“You got to tell Mr. Clarke,” Jud said stonily. “He’s waiting.”
“Who’s Mr. Clarke?” Olive asked.
“He brought us here,” Dotty said, “in his sleigh. It’s very complicated. Go down and tell Mr. Clarke I’ll be there in a second. And get the suitcase. It’s under the blanket.”
Jud thumped out without a word.
“You got a suitcase!” Olive shouted. “Mama! Dotty got her suitcase at last!”
She threw her arms around Dotty and kissed her. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she cried. “I’m so happy for you.”
Tremendously pleased by this display of affection, Dotty said, “And that’s not all. Wait’ll you see it. It’s beautiful. And wait’ll you see what’s inside. You’ll never believe it, Olive. It’s like something in the movies.”
“Oh, tell me,” Olive begged. “Please. Now. Right this minute.”
“Wait till Jud gets back,” Dotty said. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”
She smiled at Olive and Olive smiled back. Coming to Boonville had not been a mistake, after all. It was all right now. Olive was herself again.
Then they heard Jud thudding back up the stairs. He was running.
“He’s gone,” Jud announced in a flat voice. He looked at Dotty, his face flushed, then his eyes flicked away. “Mr. Clarke’s skinned out. Suitcase and all.”
“That’s not funny!” Dotty cried. She flung open the door and raced down to see for herself.
It was as if she’d dreamed them: Mr. Clarke, Sarah, the sleigh. The street was empty of everything but the dingy snow and an old cat, rummaging through the garbage, its ribs making a pattern underneath its mangy fur. When it saw her, it came to rub against her legs, its eyes full of hunger and dislike.
Dotty raced back. “Why’d you leave it with him?” She shook Jud until his head wobbled back and forth on his neck. Mrs. Doherty came to the kitchen door.
“Lands,” she said. “Leave him be, Dotty.”
Dotty released him, ashamed of herself.
“How’d I know he was a crook?” Jud said. “I thought he was a nice man.”
And this time it was Dotty who burst into tears.
CHAPTER 19
A great many tears were shed that day at 5 carey street.
“There, there,” Mrs. Doherty said to Dotty. “We’ll have a nice cup of soup,” and she boiled water, to which she added salt, a couple of carrots, and a cube of beef bouillon.
“We’ll let it sit a minute,” she said, “to gain strength.”
They sat at the kitchen table gazing at one another, speechless.
“How’s Mr. Doherty?” Dotty asked, to break the spell. “And the boys?”
To her amazement, Olive put her head down on the table, her arms over her ears, as if they hurt, as if she were trying to drown out the sound of her own sobbing. Her mother got up and went to the stove, looking intently at the soup, willing it to become strong.
“What did I say?” Dotty said, dismayed.
Jud patted Olive on the shoulder, over and over. “There, there,” he said to her, in imitation of Mrs. Doherty. “There, there.” Jud’s voice and patting hand were like a small metronome, marking time.
“I’m sorry,” Dotty said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m awful sorry.” So far, the reunion with Olive could not be called a success.
Olive sat up at last. “It’s not your fault,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Mama, why don’t you lie down and rest? You’ll feel better if you do.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Doherty. “I think I might.” Jud put his hand in hers and escorted her to the bedroom. When she’d gone inside, he gently closed the door and stood looking at it. Olive poured out the soup, and they sat at the table to eat. The carrots floated in the pale brown liquid like little orange Life Savers. Jud scooped his out and when he thought no one was looking, slid them into his pocket.
Olive finished first. She laid down her spoon and said, “My father’s dead.”
Dotty covered her mouth with her hand. Jud huddled over his soup plate and said nothing.
“Dead?” said Dotty stupidly.
“He had pneumonia. Not very long after we got here. He wouldn’t go to bed. He went out every day looking for work. When he couldn’t get out of bed one morning we finally called the doctor. But we waited too long. Because we didn’t have the money to pay him. That’s why we waited.” Olive’s eyes met Dotty’s, then pulled away.
“So he died.” She laced her fingers together. “And the boys joined the WPA. You know,” she said to Dotty’s puzzled look. “The Works Progress Administration that Mr. Roosevelt started, to find jobs for people. They build bridges and dams and Lord knows what all. But they keep busy, and the WPA feeds them, and the work is mostly outdoors so they stay healthy. That’s something. We know they’re all right, at least. They’ll survive. That’s what Mama says. They’ll survive. And we will too. We all will.”
Dotty wanted to reach out and touch Olive, but she was afraid that if she did, Olive would start to cry again. She tried to imagine what it would be like if her father died and her sisters went off some strange place to work and there was no one left but her. And her aunt and uncle too, of course. But the core, the heart of the family would be missing, gone forever. So what if Mr. Clarke had run off with their money? What did that matter now?
“Oh, Olive,” Dotty said sadly. It was the only thing she could think of to say.
“Hey, guess what,” Jud’s high, cracked little voice said. “Guess what I found.” He held up a wrapped package. “It’s Aunt Martha’s hamburger,” he said. He sniffed it. “Smells all right to me. Been in my pocket the whole time.”
For once in his life Jud turned out to be a blessing.
“Tell you what!” Olive said, jumping up. “We’ll cook it. It won’t last forever so we better cook it and eat it. Right this minute. We’ll have us a proper feast. I haven’t had meat in I can’t remember when. Is there enough for Mama too?”
“There’s plenty. We’ll make four nice big hamburger patties and, like you said, we’ll have a feast. You got any potatoes? We can boil some potatoes if you have any.”
“Potatoes we got,” and Olive happily dove down into a paper bag and brought out six potatoes, all growing little horns.
Jud’s spoon clanked softly in his soup plate. “Don’t forget,” he said, holding up his prize, “I brung the meat.” For some reason, this sent them off into gales of laughter.
Mrs. Doherty came back into the room. “Sounds like a party,” she said wistfully.
“Jud brung the meat,” Olive said and that sent them off again. They were making so much noise they didn’t hear the knock on the door. Once, twice, three times someone knocked. Then a hand turned the doorknob and the door opened slowly. A man stood there.
“Hey!” Jud saw him first. “He’s back.”
Mr. Clarke held out the suitcase. “You forgot this,” he said. “I thought you might be wondering what happened to it.”
“Oh, Mr. Clarke!” Dotty cried, feeling a blush sweep over her face and neck. “We thought you’d gone.”
“I went to look for a telephone,” he said, taking off his hat. “Had to hunt around but I found one three blocks away in a dry goods store. The proprietor said you could use it long as it didn’t cost him anything. Call collect. Tell the operator who you are and the name of the person you want to speak to. As long as that person accepts the charges, you’re all right.”
“This is my friend Olive Doherty,” said Dotty. Mr. Clarke made a small bow and Olive, overwhelmed by his gallantry, giggled.
“And this is Olive’s mother.” Mr. Clarke took Mrs. Doherty’s hand and leaned over it as if he were going to kiss it. Mrs. Doherty looked shocked, then smiled a dazzling smile at him.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said. “Will you stay for supper?”
“Thank you, no. I’ve got to get going. Sarah and I like to sleep in our own beds. I came to say good-bye, Dotty and Jud.” He s
hook their hands solemnly. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you. Hope you arrive home safe and sound.”
Dotty felt her throat clog. “I’ll bring back your suitcase,” she promised. “After I get back home, I’ll take out the … things inside and bring it back to you.”
“No,” he said. “It’s yours. I gave it to you. I have no further use for it. I’m not going anywhere. You keep it.”
She reached up to kiss his cheek. “Good-bye and thank you. For everything. You were very good to us, me and Jud. I won’t forget you.”
Mr. Clarke smiled and nodded. “Jud,” he said, “take care of yourself and of Dotty. Be a good boy.”
Jud drew himself up. He shook Mr. Clarke’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll see she gets home safe,” he said. He drew his brows together and scowled. Dotty looked over at him, smiling. He refused to meet her eye.
“Don’t worry,” he repeated. “I’ll see to it.” They all stood there, listening to the sound of Mr. Clarke’s footsteps descending the stairs.
CHAPTER 20
Mr. Evans didn’t want to accept the collect call.
“Dotty Fickett!” she heard him holler at the other end of the line. “I don’t know nothing about no collect call.” She could see his thick red neck and his dirty apron and his outraged expression at such an idea as a collect telephone call.
“Daddy will pay you, Mr. Evans,” Dotty said, her voice loud and fast.
The operator’s voice cut in. “Will you accept the call, sir?” To Dotty, she said, “I’ve cut you off, miss. That’s the rule until the party accepts the charges.”
If you don’t, Mr. Evans, I will personally haunt you until the end of time, Dotty promised silently. I will make you wish you had. You can be sure of that.
Perhaps it was the magic of being called “sir” that made Mr. Evans relent. At any rate, after a lengthy pause, Dotty heard him say in a surly voice, “If her father don’t pay up, there’ll be trouble. All right, I’ll accept the charges.”
“It’s me, Dotty Fickett,” she said in a voice loud enough to carry all the way home by itself. “Please tell my father we’re safe. Me and Jud. We’ll be home on the bus tomorrow. We’re in Boonville visiting Olive, and we’re fine.”
“Boonville, is it? You got no business going off all that distance without telling your dad. He’s been in here, asking if I seen you, and I told him not since yesterday. He was in a state, I can tell you,” Mr. Evans said with relish.
Dotty’s fingers tightened around the receiver as if it were related to Mr. Evans. “Will you give him the message, please? We’ll be home tomorrow,” she repeated.
“Slow down. So’s I’m sure to get it right. You and Jud are all right. You’ll be home tomorrow.”
“On the bus. And thank you. You’re a good, kind man,” she said, making a face at the receiver as she hung up.
“I bet my brother’s out looking for me right this minute.” Jud’s face was doleful. “Bet he’s dragging the pond. If it’s not frozen,” he added as an afterthought.
“That’s nice,” Dotty said, elaborately sarcastic. “That’s a cheery thought for the day. Come on, Olive,” and she linked arms with her friend. “Let’s go back to your house and talk. We haven’t got much time.”
They said thank you to the woman who ran the store and walked back to 5 Carey Street. Jud trailed behind, wielding a stick he’d picked up, using it to fight off any wild beasts that attacked him on the way.
“Come on, Jud,” Dotty called out. Suddenly it occurred to her that he felt left out. The way she sometimes felt when her sisters ignored her. He ran to catch up to them.
“Here’s your nickel, Mrs. Doherty.” When they reached Carey Street, Dotty handed back the coin she’d borrowed to make the telephone call. “Thank you.”
“You reached your father then?” Mrs. Doherty asked. “He must’ve been almost out of his mind with worry. I know how I’d feel if Olive disappeared. Especially in this kind of weather.” Her eyes seemed to be perpetually moist.
“You’ve stalled long enough, Dotty,” Olive said firmly. “I want to see what’s in the suitcase. Now. Not a minute from now. Now.”
It was the moment they’d all been waiting for. Tenderly, gently, Dotty lifted the beautiful suitcase from the corner where it had been resting. She sat down slowly and put it in her lap. The others stood watching. Only Jud looked bored.
Dotty snapped open the lid. Under her fingers the clasps were very firm and made of shiny brass. The sweet smell of real leather in her nostrils made her slightly dizzy.
No one made a sound.
“There.” Dotty held it out for them to see. The little bundles were all there, packed in the suitcase as neatly and tightly as if they’d been sardines in a can.
“Oh, my.” Olive breathed noisily through her mouth.
“Lands,” said Mrs. Doherty. “Mercy me.” She laid her hand against her heart, as if to quiet it. “I never.”
“It’s half mine, don’t forget,” Jud said from where he stood in the middle of the kitchen, legs planted wide apart, hands behind his back, hat still on his head. “It’s half mine.”
Olive approached the suitcase and laid her hand on the money as if to make sure it was real.
Her mother sat still, her face white, hand still on her breast.
“How much is it?” she said at last.
“I don’t know,” said Dotty.
“You don’t know?”
“I haven’t counted it.”
“Where’d you get it?” Olive asked suddenly. “Did you steal it?”
“Of course not. What do you take me for?” Dotty said indignantly.
“If I had a chance, I’d steal some money,” Olive said.
“Olive Doherty!” Dotty was shocked. “You never would.”
“Yes, I would. If I thought I wouldn’t get caught, I would. For Mama. Not for myself. Just for Mama so she wouldn’t have to always be worried about not having any.”
“Don’t say that, Olive,” her mother protested.
“Why not? Long as it’s true. If I thought I could get away with stealing some, I would. If nobody saw me. I wouldn’t want to go to jail, though. That’s the only thing that’d stop me—going to jail. Otherwise, I’d take as much as I could lay my hands on.” Olive looked at them defiantly.
Dotty was shocked. She’d never thought of Olive as dishonest. Yet now she certainly sounded that way. Back in the old days the question of stealing, of taking something that didn’t belong to you, had never arisen. Back in the old days the only problem concerned whether they’d go to the movies on Saturday or Sunday. Whether they’d stay twice around for the double feature. The old days seemed very far away at this minute, very simple in comparison to now.
Nobody said anything. At last Dotty said, “Well, let’s count it. Of course, Gary took some.”
“Who’s Gary?”
“He’s this boy who picked us up and gave us a lift in his truck.”
“She liked him,” Jud said. “She made eyes at him. Then he wrecked up his truck and he was going to rob us and maybe even kill us, so we ran away.”
Olive’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Shame, Jud. I never knew you told tales.”
“It’s no tale. It’s the truth.”
“He’s right. Well, maybe he wasn’t going to actually kill us”—Dotty spread her hands—“but he sure was going to take all the money.”
“Maybe he was hungry,” Mrs. Doherty said in a faint voice. “Folks do terrible things when they’re hungry.”
“He didn’t look hungry,” Dotty said. “Here.” She handed around the money. “Everybody count theirs. Then we can add it up.”
“Who does it belong to?” Mrs. Doherty asked.
“It might be from the bank robbery in Earlville,” Dotty said. “We don’t know for sure. But we think it is.”
She heard Jud say in a loud voice, “She knows darn well who it belongs to. She knows darn good and well it’s the loot from the bank.”
“That’s what they called it on the radio.”
“Does anyone know you have it?” Olive asked.
“No,” said Dotty.
“Then you don’t have to give it back.” Olive’s cheeks were stained dark red with excitement. “You can keep it all.”
“I’ve got an idea!” Dotty cried. “You take half and I’ll give back the rest. They’ll never know the difference. You need it more’n they do.”
Olive looked at her mother. “Please,” she said. “Please, Mama?”
Mrs. Doherty stood up. Her back was rigid, her shoulders stiff. She pulled her thin sweater around her. “There’s no sense discussing this,” she said. Even her voice was stiff. “It doesn’t belong to Dotty so how can she give it to us? That’s all there is to it.”
The room grew very still.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear about the robbery on the radio,” Dotty said in a tone of false gaiety, like a nervous hostess who senses the party isn’t going well. “It was on a lot. They even interrupted programs to tell the latest details. It was the most exciting thing that ever happened in our neck of the woods. They described what the robbers wore, what they looked like, the getaway car. Everything.”
“Did they catch them?”
“I don’t think so. Not that I know of. Turn on the radio. Maybe there’s something new about the robbery.”
“We don’t have a radio,” Olive said, pressing her bundle of money between her hands as if she were going to make a money sandwich and her hands were the bread.
“You don’t!” Dotty was amazed. She and Olive used to spend long hours discussing their favorite programs. Olive had been particularly fond of Myrt and Marge, and Dotty never missed Jack Benny or Major Bowes and His Original Amateur Hour. After Little Orphan Annie and The Singing Lady, they were her favorites. Those voices inside the radio belonged to people who were her friends. Why didn’t Olive have a radio? Dotty almost asked but thought better of it.
“Anyway, these men robbed the bank, and we saw a big black car like the one they described on the radio, and it whizzed by us and somebody threw something out and it landed in the weeds, and that’s when we found the suitcase. Not this one.” She patted Mr. Clarke’s real leather one. “An old cardboard one that got smashed in Gary’s truck.”
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