Gingersnap Read online

  Back at the bakery, sun gleamed through the window.

  Elise went to the front. I had time to see the kitchen. Rob would have loved it. I turned around slowly, looking at every corner. It was as if someone had dusted not only the table, but also all of it, floor, ceiling, walls. Flour floated in the air. It covered the window, the nests of pans stacked on a red countertop, and the old pots that hung on hooks over the table.

  It was a perfect room, in a perfect place, except for the radio on a shelf. It wasn’t loud, but it was clear: the announcer spoke about Okinawa, ground forces closing in on the Suri Temple area, which seemed to divide the island in half.

  I stood entirely still. Then I turned off the radio.

  “Good girl,” said the voice. I turned. She was as dusty as the rest of the kitchen, her hair covered with it.

  A floury ghost.

  I crossed the room to the window, my shoes leaving imprints on the floor. The window was so coated with flour it was hard to see out.

  I found a cloth and searched through the icebox for vinegar. I mixed the vinegar with water and found old newspapers. I knew how to wash a window, thanks to Celine.

  Moments later, I stared through the glass, still dusty on the outside. If only I could tell Rob about everything. If only I could see him for even five minutes.

  I went upstairs and reached for the stone girl. I held it in my hands, rolling it gently, thinking about that day at the pond, Theresa on a log, Rob and I both muddy. All of us gone now.

  “Don’t give up,” I whispered to him.

  I found Theresa’s food. The box was nearly empty. Downstairs, I sprinkled it in the cage, watching as she snapped at the dark specks. I gave her water, then brought her to the garden and opened the cage door. I kept my eyes on her as she circled a gnarled little tree and then folded herself into her shell and slept.

  I began to wash the outside of the window, thinking of the word hope, a breath of a word. I even said it aloud. If only Rob could hear me.

  Please let him be alive.

  Just get him home.

  Just get him to Brooklyn.

  Reaching into my pocket, I touched the stone girl again. It’d been around forever, tumbling off a mountain, rising up from the sea.

  The outside of the window was harder to clean than the inside. Mud must have spattered up from a rainstorm, but after a few minutes, I could see the shine of the glass. Before I took Theresa back inside, I stopped to look at that overgrown yard.

  It must have been lovely once. Along the jagged fence, small flowers were beginning to bud. Shiny leaves covered the tree.

  I saw Elise come into the kitchen. She smiled at me through the window, then reached into the stove to pull out the tray of twisted rolls.

  I went inside. “Let me cook something,” I said. “Let me make soup for dinner.”

  “What would you cook?” Elise asked.

  “Stew? A chicken stew with carrots? With noodles?”

  “Really?”

  “I can.”

  “You’ll have to go to the butcher. See what he’ll give you. Tell him you belong to …” She hesitated. “To the bakery. He’ll put it on our bill.” She hesitated. “And take the ration book from the shelf. You’ll need the stamps for the meat.” She pushed back her hair. “So much is rationed now. Sugar, coffee, meat. The list goes on and on.”

  I set out with her directions in my head. Two blocks left, one right, past the school …

  The school.

  I stood in front of that big red building. GIRLS it said over one door, BOYS over the other. The schoolyard was filled with kids.

  I walked away quickly. I wouldn’t pass that block again. Better that no one knew I wasn’t in school for the rest of the term. How many days left? Only a few. Next fall, I’d go back.

  The ghost came along behind me.

  “Do you think a ship will find Rob? Do you think he’ll really come home?” I asked slowly.

  I was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, just as slowly. “We just have to believe it.”

  I sent him a message in my head. I believe it.

  I found the butcher shop, HARRY’S MEATS written in flaking gold across the window, a banner with two blue stars: two men who were soldiers or sailors. Harry’s sons? His brothers?

  Inside, the butcher leaned forward. He wore a white cap on his head. “You look like someone I know.”

  I didn’t ask who it was. I pretended it was Elise and just smiled. I held out Elise’s ration book and my own money.

  “Do you think I could have a chicken?” I asked.

  “Why not? Anything for a girl with hair like yours.”

  He brought out the chicken and wrapped it. I handed him the money and tore a stamp out of the book.

  “You look like that movie star with red hair, Maureen something.”

  A movie star.

  I danced back to the bakery with the chicken in a brown bag under my arm.

  Elise was waiting. “We forgot about school. How could we …”

  “In September. Don’t worry. I’m a good student. I’ll make it all up then—you’ll see.” I crossed my fingers. “Top of the class.”

  She shook her head. “No, that won’t work. If you’re going to stay, you have to learn.”

  I put the chicken on the table. “Please, it’s so near the end of the term. A new teacher, new kids! I can’t.”

  “I remember that,” she said. “I went to a new school and I couldn’t speak English.” She took a breath.

  “Still …”

  I took the chicken to the sink and washed it. “Please,” I said again.

  “We could do this. Mr. Ohland was a teacher long ago. I wonder if he might be willing to sit with you.” Mr. Ohland with his kind face and his small dog, Ella.

  Why not?

  “Yes.” I shook the drops of water off the chicken.

  Hope Soup

  INGREDIENTS

  Chicken

  Water

  Oleo (too bad)

  Salt, pepper, thyme

  An onion or two

  Noodles

  (Easy, right?)

  WHAT TO DO

  Simmer the onions in the oleo.

  Cook the chicken in the water.

  Add everything else in with the chicken.

  Take the chicken out and cut the poor old thing into pieces. (Careful, it’ll be hot.)

  Put the pieces back in the water.

  Add the noodles.

  Cook until it smells wonderful.

  Keep breathing in.

  Keep whispering “Hope,” “Believe,” “Soon,” “Really.”

  Chapter 16

  I added a bay leaf I’d found in a jar on the pantry shelf and threw in another sprinkle of thyme. I tasted the soup as it cooked, blowing on the wooden spoon to cool it. I could feel that warm salty liquid going down, soothing me.

  Hope.

  I tried to keep thinking about that, even as I wondered what it was like to be far away from this warm kitchen, in a war, on a ship exploding somewhere in that huge sea.

  Elise went back and forth between the kitchen and the bakery counter. I noticed that the bell over the front door hadn’t rung in a long time.

  She began to make coffee rings. “So little sugar,” she said, scraping the bottom of the canister. When she was finished, they looked almost like Christmas wreaths, bristling with raisins and cherries.

  She brought them out front, but still there weren’t any customers, except for Mr. Ohland. He sat peacefully at a wrought iron table with Ella, waiting to begin my lessons.

  I stirred the soup, then poured it into a large bowl to cool as Elise came back into the kitchen. She sat at the table with papers and a pencil, making rows of figures, erasing, beginning again.

  I went outside, feeling shy, and slid onto a chair across from Mr. Ohland. Ella looked up at me, then retreated to the other side of the table, as far away from me as she could get on her lea
sh.

  “So,” Mr. Ohland said. He asked me about the books I’d used in my school in North River, and I told him about learning the state’s products.

  He shook his head. “There’s a war going on—it’s just finished in Europe and raging now in the Pacific—and instead you’re learning about the products of New York State.”

  “Gloves from Gloversville, lumber from Deposit.” I smiled at him, reaching out with one foot to rub it gently against Ella’s back.

  Mr. Ohland ran his hand through his hair. “So what started this terrible war? It’s so complicated, so hard to unravel, but we’re getting toward the end of it now.”

  How much I wanted to hear that.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small book of maps. “Picture islands scattered in the Pacific Ocean.” He traced them with his wide fingers. “Some of them are the Japanese homeland; some of them farther out—”

  “Like Okinawa,” I said.

  “Right.”

  “My brother’s ship sank off Okinawa.” I could hardly get the words out. “He’s missing in action.”

  Mr. Ohland covered my hand with his, and even Ella seemed to move closer. He began again. “The greatest fleet ever amassed is there at Okinawa. Destroyers steam in rings around the island. American ships move closer. Our soldiers invaded the southern part of Okinawa, fighting their way forward.”

  I nodded.

  “We’ll read about war, and what happens to people caught in a war on both sides.”

  Elise came outside. “Lunch,” she said. “Jayna’s soup is ready. Would you like to try some?”

  “Thank you, but it’s time for Ella’s walk.”

  In the kitchen, I rummaged through the cabinets and found thick beige bowls. I filled one for Elise and one for me, cut two slices of bread, then sat across from her, not speaking, as she added and subtracted numbers.

  She reached for a spoon absently, took some of the soup, and smiled. “Well. This is a surprise.” She closed her eyes, leaning over the bowl, breathing in the steam.

  She dipped her bread into the soup and brought it dripping to her mouth. “It’s really wonderful.”

  Celine would have been horrified at that dipping and dripping. It made me grin.

  “You have a gift,” she said.

  Rob had said, “No one makes soup like you do.”

  I dunked my bread into the soup.

  It really was good. Not only was it just salty enough, but the taste of thyme was like the Thanksgiving turkey Rob had made.

  “Rob said we belong here,” I said without thinking.

  “In Brooklyn?”

  “Yes …” I hesitated, taking a breath, feeling my heart beat, ready to tell her. “I think I belong in this bakery.”

  She shook her head. “Look around. There are so few customers. I can’t always get what I need for baking. Nothing tastes quite the same. Not enough butter. Eggs are sparse, and sugar. This war has to end soon or the bakery …” She stopped, her lips tight.

  I saw the shadow of the ghost in the doorway.

  “I think you’re my grandmother.” I whispered the words, watching her face, seeing the surprise, the shock as she shook her head slowly.

  “No, Jayna.”

  I sat there, frozen. I couldn’t say a word. I couldn’t even think.

  The back door flew open. Andrew stood there, pushing in a girl who was a little taller than he was. Her pale hair was thick and braided, her eyes almost green. “I’ve come to see the turtle killer. I’m Millie, Andrew’s sister.”

  I had to like her after hearing only those few words. Who wouldn’t like that feisty girl, skinny as a pretzel, a million freckles, laughing with her crooked teeth?

  She leaned over the table, put her arms around Elise’s neck, hugging her quickly, then bent over Theresa’s cage, whistling at her so softly it was almost a breath.

  “Sit down, eat,” Elise said. “Jayna’s made wonderful soup.”

  I filled bowls for both of them and cut more bread.

  “We had lunch in school,” Millie said. “But I’m still hungry.”

  I looked at the clock. Where had the day gone? We sat at the table, eating. It was almost like having a family, if only for those few minutes.

  Millie, like Andrew, never stopped talking. “The soldiers are coming home from Europe by points. The more points they have, the faster they get to a ship. And Dad has points because he’s married. Points for both of us kids. And he’s been there so long, there are points for that.”

  She looked across at Andrew, and they smiled at each other. “But I’ve come about Theresa,” Millie said.

  Andrew answered before I had a chance. “She’s just in a cage for now.”

  I stared at him. He’d made his voice sound exactly like mine. How did he do that? He rolled his eyes at me across the table.

  Millie’s mouth was full of bread. “We’re going to save Theresa, Andrew, me, and what’s your name … Jayna.” She looked across at Elise. “That is, if Elise will lend us her garden.”

  Before Elise could answer, the bell jangled, and she went to the front through the curtain.

  “She’ll say yes,” Millie said. “She always does.”

  Not always, not when I needed to hear it.

  I looked from one to the other. Soup dripped from Andrew’s chin. Millie had a little chicken on her cheek. “This is the best soup,” she said, “even from a turtle killer.” She was smiling, though, nodding at me. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll fix the fence up a bit with more wood. We’ll make a spot for Theresa, maybe with chicken wire if we can ever find some. And there she’ll be, right as rain.”

  “Fine and dandy,” Andrew said in someone’s voice, which made them both laugh.

  They began to talk about the fence and skipping school tomorrow.

  “Playing hooky?” I said, a little shocked.

  She looked at me. “When was the last time you were in school?”

  I gulped. “Well …”

  But they were laughing.

  Millie wiped her mouth. “We’ll get wood. We’ll steal it right from under Betty’s nose.”

  “We can’t do that,” I said. “I’m not going to steal. I’d never—”

  “Watch and see,” Andrew said in a high, breathy voice.

  “That’s the way Betty sounds sometimes.” Millie opened the back door, grabbing my wrist in her skinny hand. “Let’s go, Jayna. We haven’t got all day to waste.”

  Elise came around the curtain, handing out gingersnaps. “These are good,” she said. “Andrew helped make them.”

  She hesitated. “Would you wait outside, kids, for a minute? I just need to talk to Jayna.”

  Chapter 17

  Elise put her hand on my shoulder. “I wish you were my granddaughter. I love your face. I love the way you try to help. I love your cooking. You’re a wonderful girl.”

  No one had ever said that to me. Not the foster mothers, not Celine, not even Rob. I felt the syrup of it in my chest and reached out to her. How thin her bones were. I was taller than she was.

  “You’re not my granddaughter,” Elise whispered, “but I wish you were.”

  The syrup was gone. I swallowed over the burning in my throat. I put my hand in my pocket and ran my fingers over that stone girl. I had to find that recipe book. I had to show her.

  “Go now,” she said. “I’m happy you’ve made friends.”

  Outside, it was hard to keep up with Millie and Andrew. They raced along the alleyway, turned at the end, and streaked up Carey Street. I was out of breath, still thinking, a wonderful girl, then, not my granddaughter.

  We ran to a hardware store with SMITH’S painted on the window. Tools were propped up in the window, hammers and saws, and a rusty lawn mower was just outside the door. Hardly used, good value said the sign.

  “Betty’s behind the counter,” Millie said. “Get ready.”

  “What are you two up to?” A woman turned toward me. “Three of you. I’m outnum
bered.”

  “We’re here to steal wood,” Andrew said. Did he still sound like me?

  I stepped back.

  The woman rested her elbows on the counter. “It had to be something like that. You’ve brought the turtle killer with you.”

  I blinked.

  “This is our mother,” Andrew said, in exactly the deep voice of the Shadow on the Sunday afternoon radio.

  My mouth opened.

  “They didn’t tell you?” The woman ran her hand through her hair that must have been like Millie’s once but was shot with gray now.

  I shook my head.

  “Feel sorry for me.” She smiled. “I have these two gangsters to take care of.” She waved her hand. “And my husband’s hardware store to run while he’s still overseas.”

  She looked around. “I don’t know one thing about hardware. I know about gardening.” She glanced toward the display window. “As soon as Frank is home, I’m out of this store and back into the soil.”

  While she talked, Andrew and Millie dragged pieces of wood out of a bin in back.

  I wanted to tell her about Rob, but her eyes were so kind I knew I’d cry if I tried to get the words out. Besides, the noise of planks being dragged along was enormous. Millie was singing “Deep in the Heart of Texas” at the top of her lungs. Andrew was whistling something else.

  “I can pay for the wood,” I said.

  “No, you can’t. I’m trying to do everything right. I’m trying to be a good person. I’ve been doing that from the day Frank joined the army. I thought that it would count to get him home, to get them all home, back where they belong.”

  “Not displaced anymore,” I said.

  She nodded. “Exactly.”