Point foot, then bring it back. Step left, step front, hop . . . Frances tried to concentrate more on her footwork than on the faces of the passengers who were now stopping to watch her. Her job was to make sure they were paying attention to her, instead of what was about to happen on the other side of the boat.
Turn, bring foot back, step right, step front . . . She made sure she was wearing her brightest smile. A couple of older women nodded kindly as they watched her. There were half a dozen passengers in her audience now, and Frances wondered if it would be enough. . . .
Just then came the deckhand’s cry. “MAN OVERBOARD!”
Already? Frances thought.
A murmur went up among the passengers who had been watching Frances dance. She stopped mid-jig and looked over at Harold, who was still counting to himself, only now silently. Eighty-five, eighty-six, he stood and mouthed, but his eyes were wide with surprise.
Frances grabbed his arm. “Come on!” Everyone around them was rushing over to the other side of the boat to watch the rescue, but she and Harold headed straight for the large stairway that led to the lowest deck.
From the top of the stairs Frances could see that the boat had reached the dock and the gangway ramp was in place. All they had to do was run down those stairs and in a few more steps they’d be free! But then someone stepped right in front of her and Harold. A steward in a blue and gold uniform.
“Miss, it’s not time to go ashore yet,” he said, blocking their way.
“But—but we’re at the dock,” Frances protested.
“Miss, you’ll have to wait until the situation down on the main deck has been resolved.” He lowered his voice and whispered confidentially, “That’s no ‘man overboard’—just a dummy stuffed with straw. Some kind of prank!”
“Oh!” Frances tried to sound surprised. “You don’t say!”
“They’re trying to catch the brats responsible right now,” the steward replied. “They’re all—” He stopped suddenly and grabbed at the air. “What’s this?”
“It’s snowing!” Harold laughed.
Before Frances could ask what on earth he meant, she saw a tuft of something white and fluffy float by on the breeze, and then another tuft, and another.
“Is that . . . cotton?” the steward said incredulously.
It was cotton, Frances realized. Cotton from the bales down on the lowest deck, scattering in the wind.
Harold ran over to the railing that overlooked the lowest deck. “Look!” he cried, and Frances followed.
Down on the front deck where the big cargo was kept, Finn and Chicks and Alexander were running among the stacks of cotton bales, tearing them apart. There was now a dazzling blizzard of drifting cotton bits, and three of the deckhands were in the midst of it all, swatting at the deluge. But instead of trying to stop the boys, they were busy grabbing big wooden casks and stowing them out of sight in another cargo hold.
Frances blinked. Where had those barrels come from?
“See, Frannie?” Harold said. “I knew there was something hidden under those bales when I jumped on one of them!”
Frances leaned over for a better look. There were words stamped on the barrels—MADEIRA RUM AND RYE WHISKEY. She sucked in her breath. She had a feeling those casks weren’t supposed to be on a boat like this—and that was why they’d been covered up. Now that the boys had discovered the casks were there, uncovering them was a perfect distraction to keep the deckhands busy!
Harold pointed down to the deck again. “Here come Dutch and Owney! And Jack and Eli, too!” The boys were making their way through the maze of cargo, heading toward the bow and the gangplank that led from the lower deck to the dock.
Alexander looked up and spotted Frances and Harold. He began to wave frantically. Come on! he mouthed as Finn and Chicks ran past him and joined the others in the cargo stacks.
Frances’s heart began to pound. “They’re all about to go ashore!” she whispered to Harold. “But we’re still stuck up here!” She glanced over to the large stairway, which was still being guarded by the steward, along with another uniformed member of the crew. “What do we do now?”
Harold chewed his lip and got on his tiptoes to peer over the railing. “I know!” he cried. He clambered over the deck railing and hung on to the other side. “We’ll climb down!”
“Harold!” Frances hissed. “No! It’s too dangerous.”
“You know how good I can climb, Frannie. So can you!”
Frances scanned the upper deck. Maybe there was another set of stairs somewhere, but it would cost her and Harold precious seconds to find them. But here they had a clear view of the way off the boat, and they were right above the spot where they needed to be. About ten or twelve feet above, she guessed. Too high to jump, but . . .
“Okay,” Frances muttered. She yanked the yellow dress over her head—silly thing—and tossed it aside, glad to be back in her boys’ breeches. Then she swung one leg over the side of the railing. It was just like climbing down from a fire escape, she tried to tell herself. Except backward . . .
15
A CLOSE CALL
Jack turned in all directions. “Where are Frances and Harold?!”
“Keep your head down!” Eli called in a loud whisper. “We’re not off this boat yet!”
They were close enough to the gangplank to make a run for it, but Eli had suddenly ducked down next to a stack of crates and motioned for Jack to get down, too.
“One of the deckhands was getting awfully close,” he explained. “But I don’t think he saw us. . . . Hey, what’s this?”
He was peering into the open end of one of the crates. Jack had noticed, too, the way something inside was oddly shiny and caught the light. Eli reached over and pulled out a small, flat bottle with a crudely printed label that said PURE GIN.
“I bet this smells foul,” Eli said, but before he could say more, they heard footsteps. Jack crouched down even lower as two of the burliest deckhands passed by.
“Here’s the bottled stuff!” one of them said, thumping a crate right near Jack. “Boss says to stow these back in the luggage hold!”
“What about the river rats?” the other asked, and Jack felt a prickle down his spine. They were talking about him and his friends!
“Get ’em if you can, but Boss says hide all the booze first now that it’s been uncovered. Besides, he says he knows where to look for those runts if they go ashore.”
“Heh-heh, what kid wouldn’t want to see that fair.” The first one chuckled as they grabbed a few of the crates and stomped off.
“Uh-oh,” Jack muttered as he and Eli stood up again.
“Uh-oh is right,” said Eli, pointing up. “There are Frances and Harold!”
Jack turned to see Frances shimmying down one of the support posts that held up the upper deck balcony. But Harold stayed where he was, clinging to the woodwork beneath the upper deck rail, and Jack realized he’d gotten his foot caught.
Frances let herself drop the last few feet and landed in a crouch. The two boys rushed over, joined by Alexander and the older boys.
“Harold . . .” she panted. “Stuck!”
“My hands are all hot!” Harold whimpered above them, one foot swinging free.
“I know!” Jack called. “But don’t let go.”
The spot where Harold clung was closer to the upper deck than the lower, and for a moment it seemed that all he needed to do was climb back to where he started. But then a fellow in a fancy uniform leaned out over the railing and glared down at all of them.
“Don’t go back up, Harold!” Frances fretted. “You’ll get caught!”
“But it’s hard to hold on!” he cried. His arms started to shake.
Just then Alexander seized the support post and began to pull himself up to meet Harold. He reached out and grabbed the younger boy’s belt in the ba
ck. “It’s all right. I’ve got you!” he said.
“And we’ve got you, too!” Dutch called. He and the other three older boys were standing with their arms held out and clasped tightly together to make a sort of safety net.
“Nothing to be afraid of, Harold!” Jack said, and he believed it, too. They were all working together, all nine of them. They all wanted the same thing—to get off this boat, to be on their own.
Harold stopped shaking. He took a deep breath, found a foothold with his free foot, and then suddenly yanked his stuck foot loose.
“I’m free!” he yelled, and clambered over to the support pole, where he slid down right after Alexander.
“Now let’s go!” Finn shouted, heading for the gangplank.
His brother was right behind him. “To Wanderville!” Chicks called.
• • •
Jack had never thought he could move so fast across something as narrow as the gangplank. But his scurrying feet took him to the soft boards of the dock at last. They were on shore!
“We did it!” Eli shouted. Both boys stopped to catch their breath.
Behind them, Frances and Harold had just leapt off the gangplank and were running to catch up. And just ahead, Alexander and the older boys thumped one another on the back and cheered. Jack and Eli started to walk over to join them, but after a few steps, Jack paused.
“What is it?” Eli asked.
“Dutch and his friends want to go to Wanderville,” Jack said. “But they don’t know what it is.”
He couldn’t hear what Alexander was saying to the older boys, but they weren’t cheering anymore. Their faces were now serious.
Frances and Harold caught up with Jack and Eli. “What’s going on?” Frances asked Jack. She looked over to the group of boys. “What are they talking about?”
“They’re learning the truth about Wanderville,” Jack said.
Frances sucked in her breath. “Uh-oh.”
They could see that Dutch’s eyes had narrowed, and Owney had crossed his arms. Alexander was still grinning, but he was looking from one face to another anxiously.
Jack and Frances drew closer to listen in.
“You better give us a straight answer,” Chicks threatened.
Finn glared at Alexander. “I’m asking you again,” he said. “Where’s Wanderville?”
“I told you!” Alexander replied. “It’s always been here! Or wherever you want it to be!”
Jack’s mouth went dry and he turned to Frances. She looked stricken, and he knew she realized the same thing he did. They think Alexander is playing a trick on them!
“You told us you were going to take us there,” Dutch muttered. “And it ain’t here, is it?”
“That’s not true!” Alexander protested. “It’s just that—”
“So you’re saying we’re the liars?” Owney interrupted. “You’re trying to play us for fools, aren’t you?” He turned to Finn. “I told you he was trying to put something over on us.”
“No! I’m not! It’s just . . . Wanderville isn’t . . .”
“Isn’t real?” Dutch shot back.
Alexander went pale just then. He opened his mouth to say something, but then just turned and started running down the dock toward the boatyard.
“Wait!” Frances called. She grabbed Harold’s hand and they set out after Alexander.
The older boys, though, stayed where they were. Owney muttered something about Alexander being a “shifty-eyed worm,” but Jack was relieved that they weren’t going to beat up Alexander.
Instead, though, they suddenly turned and went straight toward Jack and Eli, their faces grim and determined.
“Wait a second,” Jack said, backing up, his hands out in front of him. “We can explain!”
Dutch just shook his head. Finn and Chicks grabbed Jack’s arms and pinned them behind his back, while Owney guarded Eli. Then Dutch reached out and yanked Jack by his shirt collar.
“Look, your friend Alexander’s got some strange ideas, that’s for sure. As far as we can tell, there’s only one thing he’s told us about that’s real, and you’ve got it!”
Jack felt a lurch in his stomach as he realized what Dutch meant. The medallion! Dutch immediately began rifling through Jack’s pockets.
“No, wait!” Jack protested. “You can’t take—”
But Dutch had found the medallion and was holding it up with a grin. “Sorry to have to do this,” he said. “But we got ourselves into a lot of trouble on that boat on account of you guys, you and your crazy stories about some town that don’t even exist!”
“Yeah, you owe us,” Finn added.
“And getting that reward’s the only thing that’ll make it right,” Chicks put in.
“I still think the whole scheme sounds fishy,” Dutch said. “But not as fishy as the other stuff you and your friends told us.” He pocketed the medallion.
Finn and Chicks dropped Jack’s arms and pushed him to the ground, while Owney gave Eli a rough shove.
“Thanks for everything,” Dutch said with a sneer. “We’ll think of you kindly at the World’s Fair!”
Then the older boys took off running toward the shipyard, turned a corner, and were out of sight.
16
CLANG, CLANG, CLANG!
“I knew that medallion thing was bad luck!” Eli muttered as they ran.
“It’s not!” Jack insisted, between breaths. “We’ve got to get it back!”
The five of them were racing down alleyways and narrow streets among the vast riverfront warehouses, dim passages that smelled of hot tar and sometimes fish. Frances kept looking over her shoulder expecting to see someone from the Addie Dauphin running after them, but as far as she could tell, they weren’t being followed.
Instead, they were the ones doing the chasing. Frances wished she’d been close enough to do something—say something—when she’d seen Dutch and his gang shake down Jack for the medallion. She still didn’t think there was anything special about that crazy piece of junk, but she hated that those boys were being bullies, especially Finn and Chicks. Frances knew that Jack wanted to get the medallion back, but more than anything she wanted to catch those louts so she could yell her head off at them.
Just then the five of them reached the end of the alley where it met with a wide street that bustled with traffic. They were getting closer to downtown St. Louis! They stopped to catch their breath.
It felt strange to be in a city again, with the sky chopped up into the little strips between buildings. That used to be the only way Frances would see her days, and she’d had no idea it could be so different.
“Which way do we go?” Alexander panted.
“And where’s the Fair?” Harold asked.
“I think I just saw them!” Jack cried. “Across the street!”
Sure enough, there were Dutch and Owney and Finn and Chicks, striding along two by two, talking among themselves. Frances glared at them. Those rats!
As if they could sense her glare, Finn glanced across the street, and then so did the other boys. When they saw Frances and her friends, they took off running.
Jack was the first one to dart out into the street after them.
“Watch out!” Eli yelled as a milk truck missed hitting them so narrowly that it made the horses rear up.
They wove their way through the stream of buggies and trucks and motorcars as fast as they could, until suddenly—Clang! Clang!—the bells of an approaching trolley warned them.
“It’s been a while since I had to stay out of the way of one of these things,” Jack remarked as they jumped clear of the tracks in the street.
It took only a moment or two for the trolley to go by. Then they sprinted the last few yards to the other side of the street.
But the boys were gone.
Frances whirled aroun
d. “They caught the streetcar!”
The trolley was more than a block away by now, but she could still make out the figures of four boys clinging to the iron stairs in the back of the car.
“Blast it!” she spat, not even caring that Harold would hear her swear.
Jack was looking at a placard attached to a lamppost. “This sign says this line goes to the Fair. All we have to do is catch the next one!”
They found a corner where the trolley would stop. Frances couldn’t stand the wait, so she crouched down to check the buttons on her little brother’s shoes.
“Why didn’t Finn and Dutch and the rest of them want to stay with us?” Harold asked. “I thought they were going to become citizens of Wanderville.”
Frances sighed and looked over at Alexander, who was standing nearby with his hands deep in his pockets, staring down at the bricks of the street. “They didn’t understand what Wanderville was,” she said.
“I should have explained it to them better,” Alexander added softly.
But what if they understood and still didn’t want to be citizens? Frances wondered. She was glad when the next trolley appeared after a few minutes and she didn’t have to think about it anymore.
They climbed aboard and Alexander paid the fare for all of them from the money Zogby had given them.
“I wish we didn’t have to spend this money,” Frances whispered as they found long wooden benches to sit on. “I bet Dutch and his friends managed to hitch a ride on their car without paying.”
“We can’t risk getting in trouble now,” Alexander pointed out. “Not when we just escaped. And speaking of that, we still have the steamboat fare money that we didn’t spend.”
Escape to the World's Fair Page 8
