Dotty’s Suitcase

by Constance C. Greene

  They saw headlights of an approaching car. It slowed and stopped alongside them.

  “You kids need a lift?” the driver said, rolling down the window, leaning out. It was an old red pickup truck that, at the moment, looked good enough to be a movie star’s limousine.

  “Sure do.” Dotty didn’t recognize the boy, but was sure he must be from around here. Everybody was. “Come on, Jud,” she called. He was right behind her, peeking out. “We got a ride.”

  “Toss your stuff in and let’s get going,” the boy said. “I got to be in Boonville tonight and I’m late.”

  Boonville? “You going to Boonville?” Dotty asked him, astonished.

  “Sure am. That’s if Bessie keeps going. Never can be sure. Some days she does what I tell her, some days not.” He smiled, and in the light from the dashboard she saw and admired his golden hair curling around his head like tiny bed springs, and his teeth lined up in his mouth like kernels on an ear of white corn. He’s pretty, she thought, almost as pretty as Laura or Mary Beth.

  “My friend Olive lives in Boonville,” Dotty said, boosting Jud up, then climbing in beside him. “Do you know her? Olive Doherty. Her father works in Boonville. That’s why they moved there, so he could find work.”

  He shook his head. “Just toss your suitcase in back,” he directed, putting his truck in gear.

  “I’ll just rest it here in my lap,” Dotty said. Jud had his thumb in his mouth, making little clicking noises. When he sucked his thumb, he always hooked his index finger over his nose and peered over it, looking slightly moronic.

  She decided he could keep it there for the time being. It kept him quiet, at least.

  “It’s not heavy,” she said, cradling the suitcase to her chest. “It’s light as anything.”

  He shrugged. “Up to you,” he said, and they were off.

  “How long will it take to get there?” Dotty asked.

  “About an hour and a half—two, maybe. I’m not coming back your way, though. How’ll you get back?”

  He had nice eyes. He was very handsome, about seventeen or eighteen. Too bad he wasn’t going to drive them home. She closed her eyes and imagined herself pulling up in front of her house with this handsome stranger at the wheel. Of course, the girls would be peeking out the window as he helped her out and escorted her up the steps. She’d ask him in for a cup of coffee, and then, if Mary Beth and Laura behaved themselves, she’d introduce them to him.

  They’d go crazy, she thought, smiling at the thought. Oh, well, I can’t have everything, she told herself, not at all sure this was true.

  “There’s a bus that goes from Boonville to Earlville,” she told him, as if she’d planned the trip carefully. “Twice a day, I think. Me and Jud’ll take the bus.”

  “You got money?” the boy asked, his eyes on the road.

  Beside her, she felt Jud’s thumb stop its ticking.

  “A little,” she answered. “Enough for the bus. And if we don’t have enough,” she added, “my father’ll give it to the bus driver when we get home. Besides, we won’t need any money once we get to Olive’s. They’ll be so glad to see us. I can hardly wait.”

  “Seems like you two are a mite young to be out on the road at night,” the driver said.

  “Well, I’m thirteen.” Dotty lied a little. It was only a white lie. She’d be thirteen next birthday. A white lie was all right to tell as long as it didn’t hurt anybody.

  “I’ve done some traveling.” Once you’d told one white lie, the next one came easier. “Being the youngest in my family and all, I’m pretty grown-up for my age.”

  She could feel Jud’s eyes on her, gazing stonily at her over the hump his finger made on his nose. He said nothing. And if he did, she’d give him her elbow in his ribs.

  She shifted her body away from him, turning toward the driver so she couldn’t see Jud watching her. He made her nervous. She never could be sure what he might come out with.

  “I can call Mr. Evans up when we get to Olive’s and tell him to let my father know where we are.” She stretched her mouth into a smile and longed for dimples. “Mr. Evans owns the general store and he has a telephone. He doesn’t mind taking messages.”

  Jud said, very low, “How would you know? You never give him none.”

  Expertly she gave Jud a tiny taste of the elbow. She felt him pull away from her.

  “I’ll tell him to tell my father we’ll be home on the bus. It’ll be perfectly all right. Daddy won’t mind.

  “My name’s Dotty Fickett.” Her voice rang in her ears. To her it sounded smooth and sophisticated, as if she did this sort of thing every day. “And this is my friend Jud. Well, actually”—she gave a small laugh—“he’s more like my little brother than a friend. He lives nearby and his mother likes for me to look out for him.”

  In the darkness Jud made a little gagging sound. She increased the space between them and hoped fervently the noise he made was one of disgust and not carsickness.

  “Pleased to meet you,” the boy said. “My name’s Gary.”

  With a thrill of recognition, Dotty thought, Of course! That’s who he looks like. Gary Cooper. Oh, my! Clasping her suitcase firmly, she settled back in her seat as the truck hurtled toward Boonville at thirty-five miles an hour through the black night.

  Her heart was working overtime, flipping around inside her like a fish out of water. She took a long, deep breath. Everything up to now had been pretend. This was an adventure. For real. She and Jud were on their way to Boonville with a suitcase. And what a suitcase!

  It was almost too good to be true.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dreams can be disturbing. Lulled by the warmth and motion of the truck, Dotty dozed. Aunt Martha appeared before her, wringing her hands, calling Dotty’s name. Then Olive was there. She and Olive were in a strange house, dressed up in old sheets, as if it were Halloween and they were ghosts. Only Olive had painted a wide red mouth over her own mouth. “I’m Joan Crawford,” she said. So Dotty drew a mouth on herself, but the color got all over her face and even her teeth were pink with lipstick. Olive began to cry, and her mascaraed eyelashes ran in black rivulets down her cheeks. She was a mess. When Dotty asked her why she was crying, she shook her head soundlessly and cried harder. It was terrible.

  Dotty woke with a start. The truck had pulled up to a gas station in the middle of nowhere. In the single pale light that shone from a dirty window Dotty could see the first faint beginnings of the storm. The snowflakes worked their way down from the sky in a deceptively lazy, uncaring fashion, as if they meant no harm, had no particular destination in mind.

  A man slouched toward them, rubbing his eyes, probably angry at having his nap disturbed. Jud lay heavily against her arm, and the suitcase seemed to have gained in width and weight.

  Gary’s hand rested lightly on the suitcase’s handle.

  “I was going to put it back where it’d be safe,” he said softly, smiling at her.

  Dotty sat up straight, tightening her grip. “It’s O.K. How much longer till we get there?”

  He opened the door and jumped down. “Forty-five minutes, hour. Depends. Be right back. She’ll take five gallons,” she heard him tell the man as he made for the rear of the station.

  I should go to the bathroom too, Dotty thought. But the idea of leaving the warm truck and going out into the night didn’t appeal to her. She’d have to take the suitcase with her. She’d leave it with Jud, but he was asleep and she didn’t want to wake him.

  She took off her hat. Her head itched. She’d never worn the hat for such a long time before.

  She stretched it out over the suitcase. Even in the dim light its colors were bright and clear. She wished she had a comb. It would be nicer if her hair were combed. There was no sense in rummaging through Jud’s pockets. He didn’t know what a comb looked like. Every time his hair got long enough to get hold of, his mother chopped it off with her dull scissors. Most times Jud’s head looked as if the chickens had been scratching
in it. After she’d knit her own hat of various bits and pieces of wool Aunt Martha had given her, she’d started on one for Jud. As a surprise. Then the next time she’d gotten mad at him, she’d told him she wasn’t going to knit him a hat like hers after all. All he’d said was “Thank God for small favors,” a favorite expression of his mother’s, and her feelings had been hurt. She hadn’t let him see that her feelings were hurt. Now wild horses couldn’t make her knit him a hat.

  Gary came back. “We got a ways to go,” he said. “Maybe you’d better go inside.” He jerked his thumb in the direction he’d taken. “This is the last gas station until we get to Boonville.”

  “I’m all right,” she said. “I’m just anxious to get there.”

  “How about him?” He pointed to Jud. “You don’t think you better take him inside?” He hopped up into his truck.

  “I’ll watch the suitcase for you,” he said.

  “It’s all right,” she said again. “Why don’t we get going?”

  “Have it your way.”

  And try as she might, Dotty couldn’t go back to sleep. She wanted to, very much, so she could pick up her dream and find out why Olive had been crying. She kept her eyes closed and willed herself to sleep. It didn’t work. She thought about the money she was holding. How much was there? Enough for new shoes for her father?

  “My Uncle Tom said we’re in for a blizzard.” Dotty opened her eyes and sat up straight. “Mr. Kimball’s pigs were hollering, and Uncle Tom says that always means a blizzard’s coming.”

  “That right?” He sounded bored.

  Dotty thought, Why am I so boring? I bet I bore a lot of people. The more interesting I try to be, the more I bore people. Why don’t I shut up and act inscrutable? I am inscrutable. Ever since Dotty had learned that word, she’d been looking for an opportunity to use it in a conversation. So far no occasion had arisen.

  She wished she were older and could flirt with Gary the way her sisters would have. Or Janice. She would have liked him to look at her with admiration in his eyes, the way she’d seen boys look at Mary Beth and Laura. Even if you didn’t think you’d recognize admiration in a boy’s eyes, it was amazing the way you did once you’d seen it. Absolutely amazing. She must remember to tell this to Olive.

  She felt her mouth shiver. She wanted to make him look at her and tell her she was pretty.

  I’ve never been anywhere, she almost said aloud. And now here I am, going to Boonville in a truck with a stranger. Alone. Jud stirred in his sleep. Well, almost alone. Jud was the chaperon. The thought made her smile.

  “Understand you people had a bank robbery over your way,” Gary said. Dotty’s fingers tightened on the suitcase handle.

  “Sure did,” she said gaily. “Radio said the robbers were still at large yesterday. Said they were driving a big black car and that they were armed and dangerous and one of ’em had mean, squinty eyes. A lady saw ’em and that’s what she said.”

  If anybody ever had to describe me on the radio, Dotty thought, what would they say? I am not the kind of person people remember. I have a forgettable face.

  Dorothea Frances Fickett, alias Dotty Fickett, aged twelve and a quarter. Brown eyes, brown hair, and sallow complexion. Long hands and feet. Mole on left shoulder. Ugly.

  But possessing a kind heart. Not always. Sometimes. I hope I have a kind heart. A pretty face isn’t everything. As Aunt Martha says, a pretty face can hide a heap of sins. Think of Janice.

  The truck racketed through the night. Dotty’s head fell against Jud and he cried out in his sleep. He looked as if someone had removed all his bones, so relaxed and limp he might’ve been a large doll. Little drops of spittle ran down his chin, and she thought he was looking at her through the slits his eyes made.

  She had never been out this late. Outside, there was nothing but blackness. Soon, she hoped, the lights of Boonville would shine in the distance. She stole a glance at Gary. And discovered he was stealing a glance at her. They stared at one another, as unblinking as a couple of babies.

  “How old are you?” she asked, not having planned to.

  “Sixteen,” he told her. His bony white ankles shone in the darkness. He didn’t seem to have on any socks.

  “Your feet must be cold,” she said.

  “Not so’s you’d notice.” He gestured toward the suitcase. “That’s pretty big for such a little girl. You must have all your duds in there. You planning to stay in Boonville awhile?”

  “Oh, no. Only just the night. Olive’s not expecting me, you see.” Dotty felt her face grow animated, like an actress doing a scene. “Olive and I are best friends,” she went on. He seemed to be listening, giving her his complete attention. It was an exhilarating sensation, to be given the complete attention of such a good-looking boy.

  “Olive’s father moved to Boonville to find work. But we write to each other all the time.” Dotty’s lips and eyes and hands moved in unison. She felt as if she were sparkling. Next to her, Jud stirred.

  The snow was falling fast now, coating the roadway, making it slick.

  “We’re in for a big one,” Gary said. His foot pressed down on the accelerator and the truck gained speed.

  “Don’t you think you ought to slow down?” Dotty asked. Up ahead she could see a car approaching. It seemed to be swimming at them through the snow. The wind picked up handfuls of snow and flung it at them as if they were having a snow fight. It was beautiful and exciting and scary. Gary leaned over the wheel, his face in the headlights of the oncoming car bright with the thrill of battle.

  “Move over!” he shouted. The driver of the other car didn’t seem to hear. As Gary grunted and wrestled to stay in control, the car swerved into their path, forcing the truck over to the right and into the woods at the side of the highway. A deep ditch separated the woods from the road. With a great shudder, the truck settled into the ditch as if it would never leave. And the car that had swerved into their path went merrily away from them, scattering snow in its wake into the black night, intent on arriving at its destination on time.

  CHAPTER 12

  Dotty rested her head against the suitcase as if it were a feather pillow. And the suitcase, one of its sides caved in, rested itself against the truck’s dashboard. Through the gap in the cardboard Dotty saw the brilliant green-and-white new money, arranged neatly in stacks, each bound by a strip of brown paper. The sight was blinding. She tried to push the broken sides of the suitcase together and failed.

  Gary lay back in his seat, his eyes closed, a tiny trickle of blood running from his nose, which was small and pointy and might once have appealed to her. Funny she hadn’t noticed his nose before. It looked to her sharp enough to poke a hole through a piece of paper. His chest moved up and down, so he wasn’t dead. His cheekbones lay so close to the skin they looked as if they might break through at any moment.

  The headlights of the truck shone as if nothing had happened. They cut a lazy path through the falling snow, which coated the windshield and enveloped the truck in a thick, heavy curtain.

  Beside her, Jud jiggled. Oh, Lordy. Only Jud would have to go to the bathroom at a time like this.

  “Can’t you hold it?” she whispered.

  He rolled his eyes at her and motioned toward Gary. When Dotty turned, Gary’s eyes were wide open. He was looking at the money and smiling.

  “Well, I declare!” he said in a high voice. He put out his hand and slid it inside the suitcase, where it stayed as if caught in a trap. He touched the money gently.

  “I never,” he said softly. “I figured you for a little something,” he said to Dotty, “but never nothing like this. I guess this is my lucky day, eh?” He stretched his face into a ghastly smile, and she wondered how she could have ever thought he looked like Gary Cooper. The adventure was turning sour.

  “I found it,” she said, against her will. Jud jabbed at her. “We did,” she said. “Jud and me. Somebody threw it out of a car and we picked it up.”

  “How come nothing like t
hat never happened to me?” Gary asked. “Never found so much as a nickel on the sidewalk even. Never had two bills to rub together. Never. Been working since I was younger’n you too. Hey,” he said softly, “my dad’ll go crazy when he sees folding money. Plumb crazy. Been wanting to help him out. Now I can,” he said, grinning at her, becoming lively. “Guess I’ll have to charge you for a couple tickets to Boonville. One way. Wouldn’t want to cheat you none.” He smiled, and she turned away.

  “Travel’s not cheap,” he went on. “One ticket for you”—he thrust out his thumb but didn’t touch her—“and one for the little punk.”

  There was a stillness inside the truck. Only the wind and the snow moved outside. Dotty swallowed and the noise was deafening. Jud huddled up next to her, and they waited for Gary to make the next move.

  “Your nose is bleeding,” she said at last. “Aunt Martha says you should put ice on the back of your neck to stop a nosebleed.”

  Gary wiped his nose along his sleeve. “We sure could use your Aunt Martha along about now, now couldn’t we?” He reached over and took a couple of bundles of money from the gap in the suitcase. “Gasoline’s high, costs twelve, thirteen cents a gallon, and this old buggy’s a regular gas eater. And now she’ll need repairs. A new fender, maybe, maybe even a couple new tires. Or maybe”—he ruffled the tightly bound bills with his finger so they made a slight breeze—“maybe I might better turn her in on a new model. A shiny, brand-new model. Whatdya think about that?” He winked at them.

  “Jud has to go to the bathroom,” Dotty said in a high, hoarse voice.

  “Well, now. That’s too bad.” He shook his head. “Told you you shoulda used them facilities at the gas station. Trouble with young folks these days is they don’t listen. Never do what their betters tell ’em.” He leaned past Dotty and cuffed Jud on the ear.

  Dotty felt as if she were strangling. “You keep your hands to yourself,” she said, the words jamming together in her throat. “I’ll take him.”