The Girl in the Torch (5 page)

“I'
M GONNA BEAT YOU
!”

“No, you won't!”

Sarah stirred awake at the echo of voices drifting up from somewhere below and then distant footsteps pounding up a staircase.

“I'm almost there!”

Her eyes shot open, and at first she didn't realize where she was, a strangely shaped gray room with a pyramid staircase and a cold metal floor. A glint of light came through one of the windows at the top of the crown. Suddenly everything came back to her.

She sprang to her feet, her naked body stiff and cold. The joints in her legs, neck, and shoulders cracked as she moved. The voices and footsteps drew nearer.

Sarah grabbed her clothes from the railing. They were still slightly damp and stiff from the night chill, but she pulled them on anyway, racing to cover herself.

The voices came closer.

She struggled to get into her underclothes, skirt, stockings, and
blouse. She was just pulling on her sweater as the first tourists came to the foot of the stairs that led to the crown room. A pair of twin boys raced up the final steps. They both had blond hair and wore matching blue coats and knickers.

“I won!” the first boy declared.

But his face fell as he saw the girl awkwardly holding her coat and boots.

“Aw, someone's already up here.”

The other twin joined his brother in the observation room.

“How'd you beat us?” he asked. “We were gonna be the first.”

Sarah just stared at them, afraid to say anything.

“Maybe she got up here so fast 'cause she took off her shoes,” the first twin said.

“Who cares? Look!”

The boys climbed the stairs to the windows and peered out at the view. Sarah quickly pulled on her boots without bothering to lace them, shoved Ivan into her pocket, and hurried for the stairs. As she made her way past dozens of tourists, she kept her head bent low, eyes locked on the steps below her.

Back on the top of the base, she was surrounded by large groups of people waiting in line to enter the statue and milling around staring up at the Lady. She continued down the stairs inside the base until she reached ground level, where hundreds of tourists walked around the island. A ferryboat was moored at the landing dock in the distance, unloading still more passengers.

Her body tensed as she passed directly beside a man wearing an
official uniform and hat like the night watchman.

Were they looking for her?

Sarah held her breath. But as he walked past, he didn't seem to notice her at all.

She scanned the island and saw several men in similar uniforms standing at the guard station near the dock and helping tourists with questions and directions. More and more people walked by, none of them taking any notice of a girl all by herself.

No one knows I jumped off the ship, so no one will be looking for me.

Knowing this, Sarah was able to relax a bit and spent the morning walking around the island, trying to blend in with the crowds. Around noon, she followed a young couple. The woman carried a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. The baby's toy rattle fell out of her hand and Sarah instinctively bent to pick it up. The young mother turned to Sarah.

“A sheynem dank,”
the woman said, thanking her in Yiddish.

Sarah froze, so shocked to hear her native language, she didn't know what to do. Worried about drawing attention to herself in any way, she responded in English, “You're welcome.”

She handed the woman the toy and the couple moved on.

Sarah watched them from a distance as they settled on a bench and unpacked a small picnic for themselves. Sarah longed to be with her own mother and father and felt a jolt of envy toward the baby girl. Sarah thought about approaching the family, telling them everything that had happened to her and begging them to help. They seemed so familiar and friendly. She inched closer. But
then the mother looked up at her with a curious expression, as if ready to defend her child from anyone coming too close, so Sarah stepped back.

As Sarah walked away, she saw the father cut slices of apple and hand them to the infant. Sarah's mouth filled with saliva at the sight of the food. The father finished slicing and tossed the core into a nearby garbage bin.

Sarah's eyes locked on the bin. She wanted to lunge after the core, but knew she would have to wait until no one was watching. The family ate the apple and then some cheese and crusty bread. The baby girl dropped piles of crumbs as she chomped on an unwieldy corner of the loaf. Sarah was so hungry that even the crumbs looked delicious. Finally, the parents deposited the remnants of their snack in the trash.

As soon as they were a good distance away, Sarah walked toward the trash can, already imagining the taste of the food in her mouth. Just as she was about to reach out her hand, she heard a voice from behind.

“'Scuse me, missy.”

An old, brown-skinned man with a round, bald head stood right beside her wearing blue coveralls and pushing a large metal trash can on wheels. The girl joined the flow of people as if she belonged to another family. Her stomach clenched with hunger as she glanced over her shoulder and saw the old man grabbing the garbage bin and emptying it into the can.

She searched the island and found two more trash bins near the
door to the entrance of the pedestal, and she nonchalantly positioned herself near one of them to wait for another deposit. Sure enough, a few minutes later a man walked up eating something from a bag, then crumpled it up and threw it away. Sarah wasn't sure what it was, but she knew it was food and hoped that there was some left.

She quickly plunged her hand into the trash can and snatched the bag out, trying to look as if it had been hers all along. Inside she discovered a small pile of white puffs with a warm, savory smell. The outside of the bag was printed in red, white, and blue letters that said “popcorn.” She tentatively popped one of the puffs into her mouth and she was surprised how quickly it dissolved on her tongue. She took another handful and the salty treasure made her mouth come alive. As soon as the bag was empty, she craved more.

She spent the morning milling around the trash barrels and managed to scrounge up two half-eaten hot dogs, a piece of a roll with butter, and one bruised banana. She was shocked at how much food was thrown out. In her village, nothing ever went to waste and the idea of throwing away anything even remotely edible was unheard of. Even spoiled food was saved for the goats and other livestock.

Sarah spent the day roaming the island, blending in with the crowds that came and went. As the day progressed, she scavenged more popcorn, a chicken leg, and another half-eaten roll, which she tucked away inside the pocket of her skirt.

Eventually, the crowd thinned and the sun began to set. Sarah became more anxious as there were fewer and fewer people to help camouflage her. One of the men in uniform walked around the island ringing a large brass bell, calling out, “Last boat! All aboard!”

All the tourists made their way down from the Lady and toward the loading dock where the ferry was moored. She followed the crowd toward the boat and stood with the line of people waiting to board.

Sarah knew this was the only way to get to the shores of New York. And she worried about trying to hide alone on the island for another night.

Maybe I can just blend in and get on the boat,
she thought.

She stepped into place at the end of the line.

“Tickets! Everyone have your tickets out,” the ferryman called from the entrance to the boat.

Each of the passengers handed a ticket to the ferryman as they stepped onto the gangplank. Sarah froze. With no ticket and no money, there was no way for her to sneak past him.

She was trapped on the island.

S
ARAH SLUNK BACK THROUGH
the crowd and made her way toward the Lady, hoping to sneak back inside. But when she got up onto the base's roof, she saw one of the guards standing by the entry door, making sure everyone exited. He called into the doorway.

“Park is closing! Last boat!”

Sarah's eyes darted around, looking for somewhere she could hide.

She ducked back down the stairwell. Maybe there was some sort of storeroom or even a closet. But there were none. Emerging back onto the ground level, she saw the final tourists making their way toward the dock. The guard who had been checking the entry door of the statue was behind her, so she couldn't go back up.

A cold breeze blew off the water and rustled through the leaves. The leaves! She had almost forgotten her hiding spot from the night before. She quickly and carefully maneuvered over to the
small patch of trees behind the statue's base. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she jumped and grabbed the lowest branch, hauling herself up.

She climbed high into an area with dense cover and settled herself onto a branch to look out. No one had seen her. Peering through the leaves, she could just make out the ferry dock. She saw two of the guards searching the grounds, calling, “All aboard!”

When the last tourists and guards had boarded, the ferry pushed off into the harbor, the fiery sunset bathing everything in a deep orange glow. Sarah exhaled and relaxed onto the branch as the boat steamed north toward Manhattan. She was alone again.

As the sky darkened, Sarah ate some of the food she had been saving, the chicken leg and the half-eaten roll. Soon, though, the wind picked up and the air grew cold and Sarah knew she needed to seek shelter inside. The minutes slowly ticked by and the sun sank lower and lower until the stars appeared above her.

Sarah's skin had chilled and her muscles had tightened by the time she finally ventured down. She ran toward the entrance of the base, but her stiff legs moved awkwardly. Her foot snagged on the corner of one of the large garbage bins along the path and she tripped, falling to her knees.
Clang!
The trash bin tipped over. She paused and listened from the ground.

“Who's there?” a deep, gruff voice called.

Glancing up, Sarah could just make out the figure of the
gray-haired giant emerging from the guardhouse near the ferry dock, holding out his kerosene lamp in the dark.

“I said who is that?” the giant yelled again.

Sarah jumped to her feet and ducked into the shadow of the statue's base.

“Stop!”

He had seen her. Sarah's heart beat faster as she saw him quickly heading up the path toward the statue. She dashed around the building, veering in and around the sharp edges of the enormous base, peeking around the corner each time to see if the man was trailing her.

“Hold it!” he yelled.

But Sarah moved much faster than he did.

“I said stop!”

Finally, she had circled the entire building and was back where she'd started, not too far from the row of the trees in the back. She paused to catch her breath.

I can't just keep running in circles all night,
she thought.

She couldn't risk looking for another place to hide on the other side of the island, so she dashed back to her tree and pulled herself up. She had just settled onto a branch with good, leafy cover when she saw the watchman emerge from around the corner of the base.

He held his kerosene lamp in front of him but could barely catch his breath from the effort of the chase. He stopped a few dozen yards from her tree, then put the lamp down and rested his hands on his knees until he could speak again.

“Where are you?” he called into the night.

Sarah held her breath in the silence.

“I know someone's out there.”

He stood and listened. A strong wind whipped across the island, causing a loud flutter of leaves all around her.

After the wind died down, he listened for a moment longer and then slowly shambled up toward the entrance to the base.

As the watchman disappeared inside, Sarah exhaled but didn't move. A few moments later, he reemerged on the roof, making his way toward the entrance to the pedestal. Was he going to climb up to the top? Or was there some sort of guardhouse inside the statue?

She heard the sound of his heavy footsteps as he methodically climbed the metal staircase. Aside from the wind and the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the footsteps were the only sound on the island.
Clank, clomp, clank, clomp, clank, clomp.

Finally the footsteps stopped and Sarah saw the watchman appear on the Lady's torch. He removed a small bottle from inside his coat and took a long swig. Sarah watched in silence as he stood staring out to sea, taking sips from the bottle and occasionally coughing. Eventually, he screwed the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the pocket inside his jacket, swaying as he made his way along the railing back toward the door to the torch. Suddenly, he lost his footing and the girl gasped, thinking he might go tumbling over the side. But he caught himself on the railing and maneuvered himself back through the door.

The watchman emerged on ground level and stumbled a bit as he walked down toward the guardhouse by the ferry dock. He stopped to take another sip of the whiskey and emptied the bottle into his mouth.

Sarah tensed as he abruptly changed direction and walked toward her tree.

He moved closer and closer, his angry red face seeming to stare straight at her.

This is it,
she thought.
He's got me.

S
ARAH LISTENED TO THE
sound of the guard's breath wheezing in and out of his mouth as he walked directly beneath her branch. She tried to hold herself as still as possible, tensing every muscle, not allowing herself to take a breath for fear she would make a telltale sound. Despite the cold, sweat sprouted on her forehead as the watchman circled around the tree, scanning the grounds.

Finally he paused and leaned a hand against the tree. Was he going to climb up after her? Sarah closed her eyes tightly. The watchman let out a great belch. Her eyes popped open and she looked down. The giant was leaning over, spitting onto the ground.

Then he straightened his hat and stumbled away.

Sarah watched him walk back to the guardhouse by the dock. Once he was inside, she lowered herself out of the tree. Her joints cracked as she sprinted toward the base and slipped in through the door. She paused to catch her breath, took off her boots so her bare feet would not make any noise on the steps, and then climbed up
and into the statue as quickly as she could. She made it all the way to the crown room and settled herself down for the night.

Relief swept over Sarah. The oddly shaped crown felt familiar and cozy, and she was already starting to think of it as
her
room. She climbed the small set of stairs that led to the windows and looked out at the harbor. Had any girl ever had a more spectacular view from her bedroom?

She had found part of an old torn kerchief, which she used to make a tiny bed for Ivan that she placed right beside her. Then she covered herself with a brown shawl she had discovered abandoned on a bench earlier that day and tucked her arm under her head for a pillow. She imagined costumed servants running up and down the stairs to serve them platters of fruit and cheese as if she were a princess in the tower of a castle.

As she stared up at the stars through the windows of the crown, Sarah's relief turned to worry. Sarah knew she had to get off the island before she got caught. Earlier in the day, she had found a penny on the ground behind one of the benches. Maybe she could collect enough to buy her passage to Manhattan.

The next morning, she was more prepared for the arrival of the tourists. As the first ferry arrived, she watched from her window and then came down and sneaked up the ladder to the torch, thinking that most early climbers would want to go to the crown first. As soon as the first group walked up, she emerged from the torch and walked down to the pedestal.

She wandered down to the boat launch and saw a sign on the
boat that read:
FERRY TICKETS 25 CENTS
. She looked at her penny. One cent. She only needed twenty-four more. The question was, could she evade the watchman for long enough to find them?

Sarah spent the next few days on the island wandering around and trying to blend in with the tourists. She scavenged food and drinks from the garbage when no one was looking and managed to find a few more pennies in places where people sat or gathered.

Every day tourists discarded newspapers, so Sarah had plenty to read in both English and Yiddish. Occasionally she'd find a paper in a completely foreign language, and she made a game of trying to figure out what the stories were about based on the pictures.

At night, she hid in her tree until the watchman had made his rounds. Every evening, he followed the same routine of climbing up to the torch, staring out to sea, and drinking from his bottle. And each night he'd come down and toss the empty bottle into the bay. To Sarah it felt like a game of cat and mouse, with her scurrying in and around the statue to avoid him.

As she lay with Ivan in the crown room at night, she'd carefully count out her pennies, first three, then seven, then fifteen.

“Only ten more,” she said to Ivan. “Then we can get to the promised land.” Being so close to her goal made Sarah miss her mother even more. She imagined how proud Mama would be if Sarah made it to New York on her own.