In the bathroom, Lucy waited until the matron had moved on. Then she picked up the trash bucket, ducked back out the door, and walked fast to the incinerator.
If anyone stopped her, she would say a matron had asked her to empty the trash. But no one did. In the distance, boys were walking down to the school building, busy trying to trip each other.
She dropped the trash bucket by the incinerator and circled the blue Ford, her eyes scanning the surrounding area.
Her hands shook when she tested the door. Locked. The windows rolled up.
She tried the other side. Also locked. Then her hand found the trunk handle, which stuck at first, then popped open. Lucy took a quick look around and hopped inside.
But once she lay crouched in the dark trunk, her pulse quickened. She’d planned to hold the door down from the inside so that it looked shut. But what if the car went over a bump and the trunk closed? There was no lever to open the trunk from the inside. How would she get out?
Then she heard footsteps. The driver’s-side door opened and the car shook as someone climbed in.
The door slammed shut. The motor turned over. Urr, urr, urrr, urrr. Urr, urr, urrr, urrr. Lucy bunched up the hem of her skirt and stuck it between the trunk lid and the car to keep it from closing.
Grundy turned the motor off. Waited a minute, then tried again.
Urr, urr, urrr, urrr.
“Come on,” Grundy mumbled.
The minutes ticked by.
Urr, urr, urrr, urrr. Urr, urr, urrr, urrr.
“Darn thing,” Grundy said.
The car shook as Grundy got out. Then the door slammed shut and Grundy walked away.
Now what? If Lucy wasn’t in class, Mackinac would be called and the matrons would search the grounds.
Lucy hopped out of the trunk and ran all the way to the school building, then slipped into her seat just as Mrs. Johnston was putting her roll book away.
Mrs. Johnston waggled her eyebrows at Lucy.
Stomach problems. Lucy showed the paper where she had written this before.
Mrs. Johnston nodded. “Ruby said you weren’t feeling well.”
Lucy nodded, trying to hide her surprise. Ruby had covered for her. It was rare to find a girl who would go out of her way for you at the Home for Friendless Children.
All during class Lucy thought about what to do. The blue Ford idea had worked well, if only the car had started. Should she try again tomorrow? Lucy didn’t want to wait that long. Besides, the trunk was too risky. She knew that now.
By the time she’d finished lunch, Lucy had a lot of ideas about how to escape, but none of them seemed quite right. She stood in line waiting to receive her afternoon chore assignment, mulling them over. Most orphans got different chores every day, but since the bad reports from Miss Holland had begun, Lucy had been assigned scrubbing toilets and cleaning the bathrooms every afternoon. Maybe she could say the toilets overflowed. There weren’t a lot of toilets at the orphanage, and the ones they had didn’t work properly. That would give her a reason to run to the office, but then what?
Mackinac stood at the door holding the chore chart as she always did, but today the cook appeared, her apron crisp and clean. She whispered to Mackinac and Mackinac nodded.
When it was Lucy’s turn in line, Mackinac said, “Kitchen. Wait here. I’ll walk you over.”
What? Lucy’s mouth fell open.
Kitchen wasn’t a punishment. It was the best chore assignment there was. Kitchen crew meant extra food.
“I’m in the kitchen too,” Ruby said, standing with Lucy.
Lucy nodded, trying to understand how this had happened. The cook had said she’d help Lucy, but she’d done that already. She’d pretended to unlock the door and then she’d convinced Mackinac that Lucy had spent enough time in the attic.
Mackinac walked with Lucy and Ruby. She didn’t lecture. Or hold Lucy by the arm. They were behind the fence now. She was confident nothing would happen.
When they got to the kitchen, the cook was wiping down the counters.
“Keep an eye on her and make her work,” Mackinac said.
“Yes indeedy.” The cook nodded, handing Ruby and Lucy white aprons, which they slipped over their dresses.
Ruby got a bucket and turned on the hot water spigot. When the bucket was full, Lucy helped her carry it to the pantry. Ruby picked up a scrub brush and handed Lucy a mop.
Lucy was busy mopping when Mackinac walked out. A minute later, the cook appeared. “Last night I couldn’t sleep. Got to thinking…putting two and two together. Tell me your full name, child.”
Lucy stared at her. Why did she want to know?
“It’s okay, honey. Just tell me.” There was genuine concern in the cook’s eyes.
Lucy Simone Sauvé, Lucy wrote.
“Sauvé?”
Lucy nodded.
“What’s your sister’s name?”
“D-Dilly.”
“Oh, child,” the cook whispered, crossing herself. “Your Dilly was here just yesterday!”
A choke caught in Lucy’s throat. She tried to shake her head but was too stunned to move.
It was a lie.
Everything in this place was a lie. Don’t trust anyone.
The cook raised her fuzzy eyebrows. “Oh yes, she was. Looks like you, except all growed up. Same red hair and freckles. She was in Mackinac’s office. Mackinac had me pour tea and serve toast and jam. The matron’s food, of course.
“She wanted to search the place, your Dilly did. But they told her you was dead, child. Then they dug out a doll they had in your file. Funny little thing with curled-up hair and an extra eye”—she touched the bridge of her nose—“right here.”
Lucy gasped. Mrs. Three Eyes!
Mackinac had said personal toys and keepsakes only caused trouble with the girls. She’d told Lucy it was for the best that someone had stolen Mrs. Three Eyes. It hadn’t occurred to Lucy that that someone was Mackinac.
“The look on your Dilly’s face when she saw that doll near broke my heart. She been missing you for an awful long while. Saw that clear as day.”
“Where is…D-Dilly now?” Lucy whispered, gripping the button in her pocket.
“Heading back on the train, I expect. Said she was leaving today. I thought it was strange them locking you up. That Mackinac got a mean streak.”
“Are y-you sure?” Lucy asked.
“I don’t know if she’s still here, child. She didn’t say what time she’d be leaving.”
“Maybe you can catch her,” Ruby whispered.
The cook took a deep breath, her big chest rising and falling. “Don’t know how you gonna do that. But you two are smart cookies. First desk, aren’t you both?”
They nodded.
“You figure out something. I will help any way I can. Just don’t get me fired. I got a house full of mouths to feed, all right?”
Lucy nodded, but all she could think was Dilly had come.
“Get busy with those mops. Mackinac sticks her head in here, we got to look like we’re working. If you keep your voices low, I won’t be able to make out one word you say.” The cook winked at them.
Ruby sloshed her brush in the water. “How about if we dig a hole under the fence.”
“S-someone would see us digging.” Lucy stared at the clock. If she was to catch Dilly, every moment counted. “If we h-had a big…box. The cook could g-give me to the mailman.”
“Don’t think we have a box that big,” Ruby said.
Slat-sided crates were stacked by the door, but they were small. “Maybe when the delivery…men come,” Lucy suggested.
Ruby raced over to the cook, who was slicing onions, her eyes watering.
The cook shook her head. “Deliveries are Mondays and Thursdays.” She rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. �
�I could say I was sending the flour back. Weevils. It’s happened before. Ruby, climb up and get the flour bags.”
Ruby stepped on a crate and pulled folded flour bags down from the pantry shelf, but they were too small to fit inside.
“I c-could sew them together,” Lucy said.
Lucy could baste them together to make a bigger bag. But the sewing room was a five-minute run from here. And she would have to come up with a reason why she needed a needle and thread. Then she’d need time to sew the bags together.
“You don’t have much time to catch your sister. She could be getting on that train this very minute,” the cook said.
Lucy watched her transfer onions from the cutting board to the pan. “Deliveries…come in. What g-goes out?”
Ruby stared up at the ceiling, thinking. “Empty crates, empty flour bags, rags, and kitchen towels that need washing.”
“Laundry!”
“Goes to the laundry room.”
Lucy nodded. “There’s always…t-too much.”
Mounds of dirty clothes, pee-soaked sheets, threadbare towels, sweaty undershirts. It all piled up outside the laundry. The girls had to boil the clothes, then scrub, wring, and hang them. Backbreaking work in the steamy laundry room.
“What if…the cook needed her…her…towels washed right away? What if she had to w-wash them…at home?” Lucy asked.
“The laundry bin!” Ruby said.
By the back door was a large canvas bag set in a metal frame with wheels. If Lucy rolled herself into a ball, she could fit inside and they could load the dirty towels and aprons on top of her.
The cook massaged her chin. “Oh, they’ll squawk if I take that off the property.”
“What if—if…you needed the kitchen towels wa-washed by tomorrow. You could say you had to do them at home. Then you could wheel me out,” Lucy said.
“Why would I be in an all-fired hurry for dish towels?” the cook asked.
Lucy shrugged.
But the cook kept nodding, thinking this over. “I could call my son. He could pick the bin up in his truck. You two think up a reason he gots to take that laundry in a big hurry. And keep an eye on my onions. Only thing I got to flavor that stew.” She scurried outside, across the grass to the office phone.
Ruby stirred the onions. Lucy finished mopping the pantry.
“Will you come back and visit?” Ruby asked.
Visit the orphanage? That was the last thing Lucy wanted to do.
“No,” Ruby answered for Lucy.
Lucy stared at Ruby. Ruby wanted to run—Lucy could see it in her eyes—but the laundry bin wasn’t big enough for two girls. Could the cook’s son make two trips? It was barely believable for the cook to need one bin full of towels, but two?
Ruby waved the wooden spoon at Lucy. “What you told the other girls about that circus place. You made that up, didn’t you?”
“No,” Lucy said.
Ruby squinted at Lucy. “If this circus was so great, why’d you come back?”
“Mackinac and Grundy…caught me. F-Forced me…to.”
Ruby searched Lucy’s face. The matrons complained bitterly when more orphans arrived. Why would they go out of their way to get her back? It didn’t make sense, but there was no time to explain.
Lucy took stock of Ruby’s light brown skin, thick black hair, and riveting eyes. Lucy could see Ruby at Saachi’s.
But Ruby needed to know Saachi’s was a real place. And if she ran, she had to know where to go. Lucy felt for the route card. She didn’t need it anymore, but she didn’t want to part with it, either. She’d worked so hard to get it. She tightened her grip on the card.
Then she imagined telling Jabo about this. Jabo would want her to give the card to Ruby. OOFOs had to help each other.
Lucy bit her lip, then handed Ruby the card. Ruby’s eyes grew large.
The door creaked open and the cook bustled back inside, her face flushed from the run. “He’s coming.” She smiled.
“Th-thank you!” Lucy said.
The cook nodded, her eyes glowing. “You listen to me, child. You got to find your Dilly. Now, you figured out why I need my towels in a big hurry?”
“To bake bread,” Ruby said. “You cover it with a towel to make the dough rise. The towels have to be clean.”
It was a good lie. Even with the cheap ingredients that made the rolls mealy, everyone loved bread. And the matrons loved the special bread the cook baked for them.
The cook nodded her approval. “Hide them clean ones, Ruby.” She nodded to the stack in the pantry. “Lucy, climb in.”
Lucy hopped into the old laundry cart and the cook piled the dirty laundry over her. It was dark and cold under the wet towels, and it smelled of camphor, perspiration, and mold. Lucy sneezed.
Ruby tried to push the bin, but it wouldn’t roll. Lucy weighed too much for the cart.
“Don’t worry none about that. My boy’s a big fella. He can carry the cart.” The cook’s voice sounded muffled through the wet towels.
The minutes ticked by.
Lucy held her nose and tried not to sneeze again. She thought about introducing Dilly to Jabo. Riding Jenny with Dilly. Sleeping next to Dilly in the elephant car. Lucy had to find her; she just did.
Lucy’s leg cramped. She moved to a more comfortable position. Her ear itched. She scratched it, then repositioned the towels over her head.
The kitchen door popped open. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor.
“Carry that one real careful. Got a child inside needs to go to the train station. Not a word about it to anyone,” the cook said.
“Sure, Mama,” replied a man’s deep voice.
“Anybody asks, say we needed the kitchen towels for tomorrow’s baking,” the cook said.
Lucy felt herself tilt sideways and then rise off the ground. The cook’s son shifted his weight and heaved her higher, bouncing her forward as he walked. She rocked with his swaying steps as he carried her in his swinging arms.
“And you are?” Matron Mackinac barked.
Lucy’s heart stopped. Had the towels shifted? Could Mackinac see her hair so red against the white towels?
Lucy tried not to move. Not even to breathe.
“The cook’s son, ma’am. She is particular about her kitchen. Won’t do nothing until her towels and rags are all clean.”
The cook’s son had come up with his own lie.
The cook’s voice was farther away. “The girls is two weeks behind on the laundry, Mrs. Mackinac. I don’t have one single clean rag to work with. Can’t make bread without a clean cloth. Got to cover the dough for it to rise.”
“I been telling Grundy we need more girls in there.” Then, in a softer voice, Mackinac said, “You go on back to the kitchen. Keep an eye on that Lucy. She’s a runner.”
“Yes, ma’am, will do,” the cook said.
Lucy heard the rattle of the lock and the squeak of the gate as it opened.
The cook’s son started walking again. He grunted as he lifted her higher, and then with a thump dropped the cart onto a truck bed. She could hear the sharp bleep of a car horn, the tweeting of birds, the river burbling over the stones in the distance.
And then a minute later shugety-shug, shugety-shug, the truck moved forward. She heard the whoosh of passing cars. She wanted to peek out, but she didn’t dare.
A few minutes later the truck jolted to a stop. The cab door opened, then shut. Lucy stiffened when the hands pulled the towels off her. But it was the big smiling face of the cook’s son, with his thick black mustache and his mama’s lively eyes.
“All righty, little girl. This is the train station. I gotta run. I’m late for work. You gonna be okay here?”
She nodded.
“Good luck to you,” he said, and he was gone.
Lucy pulled open the door to the train station lobby and a huge press of stale, hot air swelled around her.
People were getting off trains. People were getting on trains. People were waiting with bags, baskets, and suitcases, drinking pop from bottles, reading newspapers, and bustling out to platforms.
Lucy searched the waiting area, the ticket lines, the benches, even the ladies’ room.
No Dilly.
Lucy kept her eye on the doors, watching everyone who came in.
Would Dilly come? Had she already left?
Lucy searched the platforms again. But there was no one with curly red hair, a determined step, and a laugh you could hear a block away.
She waited in line at the ticket counter to ask which train went to Chicago. The man behind the counter had a plaid vest, red ears, and a bow tie. He couldn’t have been friendlier. Even so, the old panic struck. Lucy wrote quickly. Last train to Chicago?
“Leaves at five o’clock. Platform three.” He squinted at her. “You want a ticket, missy?”
Lucy shook her head, then ran to platform three, but the train hadn’t arrived. She ran back to a bench behind a pillar. This was a good spot to watch for Dilly and watch out for Mackinac and Grundy. She could keep an eye on the train platforms from here, too.
How much time did she have before Mackinac noticed Lucy was gone? How much before they checked the train station?
Lucy’s eyes were on the door, the train, the big clock on the wall.
Four-fifteen. A family with seven blond girls came through the doors.
Four-seventeen. A lady with lots of luggage.
Four-thirty. A crowd of men in suits.
Four-thirty-two. The train arrived on platform three. Out to the platform she ran.
Four-forty-two. Back to the pillar.
Maybe the cook heard wrong. Maybe she got the day mixed up. Maybe Dilly was leaving from a different train station. Maybe she’d gotten a ride in an automobile. Maybe she was planning to take a train tomorrow. Maybe it hadn’t been Dilly at all.
No, that couldn’t be true. No one but Dilly would cry when they saw Mrs. Three Eyes.
“Last call for Chicago,” the ticket man shouted.
Orphan Eleven Page 16
