A Place to Belong

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Alfrid turned Peg over to Olga and walked to one side of the group, bending down to hear what Danny had to say.

  "I know that man," Danny said. "He calls himself Dr. Claudius Mundy, but he's not a real doctor."

  "How do you know?" Alfrid asked.

  "He used to live in New York City. I saw him, and Mike told me ..."

  The memory was vivid in Danny's mind—the two of them craning their necks to find out what the crowd was watching. Mike knew everything and everyone on the New York streets. "See that man?" he had said in a low voice. "That's Mundy. He's running a shell game—he'll get all those people's money."

  Danny had watched, fascinated, as the man deftly scooped up a pile of coins. "He's the worst kind of snake-oil merchant, too," Mike went on. "Sells stuff in a bottle that's supposed to cure people, but you can bet it only makes them worse. Some doctor."

  Now, looking into Alfrid's concerned face, Danny told him the rest. "Later Mike found out—and he told me—that Mundy's medicine really did kill somebody, and that the police were after him but he'd disappeared."

  Dr. Mundy had finished his magic act and had begun talking about the wonderful curative powers of the tonic he had for sale.

  "I learned the secret formula from an Indian medicine man," Mundy was saying. "It's full of rare herbs that will cure neuralgia and pleurisy and do wonders for the rheumatiz." A few people edged forward to buy bottles of the tonic.

  Alfrid thought a moment, then said, "Maybe we should find out what's in those bottles."

  He strode through the crowd until he reached the side of the wagon, Danny following in his wake. Alfrid picked up the nearest bottle and held it up to the light, peering through the dark green glass.

  "That tonic costs fifty cents, mister," Dr. Mundy said. "Pay up before you help yourself." He laughed, and a few people standing nearby smiled.

  "I'm only looking," Alfrid said.

  Dr. Mundy frowned. "Pay up, or put it down," he demanded.

  Danny saw the muscles in Alfrid's jaw tighten, and Alfrid took a firmer grip on the neck of the bottle. "What's that residue at the bottom?" Alfrid asked.

  "Residue?" For a moment Dr. Mundy looked flabbergasted, but he quickly regained his poise. "Why, that's the secret Indian herbs what will make folks feel healthy and energetic again, once they drink it." He turned to the

  crowd. "A spoonful a day, folks. Best tonic youVe ever tried. A real cure-all."

  "It looks like river sediment to me," Alfrid said, "Missouri River mud."

  Dr. Mundy growled a curse and tried to snatch the bottle Alfrid was holding, but Alfrid pulled some coins from the watch pocket in his coat and slapped them down on the gate of the wagon. He deliberately unscrewed the cap of the bottle and held it under his nose.

  "Ugh!" Alfrid said. "This is river water that has stood too long. It stinks of slime and scum!"

  A few people nearby exchanged murmured comments, and a hand that was holding out some coins quickly pulled back.

  "You're scum yourself! Get out of here!" Mundy hissed at Alfrid. "You got no call to interfere with my business."

  "And youVe got no right to try to poison people," Alfrid said.

  One of the men in the crowd elbowed forward with an opened bottle. "This isn't tonic! What are you trying to get away with?"

  "Give us back our money!" a woman shouted.

  Dr. Mundy, his face dark red with anger, struggled to stay in control. He raised his voice and said firmly, "No need to shove or shout. If you're not happy, I'll refund your money. Folks know my good reputation wherever I go."

  "Not in New York," Danny said. "Your tonic killed a man there."

  "A lie! The boy is lying!" Dr. Mundy shouted, glaring at Danny.

  "I am not lying," Danny said. "You aren't a real doctor, either."

  "The man's a crook!" someone yelled.

  "A cheat! Give back our money!"

  A woman screamed as the crowd pushed toward the wagon.

  Dr. Mundy handed back coins as fast as he could, tossed bottles of pills and tonic helter-skelter into the wagon, and scrambled to lift and lock the wagon's gate. He paused in front of Danny, grabbing the collar of his coat and poking his face close to Danny's. U I won't forget you, brat!" he said. "I'll get you for this."

  Alfrid roughly shoved Dr. Mundy aside. "Get out of this town and don't come back!" he warned.

  "I'm going!" Dr. Mundy untied his horse's reins and jumped to the seat of his wagon. "But I'll be back!" he snarled. "You can count on it!"

  "Don't be afraid of him," Alfrid said to Danny as they watched Mundy's wagon rattle down the street. "He's known in St. Joe now. He won't want to come back."

  But Danny suspected that for once, Dr. Claudius Mundy was telling the truth.

  The news finally arrived by telegraph that Abraham Lincoln had been elected president of the United States.

  "When the Southern Democrats split from the Northern Democrats, dividing their vote, it allowed the Republicans to win the election," Alfrid explained. "In St. Joe, Lincoln got 410 votes out of the 452 votes cast!"

  Danny was delighted. He was sure that now everything would begin to change for the better.

  But it didn't. The people who had worried that war might be possible were now positive that war was inevitable. Word came that raids along the southern Missouri-Kansas border had increased in violence. Men had been shot and their farms burned. On the streets of St. Joseph there were heated discussions about secession.

  During this turmoil Danny accompanied Alfrid on his trip to town to purchase supplies. He leaned from the wagon to peer at a group of men who had crowded around a speaker and were interrupting his speech with enthusiastic shouts and cheers.

  64

  "I wonder what they're so excited about," Danny said. "I wish I could hear what the man is telling them."

  Alfrid glanced at the group and sighed. "I know some of the men in that group. I'm afraid they're Southern sympathizers. The speaker is probably trying to raise money for the Southern cause. Unfortunately, he'll probably be successful."

  People in the crowd shifted, some of them contributing to a hat that was being passed around. Danny sucked in his breath as he thought he spied a familiar face. "Mundy! He came back!" Danny cried.

  Alfrid drew the horses to a halt and craned to study the faces in the crowd. "I don't see him, Danny," he said. "Can you point him out to me?"

  As the crowd began to disperse, Danny tried to spot Mundy again, but he finally shook his head. "I don't see him now. Maybe he went down that side street."

  "I think you must have made a mistake," Alfrid told him. "It's hard to believe that the man would return to St. Joe. I honestly don't think you have anything to fear from Mundy."

  But Danny did fear Mundy. It was hard to get the man's twisted, angry face out of his mind.

  Every day at school there were arguments between the abolitionists and the antiabolitionists. One afternoon the hostile feelings erupted into an uncontrollable fist fight involving every boy over the age of nine and a few of the older girls.

  Miss Clark rushed frantically around the schoolroom, trying to separate the fighters, but she couldn't be everywhere at once.

  Wilmer's fist collided so hard with Danny's right cheek that he staggered backward. Danny gasped with shock and shouted at Wilmer, "I thought we were friends!"

  His whole body shaking in anger, Wilmer spat back,

  "We can't never be friends! Not as long as you and your family are dirty abolitionists!"

  Danny, sobbing with hurt and fury, flung himself at Wilmer.

  In spite of Miss Clark's tearful efforts, the blows didn't end until the fighters were too exhausted to continue. Surveying the array of blackened eyes, bleeding cuts and scrapes, and torn clothing, Miss Clark announced that, as a suitable punishment, there would be no Christmas pageant.

  Peg cried all the way home and into the parlor, flinging herself into Olga's arms. "I was going to be an angel!" she wailed. "And now I can't, and
it's Abraham Lincoln's fault!"

  "It is not!" Danny shouted at her. "It's the fault of the stupid people who believe in slavery!"

  Gussie roughly grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back. "Look at you!" she said. "You come in the house all dirty, with your eye puffed out to here, and your clothes torn and bloodied, and then go blamin' other folk. For shame!"

  Peg continued to sniffle, and Gussie immediately turned on her. "Take your tears somewhere else, Missy. Miz Swenson don't need to hear all your troubles. The two of you—look how you've upset her!"

  Peg pulled back, her red-rimmed eyes wide with concern and guilt. "I'm sorry, Mama," she whispered to Olga.

  "Dear little love, it's all right," Olga answered. "Part of being your mama is listening to your problems and trying to help." She attempted to rise from the sofa on which she'd been lying. "I'm worried about the swelling around Danny's eye. I'll wash his face and—"

  Gussie interrupted her. "You just lie back, Miz Swenson," she said. "I'll tend to Danny."

  Olga obediently sank back against the pillows. Danny

  was shocked to see how weak she was. She seemed to have lost more weight, and a thin blue line throbbed in her neck. Why hadn't he noticed? There'd been so much to think about, so much to do.

  "I didn't mean to upset you," he told Olga. "I won't get into a fight again. I promise."

  "I promise, too," Peg echoed, her lower lip wobbling.

  "There's no harm done," Olga said and smiled at them. But as they followed Gussie from the room, Danny turned to glance at Olga and saw her sigh and close her eyes.

  Tears rolled down his cheeks as he sat in the kitchen and let Gussie wash the dirt from his face and swab at the scraped place on his chin.

  "Don't be such a baby," Gussie grunted. "It don't hurt that much."

  "It's not that," Danny said. "I was remembering Da when he was so sick. And Mrs. Swenson—"

  "Hush!" Gussie whispered, and gave a jerk of her head in Peg's direction. But Peg was huddled on the floor in front of the fireplace, cradling her cat, her face buried in Whiskers's fur.

  Gussie was right. He should help Peg, not make her feel worse. Danny gulped back the tears and said, "Peg, don't feel bad that we won't have a school Christmas pageant. You can sing your angel song to Mr. and Mrs. Swenson and Gussie and me."

  Peg raised her head and looked at him mournfully. "It's not the same," she said.

  "It'll be better," he told her, "because you'll be the only one performing. We'll all be watching you."

  He could see Peg thinking about this, and she sat up a little straighten

  "Wait till you taste the good Christmas food," Gussie said. She wrung out the cloth and handed Danny a linen towel to dry his face. "Everybody makes steamed Christ-

  mas puddings with lots of fruit and nuts and suet and spices, and serves them hot with a big lump of hard sauce on top."

  "What's hard sauce?" Danny became interested in spite of himself.

  Gussie smiled and rubbed her stomach. "It's butter and sugar beaten together. When it's put on the pudding it melts and runs down the sides." She sighed. "It's the best-tastin' stuff you'll ever eat, not even exceptin' flummery."

  "What's flum'ry?" Peg asked.

  Gussie laughed. "It's a boiled custard. Talkin' of Christmas, tell you what let's do. Why don't we make Miz Swenson a sweet sachet for a Christmas present?" Peg looked so puzzled that Gussie added. "You two don't know nothin', do you? A sweet sachet's a packet of good-smellin' berries and leaves and such to lay in the wardrobe or chest of drawers, so all the clothes will smell good. Come on, Peg, let's see if we can find a bit of cheesecloth and ribbon to start with."

  Danny ran up the stairs to change his clothes. He didn't want to think about Christmas. It would be his first Christmas away from Ma and Mike and the others, and he didn't know how he was going to stand it. Before the tears started again, he pulled on his coat and ran outside to find Alfrid.

  As Christmas approached, the church was decorated with fragrant pine boughs, and the Swensons' house was warm with sugary, spicy smells. Fresh ginger cakes or crisp sugar cookies were waiting for Danny and Peg when they came in the door from school each day. Sometimes they'd eat them with cups of hot cider, warming their cold fingers against the mugs. Olga would smile at their pleasure in the treat. She looked more frail than ever and spent more and more time resting.

  The winter gusts of snow and sleet brought most of the farm work to a standstill and brought Alfrid indoors, where he hovered near Olga. He made one trip into St. Joseph, traveling alone, and he came back with a solemn face, shaking his head at what he'd heard and seen in town.

  "There's talk that when the Southern states secede from the Union, Missouri will go with them," he said. "Governor Jackson is urging secession."

  Danny hadn't forgotten Dr. Mundy, and he had to ask. "Did you see Dr. Mundy?"

  Alfrid shook his head. "I kept an eye out, but no sight of him. You must have been mistaken when you thought you saw him."

  Danny hoped Alfrid was right. He never wanted to meet up with Mundy again.

  Alfrid had brought letters to Danny and Peg from Ma and Megan.

  "Megan wrote this herself!" Danny said to Peg. "She's learned to read and write!"

  "When are you going to write to the others in your family?" Alfrid asked him.

  "Danny!" Olga exclaimed. "You haven't written to your mother or brothers and sisters yet?"

  Danny knew how stricken he must look, because Alfrid quickly said, "I didn't mean to get you in trouble, Danny, but Olga is right. Your family will want to hear from you."

  "I'll write to them today," Danny mumbled. "Or maybe tomorrow, because I'll need to help with the animals, and then there's supper, and schoolwork to finish."

  "Alfrid will excuse you from working out-of-doors," Olga said firmly. "You may write your letters now."

  "Yes, ma'am," Danny said meekly. He followed Alfrid to the dining room and took a chair at the table as Alfrid lit an oil lamp against the afternoon's early darkness.

  Alfrid placed on the table a bottle of ink, some sheets of paper, and a box containing penholders, tips, and wipers.

  "Dear Ma," Danny wrote on the first page as soon as Alfrid had left the room. He stopped and stared at the paper through blurred eyes, and his stomach hurt. Ma was so far away, and she shouldn't be. She and her children should be together. He wanted to tell Ma that, but he couldn't. What could he write? He couldn't write anything that would make this all final.

  Gussie came into the room carrying a stack of plates. "How are you coming?" she asked. "I'll need the table soon to set up for supper."

  "I don't know what to write to my mother," Danny blurted out.

  Gussie shrugged. "Don't ask me. I never writ to anybody in my whole life. Just think of somethin' pretty soon because in about half an hour we got to eat."

  As she left him alone, Danny quickly wrote, "Peg and I are fine. How are you? Your loving son, Daniel James Kelly."

  He leaned back and gave a long sigh of relief. That was noncommittal enough. He'd write the same to Mike, Megan, and Frances and Petey. Oh! And one more thing. At the bottom of the page he added, "Merry Christmas to us all."

  Christmas was not merry in the Swenson home, in spite of the wonderful gifts Alfrid had made: a sled for Danny and a doll bed for Peg's rag doll. There was an orange apiece, some taffy candy, new clothes, and a roast goose dinner, cooked by Mrs. Pratka, ending with the spicy steamed pudding that Gussie had promised. But Olga had barely enough strength to attend the Christmas services at church, and as soon as the family arrived home, she took to her bed.

  The doctor came the next day, but this time he talked

  to Alfrid a long while, and when he left the house his face was solemn. Alfrid spoke to Mrs. Pratka, and Danny heard the few words which frightened him so much that he huddled in a corner of the parlor, his arms wrapped around his knees. Olga was going to die.

  When Alfrid found him there, Danny clung to him, an
d he felt Alfrid's tears against his own cheek. All he could do was share Alfrid's sorrow. There was nothing he could say to Alfrid to help him.

  But there was a great deal Mrs. Pratka could say. She was at the house every day, maintaining a constant chatter as she kept Danny and Peg busy with chores which Danny sometimes suspected she made up from moment to moment. She shepherded them in to see Olga when she felt that Olga was strong enough to visit with them for a few minutes, and she cared for Olga as tenderly as though Olga were her own kin.

  'The widow Pratka is a hard one to work for," Gussie mumbled grudgingly, "but I give her this much. She's gettin' everythin' done what needs to get done."

  Peg hugged her cat, but Whiskers was little comfort for her. Peg followed Danny around, snuggling up beside him whenever he had time to sit down. "When will Mama get better?" she kept asking.

  "Peg, she's awfully sick," Danny answered the first time. "She might not—" But he stopped when he saw the terror on Peg's face. He hugged his little sister, and lamely finished, "I don't know. I just don't know."

  It was the last day of December when Olga called for Danny and Peg to be brought to her room. Gently she kissed them and whispered, "I love you."

  "I love you, too, Mama," Peg said.

  Danny was so choked up he couldn't talk. He knew that Olga was saying good-bye.

  Mrs. Pratka carried Peg off to the kitchen for milk

  and cake and listened to her prattle, but Danny went upstairs. He rolled into a ball on top of his bed and cried until he fell asleep.

  Sometime later Danny felt Alfrid scoop him up and hold him on his lap. Hearing voices in the hallway, Danny realized that Olga had died. "It isn't fair!" he cried. He hugged Alfrid tightly and sobbed, "You'll send us away now, and I'll lose you, too. You're my father, and I love you, and I need you, and now I'll lose you, just like I lost Da, and I can't! I can't lose you, too!"