by Kirby Larson
Tucking deeper under the lap blanket, Audie pushed aside thoughts of personal discomfort. Having availed herself of Mr. Witherton’s many atlases over the years, she surmised that the touring car was now jostling south toward Dayton, Ohio.
She tested that observation on the Commodore. “Are we heading to Dayton?” she inquired.
“Oh, dear, Annie.” The Commodore rotated with great effort to look at her as he spoke. “Do not trouble your pretty little head about such things. We are in good hands with Cypher here at the wheel. And all is going to plan.” At that, the Commodore gave a little chuckle. “Yes. Everything’s aces and eights,” he proclaimed giddily.
Audie wondered if the Commodore was aware that “aces and eights” was not something to evoke cheer. It was the Dead Man’s Hand, the very cards Mr. Wild Bill Hickok held when he was murdered in a most cowardly fashion. She’d read about it in one of Mr. Witherton’s books. “Aces and eights were an unlucky combination for Wild Bill Hickok,” she began, but her efforts at conversation were stymied by a loud snore. The Commodore had dozed off.
And now he had been imitating a bull moose the last many miles. The driver, Cypher, had thus far deflected any of Audie’s efforts at chitchat, so it seemed unlikely he would answer her questions about their ultimate destination. The thought came into her mind that, once they reached Indianapolis, they’d head east on the Old National Road. This notion set her left ear abuzzing like a clutch of gossiping busybodies. So east they must be going.
Of course, a hunch was not completely to be trusted. And yet—there had been too many times that little ear buzz had proven prophetic. There was the tragic example of her own parents’ demise. And then again, when she had been at Miss Maisie’s for less than a year, she’d awakened in the wee hours of April 18, screaming, “The earth is shaking! The earth is shaking!” Swayzee had been unscathed but that same day the entire city of San Francisco collapsed under a great earthquake and fire. And Audie was the talk of the School when she anticipated the Great Chocolate Shortage of 1908, saving each of the Wayward Girls from Miss Maisie’s ill humors by stashing away bits and nibs of cocoa against such a catastrophe. As has already been mentioned, Audie was a girl with foresight.
Now, as she shifted on the tufted seat, she grew convinced of two things. One, that this touring car would head east, perhaps as far east as this great country’s capital. And, two, that it had been a huge mistake to allow her bag to be packed away at the rear of the touring car, in the trunk.
What she wouldn’t give for a book in her hands right now, though she would be required to strain to read in the fading light. The monotony of an etiquette book like Mrs. Paul’s Manners for the Modern Young Lady would be livelier than staring out at the ice-sculptured landscape. Audie sighed, rearranging the wool blanket over her legs. She was desperate enough to settle for a calculus primer.
A parade of farms and pastures and villages galloped past. She couldn’t be sure—she had yet to begin a study of physics—but she suspected they were traveling in excess of fifteen miles per hour, when the occasional cow did not hinder their progress. Fifteen miles an hour! In eight hours of travel, they could make it all the way to Ohio.
If it were summer, Audie might have asked the chauffeur to stop in Cicero, so she could cool her toes in the lake there. But this was winter. No swimming. Perhaps the lake was frozen solid enough for skating! She remembered back to a time when Papa had held her left hand and Mama her right and they had cut delicate triple figure eights on Grier’s Pond. She had only been three but she could still recall the shhhh of their skate blades slicing through the ice in unison; she could still feel her parents’ warmth through her knitted woolen mittens.
Pressing her palms together in the backseat, Audie glanced again at the driver. There was a sternness to the back of his head—neck stiff, cap settled just so. He did not seem the type to indulge a young orphan in her desire to recapture a precious childhood memory. Not even at Christmastime. Along with his striking appearance, the driver gave off the aura of one who would not indulge a young girl’s desire in any shape or form. In fact, she had the most definite sensation that his preference would have been that Audie had remained at Miss Maisie’s. Some adults simply are not fond of children. It is the sad but bitter truth.
Audie returned her gaze outside the moving auto. The rhythm of the rackety engine and the scenery whizzing past had an almost hypnotic effect. It wasn’t until the engine was shut off that she started, aware that she’d fallen asleep. For how long, she did not know. But it was extremely dark. And extremely cold.
“Here we are.” The Commodore unfolded himself from the front seat and stepped out. He paused, stretching and moaning once he was upright on two feet again. “Our lodgings for the night.”
Audie blinked the sleep from her eyes and focused on the clapboard building in front of her. A hand-painted sign proclaimed, THE LYON’S DEN HOTEL: BEST IN OHIO.
“Wait here,” the driver ordered. “And when we fetch you, do not speak unless spoken to.”
“Cypher, cast aside your worries.” The Commodore arranged his cloak over his shoulders. “Annie will be no trouble.”
“Audie.” She said her name firmly. “Actually, it’s Audacity.”
Cypher gave the Commodore a satisfied look.
“Audie.” The Commodore corrected himself with a chuckle. “Of course, my dear. Of course.” He and Cypher made their way to the front door of the hotel. Cypher held it open to allow the Commodore to enter first.
Audie pulled the wool blanket around her, a worthless shield against the cold night air. They had been riding since lunchtime. Her back ached. Her legs ached. Her sit-upon especially ached. Would her traveling companions be any the wiser if she got out and stretched?
She reached for the door handle and pulled. Stuck. Or locked? With a careful glance toward the hotel, she snaked her arm over the top edge of the door frame, feeling for the outer handle. She patted around until her fingers touched metal and then she grabbed hold and tugged. The handle didn’t budge. Somehow, it was locked from both the inside and out. Why were they so keen on keeping her in the car?
Audie flopped back, shivering. An icebox would be warmer than her current environment. And her stomach was indignant in its demand for nourishment. It now occurred to Audie that adventure could be highly overrated.
After what seemed like hours, Cypher returned, unlocking the door. “You’ll carry your own bag,” he said, with a jerk of the head toward the hotel. “I’ve got to manage his.”
“I don’t m-m-mind,” Audie answered, teeth chattering. She followed Cypher to the rear of the automobile, clutching her coat around her while he undid the latches on the wicker trunk.
A gust of wind tumbled Cypher’s hat from his head. “Not again!” He cursed vociferously before giving chase. Audie couldn’t help but smile to see the hat zig when he zagged. Without taking her eyes from the unfolding drama, she opened the trunk and pulled out her bag. Her fingers brushed against something furry.
Hope floated her heart like a balloon. “Min?” She peered through the dark into the trunk. But all she could see was the Commodore’s fur coat. Of course, any reasonable person would realize how ridiculous to have thought otherwise.
Though it seems difficult to believe, Cypher’s mood was sourer still when he returned, perspiration dripping down his angular face. “Come on.” He snatched up the rest of the bags and slammed the wicker trunk’s lid shut. In his snit, he didn’t bother to latch it back up, much to the good fortune of the unseen occupant. Audie picked up her bag and books and followed him.
The Lyon’s Den was tidy and, most important to Audie at that juncture, warm. The ruddy-faced proprietress, Mrs. O’Connor, fussed over her, whipping up a mug of hot milk with honey to drink during the final preparations of a late supper.
“This is delicious.” Audie patted her mouth with a napkin. “Thank you so much.”
“Your niece has such pretty manners,” Mrs. O’Connor told
the Commodore.
Cypher coughed.
“She attends Miss Maisie’s Finishing School for Fine Young Ladies,” the Commodore replied. “You’ve heard of it, of course.”
“Of course.” Mrs. O’Connor nodded as if only the most hayseedy of hayseeds would not have heard of the School.
Audie stifled back any comment of her own with a yawn.
“Oh, you poor lamb.” Mrs. O’Connor set down the platter of sandwiches she held. “You must be done in. Let me show you to your lodgings.”
Audie followed Mrs. O’Connor’s broad beam up a narrow set of stairs to a room tucked under the eaves. When the door was opened, Audie gasped.
Mrs. O’Connor clucked her tongue. “I know it’s not what you’re used to, darlin’, but I do think you’ll find it cozy.”
Audie shook her head. “It’s … perfect.” After sharing a room with half a dozen other girls all these years, a cupboard to herself would have been sheer pleasure. But a room like this—with crisp Priscilla curtains at the window, and a sunny yellow quilt on a bed topped with two plump pillows—was close to heaven on earth.
Mrs. O’Connor laughed. “Ah, go on with you.” But inwardly she made a note that should she ever have both a daughter and the funds, she would send her to Miss Maisie’s Finishing School. If Audie was any example, Miss Maisie clearly turned out the kindest and most well-mannered young women east of the Mississippi. “Do you fancy a hot bath before bed?”
“Oh, yes, please!” Adventure be hanged! Audie hoped she would never, ever have to leave the Lyon’s Den.
Nearly an hour later, with her hair in damp curls and her fingers raisined from a deliciously long soak, Audie emerged from the bathroom and made her way to her charming chamber.
The door to the Commodore’s room was closed tight, but proved an insufficient barrier to his powerful snoring. Cypher’s door was ajar; Audie shivered. Who knew how a slumber-time encounter with that man might impact her dreams? She turned away from his room toward the stairs, which cast a welcoming light from down at the end of the long, dark hall. Audie grabbed a handful of flannel nightie, lifting the hem so that she wouldn’t trip. Odd that Mrs. O’Connor thought of so many comforts, but not to light a lodger’s way to bed.
A murmuring caught Audie’s attention and she froze. There was much she could not make out but one sentence pounced upon her ear.
“We need to get the girl out of the picture.”
Cypher! He was on the telephone in the hallway. To whom was he speaking? And was she the girl to be removed from the picture? But that made no sense. The Commodore had said she was needed. For a mission of great import. Audie yawned, tired to the marrow of her bones. The last thing she needed in this state was to let her imagination run away with her.
She once again tiptoed on her way to those inviting stairs. But one of the toes on which she tiptoed—the largest on the left foot—made unfortunate contact with an oak coat tree Mrs. O’Connor had inherited from her grandmother. “Bees and bonnets!” Audie hopped up and down, eyes stinging with pain. “That hurt.”
Despite the attention being demanded by her throbbing big toe, Audie sensed a change in the hallway. A wariness. Then the softest of thwicks as a telephone receiver was replaced in its cradle and then the sense of a desert breeze wafting past her. Audie turned in time to see the door to Cypher’s room close, slowly but firmly. How had he passed her unseen? No doubt while she was hopping around, hollering like a banshee because of her toe. No matter.
“Sweet dreams to you, too, Mr. Cypher.” Audie climbed the stairs, where she promptly crawled under the yellow quilt, blew out the lamp, and was soon a contented visitor to Dreamland in the cheerful room at the top of the stairs.
“Merry Christmas!” Mrs. O’Connor greeted Audie as she padded, sleepy-eyed, to the dining room for breakfast. The proprietress was hanging an evergreen wreath in the window.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.” Audie felt a little pang, imagining the holiday activities back at Miss Maisie’s. Cook would have baked cinnamon rolls; Audie hoped Bimmy would remember to limit the triplets to two apiece. Then, after a hearty breakfast of eggs and ham, the household would gather ’round the tree to open gifts. No doubt, there would be seventeen somethings from Miss Maisie, identical and identically useless. Last year, each girl had been given a roller skate key. Never mind that no one owned any roller skates. Cook would pass around something sweet: a bag of horehound drops, peppermint sticks, or perhaps lollipops. Audie was sorry to miss that, certainly, but she was most sorry to miss the reactions to her gift to her Wayward companions: Using instructions discovered in one of Mr. Witherton’s books, she’d made seventeen paper kites—including one for herself—ready to sail on the first dry, windy day of spring. She wondered: Would she be back from her adventure in time to join them?
Mrs. O’Connor placed a mug brimming with rich hot chocolate in front of Audie. She returned the chocolate pot to the stove, wiped her hands on her apron, and presented Audie with a small package. “Santy Claus finds you, no matter how far you are from home.” She turned to the Commodore. “The little lass needs some’at to open this morning! Especially when she’s parted from her mum and dad!”
The Commodore signaled Audie not to correct Mrs. O’Connor.
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Audie stared at the gift on her plate, tied up in a swatch of gingham.
“Of course you could.” Mrs. O’Connor hovered behind her. “Go on now.”
The Commodore nodded his approval.
Audie untied the fabric wrapping to reveal a book. “Oh, thank you!”
“I thought you’d enjoy it.” Mrs. O’Connor smoothed her apron over and over. “You being such a reader and all.”
Audie stroked the cover. Little Women. “I will treasure it always. Always.”
“Bought it some years back, with an eye to save it for my children,” Mrs. O’Connor said. “But seeings as I don’t have any of my own, and here you turn up at the holidays, well, it all seems to fit together like a puzzle, don’t it?” She reached her hand out as if to smooth Audie’s hair, then drew it back. “Now, eat before it all gets cold.” Mrs. O’Connor foisted roll upon bacon rasher upon soft-boiled egg on Audie. “Your niece needs fattening up,” she informed the Commodore.
“Niece?” He glanced up from his third stack of pancakes, wearing a maple-syrup-induced glaze in his eyes.
“She’s a scarecrow, she is,” scolded Mrs. O’Connor. “Wants more meat on her bones.”
The Commodore finished swallowing. “I’ve never seen her tuck in the way she has this morning. It’s your cooking, Mrs. O’Connor.”
A bit of pink brightened Mrs. O’Connor’s plump cheeks. “Oh, go on with you.” Her broad smile turned to a frown as Cypher picked at the one piece of dry toast on his plate.
Cypher caught her glance. “Ulcers.” His stomach had not caught on to western food; what he wouldn’t give for a bowl of his mother’s haleem about now.
“We’d best be on our way,” said the Commodore, dispatching the remainder of his flapjack stack in one bite. “Annie and I will go pack.” He pushed himself to a stand with a grunt. “Bring the car around in ten minutes.”
Mrs. O’Connor carefully tapped Cypher’s shoulder. “I’ve got just the thing for disagreeable digestion. I won’t be a minute.” Mrs. O’Connor disappeared into the kitchen.
As Audie mounted the stairs to collect her things, she could hear bottles clinking and pots and pans rattling.
When Mrs. O’Connor returned with a big blue bottle of Dr. Neil’s Natural Elixir, she found the dining room completely empty.
Hoisting her skirts, she ran to the door, catching sight of that beautiful touring car gliding away. Oh, well. She patted the apron pocket that held the Commodore’s check. He’d paid in full the night before.
A few days later when Mrs. O’Connor attempted to deposit that check, she was presented with some extremely unpleasant news. It was the same news that each of the innkeepers who housed our
traveling trio over the next many nights received upon presenting Commodore Crutchfield’s checks to their banks. Insufficient funds. They say misery loves company. But Mrs. O’Connor didn’t realize she had company in her misery at being stiffed for two meals and one night’s lodging—and three separate rooms at that! She was particularly suspicious of that chauffeur; perhaps the Commodore was under his spell. She rang up the Sheriff, demanding he take action.
The Sheriff, who had both a bad toothache and a newborn, was worthless. All he could think about was getting a good night’s sleep. After Mrs. O’Connor went on at some length, he did offer to phone his colleague in the next town over to alert him about the bad check shenanigans. Mrs. O’Connor was so peeved at this lackluster response that she swore never again to donate her orange frosted nut buns for the local law enforcement bake sale.
Audie was unmindful of such events on their travels; eleven-year-olds are not typically well versed in banking practices. Not unlike Mrs. O’Connor, Audie had reasons of her own to be suspicious of the man who called himself Cypher. To be fair, he was always agreeable about mailing postcards for her when they reached a new destination. Yet, she had overheard snippets of secretive telephone conversations each time they bedded down for the night. And once, when they stopped at yet another small-town diner, Cypher begged off lunch, saying he needed some powders for a nasty headache. From her seat in the diner, Audie had seen him slip into the Western Union office rather than the drugstore. A puzzling action to be sure.
Audie kept her senses sharp during those days of travel, through Columbus, Zanesville, Uniontown, Frostburg. Her initial hunch had proved correct: They were headed east. She only wished she had been as successful in learning the nature of the mission as she was their direction.
Hagerstown—she read the road sign. “Aren’t names fascinating?” she asked aloud. “Do you think the town was named for a Mr. Hager? Or maybe Mrs.”
