But what would she do now? Should she leave and hope someone would find him in the morning? Where would she hide for the night? Her only choice was to stay with him and hope that he’d sleep long enough to give her time to sneak out in the morning the way she normally did.
Sarah took one last deep breath of night air and then went inside and climbed to the crown room, where she found Maryk snoring just where she’d left him. She sat herself in a corner with her back against the wall and her knees pulled to her chest and waited.
Roast Beef and a Pickle
SARAH COULD FEEL THE sun warming her face and brightening her closed eyelids. Still half asleep, she heard the muted clang of footsteps in the distance.
The tourists!
Her eyes shot open, and she recoiled at the sight of Maryk’s prone body sleeping in the center of the room. In the light of the cramped crown room, he seemed even larger than he had before. She couldn’t believe that she had been able to get him up the stairs the night before. He shifted in his sleep, snoring. The voices of the tourists grew nearer.
Sarah jumped to her feet, gathered her few articles of clothing, and dashed out of the room. Running down the top section of stairs, she reached the platform that led to the ladder up to the torch just before the first few visitors passed by on their way to the crown.
Seconds later she heard a woman scream and then a man say, “My God! What’s happened here?”
“Someone get help!” another voice chimed in.
Sounds of people scurrying up and down the stairs and talking about the unconscious watchman filled the Lady’s interior. There was so much commotion that no one noticed the girl descending the torch ladder.
Sarah exited onto ground level just as two guards ran up to tend to the injured man. She backed away slowly and hid herself among a group of tourists to watch. Eventually another group of men ran up from the dock carrying a stretcher. A half hour later the men came down from the statue, struggling under the weight of the giant. The watchman appeared to be conscious but in a great deal of pain. It took four men to carry him down to the dock, one holding each arm of the stretcher. The giant winced and grunted with each step they took.
Sarah ducked behind a crowd of gawkers, not wanting to be seen. She wondered if the giant would be able to recognize her or if he even remembered anything from the night at all. Do drunk people remember things? The four men carefully loaded him onto a ferry that steamed off toward Manhattan. She exhaled with relief. At least for now, her biggest threat of being caught would be off the island.
Over the next two days, Sarah was able to return to her routine of scavenging by day and sneaking into the Lady to sleep at night. A new night watchman took over. Short, with thick glasses, he had a pinched scowl that made him look constantly angry. Unlike the gray-haired giant, the new watchman didn’t drink or climb to the top of the torch and stare out to sea. He simply walked the grounds once with his kerosene lamp and then returned to the guardhouse by the dock.
Sarah wondered about the giant. Had he died? And if not, when would he recover and come back? Whatever his fate, she hoped he wouldn’t return to work soon; her life was much easier with the new watchman. She could enter the Lady as soon as the sun went down and not have to be worried about being disturbed during the night.
On the afternoon of the third day since the giant’s accident, Sarah retrieved a paper sack containing a large piece of roast beef, some potato salad, and a pickle from one of the trash bins. Compared to the scraps of snack food like peanuts and popcorn that she had been eating, it was a feast. Later, she scavenged a half-full jar of lemonade. All afternoon she dreamed of the wonderful meal she would have that night in the crown room.
Part of her routine was to climb up to the roof of the pedestal and scan the island to see if anyone was throwing away anything down below. Although she had already scavenged more than usual that day, her heart rose up as she spied a man standing near the dock carelessly throwing a half-eaten apple into a trash bin.
The perfect dessert for her feast.
She dashed off down the stairs of the base, hoping to get to her prize before the trash bin was emptied. Reaching ground level, she wove through the tourists toward the dock. The trash bin came into view and she could see the apple perched right on top, ready for the picking.
Sarah was just a few yards away when she accidentally bumped into someone coming up from the dock. She looked up and to her horror stared into the face of the giant. His strange eyes stared down at her.
Mouse Trap
THE GIANT HAD A LARGE BANDAGE wrapped around his head, and two of the fingers on his left hand were taped together.
Sarah froze. Did he recognize her?
“Watch where you’re goin’,” he grunted.
“I am sorry,” she mumbled.
He paused a moment and stared at her impatiently but then moved past.
Sarah immediately turned from the trash bin and walked in a different direction, breathing a sigh of relief. She spent the rest of the afternoon staying as far away from the watchman as possible. When the sun finally went down, she retreated to her tree to wait and watch.
As usual, the giant emerged from the guardhouse and slowly moved toward the statue. He didn’t appear to sway or wobble, and Sarah assumed that he had not been drinking.
Just like every other night, he entered the statue and climbed up to the torch to stare out to sea. Yet this time, he didn’t drink from a bottle of Irish whiskey or anything else. He just stood and stared, breathing in the ocean air. After a little while, he turned and scanned the whole island, and the girl instinctively drew back into the leaves. Finally, the watchman went back inside, descended the Lady, and returned to the guardhouse.
Sarah’s stomach growled, yet she waited another long stretch, staring at the dim yellow light that glowed from inside the guardhouse by the ferry dock just to make sure he had settled in for the night. Finally she lowered herself down from the tree and sneaked inside the statue.
Once in the crown room, Sarah spread out her shawl and unpacked her feast. The moon glowed brightly, and she could clearly see each item: the pickle, potato salad, roast beef, and lemonade. She set Ivan beside the food.
“This is a meal fit for a queen,” she said. “Isn’t it, boy?”
She reached for the pickle and took an enormous bite, savoring the sour, briny crunch. She pretended to give Ivan some too and smiled to herself as she took another big bite. Suddenly she heard a loud creak.
She held her jaw still, afraid the crunch of the pickle would keep her from hearing more. Silence. She waited a moment longer, then resumed chewing. But as she swallowed, she heard another creak from deep within the body of the Lady and then the unmistakable sound of footsteps, rising up the stairs.
The giant was coming.
Sarah shoved Ivan back into her pocket, rolled up her picnic dinner in the shawl, and stuffed it into a corner of the room. But where would she hide herself? She glanced down into the stairwell and saw a dim light approaching from below. Clang, clomp, clang, clomp, clang, clomp.
Her only choice was to hide herself right there in the crown room. Quickly, Sarah unrolled the picnic and covered herself in the shawl, curling into a tight ball in the most shadowy corner of the room, beneath the windows of the crown. She sat under the thick fabric and tried to control her breathing as the footsteps drew closer up the winding staircase. Sitting directly on top of the remnants of her feast, she tried to ignore the strong aroma of the roast beef.
Through the fabric, Sarah saw the room brighten as the watchman’s lamp entered the crown. She clamped her eyes shut and held her breath, trying to hold herself as still as possible. Sweat formed on her forehead and dripped down her face, causing her nose and eyes to itch. Breathing heavily, the giant stepped inside and swung his lamp around the room. Sarah counted his long, wheezing breaths.
One, two, three, four, five . . .
She felt a sneeze rising up inside her and clenched all of her
face muscles to suppress it. The giant finally turned and moved to exit. Just as he reached the stairs, he coughed. The noise startled Sarah and triggered her own sneeze. She clamped her fingers over her nose to stifle the noise, but a small, high-pitched squeak came out of the back of her throat.
The giant paused. Sarah opened her eyes and saw the fabric over her face brightening as he moved nearer, stopping directly in front of her. He stood over her a moment and then pulled off the shawl, leaving her exposed in the kerosene light. He swung the lamp in her direction and the yellow light flashed brightly in her eyes.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
Sarah blinked to clear her vision and looked up into the giant’s broad, angry face. His ruddy complexion starkly contrasted with his gray helmet of hair. A small patch of dried blood stained the front of the white bandage. He glared and she drew back as though she could somehow hide from him.
“I said, who are you? And what are you doing here?”
Sarah was so frozen by fear that she couldn’t respond.
“Why are you up here?”
She stared back silently.
“Stand up and come over here!” he said. “Are you deaf or something?”
Still she didn’t budge.
“Can you hear me?”
Her mind had cleared enough for her to nod. Yes.
“Can you speak?”
She nodded again.
“Well, who are you?”
Sarah was afraid to answer, certain that as soon as her identity was revealed, she’d be put back on a boat bound for her country and her dreaded uncle or an orphanage. She decided to pretend she didn’t understand his language to buy herself time.
“English, just a little,” she said.
The giant gruffly motioned for her to come out from the corner.
“Come on.”
She reluctantly uncurled herself. As she stood, the roast beef and pickle dropped onto the floor from the back of her skirt. He took in the food with surprise.
“What the . . . ? Do people always sit on their meals in your country?”
He kicked at the precious roast beef with his boot and she looked down at her feet in shame. Her eyes welled up. She was sure that he would know she was a thief and that she would be in even more trouble. She cursed herself for not having shoved the food into her mouth at the first sign of danger.
“Hungry,” she said. “I . . . am hungry.”
He stared down at the piece of roast beef and the pickle, which were now covered in a layer of dust.
“Come on,” he said. “Get out of there. Let’s go.”
He gestured for her to move to the stairs. She hesitated and looked at the food.
“Leave it,” he said.
She remained frozen, so he reached out and poked her shoulder to prod her along.
“I said leave it. Now go on.”
Sarah’s hands shook as she grabbed the railing to begin her descent.
Androcles
SARAH SLOWLY STARTED DOWN the stairs, the giant close behind her. She calculated her escape options. Once they were back on ground level, she hesitated.
Should I run?
She knew that if she made a break for the trees, he’d just catch her again. And she couldn’t face the idea of diving into the freezing water.
The giant coughed violently and paused to catch his breath. Sarah knew this was her opportunity to run, but her legs locked beneath her. After a moment, he prodded her.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said. “Move.”
He steered her toward the guardhouse. The wind whipped off the water and into Sarah’s face. Wild thoughts ran through her mind.
There’s no one around until morning. What will he do with me? Will he beat me? Lock me up?
Once at the guardhouse she stopped at the door.
“Go on,” he said. “Inside.”
The giant opened the door to the small shack. Sarah hesitated again. He poked her in the back with his finger.
“I said go on.”
Sarah took a deep breath and stepped inside. The sparsely furnished room held a desk, a low wooden cabinet, and a couple of chairs. Posters with the ferry schedule and maps of the harbor lined the walls.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs.
She did as instructed and bent her head.
The giant opened one of the cabinet drawers and rummaged inside. Was he looking for chains to lock her up?
Sarah stared down at the tabletop, afraid to look at his angry face again, until he placed something on the table in front of her. She glanced up and was surprised to see a small tin pot covered with a lid. He continued searching in the drawer until he found a spoon, wiped it on his shirt, and laid it next to the pot.
“Go on,” the watchman said, nodding toward the table.
She stared at the pot and spoon, unsure what to do.
“Eat,” he commanded.
He lifted the cover. A warm and mysterious smell hit her nose. The pot held a pile of browned rice mixed with a white stew of some kind, with pieces of chicken, celery, onion, cabbage, and some sort of sprouts, all mixed together.
“Well, dig in.” He nodded toward the food.
Sarah lifted the spoon and took a small bite. It had been so long since her last cooked meal. And while not hot, the food was warm and it exploded in her mouth with a burst of flavor that made her eyes close with pleasure. Despite her fear, a small smile escaped her lips as the food traveled down her throat and into her empty stomach. The giant nodded.
“Mrs. Lee isn’t the best landlady in the world, but she makes a good chop suey.”
The giant stuffed and lit a pipe and curiously watched her hungrily devour the entire contents of the pot. When she had scraped up the last grain of rice, she laid the spoon down and looked at the giant.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded.
“Now, are you going to tell me who you are?”
She stared back at him, unsure of what she should share or not.
“Come on, out with it. I’m not gonna hurt you, Androcles.”
“What is Androcles?” she asked.
He raised an eyebrow and slowly restuffed his pipe. “Androcles was a Greek slave. One day he found an injured lion with a thorn in his paw and pulled out the thorn. Years later, Androcles was thrown into the arena with a lion. Turned out to be the same lion, and he remembered Androcles and refused to hurt him. You get it?”
She stared at him, confused.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t remember much about the other night, but I know you helped me. And I’m not gonna forget that. I want to help you. But you have to tell me who you are and how you got here. Where are your parents?”
“My parents?”
“Yes, your mother and father. Where’s your mother?”
She hesitated and then said the word.
“Dead.”
“And your father?”
“He’s dead too.”
“You’re an orphan.” He raised his eyebrows with interest.
Sarah nodded.
“Hmmm,” he grunted.
He took a long drag on his pipe.
“What’s your name?”
Sarah just looked at him.
He pointed at his chest and said, “Maryk.” Then he pointed at her. “And you are . . . ?”
The girl stared into Maryk’s dark eyes, which now seemed softer. It had been more than a week since she had heard or said her own name, and the word felt strange coming out of her mouth.
“Sarah.”
The Niece
MARYK SHARED HIS CONTAINER of coffee with Sarah as she told him her story. She had never tasted coffee before, and at first the bitterness shocked her; but soon its warmth spread through her body, helping to thaw her cold fingers and toes.
Maryk sat and listened while smoking his pipe. He didn’t ask many questions as she spoke, but nodded, encouraging her to continue.
Days of silence had created a pe
nt-up need for Sarah to talk. So she told him everything, from her life in the village, to the attack that killed her father, to the promise of the Lady and the tantalizing poem on the postcard. She even recited part of the poem from memory.
“‘Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.’”
“Powerful words.” He nodded.
Eventually, she described her daring leap from the ship and her swim to shore.
“It’s a miracle you survived,” Maryk said with a trace of admiration.
“Yes. A miracle,” she said.
Next she told Maryk about her days scavenging on the island and her nights playing cat and mouse with him, escaping into the tree to hide and the Lady to sleep.
The sun was just beginning to rise as she finished her story.
“I can’t go back to my country. There is nothing for me there but bad thoughts.”
“Memories,” he corrected.
“Yes. Bad memories. But bad thoughts, too. I mean, things, bad things. People here don’t understand. There’s danger there for people like me, who are different. Our men cannot be in the army, our people can’t own land. Everyone thinks America is a different kind of country.”
Maryk nodded.
“I suppose it can be . . . sometimes.”
Maryk seemed about to say more, but then a bell rang in the distance and he looked up in alarm.
“Oh no,” he muttered as he rose and moved to the window.
Outside in the harbor, a ferry approached. Sarah knew that this was the first boat of the morning, which would bring the day staff to the island and take the night watchman back to the mainland.
Through the window of the guardhouse, Sarah saw three uniformed men disembark from the boat, including the short man with glasses who had been Maryk’s replacement on the night shift after the accident. Two of the men walked toward the base of the statue. The man with the glasses came toward the guardhouse. Maryk’s face filled with concern. He turned to Sarah and stared at her for a long, tense moment.
The Girl in the Torch Page 6