Bill frowns now, when Henry and I play. That day, he says something about it being an unusually hot one for mid-October, wavy, and he comes in from the porch glittery and flushed. “We're at war,” he says, and his nose is wide and eyes are scrunched. “Don't you have better things to do than play?” He just turned fifteen.

“Like what?” Henry asks. He's got our latest bad guy in his hands. He's named him “Edward Jones” although he's already used that name before.

“I don't know,” he says, and the air shakes a little. He stomps off to our room and slams the door.

“He's sad,” I say, lying down on my stomach and flicking one of Henry's army men against the brick wall.

“I wish I could do something,” says Henry.

I wish he could, too. I wish Papa's letters could come in a big sack like Santa's presents. They were lost in the post office and were collected all at once. I wish he would walk in through the front door and hug Momma and tell her things are going to be okay. But I don't tell him that. I learned, when Papa's letters stopped coming, that no matter what I do, God will make it happen when He decides it. “Maybe we can raise some more money?”

Henry looks at me and yawns. It's too hot for him to think, but that's why I'm Dr. Green right now, and he's Mr. Mistoffelees. “How?”

I wiggle my feet. “Everyone likes lemonade stands.”

“It's too late for that, now. No one wants lemonade now.” Henry moves to his knees when he says that. “But Hitler's a bad man. Papa took me and Ann to a movie and one of the newsreels was still playing. The movie wasn't good. Ann liked it. Judy Garland was in it. She's pretty.”

“Okay, I have a question.” I get on my knees. “If you could get Hitler, like catch him, what would you do after?”

Henry's hands shoot for Bill's whittled gun and he holds it at me, staring down the barrel. “I'd shoot him. Not everyone can be like the Lone Ranger. Hitler needs to go away. No one should be forced out of their houses. Momma told me that.”

I nudge the end of the gun away from me. “What about the Japs?”

“I don't know who's in charge of them. We got to that part of the newsreel too late. I don't know if it was playing, though.” Henry sits back, throwing his feet forward. “We should do our war...part.” He's not sure of the word.

I like that about Henry. He's plain and forward, yearning. Somehow careful at the same time.

“I could climb that tree on Broad Street for money.”

“I'd pay money for that. You still haven't climbed the tree at your house.”

“The one at my house is scary. I don't want to fall off and break the porch roof.” Henry sneers at me.

“What about the one down the street?”

Henry shakes his head fast, eyes on me. “No way. It's too close to the witch's house.” He takes in a breath, and his mouth hangs open. “There's a lot of scary trees.”

“Trees aren't scary.”

“I'll ask Momma and Ann about raising more money. I bet they'll have a ton of ideas!” He stands, but almost falls over. He puts his hands on his hips like Superman, holding his head high. “We must support the war effort! Charlie's papa must come home!” He points to the ceiling. “We can train!”

I laugh, stand, and we shake hands. “Tell me all your ideas tomorrow, okay?”

“I'll ask everyone – Momma and Papa and Ann, and Gramma and Grampa – about it tonight!” Henry's tripping over himself trying to get out the front door. He hops as he puts on his shoes. “See you tomorrow, Charlie!” He dances down the front steps and runs off towards his house, but remembers to close the front gate. He forgets his scooter, but it's okay. He does that sometimes.

Momma leans over my shoulder. “Henry's fired up today. More than normal.”

“He's going to ask his momma and sister and papa about raising money to help the war effort.”

“Fifteen dollars is a lot of money already, Charlie.”

“But it's to bring Papa back,” I say, looking at her. “Bill bought war bonds.”

“Yes, your brother,” Momma sighs. Her breath is low, almost touching the floor. “We could've used that money.”

“He just wants to bring Papa home sooner,” I say.

“War doesn't work like that, my love.”

“Gramps said the same thing.”

She looks at me. Momma stares for a long while, like I've said something wrong, but shakes her head.

“I just...want to bring Papa back. I miss him.”

Momma purses her lips and puts her hand on my face. She hums, and kisses my forehead. “Just right,” she says. She turns and grabs her coat from the coat rack. “Okay, I have a shift at the railroad sheds tonight. Gramma and Gramps are out and will be back later, but dinner's in the oven. All Bill has to do is reheat it. Instructions are on the table. Stay out of trouble today, okay?”

I shake my head, wrinkling my nose. “No, I'm going to go steal something.”

“Charlie.”

“I'm going to get my scooter out.” I look out. “I'm going to see if Arthur can let me have a turn with his scooter. It goes faster than mine.”

Momma puts on her hat and gloves. “Be smart. If a car is coming – ”

“I'll move.”

“Horses, too.”

“Momma, you can go. I'm almost ten.” I'll be ten in January, but that seems so far away.

“Stop growing up,” she laughs. She kisses the top of my head and its firmer than before. She grabs her bag and leaves the front door open as she heads down towards the railroad buildings.

I close the door and lock it. I go out the back door and skip down to the garage past Momma's vegetable garden. She's very proud of her garden. Other people have started their own gardens, but Momma's is the only one that's this big. It takes up a lot of the backyard, and she grows so much all at once. Carrots, potatoes, cabbage, asparagus. There's apple seeds we planted from the general store, too. We even planted peanuts. Some of the vegetables grow on the windowsill in the kitchen. We have our own grocery store, and the kitchen always smells a little earthy and dirty.

The garage is smaller than the house and made of wood. It has two windows and a big barn door from a barn that burned down when I was a baby. We had to cut it down so it would fit, but now anyone can recognize it's our garage. It's where we keep the bicycles and my scooter. Momma has a bicycle with a wicker baby seat on it. Lots of spiders are in there. It's also where Papa keeps the car.

It's in pieces right now, because we were working on making it shiny and go faster when he was drafted. We took off the fenders and wheels and everything on the body, down to the frame and gave it a new coat of paint. It was glowing and glossy and smooth when we last touched it. Now it's dusty and bumpy and it sits crooked on four old wood cartons. He says it was a Ford Model A Cabriolet from 1929, but I've always known it as the thing Momma doesn't like. “I'm going to fix it and make it pretty again,” Papa said, smiling like the sun, “and take us all for a drive and a picnic into the mountains.”

That was in 1940. We saw Pinocchio at Mill Creek's movie theater. It scared me for weeks after that. Papa left before Thanksgiving. We were all very sad that year.

I get my scooter out. It's wood from an old fruit carton that I cut up and put wheels on. I used some of the paint from Papa's car and painted it all black. It's rough and wobbly but it gets me where I'm going.

Above me, the sun is orange. It beats down my neck. I shouldn't have brought my hat and jacket, but I don't want to turn around and put them away. Momma would be mad if I got sick. Above Pottersville are the mining towers, gray and pointing at the sky. Sometimes, you hear a crane moving around. I don't know what they do. Sometimes, smoke rises off them. They look like ruins on foggy days, and Henry and I want to go exploring there. We don't because we'd get in trouble.

Papa said he'd take me once. That's why the basement smells like earth. I don't remember how long ago he said that.

I ride down the alley towards Broad Street, and can see Henry's house through the gap between two other houses. The lights are off. I stop by Mr. Clay's butcher shop and watch the streetcar turn around. After its gone, I scooter across to the other half of Neville Street towards Arthur's house.