“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “I’m Ariel. At least I was. Who are you?”
“Clarice,” she said. “Clarice Ogden. I’m …” She broke off. “Hey, wait a minute. I have to get that darn dog or he’ll run away.” She disappeared behind the hedge, and they could hear her voice calling, “Ursa. Ursa. You come back here. Come here right now.” And a few minutes later she was back again with the big black dog, on a leash now, trotting obediently behind her.
Now that they could see he wasn’t dangerous, Trixie and Buddy were delighted. They crowded around, holding out their hands to be licked and giggling. But the girl named Clarice wasn’t paying any attention. Not to the kids, at least, or to what her dog was doing. It was easy to see that her mind was very much on something else. Her eyes were darting around, looking at each of them, shining her flashlight on the red wagon and their bags of belongings, and then once again at all four of them, one at a time. When her eyes finally turned back to William, they were wide and jiggly with excitement.
“You’re running away,” she whispered to William. “You are, aren’t you?”
CHAPTER 7
It took a few moments for William to manage what he hoped was a relaxed grin. “Running away?” He was trying for a surprised tone of voice—surprised, and hopefully, slightly amused. “What makes you think we’re—” But right then Trixie’s high-pitched little-kid voice cut in.
“Yes, yes.” She was dancing up and down on her tiptoes. “We are. We are. Isn’t it exciting? We’re running away all the way to—”
Grabbing her by the back of her dress, William pulled her back where he could put one hand firmly over her mouth before he began again. “No, we’re not. We just decided to walk into town, and we had to get an early start because of the heat and all, and …”
The girl named Clarice wasn’t buying it. Her eyes were still jittery. “I know about you,” she said. “I know you were Ariel, and your last name is Baggett, isn’t it? I’ve heard about the Baggetts. My father said the Baggetts are the …” She paused, looking embarrassed. “Well, it doesn’t matter what he said. But I can guess what happened. I’ll bet something just happened that was so … so horrible that you had to escape, and you’re taking your little sisters and brother because …” Long pause. “Maybe because they witnessed the crime and …”
But then a car was coming. Not far from where they were standing, a car was backing out of a driveway and turning in their direction, and Jancy was grabbing the wagon with one hand and Trixie with the other and heading for the break in the hedge. And then Clarice was grabbing William’s arm and pulling him after them.
Crouched down behind the hedge, they all waited while a long, dark car picked up speed and purred by. “Okay,” Clarice whispered. “Come with me. All of you. I know a good place for you to hide. Just leave the wagon right over there, sort of under the hedge. No one will see it there. That’s right, bring all your stuff and follow me, and be very quiet. Come on, Ariel. You too.” She pushed the knapsack into William’s arms, grabbed the little kids’ hands, and started off, with Ursa trotting behind her and Jancy behind Ursa.
It wasn’t until then that William began to realize just how much he wasn’t in charge anymore. For a moment he tried to stand his ground. “Wait a minute,” he tried to say. “We have to keep going. We’re late already. We have to get to the bus station before …” But no one was listening to him. Instead they were following Clarice’s flashlight as she led the way into the deeper shadows under the huge trees that surrounded a big, brown-shingled house.
Try as he might to catch up with the others, William kept stumbling, dropping his knapsack, and falling farther behind until the whole procession turned a corner and came to a stop near two short flights of stairs. One that led up toward a door with a lighted window, and another that went down into darkness. It was there that William finally caught up.
“Hey, where are you taking us?” he panted. “Come on, Jancy, kids. We have to get going.”
“Shh,” Clarice whispered, gesturing up toward the house. “My parents will hear you.”
Lowering his voice to a loud whisper, William said, “We have to hurry. It’s getting late.”
“I know,” she whispered back. “It’s already too late to get where you’re going today, isn’t it? The sun is almost up. So you’d better hide down here in the basement. No one will find you here. And then tomorrow morning you won’t have very much farther to go.”
Jancy was tugging on William’s sleeve. “She’s right, William. Isn’t she? Can we stay here just till tomorrow? I’m so tired.”
They were all looking at him, not only Clarice and Jancy, but the little kids, too. “For a whole day?” he asked. “But what about eating? We didn’t bring much food.”
“Oh you don’t have to worry about that,” Clarice said quickly. “I’ll take care of that. Come on, all of you. Follow me.”
So they did—followed her and Ursa down the dark steps, through a door, and into complete darkness. And then Clarice switched on a light to reveal a large cement-floored basement, neatly lined with shelves and cupboards. There was even a kind of makeshift kitchen in one corner and, in another, a small bathroom with a toilet and shower.
“See, it’s like a whole house,” Clarice whispered. “We used to have a cook who lived down here.”
Opening one cupboard after another, she produced a lot of blankets and three canvas camp cots. She opened some other cupboards, and went on looking.
“No luck,” she said finally. “No more cots.”
“That’s all right,” Jancy said. “Trixie and Buddy can share one. One on each end.”
“He’ll kick me,” Trixie said.
Jancy made a shushing sound. “No, he won’t,” she said.
Buddy looked at William. “Yes, I will,” he said firmly. But when William frowned at him, he didn’t say it again.
It wasn’t until the little kids and Jancy were in bed, and almost immediately fast asleep, that Clarice, with Ursa back on his leash, started up the steps that led to the door. Started, and then stopped. Crooking her finger at William, she sat down on the top step and motioned for him to sit too. He did, warily, on the other side of the big dog.
“So tell me,” Clarice whispered. “What happened? Why did you have to run away?” Her eyes were jittery again—wide and sharp.
William could see what she was after. She was hoping to hear something really gruesome, like that they’d all been starved, or beaten half to death, or maybe they’d witnessed a bloody murder. Something a lot more exciting than a drowned guinea pig, that was for sure.
Peering around Ursa’s big, fuzzy head, William watched how the girl named Clarice was almost breathless with anticipation, and for a moment he was really tempted. Tempted to make up a story that would knock her socks off. He could do it easily enough if he wanted to. And he knew he could tell it in a way that would make her believe every word of it. He was really good at that sort of thing. He could begin by saying … But then he stopped.
No. He couldn’t. What if she decided to call the police? And then the police would call Big Ed. And then … He blinked hard, trying not to think about it. Trying to wipe out a picture of Big Ed’s face when he was especially angry—fierce-eyed under twitching eyebrows, with a grin that had nothing to do with laughter. He didn’t even want to imagine in that direction.
So what should he tell her? Clarice was looking at her watch and then back at William with those sharp eyes. Probably checking to see if she had enough time to hear all the gruesome stuff she hoped he was going to tell her.
But then came a sudden Shakespearean inspiration. Taking a deep breath, he said slowly and clearly and with what Miss Scott called good projection, “‘The hour’s now come;/The very minute bids thee ope thine ear.’”
She stared at him, and he stared right back. “What … what … ?” she was saying.
“It’s from The Tempest,” he told her, grinning. “You know, the play at the high scho
ol?”
“Oh, yes. My whole English class saw it. And then I went to see it again with my parents. My parents know Miss Scott. She’s an old friend of my mom’s. They go to see all her plays. More than once, usually. Anyway, that’s how I knew who you were. Who you were in the play, I mean.”
“Oh yeah? So, anyway,” William said, “what I said just then is what Prospero says to Miranda when she asks him about the storm he just magicked up.” Putting back on his wise old man expression, he repeated, “‘The hour’s now come;/The very minute bids thee ope thine ear.’”
The girl named Clarice stared at him wide-eyed for a second before she said, “Oh yeah. I guess I remember that part.” She went on staring at William then, for an almost embarrassing length of time, before she sighed, shook her head like she was coming out of a trance, looked at her watch again, and said, “I have to go now.”
He grinned at her. “You don’t want to ope your ears?”
She pointed to her watch. “I do. I do want to hear all about everything, but my folks will be getting up soon, so I have to go now. And all of you better be very quiet for a while. After they leave for work, I’ll fix you some breakfast. But be sure you all be very quiet until then.”
William checked out his sleeping siblings and the one invitingly empty cot. “No problem,” he said.
CHAPTER 8
When he woke up out of a really sound sleep, it took William a minute to realize where he was—a minute of not remembering and having a vague suspicion that he didn’t want to. Keeping his eyes and his groggy brain tightly closed down, he reached out sneakily with one hand and felt what was around and under him.
Definitely not his usual attic sleeping place. Not as lumpy or smelly. Cautiously, he opened one eye and looked around—and it all came flooding back. All of it: The sneaking out of the house at three in the morning, the long, scary trip down the dark road, and then being rescued by the girl named Clarice. He sighed. Rescued— or captured? He was climbing out of his creaky cot when Jancy whispered, “Hi, William. I’m awake too. What time is it?”
William shook his head. It felt late; maybe too late to take Buddy to the bathroom. Alarming thought. He jumped up and hurried to where Trixie was curled up at one end of their camp cot and Buddy at the other. Good news: Buddy, the cot, the blankets, and Trixie’s feet were all dry.
By the time he and Buddy came out of the little bathroom, everyone was awake. Even Buddy. Awake and all talking at once. Asking questions like, “Where’s my surprise, Jancy?” That was Buddy. “Where’s that big dog?” from Trixie. And from Jancy a worried, “What do we do now, William?”
“Hush,” William told them. “Be still until—until …” Grabbing his knapsack, he opened it and dug around until he found the clock that no longer alarmed. It was still ticking, however, and it said eight fifteen. They were all jabbering again when he remembered what Clarice had said about being quiet until her parents left for work, but she hadn’t mentioned what time that would be. He had just begun to explain why they had to be quiet, when the door to the basement opened and Ursa bounded down the steps, followed by Clarice.
“All clear,” Clarice said. “They’re gone. Follow me, all of you.”
So they did. As soon as everyone had their shoes on, they went up the stairs that led out of the basement, and then the other short flight that led into a big, amazingly clean kitchen, where a table was set with five plates and glasses and a big platter full of pancakes. The little kids and Jancy were all positively bug-eyed. William tried not to be.
Trixie was on her tiptoes checking out the shiny stove, and Buddy was running his hands up and down the big refrigerator.
“What’s this, Willum?” he asked.
“It’s like an icebox,” William told him. “Only it makes its own ice.”
“Why?” Buddy demanded. “Why does it do that?” But then he noticed the pancakes and changed the subject. Grabbing Jancy’s hand, he jerked it and pointed. “Look, Jancy. Is that the surprise? Is that for me?”
It wasn’t long before they were all seated at the table, eating pancakes with maple syrup and drinking milk. While the little kids were too busy eating to interrupt, William finally got a chance to talk to Clarice.
“Look,” he said. “When do your folks get home? Won’t they notice something’s different? I mean, won’t they wonder what happened to all the pancakes and milk?”
Clarice shrugged. “They won’t notice anything. I made the pancakes after they left. I’m good at making pancakes. And I’ll get some more milk before they get home. I’ll go on my bicycle and get some more milk and some other stuff for you guys to have for dinner. It’s not far to the store. It only takes five minutes on my bike.”
“Hey, that sounds great,” William said. “And another thing. Could I borrow an alarm clock for tomorrow morning? We’ll have to get up real early so we can get to the bus stop before seven. We probably should leave here about six.”
Clarice looked at him for a long moment before she nodded her head. “You have to leave tomorrow morning at six o’clock? Okay. I guess that will work out all right,” she said, speaking slowly. Very slowly, and looking at him out of the sides of her eyes, the way you would if you were in a play, and you were supposed to give the impression that you were trying to fool somebody. He hoped he was wrong, but he’d done enough acting to know how to do that kind of a sneaky look.
A little later, when the pancakes were all gone and Jancy and William were helping wash the dishes, Trixie kept pushing the kitchen door open and peeking into the next room. When Jancy told her to stop it, Trixie ran to Clarice and said, “Do I have to? Do I have to stop peeking?” She was giving Clarice the whole Trixie treatment, with dimples and batting eyelashes. It worked.
“Come on,” Clarice said. “You want to see some more of the house? Okay, if you promise not to touch anything.” So of course Trixie promised, and Buddy did too. But just to be on the safe side, William whispered to Jancy to keep her eye on Trixie while he watched Buddy.
The next room was a big dining room with a long table and lots of chairs, and then there was a parlor with a fireplace and a kind of library at one end with at least a thousand books, or maybe even more. And upstairs they got to look at Clarice’s bedroom and her own private bathroom, and then, best of all, something Clarice called “the playroom”: a whole room full of toys. Toys on shelves and on the floor and in chests and boxes. Stuffed toys and windup toys and things that ran on a track or rocked back and forth, and some others, like large dolls, that just sat there quietly and managed to look almost alive.
Ursa, who had been trotting along with them, stopped outside the door. When Jancy held the door open for him, he stepped back, and Clarice said, “He won’t come in. My folks hired a trainer to teach him not to, because he used to chew up all the stuffed toys.”
William grinned. “You hear that?” he told the little kids. “No chewing on the stuffed toys.” Trixie looked insulted. “Or even touching.”
Trixie put her hands behind her back and walked slowly around the room. “I’m not touching,” she said. “See me, Clarice? See how I’m not touching?”
Buddy did and said almost the same thing. “See me, Clice. I’m not touching too. I’m not touching more better than Trixie.”
“Her name,” Trixie said firmly, “is Clarice.”
“That’s what I said,” Buddy said. “See me, Clice. See me.”
But Clarice was looking at William, obviously waiting for a comment. “Not bad,” he told her, grinning.
“Just kid stuff,” she said. “I hardly ever come in here anymore.” She shrugged. “In fact, I never did spend much time in here. My folks thought I did, but they weren’t around enough to notice.”
“They weren’t around much?” William said. “Where were they?”
“Working.” Clarice shrugged again. “They have these big, important jobs. They’re lawyers, both of them. They’re very important people. Maybe you’ve heard of them. Jefferson a
nd Adele Ogden, attorneys at law?”
William shook his head. He was confused, but interested. Somehow the boastful comments Clarice had made about her parents didn’t fit with her sarcastic tone of voice. He was briefly curious—and might have been even more so, if he didn’t have so much else on his mind. Things like how to get the little kids away from all the toys any time in the near future. “I don’t know if this was a good idea,” he said to Clarice. “You may never get them to go back to the basement.” He motioned to where Trixie and Buddy were almost, but not quite, touching one thing after another.
“You may be right,” Clarice said, nodding and smiling. Smiling in a way that reminded William of something he’d noticed before. Which was that people who weren’t particularly much to look at could look a whole lot better when they smiled. She went on smiling for a moment before she said, “Okay, kids. If you go back to the basement right now, each of you can pick out one toy to take with you, as long as it’s something that’s not too breakable.”
Great joy and excitement, and a few minutes later they were all on their way downstairs, with Trixie clutching a Shirley Temple doll in a pink dress, and Buddy a tin clown that turned somersaults when you wound him up.
On their way through the kitchen, Clarice got a bunch of stuff out of the refrigerator and bread box and told William and Jancy they should take it down to the basement and make some sandwiches when it was lunchtime. “The stove down there doesn’t work anymore,” she said. “But there are some dishes and knives and forks and like that in the cupboards. You’ll have to make your own lunch, because I’ll be gone for a while. Like maybe for two or three hours.”
William S. and the Great Escape Page 4