Emmy was quiet. Then she tucked her arm around Josephine and, soon after, dozed off. Josephine lay still, cherishing the warmth of Emmy’s body. She could hear Nelly’s steady breath from the other bed.
Josephine, however, was jumpy as a grasshopper. For a while, she followed Emmy’s breathing, willing herself to go to sleep along with her. But finally she climbed carefully out from under her friend’s arm and hopped to the ground. She kept hearing Charley shouting at her, telling her things she wasn’t liking to listen to.
Silently she dressed and crept down the stairs, carrying her stockings and shoes. She would sit outside for a bit. Her thoughts were flitting around inside her head like flies in a sugar bowl.
The front door croaked faintly when she opened it and closed too quickly, with a thump, behind her. But no one called out, so Josephine sat on the doorstep to pull on her stockings and shoes. It was true, what Charley said. She would always be a midget. She would always wear stockings that could fit a cat. She would always have to reach for things that other folk just took.
Josephine tipped back her head to see the sky. She spent so much of each day bending her neck to look up, it should have snapped in two by now! She stepped into the street and turned, without hesitating, toward the ocean.
She hadn’t been outside alone after dark since her departure from the MacLaren Academy. Hilda’s little road was tucked away from the bustle, but as Josephine ventured farther, she discovered all manner of person, plying all manner of trade. The streets in Coney Island were as wide awake at night as in the city.
Boisterous customers spilled out of the taverns into the street, singing or fighting or strutting. The smell of beer drenched the air like mist. Rough men, selling everything from cigars and wagers to whiskey and knives, were stationed whichever way she looked.
Dodging the action, Josephine made her way to the beach, where even the water was tranquil tonight. The surface reflected stars and moonlight in glimmering splinters. A girl might glide across it, collecting gold dust on the soles of her feet.
How much had changed since her first glimpse of this splendid ocean! She had begun with such faith that Mr. Walters’s promise of happiness was moments away from becoming true. And it did come true for a while, didn’t it? She liked her dresses, and the pounding applause. She liked the two gold dollars she plucked from Mr. Walters’s large, flat palm every Saturday night.
Couldn’t she have those things without feeling obliged to her employer? Without the fear of being caged or scolded? Though Mr. Walters had once promised her a family, it was not the museum where she felt at home. As much as she liked the other Astonishments, they were all too used to being on the outside of life. And Mr. Walters encouraged them to be peculiar.
Josephine had found her family with Nelly and Charley, not in the museum. She wanted to keep the family and change the home. Charley was right about deciding for herself.
Just as she thought his name, Josephine saw Charley’s form strolling across the sand, with his skin alight beneath the moon.
“I heard you go out,” he explained, not looking at her. “I thought I’d better follow in case you found trouble.”
“And what would you do with trouble if it found me?” sassed Josephine. “With you being blind as a mole? It’ll be me leading you home by the hand.”
She watched for his smile, but she could see he wasn’t giving in just yet.
“I like to go out at night,” he said, almost to himself. “There’s no sun to worry about, frying me up like bacon.”
Josephine stared out across the water, waiting to talk.
“Charley—” she began.
“Jo—” said Charley at the same moment.
“You go ahead first,” said Josephine.
“I only wanted to say…” Charley hesitated. “I only think you should get used to being little, Jo. So’s you can settle down and make use of it.”
“I do know I’ll always be small,” said Josephine. “I’m not a ninny. But it seems wrong somehow to pretend it’s a skill of some kind. Just to use the thing you were born with and not put any effort or brains into it. Like being born pretty or rich and that being the end of it.”
Charley shook his head impatiently. “Don’t you see, Jo? It’s just the opposite. Outsiders like us, we need extra wits and extra courage to stay the way we’re born. We have to be who we are and hold our heads up at the same time. Can you see that?”
“Yes, I can see that. And I’m ready for it, I really am. Only I’m not staying with Mr. Walters anymore. Because he thinks of it as business, and for us, it’s our life. You should be the boss, Charley, you understand.”
Charley reached out his hand and rested it on Josephine’s shoulder.
“We could do it, Jo, just us, with Nelly to manage things, and maybe one or two others.”
“Maybe.”
“We could move around like gypsies. See the world a bit too.”
“I’d like that, Charley. I’d like to see what’s on the other side of that ocean.” She took a deep breath of the salty night air and blew it out in a happy gust. She opened her arms wide, knowing suddenly there was a whole world waiting out there for her.
“Do you suppose there’s other midgets right here in Coney Island?” she wondered.
“Walters’ Museum boasts to have the only one out here,” said Charley, “but there’s plenty in the city, I’ll stake my hair.”
“You can keep your hair, Charley. You’d be a fright, bald. I just was curious, is all. Did you ever meet another albino?”
“I saw one once in a traveling show. Nelly took me, thinking I’d like to see. It was a Wild Man Albino, with his hair all tangly, and him growling like a raging bear from behind a screen made of a fishing net. But he took one look at me and dropped to his knees, like he was ashamed of himself.”
Charley brushed a hand over his face, remembering.
“He whispered to me, real quiet and calm, so’s nobody else could hear, he said, ‘I’ve the heart of a gentleman, Boy, not the savage you see. Don’t ignore your heart, Boy, if you want a moment’s peace.’ That’s what he said.”
“That’s hard to do,” said Josephine. She slipped her hand into Charley’s thin, white one. “Especially at the Museum of Earthly Astonishments.”
“What we have to remember is, there’s things on this earth more astonishing than the color of a person’s eyes or the size of a person’s foot,” said Charley.
“That’s true,” said Josephine. “What’s astonishing is how we found each other, considering where we came from.”
SCHOOL-GIRL
MISSING
TUESDAY, AUGUST 12, 1884—A twelve-year-old schoolgirl has been reported missing by the headmistress of her school, the MacLaren Academy.
Emmeline Mary St. James was with her classmates on an excursion to Coney Island but failed to return to the railroad station with the other children.
It is believed that she is the victim of an abduction. Miss MacLaren, the chaperone in charge at the time, reports having encountered several sinister men in the holiday resort of Brooklyn.
“My girls were undertaking a study of tidal patterns in the ocean. We were not prepared for the seedy nature of the adjacent community.”
Miss St. James’s father, Mr. Jaffrey W. St. James, is one of the more prominent traders in this City. A hunt for the missing child has been launched by the police forces in New York City and Coney Island. Employees of the Museum of Earthly Astonishments, where the child was last seen, have been questioned at length. The reward for Miss St. James’s safe return will be substantial. The punishment for those responsible will be severe.
LITTLE JO-JO
IN SCHOOL-GIRL
SCANDAL
TUESDAY, AUGUST 12, 1884—Little Jo-Jo, this City’s reigning princess of the little people, is possibly a character in the drama unfolding in Coney Island, Brooklyn, at this writing.
The schoolgirl reported missing yesterday, one Emmeline Mary St. Jam
es, was in a party from the MacLaren Academy, who were visiting R. J. Walters’ famous Museum of Earthly Astonishments. Her classmates were not observing ocean tides, as the headmistress, Miss Ethelwyn MacLaren, had previously informed the press.
They traveled to the popular summer resort to seek out Little Jo-Jo, who had once been an employee in the school. It seems likely that there is a connection between the disappearance of Miss St. James and mysterious accusations against the diminutive charmer.
The headmistress claimed that Little Jo-Jo had stolen certain monies belonging to the school funds. Little Jo-Jo claimed she was mistreated at the hands of the school authorities and that the money taken was simply money owed her for unpaid wages.
Little Jo-Jo’s character is so spunky and beguiling that her honesty cannot be doubted. She is a person of such appeal that her size is incidental. And there are further points of confusion in the story.
Mr. R. J. Walters asserts that he has no knowledge of any intrigue concerning his prized exhibition, despite having been present, with this reporter, at the confrontation between the volatile schoolmarm and Little Jo-Jo.
Miss MacLaren refused to respond to queries.
According to Miss Charlotte Montgomery and Miss Felicia Hicks, classmates to Miss St. James at MacLaren Academy, their headmistress had expressed annoyance that Little Jo-Jo was working for the second-rate Mr. Walters. “She thought P. T. Barnum would pay a better price to own such a freak,” they declared, in an interview at the school gates yesterday.
They also suggested that the missing girl, known as Emmy, was not a likely candidate for abduction. “No one would want her,” asserted Miss Hicks. “Little Jo-Jo was her only friend, but that was a secret too. No one makes friends with servants.”
A city-wide search has been ordered, involving more than half the police force. Mr. Jaffrey W. St. James, father of the missing girl, has offered a reward of $200 for the safe return of his beloved daughter.
osephine said good-bye to Emmy with her heart as heavy as a bucket of stones. Emmy blubbered without shame.
“Oh, Jo!”
“Dear Emmy!”
Josephine’s face was pressed against Emmy’s leg for a final embrace, holding back her own tears.
“I know Margaret will look after me,” sobbed Emmy. “When she hears the whole story, she won’t let me go back to school; she’ll talk to my father, I’m certain of it.”
“I know you’ll be fine,” whispered Josephine. “Even if you look ridiculous!”
Police constables on the lookout for Emmeline St. James, twelve-year-old school-girl, were flocking the street corners of Coney Island. Charley had insisted that a disguise was Emmy’s only chance.
She was wearing Charley’s second pair of trousers, though she couldn’t close the buttons all the way. Her shirt had once belonged to Hilda Viemeister’s brother, and her hair was scrunched into an old cap. Charley had suggested lopping off her braids with the poultry shears, but Emmy swore her mother would die, so she wore the cap instead.
Charley clapped her shoulder as if she were a real boy. “Keep your feathers fluffy,” he whispered.
Nelly led Emmy away, down the street toward the train station. Josephine and Charley waved until they were out of sight.
“Let’s go to the museum.” Josephine longed for a distraction from the sudden hole made by Emmy’s departure.
“Why go so early? We’ll be in that cave long enough.”
“We could walk along the beach way. We could wade in the ocean.”
“You start ahead. I’ll catch up when I’ve found my umbrella.”
Josephine set off on the same path she had taken the night before. She could hear the roar of the waves, sounding like an endless wind blowing over dry grass, as soon as she left the busy concourse.
The peace of the morning was like a breath being held until it could exhale into a rowdy afternoon. Then the beach would come alive with splashing and laughter and ballyhoos of all kind, with folks selling anything that other folk might buy.
The pier was the only busy place this early in the day. The first ferry had just arrived from the city, spilling early arrivals armed with picnic baskets onto the iron-railed walkway that led to the esplanade. A buzzing chatter floated above the rolling water, anticipating a day of pleasure.
As she crouched at the edge of the sand to remove her boots and stockings, Josephine glanced behind to see if Charley was in sight. Instead, something swooped down upon her, stuffing a rag into her surprised mouth, as she was knocked to the ground. Was it Mr. Walters again? Rough fabric covered her eyes in an instant, and powerful hands shoved her while wrapping her whole body tightly. He was smothering her! Her howl was trapped behind wadding already sodden with saliva.
Within seconds, swaddled in scratchy sacking, she was heaved from the ground and swung to and fro like an ordinary bundle of rags. She was helpless and gagging. One bare foot dangled free and began to kick with all its constricted might. She was dropped at once onto the sand, then felt hands fiercely shaking her.
“Do not think for a minute that you will escape me.” The whispered voice was all too recognizable. “You’re mine now, and I’ll sell you to the highest bidder!”
Miss MacLaren had reclaimed her prize.
What did she mean—sell? What bidders? Like a choice pig at auction! Was she really worth so much that grown-ups would behave this way?
Josephine was lifted again, her arms twisted and her legs crunched up tightly in a knot. Her cheek and brow pressed against the web of the sacking. Her nose seemed full of tiny fibers. Trying to breathe through her mouth was like sucking cotton.
Miss MacLaren was already wheezing slightly, struggling with Josephine’s nineteen pounds. If she would only collapse with a heart attack! With that in mind, Josephine squirmed harder.
“Hey!” A distant call. “What have you got there?” It was Charley!
Miss MacLaren, grunting, tucked her parcel clumsily under one arm and tried to trot.
“Hey! I’ve found Jo’s shoes here! Hey! You! Come back here!”
Josephine’s stomach reeled with Miss MacLaren’s unsteady sway. The sand beneath city shoes seemed to be an obstacle. Charley would surely catch up. Where were they headed? Josephine was going to be sick, she knew it. Miss MacLaren’s body smelled of custard gone sour in the sun. Each lurch crushed Josephine’s nose closer to the source.
Suddenly the footing changed. They were clattering upward on something that chimed under shoes. It was the ramp to the New Iron Pier! Miss MacLaren meant to take her back to the city on the ferry!
Every step took her farther from Charley. Josephine tried to thrash and was promptly pinched. She could hear the lilting calls of boys selling ices and roasted potatoes. The pier must be more crowded than the beach; they seemed to be dodging people. Charley would lose sight of them! Josephine strained to see through the weave of the sacking.
“Excuse me, young man!” Miss MacLaren was nearly breathless. Josephine felt blood rush to her face as her captor stumbled.
“Do you have a ticket, ma’am?” They were at the gangplank! The voice was so close it made Josephine twitch. Was this really the way things were going to end? Her mouth was dry and full of bits of hemp.
“Yes, yes, here it is. But sir, that frightening hooligan back there has been following me. Please be sure he does not board the ferry.”
“Yes’m. Join the line over there. Folks is boarding now.”
“Thank you. Watch that boy.”
Josephine listened with dread. What chance did she have? What could she do? Miss MacLaren was moving again, up the gangplank, onto the boat’s deck, taking short, wobbling steps. Her breaths were like little piggy grunts.
“Hey, you there!” the ticket taker was shouting at Charley. “Off the ramp, boy! You’re not wanted here!”
“Josephine!” She heard Charley’s voice ring out. “Jo! I’m coming right back! I’ll get the police! I’ll get Mr. Walters! We’ll be right back to
save you!”
“Get off with you, you ugly ghoul!” The ticket man was not impressed.
Josephine managed to turn her neck enough to spit out the rag. She ran her tongue back and forth across dry lips.
“Help!” she cried weakly. “Help me!”
Miss MacLaren came to an instant stop. Josephine was shifted and squeezed with vicious intent. Tears sprang to her eyes as she yelped in pain. Her curls were now tangled in the webbing of the bag and were yanked till her scalp burned.
“If you so much as breathe before this ferry leaves the slip,” Miss MacLaren’s threat was spoken in a strangled whisper, “I swear, I will shave your head and sell you as a bald monkey.”
Josephine was once again dropped to the ground. This time, she landed not on soft sand, but on the rigid boat deck. Her body bounced, and bruised, but she swallowed her cry. She stopped breathing, and felt the distant hum of the boat’s steam engine as it fired up to go. Ever so slightly, Josephine could feel the roll of the ocean far beneath her.
Miss MacLaren’s thick ankles stood like soldiers, pressing in on either side of her. Josephine knew that she lay in the shadow of the woman’s skirt. She could also tell, for the first time, that there was nothing tying the sack in place. It had been Miss MacLaren’s hands or arm alone that had restrained her.
Slowly Josephine inched her legs out of their curled position. When her toes felt air, she paused. Now what? Could she possibly get away?
“Jo!” She heard Charley call her name, just as the boat’s whistle blew a tremendous, foggy blast. The deck under her shoulders seemed to shiver as the boat prepared to move.
Miss MacLaren turned quickly, shifting her feet away from their guard duty. This was Josephine’s chance. She scrambled out with a whoop and a growl. She tore the sack from her head, ripping out the few hairs still caught inside. Her eyes blazed. Her fingers clenched like talons as she faced Miss MacLaren. The row of ferry riders crackled with sudden interest.
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