Chapter 4

The Move

A cold rain pecked at the windshield of the Hudson as Daddy drove us back to our house in the mountains, near Hazard. When we pulled up, I jumped out of the car and ran behind the house to check on Spot. He must have heard us coming because he came running too. As I threw out my arms to give him a hug, Spot, muddy paws and all, leaped at me. After the hugging was over, my shirt looked like I’d been in a mudball fight, but I was so pleased to see him, I didn’t mind.

I hurried inside where Johnny and I pitched in to help pack. I boxed up everything I owned, carefully placing my belongings alongside one another in the boxes we had been given.

“Grace Ann, the clothes that are too small for you go in a box for Sandra,” Mom said. Sandra was a little girl who lived up the road. “Box up half your dolls and stuffed animals, too. Grandma’s house is small, so keep only your favorites. Johnny, you need to do the same. Only keep half.”

Johnny’s back was turned to Mom as she told us to give away half of our things. She didn’t see the squished-up face he made. I didn’t say anything because I knew exactly how he felt. I loved all my dolls, from Cinderella to Raggedy Ann, and I didn’t want to part with any of them. I lined up the dolls on my bed and divided all ten of them into keepers and goners.

My favorite doll was Raggedy Ann. I’d played with her so much over the years she sure was raggedy, but I loved her even more with her worn-out dress and chocolate-smudged face. I gently placed Miss Raggedy Ann in the keeper box. My curly red-haired doll I got for Christmas, a jewelry box and a ceramic dog that looked like Spot followed.

The hard part was next: filling the goner box. With each doll I dropped into the box, I felt a little sadder. I knew we were all giving up things to help the war effort, but it just didn’t seem fair. I knew dolls didn’t have feelings, but leaving them behind was like telling them I didn’t love them anymore. A tear splashed from my face down onto the face of my fairy princess doll. I watched the tear trail down her cheek, too. Saying goodbye is hard, even for dolls. I closed my eyes and tossed the rest of my dolls in the goner box. I didn’t want to see any more sad faces.

My clothes came next. I tried on blouses, dresses and pants. My favorite dress, a blue-and-white plaid, was too tight to zip. I sucked in my tummy, didn’t breathe and tried to zip again. Still too tight. I threw it in the Sandra box. I kept trying on clothes, keeping some, tossing others, until I was down to a pair of black pants that I didn’t like. I tried them on. They fit. I pooshed out my belly. They still fit. I pulled them off and sneaked them under the dresses in the Sandra box.

I had packed all my clothes that were going to Grandma’s when Johnny walked into my bedroom. “I’m finished,” he said. “Want some help?”

Was my brother feeling well? Johnny had never offered to help me do anything, ever, in his whole life—anything that involved work, that is. I pointed to my folded quilt and sheet and told him he could stuff them in a box that Mom had brought in earlier.

“Okey-dokey,” he answered, sounding happy to help. Mom came in and grabbed the box of clothes for Sandra.

I gathered my precious knickknacks—a framed picture of Daddy, Mom, Johnny, Spot and me at a picnic in our backyard; a basket that held my pencils and crayons; and my favorite drinking cup with a picture of a horse on the side. I stuffed my books in another box. When I looked around a few minutes later, Johnny was gone. So were my dolls and knickknacks.

“Johnny,” I yelled. “What’d you do with my keeper box?”

Johnny walked back into my room. “I handed it to Daddy,” he answered. He looked all big-eyed and innocent. I’d seen that look before; there’s nothing innocent about it.

“Did you tell Daddy to load my keeper box in the truck or to give it away?” I asked in a stern voice.

Johnny looked at me, not saying a word. I knew right then I’d better check out the box with my things, and fast.

“Daddy!” I screamed, running out of the house. “Where’s my box of dolls I’m keeping?”

“I put all the toys and clothes right there in the truck bed,” Daddy said and pointed to a box stuffed with toy cars and trucks that belonged to Johnny. “Jasper Roxman, a man I work with, hauled off all the stuff we’re not keeping.”

I searched box after box. My toys were long gone, every last one. My brother would be, too, as soon as I caught up with the sneaky little brat. Mom said we could keep half of our toys. He gave mine away and boxed up all of his. He figured the half we kept would be his.

“Mom,” I cried. “My dolls are gone. All my dolls, my jewelry box and my stuffed bear. I can’t sleep without my teddy bear.” Aside from the struggle I was having with Daddy leaving, now all of my belongings were being taken away. Through sniffles, I told her what Johnny had done.

“You can have half of Johnny’s toys,” Mom said. “And you can choose the half.”

I didn’t want Johnny’s toys. I wanted mine and couldn’t understand why we were rationing all of our things.

Daddy loaded our belongings into a truck he had borrowed from a man he worked with at Max’s Sawmill and Lumber. I watched him drive up the road and out of sight toward Ashland, wishing I could turn back the hands on the clock.

I hugged Spot tight as we crawled into the back seat of our Hudson. Johnny sat up front as Mom drove us away. I turned around and gazed out the back window, grabbing one last look at how life used to be.

“We will be okay,” I whispered to Spot. “Your doghouse will be outside my window at Grandma’s house. At night, I can raise the window and tell you goodnight. Won’t that be nice?” I wanted my words to sound like our world would be fine, but in my heart I didn’t believe it.

Spot whimpered. In dog talk, that meant he didn’t believe it either.

“Mom, can we stop by Lily’s house so I can tell her goodbye?” I asked. “I won’t stay long, I promise.”

Mom answered with a smile in the rearview mirror.

A few minutes later, we stopped at my best friend’s house. “I’ll miss you, Lily,” I told her as we stood on her front porch. My fingers found their way to my hair and began twisting. “We’re moving to Ashland, Kentucky.”

Lily’s big blue eyes filled with tears. “I’ll miss you too, Grace.” She hugged me and said, “Wait a minute.”

Lily rushed into her house and came back out with a box. She removed the lid and showed me a small, red heart painted on the inside. “It’s a memory box. Every time you see this heart, you’ll think of me.”

I thanked Lily for the box and wished I had something to give her. We hugged one last time before we waved goodbye. I wondered if I would still be her best friend when I came back home.