Friends and Enemies - Hardcover

Mrs. Gaeddert, who now lives in upstate New York, was born in western Kansas. She left the state during her infancy, but returned often to visit her grandparents and cousins. The Mennonite archives on the campus of Bethel College in North Newton, Kansas, were a particularly valuable source for background material for this book.

Friends and Enemies is Mrs. Gaeddert's twenty-second published book and her fifteenth for young people. Her previous historical novels include Breaking Free, about a boy forced to live with an uncle who owns slaves on a farm in New York in 1800, and Hope, about two children in Hancock Shaker Village in 1851.

Chapter One

I met Jim Reimer on the day we moved from Topeka in eastern Kansas to Plaintown in the southcentral part of the state. It was Saturday, August 30, 1941. The next day I met Clive Van Dyne. I knew from the beginning which one would be my friend.

Jim was walking down Main Street with his dad while I was straining and sweating, trying to lift my end of Mom's sewing machine up the front steps toward my dad. I wasn't a very big fourteen-year-old. Truth? I was short and skinny, some said puny.

"We'll just wait for one of the men." Dad was referring to two members of our old church who were helping us move from Topeka to Plaintown.

"Out of the way, lad," boomed a voice from behind me.

I stepped back into what felt like a padded wall and looked up -- and up -- into a face deeply tanned and weathered with squint lines around bright blue eyes, the face of a farmer.

"Name's Dick Reimer. My boy, Jim." He nodded toward the boy beside him and hoisted the sewing machine up the steps toward my dad.

"I'm Bill Spencer," Dad said, panting. "Tomorrow I'll be the Methodist minister, but today I'm a moving man. This is my son, William. Are you members of my new congregation?"

"No, we just happened to be on Main Street running a few Saturday morning errands. We're Mennonites, but glad to welcome you to Plaintown. Where do you want this machine?"

Dad and Mr. Reimer carried the sewing machine through the front door and up the steep steps to the second floor. I picked up two chairs, to demonstrate that I wasn't all that weak. Jim picked up two others. We carried them through the narrow hall and living room into the dining room.

Beside his father, Jim had looked small; beside me, he was a Goliath, a lanky Goliath. Jim's eyes are even bluer than his father's. His left eyebrow is arched like most eyebrows, but his right eyebrow slants up toward his temple and then drops straight down. That eyebrow makes him look surprised. Always.

"Do you live near here?" I asked.

"Farm."

"Way out in the country or just a little way?"

"Three miles."

Obviously, Jim wasn't much of a talker. Anything I wanted to know I'd have to ask. "Where do you go to school?"

"Here. High School. First year."

"Me, too." I felt a laugh bubbling up into my throat. "I'll sure be glad to know somebody on the first day of school. We've already moved twice since I started kindergarten. Comes with being a preacher's kid, but we won't move again while I'm in high school. Dad's promised. Mom made him promise. She hates to move." I clamped my mouth shut. I shouldn't have mentioned my mother, who had disappeared as soon as we'd arrived.

"Yoo-hoo." A large woman with skinny legs and red shoes entered the hall through the open door and waddled on into the living room. "I've had my girl bake this little cake to welcome our new minister and his family to Plaintown." She stretched her neck to try to see through the dining room into the kitchen beyond.

"Thank you. This looks delicious. I know we'll enjoy it." I took the cake from her hands. It was huge, probably three layers, and covered with swirls of chocolate. I'm polite because I'm the preacher's kid. If I'm rude, someone is sure to complain to my parents. I often wish that my father had a different job.

The lady walked back to the hall and looked up the stairs. "Where is your mother?" she squawked.

"Oh, she's here somewhere." I stretched my lips into a broad smile. My smile turned real as I thought how much this woman looked like a goose. "Mom's probably keeping my sisters out of the way of the moving men."

The goose-lady sighed. "I expected to make a few suggestions about the arrangement of the furniture. I hadn't realized your mother would be bringing pieces of her own. That small chair is quite attractive."

I wondered what suggestions she might make for changing the shape of the couch from lumpy or the color from dirty brown. If this woman wanted to please my mother, she'd hack the couch into small pieces and bum it.

I should explain that a minister's family usually lives in a house owned by the church. The Plaintown parsonage is shaped like a cracker box, small and tall with the narrow side facing the street. At least it's white; our parsonage in Topeka had been painted dark, dismal green. Parsonages usually come furnished with other people's castoffs. We're lucky to have some furniture Grandma gave us when she moved out of her big house. Mom says that Grandma's furniture is what makes any house our home.

"Mother will be sorry to have missed you," I said, crossing my fingers behind my back.

"Tell your mother that Mrs. Van Dyne, Mrs. Arthur C. Van Dyne, brought this cake. Tell her I look forward to meeting her at church tomorrow." When she reached the door, she turned back. "Perhaps we can find something to replace that couch. I hadn't realized how worn it had become. The last preacher allowed his children to jump on it. I hope you children will be more considerate of church property."

Jim had disappeared, but when the click of Mrs. Van Dyne's high heels had faded, he reappeared carrying two boxes of books. I took the top one, amazed that Jim could manage two such heavy boxes.

"Missus Van Busybody," he muttered as we stacked the boxes in front of the chairs in the dining room.

"I think she looks like a goose. Do you?"

"Yeah." Jim grinned. "Mrs. Busybody Van Goose."

"How old is the gosling who made this cake?"

"'Bout sixty." Jim's eyes twinkled.

"That's impossible. Missus Busybody isn't sixty. Her girl -- "

"Housekeeper. Mrs. Hanson. Widow of a farmer. Lost their farm to Van Dyne's bank. Nice lady. Great cakes."

"So shall we give this cake the taste test?"

We went to the kitchen and set the cake on the chipped metal table. I cut the first two wedges of cake and then four more when our dads and the two men from our old church appeared, as if by magic. Minutes later most of the cake had been eaten, and the men were ready to leave.

I stood on the porch beside my dad as he thanked each person. "We'll miss all our old friends," he said to the men who were about to drive back to Topeka in their truck.

Amen, I said to myself. I was sure going to miss my Topeka buddies, Jack and George and Pinky and Pete. The five of us had hung around together during all of the four years I had lived in Topeka. They were the reason I hated to be moving to Plaintown.

"We're glad to have new friends," Dad said to the Reimers.

Amen, I said again. I would certainly welcome the sight of that crazy eyebrow among the sea of strange faces on the first day of school!

After our lunch Dad took Maggie, age six, upstairs for a nap. He took a sandwich, a cup of tea, and the last piece of busybody cake with him -- for Mom, who must have been hiding in one of the bedrooms.

Dad and I and my ten-year-old sister, Darlene, spent the afternoon greeting the people who came to the door with food.

"Manna from heaven!" Dad exclaimed over cakes and casseroles and Jell-O salads. After he'd said the same thing about three times, Darlene and I began mouthing the words whenever the doorbell rang. He must have seen us, because he stopped and just thanked the people. Our dad sprinkles Bible verses and Bible stories into every conversation. It's embarrassing. Between deliveries we unpacked books and put them on the shelves Dad had set up in the dining room.

It was dinnertime before Mom finally appeared. She went right to the kitchen and lifted the waxed paper from some of the pies and cakes on the metal table. Then she peered into the packed icebox, lifting the covers from some of the bowls and pans.

"It hadn't occurred to me that we wouldn't have a refrigerator. But I guess we should be grateful that someone thought to have ice delivered." She sighed. "So which of the three tuna fish casseroles shall we eat tonight?"

"Fried chicken," we shouted in unison.

"My choice, too." She laughed. "We'll have tuna fish tomorrow -- and Monday and Tuesday. If anyone asks you how you liked whatever she brought, what will you say?"

"It was just delicious. Thank you sooo much." Darlene spoke with a gooey-sweet voice.

"Perfect." Mom kissed Darlene's cheek.

"You want us to lie?" I asked.

Mom smiled at me. "Yes, William, I do -- in this one instance."

When we went upstairs after supper, the doors were all open. Mom had not been wasting time while she was hiding. Our beds were made and turned back so that they looked welcoming. My model airplanes were laid out on the double bed that took up most of my room. Mom picked up the string and tacks and scissors she'd put on the chest of drawers and announced that we'd hang them right then.

Darlene was pouting because she wanted a room of her own. I didn't blame her. My little room had dirty beige wallpaper with huge pink roses, but I'd rather have it all to myself than have to share with Maggie and her dolls and her stuffed animals.

The next morning, the bell in the squat tower of the Plaintown Methodist Church rang to announce that Sunday school was about to begin. just that once we didn't have to go to Sunday school. An hour later it rang again to call the congregation to church. Mom stood on the little porch outside the front door and checked us out as we left the house to walk along the sidewalk to the church next door.

You should have seen us. Darlene, who usually wore braids, had slept with her hair rolled up in rags so she could have curls for this special Sunday. Her hair is the same color as mine, a boring light brown. Our eyes are also light brown. She'd been standing ever since she'd put on her Sunday dress so that it would not have one wrinkle when she walked down the aisle.

I'd had a haircut just before we left Topeka, and my cowlick was slicked down, at least for the moment. I was wearing my suit, even though it was ninety degrees in the shade. I don't usually wear it in hot weather, and I'd hoped to have outgrown it over the summer. No such luck. Mom said it was perfect with the cuffs turned down. She also said I could take off my jacket when we reached our pew.

Maggie's hair is always curly and blond. People say she looks like Shirley Temple. She was wearing a pink dress with ruffles.

When we reached the church doors, Mom straightened her new hat -- which sat on top of her head like a pancake. Then she straightened her shoulders, took Maggie's hand, and glided down the center aisle. She turned left and right, smiling at the people in the pews. She reminded me of a queen greeting her subjects. Darlene and I plastered our Sunday smiles on our faces and walked behind her, staring straight ahead.

The aisle of this church is longer than the aisle in our Topeka church, and there is a balcony. The pews were packed. Everyone was out to see the new minister and his family. We stepped into the third pew from the front and, having made my "first impression," I took off my jacket.

You may be wondering why Mom hid from the people on moving day. For one thing, she was shy and she wilted like a flower without water when anyone criticized her or us. For another, she believed in first impressions. She didn't want to meet these people until we were all "presentable," which meant that our shoes were polished and our fingernails were clean. Another thing you should know: Mom is very kind. Dad says that her silence often helps folks more than his words.

This service was like most church services. We sang and prayed the prayer in the bulletin and read the responsive reading in the back of the hymnbook. The choir sang, the ushers took the offering, and Dad preached. During the service, Maggie drew pictures on the back of the bulletin, but Darlene and I were expected to sit with our hands folded in our laps.

I don't know what went on in Darlene's head, but I listened to the sermon just long enough to be able to say something when Dad asked me about it. This sermon was about welcoming change. The Pharisees wanted everything to stay the same, butJesus said, "A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another." I knew that verse, so I began to think about planes.

I imagined flying over Germany dropping a bomb right on Hitler's headquarters and ending the war in Europe. I was planning to be a pilot. Move over, Charley LindberLiegh; make way for Will Spencer!

I saw stunt flyers once. A lady with a long white scarf walked on the wing of the plane. A man climbed from the wing of one plane down a rope ladder to the wing of another plane. One plane did loops and came down so low it seemed it would crash into the ground before the nose turned up into the sky. I begged for five dollars so I could go up for five minutes. My father said we didn't have five dollars for such foolishness. My mother said that even if we had five dollars she wouldn't let me "risk my life."

While I sat in the third pew with my hands folded, I imagined what it must be like to fly up there with the birds. My thoughts weren't on heaven but they were above the clouds.

During the last verse of the closing hymn, Dad stepped down from the pulpit and waited for Mom to walk in front of him to the back of the church. He said the benediction from the back. He and Mom stood together at the door to shake hands with the people as they left.

Darlene and I each took one of Maggie's hands. Since we were so far front, it took us a very long time to get out. Soon we'd know a shortcut from the sanctuary to our yard, but this Sunday we had to wait.

I was wishing I could sit up in the balcony instead of in the third row when Mrs. Busybody Van Goose clasped my shoulder. I thanked her for the cake and turned to go on down the aisle.

Her fingernails dug into my shoulder. "I want you to meet someone I know will soon be your dear friend, my husband's brother's son, Clive Van Dyne. Clive, this very polite young man is William Spencer. He, too, will be a freshman in the high school, so I want you to help him get acquainted with the nicest children in town. Shake hands, boys."

Clive was even bigger than Jim, not taller but broader. Were all the boys in Plaintown giants? His skin and hair were almost white. His face was so round and his eyes so small and pale that he looked like the man-in-the-moon. I expected a limp handshake. Dumb me! The ring on his finger was turned so that it dug a hole in my hand as he squeezed like a boa constrictor.

It hurt, but I kept on smiling -- which surprised him. I could tell. When his aunt turned to talk to someone else, he glared at me.

"Preacher's Brat," he muttered. "Wait till school starts; I'll get you then. You'll find out who's in charge." He ran off between the pews.

Darlene had gone on ahead with Maggie. She was at the back of the church talking with a girl about her age. At home Darlene rattled on and on about a new friend named Cynthia. Monday was Labor Day. School would start on Tuesday, but the day would end at noon so the teachers could attend meetings. Cynthia had invited Darlene and some other girls to come to her house for lunch on Tuesday. They planned to play Monopoly all afternoon.

"I'm glad to see that you made a friend at church, too, William," Dad said. "Mrs. Van Dyne says that her nephew will help you get acquainted."

A boa constrictor would be a better friend than Clive Van Dyne! I knew that already.

Copyright © 2000 by LouAnn Gaeddert