William S. and the Great Escape

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

But morning finally came, and he and Jancy got up and kept the little kids quiet until they heard the car leaving. Then Clarice came down to get them and breakfast was pancakes again, and everything was pretty much the same as before. Except that William couldn’t help being on the lookout for any signs that Jancy was right about Clarice.

  He couldn’t really believe it. Especially after he sized himself up in the mirror over the sideboard. Carefully checked out his bony face and scrawny body, and then did the same with Clarice. She really wasn’t all that bad looking, he decided, particularly now and then when she happened to be smiling.

  Not a chance, he told himself. Jancy has a big imagination. But then there was the Ariel possibility. That was, perhaps, something else again. Testing it out, he tried to get into an Ariel frame of mind. Not that he started leaping and twirling, but he did try to bring to mind the wild, free, unlimited feeling he’d always gotten when he was onstage. And it sort of worked. Right about then, when he caught Clarice looking at him, he thought he saw a hint of what Jancy had been talking about, in the way her eyelids were kind of fluttering.

  But so what? All that meant was he was going to have to be particularly careful today not to let Clarice know what he was planning. Not to say a thing about what he would be doing the minute she left to go shopping and make her midday visit to her aunt’s.

  And he didn’t. Not a word while the kitchen was cleaned up, the kids were escorted up to get a new batch of toys, and a bunch of leftovers from last night’s feast were packed up to be carried down to the basement for lunch. But then Clarice got on her bicycle and rode off, and it was time to start.

  Actually it wasn’t until then, when Clarice was gone and the little kids were busy playing, that he told Jancy what he was getting ready to do, and at first she hated the idea a whole lot.

  “But I have to,” William kept telling her. “We can’t drag the little kids through town and down to the bus station without knowing whether or not Clarice was telling the truth about the police and everything. And without even knowing for sure what time the bus leaves for Gold Beach.”

  When he got that far, Jancy was still shaking her head, but then he went on, “Or even if I really have enough money for four tickets.”

  That did it. Jancy’s big eyes got even bigger, and she bit her lower lip for a while before she said, “Okay. Okay. I guess you have to. But just be awful careful, William.” Grabbing him by both arms, she shook him and repeated, “Please, please, be awful careful.”

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I sure will.” And he couldn’t have meant it more. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to going as far as the Greyhound bus station through a town where anyone might know about the mysterious disappearance of the four youngest Baggetts and be all prepared to throw him in jail and call Big Ed. The very thought was enough to give him that heart-racing, throat-shrinking feeling.

  “I wish there was some way we could sort of disguise you,” Jancy was saying.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment, then said, “Hey. Wait a minute.” She took off, running up out of the basement and then, as William lagged behind, on up to disappear into the kitchen. It wasn’t long before she returned, carrying a bunch of clothing over her arm.

  “What’s that?” William wanted to know. “What’s that stuff?”

  “Come up here,” Jancy said, so he did, and when he got into the kitchen she went on, “It’s some real nice boys’ clothing I saw in that hall coat closet yesterday. You know, when Buddy ran off and I was looking all over for him. I asked Clarice whose they were, and she said they belonged to her cousin who came to visit last Easter, and when he went off he left this suit, because he’d pretty much outgrown it. It looks like it might fit you.”

  William checked the things out. There were some pants made of a smooth gray material with built-in pleats down the front, a dressy grayish brown checked jacket, and a floppy cap made of the same material as the jacket.

  “I can’t wear that,” William said. But of course he did. The pants were a little too big around his waist and the jacket sleeves were just a bit long. But it was the matching cap that was the most important. Pulling the silk-lined cap down hard over his shaggy hair made him look a whole lot different. And feel different too. Almost as if he were wearing a stage costume. A kind of rich-kid costume that you’d certainly never see on anybody in a play about runaway Baggetts, that was for sure. But an excellent costume for someone who was playing the role of a self-confident guy who knew what he wanted, and how to go about getting it.

  It was in that frame of mind that he waved good-bye to a stunned-looking Jancy and started down Gardenia, even managing to stay in character when he met up with a Gardenia Street resident. An oldish guy with a cane and a lot of white hair, who smiled and nodded in such an enthusiastic way that it was obvious that he had no idea he’d just met up with a Baggett.

  That meeting put William into a confident mood that he managed to hang on to all the way down Gardenia Street, and almost to Main. But on Main Street, in a part of the city that he’d known very well when the Baggetts were living in town, he found it harder to keep on feeling and acting like a visiting tourist who actually lived in some famous place like London or Paris.

  Out on Main Street the first thing he did was stop long enough to check up and down the street for police cars. Not even one. And no posters, either, at least not on any of the lampposts he’d passed so far. So much for Clarice’s horror stories.

  But now, right there in front of him was Carson’s Candy Store, where, when he was four or five years old, Al and Andy used to twist his arm until he agreed to go in and look pitiful until the kind lady behind the counter gave him a handful of jelly beans. Which he, of course, had to turn over to the twins the minute he got outside—or get slapped around. And get slapped around even harder if he’d dared to eat even one of them.

  And down there on the corner was Wally’s Cheap Gas, where the older Baggett brothers always used to go to buy gasoline for their hot rods and motorcycles. William was still staring at the familiar shapes of the gas tanks when an even more familiar screeching roar made him head for cover. A motorcycle was thundering into Wally’s driveway. A motorcycle with two big shaggy windblown guys on the seat. Without waiting to be sure, Baggetts or not, William jumped around the corner into the alley and stayed there, completely out of sight for several minutes, until the motor roared again—roared and then died away.

  Close call. Way too close. Ducking his camouflaged head in its floppy cap, William walked hard and fast in the direction of the Greyhound bus station. The next scary question was, would the clerk on duty today be someone he’d met before? Someone who’d known him well enough to see through his rich kid costume and immediately call the police? As he pushed open the door to the ticket office, William held his breath.

  CHAPTER 15

  Well, hello there, young man,” the man under the picture of a huge dog with a skinny middle, said. Not a familiar face. Whew! Big relief.

  Taking a deep breath, William started to talk in the relaxed, self-confident way that a person would expect from a kid whose cap matched his jacket. “Hello there, sir. My name is Wilbur—er, Jones, yeah, Jones—and my parents sent me down to inquire about your schedule for Saturday morning. Like, when the first bus for Gold Beach leaves. And oh yes”—his slight shrug was supposed to indicate that whatever the answer might be, it wasn’t likely to cause any big problem—“they would like to know the price of a ticket to Gold Beach.”

  “Would they now?” The man lifted one eyebrow. A look that might mean he was suspicious—or maybe just amused. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve a bit of bad news for your parents.”

  William stiffened with apprehension.

  “I’m afraid our northern route doesn’t actually go through Gold Beach,” the clerk went on. “But the bus that leaves here at seven fifteen does make a stop in Reedly. Do you suppose that would do? Gold Beach and Reedly are only thre
e or four miles apart.”

  William gulped and managed to say, “Three or four miles …” Getting a grip on himself and concentrating on his rich city kid role, he said, “Oh, sure. Close enough, I guess. We can always catch a cab from there, I suppose. Thanks a lot.” He turned to go and then, remembering the other important question that really needed an answer, turned back. “And the price?” he asked. “How much is a ticket to Reedly?”

  “Well now, let’s just look that up. Just to be sure.” The clerk was obviously talking down to him as if he were some little kid. But William was in no mood to try to set him straight. After the guy ran his finger down a couple of lists he said, “Two dollars and fifty cents.” His grin widened. “That’s for adults, however. Only two dollars for anyone in the family who just might not be twelve years old.”

  Great. He had plenty of money. William was so relieved he wasn’t even tempted to inform the smart-aleck clerk that the person he was talking to would, in fact, be turning thirteen in only a month.

  Outside the Greyhound station he pulled his cap down over his eyes and walked fast until he was past Wally’s Gas and the candy store. Cars went by. Mostly nice, clean, newish vehicles that weren’t likely to be carrying Baggetts. But then a beat-up pickup that looked suspiciously … But no, the white-haired driver wasn’t anyone that William knew. Another big whew!

  There were pedestrians, too, and two or three of them looked vaguely familiar, like people he might have seen before, and who might recognize him as one of the missing Baggetts. But each time, the dangerous not-complete-stranger went right on by. It was the cap that saved him, he was sure of that, along with his ability to play a role. In this case, the role of a rich-kid relative of the Ogden family.

  Two or three more pedestrians went by without gasping or staring, before William reached the comparative safety of Gardenia Street. Once there, walking faster and faster, he quickly arrived at the driveway that led down to the large, brown-shingled home of the well-known Ogden family. A home whose solid, respectable appearance certainly wouldn’t cause anyone to suspect that a bunch of Baggetts were holed up in the basement.

  But not any longer, William told himself as he started down the steps that led to the basement. Tomorrow we’re out of here.

  When he reached out for the latch, the basement door flew open and there was Jancy, looking as wild-eyed as if she’d just seen an ogre, or perhaps her fairy godmother. “Oh, William,” she kind of gasped. “You’re all right. You are all right, aren’t you? Did you see anyone who knew who you were?”

  “Not a soul,” William said. “And not even one policeman. Just like I told you, Clarice must have been making stuff up about all the police cars and everything, just to keep us from leaving.”

  Jancy managed a shaky grin. “Just to keep you from leaving, anyway,” she said. He ignored her.

  Rather reluctantly William got out of his rich-kid costume, and the rest of that day passed pretty much the same as before, except that William and Jancy managed to sneak in a few minutes of secret planning now and then. Secret because, if they knew what was about to happen, there was no way in the world Trixie and Buddy would be able to keep their mouths shut when Clarice showed up that afternoon. Not even if they’d been warned that they mustn’t tell her. Which meant that all the real packing would have to be done after the little kids were asleep that evening.

  “And then we’ll have to get them up in time to leave for the bus station by a little after six,” William said.

  “Will that be early enough?” Jancy asked.

  William nodded uncertainly. “I think so. It’s only about ten blocks to downtown, but with all the stuff we’ll be lugging, including Buddy if we can’t wake him up, we better have almost an hour.”

  “About all our clothes and stuff—,” Jancy was beginning when William interrupted.

  “I know. That’s a problem. I don’t think we should drag that flour sack and pillow case downtown with us. I mean, if we do, people are bound to get suspicious. I’m afraid we’ll just have to shove as much clothing as we can into my knapsack and leave the rest behind.”

  Jancy sighed and shook her head. “But your knapsack is pretty full already with just your stuff in it. And if we leave most of our clothes here, what about when Aunt Fiona finds out that she has to go right out and buy us all something to wear? She just might—she might decide not to …”

  Jancy stammered to a stop, but she’d already said enough to make William realize that he wasn’t the only one who was worried about what Fiona Hardison would do when four hungry, shabby, uninvited kids showed up on her doorstep. But a minute later when Jancy pleaded, “Couldn’t you leave that big, heavy Shakespeare book here? Just for now, so we can take all our clothes? If you write Clarice a letter once we get to Gold Beach, maybe she’ll mail it to you.” Jancy’s grin was slightly teasing as she went on, “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars she would if you wrote her a real nice letter and signed it, ‘Love, William.’”

  William gave her a cold stare. “Where I go, Shakespeare goes,” he told her so firmly she didn’t bother to ask again.

  CHAPTER 16

  Jancy made that suggestion about leaving Shakespeare behind in the early afternoon, while the little kids were busy playing tug-of-war with Ursa. It was nearly two o’clock and almost time for Clarice to come back from her aunt’s house when Jancy came up with another crazy idea. She’d been prowling around the basement looking in some of the cabinets, and now she came over and tugged at William’s arm.

  “Look what I found,” she said, and pulled him toward a large cabinet in the back of the big room. Opening the tall double doors, she said, “See, suitcases. All kinds of suitcases.”

  William gave her an even colder stare. “You don’t mean we—,” he began, but she interrupted.

  “It wouldn’t be stealing. We could leave a note telling the Ogdens that we borrowed one of their suitcases, and when we get to Aunt Fiona’s we’ll send it back to them. And look, maybe we could take just that old-looking one way down there at the bottom. They probably don’t use that one anymore, anyway. “

  At first William was against the whole idea, and he told Jancy so. Told her how one of the first Shakespeare quotes Miss Scott had taught her class was, “Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” But when he’d had time to think about it, he realized that what Jancy was saying really did make sense. If they left a note, it wouldn’t actually be stealing. And it would be a lot safer to appear in the bus station looking like part of a normal tourist-type family, instead of a bunch of tramps. Or runaways?

  But there was another possibility. “Wait a minute,” William said. “Maybe it would be all right to just go ahead and tell Clarice that we have to leave. You know, because tomorrow will be Saturday. She must know that there’s no way we could stay here on a weekend with her folks home all day.” He grinned. “We could mention how lawyer-type people like her parents aren’t likely to take kindly to having a bunch of people the police are looking for right here in their own house. If we put it to her that way—make her see what might happen—I bet she’d say, ‘Okay, go. Get out.’”

  He acted that last part out, stamping his foot and pointing dramatically as he said, “Okay, go! Get out!” But before he even finished the act, Jancy started shaking her curly head, and went on shaking it for a long time after he finished his dramatic scene.

  At last she said, “William. You are so wrong. If we tell Clarice we’re going to leave, she’ll find some way to stop us. Believe me.”

  He didn’t. Not really. But then again, maybe he just didn’t understand women. So maybe he’d better listen to what Jancy was saying. He sighed. “Yeah, well, I guess you might be right. Looks like we better not tell her.”

  It was only a few minutes after they’d finally settled the suitcase argument, when Clarice showed up carrying a big grocery bag. She said hi to everyone and told the kids that dinner was almost ready. But then she motioned for William and Jancy to come sit on the step
s with her. “We have to talk,” she said. And as soon as they were seated she began. “It’s about weekends.”

  Weekends, William noticed. Not this weekend, but weekends. As if she were planning on a lot of them. Jancy got it too. She caught William’s eye and lifted an eyebrow before she ducked her head and hid her face.

  “Yeah. We were wondering about the weekend,” William said. “Aren’t your folks home all day on Saturdays and Sundays?”

  “Well, sometimes,” Clarice said. “Except tomorrow they’re both going to a Chamber of Commerce lunch that starts around eleven and always lasts most of the afternoon, so there’ll be plenty of time for you to come up and have a noon meal. A big one, so there’ll be enough leftovers to bring down here for supper. But I was thinking that breakfasts on weekends might be a problem, until … But look what I thought up.” She opened the paper bag and showed them a dozen big glazed doughnuts, and beneath that a whole bunch of oranges.

  As soon as Clarice opened the bag, Ursa dropped the rag he’d been playing with and came over to sit at the foot of the stairs, sniffing eagerly. Trixie and Buddy were right behind him. On his way to the stairs, Buddy was sniffing too. “What’s in the bag, Clice?” he said.

  “Breakfast.” Clarice closed the bag, ran down the stairs to one of the tall cupboards, and put the bag way up on a high shelf. Buddy was right behind her, staring up at the bag. “Not right now,” she told him. “It’s for breakfast.”

  “Oh, breakfuss.” Buddy sounded disappointed. “But it smells good right now.”

  Clarice laughed. “It will smell even better in the morning.” To William and Jancy she added, “In the morning, just be sure to keep them quiet until you hear the car leave. That probably won’t be until about ten thirty.”

  On the way up the stairs, headed for the kitchen and dinner, Jancy gave William a significant look. All he could do was shrug and nod. She was right. It was probably better that Clarice didn’t know.