On a Monday morning shortly before school was to close for the summer, Miss Troy tapped Abigail on the shoulder and motioned her into the storage room. “I’ve good news,” the teacher said.
“Good news?” Abigail asked.
“Yes. I’ve written to someone about your situation; a woman who was once my teacher. Her name is Miss Ida Jean Meredith; she’s a fine woman, intelligent and kind. She no longer teaches because she’s retired; but, she still writes poetry. Anyway, I told her of your abilities and explained the problem. I asked if she could see her way clear to possibly employ the services of a remarkable young lady such as you.”
“Employ?” Abigail repeated her eyes big as squirrel holes in a hollow oak.
“Yes. I suggested you would make a most suitable companion and assistant. I was direct about the fact that you had not yet learned to use a typewriting machine but assured her that you were a quick learner and would certainly be able to master such a task in no time.”
Abigail’s heart was pounding so vigorously you could see the movement beneath the bosom of her dress. She let out a whoosh of air and left her mouth hanging open.
“For a while I was concerned that I had received no answer; but, yesterday this letter came.” Judith Troy reached into her pocket and took out a pale pink envelope. She handed the letter to Abigail, “Why don’t you read it,” she suggested.
Abigail took the letter in her trembling hands and with her first look at the looping slant of Ida Jean Meredith’s handwriting, she knew that this woman must be the finest on the face of the earth. She read the words, Miss Meredith had written:
Dear Judith,
I would be most delighted to take on your young student. This offer comes at a most opportune time for I am currently working on my fourth volume of poetry and have been seriously contemplating the need for an assistant.
These days, my step has slowed a bit, so I would also welcome a youthful companion to accompany me around town. Rest assured, the girl will be well cared for and most comfortable as I have readied the small bedroom overlooking the rose garden. Hopefully your young protégé will enjoy theatre and the ballet as you once did.
I am enclosing a train ticket for the girl’s travel from Lynchburg to Richmond. Please advise when she will be arriving and I will have Frederick meet her at the station.
As always, I remain your devoted friend.
Ida Jean Meredith
There were tears in Abigail’s eyes but she was smiling. “Does this mean—?”
“Yes,” Judith Troy answered before the girl had completed the question. “This means that you have been invited to Richmond to work with Miss Meredith.”
“You won’t tell Papa?”
“It’s not my business to tell. If you have anyone you want to tell, then you’re free to do so.” Miss Troy smiled, almost exactly the same way Livonia did when she was up to some sort of mischief. “But, if I were you, I wouldn’t say a word to your father.”
That night Abigail slept as she had not slept in years. There was no sound of crows, just songbirds chirping away like it was the middle of summer.
On the final day of the school year, when almost anyone in Blackburn Country would have sworn that Abigail Anne and her brother would be sitting at their desks, Will hitched the wagon to Whisper and rode off in the direction of Lynchburg. Abigail Anne was sitting beside him and two suitcases rattled around in the back of the wagon.
“You sure you want to do this?” the boy asked his sister.
She nodded.
“You’re gonna keep in touch with me, right?”
“Of course, I am,” she said. “Just don’t tell Pa, where I’ve gone. He’s so crazy to have me marry Henry Keller, he might decide to come down to Richmond and shoot poor Miss Meredith in the heart.”
“I’m not gonna say a thing,” Will answered, “But, when you write be sure to send the letter to Rebecca; she’ll see that I get it.”
“I will.”
“You got your train ticket and the money?”
Abigail tugged open the drawstring and took another look inside her purse. “It’s right here,” she said and held up a pink envelope. The smile on her face faded as she took out a second envelope, a plain white one. “This here’s a letter for Henry,” she handed the envelope to Will. “Please make sure he gets it.”
“Okay,” Will said and slipped the envelope into his pocket.
When they arrived at the Lynchburg Station, Will took both suitcases from the wagon and carried them to the platform; his face was as pinched up as a prune. “I wish you wouldn’t do this,” he said, “A woman alone in Richmond…”
“I won’t be alone; I’ll be living with Miss Meredith.” Abigail had taken on the glow of a woman in love. “Judging by the letter, I just know, she’s a wonderful person. She’s planning to take me to the theatre and the ballet; imagine me at the ballet!” Abigail twirled around and her cotton skirt billowed in the breeze.
“There’s still a lot to be wary of in the city,” Will said, shaking his head. “Trouble comes out of nowhere—things such as you never even dreamt of.”
“Sure, like turning on all those electric lights or making your way to a toilet that’s inside the house,” she teased.
Will was about to tell her of how folks who got out of work sometimes had to sleep in the streets and of how evil intentioned men could lead innocent girls astray; but just then the train pulled into the station. All he had enough time to say was, “Goodbye, Abigail Anne; remember, I love you.” A moment later she was gone and he was left standing there with a single tear rolling down his cheek. “Be careful,” he whispered; then he turned and walked away.
That evening when William came in from the field and found Will putting supper on the table, he asked, “Where’s your sister?”
Will shrugged.
“Didn’t she come home from school with you?”
“She didn’t go to school today,” Will said.
“Hell’s fire!” William growled. “She’s probably got herself in a twit because of that blasted teacher. Soon as school lets out, Abigail Anne thinks she can start acting up again. Well, this time she ain’t gonna get away with it!”
Will tried to avoid looking his father in the face and when William said, “It’s mighty strange that you don’t know where she’s gone to!” the boy fixed his eyes on the pot of stew as if he expected to find his sister in among the carrots. After supper Will didn’t complain about doing Abigail’s chores, but it made little difference—William went right on ranting and raving about how such a rebellious girl ought to be locked up in the state reformatory. When William got tired of stomping around the house, he took a hickory switch in his hand and sat on the front porch to wait for Abigail Anne.
He sat there all night.
When dawn rolled across ThunderhillMountain, William saddled Malvania and rode into town looking for Miss Judith Troy.
Her tiny white house was at the far end of Belmont Street. William walked up to the door and began to pound on it with both fists. “Open this door, you troublemaker!” he shouted. “I want to talk to Abigail Anne!” By the time Judith Troy opened the door, the neighbors on both sides of her house and the deputy who lived directly across the street were all looking out their windows to see what the ruckus was about.
“Mister Lannigan, lower your voice!” Judith Troy said.
“You tell me where my girl’s gone, then I’ll lower my voice!” he screamed louder than ever. “You tell me right now!” He grabbed hold of Judith Troy’s shoulders and started shaking her like a rag doll; that’s when Deputy Greer came flying across the street and walloped William to the ground.
“We don’t allow folks to beat up on women!” the deputy said and twisted William’s arm back so far you could almost hear it crack. “If you want to ask Miss Judith something, you ask her nice and polite—understand?”
“She’s got my girl to run off,” William told the deputy.
“Is that so?” Dep
uty Greer asked Judith Troy, but she shook her head like she had no idea what the man was talking about.
“She run off yesterday,” William said, still addressing his words to the deputy.
“Abigail wasn’t even in school yesterday,” the teacher said, “so, how could I possibly know where she might be?”
William looked right at Judith Troy, “You know!” he said. “You know, because you’re the one who put those crazy notions in her head.”
“Miss Judith says she doesn’t know where your girl is,” the deputy told William. “If she says she doesn’t know, then that’s all there is to it— she doesn’t know!”
When it began to look like William wasn’t going to accept such an answer, Deputy Greer pressured his hold on the twisted back arm and shoved William Lannigan down the walkway. After Judith Troy closed her door and the deputy was able to let loose of William, he warned, “You don’t want this kind of trouble, so stay real far away from Miss Troy. You understand? Real far!”
Malvania had been ridden at a gallop all the way into town, but on the way back to the farm, William walked the horse at a slow trot.
When he arrived back at the farm, William sat on the front porch and buried his face in his hands. Later that evening he noticed that Livonia’s apron was not hanging on the peg in the kitchen, he then walked into Abigail Anne’s room and found the closet door standing open. Her clothes were gone; the white wedding dress was the only thing left hanging in the closet.
Just as Abigail had climbed aboard the train, she’d paused for a moment and glanced back at Will—half expecting him to be waving and smiling. Instead he’d already started walking back down the platform. She couldn’t see the way his eyes had filled with tears or the sorrowful droop that had settled on his mouth; all Abigail saw was her brother’s back, turned away, as if she’d already been forgotten. “Bye, Will,” she whispered softly, then lifted herself onto the last step and left the Shenandoah Valley behind.
For as long as she could remember, Abigail had harbored a wonderful image of what it would be like to travel on the train—dressed up folks chattering about places they were off to, Pullman porters serving champagne, everybody happy just to be aboard—not once had she imagined it would be so hot and stuffy. For a moment she tried to see things as she had pictured they would be; but with the cramped together seats and peeling paint it was impossible. On the platform there had been a cool breeze and the smell of summer apples but inside the railroad car the air was thick with other smells—gasoline, whiskey, cheese that had gone bad. Most folks were waving a cardboard fan back-and-forth in front of their faces; but Abigail had not thought to bring such a thing.
In the back of the car a group of men were having a heated discussion about a game of cards they’d been playing. “I ain’t never cheated in my life,” the skinny one argued; the others seemed pretty adamant about the fact that he had.
“Pipe down back there!” the woman sitting in front of them called over her shoulder, then she went back to clacking a pair of knitting needles and counting aloud, “Knit one, pearl two, knit one…”
Abigail looked down the row of seats. She had hoped to sit beside a window and watch as the Shenandoah Valley gave way to new places, but the passengers had scattered themselves about like isolated towns; solemn-faced people each one taking up a space alongside of a window. No one looked as if they might welcome the thought of someone sitting down beside them. These weren’t anything like the folks Abigail had imagined—a narrow nosed man reading a newspaper, several more sleeping and one of those snoring loudly, a red-faced woman banging on the window and trying to cuss it open—all of them people who seemed exasperated to be in such a hot place. Halfway down the aisle, there was an empty seat alongside a pleasant looking woman with a fast-asleep baby in her arms. Abigail made her way through the aisle, stopped alongside of the woman and hoisted the largest of her suitcases onto the overhead rack, the satchel she placed on the floor beneath the seat.
“I’d clean that seat ‘fore I sat down,” the woman said. “Isaac here, spit up a bit.”
“Oh my,” Abigail said and pulled Livonia’s good lace hanky from her purse.
“It wasn’t much,” the woman said, “…hardly worth mentioning.”
Abigail swished her hanky over the velour seat then sat down.
“The soot; now that’s way worse than any mouthful of milk. That soot settles into things; turns them black as coal. These seats is covered with soot.”
Abigail checked her hanky and saw a residue of black dust. “My goodness!”
“Crying shame folks has to sit in a dirty seat! They ought to do something!”
As she was wondering who would be the one to do something, the conductor came through the car hollering “Tickets, please!” so Abigail fished in her purse and pulled her one-way ticket from Miss Ida Jean Meredith’s pink envelope.
When the conductor stopped alongside Abigail, the woman leaned forward and said, “These seats have soot on them! A body ought not pay full fare for seats with soot.”
The conductor looked at Abigail and said, “Ticket?”
Abigail handed it to him and asked, “How long ‘till Richmond?”
“Richmond? Well, that’s quite a ways.” The conductor swiped at his face, which was shiny with perspiration, then punched three holes in Abigail’s ticket. “Eight hours, give or take.” He smiled and moved on to the next passenger.
A few seconds later the whistle blew and the train started to rumble along the tracks. Isaac stirred a bit and twisted deeper into his mama’s arms, but when the whistle blew a second and third time he started screaming like he was being killed. “Oh, mercy,” the woman moaned; she shifted the baby onto her chest and started rocking back and forth. “That noise woke him.”
“Maybe he’ll go back to sleep,” Abigail suggested.
“Isaac? Go back to sleep? Uh-uh. He’s got the colic!” The woman moved the baby to her lap and jiggled him up and down. “Now, now, darlin’,” she said in the most soothing voice, but Isaac just screamed all the louder.
After about an hour, the conductor, who’d already taken a dislike to Isaac’s mama because of what she’d said about soot on the seats, came through calling out, “Next stop, Hampton Crossing,” but he had to shout it three times before folks could catch the name of the station above Isaac’s wailing.
The baby carried on that way through MillertonCounty and halfway through Somerset. At times, Isaac would wail so hard you’d swear the mama was pinching him, but of course she wasn’t. Abigail knew if that baby belonged to her papa, he’d have gotten a royal slap on the rear end; but Isaac’s mama kept rocking him back and forth no matter how hard he screamed. Twice Isaac fell asleep; then the minute the train whistle blasted, he woke up screaming louder than ever. At Bogbottom, which is at the far end of Somerset County, a peddler climbed aboard and shuffled through the aisle selling sandwiches and little bitty containers of milk at twice what the price should have been. Abigail, who by now had grown weary of listening to the crying, suggested that maybe Isaac was hungry. The woman paused for a moment and looked at the peddler like she was thinking of feeding the baby an overpriced cheese sandwich; then she shook her head and went back to rocking.
Halfway through BuckinghamCounty, Abigail was certain she should have sat next to the snoring man. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, hoping to close out the sound; but she started picturing Will’s back as he walked away from the Lynchburg station. The louder Isaac screamed, the more she missed her brother. Abigail tried to call to mind Will’s face; the crooked way he’d grin, or how he’d pinch the tip of his nose when he was studying a problem. She even tried remembering the pleased look that settled on his face when Papa bragged about how his boy was becoming a fine farmer; but all she could picture was her brother’s back.
Abigail bent down, reached into her satchel and pulled out the snow globe. It was heavy in her hand, not at all a practical thing to pack, especially since she’d had
to decide between carrying the snow globe or a history book Miss Troy had given her. She shook the globe and watched the snow fall around the fair-haired girl.
“Oh, look-y here,” Isaac’s mama said and turned the baby toward the snow globe. “Ain’t that pretty?” she oohed and aahed for a bit and finally, the baby quit screaming. “He’s all wrapped up in watching the snow,” she told Abigail. “Keep shaking that thing, will you, honey?”
Abigail shook the globe again and as Isaac watched the swirl of snow his little arms and legs pinwheeled with delight. “Ain’t that something? Just look how he’s taken to that thing.” The woman moved Isaac closer to Abigail and he reached out for the snow globe. “No, no, sweetie’,” she said, “you can’t have it.” Isaac obviously didn’t like hearing the word no because he stiffened his legs out and bucked so hard that he knocked Abigail’s most prized possession from her hand. It happened in a split second, so quickly there was no time to grab hold of the globe; yet in that brief moment Abigail thought she heard the fair-haired girl scream as her tiny world splintered against the metal floor.
The woman’s eyes about popped out of her head. “Oh, Good Lord,” she exclaimed, “Isaac has never done a thing like that! He didn’t mean it. He’s real sorry! Isaac!” she snapped, yanking the baby back onto her lap, “You better be sorry!”
Isaac started wailing all over again.
The Twelfth Child Page 9
