Orphan Eleven Read online

  Lucy stopped at her old seat, the one reserved for the top student, but nine-year-old Ruby with the golden brown skin and eyes that made a person want to keep looking at her was sitting in it. Lucy grinned at Ruby.

  “In the back,” Mackinac barked, conferring with the teacher, Matron Johnston.

  As soon as Lucy settled into her seat, the notes began flying. How did you get that dress? What did you eat? What happened to Bald Doris? Were there boys with you?

  Lucy slipped the notes into her pocket. She knew better than to answer them with Mackinac and Johnston there. She opened the math book and began to read.

  When the bell rang and they were excused to the dining hall, the girls swarmed Lucy. Everyone wanted to sit next to her.

  The midday meal was broth that smelled vaguely of lamb and was the color of worn underwear, and a crust of bread. Hungry as Lucy was, she gave her food to Ruby, who sat by her.

  “Try it. We got a new cook, remember? The food isn’t so bad anymore,” Ruby said.

  Lucy looked out at the faces waiting to hear what had happened to her and wished for Emma. How nice it would be to tell Emma about Saachi’s!

  But the other girls might make fun of her. It wasn’t like talking to Nico and Eugene. Besides, Mackinac said not to talk about where she’d been.

  Still, these girls needed to know what the world was like outside the fence. They were OOFOs, even if they didn’t know what that was yet. OOFOs looked out for each other. And anyway, Mackinac and Grundy were in the matrons’ dining room.

  Lucy took a deep breath and forced the words out. “I was…at the c-circus.”

  “You’re talking!” a girl said.

  “Like you used to,” another said.

  “Yay!” a few girls cheered.

  Lucy nodded and kept on. “S-Saachi’s circus is the…most wonderful…,” she began. But the more she talked, the more doubt she saw in their eyes.

  They didn’t believe her.

  It was only when she described the food that their eyes grew wide. The round meatballs you cut with a fork. The peanut butter cookies. The stack of pancakes with butter melting on the top.

  After lunch Mackinac appeared and Lucy went quiet. But a girl who had been a friend of Doris’s ran straight to Mackinac and told her everything Lucy had said.

  Mackinac’s face grew red and her eyes bulged. She swooped down on the girls. “Chores! Now!” she barked, and the girls scurried off to their chore areas.

  Then Mackinac dragged Lucy out of the dining hall. “You come with me,” she said.

  April 16, 1939

  R&M Dresses

  Chicago, Illinois

  Dear Mrs. LaFinestre,

  I know you don’t like when we girls talk about personal business. But I don’t think you’ll hold my job unless you understand how important it is for me to take off two days to go to Riverport. The days are April 24 & 25.

  I’m going to find my little sister. She is the only family I have left. I’m going to search an orphanage for her, because my mama said that’s where she was.

  I understand if you have to let another girl use machine #71 while I’m gone. But please could I have it when I get back? This is a lot to ask, but you won’t be sorry. When I get home, you will say no girl ever worked so hard for you as Dilly Sauvé.

  Yours truly,

  Dilly Sauvé

  April 24, 1939

  Dear Lucy,

  I’m so excited I could not even swallow one spoonful of oatmeal this morning. Today I am going to the orphanage where Mama said you were. I’m hoping to talk to Mrs. Mackinac. I’m hoping she will see me. Maybe then I’ll find out where you went. Maybe I will meet someone who knew you. Maybe you told one of the girls about me. I only have two days in Riverport. I hope that will be enough.

  The thought of going there has made me feel like there is a moth caught in my chest and it is flying all around trying to get out. I wonder if you miss me the way I miss you.

  Love,

  Dilly

  Mackinac towed Lucy across the grass to the matrons’ cottage. Running from here would be easier. The back door of the small house was outside the fence.

  Then Lucy remembered the rumors about the attic room. Girls were locked in there. And left for days.

  A shiver traveled down her spine.

  But inside the cottage it was warm and cozy, with crocheted blankets on the chairs, pictures on the walls, and a teakettle whistling on the stove. It was a real house.

  Mackinac pushed Lucy up the stairs and down a hall to a second stairwell steeper than the first.

  The stairwell ceiling was low, the walls dark. Dust rose from each stair. Lucy sneezed. Mackinac prodded her from behind. “Didn’t I tell you not to run your mouth about where you’d been?” she asked.

  At the landing, Mackinac shoved Lucy into the attic room, which was barely bigger than Baby and just tall enough for Lucy to stand. Cobwebs floated off the walls. Dead flies and mousetraps were scattered across the floor. A greasy film clung to the dormer window.

  “We want our girls to become pillars of society. Not the kind of drifters and outcasts the circus attracts.”

  Lucy’s teeth cut into her tongue. She stared down at her shoes, trying to keep the explosion of anger in her chest from showing on her face.

  “I won’t have you ruining our girls.”

  Lucy nodded.

  “You do know what happens to girls who run a second time….”

  Of course she knew. They shaved your head and put you on the reform-school list. But like reform school, the lice cut was an empty threat. Mackinac wouldn’t want to explain a bald head to Miss Holland.

  “You’re to stay here until you’ve had a change of heart.”

  “I’ve had a ch-change of heart.” Lucy nodded, doing her best to look apologetic. “I—I…have—”

  But Mackinac didn’t listen. She pulled the warped door closed and turned the key.

  Lucy waited until Mackinac’s footsteps had receded. Then she tried the knob. The lock rattled, but the door didn’t budge.

  No matter what she did, she couldn’t get away from Mackinac and Miss Holland.

  You brought this on yourself, the mean voice in her head said.

  “Shut up!” Lucy shouted, kicking the door. “Shut up, shut up, sh-shut up!”

  She looked around at the attic. Wooden crates were stacked on one side. A dusty pair of crutches was strewn across the floor. Lucy kicked a mousetrap out of the way and banged on the window.

  Mackinac was gone. She had an orphanage to run. But there had been a teakettle whistling. Someone else was here.

  They wouldn’t help her.

  No matron wanted trouble with Mackinac.

  Maybe Lucy could get a note to one of the girls. She could break the window with a crutch, find something to weight the note, and toss it down. But it would land outside the fence, where no orphans were allowed to go. And even if an orphan got the message, it was doubtful she’d help Lucy.

  Orphans didn’t want trouble with Mackinac, either.

  Maybe she could escape when they came to give her supper. She would pounce when the door opened, then run like the dickens. But would they even bother to bring her a meal?

  What about water?

  Lucy grew thirsty wondering about this.

  She could try to pick the lock, but she had no hairpins.

  She pulled the crates closer to see what was inside. One was full of old newspapers yellowed with age. Another held fabric scraps, a doll with no head, and a needle and thread.

  Lucy stuck the needle in the lock, moving it east, west, north, and south. When she connected with what she thought might be the locking lever, she pushed the needle deeper, but the lock didn’t open. She pushed harder and the needle sn
apped in two.

  Lucy kicked the door. She’d almost had it.

  One needle wasn’t strong enough. But maybe two. She found the two halves and put them together, but when she stuck them in the lock, they were too short to grip.

  She went back to the box, took out all the fabric scraps, and shook each one. Then she ran her fingers along the bottom.

  No more needles.

  Lucy stood at the dormer window imagining what might be happening at Saachi’s. First they would be performing and then packing and loading the train. Eugene setting up box suppers, Nico hanging up his ringmaster clothes, Bald Doris filling Diavolo’s glass with ice water. But who would be helping with the elephants?

  Back and forth Lucy paced the small room. Three steps one way. Three steps the other. She was hungry and she had a hammering headache. The attic smelled weird, like dust, medicine, and old shoes. She pushed the dead flies into a corner, made a pillow from fabric scraps, and curled up on the floor, holding Dilly’s button in one hand and the silk pouch with the elephant hairs in the other.

  When she woke, it was dark and she was angry at herself for sleeping so long.

  She emptied her pockets and set all her belongings on her skirt: one pencil, one folded-up paper, Dilly’s button, the silk pouch with the elephant hairs, the route card, and the baby tooth. She pulled the tail hairs out of the pouch and wound them around her fingers. She didn’t know if they were from Baby or Jenny. Why had she never thought to ask?

  She opened her paper. On the front was part of the circus poster with dancing horses. Then she studied the route card with the picture of Diavolo and Seraphina and the dates and cities of every stand. When she knew them by heart, she slipped everything back in her pockets and jumped up with new energy. She would find a way out.

  Her eyes lit upon the crutches and she thought about how Nico had convinced the crowd Baby wasn’t a terrified elephant stampeding from the big top but a pachyderm with a headache heading to the pharmacy for aspirin. What if Lucy banged on the door and when the matron came, Lucy said Mackinac had sent her up here to get the crutches?

  Lucy didn’t think anyone would believe that the attic door had locked by accident. But an elephant wouldn’t go to a pharmacy, either. Nico had made the audience believe.

  Lucy closed her eyes and imagined an emergency where a girl needed crutches. Then she banged on the door.

  Nobody came.

  She opened her hands and slapped the door. Then closed her fists and beat on it. “Ex-excuse me. I n-need help!”

  Still nobody.

  “H-help! Help!” she hollered. She was surprised at how easy it was to shout. Maybe because there was no one to hear.

  Her fists grew sore, but she kept pounding and shouting.

  At last, she heard slow steps on the stairs, then fumbling hands unlocking the door. A lady with a white apron and a sweet round face stood in the doorway, a box of baking soda in her hands. The cook!

  Lucy took a deep breath. “There was an accident in cottage three. Margaret sprained her ankle. M-Mackinac said to run up and g-get the crutches for her.”

  The cook furrowed her brow. “Say what?”

  “Mackinac said bring the crutches. Run as f-fast as I can. Margaret’s too heavy to be carried.”

  Lucy held her breath.

  The cook frowned. “But why are you—”

  “I h-have to go.” Lucy slipped past the cook and darted down the stairs, holding the crutches. She flew down the hall and headed for the next set of stairs, the cook’s feet pounding behind her.

  “Wait!” the cook called.

  Then Mackinac’s voice filled the entryway.

  Lucy dove into the hall closet, falling back against the dresses as she maneuvered the crutches inside.

  No sooner did she get the door closed then it opened again. Mackinac!

  But it wasn’t Mackinac. It was the cook.

  “Go back,” the cook whispered, panting, “and I’ll help you.”

  Emma had liked the cook. The cook had given Emma handfuls of sugar. She’d spoken highly of Emma to another family she worked for and Emma had been adopted.

  But Lucy didn’t know if the cook could be trusted. Still, what choice did she have? If she refused, the cook would tell Mackinac she was hiding in the closet.

  Lucy ran back up to the attic, shut the door behind her, and waited. Voices echoed in the hall, then footsteps on the stairs. The key rattled in the lock.

  The door wasn’t locked. Lucy couldn’t lock it from the inside. Would Mackinac notice?

  When the door opened, it was the cook who held the key. Mackinac loomed behind her.

  “So,” Mackinac said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Lucy took a deep breath. “I’m s-sorry. It was a…a mistake to run away. It won’t happen again. It was…awful out there.” She tried her best to cry.

  Mackinac narrowed her eyes.

  “Like I said, I heard her crying up here. Poor little thing. She learned her lesson. Oh yes she did,” the cook said.

  Mackinac glanced at her watch, then turned to the cook. “You’re here awfully late.”

  “Ran out of baking soda. Knew you had some here. Had to get my dough ready. Got to be refrigerated overnight.”

  Mackinac’s eyes lit up. “Chocolate crinkle cookies?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am,” the cook said.

  Mackinac smiled, then considered Lucy. “Well, I suppose I can’t leave you in here much longer,” she muttered. “Come along. But not a word about that silly circus, do you understand?”

  Lucy nodded. But all she could think about was the cook. The cook had helped her, just like she’d said she would.

  Lucy guessed it was eight or eight-thirty when Mackinac walked her across the grass to cottage three. She wondered if she would have the same cot in the same spot by the radiator. Her pillow and her blanket would be orphan-borrowed. She’d be stuck with the old blanket, moth-eaten and smelling of urine. And she’d have to sleep without a pillow.

  It was strange how familiar this place was and yet it felt like years since she’d lived here. But Mackinac didn’t take her to the dorm room; she took her to the chairs. Lucy found her seat, second row, third from the left, and sat down. She folded her hands in her lap and placed her feet flat on the floor.

  Being sent to the chairs was a punishment she didn’t mind that much. The night matron brooked no nonsense, but she left you alone if you were quiet. The chairs felt familiar, almost comfortable, and it gave her time to plan.

  Running at night would be challenging. The night matron sat in the dorm room until all the girls were asleep. Then she walked down the hall to her room. Lucy would have to get by her, avoid the trip cord on the stairs that rang the bell, then get past the matron on the lower floor, who never seemed to sleep at all. Once outside, she’d need to climb the twelve-foot-tall fence somehow. But its vertical wrought-iron bars had ornaments and spikes, painful to grip. Last year a boy had fallen off it. Another time, a girl had been found on the orphanage side, frostbitten so badly she’d lost two fingers.

  That was winter, though. It was nearly May now. Even so, Lucy did not know how she’d get over the fence.

  Maybe she should run during chores. Afternoon chore time was longer than morning chore time, and the matrons were used to orphans being out and about raking leaves, cleaning chicken coops, digging holes to plant bushes, hauling laundry and trash.

  Even so, she’d still have to get over the fence. And in broad daylight, too.

  Then she thought of the blue Ford parked next to the incinerator. Grundy drove it to town every morning. Maybe Lucy could hide under a blanket in the back.

  * * *

  —

  It was close to eleven by the time the night matron set down her knitting and walked Lucy back to the dorm r
oom. Lucy didn’t change out of the dress Betts had made, knowing it would be orphan-borrowed if she did. She climbed onto her squeaky old cot and pulled up the blanket that smelled of other people’s misery.

  The night matron settled in, a shawl on her lap, a book in her hand, and a small bag of candies in her pocket. Lucy pretended to sleep. But the matron stayed on and on, popping candies in her mouth and moving her lips as she read.

  Lucy rolled over and stared out the window at the big yellow moon. Saachi’s would be loaded on the train, headed for Little Junction now. She wiggled the route card out of her pocket and held it under the blanket until she heard the matron stand up and make her way down the hall, tapping her cane as she went. Lucy tipped the card toward the moonlight so she could read the list of dates and cities. She knew them by heart, but she liked to see them anyway. The card made it feel like the last nine days had been real.

  * * *

  —

  In the morning, no girls asked questions. None wrote notes. None looked her way, all eyes on the matron.

  “We got in trouble for talking to you,” Ruby whispered when the matron stepped out of the room.

  Lucy nodded. Just as well. It would be easier to get away if the girls weren’t paying close attention to her.

  Lucy went over her plan in her head as she and Ruby walked side by side to breakfast. The best time to duck out would be when the girls were walking down to the school building. She finished her bowl of gruel, which tasted better than usual—the food had improved slightly since the new cook had been hired. She put her dirty dish in the bin and stole out the door.

  “Where you going in such a hurry?” the matron with the cane asked.

  Stomach problems, Lucy wrote.

  The matron nodded. “All right,” she said.