The next dance was ladies’ choice, but not one girl went up to ask the new boy to dance. Alice decided she would. She’d teach that Little Lord Fauntleroy.

  She curtseyed in front of him, and he took her arm. But once on the dance floor, he became a waltzing zombie. She tried him out with, “Would you rather be in the army, the navy, or the air force?” But he just turned his head and stared at himself in the mirror as they danced by.

  “Well, I guess it’s probably hard to make up your mind, if you can’t talk.”

  He ignored her.

  “Do you know what I’d like to be? If I was in the air force, I’d be a gunner and shoot down Messerschmitts. Bang, bang, bang—like this!” Alice poked him in the ribs hard three times. Taken by surprise, he doubled over.

  “Teacher,” Alice called loudly over the music, “I think my partner’s sick. Would somebody carry him to a chair?”

  Some of the dancers turned around, but he’d recovered and straightened up. He gave Alice a very snooty look on his way back to his seat. Alice could smell the snootiness.

  Alice found out that his name was Harold Johnson, and his father owned enough restaurants and hotels to pay for a dozen new suits. She noticed her teacher never once commented on his dancing position to the class or, as far as anyone could tell, to him personally. That meant anybody could copy him if they wanted to, but even the boldest of the boys never tried. This infuriated Alice.

  “Haven’t you learned anything?” she asked Gerry Romaine, as she grasped his arm and tucked it firmly around her waist. “You’re supposed to hold me like this.” But he moved back from her, embarrassed, and checked the room to see if anyone had noticed.
r />   “You’re all such cowards,” she said to him as they danced off.

  Chapter Six

  Jimmy Brownell

  The following week it was still winter outside, which was why Alice was wearing a scratchy woolen scarf around her face and mouth. She spat into it from time to time to soften the wool, a habit that resulted in chapped lips. Why did home-knit scarves have to be scratchy? In her mind’s eye, a pilot appeared, with a soft, cashmere scarf around his neck, like the kind the Aces wore. He boarded his bomber, smiled down at her, and waved. No cashmere for Alice; she sighed.

  Having made her way to Thayer Street, Alice hopped on a trolley that rumbled down the Thayer Street Tunnel for a few minutes to downtown Providence where she got off. At least the trolley was warm for the short trip. Alice, who lived on College Hill, almost never went downtown by herself—not often enough to feel completely comfortable treading the narrow streets, now slippery with snow. Unlike her neighborhood, the buildings rose up on either side and loomed over her, tall enough to block out the milky sunlight.

  The trouble with going downtown was you had to be careful what you were doing. You couldn’t just wander around looking at store windows and dreaming of the front or of spotting enemy planes. You had to actually pay attention or you would get lost walking down the wrong street, be crushed in front of a car making a left turn, or become distracted by the sweet smells from a doughnut shop. It made you act responsibly in spite of yourself in a way she was not particularly fond of. Alice had gotten into the habit of thinking she was someplace else. People accused her of daydreaming. Sometimes at school, Jody Rickenbarker would yell at her in math class, “Alice, why don’t you pay attention?” Jody was good at math. Most of the time Alice thought what was going on in her head was more interesting than any math problem.

  Alice reached the stationery shop and began examining the elegant leather address books; then she started looking for exactly the right notebook for logging in the planes. Mother had said, “Why don’t you buy a notebook for your math work as well, while you’re at it?” Gosh, no. Alice didn’t like doing anything “while she was at it,” because it interfered with her purpose.

  As she reached for exactly the right one, another hand beat her to it. She looked up and recognized her old friend, Jimmy Brownell. It gave her such a warm feeling—but a bit of a shock too. Jimmy Brownell, who used to let her play with his painted metal cars on the diorama he’d made in the dirt, with hills and bridges and tunnels and everything. He was five years older than she was, but he’d let her play if she kept her mouth shut. Actually, she was secretly sure he enjoyed her company.

  “Jimmy!” she exclaimed. “I’d heard you were moving back.”

  “Hiya, Alice. Whatcha up to these days?”

  “I need a notebook. I’m a spotter, and I log planes, you see.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m a pilot.”

  “No. You can’t be,” she laughed.

  He laughed too. “Honest! And I need my own logbook,” he said and snatched the one she’d chosen out of her hand. They tussled, laughing, and in the end, he let her have it and chose another. They went to pay at the counter while Alice began a mental conversation with Jody Rickenbarker. “We both bought the same logbooks. See? This is the same logbook the pilots have! As a spotter, it’s my duty—”

  Once outside, Jimmy said, “C’mon, let’s go get a Coke,” and he headed for the drugstore. “I’ll treat you.” He shook his head. “Your mom actually let you leave College Hill and go downtown by yourself!”

  She followed him into Rexall’s Drugstore and climbed up on a stool.

  Winding back and forth on her stool, Alice took a good look at Jimmy, who was several inches taller and now had light brown hairs growing out of his chin and around his face. His eyes were still a friendly chestnut color, and his hair still fell in little curls around his forehead and ears, even though you could see he’d tried like heck to slick it all back with Brylcreem.

  Alice told him all about how she was folding bandages, how Mr. Hopkins had loaned her a mangy old spotter’s manual that she already knew by heart, how he wouldn’t include her because she was too young, and how she’d show the old coot, just wait and see.

  “You thought you’d bamboozle him, huh!” he said, giving her a friendly punch.

  “Okay.” Alice crossed her arms and dug her heels into the bars of the stool. “Now I won’t believe you’re a pilot until you tell me how you managed that.” They were both older now, and Alice was a little surer of herself, which felt good.

  “Okay.” Jimmy ordered two Cokes from the girl with the frilled apron and cap. He left a fat tip, Alice noticed, and the girl smiled back at him.

  Alice could hear Mother: “You shouldn’t have a Coke, Alice. It’s got caffeine in it!” “Is that so?” she’d answer. “Well, they don’t make milkshakes anymore, or I’d have that!”

  Jimmy began his story. “You know my dad has a plane—used to fly up to Canada to go duck hunting. A little red Piper Cub. He’s given it to the CAP.”

  “Oh gosh, don’t give me any more initials. I can never remember what they mean. CDC, Civil Defense something. OCD, Office of Civil—”

  “CAP. Civil Air Patrol.” He drew the initials in a little puddle of Coke on the counter. “Those are civilian planes that are used to patrol the coast. Civilians like my dad donated their planes so they can be used to do that. And guess what. My dad hasn’t time to fly it himself, so they’re letting me and some other guys my age do the flying of our dads’ planes!”

  “When on earth are you going to learn to do that? Aren’t you still going to Moses Brown Prep?” asked Alice, still only half-believing.

  “Yup, but I’ve got to accumulate two hundred hours of special training down in Atlanta, Georgia, first. Then I’ll be back.”

  “You’ll be an old man by the time you’ve finished flying school.” She wiped her mouth on a paper napkin.

  “No I won’t.”

  “Yes you will.” Alice was feeling excited but angry at the same time. She would never get a chance like that. How come his dad had a plane, anyhow, and Gramp only had a fourteen-foot boat that sails boringly down the river to the bay and capsizes as soon as there’s a little gust of wind.

  “Come on, Alice, be happy for me. It’s such a great opportunity! That’s what my dad says—a great opportunity. But my mother doesn’t.” He lowered his head.

  “So what are you going to fly about? I mean, why do they need your dinky, little plane with all the Lockheeds, Gremlins, and Curtisses?” She chewed her straw in frustration.

  “Yeah, I know,” he laughed, and Alice noticed he had a deeper laugh than last summer. She was surprised to feel her face flush. He was such a man already.

  “It’s crazy, huh? It’s because of the U-boats. See, you may not realize it,” he said, his mouth close to her ear, “because they try to keep it quiet so’s not to scare the public.”

  “I’m not the public,” mumbled Alice.

  “The truth is, German subs are prowling up and down the East Coast, and we’re going to have to spot them and report them before they do some damage.” Alice caught the gleam of excitement in his eyes. “I mean, it’s an important mission, Alice. It’s really going to make a difference. And that’s not all. There’s other stuff they teach you about too.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, I dunno. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

  “Are you sure you’re old enough?” Alice chewed a bit of hair.

  “Sure am. I’m sixteen, and they start at fifteen. Get that! Flying a plane at fifteen!”

  “So you let the CAT or CAP or whatever know if there’s a U-boat slowly creeping up the coast to—”

  “Yeah. That’s right. The Civil Air Patrol, CAP.” He glanced at his watch. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the trolley stop.”


  While the trolley rumbled up the rails through the tunnel, Alice’s head whirled with all the details Jimmy had told her, all the questions she still had about this job of his that she envied but knew must be dangerous.

  It was still bitter cold, but it was a short walk from the trolley to her house. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, went in, and shut the door. Alice was upset and confused, but she didn’t know why exactly. It was wonderful, Jimmy getting the job of a real pilot—actually being able to fly—but it left her out of everything. That’s the part she didn’t like, and that’s why she wasn’t happy. She’d have to find a way to get into the flying program.

  She flopped back on the pillows of her bed and stared up at a spot on the ceiling where she’d swatted a bug last year and left it there for Mother to clean up. She dozed off a bit and found herself at the pilot’s recruiting station during a dimming, dressed in a pair of boy’s pants from the Salvation Army, a secondhand jacket, and a cap. She stood in front of the officer’s desk and saluted him. He looked up, surprised.

  “Private Aliceton reporting for duty, Sir,” she said.

  “What’s that, young fellah?” The officer, too fat for his uniform, Alice thought, leaned forward to get a look at this peculiar young man.

  “I want to join CAP, Sir,” she said, lowering her voice a few tones, “and get trained in Atlanta.”

  “Do you, now? Well, well. And who sent ye?” asked the officer.

  “I work for Harold Johnson, Sir. He’s sending one of his planes to CAP and me along with it for training. His son’s too busy to go, what with his teaching tango and rumba at Frobel Hall.”

  The officer’s jaw dropped. “His son teaches rumba?” Alice realized that hadn’t been the right thing to say at all. He leaned back in his desk chair and shouted over his shoulder. “Clancy! Hear anything about Harold Johnson sending one of his planes to CAP?”