"Can I go walking around?" he asked.
"You can't go far. This is a big place and you could get lost in it," I warned.
"I won't go far," he promised. I was tired and I didn't have the patience to argue with him.
"Just go over there," I pointed, "and stay where I can keep an eye on you."
"Okay." He hopped off the bench and went to look at the posters and watch the people hurrying to and fro. I watched him staring at people and smiled to myself when an elderly woman stopped to talk to him. She patted him on the head and continued on her journey. He glanced back at me and then walked a little farther away.
"Jefferson!" I called, but he didn't hear me. As long as I could see him, I thought it was all right. But my eyes were so tired and my lids so heavy, I had to fight to keep them open. The emotional burdens from the night before, the traveling and the disappointment I received meeting my real father all combined to wear me down. Fatigue crept up my body. It was as if I had stepped into a pool of exhaustion and sunk deeper and deeper into it until it washed over my face. I let my eyes close, telling myself it would be just for a little while, but almost as soon as I did, sleep took a firm hold of me and I slumped to the side, sliding, sliding, sliding until my head rested comfortably on my suitcase.
Sometime-later, I woke with a start. A man in a torn and dirty jacket with soiled pants and shoes that had rags tied around them to keep them together and block the holes in the soles stood a few feet away staring at me. He had his hands in his pockets, but I could see his fingers moving against the material. It looked like he had two mice in his pants. I sat up quickly. He smiled, revealing a mouth with many teeth missing. He was unshaven, the dark stubble appearing in patches over his chin and cheeks, and his hair was matted, some strands looking plastered over his forehead and temples. The tempo of movement in his pockets increased and his tongue slid back and forth over his lips as if it were a small animal itself trying to break free and escape.
I gasped and stood up. Where was Jefferson?
There were fewer people moving through the great lobby, so I had no trouble seeing that he was not where he had been and was supposed to stay. My heart began to thump.
"JEFFERSON!" I called. I looked back at the man who had taken a few steps closer. It was then that I saw that the zipper on his pants was open. Panic nailed my feet to the floor for a moment. Then I turned away and moved quickly down the aisle and out to search for Jefferson.
First I went toward the entrance, expecting him to be there watching people come and go, but he wasn't to be found by the doors. I started across the lobby, my heart racing, my face flushed with fear. I charged down to the right and stopped at every booth and store, asking clerks and counter people if any of them had seen a little boy who fit Jefferson's description. No one had.
My panic grew more intense. I thought my heart was pounding so hard and fast, I was sure to fall into a faint at any moment. Finally, I spotted a policeman and rushed to him.
"I've lost my brother," I cried. "I've lost him!"
"Whoa there, easy," he said. He was a tall man with light brown hair and friendly green eyes. "What do you mean, you lost your brother?"
"We sat on the benches back there and he got up to walk around and I fell asleep. When I woke up, he was gone," I cried quickly.
"Easy, easy. How old is he?"
"Nine, almost ten."
"Uh huh. And you?"
"I'm sixteen."
"Have you been here before?" he asked.
"No sir."
"So he doesn't know his way about," he said more to himself than to me. "All right, show me where you saw him last," he said and I led him back to the benches. That horrible man was gone. "He was standing right there," I said. "And then . . ."
Suddenly, Jefferson appeared around a corner.
"JEFFERSON!" I screamed and ran to him. "Where were you? Why did you walk away from where I told you to stay?"
"I just went to the bathroom," he said, terrified by my outburst. He looked up at the policeman.
"What are you two doing here anyway?" the policeman asked.
"We're waiting for someone," I said.
"Uh huh. All right, young man," the policeman said, shaking his finger at Jefferson. "You make sure you stay where your sister can keep a close eye on you, hear?"
Jefferson nodded, his eyes wide.
"There are bad people here who steal children sometimes, he warned. Jefferson's eyes grew even wider.
"We'll be all right now, thank you," I said, putting my arm around Jefferson. I needed to feel him close to me. "We're just going to go back there and . . . oh no!" I exclaimed. "Oh no!"
"What is it now?" the policeman asked, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips.
"Our suitcases and my pocketbook!"
"You left them there and went off?" the police-man asked me with incredulity.
"I got frightened when I didn't see my brother and I . . ."
"Where you from?"
"Virginia," I said, unable to hold back my tears. "Man, oh man," the policeman said, pushing his cap back. He dug a notebook out of his back pocket and flicked it open. "Okay, let's have it. Your name and address," he said. I told him. "Who are you waiting for?" he asked. I looked at Jefferson.
"My brother," I said quickly.
"All right. Give me a brief description of your stolen property," he said and I described our suitcases and my pocketbook.
"There was a horrible-looking man watching me before I started to look for Jefferson," I said.
"Uh huh. Well, we've got a few of those around, but give me a description anyway," he said and I did.
"All right, file a report," the policeman said.
"My advice to you, young lady, is don't move from where you're supposed to meet your brother."
"We won't," I promised and led Jefferson back to the benches. Even his coloring book and crayons were gone.
"Who took our things?" Jefferson asked.
"I'm not sure," I said softly. I felt drugged, defeated, burdened down with more weight than I could ever carry.
"I'm hungry," Jefferson complained. "When can we eat supper?"
"Eat? All our money's gone, Jefferson. My pocketbook was taken, remember?"
"But I'm hungry," he moaned.
"So am I, but no one will give us anything without money."
"We'll tell them we'll pay them tomorrow," he suggested.
"Not these people, Jefferson. They don't know us; this is New York. Mommy was right," I muttered. "Mommy was right." I put my arm around him and drew him closer. "We'll just sleep and try not to think about food until Gavin comes."
The tears that were burning my eyes broke free and began streaming down my cheeks.
"Don't cry, Christie," Jefferson said. "Gavin's coming soon."
"Yes." I smiled through my tears. "Gavin's coming." I kissed Jefferson and held him close.
And mercifully, we fell asleep in each other's arms.
11
SOMEONE TO LEAN ON
"THERE YOU ARE!" GAVIN CRIED.
My eyelids fluttered open and I gazed up at him smiling down at me with his hands on his hips, his suitcase at his feet. He wore dark blue dungarees and a white T-shirt under a light black cotton jacket. I was never happier to see him. Even though it hadn't been that long since we had last seen each other, he looked so much older and taller.
Jefferson remained fast asleep with his head on my lap. Exhausted, I had slipped down on the bench and quickly fallen into a deep sleep myself. I had no idea how much time had passed, but it looked so late. Even in this busy place, there were hardly any people going to and fro. With my fingers balled into fists, I ground the sleep out of my eyes.
"Gavin, I'm so glad you're here," I said.
"I've been here awhile looking and looking for you. I almost didn't find you and gave up. I walked past this place once, but you two were down below the back of the benches, so I didn't see you. Just lucky I decided to take one mo
re look," he added.
I nodded and then all of it came rushing back over me--what Uncle Philip had done, our sneaking out and taking the bus all the way to New York, the horribly disappointing meeting with my real father, nearly losing Jefferson in Port Authority, and the robbery of all our things. Without giving Gavin a warning, I simply burst into tears, the floodgates holding them back collapsing completely. My sobs and shudders woke Jefferson.
"Oh Christie," Gavin said, quickly sitting down beside me. "Poor Christie." He put his arm around my shoulders and I buried my face in the nook between his shoulder and neck. My body shook with my sobs. "It's all right now," he said. "Everything will be all right."
"What's the matter?" Jefferson asked, sleepily scrubbing his face with his palms. And then he realized Gavin was with us. "Gavin!"
"Hey, little nephew, how you doing?" Gavin ran his fingers playfully through Jefferson's already quite messy hair.
"I'm hungry," Jefferson declared immediately, "and we don't have any money for food." He scowled.
"No money? What happened?" Gavin asked, looking to me.
Slowly, I lifted my head from his shoulder and began to describe our disastrous experiences in New York, bawling out the ending that related how we had lost all our worldly possessions and all our money. Gavin shook his head sympathetically and then pressed his lips firmly together, assuming a take-charge look.
"Well, the first thing we'll do is get you some-thing hot to eat. There's a small restaurant down that way. I passed it looking for you. Come on," he said, urging me, "some hot food will make you feel better." With the back of his hand, he gently wiped the tears from my cheek and smiled.
"And they took my new toy, too," Jefferson complained. "Can I get another one?"
"We'll see, Jefferson. One thing at a time," Gavin said wisely. How strong and confident he looked to me now, and how happy I was to see him. My heart pitter-pattered and I felt the tension and fear that had nailed me to the bench lift from my body.
I took Jefferson's hand and Gavin took my other hand. He picked up his suitcase and led us to the restaurant. After we ordered our food, Gavin de-scribed how he had left home immediately after my desperate phone call.
"I wrote a note and put it on the refrigerator and then snuck off. Daddy's going to be upset, but my mother will calm him down. I promised to call them as soon as I could. I didn't tell them you had run away," he added quickly, "but Philip might call them or they might call him. Do you want to tell me more about what happened now," he asked, "and why you had to run away?"
I shifted my eyes toward Jefferson and then shook my head.
"Later," I said softly. Gavin nodded with under-standing.
Now that Jefferson was getting food, he was animated and excited again. He described our trip, going into detail about the people on the bus, the things he saw, our cab rides in New York, and the policeman who chastised him for walking away from me.
Toward the end of our meal, Gavin asked the most obvious and important question.
"What are you planning to do now?"
"I'm not going back to Cutler's Cove, Gavin," I said firmly, my eyes narrow with determination. Gavin studied me for a moment and then sat back.
"Well, I have all the money I had saved for my trip, but it won't last us forever," he said wisely. "Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?"
I thought for a moment. Aunt Trisha was away, my father was a disaster, but there was a place. I had been there only once before with my parents and I had been so small, I barely remembered it, but from time to time, I overheard Mommy talking to Daddy about it, and about sweet Aunt Charlotte.
"I want to go to Lynchburg, Virginia and from there to The Meadows," I announced.
"The Meadows?" Gavin's eyebrows rose with interest.
"It's the old family plantation, remember? I mentioned it in some of the letters I sent you. It's where Grandmother Cutler's dreadful older sister Emily did horrible things to Mommy. It's where I was born. Do you remember it now?" I asked.
Gavin nodded slowly.
"After loathsome old Emily died, my parents went back to visit Aunt Charlotte. I went with them once. I barely remember the visit, but I do recall Aunt Charlotte and her husband, Luther. She gave me something I still have—an embroidered picture of a canary in a cage. She drew it and did all the needlework herself. Oh, it's a perfect place for us to go, Gavin," I said, growing more excited with the idea. "No one will think to look for us there."
"Lynchburg, huh," Gavin said thoughtfully.
"The Meadows is about fifty miles away in a small hamlet called Upland Station, but I remember that no buses go there. It's a very small place. Do you think you have enough money for the bus tickets to get us to Lynchburg?" I asked. "And then maybe a taxi can take us the rest of the way."
"I don't know. I'll find out what the tickets cost, but Christie, you have no clothes, nothing, and neither does Jefferson. Don't you think . . ."
"I won't go back to Cutler's Cove," I repeated, my face screwed firmly into a look of anger as well as determination. "We'll make do; we'll find a way. I'll get a job and earn some money. I'll do anything I have to do not to go back," I added with assurance. "I'll wash dishes, I'll scrub floors, anything." Impressed with my resolve and tenacity, Gavin shrugged.
"Okay, let's go to the ticket booth and see what it would cost," he said.
"Can I get a new toy, too?" Jefferson asked quickly. He had gulped down the last of his milk and cleaned every crumb of the slice of apple pie from his plate.
"We'll see," Gavin replied.
He did have enough money to buy us bus tickets to Lynchburg, but after that, he had only twenty-seven dollars left. Jefferson started to whine when we told him we needed every penny for food and for the taxi ride to The Meadows. Finally, Gavin satisfied him with an inexpensive deck of playing cards. He promised to teach him dozens of games on the trip.
We had to wait another hour before the bus left. After Gavin took Jefferson to the bathroom and I went, we sat on the benches in the lobby again. Jefferson amused himself with his cards and while he was distracted, I told Gavin what Uncle Philip had done to me, skipping over the ugliest details. He listened with his eyes widening more and more every moment. I saw his face change from astonishment to pity and then to anger when my tears burst forth again, hot blinding tears that stung my eyes.
"We should go back and tell the police; that's what we should do," he said, his dark eyes blazing so brightly they reminded me of polished black marble.
"I don't want to, Gavin. I don't want to have anything more to do with him or my aunt or those horrible cousins of ours," I moaned. "Besides, they always find a way to confuse things and blame Jefferson and me for any of the bad things that happen. I just want to be far away from them. It will be all right, as long as I'm with you," I added.
His cheeks turned crimson for a moment and then he took on a mature and confident look that reminded me of Daddy, especially because of the way he pulled back his shoulders and lifted his chest.
"No one's going to hurt you again, Christie, never again, not as long as you're with me," he promised. I smiled and took hold of his arm. Then I pressed my cheek to his shoulder.
"I'm so happy you've come to help us, Gavin. I'm not afraid anymore." I closed my eyes. I could feel his breath on my hair and then his lips. I smiled and relaxed. Miraculously, I was filled with renewed hope.
Because Gavin was with us and was able to amuse Jefferson, our trip to Lynchburg passed far more quickly than it otherwise would have. He kept Jefferson busy counting cars or telephone poles. We all took a color and then accumulated points every time our color appeared. The rain that had followed us into New York had gone out to sea and for most of our journey, we had blue skies and soft, cotton-candy clouds. However, even though we left early in the morning, the stops and delays meant we wouldn't arrive in Lynchburg until early in the evening. We did with as little as we could for lunch in order to save as much of our remaining money
as possible. Gavin claimed he wasn't very hungry and ate only a candy bar, but by the time we arrived in Lynchburg, we had only eighteen dollars and thirty cents left.
Outside of the bus station, we found two taxicab drivers leaning against their cars and talking. One of them was a tall, thin man with a narrow face and sharp nose; the other was shorter, softer and friendlier.
"Upland Station?" the tall driver said. "That's nearly fifty miles. Cost you fifty dollars," he declared.
"Fifty? We don't have that much," I said sorrowfully.
"How much do you have?" he asked.
"Just eighteen," Gavin said.
"Eighteen! Go on, you ain't gonna get no cab to Upland Station for that money." Disappointment almost put tears in my eyes. What would we do now?
"Hold on," the other driver said when we started away sadly. "I live twenty-five miles in that direction and it's about time I started for home. I'll take you the rest of the way to Upland Station for eighteen."
"Desperate Joe will do anything for a buck," the tall driver said sourly.
"Thank you, sir," I said. We all got into the back of his cab. It was an old car with torn seats and dirty windows, but it was a ride.
"Who you kids know in Upland Station? The place is practically a ghost town," the driver asked.
"Charlotte Booth. She's my aunt. She lives in an old plantation called The Meadows."
"The Meadows? Yeah, I know what that is, but that ain't much of a place anymore. I can't take you up that private road either. It would kill my tires and shocks. You'll have to walk from the highway," he said. He went on to talk about the way the small towns had been dying off; the economy in the changing South and why things weren't what they were when he was a young man growing up around Lynchburg.
Although there wasn't a moon, the sky was bright enough with stars for us to see some of the countryside as we rode on, but a little over a half-hour after we left the bus station, dark clouds began to roll in, moving like some curtain shutting away the heavens from us. The farmhouses and tiny villages along the way became few and far between. I felt as if we were leaving the real world and entering a world of dreams as the darkness deepened and spread itself over the road before us. The deserted houses and barns retreated into the pool of blackness and only occasionally could be seen silhouetted against a small group of trees or a lonely, overgrown field, and those houses that had people still living-in them looked lost and small. I imagined children no older or bigger than Jefferson too frightened to look out at the shadows that seemed to slide across the ground whenever the wind blew over the roof and through each nook and cranny.
Cutler 4 - Midnight Whispers Page 22
