Emily's Fortune

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  • • •

  Once, when Emily opened the lid of Rufus’s box and let him crawl around her lap, a short woman across the aisle looked at her in disgust.

  “Throw that slimy creature away, child!” she scolded. “Did your mother teach you no manners?”

  “My…my mother gave him to me,” Emily tried to explain, but the short woman shook her head.

  “Don’t lie,” she told her, and Emily put Rufus back in his box. It was no surprise to her that many grown-ups didn’t listen.

  As the hours went on, the air grew stale and smelly. Some people were eating supper. Some of the men were smoking cigars. At different stops, vendors would hop aboard and race up and down the aisles, selling soap or soup or bread before the train moved on again.

  Emily had no money to buy food, but she did have the lunch bag the neighbors had given her. She opened it up and found a feast: a piece of cold chicken, a sausage, a round of cheese, a half loaf of bread, some carrots, an orange, and a thick slice of caramel cake. She ate the chicken but saved the rest, and gave Rufus a tiny bite of carrot.

  As darkness fell, the conductor lit the oil lamps so that passengers could see their way to the foul toilet in a closet at the end of the car. Emily held her breath when she used the closet. She couldn’t imagine wealthy Miss Nash, who had liked things clean and tidy, ever using such a dirty closet at all.

  When it was time to sleep, Emily wondered if she possibly could. But she placed her carpetbag on her lap as a pillow, laid her head on it, wrapped her arms around it, and fell into a deep slumber.

  The next morning she was awakened by the conductor calling, “This is as far as the train goes, folks! All out for Trumpet Junction.”

  The weary passengers picked up their squabbling children, their bawling babies, their boxes and bags and coats and bonnets, and started for the door.

  Emily got off the train with the others, but she wasn’t sure where to go next.

  Wagons were rattling back and forth in front of the train station. Horses and riders, carts and bicycles.

  She was following the crowd to a building with a sign that read OVERHILL STAGECOACH COMPANY when suddenly her heart began to pound, her hands began to sweat, and her knees began to tremble, for a carriage was rolling right toward her.

  And who in

  creepin’ creation

  do you suppose

  was in it?

  Painted on the door of the carriage was a sign that read:

  CATCHUM CHILD-CATCHING

  SERVICES

  TRUMPET JUNCTION

  BRANCH

  ORPHANS, STRAYS, AND

  ROUSTABOUTS

  ROUNDED UP QUICKLY

  Emily jumped behind a mail cart so fast that she bumped into a boy in a faded brown jacket.

  “Hey!” he said. “Watch where you’re going!” And then, “You’re an orphan too, aren’t you?”

  Emily could hardly see the boy’s eyes because he wore a flat round cap that stuck out over his forehead. But she noticed that he had freckles like hers and the same color of brown hair sticking out from under his cap. And though he appeared to be a year or two older than she was, he wasn’t that much larger.

  But how rude he was! And how did he know she was an orphan? She stared down at her clothes, almost expecting to see the letters o-r-p-h-a-n on each of her high-topped shoes.

  “How did you know?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “Saw you trying to hide from the Child Catchers, just like I used to do.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Who knows?” answered the boy. “Got me a ticket to some family out west, but they probably won’t like me any more’n the last family did. Child Catchers will send you anywhere if they can make a buck. I’m Jackson,” he told her.

  “I’m Emily,” she said.

  “What you got in your bag?” Jackson asked.

  Emily noticed that Jackson had only a small parcel tucked under his arm and was wearing shoes that looked a little too big.

  “Just…clothes,” she answered, and added, “I don’t have any money,” in case he was going to ask.

  Jackson pointed toward the door of Overhill Stagecoach Company. “They told us if we go in there, they’ll give us something to eat before we get on board,” he said.

  So Emily followed him inside, where a large map on the wall showed the stops the stagecoach would make between Trumpet Junction and Redbud, and the stops beyond that, all the way to the ocean. It would take five days and five nights just to get to Redbud, according to the man who was checking tickets. That was a long time to be bumping along on your bottom, Emily thought.

  A woman behind a table was ladling soup into tin cups and offering them with crackers to all the passengers. Emily was surprised to see that there were no spoons, so she sipped her soup daintily. But Jackson greedily gulped his down, then gave a loud belch.

  Beside the map on the wall, there was a large sign:

  Hints for Travelers

  1. Don’t complain about the food.

  2. Don’t smoke a strong pipe.

  3. Don’t lop over on your neighbor when sleeping.

  4. Don’t spit on the floor.

  5. Wash your feet before starting the trip.

  Emily had taken a bath the night before she’d gotten on the train, but she was quite sure that some of the other passengers had not. Jackson, in fact, looked as though he hadn’t washed his face for a week.

  “So what happened to your ma?” he asked her.

  “She died in a carriage accident,” Emily said, and tears came to her eyes, just remembering.

  “What about your pa?”

  “He died when a steamboat sank,” Emily told him.

  “What you got in that box?” asked Jackson.

  Emily opened the lid and showed him her turtle. “His name is Rufus, and he’s my best friend in the whole world,” she said.

  Jackson gave a snort, but Emily let him hold the turtle for a minute anyway. And she noticed that when he returned Rufus to the box, he did it gently.

  Then he went to the door and looked around. “The Child Catchers are gone,” he said. “Want to go outside and see the horses?” Emily picked up her bag, Jackson picked up his parcel, and out they went.

  The Overhill stagecoach was bigger than any Emily had ever seen. It was bright red. The four horses with yellow harnesses pawed at the ground, eager to be off.

  A man with a whip came out of the building and Emily shrank back in fear. Then she realized that he was the driver, dressed in a dark blue jacket with gold buttons.

  “Stagecoach to the West!” he called. “Gather here!”

  Emily could not believe the number of people who moved forward. She could not believe all they carried. A box poked her in the back. A basket bopped her on the head. She had thought that perhaps four people could fit inside, and after three women and two men got aboard, then Jackson, who pushed on ahead, she was afraid there would be no room for her. Yet two more men got on, and finally the driver picked her up with her bag and squeezed her onto a seat.

  Three people sat on the backseat, facing forward. Three people sat on the middle seat, and three people sat on the front seat, facing backward. Bags and boxes were crammed under seats and on laps. Emily kept her lunch sack and carpetbag on her lap so she could take out Rufus’s box and let him have a bit of air.

  When everyone was settled at last, the coachman sprang up to the driver’s box outside. After a blast of his bugle and a crack of the driver’s whip, the stagecoach lurched forward with a creak and squeak, and headed west.

  • • •

  Emily had been looking forward to seeing new places, but she soon discovered how tiresome it was sitting in the same position for hours at a time. When the windows were up, it was too warm. When the windows were down, dust blew in, filling her nose and making her sneeze.

  She was sitting in the front row, with Jackson facing her. His cap was tipped backward now, and she could se
e that his eyes were green like her own. But every time he caught her looking at him, he made a face.

  Then he started the copycat game. If Emily crossed her arms over her chest, Jackson crossed his arms. If Emily sighed, Jackson sighed. If she ignored him completely, he slid down in his seat until his bony knees were bumping hers, and kicked her shoes with his feet.

  Please stop it, Emily mouthed at him.

  Please stop it, Jackson mouthed back.

  Were all boys this rude? she asked herself. No wonder Luella Nash hadn’t wanted her to go to school with the other children.

  The coach stopped every fifteen miles or so for a fresh team of horses. Sometimes the driver let the passengers get out and stretch a bit. Other times, a new team was harnessed and ready, and the coach wheels hardly stopped rolling before they were off again.

  Finally, a blast of the driver’s bugle announced their arrival at Callaway’s Inn, where all the passengers were given a meal. It was a busy place, and even the porch was crowded. Some people sat on benches, others sat in rockers, and still more stood reading the daily newspapers that had been tacked up on the porch wall.

  Inside the inn, Emily was almost too tired to chew. But she knew she ought to eat when she was given food, so that she could save what was in her lunch sack for later. She ate until she was full, and Jackson reached over to take what she’d left on her plate.

  When it was time to get on board again, the driver came up to the table where Emily and Jackson were sitting.

  “We have a problem,” he told them. “There’s a lady and her husband whose daughter out west is very sick. They need to get there as soon as possible, so we’re asking if you’ll give up your places in the coach. We’ll make sure you get on the next one.”

  “Yeah, and when will that be?” asked Jackson.

  “Another will be along in two days, and the innkeeper says you may stay here until it comes,” the driver said. “The Overhill Stagecoach Company will pay for your room and board.”

  Emily did not want to keep the man and woman from seeing their sick daughter. She knew that Aunt Hilda did not expect her at any particular time, and that if she did not arrive on a stagecoach one day, she would arrive another. She would willingly give up her seat if only they would take Jackson. She did not want to have to stare at him and his silly faces all the way to Redbud. But no, two seats were needed, not one.

  “This is certainly a fine pickle of a problem,” Mrs. Ready would say.

  “Should she go or should she stay?” Mrs. Aim would ask.

  And Emily could almost hear Mrs. Fire give the answer: “She should stay so that the couple can see their sick daughter, and she should tell that Jackson boy to mind his own business.”

  “I’ll give up my seat if I can ride the next stagecoach,” Emily said at last.

  Jackson only shrugged. “She stays, I stay,” he said.

  So Emily and Jackson could only watch as the other passengers climbed back in, along with the man and woman whose daughter was sick.

  The bugle blew, the whip cracked, and with creaks and squeaks, off went the coach, leaving Emily and Jackson looking after it. But with all the people who were crowding the porch, as well as the rooms inside,

  where in

  tumblin’

  tarnation

  was Emily

  supposed to sleep?

  If she had to spend the next two days with someone, Emily thought, why couldn’t it be a quiet girl with a book under her arm?

  But Jackson motioned for her to follow him.

  “Come on!” he said. “Let’s look around.”

  She might as well, Emily thought, because the inn was full of people—peddlers wanting a mug of tea, visitors needing a place to sleep. Little groups of travelers stood around on the porch reading the newspapers, and families milled about in the front yard, letting their children tumble and yell before they started off again on their journeys.

  Emily put her lunch sack and Rufus’s box in her carpetbag, then grabbed its wooden handles and followed Jackson around the inn. There were other buildings out back—a springhouse, a carriage house, a stable, a barn.

  She peeked inside the springhouse when Jackson opened the creaky door. It was just a small hut built over a spring. Crocks of butter and eggs cooled in the trickling water.

  Jackson grinned as he closed the door again. “When everyone’s asleep tonight, we could take those eggs and smash ’em on the porch,” he said.

  Emily stared at him. “What for?” she asked.

  Jackson shrugged. “I dunno. Something to do,” he told her.

  They walked over to the carriage house, where two small buggies sat, whips across the seats.

  “We could hide those whips in the bushes,” Jackson said. “They’d have to hunt all day to find ’em.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Emily asked.

  “Cause a little excitement, maybe,” said Jackson.

  And when they poked their heads into the stable, Jackson talked about letting the horses out. No wonder the last family Jackson stayed with didn’t want him, Emily thought.

  “Are you always looking for trouble?” she asked as they wandered along the fence beside the pasture.

  “Not always,” said Jackson.

  “Then what else do you like to do?”

  “I like to climb trees. I like to chase rabbits. I like to wade in creeks and catch crawdads.”

  “I’ve never climbed a tree in my life,” said Emily.

  Jackson studied her for a moment. “Your arms are too short; legs are too weak,” he said.

  “They are not!” said Emily.

  “Ha! You couldn’t climb a tree if the devil was after you,” he jeered.

  What made this dirty-faced boy so awful? Emily wondered. There was a tree up ahead, and Emily marched over. “I could too!” she declared, but when they got there, her heart pounding, she said, “Boys first.” Then she added, uncertainly, “It’s the polite thing to do.”

  “Well, I’ve never been polite in my life,” said Jackson, “but I’ll show you how to climb a tree.”

  Holding on to a post, the skinny boy hoisted himself to the top of the wood-and-wire fence, then braced one hand against the tree and stood up on the top rail. He reached both hands toward the lowest branch, grabbed it, then in one swift move swung a leg over it and pulled himself up to a sitting position.

  Once again, he stood, reached for the next branch, threw a leg over, and climbed up.

  “Your turn!” he called.

  Emily set her bag on the ground. Her throat felt dry and her hands were sweaty. She held on to the post, and though her feet slipped and slid against the wire, she finally managed to get onto the top rail. But when she tried to stand up on it, she felt herself being yanked backward, and sat down with a bump.

  Jackson cackled gleefully in the branches above.

  Emily tried again, but once more she felt herself being yanked backward onto the wooden rail.

  “Haw haw!” came Jackson’s voice above her. “It’s your dress! It’s snagged on the wire.”

  Emily looked down and unhooked the hem of her dress. But when she freed herself at last and shakily stood up, the first branch of the maple tree was just beyond her reach. Bracing one hand against the tree trunk, she stood on tiptoe and stretched her other arm as high as she could, but her fingertips barely touched the branch.

  “Hee hee ha ha!” chortled Jackson, and this made Emily angry indeed. This time she stretched her arms as high as they would go and gave a little jump. The next thing she knew, she was hanging on to the branch, her feet swinging back and forth in the air.

  “J-J-Jackson!” she called shakily. “Help me!”

  He peered down at her. “Well,” he said, “I could stomp on your fingers….”

  “Jackson!” she pleaded.

  “Swing your legs over to the tree trunk and walk yourself up to the branch. Then flop one leg over,” he told her.

  Emily’s feet flailed
back and forth until they found the trunk, scraping and skidding against the bark. One of her shoes fell off, and Jackson howled some more. But finally, holding the branch with both hands, she walked her feet up the trunk to the branch where she clung, and threw one leg over, finally getting on top of it.

  “Well,” Jackson said. “You made it this far, but you can’t say you’ve climbed a tree until you go one branch more.”

  Emily didn’t want to hear it. She was too frightened to go up and too frightened to go down. She imagined that she would spend the rest of her life wrapped around that branch.

  But at last she gained the courage to sit up, and she found that the next branch was closer than she had thought. And with a little help from Jackson, she managed to get up onto the limb beside him. Shakily she sat up and looked about.

  “I’ve never been this high before,” she confided. “Not even on a stepladder.”

  “Ha!” said Jackson. “I’ve hid in a tree so many times I’m about to grow leaves. Every time somebody wants to beat me, I’m up a tree.”

  “Oh, lordy, whatever happened to your parents?” Emily asked.

  “My ma ran off, and Pa got sick and died,” Jackson told her. “I’m a bad-luck kid for sure.”

  What would Luella Nash say about her sitting in a tree beside a boy who was always in trouble?

  Emily wondered. It didn’t matter much, since she liked being up this high, where she could see carriages far out on the road, and a creek running along the edge of a wood.

  Suddenly Jackson slid off the branch onto the limb below. “C’mon,” he said. “They’re lighting the lanterns on the porch and folks’ll be going to bed. If you don’t find a place early, you’ll end up on the floor.”

  Emily peered down at the ground beneath them. It seemed a lot scarier going down than it had coming up. “I…I can’t!” she said, her voice shaky.

  “Well, if you don’t, you’ll sleep in the tree all night,” Jackson told her. “Grab hold of the branch you’re sitting on and slide your foot down to the next one.”

  Somehow Emily made it to the limb below, but the fence was too far for her feet to reach. She hung by her hands, feet kicking, and finally she simply let go and fell to the ground with a thump.