During free time that evening, Billie took her book and walked to the window seat on the first floor, where she read. This time of night, no one was there, and her footsteps echoed loudly on the hardwood floor. When she passed the heavy wooden doors of the church, she hesitated. Sometimes when Billie prayed, she heard an answer. She was never sure if it came from her own mind or a divine being, but she usually found comfort. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would find solace tonight. It was her last hope.
She walked inside the dimly lit nave. It was eerie and silent, smelling of incense. The flame from the tabernacle candle glowed red on the altar. With only four stained glass windows, the church of St. Matthew was small. It was just big enough to hold the students, staff, and nuns of the academy. Rows of pews lined either side of a center aisle, terminating in a modest chancel.
After genuflecting, Billie walked down and stopped in front of the altar. She ran her fingers reverently over a piece of glass in the railing that held a tiny relic of the Holy Cross. In the past, this sacred artifact had filled her with wonder, but tonight she felt nothing.
She turned and walked to a statue of the Virgin Mary, who was dressed in a white robe and wearing a gold crown. A lovely blue mantle was draped over her shoulders. Billie noticed that she had her eyes lowered. She wondered if the Virgin had something of which to be ashamed. No, she is the Immaculate Conception, Billie thought; that is not possible.
She dropped down onto a little prie-dieu and looked up at the statue. Please tell me what to do, Sweet Mother. Do I stay and face Mr. Withers or do I run away? Winter will be here. I must decide soon.
She waited and listened. There was only silence.
She repeated her question again, this time pressing her eyes shut and trying very hard to listen. Please, please, please, tell me what to do.
Nothing.
A cold chill passed over her. Had someone opened a door? Billie looked over her shoulder. The nave was empty. She looked at the altar. Nothing. The flame of the tabernacle candle was all that moved.
She pushed herself up and started down the aisle. She didn’t like it in here at night. If Mr. Withers cornered her here, would God protect her?
“Wait,” she heard a voice say.
Billie’s heart jumped, and she whirled around. Again, no one was there. She started for the door. “Billie, stop, listen,” the voice urged. Now she knew the voice was inside her. It was a woman, and she said, “You will know when it is time. Have faith. I will be with you.”
* * *
The comfort Billie had gained from the words diminished as the hours ticked by the next day. Tomorrow was her first encounter with Mr. Withers, and there was no escape. Even if she wanted to run away now, it was too late. The day was over, and they were locked in for the night. Even the windows were nailed shut.
Billie pulled up the covers. At least she had made one decision. She would take Miriam’s advice. When she was in the attic room tomorrow, she would look out the round window, use her imagination, and transport herself elsewhere.
She stared at the ceiling as the girls whispered about the school fundraiser. It was being held Sunday after Mass.
“I made two apple cakes,” Janet Wolf said. “But I can’t remember if I added sugar.”
The girls giggled.
“Someone will gladly let you know,” Ivy Brubaker replied. “How about you, Billie? What did you make?”
“Huh?”
“What did you make for the fundraiser?”
“Oh, a fall floral arrangement.”
Ivy strained to see Billie’s face in the darkness. “Flowers? That’s nice.”
Conversation dwindled as the girls drifted off, but Billie’s sleep was fitful. She faded in and out of disturbing dreams. Suddenly, she was jarred awake by someone screaming. “Help!” she heard. “Help me!”
Billie bolted upright and started coughing. It was pitch black, and the room was unbearably hot. She threw off the covers and stood up.
“Fire!” she heard someone scream downstairs. There were rumbles and crashes from below.
Billie tried to warn the girls, but she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breathe; the smoke was so thick. She blindly grabbed Clarice Roberts and shook her. The girl did not move.
Desperate for air, Billie yanked on the locked window sash. It held fast. She had to break it. Turning to grab the chair, she saw flames licking up under the door, illuminating the girls in their beds.
Air! I need air! She picked up the chair and, with all her might, swung it at the window. Glass shattered everywhere. The moment the air rushed in, the room exploded into flames, engulfing the dormitory in fire.
Billie put her arm to her face, hoping to help at least one of the girls, but fire was everywhere, climbing up the wardrobe, consuming the beds, crawling along the floor. It was too late. She stepped to the window and jumped. Down she tumbled, falling with a smack onto the roof of a bay window. Dazed and injured, she struggled to her feet. Flames were belching out of the third floor dormitory window. Oh, sweet Jesus!
She grabbed the iron latticework bordering the roof where she stood, swung one leg over and then the other, and dropped the final story, falling into the bushes below. Even though the shrubbery broke her fall, she landed with such force it knocked the air from her lungs. She was stretched out on the ground, paralyzed and struggling to breathe. She gasped at last, fresh air filling her lungs. Coughing and sputtering, she stood up, her bare feet bleeding, her nightgown ripped. Her skin was black with smoke. There was a shooting pain in her right elbow and hip, and she had deep scratches.
Staggering back from the building, she looked up, the light flickering on her face. Flames were climbing out of every window. The roar from splintering wood was deafening as walls collapsed. The entire school was an inferno.
Billie watched, tears streaming down her smoke-stained face. She looked around frantically. Her little brother was inside! She ran to the front of the academy just as the fire department arrived. It was pandemonium as they pulled out hoses in a vain attempt to save the building.
At last, Billie saw the nuns. They were gathering children into a group by one of the outbuildings. There must have been sixty students, most of them very young, huddled near the Mother Superior. To Billie’s relief, Oscar was among them, dirty and crying but unharmed.
But there were no girls her age, no one from the third-floor dormitory. Maybe they’ve gathered somewhere else, Billie told herself. That’s it. I must tell the nuns I’m safe. They’ll be worried.
And she started over.
“No, Billie,” a voice inside her said. It was the voice of the lady. “It is time.”
Billie blinked, the words echoing in her ears. What?
“It is time.”
She looked at the nuns and students. Everyone was staring at the blaze. No one had seen her.
“Run,” the lady said.
“I can’t.”
“Do it. Now!”
Billie took two steps backward, turned, and bolted for the woods.
* * *
Billie ran until the sun came up. Every time a motor car or wagon would bump down the road, she would throw herself in the ditch. But now that it was daylight, there was no hiding. She could be seen for miles, walking on the flat terrain, and she stood out. Her face was black with soot, and she was in her nightgown. It wouldn’t take long for them to figure out she was from the school that burned.
Even though she was only a few miles from the Hofmann farm, she could not take any chances. She must try to find somewhere to hide. But she was shivering and exhausted. Her hip hurt, and walking on the gravel was painful. The bleeding had stopped, but the cuts were still raw on the soles of her feet.
Billie scanned the countryside. Mosquitoes would eat her alive in the woods, and it was well past harvest, so she couldn’t hide in the corn. At last, she spied a dilapidated barn, caved-in on one side. She remembered it from the bus. No one would find her there.
The farmhouse was a
bandoned too, but there was broken glass, so she ducked inside the barn and dropped down on some hay. Birds were in the rafters, and it smelled of manure, but it was shelter.
Billie lingered between sleep and wakefulness for hours in a delirium of trauma and exhaustion. Had her friends escaped, or had they burned? Did they scream in pain, or did they sleep to their deaths, their lungs filled with smoke?
Billie moaned and buried her face in her sleeve. The sight of the flames was still so vivid. She could smell the timbers burning and hear the screams. Struggling to her feet, she walked outside to the pump. After splashing her face, she returned to the barn and dropped back down.
What would she do now? Where would she go? She would never have to go back and face Mr. Withers, and for that she was grateful, but what about her parents? The academy would tell them she had died in the fire. Somehow, she would have to get word to them without letting the academy know.
A thousand questions nagged her.
She sighed and dropped back on the hay. Turning over, she tucked her hands under her head, and this time she slept.
Once it was dark, Billie started out again. When she saw the lights of the Hofmann farm, tears filled her eyes. It was like coming home. In a last burst of energy, she ran up the driveway and knocked on the back door.
Lena opened it and stared at her.
Billie was panting, and tears were running down her cheeks. “Mrs. Hofmann, it’s me, Wilhelmina Bassett.”
“Billie? Oh, mein Gott!” She grabbed her. “Oscar, komm schnell!”
“Was ist es?” Oscar said, waddling to the door. When he saw Billie, his jaw dropped.
They sat her down at the kitchen table, pushing their supper dishes back. Lena pumped water onto a cloth and started wiping Billie’s face. “What’s happened?”
“Are you hurt?” Oscar said, taking her hand.
“There was a fire at the school. A huge fire.”
They gasped.
“My friends.” A sob escaped Billie. “I don’t know what happened to them. I think they’re dead,” she said thickly.
The couple stared at her.
“Oh, good Lord in Heaven,” Oscar said, searching her face. “But my darling. Why are you here? The nuns will worry. We must let them know.”
“No!” Billie cried, grabbing his wrist. “Please, no!”
Oscar looked at Lena.
“We will talk more. But first, you bathe,” Lena said. “I want to bandage those feet too. Are you hungry?”
Billie wiped her nose and nodded.
“Oscar, fry her some sausages,” she said, “and give her some bread and cheese. I’ll get the bath ready.”
After Billie ate, she dropped into the tub and scrubbed herself from head to toe. She still had her work clothing in the closet, and she put on her housedress.
When she returned to the kitchen, Lena said, “Now, come here, darling. I need to look at you.”
Billie winced when she took her arm.
“This is bad bruising, and you are badly scratched,” Lena said, examining the skin. “Did you fall?”
“I jumped from a window.”
“Oh, dear girl!”
“My hip hurts too,” she said, rubbing it.
“If it was broken, she couldn’t have walked here,” Oscar observed. “So that is good.”
“But those feet,” Lena said, looking at a foot. “Where did you get these cuts?”
“I stepped on glass. I had to break a window to get out of the dormitory.”
“My, oh, my,” Oscar exclaimed.
After Lena made sure there was no glass embedded in Billie’s feet, she applied ointment and bandages. “Now, to bed. But before you go upstairs, we must know why you don’t want to go back to the academy.”
Billie swallowed hard and looked down at the floor.
“You always liked school. What happened?” Oscar asked. “A fight with one of the students?”
Billie shook her head.
“A disagreement with one of the nuns?” Lena asked.
Billie’s throat was tight, and her heart was pounding. She wrung her hands. “Mr. Withers, the math teacher,” she murmured.
“Yes?” Lena said.
“He wanted to be alone with me.”
Mrs. Hofmann’s eyes grew wide.
“What?” Oscar said. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand, you old fool!” Lena barked at him. Turning back to Billie, she replied, “Enough said, little one. You won’t be going back.”
Chapter 6
Billie slept through the next day, waking up only once in the evening to eat. After a week, her body had almost fully recovered. The warmth and love of the Hofmanns helped immensely, yet the horrors of that night haunted her.
“Is Nils gone for the day, Oscar?” Lena asked late one October afternoon. Nils Larson helped with milking and chores.
“Ja,” Mr. Hofmann said, closing the kitchen door. “It’s safe to go out if she wants to.”
“Billie!” Lena called. “If you want to take your camera and go outside now, he’s gone.”
They could take no chances. Billie must not be seen. Every Indian girl her age should be at boarding school. It was the law.
“Mostly French ancestry is in your looks,” Lena told her. “But here, near the reservation, they will see only the Indian. We must be careful.”
Billie was happy being back on the farm, but as each day passed, she felt more and more like a prisoner. How long could she hide? She was putting the Hofmanns at risk, and although they would do anything to keep her safe, she must consider their well-being too.
The coming of winter nagged Billie. Late one night, she made her decision. She took Oscar’s jeans and work shirt from the clean laundry basket, grabbed her house dress, soap, and a toothbrush, and tied them all into a blanket. She packed sandwiches and a thermos of water into another. Her camera she would leave behind.
Billie went to bed early and woke up hours before sunrise. The house was quiet, and even Nils hadn’t arrived yet to milk. She put on a shirt, overalls, and Oscar’s jacket, adding a flat cap to her head. She knew she would fool no one about being a girl, but men’s clothing was more practical for traveling.
She left a note on the kitchen table, promising to pay for the clothes and thanking them for everything. Billie told them not to worry; she would return as soon as it was safe. With tears in her eyes, she picked up her bundles and left.
The branches were almost bare on the trees, and the wind sent dry leaves skittering across her feet as she walked. A loneliness she had never felt before flooded her as she trudged down the dirt road. Each time an automobile passed, she put out her thumb.
At last, a farmer in an old pickup stopped and offered her a ride. He was taking pumpkins to market in the Twin Cities. An elderly man, he spoke little and asked no questions. They rode in silence for several hours as Billie looked out the window. It was the first time she had been to Minneapolis. As they approached, she noticed the landscape change from open fields to houses clustered close together. The roads became narrow and were paved with bricks.
And it was loud. Billie was used to birds in the morning and the sound of farm animals. Here there were men shouting, doors slamming, and the sound of engines. There were only a few horse-drawn wagons, like the milkman out making deliveries. Most of the vehicles were motorcars or pickups.
Everything seemed so modern. The women were dressed in knee-length dresses, had short hair, and wore close-fitting hats. The men were in three-piece suits, wearing fedoras or flat caps. Billie was used to men in jeans and overalls.
And everyone smoked.
The old man pulled over and threw the truck in gear. Before them were rows and rows of long walkways covered with metal awnings where farmers were unloading goods to be sold. There were crates and chip-wood baskets of vegetables, late-season flowers, jars of preserves, and honey.
The farmer looked at Billie and said, “This is it.”
“Where you goin’ anyway, kid?”
“To visit my aunt.”
He took the toothpick from his lips as if he was about to say something but then nodded and got out of the truck.
Billie needed to find work and housing fast, saying a prayer she would have a roof over her head by evening. Slinging the bundles over her back, she looked around. In the distance were tall buildings and a massive church with a dome. If she walked city streets, she would get lost, so she decided to follow railroad tracks out of town and find work in a neighborhood.
The rail yard was a busy place with boxcars being loaded and unloaded, trucks and teamsters coming and going with crates, barrels, and huge sacks of grain. Workers in uniforms directed locomotives on the move, and Billie counted at least ten sets of tracks.
No one noticed her as she picked her way through the commotion, looking over her shoulder so she wouldn’t get hit. She headed west out of downtown, following a set of tracks that seemed quiet.
The farther Billie walked, the quieter it became. At last, she could hear the sound of her shoes hitting the gravel and birds singing. A little creek ran alongside the berm. It was a sunny autumn day, so she removed her jacket. Trees lined the tracks, and occasionally, she would see tarpaper shacks in the underbrush. Many of them were just pieces of scrap wood nailed together big enough for only a bed. They made Billie feel grateful for her childhood home.
She thought about her parents. They would have been told by now that she had died in the fire. The thought of it twisted her stomach. I have hurt so many people; maybe I should have stayed. But then she thought of Mr. Withers. It is better this way. She would think of some way to get word to her parents.
Billie sighed and turned her attention back to her walk. In the distance across a meadow, she saw a small, tidy neighborhood. They were not mansions but respectable homes owned by people who may need a hired girl. After eating a sandwich, she ducked into the brush and changed into one of her house dresses. Dusting off her shoes, she took out a tiny, cracked mirror and looked at her face. It was still clean, and she combed her hair.
The Image Seeker Page 5
