Amazing Grace by Nancy Allen Page B

time we get there, you’ll be so dirty, you’ll fit right in.”
    â€œJohnny needs to go with you, Gracie Girl,” Mom said before Johnny could say more. “Grandma will be working at the Red Cross center, and I’ll be working in the orchard.”
    Mom suggested that we begin a collection at home and asked us to each find something that we owned and donate it. She planned on donating her iron.
    â€œI’ll give you an old pickaxe and a bucket,” Grandma said.
    I looked around my room for an item to donate. I had given most of my things away when we moved from Hazard to Ashland. What I hadn’t given away, Johnny had. I found an old lunch box and a belt, both made of metal. Johnny offered me a red top.
    â€œNo can do, Rubble Trouble,” I said. “That’s my top that you sneaked in your toys when we packed. It still spins, and you can’t give it away. Now, hand over something that belongs to you , or I’ll pick out something myself.”

    â€œI’ll tell Mom,” he threatened.
    â€œJohnny, what you give could help Daddy,” I said.
    Johnny nodded his head as if I had finally said something that sunk in. He looked around the room and found a toy truck. I knew he liked his truck because he played with it all the time. He handed it to me and said, “For Daddy.”
    It broke my heart to see Johnny part with his truck. “I don’t think Daddy would want you to give your favorite toy. Find something you don’t play with as much.” Johnny snatched back his truck and handed me a boat.

    Johnny, Spot and I headed out the next morning. Spot’s leg improved each day. He played and ran without a limp. His appetite was strong, and he walked up to Moonglow’s barn and spent time with the mule every day. My heart pitter-pattered as I watched my sweet mutt run along beside us.
    I pulled Johnny’s red wagon down the path. Our first stop was Mrs. Slone’s house. She handed us two pots and a lid.
    As we walked up to Mr. Ryan’s house, he wheeled out the door. “What’s going on?”
    â€œWe’re helping out with the junk rally,” Johnny answered.
    â€œI’ll give you about anything but Huldie here.” Mr. Ryan tapped the side of his wheelchair. He rolled back into his house and came out with a stack of old newspapers. “These can be made into boxes and shell casings,” he said.
    On our next trip, we stopped at Miss Meryl’s house. She gave us a rolled-up ball of tinfoil candy wrappers and a handful of hairpins. “I’ll pitch in my silk stockings, too,” she said. “They’re used to make parachutes.”
    After five hauls, Johnny said, “I’m so hungry I could chew the tires off this wagon.”
    We walked to Grandma’s and fixed bologna sandwiches. I ate one. Johnny ate one. Spot ate three.
    After lunch, we pulled Johnny’s wagon toward Mr. Wick’s house. Usually, he goes to the Red Cross center, but today he sat on the porch in a rocking chair.
    â€œHi, Mr. Wick,” I called out.
    He kept on rocking and never answered. I didn’t think he heard me, so I yelled louder, “Hi, Mr. Wick!” That time he looked up, lifted his hand and sort of waved.
    â€œMr. Wick must be sick,” I said.
    â€œShould we go up and check on him?” Johnny asked.
    â€œMaybe so,” I answered.
    We left our wagon in the yard. Spot laid beside it in the shade, and Johnny and I trekked up the walkway and steps. “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Wick?” I asked.
    He nodded—at least I think it was a nod—and rocked. I looked around to see what Johnny was doing. Johnny had walked over to the swing and sat down. I glanced at the window and saw the “sons in service” flag. The blue star in the middle had been changed to gold. Oh no! A gold star meant that the soldier had died in action. Mr. Wick’s son had been killed.
    I walked over