Also by Sheila O’Connor
Sparrow Road
Keeping Safe the Stars
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
Copyright © 2018 by Sheila O’Connor.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
G. P. Putnam’s Sons is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: O’Connor, Sheila, author.
Title: Until tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth / Sheila O’Connor.
Description: New York, NY : G. P. Putnam’s Sons, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, [2018]
Summary: “Desperate to keep her older brother from being drafted in the Vietnam War, eleven-year-old Reenie strikes up an unlikely friendship with Mr. Marsworth, an elderly shut-in, who helps her in her mission”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017030531 | ISBN 9780399161933 (hardback) | ISBN 9780698173712 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Draft—Fiction. | Vietnam War, 1961–1975—Fiction. | Recluses—Fiction. | Pacifism—Fiction. | Grandmothers—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Friendship. | JUVENILE FICTION / Historical / United States / 20th Century. | JUVENILE FICTION / Family / Siblings.
Classification: LCC PZ7.O22264 Unt 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017030531
Ebook ISBN 9780698173712
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
For Amellia, Anna, and Connor
who asked me to read more
and
for Mikaela, Dylan, and Tim
who made this story possible
Contents
Also by Sheila O’Connor
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1 | Reenie Kelly
2 | H.W. Marsworth
3 | Reenie Kelly
4 | H.W. Marsworth
5 | Reenie Kelly
6 | H.W. Marsworth
7 | Reenie Kelly
8 | H.W. Marsworth
9 | Reenie Kelly
10 | Reenie Kelly
11 | Reenie Kelly
12 | Reenie Kelly
13 | H.W. Marsworth
14 | Reenie Kelly
15 | Reenie Kelly
16 | H.W. Marsworth
17 | Reenie Kelly
18 | H.W. Marsworth
19 | Reenie Kelly
20 | H.W. Marsworth
21 | Reenie Kelly
22 | Reenie Kelly
23 | H.W. Marsworth
24 | Reenie Kelly
25 | Reenie Kelly
26 | H.W. Marsworth
27 | Reenie Kelly
28 | Reenie Kelly
29 | Reenie Kelly
30 | Reenie Kelly
31 | H.W. Marsworth
32 | Reenie Kelly
33 | Reenie Kelly
35 | H.W. Marsworth
36 | Reenie Kelly
37 | Reenie Kelly
38 | Skip
39 | Reenie Kelly
40 | Reenie Kelly
41 | H.W. Marsworth
42 | Reenie Kelly
43 | Reenie Kelly
44 | Reenie Kelly
45 | Reenie Kelly
46 | Reenie Kelly
47 | Reenie Kelly
48 | Reenie Kelly
49 | H.W. Marsworth
50 | No Man Is an Island
51 | Reenie Kelly
52 | Reenie Kelly
53 | H.W. Marsworth
54 | Reenie Kelly
55 | Skip
56 | H.W. Marsworth
57 | Reenie Kelly
58 | Reenie Kelly
59 | H.W. Marsworth
60 | Reenie Kelly
61 | Reenie Kelly
62 | Reenie Kelly
63 | Reenie Kelly
64 | Reenie Kelly
65 | H.W. Marsworth
66 | Reenie Kelly
67 | Reenie Kelly
68 | H.W. Marsworth
69 | Reenie Kelly
70 | H.W. Marsworth
71 | Reenie Kelly
72 | H.W. Marsworth
73 | Reenie Kelly
74 | Reenie Kelly
75 | Reenie Kelly
76 | H.W. Marsworth
77 | Reenie Kelly
78 | H.W. Marsworth
79 | Reenie Kelly
80 | Billy Kelly
81 | Reenie Kelly
82 | Reenie Kelly
83 | H.W. Marsworth
84 | Reenie Kelly
85 | Reenie Kelly
86 | Reenie Kelly
87 | H.W. Marsworth
88 | Reenie Kelly
89 | Skip
90 | H.W. Marsworth
91 | Reenie Kelly
92 | Reenie Kelly
93 | H.W. Marsworth
94 | Reenie Kelly
95 | Billy Kelly
96 | H.W. Marsworth
97 | Reenie Kelly
98 | Reenie Kelly
99 | H.W. Marsworth
100 | Reenie Kelly
101 | H.W. Marsworth
102 | Reenie Kelly
103 | Reenie Kelly
104 | Reenie Kelly
105 | Reenie Kelly
106 | Reenie Kelly
107 | Reenie Kelly
108 | Reenie Kelly
109 | Reenie Kelly
110 | Reenie Kelly
111 | H.W. Marsworth
112 | Reenie Kelly
113 | Reenie Kelly
114 | Reenie Kelly
115 | Reenie Kelly
116 | Reenie Kelly
117 | H.W. Marsworth
118 | Reenie Kelly
119 | Billy Kelly
120 | Reenie Kelly
121 | H.W. Marsworth
122 | Reenie Kelly
123 | Reenie Kelly
124 | H.W. Marsworth
125 | Reenie Kelly
126 | Reenie Kelly
127 | H.W. Marsworth
128 | Reenie Kelly
129 | Reenie Kelly
130 | Reenie Kelly
131 | Reenie Kelly
132 | Reenie Kelly
133 | Reenie Kelly
134 | H.W. Marsworth
135 | Reenie Kelly
136 | H.W. Marsworth
137 | Reenie Kelly
138 | Reenie Kelly
139 | H.W. Marsworth
140 | Reenie Kelly
141 | Reenie Kelly
142 | Skip
143 | H.W. Marsworth
144 | Reenie Kelly
145 | Reenie Kelly
146 | H.W. Marsworth
147 | Reenie Kelly
148 | Reenie Kelly
149 | Reenie Kelly
150 | H.W. Marsworth
151 | Reenie Kelly
152 | Reenie Kelly
153 | Reenie Kelly
154 | Reenie Kelly
155 | Betsy
156 | Reenie Kelly
157 | Reenie Kelly
158 | Reenie Kelly
159 | H.W. Marsworth
160 | Reenie Kelly
161 | Reenie Kelly
162 | H.W. Marsworth
163 | Reenie Kelly
164 | Reenie Kelly
165 | Billy Kelly
166 | Mrs. Lamb
167 | H.W. Marsworth
168 | Reenie Kelly
169 | Reenie Kelly
170 | H.W. Marsworth
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Other Voies on 1968, the Experience of War, and Work for Peace
Nobel Peace Prize
Tuesday, June 11, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
Hello from Reenie Kelly from Missouri, your brand-new summer paperboy. You can count on me to deliver your Tribune. I’m staying with my gram at the top of Gardner Hill. Temporarily. Any problems with your paper, you can find me at Blanche Kelly’s. We’ll be stuck at Gram’s on Gardner until our family has a home.
No one thinks a girl should have a route except for me, but Gram said that I could split the route with Dare. I’m eleven, twelve in August. Dare’s thirteen. I’m not too young to have my own route, Mr. Marsworth. I helped Dare deliver papers back in Denton, and I helped my oldest brother, Billy, before Dare. It’s high time I have at least six blocks of houses to myself.
This week I’ve gone door-to-door to say hey to all my customers, and so far I’ve met all of them but you.
I can’t knock on your door because I can’t unlock your gate, or climb that pointy iron fence around your yard. I’ve rung your rusted bell, but no one comes.
I saw a shadow in your window so someone must be home. Gram says that you’re a loner, but a loner can say hey. And I’m a loner too now, Mr. Marsworth. I’m a new girl in Lake Liberty without a single friend. Two loners could say hey through that tall fence. Mom always said some friendly never hurt.
When we meet up face-to-face, you’ll see for yourself a girl can do this job. (If customers don’t want a girl, Gram says I have to give my half to Dare.)
Give a man a handshake, that’s how Dad taught Dare and Billy to do business, and since this is my first business, I want to do it right.
Is there a time that you could meet me, Mr. Marsworth?
Yours Truly,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. Could you tell me if you own a mean dog, Mr. Marsworth? That iron fence looks like it’s meant for a mad dog. It’s best if I’m prepared before I start my route next week. In Denton, the Palmers’ vicious shepherd bit me twice.
P.P.S. I know folks wish Glen Taylor wasn’t moving to Mankato, but I promise I’ll do twice the job Glen Taylor ever did. You won’t be disappointed in my service, Mr. Marsworth. A week from Friday when his route is mine, I’ll prove to you I’m right!
P.P.P.S. Do you want your paper rolled or folded? AND how will I collect if I can’t get past your gate?
Thursday, June 13, 1968
Dear Miss Kelly,
How fine to learn the Tribune hired well. For a long time, loyal customer, a conscientious papergirl is worth her weight in gold.
I have no doubt a girl can do the job.
In terms of my delivery: I prefer my folded paper in the milk box by 6:15 a.m., and in return I shall pay you promptly, every other Friday. Please just leave the bill inside my box. My customary tip is fifty cents for first-rate service.
I anticipate wonderful service.
I do not own a dog, but I can say with great conviction my cat, Clyde, will not attack. His prey of preference would be houseflies, now and then a mouse. If you are neither fly nor rodent, you’ll fare well.
Perhaps your grandmother is right, I am a “loner.” Although it’s not a term I would have used, I will wear the shoe that fits. On the other hand, I doubt you are a loner. It’s never easy to be new, but you won’t be new for long. I’ve never known a Kelly short on friends. Your father was a magnet: most popular, most daring, and your mother, Betsy Kelly, was a brilliant, bright-eyed girl. Brilliant.
Have we made a proper introduction now, Miss Kelly? I have no need for handshakes; I won’t complain to the Tribune. Any child of Betsy Kelly’s will be a perfect papergirl, I’m sure.
However, I must close with one request: Might you refrain from clanging? I assume you are the freckled redhead ringing my old bell. A man of my late years naps at odd hours.
Sincerely,
H. W. Marsworth
P.S. My apologies, Miss Kelly. Some words are difficult to write, and worse, woefully inadequate, and thus I shy away. Such would be "my sympathy," which rarely sounds sincere, and doubly sad when writing to a child. Yet I extend my sympathy to you. I am sincerely sorry for your loss. I know it’s been some time since your mother passed away, but she was among the best this world has known. Such a strong young heart. How terrible that she left this earth too soon.
Friday, June 14, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
Thank you for your sympathy. Everyone says sorry, and most people are sincere, but I just wish those sorries could bring Mom back. It’s sixteen months and twenty-seven days since Mom’s been gone, and we all miss her still, even though the Kellys keep our sadness to ourselves. Dare and Dad especially. We’re not a family to keep crying, because crying doesn’t help.
If you liked Mom then you’ll like me, because deep inside I have a piece of Betsy Kelly’s heart. (Mom gave a piece to each of us the day before she died.) And I have her gift with old folks, I really truly do. Back before Mom was sick with cancer, the two of us delivered lemon bars or fresh-baked cookies to shut-ins twice a week. Mrs. Jamison. Miss Pearl. Even crabby Mr. Anderson on Grant Street. Mom couldn’t bear to see old folks forgotten.
Even after Mom was gone, I made my Girl Scouts Good Deed Project a shut-in back in Denton. (Dad FORCED me to join Girl Scouts, I know Mom never would.) My shut-in, Asa Carver, liked to smoke Pall Malls and talk. He told stories about bootlegging, and how he’d smuggled whiskey from Windsor to Detroit, and how once he’d jumped a train to California just to see that big Pacific for himself. The happiest he’d been was as a hobo.
An old man who told good stories was my best friend in fifth grade. Asa Carver liked that I was tough, and he understood my sadness because he’d lost his sweetheart Lu. He didn’t even care I was a kid. I fit right in with Asa, and he fit right in with me. If he were still in Denton, I’d write to him this morning, but he’s gone off to Kansas City with his son.
I’d sure like a Good Deed Project in Lake Liberty right now. A Good Deed Project in a new town might make me less alone. How would you like some
friendly visits from a kid? Maybe once or twice a week? I won’t clang your bell. You don’t have to shake my hand. Mom would want to see me be your friend.
Do you know how slow the time goes when you’re bored? (Tick . . . tock . . . tick.) I can’t play another game of solitaire, I can’t. And Gram’s little black-and-white TV is mostly static, so instead of As the World Turns I’m staring at the snow.
And it’s not like I have my family for my friends. Dare’s living out in Gram’s woods with his pup tent and Sanka coffee. Even Float, our family spaniel-beagle mutt, sleeps outside with Dare. Most-popular Dare Kelly doesn’t want to make friends in this town. He’s so mad that we left Denton, he hardly even talks.
Gram’s full-time at Brindle Drug, and Billy’s full-time at Casey’s Conoco, and Dad’s gone to North Dakota to build roads with Uncle Will.
So why are all the Kellys working, you might wonder? Why can’t anybody play?
We lost all our money with Mom sick.
Then we lost our house.
Then Billy turned eighteen, which means we need $$$$ for his college. If a boy’s enrolled in college, he isn’t forced to fight in Vietnam. Mizzou is the one way to save Billy from this war. (Mizzou = University of Missouri just in case a man in Minnesota doesn’t know that college.)
So you can see that it’s pretty lonely at the Kellys’. Some nights, I still play chess with Billy, but he usually falls asleep. He’s grease-stained and exhausted from his long days down at Casey’s, but he can’t say no to chess. Or he can’t say no to me, he never could.
Maybe I should be your Good Deed Project, since I’m a shut-in now myself. Ha-ha-ha.
Sugar cookies or lemon bars? I’ll make either one.
Yours Truly,
Reenie Kelly
Monday, June 17, 1968
Dear Miss Kelly,
Rest assured a friend will come your way, one always does.
I’m afraid I cannot be your Good Deed Project, and you cannot be mine. Unlike your shut-in, Asa Carver, I’m not the type of man who can entertain a child with wild tales of my youth. I have no taste for whiskey; I’ve never smoked Pall Malls.
This summer I am solitary by necessity and nature.
Are there not other Good Deed Projects to be found? Might you inquire with Blanche Kelly? She would have a better sense of local "shut-ins."