Orphan Eleven Read online

  When she glanced back, she saw that Matron Mackinac had hold of Bald Doris’s ear. Bald Doris was pointing at them. She couldn’t tattle fast enough.

  “Lucy! Lucy!” the matrons shouted.

  Lucy wondered why they didn’t call anyone else’s name.

  The matrons began to run.

  Mackinac pulled Doris along. Grundy was twice Mackinac’s age, but she was remarkably fast.

  “We’ll double back.” Nico grabbed Lucy’s hand and pulled her around a clump of bushes and back up to the road, where the truck waited.

  The pickup truck driver was standing outside. She was a girl barely older than they were, with a swollen stomach like a darning egg in her slender frame and large men’s boots.

  Lucy and Nico jumped into the back of the truck.

  Eugene thundered down the road, sailing through the air toward Mackinac and Doris.

  “No!” Mackinac shouted, ducking out of the way.

  Eugene landed with a thud, missing both of them. But in her surprise, Mackinac lost her grip on Doris, and Eugene boosted her over his shoulder like a bundle of towels. He ran with her to the truck, heaved her in, and leapt up after her.

  The pregnant girl slipped behind the wheel and the truck shot forward.

  Lucy looked back at the matrons waving their hands in the air and shouting, “Stop!”

  Eugene grinned at Nico. Bald Doris smiled as if this had been her idea.

  Nico glared at Doris.

  Doris frowned. “What was I supposed to do? She got ahold of my ear.”

  Nico rolled his eyes.

  In the distance, Lucy saw Mackinac and Grundy jump into the Ford and gun it. But the Ford was old, and the pregnant girl drove fast. Soon the old blue car was no bigger than a thimble, and then it disappeared entirely.

  The loose straw flew in their faces. Lucy’s wet hair whipped around. In the scuffle, she had lost the tie that held it back. She stuck her hair inside her coat and settled against the cab between Eugene and Nico. Their legs were stretched out in front of them—all eight in a row. The cold air rushed by Lucy’s wet clothes, making her shiver, but the warmth of the four of them sitting this way was something. It surely was.

  Lucy didn’t think Matrons Mackinac and Grundy would waste more time looking for them. No one cared about orphans. That was why they were orphans. But it didn’t seem to matter to the pregnant girl that they had lost sight of the blue Ford some time ago. She drove like a wheel girl for a bank robbery.

  Lucy began watching for signs that might tell them where they were. FRESKET, DORIAN, CATWELL flew by. She didn’t know any of those towns. They had studied geography, but only the state capitals, which now seemed foolish.

  When enough of the straw in the back of the truck had blown away, Eugene found two folded burlap sacks, which he spread over them, tucking the edges under their legs.

  The rain had stopped, but the clouds were dark and threatening. Lucy wormed the paper out of her pocket and the pencil stub from the hem of her dress. The paper was damp, but not ruined. She smoothed it out, making a table with her legs. Her tiny handwriting wobbled in the swaying truck, and when they hit a bump, the tail of the G struck across the C. But you could still read it.

  Chicago?

  Eugene handed the paper to Nico. “We headed that way?”

  “Yep,” Nico said. His voice was sure, but his foot was fidgeting.

  Thinking about Chicago had made Lucy feel powerful. But sitting in the truck with the wind in her face, she felt her insides shift like loose sand with nothing to bank against.

  What was happening at the orphanage? Would they serve stew tonight? The stew was watery. But there were sweet carrots and sometimes a bite or two of gristle you could chew until bedtime.

  The truck swayed and the farms sailed by, reminding Lucy of the train trip so long ago.

  When she and Mama left Chicago, it had been winter, with snow-covered fields out the window. The train car was squeaky and cold. Mama had taken off Lucy’s shoes and stuck her mittens on her toes. They had laughed at how silly her feet looked, ate butter sandwiches from Mama’s basket, and played alphabet games, guessing the initials of the man Lucy would marry. It had felt strange not to have Dilly with them, like a stool with just two legs. Papa had died so long ago. It had been just the three of them, Lucy, Dilly, and Mama, for almost as long as Lucy could remember.

  Still, Mama hadn’t been worried. Her eyes glistened in a way that made her look more beautiful than tired. She’d splurged on lipstick, which she applied every few hours, rolling her lips together to spread the color. “We will all be together soon,” she’d told Lucy, squeezing her hand.

  Now Lucy glanced at Nico, then erased Chicago, the paper pressed against her knee, and wrote, Frank and Alice?

  Nico smiled like he had just eaten a big meal and began rattling off facts. “Frank likes dollar pancakes piled this high.” He gestured with his hand to his chin. “He takes two cubes of sugar in his coffee. He orders pie with a scoop of ice cream and gives me half. Alice is his best dame.”

  When Nico talked about Frank and Alice, his leg went still and his eyes took on a deeper color, more like the lake than the sky.

  “Alice carries decks of cards in her purse. She pays me five cents to carry her hatboxes up the stairs. And she can spell any word backward.”

  Lucy settled back, listening. Soon, the motion of the truck and the stories about Frank and Alice lulled her to sleep.

  When she woke, she smelled Mama’s lipstick so intensely, she lurched forward, looking around for her.

  Lucy used to dream of Mama and Dilly all the time. But Mackinac had told her Mama had died. Lucy knew that was true because she’d seen for herself how sick Mama was. Besides, Mama would never have left her in the orphanage if she were alive. Mackinac said Lucy wouldn’t see Dilly again, but Lucy didn’t believe that. Mackinac’s words had as much truth in them as supper stew had meat.

  For the first few years at the orphanage, Lucy’s insides had swelled every time the new-arrival bell rang, hoping for Dilly. Over time, the bell had lost its hold on her, until it was just another sound, like the tapping of the night matron’s cane when she walked down the hall.

  The truck rolled down a tree-lined street, then slowed to a stop. The cab door opened and the girl hopped out. “Hey, back there. I’m Bernadette.”

  Bernadette had long straight hair and a dress that was too big in the top and too tight across her belly. She smiled, revealing a mouth full of teeth that grew in all directions. “Got away pretty good.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nico said.

  “I was in that home for two years. Never took to Hannah Mackinac or Gertrude Grundy.” Bernadette’s eyes narrowed.

  Bernadette was an orphan? Lucy and Nico exchanged a look.

  “Recognized them coats,” Bernadette said.

  The coats had been purchased with a donation from the university. Woolen blankets, the new industrial-size stove, and Matron Mackinac’s caramels were also courtesy of the university. Whenever people from the university visited, the orphanage floors were scrubbed, windows cleaned, and doorknobs shined, and the orphans’ choir sang them songs.

  That was why it had been such a privilege to be picked for singing lessons by Miss Holland, the university lady. None of the other girls in choir had been singled out. Lucy had thought it was because she sang so well.

  Soon she discovered that meeting with Miss Holland wasn’t an honor, and it had nothing to do with singing. Lucy had never tried so hard to please anyone, repeating the words Miss Holland wanted her to say over and over again. But the harder she tried, the more Miss Holland shouted at her.

  “Where you headed?” Bernadette asked.

  “Chicago. To see Frank and Alice,” Nico said.

  Chicago. Lucy never tired of hearing this.

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nbsp; The girl whistled. “That’s a ways. I can put you on the highway that leads there. Shouldn’t take too long to get a ride. But you got to wait till morning. Too dangerous at night.” She kneaded her lip with her teeth.

  “That’ll be fine, ma’am. Thank you,” Nico said.

  Bernadette nodded. “You can stay with me tonight, but you got to be quiet and do what I say.” Her eyes narrowed. “No orphan borrows.”

  They all bobbed their heads.

  At the orphanage, a Christmas orange, a scrap of ribbon, a drawing, or a button always got pinched. Girls would pull down your underwear if they thought you had something hidden in there.

  The orphanage was rife with bullies and broken promises. Lucy had learned to keep her head down and never let anyone see what was in her pockets. When Emma arrived, Lucy found a true friend. Emma was the only girl she could completely trust—the only one who Lucy showed her pocket treasures to.

  But even Emma didn’t understand why Mackinac had turned on Lucy so completely.

  Bernadette’s eyes grew small. “I’ve been known to track a person to the dark side of the earth they got something belongs to me, you understand?”

  They all nodded.

  “What are your names?” Bernadette asked.

  “I’m Nico. That’s Eugene. This here is Lucy.” Nico pointed to each of them. Lucy was glad Nico did the talking; then her silence wasn’t so noticeable.

  “And that’s Eugene’s sister, Not-Bald-Doris,” Nico continued.

  “Doris, not Bald Doris.” Doris glowered at Nico. “I won’t be bald forever.”

  Bernadette nodded. “We got to be real careful. But”—she smiled her crooked-teeth smile—“I slipped folks in before. Just remember, orphans are easy to spot. Them coats. That lice cut.”

  Bald Doris’s cheeks turned pink. She scratched at her hairless head.

  Bernadette let down the truck bed and they got out. Then she went back to the cab, taking steps that meant business in her big men’s boots. She returned with a bottle of milk.

  Lucy and Nico stared. Eugene’s mouth dropped open. Bald Doris reached out two trembling hands.

  Bernadette raised an eyebrow. “Know how to share?”

  Lucy, Nico, and Eugene nodded. Doris’s eyes were riveted to the milk bottle, but she nodded, too.

  Bernadette handed the bottle to Bald Doris. Doris held the cold milk in two hands, her throat working hard to handle the gushing stream of liquid.

  “Hey.” Nico elbowed her. Bald Doris tightened her grip and drank without stopping, until Eugene yanked the bottle away.

  Bald Doris wiped her milky mouth with the back of her hand, moaning with pleasure.

  They all looked at the milk. Three-quarters gone.

  Bernadette’s eyes went narrow as buttonholes. “That the way you follow directions?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Doris smiled politely.

  Nico snorted.

  Eugene offered the bottle to Lucy without drinking any himself. Lucy’s eyes widened, but she did not question his generosity. She took the bottle and drank the milk, which went down cool, thick, and buttery in her parched throat.

  But after two good swigs she forced herself to stop and handed the bottle back to Eugene, who gave it to Nico.

  Nico took his share and then returned the milk to Eugene, who drank the last few sips.

  Bernadette stared at Nico, her jaw hard. “Bald Doris ain’t going to my place. Got a baby coming and a husband who won’t be home until December. I can’t have a kid who don’t listen.”

  Nico nodded, his left eye twitching.

  “My hair’s growing back.” Bald Doris’s voice wavered.

  Bernadette shook her head. “Hair’s fine. It’s your heart I don’t much care for.”

  Doris’s chin jutted out. “I gave it back like you said!”

  Bernadette and Lucy exchanged a look.

  “What? I did.” Bald Doris stamped her foot.

  Bernadette’s brow furrowed. “You took three times your share. Would have drunk the entire bottle if Eugene hadn’t yanked it out of your hands.”

  “Well, I was going to give it back. He didn’t give me a chance.” Bald Doris pointed at Eugene.

  Lucy glared at Doris.

  “I’ve met plenty of girls like you. Would lie about the number of toes on their feet. Can’t have you at my place,” Bernadette said firmly.

  Large tears began flowing down Bald Doris’s cheeks, leaving pink lines on her dirty face. “It wasn’t my fault,” she sobbed.

  “Where will she go?” Nico’s voice squeaked.

  The question hung in the air like a bad smell.

  Bernadette surveyed them, ignoring Doris. “You take her with you, you won’t make it,” she said in her gravelly voice.

  Lucy shuddered. As annoying as Doris was, they couldn’t leave her.

  Eugene stepped forward. “There’s a good part inside her. She just don’t like to show it much. I’ll watch her, ma’am. You got my word.”

  “I sure hope you got some other family besides her,” Bernadette said.

  “I’ll see to it she does what you ask.” Eugene’s voice was charged.

  Lucy took a step toward Eugene. They stood shoulder to shoulder. Nico’s eyes darted around, searching for a way out. Then he stepped forward, too.

  “All of us, or none of us, miss,” Nico said.

  Bernadette’s eyes shifted and then hardened. She turned her back on them and walked to the cab.

  Lucy’s stomach sank.

  Please!

  The word climbed up her throat.

  Nico and Eugene looked at each other.

  “She’s sorry about the milk. Aren’t you, Doris?” Nico nodded to Doris.

  “I’m sorry about the milk,” Doris sobbed.

  “We’ll all watch her, ma’am,” Nico called.

  Bernadette rolled up the window. The ignition caught and the truck began to hum.

  Lucy pulled out her paper. What should she write?

  She remembered Mama teaching Dilly to sew. If Dilly made a mistake, Dilly would pull out stiches until she got to the last perfect one, stick her needle in the cloth, and begin again. Thank you for the ride, Lucy scribbled. She pressed the paper against the window.

  Bernadette glanced at the note, but Lucy didn’t know if she read it. The truck lurched into gear. Lucy jumped back, and the truck shot forward, then picked up speed, screeching around the corner. When the roar of the motor faded, they stood watching where it had turned.

  “You sure she’s got a good part?” Nico asked Eugene.

  “Shut up,” Bald Doris said.

  The street was deserted. They would have a hard time finding another ride here. How long would it take to walk to the highway?

  Lucy was shoving her pencil and paper back in her pocket when she heard a car approach from the other direction. Her head popped up.

  It was the truck again.

  Bernadette stomped on the brakes. She cranked the window down. “If I had a brain in my head, I would keep driving.”

  Lucy’s eyes shifted to Nico.

  “You do what I say, or I will call Meany Mac and Grumpy and tell them where you are, and I won’t feel one bit bad about it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eugene, Nico, and Bald Doris agreed.

  Bernadette looked at Lucy, a question in her eyes.

  Bald Doris stepped forward. “I got to do the talking for her. But she agrees, don’t you, Lucy?”

  The words came into Lucy’s brain in a rush. But the shame closed her throat like a noose.

  I speak for myself stayed stuck behind the cage of her teeth.

  Bernadette made them sit in a line on the tailgate.

  “Like I told you, overnight guests will get me kicked out. I can’t lose
this place. No other rooming houses would take a baby. I need your word you’ll do what I say.” Bernadette’s eyes were fixed on Bald Doris.

  “Yes, ma’am.” They nodded.

  Bernadette chewed on her lip. “Go in the back door. Turn right. Stairwell goes up to my floor. First door on the right. One at a time. Quiet as a fox squirrel on snow. Eugene, you keep your sister in line, do you hear?”

  Doris glared at Bernadette. Eugene nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t let anyone see you. My neighbors like gossip better than brown sugar crumble cake. Make their day to tell my landlady.”

  Bernadette had them lie flat in the truck bed under the feed sacks.

  The truck rumbled warm under Lucy’s belly. Her leg bumped against Eugene’s. Nico’s hair tickled her face.

  The air outside grew cooler. Night was falling.

  The truck swung left, then left again before coming to a stop. The cab door squeaked open, then closed.

  Lucy went first, stealing down the path through the tall trees with their long twilight shadows. At the back stoop, she twisted the knob.

  Somewhere someone was playing dance music. A lady laughed. The wood groaned under Lucy’s feet as she climbed the stairs.

  At the landing, Lucy saw Bernadette and slipped inside her room.

  “Good,” Bernadette whispered.

  Lucy took in the praise. It filled her belly like the milk had.

  The room was small and tidy. One side was stacked high with mason jars of jam, pickles, and tomatoes; another with rounds of cheese.

  Lucy’s mouth watered, thinking of the sweet taste of berry jam. She looked at Bernadette, a question in her eyes.

  “I’m the delivery girl for five farms. It’s a good job.” She smiled proudly. “When my baby comes, she can ride next to me.”

  Lucy saw the pile of diapers tucked in the corner and the drawer fitted with blankets.

  On the stairs, footsteps. A minute later, Eugene appeared, followed by Bald Doris.

  Doris’s eyes went straight for the food. She licked her lips.

  How would they keep her from stealing?

  Bernadette saw them staring at the jam. “Got it counted. Every last jar. I will know if anything’s missing.”