by Kirby Larson
The Commodore glanced at his pocket watch again, then groaned. If he was late to the station, he would never hear the end of it from Elva.
“All right.” He slid into the back seat. The bellman tapped the taxi roof to give the signal to go, casting an odd look at Audie as he did so. She shivered.
The Commodore picked up a blanket from the seat next to him and tucked it over their legs. “We’ll breakfast soon. After … afterward.” Elva would have conniptions if he threw a wrench in the plans this early in the game. He was going to have to ditch Annie at the station.
The Commodore leaned his head back on the seat. It had been years since he’d seen Elva Finch, though he had been her most faithful pen pal while she’d been in prison. He had been shocked to hear from her, poor thing, but she’d quickly explained how she’d been framed and it wasn’t one bit her fault that her boss had left all that loose money sitting around. Besides, she had only intended to borrow it.
The Commodore had no choice but to believe in her innocence; after all, it was Elva who’d helped launch Crutchfield Creations all those years ago, when the rosette order for the Swayzee Independence Day celebration had failed to arrive. They were only high schoolers, but she’d pitched in, sitting up all night with the Commodore until there were sufficient beribboned decorations for every steed in town. That was the day that Crutchfield Creations came into being. All those boys who’d laughed at the Commodore for his talents at darning and knitting, rather than baseball, quickly changed their tune when they came to him, hats in hand, looking for a job.
He sighed at that memory, then fumbled in his pocket. “I’ve been meaning to give you a little pin money.” He held out a handful of coins. Perhaps he could send Annie off to buy something to eat once they arrived. It was imperative that she and Elva not meet until the appointed hour.
“But I need to tell you something important—” Audie pressed her point. “About Cypher.”
The Commodore tut-tutted. “I know he’s rather stern. But he’s not a bad sort once you get to know him. Why, I saw him post a card to his mother the other day.” He jingled the coins in his hand. “Put these in your pocket.”
She took the coins. “That’s just it! He is bad.” Audie had her list out, ready to read it aloud.
“Annie, dear thing.” The Commodore pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I was up rather late last night. Arranging … things. I must ask that you be a good girl now. Seen and not heard, and all that.” As if to close the conversation, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
“But—”
“Shh!” With eyes shut, he raised a finger to his lips. “I must have some peace and quiet.”
Audie exhaled loudly, then shoved the list and the coins in her pocket. She glared out the window as they motored along F Street. At Judiciary Square, Audie began to feel a bit queasy. At first she thought it was due to frustration, but her stomach let her know otherwise. It needed nourishment. She pressed on its emptiness. A quick left on New Jersey and then a sharp right put the car on Massachusetts, and Audie’s innards were in an even worse state. She could hardly enjoy the sight of the magnificent Union Depot looming in front of them, a giant white beehive, abuzz with travelers instead of bees. The comings and goings only made her queasier.
“Here we are.” The Commodore puffed his way out of the backseat.
Audie swallowed, then followed. A wave of dizziness swept over her as she stepped to the curb. She braced herself against the taxi door.
“Perhaps you should return to the hotel,” the Commodore suggested, clearly picking up on his young companion’s physical distress. “I will meet you there later.” Annie had no idea but Elva Finch in a state was something one desired to avoid at all costs. That the Commodore knew too well from experience. He could not afford to be late in meeting her train. And he absolutely could not show up with Annie in tow.
Legs aquiver, Audie supported herself on the cab door. She intended to follow the Commodore, but his strides were too long and purposeful, and before she knew it, she was in a heap on the cold, damp ground, trouser legs and skirts bustling around her. The cab was nowhere to be seen.
After a bit, she sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, tucking her skirts around her legs. She leaned her head forward. When the light-headedness had passed, she looked up and into a pair of concerned brown eyes.
“You feeling punk?” The boy shifted the sheaf of newspapers on his shoulder.
Audie shook her head. “I didn’t get breakfast.”
The boy nodded, smiling. “I miss a meal, I ’bout fall down myself. I know a place you can get yourself a bite.” He held his free hand out to her.
“Well, I—” She should probably look for the Commodore. But where to begin? There were so many people! He had disappeared like the proverbial needle in a haystack. And she was so hungry! Audie felt certain that agreeing to this boy’s suggestion would violate nearly every rule in Mrs. Paul’s Manners for the Modern Young Lady, but there was something so solid and true in his eyes. Something she could trust. She took the boy’s hand. “Thank you for your kindness to a stranger.”
“Oh, we’re not strangers,” he said. “I saw you yesterday.”
Audie nodded in recognition. “That’s right. You sold the—my uncle—a paper.” As she wobbled to a stand, she introduced herself.
“Pleased to meet you, Audacity. I’m Juice.” He pushed his way through the crowds, clearing a path for her. Audie held tight to his sleeve. She wasn’t about to lose her benefactor. Soon they were in front of a food stall with a rough wooden sign nailed above it: LULU’S. Juice ordered her a “Lulu’s special with a cup of joe.” Audie had never tasted anything so delicious: The “special” was a pastry filled with some kind of spiced meat. “Joe” was hot coffee.
She reached into her pocket for additional coins. “May I have two more, please?” When the food vendor handed over the pair of packets, she gave one to Juice. “A small reward for rescuing me,” she said. With two filling pasties consoling her stomach and the hot coffee warming her bones, she felt ready to face her situation.
“I was with my uncle,” she said. Though Juice seemed infinitely trustworthy, this was not the time to reveal all of the morning’s events and concerns. “And when I felt unwell, I lost him in the crowd.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be too hard to find, all in white like that,” Juice observed. “Tell you what. You rest on that bench there, finish your coffee. I’ll go scout around, see if I can see him. If I do, I’ll bring him here.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Sure you could.” He winked. “Figure finding you should be worth at least another dime.” His chuckle warmed the air like the aroma of fresh-baked buttermilk biscuits. “Now, don’t you go away.”
Audie had no intention of going anywhere. She had a map of the city in her trusty Nethery’s Atlas, but hadn’t yet had the opportunity to memorize it. The idea of getting herself lost was most unappealing. She did take a few baby steps from the bench to avail herself of a nearby mailbox. But after she posted a card to the Girls back at Miss Maisie’s, it was right back to the spot where Juice had left her.
Juice, in the meantime, had dived back into the throngs in front of the depot. Audie’s knight in shining armor quickly scouted the perimeter of the plaza in front of the Depot, deftly dodging automobiles and horse-drawn carriages. The few glimpses of white he’d caught so far all proved to be false alarms. Juice moved across the plaza, toward the station’s grand entrance. Wait—there. Was that him? There with the lady who looked like some kind of oversized bird?
Juice veered around an elderly couple, two nannies pushing prams, and a gaggle of giggling young ladies, daintily high-stepping through the slush in their fine boots. He was mere yards away from his target, about to raise his arm, to call out a greeting, when something he witnessed stopped him in his tracks.
Had Juice not been forced to spend several weeks with a shad
y cousin after Pa’s death, before Daddy Dub found him, Juice would not have comprehended the unfolding scene. To the untrained eye, it would appear that the large birdlike woman with Audacity’s uncle had been nudged into that skinny gent by the teeming crowds. Ah, but Juice knew better. He observed apologies offered and accepted and watched as the pair of strangers once again went on their appointed ways.
If Juice was right—oh, he was so painfully sorry to think that he was—then Audacity’s uncle’s female friend was walking off richer by that businessman’s wallet and pocket watch. At the very least.
He turned away, sickened. Audacity seemed like a solid sort. A good egg. Not the type to be part of bamfoozlement such as what he’d that moment observed. Juice reflected on his time with his cousin; perhaps Audacity was stuck in the same carriage he’d been, forced to participate in something unseemly. Or perhaps she had no part of such a scalliwag’s trade, and was completely ignorant of it.
Juice sold a few more papers while he pondered his options. When he saw Audacity’s uncle and the woman slide into a taxi, driving off without a backward glance or apparent thought about a misplaced young girl, his decision was made.
He would escort his new friend back to her hotel, by way of the White House stables. Daddy Dub was as keen a reader of people as he was of horseflesh. If he sensed anything false in Audacity, Juice would leave her and her uncle to their reprehensible ways.
But if Daddy Dub took her measure and found it admirable, that would be a horse of a different color. That would mean Audacity was in trouble with no one in this big city but Juice to watch out for her safety.
And watch Juice would.
Mr. Scattergood had scarcely finished slapping the reins against Jewell’s back before Bimmy ran out to see what he’d deposited in the faded red mailbox. As the postman and his chestnut horse and carriage jostled away down the lane, Bimmy snatched out the mail, sorting it into two piles. The handful of bills for Miss Maisie would be delivered to the parlor. But one item from the box was slipped straight into Bimmy’s pinafore pocket.
After the day’s lessons from Professor Teachtest, made excruciatingly unbearable without Audie to liven them up, Bimmy and the triplets excused themselves from a rousing session of snipping paper dolls from the Sears, Roebuck and Co. catalog (Divinity always picked the best pages for herself anyway) and met up under the stairway.
“I saw the postman stop at our box,” Violet reported.
“Is there news?” Lavender asked breathlessly.
“I miss Audie,” Lilac confessed, unable to keep a tear of longing from trickling down her fair cheek. Her sisters began to sniffle, too.
“Shh!” Bimmy cautioned, waving her hands at the trio. “We don’t want anyone to hear us.” She did her best to imitate Audie and, after a short delay, was able to calm the triplets and dry their tears. Once they were quiet, Bimmy removed an object from her pocket.
“Another postcard!” Three blonde heads touched as the girls bent over the dispatch, eager to feel some connection to their absent friend.
“The Washington Monument!” exclaimed Lavender.
“It’s so tall,” added Lilac.
“I wonder if she climbed to the top,” said Violet. “I would.”
“Me too,” said Bimmy.
Lilac shivered. “Oh, not me. Too frightening.” She clasped her sister’s hand. “Promise you won’t.”
Violet laughed. “That’s an easy promise to make. How would we four ever manage a journey to the nation’s capital?”
Lavender nodded, but Lilac bit her lip. “Well, Audie did it,” she pointed out reasonably.
“But we are not Audie,” said Bimmy. And that truthful observation seemed to satisfy the youngest of the triplets.
“I wonder what other sights she’s seen,” Lavender asked.
“Maybe she’s written about them.” Bimmy flipped the card over to read the message there in their beloved companion’s hand. “ ‘I can only imagine how lovely it will be here in the spring,’ ” Audie had written. Bimmy stumbled over a few of the words; though Bimmy was loathe to speak of it, Audie’s penmanship was the one area of her life that needed a great deal of work. “ ‘Nearly two thousand cherry trees—a gift from Japan—will form a miles-long parade of pink-blossomed soldiers, standing at attention along the avenue. I have yet to learn what my duties are to be here, but there may be more to them than meets the eye. Out of room. Love to all. Audacity Jones.’ ”
“Oh, she writes so well,” sighed Lavender. “I can almost see those cherry trees.”
“I can smell them!” added Lilac.
Violet and Bimmy did not make comment, but traded glances.
“What?” Lilac, ever sensitive, caught the exchange.
“What?” Lavender was completely lost. “Cherry trees.”
“Violet, you think something’s wrong,” Lilac pushed her sister to confide in them. Violet reluctantly traced her finger over Audie’s signature. Bimmy sighed. “That’s exactly my worry, too.”
“I don’t understand,” exclaimed Lilac.
“Me either,” said Lavender.
Bimmy took the postcard and pointed to the address, reading it aloud: “To Bimmy, Lavender, Lilac, and Violet, care of Miss Maisie’s School for Wayward Girls.”
“That’s us. That’s our correct address,” Lilac said.
“Otherwise it wouldn’t have reached us,” Lavender added.
“But the postcard is to us. Us.” Bimmy pressed the card to her chest. “Do we ever call her Audacity?”
After a heartbeat, three blonde heads shook in unison.
“Something is afoot and I believe Audie is endeavoring to send us a message.” Bimmy exhaled deeply. Audie’s whispered words of parting now batted at Bimmy’s memory like a moth at lamplight: “There are answers in the Punishment Room.” She dared not yet share these words with her companions.
“We may be called upon to test our mettle,” Bimmy said solemnly. “But we will do it. For Audie’s sake.”
“For Audie’s sake,” the triplets repeated, trembling.
They remained in their hidey-hole under the stairs until the supper gong. Remained there without saying one more word.
“I tell you, there is a cat in here!” Elva Finch sneezed three more times. She tugged a floral handkerchief from her handbag and held it to her nose as she paced around the room. “A filthy, disgusting, flea-bitten cat.”
“In a hotel?” The Commodore chuckled. “That seems highly unlikely, my dear.”
By way of disagreement, Elva Finch sneezed yet again. “My eyes are going to swell completely shut. And then how will I cook that soup?”
“Let me open the window.” The Commodore started across the room.
“You dolt—it’s freezing out there. And I had to hock my fur for that train ticket.” Elva flourished her handkerchief in front of her face, sending her signature scent of gardenias wafting toward the Commodore. Now he sneezed.
Elva perched on the arm of the plushest of the room’s two chairs. “I’m starved, too.”
“I have made luncheon arrangements.” The Commodore ran his fingers across his moustache as if to reassure himself it was still attached beneath his nose. “But—”
“You are buying, aren’t you, Stinky?”
Elva’s glare loosened something in the Commodore’s bowels. He sat, too. Abruptly.
“Of course. Of course. And don’t call me that.” The Commodore detested that schoolyard nickname, bestowed upon him for reasons we’ll not go into here. “It’s Commodore Crutchfield now.”
Elva Finch merely raised one eyebrow in response. “Fine. What about lunch, Commodore?”
“I was only hesitating because young Annie has not returned.” For the first time since concocting his plan, the Commodore was beset by doubts. Who would’ve imagined that orphan being such a nuisance, getting lost like this? And how was it that he had forgotten what Elva could be like when she was in one of her tempers? He had wanted to search for Annie
but Elva had put her foot down. Thank goodness their partnership was to be short-lived; in a bit more than twenty-four hours, he’d be steaming his way to Venezuela. He had no idea what Elva’s plans entailed. And he didn’t want to know.
“Well, you said she’s twelve, didn’t you? As I told you at the station: A girl that age can certainly find her way home.” Elva sniffed, testing a sneeze.
“She might be eleven.” He really couldn’t remember. But she was a spunky little thing, wasn’t she? Speaking up like that at the orphanage, full of substance and verve? A child like that could certainly find her way to the Ardmore. The more the Commodore considered the facts, the more he was certain that Elva was on the nose in assessing Annie’s abilities.
“And if she can’t find her way back … well, she’s an orphan. She should be used to such disappointments. And we can always find another.” Elva pulled an enormous downy puff from her handbag and began to powder her impressive nose.
The Commodore quailed. He had been uneasy about Elva’s request for an orphan from the get-go. “We don’t want anyone with connections,” she had said. He had to agree that part of the plan made sense. But the rest. He hadn’t been sure. And was much less sure now. It had been bad enough finding one orphan. He dreaded the thought of having to track down another. Besides, he’d grown rather fond of this particular orphan. Annie had taught him to play Twenty Questions, which had made the long car trip east more bearable. She complimented his singing voice—was especially fond of his rendition of “Go Tell Aunt Rhody”—and never minded sharing her dessert. Yes, he had to admit, little Annie had worn a soft spot into his heart. He would miss her when they went their separate ways. Assuming she turned up.
“Well, my dear. Your earlier point is well taken. Annie is indubitably capable of retracing her steps to the hotel.” The Commodore patted his middle. “In all the excitement of meeting you at the train, I forgot to breakfast myself.” He pushed himself to a stand. “I’ve made a reservation at the Delmont Café. A mere hop, skip, and a jump from here.”