CHAPTER 4

DISGRACED AGAIN

Lula’s labor pains came on late in the night, and she woke Pam up with her bellowing. At first Pam and Mama thought they would lose both Lula and the calf, but she finally delivered a healthy baby that afternoon. Pam named the calf Pyrenees, after a mountain range in France. Now that both Lula and her baby were safe, Pam was glad the crisis had given her an excuse to miss school. She dreaded the thought of going back.

Since they were home in the middle of the day, Mama suggested they visit the Suggses and see what they could do for Iva. The day was overcast, so it was a cool walk through the browning fields to the Suggs place. The Suggs family grew tobacco for Mr. Eugene Swindell. Mr. Eugene lived in a mansion in Norfolk and showed his face in Currituck only twice a year to collect his rent.

The Suggses’ house was built like most tenant dwellings, in “shotgun” style, with a hallway running from front to back. You could shoot a shotgun through the front door straight out the back, folks joked. The house was dwarfed by a huge live oak that shaded its swept-clean yard. As usual, there was a horde of dirty children playing out front. “Go on in, Miz Lowder,” a voice called from above their heads. Pam looked up; it was Rupert, perched on a limb high in the oak tree, bare feet dangling. “Ma’s in the bed, but she ain’t sleeping.”

“Thank you, Rupert,” said Mama. “Don’t you fall now.”

“No, ma’am. Ain’t fell once yet.”

“Where’s Mattie?” Pam called up the tree.

“Oh, she can’t come out,” Rupert said. “Ma’s got her shelling beans in the kitchen. ’Sides, she’s minding the twins.”

A baby wailed inside, and Pam heard someone hollering Mattie’s name. Poor Mattie! Never a minute to herself. Pam considered going in to help. Then she thought of the cramped Suggs kitchen that always smelled of sour dishrags. She hesitated as her conscience pricked at her, but in the end she ignored its nagging and went down to have a look at Buell’s pigeons. Buell had started his loft and his rabbit hutches with the idea of making extra money by breeding the animals and selling them. That was about the time his father got drafted, Pam remembered. She didn’t figure he’d had time to do much with them since.

Buell kept his birds in an old toolshed he had fitted with nesting compartments. The floor of the shed hadn’t been cleaned in a while, and his puny birds—there were only eight—moved about sluggishly. Their grit pan was empty, and their drinking water was cloudy. One blue checkered hen sat lifelessly with her feathers fluffed. She’s dead, Pam thought; then the hen blinked its dull, black eyes. Pitiful little thing!

Rage rose in Pam’s chest. How could Buell treat his pigeons this way?

True, Buell had to pull the weight of a full-grown man, but Pam couldn’t excuse him neglecting his animals. At least he could keep the shed clean.

She marched out to find Buell, talking to herself. “He don’t feed ’em proper, he don’t exercise ’em, he don’t hardly spend no time with ’em. Why does he even bother to keep ’em?” She spied Buell hiding in back of his rabbit hutches, smoking. Figured. Buell was more interested in playacting like he was grown than in taking care of his animals. Pam tried to hold her voice steady as her heart thumped in her throat. “Your mama know you’re smoking?”

“Reckon I can do what I want. I’m the man around here,” Buell snarled.

This wasn’t going to be easy. Buell could be stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be. He would never do what she wanted if he thought she was trying to boss him. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Your pigeons got canker,” she said.

“They got what?”

“Canker. That’s why they’re so puny and don’t hardly move around. What do you feed ’em?”

“Corn,” he said. “What of it?”

“Animals are like people,” Pam said. “They need all kinds of food to be healthy. I give my birds a mix—peas, seeds, grain. They love oats, but barley’s better for ’em.”

Buell laughed. “Sister, we don’t eat that good.”

It was hopeless. How could she get through to him when he wouldn’t take her seriously? In desperation she blurted out, “They’re going to all keel over and die if you don’t—”

“Buell Leon Suggs!” It was Mattie. “Ma’ll have your hide for smoking!”

“And she’ll have yours for leaving the twins and sneaking out here to spy on me,” Buell shot back.

Mattie’s voice was self-righteous. “Ma sent me out here, Mr. Smarty-britches. To fetch Pam. Her ma’s ready to leave.”

Pam stared at the two of them. Between their bickering and Buell’s stubbornness, it was clear she was wasting her time. She fled.

The next morning Pam was later than usual getting to school. Four o’clock had come awfully early. She couldn’t seem to drag herself out of bed after missing so much sleep the previous night sitting up with Lula. All the way from the steamer dock Pam could see Nina waiting for her at the school yard fence.

She kept waving her arms for Pam to hurry, but Pam was dreading school, and her feet felt like wooden stumps. By the time Pam reached the school yard, Miss Merrell was ringing the bell.

By then Nina was near to bursting. “That stranger come to the schoolhouse yesterday! He asked Miss Merrell where you were.”

Questions were written all over Nina’s face, but there was no time for Pam to answer. “Tell you about it at recess,” she promised Nina.

Talking alone with Nina at recess proved to be impossible. The Currituck children swarmed around Pam, buzzing about the German spy. Even the boys, who normally wouldn’t budge from their baseball game to talk to girls, were full of questions.

“What business did he have with you, Pam?”

“Never mind that. I wanna know what business he’s got in Currituck.”

“Maybe the Germans are planning an invasion. My pa said he’s probably off a U-boat that’s scouting Currituck waters.”

“Mama come home yesterday from her circle meeting saying folks was talking about Germans putting broken glass in Red Cross bandages. That true, Pam?”

Pam was starting to feel squeezed like an apple in a press. She was glad everyone had forgotten about the spelling lesson, but she felt uncomfortable talking to them about Arminger, especially since uneasiness was gnawing at her insides. Why was the stranger so eager to get ahold of her pigeons?

Trying to hold her anxiety in check, she answered coolly. “All I know is what he told me. He’s settling in Currituck and wants to raise pigeons. He came out Monday evening to see mine. That’s it.”

“‘That’s it,’ she says.” Henry Bagley was holding the rolled tobacco twine the boys used for a ball. He tossed it in the air and caught it. Once. Twice. “But I have a question.” He paused for effect, tossing the ball again. “Why would the spy want to buy Pam’s stinky old birds?”

Pam’s heartbeat quickened. How did Henry know about Arminger’s offer? And now he had blurted it out to everyone in school. That bothered her immensely, though she wasn’t sure why.

“My business ain’t none of yours, Henry Bagley,” she countered. No one would’ve guessed that her stomach was churning.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I can answer my own question. I can imagine why the spy visited your pigeons. Maybe”—he leered at Pam—“the man wanted pigeon stew”

Some of the boys laughed.

“Don’t listen to him,” Nina whispered fiercely.

Pam bit her tongue. Henry was goading her. She had promised Mama she wouldn’t let him rile her anymore. Ignore him, Mama had told her. Which sounded easy beside the fire in the front room at home but wasn’t so easy in front of every kid in Currituck.

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Or maybe …”—he drew the word out—“maybe … he came out to visit because of your pa.”

A knot jerked itself tight in Pam’s chest. Did Henry also know something about Papa, something she didn’t know? Careful to hold her voice steady, she said, “What about Papa?”

“I know some things about him. Suspicious things.”

Pam eyed Henry. She was willing to bet he was bluffing. If Henry really knew something, with his love for center stage, he’d waste no time in sharing it with everyone. “I don’t think you know anything,” she said.

“I know his letters come cut full of holes.”

Relief washed over her. This was Henry’s big news. “His letters are censored, you dunce. The army cuts out names of towns or anything that might give away where troops are moving. What’re you looking at his letters for, anyway?”

“Hear that?” he said, ignoring her question. “She’s calling me a dunce. Bet she can’t even spell the word.” He laughed.

Pam felt her face color. Her temples pounded. Fury mounted in her chest. If she opened her mouth to speak, she knew she would explode. She stood glaring at Henry.

He smirked back at her. “Wouldn’t surprise me none if your pa was a spy too.”

Henry had pushed Pam too far. Something inside of her snapped. “I’ll give you a surprise, Henry Bagley!” Fists clenched, she swung at him. Her knuckles slammed into his chin, and he reeled backward, lost his balance, and fell. Pam was shaking all over. She couldn’t believe she had really hit Henry. She hoped it would be over, that he wouldn’t fight back, and for a long minute, she thought it was. He seemed stunned by her nerve; he lay on the ground, staring in disbelief. Then somebody snickered—she thought it was Sam—and Henry’s eyes suddenly turned angry. He leaped to his feet and shoved Pam hard. She shoved him back. The next thing she knew they were rolling on the ground, tussling.

Then Miss Merrell was pulling her off of Henry. Miss Merrell’s eyes flashed. “I’m ashamed of both of you.” To the other children she said. “All of you. Inside now.”

She grasped one of Pam’s arms and one of Henry’s, but her eyes, hard as stones, were riveted on Pam. “Henry’s behavior doesn’t surprise me. But you, Pam, what’s gotten into you? Fighting like a boy. What do I have to do to get you to behave?”

Pam’s face burned with shame. Why did she let Henry get to her? Why couldn’t she learn to rein her temper in? There was no excuse for losing control, no excuse. She wanted to beg Miss Merrell to forgive her, but her tongue was cotton in her mouth; it wouldn’t move. All she could do was shake her head.

Pam’s palms smarted where Miss Merrell had switched them, but inside she felt numb. Being sent home early was worse than staying after school; she had to bear everyone staring at her as she walked down the aisle between desks to the cloakroom. They’re all feeling sorry for me, she thought. She wanted to run out, like Henry had done, but she made herself take slow, steady steps and hold her head high. Pam had disgraced herself again—twice in less than a week. What would Mama say this time?

Henry was waiting for her outside. “My pa’s gonna fire your mother when he hears what you did,” he yelled. Then he sprinted across the school yard and leaped over the fence. Pam watched him disappear around the corner of the red brick courthouse. Everyone in the drugstore would know about her crime in a matter of minutes. Would Mr. Bagley really fire Mama? How would they survive with no money coming in? Would she be forced, after all, to make a deal with Arminger?

She dragged along toward the drugstore, wrapped in gloom, until she noticed a crowd milling around in front of Purdy’s Grain and Seed. Crowds in Currituck usually meant news. When President Wilson asked Congress to enter the war already raging in Europe, a special-edition Gazette came by steamboat from Norfolk and half the town gathered to hear Mr. Bagley read it out loud. It had been a Saturday, and Pam was in town with Papa getting groceries. Pam hadn’t paid much mind to all the stir; Europe was too far away from Currituck for her to care. Then like a twister the war had yanked Papa clean away and set him down way across the ocean right in the middle of it all.

Maybe something important had happened now, something that had to do with the war. Pam hurried across the street to see what the commotion was.

“What’s going on?” she asked Mr. Connor Eagles, who was standing at the back of the crowd. Mr. Connor was over seventy and had a wooden leg, his own lost in “The War,” meaning the War for Southern Independence; to his mind, there’d been no other war since.

“Folks is gawking at the motor truck. Seems to be no end o’ such newfangled contraptions. You wanna have a look-see, li’l missy?” Mr. Connor was hard of hearing, half blind, and had long since given up on trying to put names with faces. He pushed Pam to the front of the crowd. “Let this li’l gal get up there and see that foreigner’s motor truck.”

Foreigner! This was Arminger’s truck! Pam’s pulse pounded. Her eyes darted through the crowd, but she saw no sign of the mysterious stranger. She couldn’t help gawking, like everyone else. The truck was huge. It looked like a farm wagon hitched to a locomotive. People were touching it timidly as if they thought it might bare its teeth at any moment and bite. Though Pam had never seen a real motor truck, she was more interested in its cargo than in the machine. Dozens of sacks of grain were stacked in the bed of the truck. What did Arminger plan to do with so much grain?

Pam was craning her neck to try to make out the printing on the sacks when she saw Arminger come out of the Grain and Seed with another sack slung over his shoulder. He looked right at her and grinned. He had seen her!

Into Pam’s mind flashed memories of the whispered rumors, of Arminger’s strange behavior, of Mama’s warnings. Sudden panic gripped her. She had to get away! She turned and slipped back through the crowd. She heard him behind her, pushing through the press of people. He was coming after her! “Excuse me, madam. Excuse me.” His s’s hissed, and Pam had an image of the serpent in the Garden of Eden tempting Eve: “Did God ssssay …” A needle-sharp fear twisted inside her.

Pam dived through the nearest doorway, which happened to be the dry goods store. Had Arminger seen her go in? She winced as a bell above the door tinkled, announcing her entry to the owner, Mr. Dozier … and to Arminger. Quickly she ducked behind some bolts of cloth standing upright on a rear counter.

Mr. Dozier had his back turned, stocking shelves, and didn’t bother turning around. He was known for his lackadaisical attitude toward customers. “Can I help you?” Pam heard him mutter. There was no way he could see her way back here, but she hunkered lower behind the counter. She willed her heartbeat to slow down, sure its hammering would give her away. A cold sweat ran down her neck.

Finally she heard, “Dang wind.” Mr. Dozier thought the door had been blown open by the wind! She figured that meant she was safe … for now. She slumped to the floor and tried to think what to do next. She couldn’t stay put; it was only a matter of time before Mr. Dozier or a browsing customer wandered back and found her. There had to be a back door somewhere. But where?

Then she jumped half out of her skin as a voice above her head whispered, “Playing hooky, Pam?”

Pam looked up into the smiling face of Miss Sadie Ritch, the seamstress. Miss Sadie was an old maid, nearly thirty and unmarried, but she gave the girls scraps of fabric to use for doll dresses, and Pam liked her. Only thing about Miss Sadie, she could talk the ear off a mule. She might hold Pam here till kingdom come asking questions, and any minute Arminger could come barging through the door after her. Pam had to cut loose from Miss Sadie and get out of here somehow—and fast.

“Hey there, Miss Sadie,” Pam murmured, her eyes flicking from Miss Sadie’s face to the door and back. “I was hunting for … Mama promised me a new ribbon for my Sunday hat.” That was the truth, though not the answer Miss Sadie had been looking for. Which made it as good as a lie, Pam thought guiltily. She squirmed. Miss Sadie looked doubtful. A bigger lie helped itself out of Pam’s mouth. “Just came over for recess,” she stammered. “Gotta go now … get back to school.” Pam was disgusted with the ease of her fibbing.

Pam’s self-reproach turned to alarm as the bell above the door tinkled. “You know Pam Lowder, yah?” It was Arminger! Talking to Mr. Dozier!

Every muscle in Pam’s body tensed. She lifted a finger to her lips and looked at Miss Sadie. Don’t give me away, she silently pleaded.

Miss Sadie crouched beside Pam and whispered, “That’s him? The one they say is a German?” Her eyes were alive with interest. “What on earth does he want with you, child?”

Pam’s words were barely audible and filled with fear. “I don’t know, Miss Sadie. I don’t know.”

Miss Sadie glanced to the front of the store. She seemed to be studying a rack of ready-made shirts in the aisle. Pam could hear Mr. Dozier talking, then Arminger. “I saw her come in here,” Arminger was saying.

Suddenly Miss Sadie snapped her eyes back to Pam. “Come.” She pulled Pam into the storage room adjoining the store and pointed to a door that stood open to the breeze. “Through there, child. Run.”

Pam ran.