Becoming Johanna

by C. A. Pack

dollars.”

  “Oh.” She pulled the crumpled bill from the wallet in her pocket and handed it to the man.

  He nodded. “Have a good night.”

  She didn’t think she would.

  Josefina fell asleep on the bus and failed to get off at Bellingham. She only woke when the driver shook her shoulder and told her they were at the end of the line.

  “Where are we?” she asked. “This doesn’t look like much of a city.”

  “It’s the bus depot. You fell asleep and forgot to get off at the last stop.”

  “But what am I going to do here?”

  “Not my problem. You’re the one who fell asleep.”

  She sat mute, not knowing what to do.

  “See that gate?” He waited for her to nod. “I can let you out through there.”

  Josefina grabbed her suitcase and walked slowly toward the gate. She had a nagging feeling that she had made a terrible mistake. The only saving grace was a sliver of light sky near the horizon. The sun would be rising soon, and she was far away from the foundling home.

  The bus driver unlocked the gate.

  “Is there a hotel around here?” she asked.

  He studied her. She was no older than his youngest daughter. “None that you have any business staying at.” He saw her shoulders slump. “Look, I may know of a place. Let me lock up and I’ll take you there.”

  He led Josefina to his car, and she sat huddled in the passenger seat hugging her suitcase. He drove about a mile before pulling to the curb in an old, neglected neighborhood. “Come with me.” He knocked on the door.

  The curtains twitched before an elderly woman pulled the door open. “Come for breakfast, have you—” She stopped speaking when she caught sight of Josefina.

  “She needs a place to stay.”

  “How long?” the woman asked. “All the cabins are taken.” They both turned to stare at the girl.

  “I need to find a place to live,” she whispered.

  “A rental?”

  “Yes,” replied Josefina, “a rental.”

  The woman nodded and pulled a key ring off the wall. “Come on, then.” She led Josefina halfway down the block to a small cottage with an overgrown yard. She unlocked the door and flipped the light switch. “It’s not much to look at, but it’s enough for a little thing like you. This is the kitchen.” It was just large enough to hold a tiny sink, a two-burner stove, a mini-refrigerator, and a couple of cupboards. “It’s got a window over the sink. That’s a very desirable feature.”

  The next room was twice as long as it was wide; unfortunately, it was only seven feet wide. “This is your combination living and dining room.” There were two doors at the end. She ignored one and led Josefina through the other. “And this is your bedroom,” the woman said, as if pointing to a suite in a five-star hotel. The tiny room was no bigger than the kitchen. “You’ll be impressed to see its got one of those en-suite bathrooms.” The bathroom with its rusty shower stall looked dingy but actually appeared to be larger than the bedroom—if only because it also housed a hot water tank and didn’t waste space on a bathtub.

  “What’s behind that door?” the girl asked, pointing to the closed door at the end of the living room.

  “I use that for my storage,” the woman answered. “It’s off-limits to you. That’s why it’s locked.”

  “Oh,” the girl sighed. “I thought it was a closet.”

  “You can buy one of those cheap wardrobe closets and put it in the bedroom.”

  Josefina imagined an intricately carved armoire she had seen in an antique store window on one of her few outings from Peakie’s. “Okay.”

  “One month security; one month rent—in advance.” Then she told Josefina how much it would cost.

  The young girl’s face whitened. It would put a huge dent in her savings. Still, it would belong to her. Josefina carefully counted out the bills from her wallet.

  “If you’re a model renter, I’ll let you stay. Next payment is due on the first of the month.”

  “But this is already the sixth of the month,” Josefina said. “I’d be paying for six extra days even though I wasn’t here the whole month.”

  The woman sighed. She took a couple of twenty-dollar bills and shoved them back in Josefina’s hand. “Here. You may want to use it for mousetraps.”

  She followed the woman’s gaze and shrieked when she saw a mouse sitting on the stove.

  The bus driver grabbed the mouse by the tail and threw him out the door. “That one’s gone, but you’d best do what she said. You want to be ready for him when he tries to find his way back in.”

  The old woman handed Josefina the key and left, taking the bus driver with her. The girl leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. What have I done?

  Her fear and exhaustion was stronger than her disillusionment, and she fell asleep where she sat.

  Josefina opened her eyes and gasped at her surroundings. Then she remembered running away from Peakie’s. Sunlight seeped through the bare, filthy windows. She stared at the dingy walls and the dirty floor. She still sat in the same spot she had fallen asleep in earlier that morning. Her stomach growled. I need food. And cleaning supplies. And something to sleep on. She left her suitcase in the tiny fridge, hoping it would be safe from mice there. All she had to worry about was the odor of stale milk permeating everything she owned.

  She carefully noted her address and memorized how to get back before exploring the area. Her new home was only a few blocks from a shopping area. In the grocery store anchoring one end of the strip mall, she purchased cans of soup and a box of crackers, as well as cleaning supplies. She also bought a cup, a plate, and small pot. The store didn’t sell silverware, but she bought a box of plastic utensils to tide her over. She wanted to buy bread and cheese but feared it might be too attractive to mice. Instead, she bought individual cups of noodles that just needed boiling water, and cans of tuna and peas. She spent more on cleaning supplies than she did on food but knew she really needed them.

  She walked past all the stores in the strip mall and found a “bargain” store at the opposite end. Inside, she found a futon—a sofa that folded flat into a bed—on sale. “Can you deliver it?” she asked.

  “It’s going to cost you extra.”

  “But I’m only a couple of blocks away.”

  “It’s going to cost you extra. Do you want it or not?”

  “Okay.”

  She also selected a card table, a folding chair, a blanket, and a pillow. And an alarm clock. If she was going to get a job, she needed to know the time. She negotiated the delivery price with the salesman, who told her they would deliver her stuff that afternoon. She paid for everything and felt very, very poor. She would have to look for a job as soon as possible, but first, she needed to clean her cottage and get settled.

  An old building sitting opposite the shopping center caught her eye as she headed home. Home. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but buried the feeling when she realized the timeworn building housed a bookstore. Artiqua Literaria. A bell rang when she open the door. Inside, she felt like she had been transported through time. The polished wooden shelves and creaking oak floor, though well kept, looked like they could have been there for a hundred years. She inhaled deeply, recognizing the slightest hint of lemon oil.

  “May I help you, dear?” A “pink and white” lady sat behind the sales counter. The elderly woman’s pale, powdered skin was highlighted by pink cheeks and topped by a cap of frothy white curls.

  “Can I look around?”

  “Of course, dear. Just be careful. Many of the books are very, very old.

  “You can leave your parcels here,” she continued. “It will make your visit more enjoyable.”

  Josefina put down her groceries and walked to the farthest corner to begin her inspection. Each book was more interesting than the one before it. She loved books and had read every one available to her at Peakie’s. So much so, the home ran out of books for her to read.
She discovered a first edition of Heidi by Johanna Spyri. She was so engrossed in the book, she didn’t hear the bell ring when someone else walked in.

  The bookstore proprietor greeted her old friend. “Malcolm! I’m so glad you came. I have that manuscript I told you about. You are the only person who could possibly authenticate it.” She disappeared into a small office and emerged with a box containing a medieval document written on calfskin vellum.

  Malcolm slipped on the pair of cotton gloves he always carried in his pocket and picked up the top sheet. “Intriguing. I won’t know until I inspect it against the original, but it would be quite a find if it’s real.”

  “Imagine—a fourteenth century manuscript that contains the missing stories from the original The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer. That would certainly put my little store on the map.”

  “It would, indeed.”

  “Let me wrap it up for you.”

  While he waited, Malcolm wandered about. He spied a familiar face, reading. He felt almost certain it was Josefina from Peakie’s Foundling Home. Imagine seeing her so far from the home. “Excuse me,” he said, “but aren’t you from Peakie’s … ”

  Before he could finish, the girl shoved the book back on the shelf, grabbed her packages, and fled the store without looking at him.

  He removed the hastily replaced book, which stuck out further than the others on the shelf. He took note of it and smiled. She has good taste.

  Josefina scrubbed all afternoon and laid out mousetraps where she thought rodents might try to enter. She had just finished