Shoeshine Girl (5 page)

It meant a lot to him. She was right to keep it open.

Every morning Al bought a newspaper for the customers to read. She ran up the street and bought a paper. She put it on one of the chairs in the stand.

Back in a corner she found Al's broom, and she swept the sidewalk in front of the stand. She didn't expect much business so early in the morning. People were on their way to work. They didn't have time to stop.

But this morning they kept looking at her as they went by. Some of them smiled. Some of them spoke to her.

She heard someone say, “There's the girl!”

A customer came. He was the man from the pet store up the street. He said, “That was a nice story about you.”

“What
was a nice story?” she asked.

“Haven't you seen it? It's right here.” He showed her the paper. There on the front page she saw the words:

SHOESHINE GIRL

KEEPS STAND OPEN

There was a story about her and Al. It told how Al was struck by a car—how ten-year-old Sarah Ida Becker was keeping the stand open while Al was in the hospital.

“Is that why people are looking at me?” she asked.

“It probably is,” said the man.

When she finished with his shoes, he gave her a five-dollar bill. “It's for Al,” he told her. “He can use it.”

Most of the morning she was busy. Almost every customer asked about Al and left money for him.

At noon she heard someone say, “Hello, Sarah Ida.” When she looked up, Rossi Wigginhorn was there.

Rossi was smiling. “Your aunt was afraid you'd get hungry,” she said. “She sent you this.”

She held out a paper bag. Sarah Ida looked into it. There was a sandwich. There was a carton of milk with a straw. There was an apple.

“I don't see how I can eat this,” said Sarah Ida.

“Why not?” asked Rossi.

“Look.” Sarah Ida held out her hands with shoe polish on them.

“You can drink the milk with the straw,” said Rossi, “and I can feed you the rest.”

She was laughing. Sarah Ida laughed a little, too. “I know what,” she said. “I'll go to the filling station and wash my hands. Can you stay here a minute? If any customers come, tell them I'll be right back.”

She washed her hands at the station. When she came back, a customer was waiting.

“Go ahead. Have your lunch,” the man said. “I've got time.”

She had her lunch.

Rossi was saying, “I read about you in the paper. Did you know you're famous?”

“No,” said Sarah Ida.

“Well, you are. Everybody thinks it's wonderful the way you're running the stand all by yourself. I wish I could help.”

Sarah Ida looked at Rossi's pink and white dress. “You'd get awfully dirty.”

“I don't care,” said Rossi.

“Your mother would care,” said Sarah Ida. “And you've helped already. You brought my lunch.”

“Shall I bring it tomorrow?”

“No. I'll bring something from home,” said Sarah Ida. “Thanks, anyway.”

By the time Rossi left, there was a customer in every chair. Sarah Ida was busy all afternoon. At the end of the day, her arms ached and there was a crick in her neck, but her apron pockets were stuffed with money. She took it out and put it into the pockets of her jeans.

She locked the stand and started down to Al's. She saw a boy walking behind her, half a block away. She had a feeling he was following her, but when she looked again, he was gone.

She crossed the railroad tracks, and she saw the boy again. This time he was ahead of her. She wondered how he had got there so fast. He must have run down a side street.

He seemed to be waiting for her. Now she knew him. It was Kicker.

She came up to him. The sidewalk was narrow, and he was in the middle of it. She stopped.

“What do you think you're doing here?” he asked.

“I'm going to Al's,” she said.

“Al's not home. You ought to know that.”

“I'm going to see his wife.”

“What for?”

“Business,” she said.

“What business?”

“My
business,” she said.

“You bringing money?”

“I don't have to tell you.”

“You
are
bringing money. I see it in your pockets,” said Kicker. “You better get out of here.”

“Do you own this end of town?”

“There's something I could tell you about it. Listen. There's a gang here. If they think you've got money, they'll get it away from you.”

“I was here yesterday. I didn't see any gang.”

“You were lucky.”

“Get out of my way,” she said. “I'm going to Al's.”

“All right.” He stepped aside. “Go on, you fool.”

She went past him.

“But if you're going to be a fool,” he said, “I'm going with you.”

He walked behind her all the way to Al's house. She knocked at the door. No one answered.

She turned back toward home.

Still Kicker walked behind her. He followed her to the railroad tracks.

“You were lucky again,” he said. “But don't you ever come down here with money any more.”

She walked on alone. She was thinking. Kicker was ugly. He was mean. She'd hated him for trying to bully her.

And now she didn't hate him. Because maybe there
had
been danger and he'd been trying to help her. Maybe she
had
been a fool because she hadn't listened.

That night she and Aunt Claudia went to the hospital. They found Al in a room with two other men. He was sleeping.

His wife was sitting by the bed.

“I went to your house today,” Sarah Ida told her.

“I wasn't home,” said Doris. “I've been here with Al.”

“How is he?” asked Aunt Claudia.

“Better,” said Doris. “At first they thought he was—you know—hurt inside. But they found out he wasn't. They think he can go home tomorrow.”

Al woke up. He saw Aunt Claudia first. “Miss Becker!” he said. “I couldn't believe it was you.”

She shook his hand.

Sarah Ida went to the bed.

“I guess I'll talk to you,” he said, “even if you didn't do what I told you.”

“What was it I didn't do?”

“The other day I told you to lock up and go home,” he said. “You didn't do it.”

“Aren't you glad I didn't? Look.” She began to take money out of her pockets and spread it out on the bed.

He picked up some of the money. He turned it over in his hand. “Where did you get this?”

“Customers.”

“You didn't
ask
for this, did you?”

“I didn't ask for anything,” she said.

“They like you, Al,” said his wife.

“But it's not mine,” he said. “Some of it goes to Sarah Ida.”

“No,” she said.

“We'll see about it,” he said. “When I'm back on my feet, we'll see about it.”

“When will you be back on your feet?” asked Aunt Claudia.

“Well, I got a bad place here.” He put a hand to his ribs. “But I'll be back at work sooner than you think.”

Al was back at work in a week. He and Sarah Ida were working side by side again. Old friends and customers were stopping to talk.

“We didn't get much done,” Sarah Ida said to Aunt Claudia that evening. “It was like a party. Everybody was glad to see Al.”

“How is he?” asked Aunt Claudia.

“Not quite as quick as he was,” said Sarah Ida. “I know his side hurts sometimes. But he's all right, with me to help him.”

They had finished dinner and were sitting at the table. Sarah Ida looked at the clock. “Rossi is coming over. Shall we do the dishes now, before she gets here?”

“I'll do them later,” said Aunt Claudia. “I want to talk to you—about a letter I had today.”

“From my mother?” asked Sarah Ida.

“From your father. He wants you to come home.”

“I'm not going,” said Sarah Ida.

“It's not long till school starts,” said Aunt Claudia. “You'll be going then, anyway.”

“I can go to school here,” said Sarah Ida, “and after school and on weekends I can help Al.”

“Your mother and father haven't been writing you all that happened at home,” said Aunt Claudia. “They didn't want to worry you. But they need you.”

“They never needed me before.”

“That isn't true. And they need you more now. Your mother is ill. She's going to have to be away for a while—maybe a long time. She'll be in a hospital not far from home. You can see her every day. She and your father want you with them.”

“Did they say that?” asked Sarah Ida.

“Yes. At a time like this they think the family should be together. And you can make things easier for them. In a way, you'll be making a home for your father. When you first came here, I'd have said you wouldn't be able to do it. Now I think you can.”

Rossi came. She had brought a big cardboard box. “I got a kit,” she said. “It's to make a lampshade. It looks like colored glass, only it isn't really. I thought we could put it together.”

They went up to Sarah Ida's room. They sat on the floor and spread the pieces of colored plastic out on newspapers.

“Isn't this fun?” said Rossi, as they cut and glued.

“Yes,” said Sarah Ida.

“You're awfully quiet,” said Rossi.

“I'm thinking,” said Sarah Ida.

They finished the lampshade. Rossi held it up and let the light shine through it. “Isn't it pretty? It would look good here. Why don't I give it to you, and you can put it on that little lamp?”

“No, it's yours,” said Sarah Ida. “Anyway, I may not be here much longer.”

She and Al talked about it. After work the next afternoon they had chocolate cones at Pearl's Ice Cream Shack, and she told him about her father's letter.

“I have to go, don't I?” she said.

“Looks like it,” he said. “Maybe you don't want to, but if you do go, you'll feel better in after years.”

It made her feel sad to hear him say “in after years.” She said, “You never know what's going to happen, do you?”

“That's right. You never know. All you can do is try to be ready for whatever does happen.”

“What if I go on Monday? That way I could help you through the weekend.”

“Monday would be fine.”

“I hate to leave when you're just out of the hospital—”

“I'll get along.”

“Maybe you can find someone to help you. Someone like Kicker.”

“Maybe. I think he'd like to work for me now. He saw what a good thing you made of it. But I'm in no hurry to find anyone.”

There was something she had to ask, even though she did feel foolish. “That apron you got for me to wear— Could I—could I have it?”

“It's a dirty old apron now. What do you want it for?”

“I just want it.”

He didn't say yes or no, but after her last day at Shoeshine Corner, he said, “Roll up your apron and take it with you, if you want it.”

On Monday morning Sarah Ida packed her things, and Aunt Claudia took her to the station. Rossi came along in the taxi. “You'll be riding all day,” she said. “I made you some cupcakes so you won't get hungry.”

They waited for the train. All at once, Sarah Ida looked up, and Al was there!

“Why aren't you at the stand?” she asked. “You'll miss a lot of customers.”

He looked a little embarrassed. “I just thought I'd take a few minutes to see you off.”

The train came in.

Aunt Claudia and Rossi said good-by. Al said, “You get on, and I'll help you with your things.”

He handed up her suitcase. He had a little package wrapped in brown paper, and he slipped it into her hand.

She found a seat by a window. She looked out and saw the three of them on the platform—Rossi, Aunt Claudia, and Al. They were waving. She waved back, and they were gone, and Palmville was gone.