Free My One Square Inch of Alaska (9781101602850) by Sharon Short

McDonnell—lost his hand. Daddy must have caved to pressure from other managers not to be a union sympathizer. My stomach turned at the thought:
My
daddy…a coward.
    Then I thought,
Nineteen forty-six. The year Mama went to the treatment center…
    Maybe Daddy had been so caught up in his grief that he just forgot to keep his promise. Still, my stomach flipped again.
I knew Trusty, an innocent dog even if he was scary, was being abused, and I didn’t want to do anything about it, because I was so wrapped up in my own problems….
    Jimmy was saying, “I will tell my dad. I’m sure he’ll make safety a top priority.”
    Mr. McDonnell nodded slowly. “If he doesn’t, he’ll face a strike.” He leaned forward, his sour breath turning my stomach further as he added, “Talk is Local Eighty-three is thinking of letting the Negroes in.” Local 83 was one of several locals of United Paperworkers International Union, most of its members being janitors and sweepers. Those were also the only jobs that blacks were allowed to have at the mill back in 1953. I suddenly understood…. If the white members of Local 83 who wanted to strike could get enough new members in and swing the vote to strike, Local 83 could join with the other two mill locals for a powerful enough strike to shut down the mill.
    But why would Mr. McDonnell want to reveal this to Jimmy? Did he really think his testimony would be enough to get Mr. Denton to approve safety features and avoid astrike, which would cost workers a lot in lost wages? Was he trying to be a hero? Or was he trying to get back at all those who’d shunned him since his accident?
    I shook my head. Either way, Strange Freddie had to be crazy. His former coworkers would only be angry with him when they learned he’d revealed the local’s plans to the mill president’s son.
    Jimmy said, “Thanks for filling me in. Do you mind if I buy you dinner, as a thank-you?”
    Strange Freddie/Mr. McDonnell squared his shoulders as best he could after years of shuffling about town slump-shouldered. “Nah. Mrs. Lane always sends out food to me,” he said, and cut another look at me, but this time his watery gaze was grateful.
    Then it hit me…. Daddy must have told Grandma that she should feed Strange Freddie whenever he showed up near her café.
Daddy.
    “It’s starting to rain. Wouldn’t it be nice to eat inside?” Jimmy stood up, reached in his denim jacket’s inner pocket, pulled out his wallet, and got out a five-dollar bill and put it on the table. Then Jimmy smiled at Shirley, who along with everyone else had watched the exchange in stunned silence, and said, “Please clean our table and get Mr. McDonnell whatever he wants for dinner. The change is yours.”
    With that, Jimmy looked at me, and I knew he expected me to follow him.
    “I—I have to get my things—from the back—”
    I grabbed my notepad and pencil and rushed through the kitchen doors to the locker, and shoved the notepad and pencil into my smock pocket, where I felt the box of Blue Waltz. I opened the locker and grabbed my book bag,dropped in the box, then quickly hung up my smock and rushed out, resisting the thought that everything that had happened was just a dream.
    But when I stepped into the diner, there was Mr. McDonnell, sitting up straight as he could at the booth where Jimmy and I had been, placing his order as if he ate
inside
Dot’s Corner Café all the time. There was Jimmy, waiting for me at the front door. There was everyone else, looking at me with new approval—except for the Leises, the only ones who seemed not to have noticed the exchange between Jimmy and Mr. McDonnell.
    Outside, Jimmy and I stood for a second on Groverton’s Main Street.
    The World War I memorial—a kneeling soldier aiming his rifle, primed to break free from his bronze pose and fire—was still in the middle of the town square. The mannequins in dresses still graced the window of Miss Bettina’s Dress Shop. The red, white,