“You can’t live on your own in the streets. You’re not paying the city any rent. And I’m afraid the orphanages are full here. We have trains that take orphans from New York to the midwest and west.”
Arthur, filled with excitement at the prospect of the cowboys he’d read about at the library, and oranges growing on trees, couldn’t wait to go west. It seemed like in New York one had to be born to a successful family to become successful. In California, with enough determination, it seemed anyone could have land and space to breathe.
“I borrowed new shoes for you for California,” he said, holding up a pair of pretty sandals with a Bergdoff’s tag.
“Have you borrowed my heart?”
“No. I’ll never return it.”
“But I don’t want to go on the train.” Isabella held up a pink hair ribbon for the cat to bat around. The only family Isabella wanted was here. Arthur and the cat.
“What are we holding on to here? California could be an adventure. I want to explore it. And you could have your own pony. I’ll sketch you on a pony.” Arthur held the scraps of charcoal he used to sketch Isabella. She wanted to run away but Arthur held tightly to her hand and they boarded the orphan train together. Isabella still had a strong sense of foreboding but she clasped Arthur’s hand tightly.
“Blonde haired, blue eyed girl like her,” a man said when they climbed on the train, “she’ll have no problem finding a home. More than one. Men will want to share her. Open their homes and pants to her.”
“Just ignore them,” Arthur whispered.
They took the seats farthest away from the man who’d leered at her. Beneath her seat, Isabella felt something brush across her legs. She knew the cat would surreptitiously make it on board. Her protectors. Arthur and the cat. She’d be safe.
She worried that the cat could be found and thrown off the train. But she needn’t have worried. The cat would make it all the way to California. And make her presence known too.
“Don’t worry,” Arthur whispered in her ear again, “people don’t see what they don’t expect to see.” He liked the way her silky blonde hair felt against his lips when he whispered to her. She always looked like an angel to him.
Chapter Six
A man on the train who'd noticed Isabella began walking up and down the aisle.
"Why do some of them have numbers on ribbons around their necks?” He asked.
"Prospective employers or parents are welcome to order a child to their specifications if one is available. If they reserve one, a number is placed and they're sent a receipt."
"Specifications?"
"Brown hair, blonde hair, blue eyes, brown eyes, boy, girl, preferred age – they just order what they want."
He stroked his beard.
"I'll remember that. Cat's pajamas. I bet I could get a commission for reserving this one," he said, leaning over and leering at Isabella.
"Ow." He grabbed his ankle. "Something bit me." His hand had blood on it.
He looked under the seat. Isabelle couldn't breathe. Her heart was pounding hard. The cat was protective. And it looked like she'd clawed his leg.
"There's nothing under here. What bit me?" He yelled.
Some of the children laughed. It was the first humorous moment in a long time.
"I just got bit again." He yelled, grabbing his other ankle.
Isabella sometimes thought the cat was invisible. But she wasn't sure of it and felt funny even expressing it to Arthur. She relaxed. She developed a secure feeling when Arthur and the cat were near. It was something she'd never experienced in her life before.
Kids and adults were laughing at him jump around now. He went to the back of the train and they didn't see him again.
Isabella felt something move slightly against her leg. Like a paw lightly touching her. She wasn't laughing. Just feeling joy at knowing the cat was nearby and watching.
"Remember the Alamo. Think of Robert E. Lee." A woman leaned over to talk to Isabella.
Isabella didn't know what to say.
"I'm from San Antonio. And I think you're going to love it there."
"I'm taking this train all the way to California. What is the Alamo? Who is Robert E Lee?"
"Well, bless your heart. Go to California, little Yankee girl." She patted Isabella on the head.
"Ow." She grabbed her ankle. “Something bit me.”
"Does she have fleas?' The woman stared at Isabella.
Isabella shook her head. The woman hopped away and Isabella enjoyed the rest of the trip without strangers bothering her, leering at her, or for the most part even speaking to her. She felt excited to see California. Arthur and her had seen the photos of oranges growing on trees and land that seemed endless in the library's encyclopedias. They said it was always sunny there. She'd never feel the cold ground again.
She looked slyly at Arthur. She knew he was happy the cat was with them too. Leaving the crowded city where she clamored for air, fought for food, feared for her life, she already felt lighter. Like all the burdens of her life were lifting from her and the future was going to be as bright and sunny as the California oranges ad promised. She still couldn't quite believe that they were really going to have all the fresh fruit they'd ever want.
“Look, look , look,” a girl of about three kept pointing out the train window at magnificent mountains in the distance.
“None of us have ever seen mountains before.”
“Some of the little ones haven’t ever been outdoors before.” They watched her smile, sticking her face out the open window, letting the wind blow her hair.
As the train carried them farther away from New York’s slums, life began to take on an adventurous hue instead of one of hardship. She and Arthur held hands. They’d survived. They’d triumphed. They’d got out. It would bound them together forever. The streets had been like a war zone. Every morning, when you woke up alive, you’d won.
“What if they try to keep us apart?” Isabella asked.
“Who’s they?”
“The families that take us. How are we going to see each other?”
“No one will keep up apart. Nothing ever will.” Arthur assured Isabella.
“When we looked at the maps of California in the library, it looked huge. All the land.”
“I can walk across any land to get to you. Or, I’ll get a car.”
“Learn to drive?”
“Yes. I’ll get a car. And learn to drive it.”
Isabella leaned back against the train seat. She felt the wind from the open window blow through the train, and savored fresh air for the first time in her short life. In New York, everything had felt so cramped in their little world. On the train, with all the land before them, it felt like infinity.
“To infinity,” Arthur whispered, squeezing his hand on top of hers.
“To infinity,” she whispered and squeezed his hand back.
She felt the cat touch her ankle, paws retracted and she smiled. With Arthur and the cat, she’d found home. Each time the train stopped, she felt relieved that she and Arthur didn’t have to get off of it yet. They could stay on the train, with the kitty, have food brought to them, walk up and down the aisles and see the states between New York and California. Life felt good. For the first time in years, she didn’t have to think about where they were going to sleep, how they were going to eat, or what they would need to do to protect themselves. Their protector, a white fluffball, was right under Isabella’s seat.
“Oops, I guess I forgot to leave this at the library. Accidentally.” He pulled a book out from under his jacket. Isabella noticed the conductor spying on them. She nudged Arthur. He put it away. He put it between them.
“You just like those stories because the King is named Arthur.”
“That’s not the only reason. They’re good stories. And isn’t Arthur a good name for a king?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
Chapter Seven
When the train pulled into Central California, the
conductor announced it was the last stop for orphans on the orphan train. Isabella felt trepidation. Arthur kissed her on the forehead. And the cat swiped Isabella’s foot with her paw. She smiled. She was going to be okay.
When they got onto the platform, she reached for Arthur’s hand. Arthur was always right behind her — watching her back. He squeezed her hand. And then he let go. She looked behind her. Arthur was chasing the cat.
Arthur felt the cat moving away. He’d reached for her. But the cat was quicker. And then they’d both begun running. On an expanse of land even greater than what he saw from the train west. It seemed to lead to infinity and the cat ran through it, through orange groves and lemon groves, with mice scattering around them. The creatures of the groves gave deference to the cat as if they understood that someone was special was running among them. All cats are special. But the magical white cat had a quality all her own.
Arthur leaned against a tree. Breathing hard, he stopped and considered the cat. She wasn’t even winded. They must have run for miles. He thought of Isabella. He’d ran after the cat because he was afraid she would get harmed. Now he felt foolish. The cat would be fine. He was the one in trouble. He was in the midst of groves that seemed endless. Without a road map.
And without Isabella. Isabella. Isabella. Isabella. He kept saying her name aloud. The cat put her paws on his legs to indicate she wanted to be picked up. He reached for her. His legs ached a little. After the long journey out on the train, he hadn’t expected a run.
He couldn’t get angry at the cat for more than a millisecond. She was too cute. And he’d get her back to Isabella. He’d find her even if a family had taken her away. The cat blinked at him. Then, she moved her face lightly against his cheek. Forever marking him. The cat had seen people kiss on their cheeks and had taken to sometimes pressing her little mouth against the cheeks of Arthur and Isabella.
Then, the cat swivelled her ears three times and disappeared. He could still feel the cat in his arms. But she wasn’t there. He’d felt her lightly jumping down, the way she always did, without her paws making much of an impression on his body, it was as if the cat had gone to a modern charm school. Or Finishing School. She was as well mannered as the finest debutante.
Maybe he was dreaming. He tried to wake up. He blinked his eyes several times. “Isabella. Isabella. Isabella,” he said, imagining himself waking up and telling the story about a dream of the three of them arriving in California and chasing the cat through the groves while Isabella waited. He couldn’t get out of the dream. He kept blinking his eyes.
He must be hallucinating. How, or why he didn’t know. He’d heard whispers about drugs on the street before. Had someone slipped a hallucinogenic drug into his drinks or food on the train? Anything seemed possible now. Except his situation seemed impossible.
And then he knew the cat wouldn’t be coming back. He knew that he shouldn’t take the time to look for her. She had gone from his life.
But Isabella. He needed to find Isabella. He got up and began walking through the lemon groves. He imagined how much they could sell the lemons and the oranges for on the streets of New York. They could sell oranges to sailors leaving the harbor who wanted to avoid scurvy at sea. If he could find a way to sell California’s riches in New York, he and Isabella would be set for their lives.
He didn’t know how to explain to her that the cat was gone. Swivelling her ears three times and becoming invisible sounded like some kind of hallucination. But if anyone understood the cat’s magic, Isabella would. They both knew the cat was special in a way they barely discussed between themselves and never mentioned to others.
She’d be upset the cat was gone. He’d seen the way her mood changed on the train when she learned the cat was under her seat. She could cope with going west on the orphan train if the cat was with her. Now he was going back to her without the cat. That would not go over well.
He soldiered on, confident he’d find his way out of the groves and back to Isabella. He breathed in deeply. The citrus scent felt invigorating, spurring him forward. He kept walking around orange and lemon trees until he came to a home with large turrets. Isabella would love it. Isabella. Her name always sounded like a symphony to him. The house was on a hill. Looking down from it, he could see the train station and the platform where they had stood to be inspected by the adults who had ordered children or teenagers.
Isabella was gone. It felt like his heart was falling out of his body. No cat. No Isabella. He was a third. Missing the other two thirds. He thought he heard purring. He turned around. She wasn’t there. But he felt like the white cat was still with him and would never leave him. It was comforting.
A man came out of the house. He looked like he was in his thirties but balding and paunchy. On the deck, Arthur noticed the man had thrown a ribbon with a pendant and the number twenty-six. It matched the number twenty-six that had been assigned to Arthur for the train from New York. He still found it unbelievable that he had been ordered like a commodity. He’d been reserved.
“There you are, boy.” He shouted at Arthur.
Arthur stared. He knew. The man reserved a teenage boy because he wanted a fruit picker. Free labor. He wanted to run away. But the man might know something about Isabella.
“They described you. I knew it was you even though you weren’t wearing your number.”
“Do you know where the girl I was standing with went?”
“Blonde girl standing next to you. She’s a doll. Real looker.”
Arthur clenched a fist at his side. He kept having an impulse to hit the man.
“It’s not too late. You can start working now. There are some crates around the corner of the house. Start picking oranges first. Fill the crates. I’m shipping these oranges to the East Coast. California oranges are as good as gold in a New York winter.”
Arthur picked up a crate and began picking oranges. He looked over at the man. He sat in a rocking chair on the porch, smoking a cigarette. When one crate was full, Arthur began filling another. He looked at the porch again. The man had gone in the house.
Arthur took the crate over to where he’d left the other full crate. He picked them both up. And kept walking until he got to a Farmer’s Market. Then he sold the oranges for twenty-five cents each. He made thirty-five dollars. He didn’t feel guilty about taking the oranges. His senses had been alert from the instant he saw the man staring at him. He’d heard the rumors about farmers and ranchers who sometimes took kids in to make them free labor. He felt like he’d slipped out of a trap. In the morning, he’d find Isabella. And their life in California would begin.
Chapter Eight
“How do you feel standing up there?” A woman asked Isabella on the platform.
“I keep thinking about books I read about the circus at—”
“—you read?” The woman began laughing maniacally.
“Yes. That does not usually evoke a jocular response.”
The woman stopped laughing and stared at Isabella.
“That means funny,” Isabella said.
“You have an attitude.”
“Thank you.”
“They look exactly alike,” a farmer gestured to the girl standing next to Isabella, “and I’d like to take both but my wife will give me a hard time about even half this view.”
“I can solve that for you,” said the rancher in the tall hat. He grabbed both Isabella’s hands. “I’ll take this one.” Isabella tried to pull her hands back. He was stronger and gripped her more tightly.
She looked behind her again for Arthur. He was gone. The cat was gone too. The rancher flung her over one of his shoulders. She hit his back with her fists. The crowd laughed. She kicked his stomach.
“Settle down,” he said. The laughter increased. “Arthur,” she yelled.
“I’m George. Who is this Arthur guy?” He enjoyed playing the comedian. She went still and silent. If she couldn’t see Arthur or the cat, something was very wrong.
Once the ranche
r put her in his truck, he was a gentleman. He silently drove her across miles of land to a beautiful yellow house with turrets.
“Hannah made a room especially for you,” he said when they got out of the truck.
He opened the door, carrying her small suitcase.
“If you don’t like it, we can make something else up for you,” Hannah said.
Isabella’s eyes lit up at the princess canopy bed with ruffles and satin and more pillows than she’d ever seen in her life. It was all so clean.
“I love it,” she whispered, suddenly feeling shy and teary and exhausted. She was barely sixteen years old and had lived on the streets for a long time.
“We’ll let you rest for a couple days. You’ve been on a long journey. Just come on out to the kitchen when you wake up, Isabella.” Hannah pulled back the covers for her.
Isabella felt like she shouldn’t get in the bed. She felt so filthy. And she didn’t want to sully the most perfectly clean thing she’d ever seen in her life.
“Would you like a bath first?”
She nodded. She could barely remember the last time she had a nice, warm bath. In the slums, Arthur and her would take turns, pouring buckets of water over each other, while each was still fully clothed.
She led her to a room with a claw foot white bath tub and turned on the faucet. “Do you have pajamas?”
Isabella shook her head, No.
There are no pajama parties for street rats.
“I’ll bring you something.”
Isabella watched the water pouring into the tub. She felt it with her hand. It was warm. It looked so miraculously clear.
She came back carrying something soft.
“This is a flannel shirt our oldest son hasn’t worn yet. You can roll up the sleeves. The end should come almost to your knees. And I brought you some long underwear. Long johns for you.”
Isabella had never seen anything quite like what Hannah was holding up for her.
Magical Cool Cat Mysteries Boxed Set Volume 3 (Magical Cool Cats Mysteries) Page 7
