Iggie's House (2 page)

Mrs. Barringer turned away from the egg salad. “Winnie, the new people may be awfully busy today. I really don't think this is the time to meet them. Wait until tomorrow and I'll bake some brownies. Then you'll have an excuse to ring the bell and say hello.”

“I only want to have a look, Mom. They won't even know I'm there.” She was on her feet now, ready to move. “Bye,” she called and dashed out the kitchen door before her mother could stop her.

Winnie stuffed her mouth with the apple. She felt like one of those fancy pigs in a delicatessen window, but she needed both hands to raise the heavy garage door to get her bike. She walked the red bike down the driveway, finished the apple and threw the
core through the sewer grating. Then she rode eight houses down the block and stopped.

Iggie's house sat high on the curve of Grove Street. That was why Winnie was able to see it from her bedroom window. It was an old house—forty or fifty years old, Iggie had said. Winnie hadn't been near it all week. She was almost afraid to look up at it now. Her favorite house in the whole world. At least it had been for the three years that Iggie lived there. Winnie knew every little corner—from the attic down to the basement. And now strangers were coming to live in it. But it would still be Iggie's house. No matter what! It would
always
be Iggie's house.

Leaving her bike near the foot of Iggie's driveway, Winnie walked slowly toward the big, gray stone, two story house. The same potted geraniums that Iggie's mom cared for so lovingly were still on the front stoop. The bright red front door was closed. Winnie turned away from the house, holding back the tears in her eyes. An unfamiliar green station wagon rounded the corner of Grove Street and headed her way. Winnie ducked behind the evergreen bushes surrounding Iggie's house, just in case. She didn't think about the morning rain until it was too late. Her shoes sank into the wet ground and made a soft squishing sound. Her mom would have a few words to say about that!

She crouched and her heart started to beat faster and louder. Iggie hadn't told her anything about the people who bought her house. She said it would be a big surprise. Winnie didn't know what that meant.

The green station wagon rolled into Iggie's driveway. Winnie peeked out from between the bushes. The car stopped. The back door opened. Two boys and a girl jumped out and ran toward the house. Winnie's mouth fell open. She couldn't believe her eyes. In her excitement she leaned so far forward that she lost her balance and fell over into the mud. She covered her mouth with a muddy hand and kept her eyes on the new people. The mud was soaking through her jeans. She tried not to think about it. The three kids were followed by two grownups. Winnie guessed they were the parents. They were talking and laughing as they hurried toward the house.

As soon as the new people unlocked the red front door and stepped into Iggie's house, Winnie took off like a rocket. She didn't stop until she was almost home. Then she remembered her bike. She practically flew back to Iggie's, jumped on her bike and pedaled furiously down the block. She collapsed on the back stoop and yelled, “Mom … HEY MOM!”

Her mother rushed to the door, wiping her
hands on her apron. “My goodness Winnie, what happened to you? Are you all right?”

“Fine Mom, fine.”

“But you're all covered with mud! Don't you dare come into the house like that.”

Winnie shook her head impatiently. “Mom, never mind about the mud. I saw them, Mom. I saw the new people. And guess what Mom? They're Negro! All of them. The kids and the parents. The whole family's Negro!”

“Yes, I heard about that,” Mrs. Barringer answered quietly, without smiling.

“Already?” Winnie asked, disappointed. “Who told you?”

“Mrs. Landon phoned just before you came home.”

Winnie muttered, “She
would
know already. She always knows everything. Usually before it even happens.”

“I don't like to hear you talking that way about a grownup, Winnie. Especially Mrs. Landon.”

“Okay, okay.” Winnie scratched her right leg. “Never mind Mrs. Landon. I should have known Iggie's family wouldn't sell their house to just anybody. I should have known it would be someone special.”

Mom's face looked strange. She started to say something, then changed her mind. She brushed her
hair away from her face and shrugged. “Frankly, I don't see anything to be so excited about, Winnie. Not anything at all.” Mrs. Barringer stalked back to the kitchen and to the roast she was preparing for dinner.

Winnie sat there, still shaking her head and scratching her leg. Then she stood up and took a good look at her house. This was the only place she had ever lived. Right here … the same old house since the day she was born. She wished she could go
somewhere
or do
something
exciting. While Iggie's folks were discussing the world, her mom and dad were talking about who shopped in her father's hardware store and who did
what
on Grove Street. Yick!

Well, she was excited now, even if her mother wasn't. Maybe these new people were from Africa or someplace like that. Maybe they were world travelers too. Maybe they were like Iggie's family.

Winnie's mom convinced her that a bath and shampoo before dinner would be a good idea. Once a week Mrs. Barringer insisted on supervising Winnie in the bathroom to make sure not an inch was neglected. Ears, nails and feet included. Winnie was not happy about having an audience. She especially hated having her hair rubbed dry with a towel. It gave her the feeling that her whole head might come off at any moment.

“Winnie, I want you to do me a big favor,” Mrs. Barringer said.

“Can't hear when you're rubbing. Did you say something to me Mom?” Winnie asked, poking her face out from inside the huge towel.

“I said,” her mother repeated in a much louder voice, “that I want you to do me a big favor and not mention the new neighbors to your father until after supper.”

“But Mom,” Winnie protested, “it's so exciting! Why can't I tell him before?”

“Now, Winnie. You know how Daddy is after a hard day at the store. He's all worn out. And surprises go over better on a full stomach. Okay?”

“If you say so Mom.” Winnie glumly wondered if that meant both of her parents were going to be unenthusiastic about their new neighbors.

Mrs. Barringer brushed out Winnie's long hair and tied up with a ribbon. “You look so nice Winnie. I wish you'd wear it like this all the time. Nice and smooth.”

Winnie glanced at herself in the mirror. “Yick! I look like Clarice Landon!”

After her mother left the bathroom Winnie put on fresh underwear and her white eyelet robe. She ran down the stairs to greet her father at the door. He twirled her around to get a better look. “Well, it's nice to see your face for a change, Winnie. I've been wondering what you look like lately.” He kissed her on the top of her head. Winnie winced. Just because she'd had a bath and had a ribbon tied in her hair did not mean she was a different person. Underneath
the frilly bathrobe was the same old Winifred Bates Barringer!

Winnie ate heartily at dinner and smiled to herself all through the meal. She couldn't help the growing excitement inside her. She was practically bursting with the news she wanted to tell her father. Finally, the bowl of chocolate pudding was emptied and Mrs. Barringer nodded that now was the time to let it all out. “I saw the new people today!” Winnie announced. And when Dad looked puzzled, “The ones who bought Iggie's house. They have three kids. Two boys and a girl. I haven't met them yet but I will … tomorrow.”

“Well, that's nice Winnie.” Mr. Barringer pushed back his dining room chair and strolled into the den. Winnie followed. She watched as her father picked up his newspaper and adjusted the ballgame on T.V. “Maybe now you won't miss Iggie quite so much,” he said, as he got comfortable in his favorite chair.

“Oh Daddy,” Winnie sighed. “This has nothing to do with missing Iggie. I'll always miss Iggie. She'll always be my best friend and favorite person in the world.”

Her father buried his nose in the paper. “Daddy, I still didn't tell you the most exciting part about the new people. They're Negro.”

Her father looked up. “They're what?”

“Negro. You know, colored.”

Mr. Barringer opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a call from the kitchen. “Paul … garbage is ready!” He got up without his usual grumble and headed for the kitchen. Mr. Barringer referred to himself as the garbage man of Grove Street. He said he couldn't understand why his wife never took it out. It wasn't that heavy. But Mrs. Barringer maintained that putting out the garbage was a man's job. Same as mowing the lawn.

Winnie had no trouble making out the conversation in the kitchen, even though the door was closed.

“So that's why Iggie's family was so secretive about who bought their house. They didn't want any trouble around here before they moved away,” Dad said.

“Some news, isn't it?” Mom asked, sarcastically. “Colored people on Grove Street!”

Winnie had heard enough. She ran upstairs and into her room, slamming the door behind her. She flopped down on the bed, then rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. Her parents never discussed important things with her. Anyway, there were no Negro families living in their end of town. And only a very few in the other end. So her folks had nothing to say on the subject. Besides, they liked to pretend everyone
was just like they were. But Winnie read the papers and she had seen plenty on T.V. And just last spring her teacher had assigned the whole class to do a paper on “What I Can Do to Improve Racial Relationships.” That was pretty funny, she had said to Iggie's family. What could she possibly do when she hardly knew anybody of another race?

Winnie closed her eyes and tried to think of all the Negro people she knew. There weren't many. None in her class. There was a kid in third grade but Winnie didn't know him. She knew Bert, the mailman. She knew Irma, who helped her mother spring clean every year. But she didn't know any Negro kids her own age.

Winnie jumped off her bed and sat down at her desk. She took a piece of new yellow stationery from the top drawer. She and Iggie had promised each other a letter a day, but she hadn't even mailed one yet There hadn't been anything to say until now. Winnie took the cover off her ballpoint pen and wrote:

She folded the letter in half and placed it inside her dictionary. She'd finish it tomorrow.

She was out on her bike before ten the following morning. She passed Iggie's house. The three kids were on the front stoop. Winnie started to call to them and then remembered her mother's brownies. She rode home and came bursting through the back door. “Mom … hey Mom!” she yelled.

“What is it Winnie? I'm upstairs.”

“I forgot the brownies Mom.”

“What brownies Winnie?”

“For the new people.” Her mother didn't answer. “MOM,” Winnie yelled louder. “DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Mrs. Barringer came to the top of the stairs. “I hear you Winnie. Stop shouting!”

“Well … where are they?”

“I uh … I didn't bake them Winnie. I forgot.”

“Oh Mom! You promised!”

“Well, I just didn't have time Winifred. Now, that is that!”

Winnie hopped on her bike. She wasn't going to
let her mother spoil her fun. She would meet them anyway.… She slowed down in front of Iggie's house and waved. They came down to the curb.

“Hi. I'm Winifred Barringer. But everyone calls me Winnie.”

The middle-sized boy tapped the ground with a long stick. “You're a girl, right?” he asked in a gruff voice.

Winnie thought he must be crazy until she glanced down at her clothes. She supposed with the sailor hat on her head and the cut-off jeans she could be mistaken for a boy. But only from a distance! She took off the hat and her long hair spilled down over her shoulders. She grinned.

“I guess that answers your question, Herbie,” the bigger boy said.

“Well,” the little girl announced. “I'm glad you're a girl. I told them you were, when we saw you riding your bike before, but they didn't believe me. My name's Tina and I'm eight.” Winnie nodded at her. There wasn't much to say to someone only eight years old.

“Actually,” Winnie told all three of them, “I'm mostly a girl, but I can do some things like a boy. And sometimes I think like a boy too! Iggie told me that.”

“What's an Iggie?” Herbie asked.

“Iggie's not a what … she's a who! And she happens to be my very best friend in the whole world. And this is her house,” Winnie said, pointing. “I mean it
used
to be her house.”

“This is the Garber house now,” the biggest boy said dramatically. Then he laughed. “I'm Glenn Garber and this is my brother Herbie.”

Winnie smiled at Herbie but he didn't say anything. He just kept tapping with his stick. The boys looked a lot alike except Glenn was taller, skinnier and had dimples. Winnie couldn't tell if Herbie had any because he didn't smile. And now he was chewing away on his left finger nails.

“Any boys around here in fifth grade?” Herbie mumbled, not taking his fingers out of his mouth. His voice sounded like a frog's.