The Lost Girl

by Liz Harris

  Clutching her lunch pail and schoolbag with both hands, Charity turned to Miss O’Brien. She was standing at the side of her desk, staring at her, unsmiling. Her gaze rose above Miss O’Brien’s shoulder to the wall behind her. Smooth boards, painted black, covered most of the wall. She took a step to the side to see past Miss O’Brien and saw that under the painted boards there was a small trough full of short white sticks, and a single block of wood around which had been nailed a piece of woolly sheepskin.

  Her eyes returned to Miss O’Brien’s face.

  ‘I take it you’re Charity Walker.’ Miss O’Brien’s voice was icy.

  Charity nodded.

  ‘The bench next to Adeline hasn’t been taken by anyone,’ Miss O’Brien said coldly. ‘You can sit there.’ She pointed halfway down the room to an empty bench next to a fair-haired girl. ‘It’s your third year here so you know the school’s routine, Adeline. I’d like you to look after Charity Walker and tell her what she needs to know.’

  Adeline jumped up from her seat, her slate falling to the floor with a loud bang. ‘I’m not lookin’ after any heathen Chinee, Miss O’Brien!’ she exclaimed. ‘Ma and Pa wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘None of our folks would,’ a boy with brown hair called from the back of the class. ‘We don’t want no Chinamen here.’

  Shouting and stamping their feet, the rest of the class showed their support for Adeline and the brown-haired boy.

  Charity hugged her bag and lunch pail more tightly.

  ‘Silence!’ Miss O’Brien exclaimed, and she rapped on her desk with her ruler. The class fell quiet, their anger heavy in the air.

  ‘I’m American,’ Charity said, her voice just above a whisper.

  The pupils broke into jeers and laughter, and they banged their slates on their tables.

  Miss O’Brien took a step forward. The class instantly settled.

  ‘Such behaviour will not be tolerated,’ she said slowly and distinctly. ‘I understand your concerns, class, but you must understand this. The law in Wyoming Territory says that children must go to school from seven years of age to fourteen. I’m therefore unable to send Charity Walker away from our school.’

  There was a low rumble of anger from the class.

  ‘I cannot, however, force you to welcome her and include her in your activities,’ she went on, ‘and if she feels she would be more comfortable leaving the school right now …’ She paused and looked down at Charity, who stood at her side. ‘I would not consider it my duty to force her to remain.’

  ‘We don’t want you here so why don’t you go?’ the boy at the back yelled out.

  ‘If you wish to leave, Charity Walker, I will not stop you. The door you came through is the door you can leave by,’ Miss O’Brien said, her face cold. ‘Well?’

  Biting her lip, Charity looked around the room at the large posters that had been stuck on all the walls, at the globe on one corner of Miss O’Brien’s desk and at the three thick books on the other. She looked at the schoolbooks that had been placed on the children’s desks next to their slates, ready for the learning to start, and she looked back up at Miss O’Brien.

  ‘I wanna learn,’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m gonna stay.’

  Charity sat on her bench and stared with tired eyes at the First Reader, which lay open on the desk in front of her. Her first school day was drawing to an end, and it hadn’t been an easy day.

  No one had shown her the school routine so she’d had to watch the others and do what they did. She’d sat on her own all day, having been given a bench with the aisle on one side and an empty seat on the other, and at intervals throughout the day, the girl behind her had stuck her toe up through Charity’s seat to make her jump.

  When morning recess had come and the other pupils had gone outside, she’d been told to stay in and clean the blackboard. And during the afternoon recess, she’d been given the task of brushing the chalk dust from the board eraser. For the whole hour they’d been given for lunch, she’d sat by herself in the corner of the yard, eating her bread and butter while the other children played something called Uncle John.

  No one had asked her to join in.

  No one had spoken to her at all throughout the day. She hadn’t made a single friend, and she knew she wouldn’t be making any as no one wanted to be friends with her.

  But she didn’t mind. Joe was her friend so she didn’t need anyone else. Like Joe said, you didn’t need a friend in school to learn. She was going to learn so much that she’d soon be put into the Second Reader group, and Joe would be real proud of her.

  The girl behind her pushed her toe against Charity’s leg again.

  Looking up from her book, Charity turned towards the two windows set in the wooden wall. A thin layer of dust veiled the glass and hid the outside world from sight.

  She closed her eyes and saw in her mind the white pebble-strewn plain that stretched from Carter to the distant horizon, and she gave an inward sigh. If only she were out there now, running in freedom with Joe, running away from hate.

  ‘Charity Walker!’ Miss O’Brien’s voice cut sharply through her thoughts.

  She opened her eyes.

  Hostility hung in the air and pressed heavily on her.

  She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. ‘I’m gonna learn,’ she whispered to herself, and she turned her eyes back to her book.

  ‘Girl!’

  Charity stopped abruptly, halfway across Main Street on her way to the livery stable, her school bag and empty lunch pail hanging from her hands. She glanced to her left and saw that there was a Chinese girl standing in the middle of the road, staring up the street at her.

  She turned slightly towards the girl and looked at her in wide-eyed amazement. She’d never seen another Chinese girl before.

  ‘Girl!’ the Chinese girl called again.

  Charity frowned.

  The girl looked like a real Chinese girl must look, she thought, with her baggy blue trousers and a white cotton shirt hanging outside them. She, too, seemed to be about seven, though it was hard to see under her pointed hat. And it looked as if her eyes were the same shape as her own – like almonds was how Joe described them.

  Charity looked down at the ground, blinked a couple of times, then stared back at Main Street. The girl was still there, standing just down from the place where Second Street crossed over Main Street.

  She backed slightly towards the livery stable, and then stopped. ‘What d’you want?’ she called to the Chinese girl.

  The girl smiled at her. A wide smile, just like hers. ‘I come here. I learn shop keep. I likee you friend. You China girl.’

  Charity vigorously shook her head. ‘I’m American,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not a China girl.’

  The Chinese girl’s face fell. ‘You no likee me be friend?’

  Charity shook her head. ‘We can’t be friends. I’m American.’

  ‘You China girl,’ the Chinese girl repeated, her voice accusing.

  ‘I’m not,’ Charity said, and she glared at her.

  There was a movement behind the girl. Charity looked beyond her and saw a boy of about Joe’s age running up to the girl. He reached the girl and said something to her. Charity could tell he was angry with the girl, but the few words she heard, she couldn’t understand so she didn’t know what he was angry about.

  The Chinese boy finished talking, and stood still, waiting.

  ‘Me go.’ The smile gone from the girl’s face, she spun round, and she and the boy went down Main Street and disappeared into the new general mercantile store.

  The girl had two black braids like she did, Charity noticed. And the boy had one black braid behind his head. Just one quite long braid.

  ‘I’m not a Chinese girl,’ she told herself as she turned away. ‘I’m not.’

  She took a couple of steps towards the livery stable and saw Joe standing in the entrance, staring towards her.

  She paused, glanced down Main Street again, looked back at Joe, th
en, clutching her bag and pail tightly, turned from the stable and started to run into Second Street and back to the house as fast as she could.

  Joe saw anguish in Charity’s eyes before she turned from him.

  A bolt of alarm shot through him, though he didn’t quite know what he feared.

  Dropping the bridle he’d been holding, he ran at full speed out of the stable, along Second Street and across the barren ground separating the town from the miners’ houses, gradually closing the gap between them, but unable to catch up with Charity before she reached the back of the house.

  He saw her pull open the door of her outside bedroom and throw herself into the room. Seconds later, he flung himself through the open doorway after her.

  She’d dropped her school things on the floor and was standing on her bed, pulling a pair of scissors from the sewing basket on the shelf above the bed. She twisted slightly, grabbed one of her plaits and raised the scissors to it.

  ‘No!’ he yelled, leaping on to the bed and snatching the scissors from her. He rounded on her. ‘What d’you think you’re doin’?’

  She raised a tear-stained face to him. ‘I’m an American girl,’ she cried, defiance in her voice. ‘I wanna look like American girl. I’m not Chinese, Joe. I’m not.’

  And she fell against his chest, her body wracked by huge sobs.

  Wordlessly, he put his arms around her and held her tightly.

  Chapter Five

  Later that evening, Joe and Charity sat in front of the house, caught in the warm glow of the amber light that fell from the kerosene lamp which they’d hung on the outside wall to keep darkness at bay.

  ‘You feelin’ better, Charity?’ Joe asked after a while.

  Rubbing her eyes with exhaustion, she nodded.

  ‘You gotta go to bed now,’ he said. ‘Promise me there’ll be no more attemptin’ to cut your hair like that.’

  ‘I promise,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his hands, and glanced at her, a frown on his face.

  ‘I still don’t understand why you wanted to do it,’ he said.

  ‘Black braids make me look like a Chinese girl. I wanna look American.’

  ‘But American girls have long hair, and they wear their hair in braids, too, don’t they? And some have black hair,’ he said. ‘It’s not just Chinese girls.’

  ‘But American girls got American faces.’

  ‘You ain’t gonna cut your eyes, are you?’ he asked, sitting upright in sudden fear.

  She shook her head.

  ‘That’s okay, then,’ he said, relaxing. ‘You’re real cute as you are, Charity; you don’t wanna change a thing. And when you think some more, I reckon you’ll be glad you didn’t cut your hair. That’d really give those girls at school somethin’ to laugh about. How many American girls have got short hair? Just think about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered again.

  He looked thoughtfully at her. ‘You know, the kids in school were mean to you today, and so was Miss O’Brien,’ he said slowly. ‘But you stayed on. You showed ’em you’re better than them. I’m mighty proud of you for that.’

  She raised her eyes to him. ‘Are you, Joe?’ Her voice lifted in hope.

  ‘I sure am.’ He paused. ‘Not many kids your age – or any age – would’ve stayed on all day like you did, with them bein’ nasty like they were. That makes you a special person, Charity, and you aren’t ever to forget that.’

  A tentative smile flickered across her lips.

  ‘But even special people gotta have friends,’ he went on. ‘The Chinese gal from the mercantile wants to be your friend, so why not be friends with her? It won’t make you into a Chinese girl, but it’ll make you into a girl with a friend.’

  ‘I don’t want to. And anyway, a Chinese boy came out and made her go back into the store. I guess he didn’t want her to be friends with an American girl.’

  ‘That’ll be her brother.’

  ‘And I’ve already got a friend – you’re my friend, Joe.’

  He grinned at her. ‘That’s right – we’re real good friends, you and me.’ He paused. For a moment the only sound was the rhythmic beat of the steam pumps in the mines. ‘But I won’t always be here, you know,’ he went on, and he threw her a quick glance. ‘When I’m old enough, I’m gonna go off and be a cowboy, like I always said. I’ll still be your friend, but I won’t be livin’ here, seein’ you every day – I’ll be drivin’ cattle out on the range.’

  Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him in alarm. ‘Don’t go away. I don’t want you to.’ She put her thumb in her mouth.

  He shrugged. ‘Things gotta change. They’ve already started changin’. You’re in school now, and you’ve got chores to do before and after school, and I’m workin’ days for Mr Culpepper.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘I never found that gold I was pannin’ for, and as we can’t go down to the river in the day any more, I guess I never will. Things’ll keep on changin’, and then one day I’ll be gone. You need more friends than just me,’ he said bluntly, sitting back in his chair. ‘And that’s the truth.’

  She took her thumb from her mouth. ‘I want you to stay.’ Her mouth set in a determined line.

  He looked at her, his face serious. ‘That’s not gonna happen, Charity. I’m gonna leave as soon as I can after I’ve turned seventeen, and that’s only three years away. When you’re not tired like you are now, you oughta think about what I’ve been sayin’. But you must get off to bed now – you look fair moon-eyed.’

  She made a move to get up.

  ‘Hey, I almost forgot,’ he said, putting his hand to his head. ‘I’ve got somethin’ for you.’

  ‘What’s that?’ She sat back down and stared at him, her lips parting in sudden excitement.

  ‘It’s somethin’ I was gonna give you this mornin’, but I forgot. And I almost forgot it now.’ He reached into his pocket, took out a tiny object and held it out to her.

  She leaned close to it and saw that it was a small wooden figure. She looked up at him questioningly.

  ‘Here, take it,’ he said, shaking the figure towards her.

  Hesitantly, she took it.

  She glanced at him again, and then her eyes dropped to the shape that lay on the palm of her hand. It was made of wood and had been painted gold. Black stripes had been painted on top of the gold.

  She peered at it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I reckon it’s a tiger. They’re strong, fierce animals and they eat people. I learnt about them in school but I’ve never seen one – we don’t have tigers in Wyoming Territory. It’s yours. I meant to give it back to you sooner. I found it yesterday when I was lookin’ out some school things to give you.’

  She screwed up her face in puzzlement. ‘What d’you mean, it’s mine?’

  ‘It belonged to your ma, Charity.’ He heard her catch her breath in a gasp, and saw her look swiftly down at the golden tiger again. ‘That makes it yours.’ An expression of wonder spread across her face as she gazed at the wooden tiger, and his voice died away.

  ‘My ma’s?’ she whispered, and she ran her fingers across the black and gold tiger. ‘My ma touched this tiger.’

  He saw that her eyes were filling with tears.

  ‘Sure,’ he said awkwardly, changing his position in his chair. ‘It’s all we’ve got of hers. When I found you, you were all done up in a shawl and rags. The tiger was pinned on the shawl, holdin’ it closed to keep you warm. I reckon she loved you, your ma.’

  ‘You got my shawl, too?’ she asked, looking up at him, the tears trickling down her cheeks.

  He shook his head. ‘Ma wrapped you in the shawl every day when you were little. When it wore out, she threw it away. But I kept the tiger. I meant to give it to you before, but I kinda forgot about it till I found it last night. But I think that’s a good thing. This is the right time to give it to you.’

  ‘D’you think so?’

  �
�Yup. Your ma must’ve been strong like a tiger, walkin’ so far like that, and in bare feet, too, tryin’ to find a place where you’d be safe. The way you stuck it out at the school today, you showed ’em you’re strong like a tiger, too. Your ma would’ve been proud of you today, like I am.’

  She stared up at him, her dark brown eyes shining. ‘Are you, Joe?’

  He gave her a broad smile. ‘Yes, I am. Today you showed ’em all you’re a little golden tiger.’

  Chapter Six

  Later the following afternoon, having made sure that the freshly-greased wheel would spin on its axle, Joe straightened up and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. Only two more wheels to go. With luck, he’d get them all done before Seth Culpepper returned from his buying trip.

  His boss had gone out early that morning, cock-a-hoop at the bargain price he expected to pay for a wagon, double harness, and pair of horses that not only would drive double or single, but were also accustomed to the saddle. And if he got them for what he wanted to pay, and came back and found all the wheels greased, he might be of a mind to let Joe go a bit early that evening.

  He certainly hoped things would go his boss’s way, he thought as he put his full weight behind the heavy wheel and started rolling it slowly towards the far wall. He’d been anxious about Charity all day, her first day at school having gone so badly, and he was looking forward to getting home and hearing how things had gone on her second day.

  The strident chime of a hammer striking iron broke into his thoughts, swiftly followed by the sibilant hiss of a red-hot iron being dipped into water. He glanced over his shoulder towards the blacksmith’s barn, a low open-sided structure attached to the livery stable, its split-log roof supported by unpeeled upright logs, and saw that the blacksmith had started working again, and the hearth was glowing red in the heart of the smithy, throwing out a heat of burning intensity.