Audacity Jones to the Rescue

by Kirby Larson

  “And I thought this day was going to be a total snooze,” Charlie exclaimed. “Hot dog!”

  Dorothy flew into her aunt’s arms.

  Mrs. Taft held her tight, kissing the top of her head. “Where have you been, dear girl? What have you been through?”

  Dorothy returned the hug and then broke away long enough to gesture to Audie and Juice. “I was kidnapped,” she said. “And they saved me.”

  Tea was served up in the Blue Room, along with tears and laughter at the fantastic turn of events. Understandably fatigued, considering the situation and her health, Mrs. Taft had not moved from her seat by the grand fireplace as the story was unraveled for all. Audie started with the Commodore’s arrival at Miss Maisie’s School for Wayward Girls.

  “She let you go off with that man?” Mrs. Taft exclaimed.

  Audie felt compelled to come to Miss Maisie’s defense. “I was game to go. And I don’t think he ever intended to harm me. That was all Mrs. Finch’s doing.”

  At that name, Mrs. Jaffray sniffed. “She made the worst Terrapin Soup ever.”

  “Between that and our worry over Dorothy, I went through an entire tin of bicarbonate.” The President belched. Out of deference to his office, no one remarked on the sound.

  “Well, there’s no more need to worry.” Cypher looked altogether dashing in his brand-new uniform. “It’ll be a while before Stinky Crutchfield gets out of prison.” He exchanged glances with Beatrice, who had been sent for at the hotel. Her cheeks bloomed the most charming shade of pink.

  “I don’t understand how you worked it all out,” Mrs. Taft said to Audie.

  “I couldn’t have done it without Bimmy and the Punish—the library,” Audie replied. “You can find every bit of information you’d ever need there. Including vital particulars about circuses.” At this juncture, she nodded at Madame Volta and Igor. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Szóra sem érdemes,” Madame Volta inclined her petite head. “It was nothing. Our pleasure.”

  Igor smiled. “Ve came zee moment ve got zee telegram from Bimmy. Circus friends are bound by sawdust and iron,” he said, flexing his arm slightly.

  Madame Volta stood, smoothing out her emerald velvet skirt. “And now, we must take our leave. We have a performance at six this evening. You are all welcome!”

  “Hot dog!” cried Charlie.

  “Not today, I’m afraid,” said his mother. But she made plans to send him the very next week and he had a glorious time as the special guest of Madame Volta.

  “Farewell. Isten veled.” Madame Volta clasped Audie’s hands. “Give my love to Bimmy when next you see her.” With that, she and Igor were gone.

  “You are simply amazing, my dear.” Mrs. Taft turned her warm and lovely smile on Audie.

  “Well, I couldn’t have accomplished anything without my friends.” Thoughts of Bimmy and the triplets, who had conquered their fears to enter the Punishment Room, filled her heart. Then she caught Juice’s gaze. “Friends old and new,” she said.

  “How clever and brave of you to pick the Commodore’s pocket,” Dorothy said to Juice.

  He shrugged. “I’m not proud that I have a talent for light-fingeredness, but I’m glad I could put it to good use.”

  “How do you think we should reward this pair?” the President asked his wife.

  “Oh, please, let’s find Audie a real home!” Dorothy said. She had finally been alerted as to Audacity’s real name. “Maybe here in town. That way I could see her often!” She clasped Audie’s arm and hugged it close.

  Charlie did not even groan at that suggestion. In fact, he thought life in the White House would be ever so much more lively if Audie accompanied Dorothy on her next visit.

  “Oh, thank you so much.” Audie pressed her hand to her heart. “But I must be getting back. I have responsibilities at Miss Maisie’s.”

  The President waved Cypher over and the two of them spoke in low tones. “It’s settled,” said President Taft. “Cypher will drive Audie—”

  “And Beatrice!” Audie inserted.

  “And Beatrice back to Swayzee. In my brand-new touring car. Just the vehicle for a long journey.”

  Beatrice clapped her hands. “Merci, monsieur! Merci.”

  Audie could see a cloud behind Juice’s smile of happiness for her. “I wonder …” She chewed on her bottom lip. “What’s going to happen to the Commodore’s car?”

  The President shrugged. “It’ll be sold at auction, I imagine. He won’t have any use for it where he’s going.”

  Audie wiggled the toes in her left boot. There was something she’d discuss with the President later. For now, she was exhausted. She wanted a hot bath, a croissant, and a good night’s sleep before beginning the drive home. She hugged Dorothy. “We’ll write,” she said. “And you’ll visit if you ever come to Swayzee.”

  Dorothy gave her a squeeze and reluctantly let her go. “I’ll never forget you.”

  Though he lived to be an old man with droopy earlobes and teeth that clicked when he talked, after that New Year’s Day White House reception, Charlie Taft never ever again thought that girls were boring. Not for an instant.

  The front wheel jolted into a pothole, startling Audie awake from her dream. And such a pleasant one, too. There had been a man and a woman, their faces dappled by the shadows of the apple trees in the orchard through which the three of them strolled. Audie’s right arm was wrapped around the woman’s waist. And the woman’s right arm was tucked into the man’s left. The three were twined together like roses, jasmine, and ivy woven in a bridal wreath. The woman spoke a word: daughter. It lingered in the cool air like a perfect clear note, growing ever fainter with each blink of Audie’s fluttering eyelids.

  “We’re almost there,” Cypher called over his shoulder. As her mission was no longer secret, Min proudly rode in the front passenger seat, golden eyes keenly focused on the road. The whole dangerous affair of the Commodore and the kidnapping was well behind them but the cat was determined to remain alert nevertheless.

  Audie blinked one last time. Those pleasing parental dream shapes dissolved like sugar granules in a cup of hot tea. The sweetness of her dream would linger briefly, and then disappear. That thought forced a bit of hot moisture to prick at the backs of Audie’s eyes. She shook it away. Bees and bonnets! What had she to be sad about today?

  She smiled to think of her farewell to Daddy Dub. He told her that Samuel had given Selma a new lease on life, the two of them playing like foals.

  Parting company with Juice had proved bittersweet, with him so down in the dumps at Audie’s departure. Wait until he saw that robin’s egg blue automobile parked in front of the stables, thanks to President Taft. That fine car would get him all the way to Seattle, or wherever he dreamed of going. And she hoped that when he headed west, he would make a stop at a certain School for Wayward Girls.

  Audie wiggled her toes in her boots, with one gold coin gone to a good cause. She inclined her head to the right, away from the window, away from the view of rural Indiana, and the signs that they were approaching Swayzee—the rolling fields, the copses of hickory trees dotting those fields, the bright, flat sky—to look at her current travel companion. One whose presence perfumed the air with yeast and buttery warmth and the occasional macaron when the situation warranted.

  Beatrice returned Audie’s smile. She folded and unfolded her hands in her lap. “What if Miss Maisie does not have the usefulness for me?”

  Cypher chuckled from his place behind the steering wheel. Audie patted the box on the seat next to her. “Once she gets one taste of your petits fours, she is going to be your best friend. For life.”

  “They are almost as delicious as my mother’s baklava,” added Cypher.

  Beatrice’s cheeks turned that charming shade of Parisian pink and she ducked her head, shy as a schoolgirl going to her first tea dance. “You are too kind,” she said. But she began to hum that lovely song that had soothed Audie to sleep the many nights since the
ir first meeting.

  Audie leaned back, going over again in her mind the plan she’d concocted in those last desperate minutes when she had realized she could not leave poor Beatrice behind in Washington, D.C. Beatrice needed song sparrows to awaken her each morning, wooded lanes to stroll each afternoon, and mourning doves to coo her to sleep each night. It will not come as a surprise to you, dear reader, that our heroine quickly arrived at an exquisite solution: Beatrice would teach the Wayward Girls a trade. They would learn to bake. Of course, not all of them could be as skilled as she. Actually, few of them could be. But Audie secretly thought the triplets might have the cool hands required for proper croissants and that, underneath her cross and prickly exterior, Divinity might be enough of a romantic to do justice to éclairs.

  They would start small at first. Perhaps with a table at the Methodist Mission Bazaar. Later, they’d sell goods at Mr. Sharp’s General Store. Perhaps one day, the baked goods of the Wayward Girls would grace the tables at the White House. As Audie knew all too well, stranger things had happened.

  She smiled again at Beatrice, then turned her gaze outward, catching a glimpse of that stooped old white pine. They would soon be upon Miss Maisie’s. Audie peered out, straining for a first glimpse of Bimmy, of Violet, of Lavender, of Lilac. Of Cook. Of Miss Maisie. Even of Divinity.

  Min was hard-pressed to contain her excitement as well. She leapt over the seat into Audie’s skirt, rubbing her head on the underside of Audie’s chin, kneading her lap.

  “There it is, Min!” Audie leaned forward, catching sight of the big bay window on the main floor that had been her port in so many storms. Not Punishment Room but refuge. Or as was written above the great library at Alexandria, A Place of Healing for the Soul. And now she wasn’t the only Wayward Girl who knew that truth.

  A movement caught Audie’s eye, causing her to shift her gaze, and into view came a slight figure, running along the lane, toward the automobile. The sight of that figure—dark curls bouncing, welcome and joy in that broad smile—caused her heart to overflow and leak from her eyes. “Bimmy!” Audie thrust her arms out the window, calling to her bosom friend. “Bimmy! Oh, Bimmy. We’re home.” Audie drew her arms in and snatched Min to her chest, holding her close.

  “I’m home.”

  Audie was reading aloud from Little Women while Beatrice supervised a lesson on kneading baguette dough.

  “Audie! Audie!” Bimmy waved something in her hand. “You got a postcard from Cypher.”

  Audie calmly marked her place in the book and took the postcard from her friend. On one side was a photograph of that famous magician, Harry Houdini.

  “May I see?” Violet reached for it with floury hands.

  “After you wash up,” Audie said gently. Her ear began to buzz as she reversed the card to read aloud the note on the back. In Cypher’s bold block print were these words: WISH YOU WERE HERE.

  “Oh, dear.” Audie looked over Violet’s head to Beatrice. They exchanged a meaningful glance. “I guess I’d best pack a bag.”

  Some years ago, I was minding my own business, working on another project, when the image of an eleven-year-old girl, in a long dress and kid-leather boots, popped into my mind. She lay on her stomach on a carpet in front of a fire, reading a book. Her name was Audacity and she lived up to it by demanding that I immediately set aside what I was working on in order to transfer the scene in my mind to the page. I wrote several hundred words and then put them away. I fell in love with Audie from the start, but had no idea what her story was.

  That is until, on a lark, I wondered about the headlines on January 1, 1910 (these things happen when you are passionate about the past). I got online and pulled up several old newspapers and there I found the story of the “kidnapping” of Dorothy Taft, the daughter of then-President Taft’s cousin (that is one of the changes I made to this story: Dorothy was a shirttail relation, rather than a niece). The girl went missing in Los Angeles (not Washington, D.C.) on the way home from a visit to a friend. I thought I’d found pure historic gold until I read the papers of January 2, 1910, and learned that Dorothy had been quickly reunited with her family; the “disappearance” a result of a misunderstanding about train times.

  Well, there goes my story, I thought. But, again, Audie had other ideas. She nudged her way to the front of my mind and asked my favorite writer’s question: What if? What if Dorothy had been kidnapped? Who might have done such a deed? And why? And couldn’t a resourceful and well-read girl like Audie somehow be involved in her rescue? These questions seemed not only reasonable but requiring of answers. The book you are holding in your hand is my attempt to answer them.

  This is a work of historical fiction. In the service of this story, I have taken many more creative liberties than I usually do. Here are the facts: President Taft did have blue eyes and was mad for automobiles; his wife, Nellie, had visited the White House as a teen and longed to live there; her dream did come true but at a cost to her health. She suffered a stroke shortly after her husband’s inauguration and it was months before she recovered enough to play White House hostess. Her memoir, Recollections of Full Years (1914), took me inside the Taft White House. Mrs. Jaffray was one of Mrs. Taft’s first hires and her book, Secrets of the White House (1926), was invaluable to me; that’s where I learned that Mrs. Taft loved to wear violets, and that a special English cook was always hired to prepare Terrapin Soup for the President. Though I have no knowledge that he was ever called Daddy Dub, Mr. W. W. Brown was indeed a White House livery driver, starting in the administration of President Grant, working through President Taft’s—fifty-six years! The story he tells about President Grant is true, though of course, I do not know if Mr. Brown ever related it to anyone. He certainly never related it to Juice, because that wonderful newsboy is a completely invented character.

  The books that Audie takes with her on her journey are invented as well; dear friends will recognize themselves as authors (other dear friends will discover themselves elsewhere in this book). The excerpt Audie reads in Chapter Ten is not from the [imaginary] book Fair Criminals, Foul Minds, but from The Right Way to Do Wrong: An Exposé of Successful Criminals, written by Harry Houdini and published in 1906.

  There is a town called Swayzee, Indiana (thank you, Katy Van Aken, for all the help with learning about your town in 1910, and to Brooklyn and Kiley for being such supportive and enthusiastic fans), but Miss Maisie’s School for Wayward Girls and its inhabitants are works of fiction, though Audie and her friends seem very real to me.

  A huge debt of gratitude goes to the Washington Historical Society; the White House Historical Association, especially Mr. William Bushong; Katy Van Aken for inspiration, encouragement, and all things Swayzee; and Tricia Gort Kiepert and Nóra Hajdu for assistance with the Hungarian phrases.

  I’m often asked where my characters come from. Sometimes I know. Sometimes I don’t. Audie is rooted in a little girl who wore hand-me-downs and was the new kid in school more times than she could count; a child who learned the hard way that sometimes friends were only to be found within the covers of a book.

  This story is for all of the adults who nurtured that little girl: my loving parents, who not only didn’t mind that their eldest was a bit odd, they loved her all the more for it; the librarians who gave me books and got out of the way; the teachers—especially you, Mr. Craig!—who took note; the Camp Fire moms who mentored me: Barbara Duncan, Mary Lou Maybee, Rhoda Patterson, and Lucille Young. Make new friends, but keep the old.

  I say this every time but only because it’s true: I couldn’t write a word without Mary Nethery or without the support of my patient husband, Neil. Thanks to my children: Tyler, Nicole, Eli, and Audrey; Quinn, Matt, and Esme; I love you all. And nothing I write would ever see the light of day without my lionhearted agent, Jill Grinberg, and her Brooklyn crew, Cheryl Pientka, Katelyn Detwiler, and Denise St. Pierre.

  My gratitude to the Scholastic family for supporting my passion for historical fiction is unendin
g (here’s hoping they never wise up): Thank you, publicity and marketing wizards including Jennifer Abbots, Julie Amitie, Bess Brasswell, Michelle Campbell, Caitlin Friedman, Antonio Gonzalez, Emily Heddleson, Whitney Steller, Tracy Van Straaten, the fabulous sales team, and my buddy, Lizette Serrano; to Lori Benton, Ellie Berger, David Levithan, and Dick Robinson; Rebekah Wallin, production editor; Alan Boyko, Robin Hoffman, and the whole Book Fair crew. Belated thanks to Jenni Holm, who turned down a chance to write for the Dear America series, recommending me instead. That generous act led to my getting paired up with Lisa Sandell, a really sharp editor and now treasured friend. And last but not least, I thank you, dear reader, for giving me these precious hours of your life. Köszönöm.

  KIRBY LARSON is the acclaimed author of the 2007 Newbery Honor book Hattie Big Sky; its sequel, Hattie Ever After; The Friendship Doll; Dear America: The Fences Between Us; Duke; and Dash, winner of the Scott O’Dell Award for Historical Fiction. She has also cowritten two award-winning picture books: Two Bobbies: A True Story of Hurricane Katrina, Friendship, and Survival, and Nubs: The True Story of a Mutt, a Marine & a Miracle. Kirby lives in Washington State with her husband and Winston the Wonder Dog.

  Also by Kirby Larson

  NOVELS

  Dash

  Duke

  Dear America: The Fences Between Us

  The Friendship Doll

  Hattie Big Sky

  Hattie Ever After

  PICTURE BOOKS

  WITH MARY NETHERY

  Nubs: The True Story of a Mutt, a Marine & a Miracle

  Two Bobbies: A True Story of Hurricane Katrina, Friendship, and Survival

  Copyright © 2016 by Kirby Larson