Dotty’s Suitcase (8 page)

And with all that money surely she'd become pretty. All rich ladies were pretty. In the movies, anyway. There was no reason to think that riches didn't bring beauty. Except for Olive's grandmother. After a moment's thought Dotty decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She undoubtedly had been beautiful when she was young. Or, at any rate, not so ugly.

It was odd. Now that they were out of the truck and into it, the storm seemed less ferocious than it had. They began to walk. Dotty tugged the belt of her jacket as tight as it would go to keep the money inside. Then she did the same to Jud. She pulled on his belt until he hollered, “You're cutting me in two!” They plodded on. It's still Friday, Dotty thought. Probably the longest Friday I'll ever go through. And it wasn't over yet.

“I think we should've stayed,” Jud mumbled. “Where it was warm. With him.”

“He would never have let us go,” Dotty said. “When it got light he would've killed us and thrown our bodies out and driven off and they'd never have found us. Animals would have eaten our bodies, and nobody would ever have known what happened to us.”

“You think so?” Jud's eyes were huge. “I bet they're worried about us. I bet they're pacing the floor, up and down, up and down, wondering what happened.”

“The minute we get to Boonville I'll call Mr. Evans and he'll take the message to them.” Dotty pushed the thought of Daddy and the girls and her aunt and uncle out of her head. By now they would be frantic. She could hear Aunt Martha saying in her wry voice, “That's Dotty. Act first, think later.” All the more reason for them to leave the truck and try to find a ride to Boonville. Or, second best, a ride home.

Jud turned in a circle, batting his eyelashes to get rid of the snow that collected on them. “Do you think he's following us?” he whispered. “Do you think he's going to get us?”

“Not if we keep moving.”

“I sort of thought you liked him,” Jud said slyly. “At first.”

“He was mean clean through. Could've told you that.” Dotty stared at the ground. “Watch your step. Stay close to me.”

“Didn't you like him at first?” Jud wasn't one to let up.

“Are you crazy?” Her voice was loud and tough. “I sure wish we'd see a car. Keep moving.”

“Suppose nobody comes? There's not many cars out on a night like this. What do we do then? We should've stayed with him. They'd find us sooner or later.”

“He might have killed us. And he sure would've stolen all the money.”

“Well,” Jud said philosophically, “if we was dead, we wouldn't miss the money much.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said. “Keep moving and keep quiet.”

In the dim light she could see Jud smiling at her. “I'm going back,” he said.

“No,” said Dotty. “Wait for me.”

He was gone in an instant. In the flick of an eye. Swallowed up by the storm.

I am alone in the universe. I am Eliza, crossing the ice. I am at the South Pole assisting Admiral Byrd. I am on the verge of discovering a lost continent. I could scream at the top of my lungs and no one would hear me.

“Come back!” she shouted. No answer. Again she shouted. The wind had been sucked back into the sky. Silence and snow gathered her up in their frigid arms. She turned to look back, to see if Jud was fooling and getting ready to pounce out at her. She could see nothing. Only swirling snow. The wind, howling again, sounded like a wolf. Like a pack of wolves.

The thin, swift wings of fear began to beat in her head. We haven't gone very far from the truck. We just set out. Only five minutes ago we were inside the warm truck and Gary was taking money out of the suitcase where it had cracked wide open when the truck went into the ditch. Gary was only sixteen. As old as Mary Beth. Sixteen was too young to be evil. He was too good-looking to be evil. The expression on his face when he saw the money flicked in front of her like a scene from a movie. He'd called Jud “punk” and hit him.

She spun around, thinking she'd heard someone call her name. She couldn't be certain. Snow whirled in her eyes, up her nose, slapped at her face. She opened her mouth to call Jud again, and it too was filled with snow.

I'm not lost. If I go in this direction, I'll see the truck in the ditch with Gary and Jud in it and I'll just get back in it until the storm's over. He won't hurt us. I must stay calm. I know exactly where I am. I'm almost to Boonville. To see Olive. In a minute I'll see the truck.

But when she turned, what lay behind also lay ahead. There was no horizon, there were no familiar landmarks. There was nothing but blackness and biting wind.

I won't call Jud again. He's snug as a bug right this minute. I'll be there too, in a second. Please, God, don't let me be lost again. Not twice in one day. I can't stand it.

Dotty stood still, trying to get her bearings. The snow made sad little whistling sounds as it settled in for the night. I must keep going. I mustn't sit down and rest. No matter how tired I get, I mustn't stop walking. If I do, I might freeze to death. I have read that freezing to death is like going to sleep. When I die, the world dies with me.

Snow caked her galoshes, making each foot weigh a ton, each step an effort. This is what it must be like to be old, Dotty thought.

She heard someone crying. Very faint but clear. Crying like a lost babe in the woods. She listened again and heard nothing. Her imagination was playing tricks. Then she heard it again. It sounded like a small child.

“Dotty,” the voice wailed. “I'm here, Dotty.”

It was Jud. You little weasel, she thought joyfully as she struggled through the snow in the direction of the cry. I thought you were lost. I thought I was lost. Now that I've found you, I'm not lost any more. All is well. You little weasel. Maybe next time you'll listen and not go on without me.

If there was a next time.

When she reached him, he was lying in a snowdrift, crying. She had never heard him cry, and there'd been plenty of times when he'd had reason to. Jud was lots of things but never a crybaby.

“I'm tired!” he wailed. “I can't get up. I'm too tired. I want to take a little nap. Not a big one, just a little one. Then I'll come with you.”

“No, you don't,” she snapped. She wanted him to give her an argument so she could get mad at him. It would give her something to do. Instead, he put out an arm, and she grabbed it and tugged him to a standing position. He stood there, weaving back and forth. “See? I told you. That wasn't hard, was it?”

She felt very powerful, very wise, much older than he. She'd gotten him into this mess and she'd get him out. Together they'd get out.

“Let's head for the truck,” she said.

Jud's eyes shone in the dim light. She saw him nod. “You start and I'll follow,” he said.

Dotty drew a deep breath. He thought she knew the way. Let him. It couldn't be that hard to retrace their steps and go back as they had come.

We are at the North Pole and a Saint Bernard will find us and lead us home. No, I think Saint Bernards only find people in the mountains in Switzerland. Never mind. This is a Saint Bernard dog at the North Pole, which happens to be in New York State near Boonville.

“I'm cold,” Jud said. He put his mittened hand trustingly in hers, a thing he'd never done before. If he'd cried or whined or been a brat, she could've scorned him, made fun of him. But he was depending on her, and that made her afraid.

“What's the matter?” he said when she didn't move.

She waited a minute, thinking a miracle might occur, something or someone would show them the way. The minute passed. “I think we're lost again,” she finally said. The wind attacked from all sides. “I'm pretty sure we are,” Dotty Fickett said.

“We could pray,” Jud said at last.

“I've already tried that.”

“Maybe God couldn't hear you over the wind. It makes a terrible racket. Try a little louder. I'll help.”

“O.K.,” Dotty agreed. “Kneel down.”

“No siree!” Jud shouted, jumping back. “You're not getting me to kneel down in all this snow. No siree! I'm not doing it.”

So they stood upright and said, “Our Father, Who art in Heaven.” She continued but Jud only mumbled the words. It was clear that “Our Father, Who art in Heaven” was the only part Jud knew. Dotty went to the end and stopped.

They waited, silent in the storm, holding their breath so, in case God decided to send them an answer, they'd hear it. None came.

“I knew it wouldn't work,” Jud said glumly. “And I don't care what you say,” he added, cantankerous again, a good sign. “I'm sitting down for a rest. I'm tired. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I'm dead on my feet.”

“And I suppose I'm not!” she screeched at him. “You're the only one who's cold and tired? You can't sit down! I won't let you! You'll freeze to death and I'll get the blame. If anything happens to you I'll get the blame because you're eight and I'm twelve and I'm supposed to know better. They always blame the older kid when something happens. You know that. And I'll tell you this.” She shook her finger at him in the dark. “I'm not going to be responsible for you. You get up from there right this minute or I'll tell your mother.”

“Tell her what?” Jud asked. She yanked him to his feet. He was small but solid. But I am responsible, she thought. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't be here. Why did he have to follow me?

“Please, Jud, please,” she begged him. She could just make out the pale blur of his face as he turned to her and said, “Dotty, do you think they'll find us?”

Keeping the fear out of her voice with a huge effort, she said, “We'll be fine. Should see a car soon. We'll be just fine. Long as we keep moving.”

“But do you think they'll find us?” he persisted.

Who was “they”? “Probably,” she answered. Then a great surge of tiredness overcame her, and she said, “I don't know. I just don't know.”

There was nothing more to say. They were running out of hope. They plodded on, stopping at intervals to peer into the bitter darkness. There were no cars out on this night; there were no lights. There must be an end to this, Dotty told herself. We can't just keep going. We should've stayed in the truck. There must be an end.

Suddenly Jud started forward. “I see a light!” he shouted.

“Where?” she asked dully, not believing him.

“There. Through there. A little light it is. A light, I tell you!”

She saw nothing.

“It's a mirage,” Dotty said. “Like when people get lost in the desert and they're dying of thirst and up ahead they see a water hole and when they get there there's nothing. It's only a mirage.”

“My foot,” said Jud. “I see it, and I smell smoke. Somebody's got a fire going.” He began to run, and in an instant he was swallowed up by the storm.

For the first time Dotty knew complete panic. Now she was alone. Only the sound of the wind and the feel of the snowflakes hitting her face kept her company. She kept going because she had no choice.

Head down, she plodded onward, hand in hand with despair.

“Dotty!” a voice cried. “Over here, Dotty!” It was Jud, hollering fit to burst his lungs. “Over here!” The sound trailed off, borne away by the wind.

She lifted her head. Through her snow-covered eyelashes she could see a small and pale and glorious light shining, telling her to come, to follow it home.

“Daddy!” Dotty sobbed. She started to run. It was amazing how strong her legs had become when, minutes before, they had been limp and exhausted, almost without life.

“Daddy!” she cried again as she ran toward the light and the warmth it promised, and safety.

CHAPTER 13

The little house was empty. They had come to the end of a long and perilous journey, and there was no one to bid them welcome. Even as they mashed their noses against the window and peered in, they knew the room would be empty. Ashes glowed in the fireplace, and a large pot sat in solitary splendor on the stove, promising untold delicacies.

They banged on the door. “Is there anyone there?” Dotty cried. There was no answer.

“Is there anyone home?” they cried again and again.

There was no answer.

“I don't care,” Dotty said at last. “I'm going in.”

“I'm scared,” Jud said. “Maybe they're hiding.”

“Suit yourself. I'm going in.” Dotty pressed down on the latch and the door swung open. She stepped inside, Jud right behind her.

“Hello! Hello! Hello!”

There was no answer.

“They can't be far,” Dotty decided. “With the fire still going and all. Let's knock on that door.” She pointed to the end of the room. “Maybe they're asleep.” She knocked on the door. Silence. She turned the knob. The door creaked open with a long sigh, as if it hadn't been open in years. Jud jumped.

“Suppose he's under the covers?” He looked at the large, untidy bed that was the only piece of furniture in the room. “Suppose he jumps out and gets us?”

“Anyone in here?” Dotty shouted. He, whoever he was under there, might be deaf.

The covers stayed quiet. They closed the door gently and went back to the stove. Dotty laid her hand on the pot's side. It was warm.

“I'm having some,” she said.

“What is it? I might not like it,” Jud said.

“Who cares?” Dotty found some dishes and spoons on the table. “You want some or not? This is your last chance.”

Reluctantly Jud said, “Give me some.”

“Please.”

“Please.”

She ladled it out and they ate. It was delicious. Vegetables and potatoes and some kind of meat. Jud leaned his elbows on the table and made disgusting noises as he ate. Dotty frowned at him and said nothing. She didn't have the strength.