Dotty’s Suitcase (14 page)

“I know
that
,” he said in a voice filled with scorn. “We was partners. You had no business giving away that money without asking. No business at all. Suppose I done that to
you
?”

“I'm sorry, Jud. You're right. I should've asked.”

“And I'll tell you something else.” Jud stood up and planted his feet wide apart, his hands on his hips. “If you're so big on giving things away, why don't you give the suitcase away? How about that? Just give it away like you give away the money. How about it?”

Dotty gasped. How dare he? It was hers, her heart's desire. “Mr. Clarke gave it to me,” she protested.

“Yeah, I know.” Jud nodded his head and looked very wise. “But if you're giving stuff away, all I said was why not that too?” He jerked his head at the woman with the baby. “You could give it to her. Bet she could use it. Bet she'd like it for packing the kid's stuff in. Why don't you?” He stood there, watching Dotty, his eyes glittering.

Her arms tightened around the suitcase. She couldn't. She couldn't. It was hers to keep.

Dotty half rose in her seat. The woman was bouncing the fussing baby, her face tight and strained, anxiously looking out the window.

Dotty held up the suitcase.

“You want this?” she whispered, so no one could hear.

The woman kept on bouncing the baby, singing to the child in a mournful monotone. Dotty leaned back in her seat and looked out the window. Her heart was pounding. I tried, she told herself. She could feel Jud's eyes on her.

I tried.

She caught sight of herself in the grimy glass. Who's that sap? she thought. You're some sappy-looking girl, and that's for sure. Nobody's going to take
you
for Shirley Temple.

She bared her teeth at herself in a ghastly smile. Shirley Temple was a movie star. At age six. Lots of folks said she was really a midget and not six at all. Shirley had a head full of golden curls and a face full of dimples. She also was a tap-dancing fool. Folks went wild over Shirley Temple. Dotty wanted to believe the midget story, but in her heart she knew Shirley was really six. Six years younger than herself, two years younger than Jud, and already a movie star.

I will never be pretty. The thought hit her like a small pain under her heart.

I will just be all right. I'll have to settle for that.

I will never use the suitcase. I'll put it under my bed and I'll never use it. Or not at least until Olive comes back and the depression is over and the sadness goes. I'll keep it until Olive smiles again and forgets the bad things and we can go somewhere together. Not to India, maybe, or down the Nile. Maybe to England to find Mary's Secret Garden.

Or maybe just to Utica. Or someplace where they have a skyscraper.

“Earlville!” the bus driver sang out. “End of the line.”

Dotty arose and gathered her furs about her. Her train, the Twentieth Century Limited, was arriving from New York City. There were crowds of people, all the home-town folks, gathered to greet her. As the doors glided open and she put one dainty foot on the first step, someone—was it Janice Bailey?—came forward and laid a huge bunch of long-stemmed red roses in her arms.

“Oh, Miss Fickett!” Janice said breathlessly. “I just loved your last movie!” Dotty graciously accepted the flowers. The crowd roared.

Jud inched his way forward. He looks the same, Dotty thought sadly, but he's not. In some ways he's older than I am.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee were the first ones off. The woman with the baby was next. Up close, that kid was even uglier than Dotty had thought. She made a face at him and he drooled back.

She and Jud were the last ones off the bus.

“You won't tell, will you, Jud?” Dotty said. “You won't tell anyone we found the money?”

Jud gave her a long look. Then he leaned down and mashed his nose against the window.

“I see them,” he said gloomily. “They're all there. Every last one.”

“Promise you won't tell, Jud,” Dotty said.

“No,” he said at last. “No, I won't tell.”

Dotty gathered her suitcase to her as if it held great riches, and, her head held high, she marched down the steps to greet her public.

About the Author

Constance C. Greene is the author of over twenty highly successful young adult novels, including the ALA Notable Book
A Girl Called Al
,
Al(exandra) the Great, Getting Nowhere
, and
Beat the Turtle Drum
, which is an ALA Notable Book, an IRA-CBC Children's Choice, and the basis for the Emmy Award–winning after-school special
Very Good Friends
. Greene lives in Milford, Connecticut.

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All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1980 by Constance C. Greene

Cover design by Connie Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-5040-0094-9

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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EBOOKS BY CONSTANCE C. GREENE

FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA