Orphan #8 (22 page)

Naomi kept a bathing suit at her aunt and uncle’s, and Estelle lent hers to Rachel, saying Naomi could return it on her next visit. It was afternoon by the time the girls went down to the boardwalk. Ahead, the Wonder Wheel turned slowly and the Cyclone slunk up and over its tracks. They went past the amusements and toward the water. Sharing a rented changing booth, they stuffed their shoes and summer dresses into the straw bag Naomi carried and put on the knit suits, a bit old-fashioned but still exposing arms and legs. Naomi helped fit a bathing cap over Rachel’s head.
Pulling open the curtains of the booth, the sun blinded Rachel as she stepped onto the warm sand. She liked the way it shifted beneath her bare feet. The girls spent some time basking before going into the water. In the roiling ocean, they stayed near shore, jumping over incoming waves and tasting sea salt on their tongues.

The afternoon took on a dreamlike quality. With the summer sun suspended overhead, time ceased passing. The trips from sand to sea and back were timed not by the hands of a clock but by the evaporation of water from their swimsuits. The regimented ringing of bells was replaced in Rachel’s inner ear by the sound of surf bubbling onto the beach and the whoosh and plummet of the roller coaster.

They stayed until the slanted light told a story of evening. In the close darkness of the changing booth, hips bumped as they bent to roll the damp suits from their salty limbs. Standing, their eyes met. For the first time in ages—maybe in forever—Rachel felt lifted by joy. In gratitude for the day, she kissed her friend on the lips. Naomi became so still and serious, Rachel wondered if she’d done something wrong. Then Naomi put a hand on Rachel’s waist and kissed her back, pursed lips pressed together. The moment stretched beyond friendship into an unmapped territory Rachel could not name. The sounds of surf and children on the beach faded as Rachel’s awareness exaggerated each tremor of lips, every shift in pressure. The tip of Naomi’s tongue touched her own, sparking an electric shock. Without meaning to, she pulled away, lips still tingling.

A giddy joy bubbled up between them, filling the gloomy booth with their laughter and dispersing the tension. They finished dressing, Rachel covering her head with the cloche hat. Naomi
made sure the money was still secure in her shoe. They stopped for Italian ice on their way to the station, turning their tongues red. On the long ride back to the Home, they sat with linked arms and dozed. When Rachel licked her lips, she tasted sea salt and cherry syrup.

Manhattan felt crowded and dirty after the openness of the beach. Under the shadow of the clock tower, they pulled open the heavy oak doors of the Home. Naomi turned to say something to Rachel, but a bell rang. Both girls were stunned to realize they didn’t know which it was. Then they saw the children coming up from the dining hall. “Club Bell already! I’m late. Gotta go.” Naomi dashed off to her duties while Rachel went up to the Infirmary.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, Rachel. You’re cheeks are positively glowing. And that hat makes you look so normal.” Gladys caught herself. “I mean to say, it looks so natural on you.”

Reluctantly, Rachel handed the hat to Nurse Dreyer, exposing her bare scalp. The monitor’s warning about Naomi came back to her.
She’s not a normal girl . . . she’s not natural
. Rachel shivered, as if someone had walked on her grave.

A
S THE SUMMER
came to an end, Nurse Dreyer finally had to let Rachel go. The Saturday before Labor Day, Rachel prepared herself to rejoin the girls in the F5 dorm, though it hadn’t quite been settled if she’d move that night or the next. Tuesday she’d start her nursing course, thanks to the support of the Scholarship Committee.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you, Rachel,” Gladys told her. She was lingering over her magazines as Rachel collected
the lunch trays. “You’ve been such a help.” A bell rang, spurring Gladys up from the table. “I don’t suppose you’d mind going down to the office for me one last time? I’ve still got curlers in my hair.”

“Of course not,” Rachel said. She took the back staircase from the Infirmary to the ground floor and followed the long hallway past the synagogue, the library, the band room. The club room door was propped open. Rachel saw Vic inside. Naomi had told her he’d started a new club, the Blue Serpent Society. Rachel had heard they were planning a party for next Rosh Hashanah. Vic saw her passing and dashed into the corridor.

“Rachel, I haven’t seen you in months! How are you? You look like you’ve gotten some sun. Were you at camp?”

“No, I’ve been here all summer, helping in the Infirmary. But Naomi took me to Coney Island last Sunday.” Rachel felt her cheeks redden. “I got burned, I’m afraid.”

“No, you look lovely.” Vic smiled, and Rachel noticed again how blue his eyes were.

They stretched the conversation. It was between bells and the corridor was quiet. Rachel told him about going back to the dorm and starting a nursing course. Vic had graduated, but he was staying on, too. He was going to be a counselor himself, in M2, and a freshman at City College.

“What do you hear from Sam?” Vic asked.

Rachel looked at the floor. “Nothing. I don’t know where he is or even if he’s all right.”

Vic seemed confused for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it, then opened it again.

“What is it?”

“No, nothing, it’s just . . . I’m sure he’s safe, Rachel, I’m sure
he’s okay. Sam knows how to take care of himself.” A bell rang. The door of the club room opened and the members of the Blue Serpent Society came into the hall, jostling them.

“Well, I gotta go. Why don’t you come to Reception tomorrow, visit my mother with me? She hasn’t seen you in so long, she asks about you all the time.”

“Sure, tomorrow, I’ll meet you there. At Study Bell?”

“Study Bell, yeah. Okay, see you then, Rachel.” Vic lifted his arms to make some kind of gesture, then seemed unsure what to do. He ended up placing his hands on Rachel’s shoulders and drawing her toward him. He kissed her cheek. “Take care of yourself,” he whispered.

Rachel made her way through the corridor, now crowded with children. The place on her cheek where Vic had kissed her felt warm, and she put her fingertips there to hold on to the feeling. She smiled to herself, thinking it was the most natural thing in the world.

Entering the office, she greeted Mr. Grossman’s secretary, who thought nothing of handing over the Infirmary’s small pile of mail to Rachel. On her way back, she sorted through the letters in her hands. One, addressed to Nurse Dreyer, had its stamp canceled in Colorado. Curious, Rachel turned over the envelope to see who had sent it. On the back no return address was written, but the envelope was printed with the name of a business, ink pressed into the rag paper.
Rabinowitz Dry Goods, Leadville, Colorado
.

A coldness swept over Rachel, like a drift of snow. It couldn’t be a coincidence, she thought. The letter must have something to do with her. She hurried her steps, eager to ask Nurse Dreyer about it—but no. She stopped. No matter whose name was written on
the front, if it was about her she had a right to open it. She could think of only one place where she could be alone to read it.

Rachel climbed three flights of stairs, then slipped behind the small, secret door of the clock tower. The darkness blinded her at first, but as her eyes adjusted, she could make out the steep metal stairs, like a fire escape, leading up to a landing. Beyond that, a wooden ladder stretched up to a dusty platform. She climbed up and settled herself in the dim light that filtered through the clock face.

Again she examined the envelope, questions bouncing through her mind.
Rabinowitz Dry Goods
. Hadn’t her father been in the garment trade? Was that the same as dry goods?
Leadville, Colorado
. Could her papa still be alive? Maybe he’d gone to Colorado after the accident that killed their mother. Rachel had always believed it was their neighbor’s shrill voice screaming murder that drove her father to flee. Was it possible he was sending for her, now, after all these years? Or maybe Sam had tracked him down. Rachel’s heart beat very fast. The letter must be from Sam. It was addressed to Nurse Dreyer because Sam found out somehow that she was staying in the Infirmary. Maybe that’s why Vic seemed so confused when Rachel said she hadn’t heard from him. Maybe Sam had written to them both but Vic had gotten his letter already.

The coldness that had washed over Rachel when she first saw the envelope melted away in this new understanding. She smiled, imagining seeing Vic on Sunday and being able to tell him that Sam had written to her, too, that she’d gotten the letter that very day they talked. She put her fingers to her cheek again, then tore
the envelope and drew out the letter. Inside were two pieces of paper, one folded inside the other.

Dear Nurse Dreyer, Please give the other letter in this envelope to Rachel. I heard from Vic she’s been staying in the Infirmary. Thanks again for all of your help after what happened with Mr. Grossman. I know I shouldn’t have gone after Marc like that but you know what he did was wrong and he had it coming. Sincerely, Sam Rabinowitz

In her lap was the second letter, still unfolded. She was certain now it would be an invitation from her brother to join him in Colorado. To join him and Papa. With trembling fingers, she unfolded her letter.

Dear Rachel, Vic says you’ve been staying in the Infirmary learning to be a nurse. You’ll be good at that. I’m writing to let you know I’m safe and you shouldn’t worry about me. I can’t tell you where I am cause I don’t want Grossman to find me, but just know I’m fine and take care of yourself and do good in school. Love, Sam

Rachel read it over and over again, searching for more meaning between the lines. Finally she had to acknowledge the truth. Sam didn’t want her, didn’t even want her to know where he was. He’d been corresponding with Vic before ever writing to her. A flash of anger shook her hands. She tore both letters into tiny squares and tossed them down the shaft of the clock tower. They twirled like
snowflakes and settled onto the dusty floor. There was nothing left for Rachel to do but let the tears come. The shadow of the clock’s hands moved slowly across Rachel’s face until, inevitably, a distant bell rang.

Rachel was wiping her eyes when a thought flowered in her mind, a thought so bright and supple it pushed back the sadness and dried her tears. Sam was always doing what he thought was best for her, from paying for Naomi’s protection to beating up Marc Grossman. It was like the time he promised to come for her if she’d be good for the agency lady, just so she wouldn’t cry. Maybe his letter, too, was an effort to do what he thought was best—stop her from worrying, let her finish school, allow the Home to care for her.

But Sam was wrong. He’d been wrong about Marc Grossman; Sam’s running away hurt Rachel more than what Marc had done to her. He’d been wrong about Naomi, too; she’d have stood up for Rachel, been her friend, even without Sam’s bribes. And he was wrong now. The Home, the nursing course, what did any of that matter when she could be with her brother and, maybe, their father as well?

Sam didn’t know what was best for her. Only she did. All these years she’d been doing as she was told. Maybe that’s all she knew, but it wasn’t what she wanted, not anymore. Her lower lip jutted forward as something stirred in her, born of the same stubborn impulse that once sent her into tantrums.

She still had the envelope. Sliding a fingertip over the words
Rabinowitz Dry Goods
she made her decision. She would go to Leadville, join her brother, reunite with their father. Somehow she would make her own way, show Sam she could take care of
herself, that he didn’t have to protect her anymore. It was far, and the train ticket would be expensive. She wasn’t sure how much money it would take, but with an awful clarity, she knew where she could get it.

T
HE SHADOW HAND
made a full circle around the clock face before Rachel climbed down the wooden ladder and the metal stairs and closed the secret door behind her. The corridor was crowded with children streaming down to dinner. She made her way against the tide to deliver the rest of the mail to Nurse Dreyer. The clatter of the children’s voices disturbed her thoughts. For the first time since she’d been at the Home, Rachel filled her lungs and shouted, “All Still!”

Instantly the din ceased. With a long exhalation, she looked up over the heads of the frozen children. Naomi, their new counselor, was at the back of the F1 group, twice the height of her charges. She looked at Rachel, confused and concerned. Rachel lowered her head and hurried along to the Infirmary. After she passed, she heard Naomi call out, “Okay, girls, go ahead.” The children sprang to life, like a stalled heart shocked back to beating.

At the Infirmary, the doctor had been summoned to set a boy’s broken arm, so Rachel’s lateness was not noticed. When the boy was resting, wrist in a damp cast, Gladys Dreyer put away the gauze and plaster. “I wanted to go watch the movie,” she said, “but he’ll need some looking after. The Warner brothers sent over a new Rin Tin Tin.”

“Go ahead, Nurse Dreyer, I’ll stay with him until I go down to the dorm to sleep.”

“So you’ve decided to go back to the dorm tonight? That’s good,
Rachel. Get back in the routine before school starts up. Thanks so much for staying.”

“What’s one more evening?” Rachel hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, dear.”

“Do we all have accounts?” She knew that whenever a child won some prize—a dollar for best essay, fifty cents for an outstanding speech—they were never given the money but told it would be added to their account.

“Most of you do, yes.”

“Is there any way to know how much is in it? And, how do we get it?”

“Mr. Grossman’s secretary keeps the books. I think all the money is on deposit at the bank. They don’t keep it in cash, I can tell you that. Whenever you’re old enough to leave the Home, they’ll close your account and give you what’s in it. But you’d have to ask at the office to find out how much there is.” Gladys looked at Rachel, curious and skeptical. “Have you won many prizes?”