Amazing Grace by Nancy Allen Page A

squint your eyes tight and use your imagination, my rainbow victory garden looks like a real rainbow. Mom says it tastes as good at it looks.
    My pumpkins will make fine jack-o’-lanterns and pies. I hope you can be here for Thanksgiving supper. I know how much you love pumpkin pie, so I’ll save the finest pumpkin in the patch for the occasion. Grandma’s pies are yummy. Apple is still my favorite, but I never turn my nose up at a fine slice of pumpkin pie.
    We listen to the wireless every day. Nobody listens more than Grandma. We’ve never heard the newsman say your name, but we keep listening in case he does. Daddy, I hope you get back home soon. So does Spot.
    I love you,
    Gracie Girl

Chapter 18
    Junk Rally
    All summer long, Mom worked in the apple orchard Monday through Friday and some Saturdays. Johnny and I walked with Grandma to the Red Cross center every day. I helped Grandma and other volunteers knit socks, mittens and blankets for the troops. Even Grandma’s neighbor James Ryan, a wounded World War II soldier, rolled bandages. He used his big hands to push his wheelchair down the street each morning. He worked at the center all day long. Johnny worked beside him and rolled bandages, too.
    One day, Mr. Ryan dropped the bandage he was rolling. He leaned over to pick it up but couldn’t reach it.
    I bounded over, grabbed the bandage and handed it to him. “Thanks, Grace Ann,” he said. And he smiled. That was the first smile I’d seen from Mr. Ryan. Grandma said he was in a lot of pain, but he always came to work.
    The radio at the center played music, news and sometimes speeches. I was carrying an armful of yarn to Grandma when the newsman replayed part of a speech President Franklin D. Roosevelt had made about a year ago: “One front and one battle where everyone in the United States—every man, woman and child—is in action. The front is right here at home, in our daily lives.”
    I thought about the speech, especially the part about every child, and felt proud that I came to the Red Cross center to work, to be “in action.” I wanted to do more, but what?
    On the way home that afternoon, I saw a sign: “Junk Rally. A scrap drive to collect junk for factories.”
    â€œWhat’s a junk rally, Grandma?” I asked.
    â€œThe government wants people to collect metal, paper, rubber and other items to send to the factories,” Grandma answered.
    â€œWhy would anyone want junk?” Johnny asked as he hopped and skipped along.
    â€œThe old metal will be made into new metal equipment the soldiers can use,” Grandma explained. “Rubber mats and shoe soles can be made into tires.”
    â€œI could collect junk,” I told Grandma.
    â€œYep, we could clean out your side of our room,” Johnny said. “All your stuff is junk.”
    â€œI could start with Johnny’s trucks and cars and his bulldozer,” I said.
    â€œI don’t think so,” Johnny cooed, not scared of my threat.
    â€œYou can talk with your mom about it,” Grandma said.
    That evening, I told Mom about the speech I heard President Roosevelt give about every child working to help the soldiers. Then I asked about working for the junk rally. “I’ll load it in Johnny’s red wagon and pull it to the building beside the post office where it will be collected,” I explained. “If I help the soldiers, I’d be helping Daddy. I can also work at the Red Cross center with Grandma after I finish.”
    â€œYou can collect from the neighbors on Grandma’s street,” Mom answered.
    â€œI want to work on the junk rally too,”Johnny said. “President Roosevelt said ‘every child.’” Johnny looked at me as if he had actually listened to the speech. “So there.” He plopped his hands on his hips.
    â€œGood,” I answered. “I’ll haul you off and dump you into the junk pile. By the