The Window Peeker

Page 2


Illustrated by Neal Stepp


continued from page 1...

She gave me a big smile, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. I look like her. Everybody said so, but my eyes are brown.

"Is that our lawnmower? Who's outside?" I walked to the back door.

"Oh, him."

"You and I didn't get the yard mowed this week. It's too high for us to push the mower through. Dwight Bronson is seventeen and he's mowing yards for several people."

"Grandpa could do it."

"No. He needs to work on his books this weekend and leave early Monday morning."

Grandpa Hal sold wallpaper and made good money. He saved most of it or spent it on our house.

"Dwight is so quiet. Did he graduate this year?"

"I asked him. He's a senior this year," Mother replied.

"He never laughs."

"What?"

"Dwight Bronson never laughs."

"Lots of people don't laugh much, especially since the war."

"We laugh. My friends laugh."

"Seventeen can be tough sometimes, Hallie."

"Why?"

"There's your grandpa."

The Ford sedan turned into the drive and stopped near the garage.

"Who's going to help me wash the company car tomorrow?" the big man boomed as he bent over me.

"Me, that's who." I threw my arms around his neck.

Kissing his jaw, I looked down at his blue necktie to count the gravy stains.

"Messy man. Can't hit your mouth to save your soul."

Chuckling, he drew back as if to swat me. "Brought you a new sample book." He lifted the heavy wallpaper collection and tossed it in a corner. Discontinued patterns were mine to cut up for crafts.

"Thanks, Grandpa. Did you sell much this week?"

"Enough. We can buy you and your mother each a new dress."

Folding the sewing machine down, Mother said, "I don't need one, Dad."

I rolled my eyes. Hal shook his head. Mother made her own plain skirts and pants. Sometimes she sewed skirts for me from chicken feed sacks. They looked nice with white blouses.

I wandered outside to watch Dwight. He looked strong as he pushed our heavy lawnmower through grass, patches of clover and dandelions. He was tall and his hair was almost black. Not once did he glance my way. Stuck-up, I thought.

A little before six thirty, I left my house to go to the Wilson's. I crossed the yard between us as Johnny Weaver came out the screened porch door eating a banana. In his hand he carried another one along with cookies and a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. The next-door neighbors had driven off in their Chevy while Dwight was mowing. They weren't back yet. I was flabbergasted and almost fell on my face.

"Johnny! What in the world are you doin' on Garcia's back porch?" Their icebox was there along with shelves full of groceries.

"Figured out how to unlatch the screened door. Want me to show you?" He grinned. We were in the same grade at school and went to the same Sunday School. I couldn't believe my eyes and ears.

"That's stealing," I sputtered. "You want to go to jail?"

"Who's gonna tell? You?" He dared me, trying to look tough.

"You know you're in trouble. Your folks will be very upset, Johnny."

"Too late now. Yum, yum. Want a cookie?"

Giving me a hard look he ran off as I hurried on to Wilson's house. What was I going to do? He would make my life miserable if I told. I decided to put it off until somebody asked me about it. Then I'd have to tell the truth.

Dinner bridge nights ran late. After listening to a program on the radio, I switched it off. With five year old Billy and his grandma snoozing away in their beds, every little sound made me jump. Mother didn't know I got nervous sometimes. If she found out, she might not let me baby-sit at night. I wanted the spending money, so I gritted my teeth and tried to read the book I brought with me.

The back of my neck tingled when I heard shouting in the street. I ran to the front door and tried to see out the tiny window. A man ran up the hill with Mr. Mueller chasing him.

"Catch him! Stop that window peeker! Help! He's gettin' away!" Mr. Mueller doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

I opened the door and talked to him from the front porch. "What happened?"

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