Mrs. Dillon. “That Mollahan girl is trouble,” she was saying. “And you’re not one bit better.”
Lily stopped to see if Margaret was going to say anything, but she couldn’t hear a thing. She dug the last of the butterscotch off her back teeth and headed for Gram’s. The summer certainly wasn’t starting off very well, not very well at all.
Chapter 4
G ram’s house was the last one on the canal. “Where the ocean swoops in to fight with the bay,” she always said.
Up on stilts, the house hung over the water. In the living room was a deep, soft couch, a radio on legs, and, this year, the damn piano taking up the whole side wall. In back was a square little kitchen. It had so many pots and pans, and bowls, and dishes, and mixers, and mashers, that there wasn’t an inch of room left on the yellow counters. Most of the stuff was dusty. Gram hated to cook.
The two bedrooms were separated from the kitchen by long flowered curtains. One was Gram’s, the other was Poppy’s.
Lily was glad there wasn’t a third bedroom. All summer she slept on the porch that was tacked on the front. She was so close to the water beneath, she could lean over in her bed and watch the silver killies zigzagging along just under the dark surface.
Sometimes she looked up at the Big Dipper, but most of the time, like tonight, she watched the searchlights crisscrossing overhead. She knew the spotters were looking for enemy planes that might come all the way from Germany to bomb New York.
And suppose she was the one to spot a plane and bombs coming down? She thought about it, diving through bombs to rescue the neighbors. She closed her eyes. Germans parachuting into the canal. She’d have to row like crazy, zigzagging away from the bombs, away from the paratroopers. It made her dizzy to think about it.
She listened. Something was going on. Noise. Lights. At Mrs. Orban’s, four houses down. Yes, lights. Mrs. Orban hadn’t even bothered to pull the blackout curtains, and the Nazis could zero right in with Lily two seconds away.
And right now, a car was driving up on the road side of the Orbans’ house. Lily knelt up in bed and leaned against the screen. Never mind that Gram had told her a hundred times she was going to knock the screen out and go headfirst into the water.
“Mr. Orban’s Model A Ford,” she said aloud. She knew that because she had helped him paint the top half of the headlights black so they couldn’t be seen from the sky. The light Mr. Orban had painted had turned out much better than the one she had worked on.
Lily reached for her shorts and sneakers. She’d just get herself down there and find out what was going on. She wasn’t one bit sleepy yet, anyway.
Strange that Mr. Orban was using the last drop of his gas. He had sworn he was going to hold on to it until the day when the war was over in Europe. “Then you and I, Lily my love, are going to drive up and down Cross Bay Boulevard,” he had said. “We’ll honk the horn every inch of the way.”
She thought about sneaking out through the kitchen, but Gram would be awake in a flash. Instead she unhooked the screen and pushed it until it swung out.
Noisy, much too noisy. She counted to fifty, then wiggled through the opening and hung on to the window ledge until she felt the piling with her feet. The rowboat was directly underneath. She let go and landed on one of the oars.
For a minute she rocked back and forth holding her leg, feeling the pain shooting down her shin. Tomorrow she’d have a black-and-blue mark the size of a potato.
The boat was rocking too, water sloshing in over the side. She could hear Mrs. Orban’s back door opening, and the sound of voices, but they were too far away for her to know what they were saying.
Lily pulled the thick rope over the hook, setting the boat free. Then she pushed herself along under the porches, moving from piling to piling, not bothering with the oars.
She looked up as she passed slowly under the
Lily stopped to see if Margaret was going to say anything, but she couldn’t hear a thing. She dug the last of the butterscotch off her back teeth and headed for Gram’s. The summer certainly wasn’t starting off very well, not very well at all.
Chapter 4
G ram’s house was the last one on the canal. “Where the ocean swoops in to fight with the bay,” she always said.
Up on stilts, the house hung over the water. In the living room was a deep, soft couch, a radio on legs, and, this year, the damn piano taking up the whole side wall. In back was a square little kitchen. It had so many pots and pans, and bowls, and dishes, and mixers, and mashers, that there wasn’t an inch of room left on the yellow counters. Most of the stuff was dusty. Gram hated to cook.
The two bedrooms were separated from the kitchen by long flowered curtains. One was Gram’s, the other was Poppy’s.
Lily was glad there wasn’t a third bedroom. All summer she slept on the porch that was tacked on the front. She was so close to the water beneath, she could lean over in her bed and watch the silver killies zigzagging along just under the dark surface.
Sometimes she looked up at the Big Dipper, but most of the time, like tonight, she watched the searchlights crisscrossing overhead. She knew the spotters were looking for enemy planes that might come all the way from Germany to bomb New York.
And suppose she was the one to spot a plane and bombs coming down? She thought about it, diving through bombs to rescue the neighbors. She closed her eyes. Germans parachuting into the canal. She’d have to row like crazy, zigzagging away from the bombs, away from the paratroopers. It made her dizzy to think about it.
She listened. Something was going on. Noise. Lights. At Mrs. Orban’s, four houses down. Yes, lights. Mrs. Orban hadn’t even bothered to pull the blackout curtains, and the Nazis could zero right in with Lily two seconds away.
And right now, a car was driving up on the road side of the Orbans’ house. Lily knelt up in bed and leaned against the screen. Never mind that Gram had told her a hundred times she was going to knock the screen out and go headfirst into the water.
“Mr. Orban’s Model A Ford,” she said aloud. She knew that because she had helped him paint the top half of the headlights black so they couldn’t be seen from the sky. The light Mr. Orban had painted had turned out much better than the one she had worked on.
Lily reached for her shorts and sneakers. She’d just get herself down there and find out what was going on. She wasn’t one bit sleepy yet, anyway.
Strange that Mr. Orban was using the last drop of his gas. He had sworn he was going to hold on to it until the day when the war was over in Europe. “Then you and I, Lily my love, are going to drive up and down Cross Bay Boulevard,” he had said. “We’ll honk the horn every inch of the way.”
She thought about sneaking out through the kitchen, but Gram would be awake in a flash. Instead she unhooked the screen and pushed it until it swung out.
Noisy, much too noisy. She counted to fifty, then wiggled through the opening and hung on to the window ledge until she felt the piling with her feet. The rowboat was directly underneath. She let go and landed on one of the oars.
For a minute she rocked back and forth holding her leg, feeling the pain shooting down her shin. Tomorrow she’d have a black-and-blue mark the size of a potato.
The boat was rocking too, water sloshing in over the side. She could hear Mrs. Orban’s back door opening, and the sound of voices, but they were too far away for her to know what they were saying.
Lily pulled the thick rope over the hook, setting the boat free. Then she pushed herself along under the porches, moving from piling to piling, not bothering with the oars.
She looked up as she passed slowly under the
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