“Like we’re leaving everything else behind. And everyone. All our friends.” He thought about the kids who had stayed with the Careys and thought even harder about the ones who they couldn’t rescue from the Pratcherds back in Kansas. “It’s like we’re leaving them behind once and for all.”
Alexander tugged Jack’s sleeve. “Come on. I don’t want to forget our friends either, but you have to start focusing on what’s ahead. We haven’t left everyone behind—haven’t we got Eli with us now?”
Jack nodded. He checked his pocket to make sure the medallion Zogby had given them was still there. Then he started to follow Alexander across the gangplank, which felt unsteady and strange under his feet. The only thing he could do now was keep going.
“And one of these days,” Alexander added, “we’ll get someplace where we can build Wanderville again.”
A bell began to clang, followed by another low whistle, and the boys hurried the rest of the way onto the boat.
Jack took his first step onto the steamboat. He wished the deck felt more like solid ground so that he could feel sure of something. But he didn’t feel sure at all.
7
THE LOWER DECK
“Where do we go now, Frannie?” Harold asked once they were aboard the Addie Dauphin.
Frances had no idea. She had thought they could follow the older boys, but by the time she’d reached the deck she’d lost track of them.
She and Eli and Harold were on the lowest deck of the steamboat, next to a flight of stairs. Looking up the stairs, Frances could see fancy woodwork in the ceiling, as well as glimpses of the finely dressed passengers gathering up there.
“I reckon they wouldn’t let me go up to the higher decks,” Eli said warily.
Frances knew that there were places where Eli wasn’t allowed just because of his skin color, but this was the first time they’d come across one. “Then we’ll just stay down here,” she declared. She wasn’t going to go anyplace he couldn’t.
A few moments later Jack and Alexander had come on board and joined them. Frances turned to grab Harold’s hand so that they could all find a place to sit, but he had wandered over to a row of cotton bales in one of the cargo holds.
“These look like big pillows!” he said, scrambling to the top of one of the bales. He flopped over to lie down. “Ow!”
“Get down from there, Harold!” Frances sighed. Alexander reached over and grabbed the boy’s belt to help him climb down.
“This one isn’t soft at all,” Harold complained. “I flopped down on it and it’s hard underneath! Like a big box under there!”
Just then Frances felt a big hand on her shoulder. She whirled around and found herself looking up into the face of the burly man they’d seen on the dock.
“This is no playground,” he hissed. “Keep that kid away from this cotton. And stay over there by the luggage hold!” He pointed to an area of the lower deck where dozens of trunks were strewn and stacked. “There’s benches over there.”
Frances stammered a quick thank-you, and she led her four friends to the luggage hold.
It was dim among all the trunks, so it took a moment to make out the four other figures who sat slumped on the rough wooden benches. But Frances knew they had to be the boys they’d seen on the dock.
The tallest boy spoke up. “Well, if it ain’t Queenie and her royal court.”
Frances just rolled her eyes. “My name’s Frances.”
“Whatever you say, Your Majesty,” the second-tallest boy replied.
Frances knew better than to respond to that. She and Harold sat down in the corner farthest from the older boys, and she set her face in the I don’t care look that she used to wear whenever she rode the Avenue B Line. Jack and Alexander and Eli pulled up another bench facing Frances and Harold.
“Are they bothering you?” Alexander whispered.
“No,” Frances whispered back, and it was the truth. “It’s fine.”
But that didn’t seem to settle Alexander. “Well . . . I’ll—I mean, we’ll—make sure they leave you alone if they bother you.”
Frances wondered why Alexander was acting like some kind of noble prince all of a sudden. “Just ignore them, all right? I’m pretty sure they’re ignoring us.”
She could see over Alexander’s shoulders that the older boys had turned their backs. Two of them seemed to be brothers—the tallest boy and a boy who looked like him except his blond hair was darker. The boy who’d had the cigar in his mouth wore a cap with the brim pushed way back. And the second-tallest boy was barefoot, and the legs of his trousers didn’t match because they’d been made from two different worn-out pairs. At first Frances had thought that these boys were hoboes, but there was something about the way they slouched in the dim cargo hold that made her think otherwise. She knew hoboes chose to live the way they did—but with these boys, she wasn’t so sure they’d had a choice.
Frances could hear more bells now, ringing from the upper deck, and as the whistle sounded an extralong call, the great steamboat began to move. It chugged slower than a locomotive, and even slower still than Mr. Zogby’s automobile. After all that had happened that day, Frances was finally beginning to relax. Harold leaned against her with a soft sigh, too. Everyone seemed to be calmed by the gentle huffing of the great boat’s engine.
Everyone, it seemed, except for Eli. He rose from the bench and pulled aside one of the luggage trunks so that he could stand by the deck rail and look out across the water.
• • •
Eli didn’t say anything at first when Jack came over to stand by him. Together they watched the riverbank go by and the town of Hannibal slip farther away. Jack noticed Eli was holding his mouth tight and biting his lip. Like he was thinking hard about something.
“Eli?” he asked.
But his friend didn’t answer.
Jack tried again. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Eli muttered, but Jack could tell it was something. Frances and the others must have, too, because she and Harold got up from their bench and came over, followed by Alexander. Eli nodded at them in greeting. “Just not sure if I should’ve left home.”
“You mean because of your pa?” Jack asked. He knew that even after everything Eli had been through with his father, it was still hard to say goodbye when they’d left the Careys’ farm.
Eli took a deep breath. “My ma would have wanted me to stay with him. I was all he had after she died.”
Jack nodded. Hearing Eli talk about these things always reminded him of his own family. Jack had been sent west to avoid a fate like his brother’s, but maybe it would have been better if he’d stayed for his mother’s sake. Even if it meant putting up with his own father, who was a lot like Eli’s.
He put his hand on Eli’s shoulder, and Frances did, too.
After a long silence, it was Harold who finally spoke in a small, soft voice.
“I was sad too when we were at the orphan home,” he said. “Because it meant me and Frances didn’t have anyone else, or a home, or anything. But now we have Wanderville sometimes.” His voice began to get louder and stronger. “Maybe we can have Wanderville right here, so Eli can feel better!”
“Here?” Frances sounded wary. “Here on the boat?”
“We’re not going to be on the boat very long,” Jack said, even though he could see that the idea of rebuilding Wanderville was making Eli smile. But still . . . “I doubt we’d have time to build—”
“Why not?” Alexander replied. “Wanderville can be anywhere we want it to be, right? Even on a steamboat.”
Harold marched over behind one of the benches and found a spot between two big trunks. “This is the hotel where we can stay. It doesn’t even cost anything.”
Eli grinned and went to lie down on one of the benches. “Everyone gets their own big bed . . .”
�
�. . . with three pillows,” Alexander finished.
Jack started laughing. “What do we do with three pillows?”
“One’s for sleeping. Two are for throwing!” Frances laughed.
“No, the other two are for your feet,” Eli put in. “Haven’t you ever had your foot fall asleep?”
By now Harold was standing on one of the benches. “Wanderville has the best bakery!” he called. “Hot buttered rolls, three for a penny!”
“That sounds delicious,” Frances said. “What about pie?”
“Strawberry pie,” Jack added. They’d had some at the Careys’ once and it was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. “Only a penny for the whole thing. And nobody ever kicks you out of the shop for looking in the cases.”
“Here we come!” Harold yelled, hopping over to another bench with Eli close behind.
But just then the four older boys stood up and glared from their corner. They pulled three of the benches closer to them so Harold and Eli couldn’t use them.
“Aw!” Harold complained. “You’re messing everything up!”
“Is that right?” the boy with the patchwork trousers replied. “Just what do you think you’re doing in our place?”
“This isn’t just your place,” Alexander muttered.
Jack and Eli stood behind him, keeping an eye on the older boys, who had started to step forward.
The roughest-looking one, who Jack thought of as Cigar Kid, seemed to be sizing up Jack and Eli and Alexander. “Well, we’re here, and we’re not going anywhere,” he said.
“And we want to know what this crazy kid is talking about,” the tallest boy replied, pointing to Harold.
“That’s my little brother!” Frances shot back.
The tall kid’s brother grinned. “And who are you, Queenie?”
Frances smirked and crossed her arms defiantly. “I think you answered that question yourself.”
Alexander was defiant, too, Jack noticed, but in a way that seemed much more dangerous. His mouth was tight as he stared down all four of the boys.
“Why don’t you go jump in the river?” he growled.
Cigar Kid stepped closer. “How about we PUSH you in?” He shoved Alexander. Hard.
Alexander stumbled back a few steps, then squared his shoulders and slammed the boy back.
“Fight!” one of the other boys jeered. “Get ’im, Dutch!”
Cigar Kid swung at Alexander, hitting him in the side, but Alexander jabbed an elbow back. Then the barefoot boy stepped up and grabbed Alexander’s shirt, pulling him off balance, and Alexander swung at him, and the tall boy, too.
“Hey,” Frances said, her voice warning.
“Alex—” Jack called. Alexander was tall and wiry, but he was nuts to try to fight all these boys. Jack felt his hands clench into fists, but he didn’t even know where to begin swinging.
Suddenly the tall boy swept his foot out and tripped Alexander, who fell back with a thud.
“Fight!” the boys shrieked again.
“Hey!” Frances said. “That’s enough.”
The boy who was called Dutch tossed his cigar aside, then leapt down and planted his knee right on Alexander’s chest. His fists were raised and pulled back. Alexander coughed and sputtered, but his fists were aimed, too.
Oh no, thought Jack. It’s about to get really bad.
“HEY!” Frances shouted. “I said that’s enough!” She barreled forward and shoved Dutch over, then she smacked Alexander’s arm. “Quit it!” she screamed. “Quit it already! Both of you! All of you! DO YOU WANT TO GET THROWN OFF THE BOAT?!”
8
FINN, CHICKS, OWNEY, AND DUTCH
“I said quit it!” Frances repeated, though by now everyone had fallen silent. They were all staring at her. It’s just like boys, she thought, to act like I’m the one who’s being crazy. “I swear we’ll get kicked off this boat if you fools keep fighting and scrapping around like a pack of stray dogs!”
She crossed her arms and glared at Alexander, then at Dutch and his three friends. She even shot a cold look her little brother’s way, just in case he ever decided getting into fisticuffs was a good idea.
“They started it,” Harold mumbled, pointing to the older boys.
The tallest boy protested. “We wasn’t trying to start anything! We was just wondering what you all was doing!”
“Yeah!” his shorter brother put in. “What were you all talking about? What’s with this Wandervale place?”
Frances didn’t know what to say. But Alexander, who was still lying back on the deck where he’d fallen, suddenly sat up straight, and his face brightened.
“You mean . . . Wanderville?” he asked.
The four older boys all nodded, and they leaned in expectantly.
This time it was Harold who spoke up. “Wanderville is a town and we live there sometimes. That’s where we were going!”
“It sounds real nice,” the barefoot boy said. He exchanged a look with his other three friends, as if they were all deciding something. “Are you . . . er, still going there?”
“Of course!” Alexander replied. “And Wanderville is open to any kid who needs a place to go. Or any kid in need of freedom.”
They were all quiet for a moment. When she and Harold and the others had been “building” Wanderville a few minutes ago, Frances had noticed the older boys observing them. They’d feigned bored expressions, but they’d watched so intently she knew they were curious. Maybe even jealous.
Finally, the boy named Dutch cleared his throat. “Could, uh . . . could we go to Wanderville, too?” he asked. He had pulled out another cigar stub from his pocket and was picking at it nervously.
Frances glanced over at Jack and Eli, who both looked surprised, then to Harold, who appeared to be holding his breath, and finally to Alexander, who was nodding his head excitedly.
“Sure!” he said.
Frances could feel herself grinning, too.
The boy reached out his hand and helped Alexander up. “Guess you already heard my name’s Dutch,” he said. Then he pointed to his friends. “This here’s Finn,” he said, indicating the tallest boy. “And his brother’s Chester, but we call ’im Chicks.”
Chicks was the one with darker blond hair, and Frances felt satisfied that she’d guessed he and Finn were siblings.
“And this here is Owney,” Dutch said, motioning to the barefoot boy with the trousers that had been sewn together. Though as Frances looked closer at all four of the boys, she could see how threadbare all their clothes were. While the things she and her friends wore were a little shabby, the shirts and trousers on these boys had been mended again and again.
Still, when it was her turn to introduce herself, they all tilted their heads politely. They weren’t completely wild, Frances realized. All the same, she noticed Alexander and Jack checking their pockets when they thought the other boys weren’t looking to make sure the money and the medallion Zogby had given them were safe.
Once all the introductions had been made, Harold added, “My traveling name is ‘Tomato Can’!”
Finn smiled at that. “Travelin’ name, huh?”
“The hoboes gave me that name when we rode the rails,” Harold bragged.
“Really?” asked Owney. “You rode the rails with hoboes?”
Chicks turned to Jack. “Are you all runaways or something?”
“In a way,” Jack said, and he explained how he, Frances, Harold, and Alexander had come out from New York City on orphan trains, then been forced to work at the Pratcherds’ before they’d finally escaped. Once he was done, Eli told his own story about having to work in the fields so much he couldn’t go to school.
Dutch had lost his scowl. “I reckoned we all had something in common. Me and my chums here have been working our hides off for the past two years!”
&
nbsp; “We was all at a broom factory for a while,” said Finn. “Wrapping bundles of straw with wire all day long.”
“The straw was worse than the wire,” Chicks added. “It was all wet and smelled bad.”
Everyone listened as the other two older boys joined in with their stories, too. After the broom factory, Owney told them, they’d been sent to a glasswork, where they’d had to run carrying hot molds of molten glass.
“We worked in the middle of the night,” Dutch said. “And we had to run fast. Owney, show ’em your burn.”
Owney rolled up his sleeve to show a terrible puckered scar on the inside of his arm.
“I was carrying a mold, and I tripped,” he said.
Frances gasped in surprise, and so did Eli. “Why did you have to work in such an awful place?” she asked.
Owney looked down at his bare feet. “My family got debts to pay.”
“So does mine,” Dutch muttered. “There’s a man who loaned my pa money when our crops didn’t come in. But my folks don’t have a dime to pay him back, so the man made me go to the broom factory and now he takes my wages.” He motioned over to Finn and Chicks. “It’s the same thing with their mama.”
Frances couldn’t believe it. These boys had parents—but they were taken away from them to work. “Do you miss home?” she asked.
Finn and Chicks looked at each other. “A little,” said Finn. “But even if our ma didn’t owe money, there was too many mouths to feed.”
“I ain’t ever going home again,” Dutch said matter-of-factly.
“Me neither,” Owney said. “It ain’t fair that I have to work off something that wasn’t my fault.”
“I can’t even imagine how rough it’s all been,” Frances said softly. Jack and Eli nodded in agreement.
Dutch gave a half smile and winked at Frances. “Aw, we’re tough.”
As Frances smiled back, she thought she could see, from the corner of her eye, Alexander scowling, but when she turned to face him he simply shrugged.
“But speaking of work.” Finn looked around nervously. “We’re supposed to be working right now.” He stepped over to a row of steamer trunks: his brother and their two friends followed.
Escape to the World's Fair Page 4
