The Grave Robber's Secret (6 page)

Jane's words were often muddled, but she never failed to know each of the Hares. She took one cautious step inside the kitchen, then crossed the floor at almost a run. She stopped short when she looked at Martha. “Oh,” she said, “her hair is like gold. I had a little girl with golden hair.” Her face twisted. “I think I did.” She moved closer to Martha, peering at her intently. “You're not my little girl, are you?”

“No,” Martha said in a gentle voice, “I lost my mama, though. Just like you lost your little girl.”

“Here, dear,” Ma said to Jane. “I have a nice warm towel. You can clean your face and hands.” Jane took the cloth and washed, then dropped it on the floor.

She sat down and watched Ma as she dipped up the hot porridge, and needed no urging to eat when the bowl was in front of her. “You're kind to me,” she said around her second spoonful. Robby thought Jane seemed more sensible than she often did, but then she added, “I was chased by elephants on the way over here. Did you know there are elephants in Philadelphia?” She did not wait for an answer. “No,” she cocked her head to one side. “I forgot, we aren't in Philadelphia, are we, Robby?”

Ma stood close to Jane. “You know,” she said, “if you would let me take you to the Quakers, no elephant could hurt you, and you would not be hungry or dirty again.”

Jane shook her head wildly. “No, I was in the almshouse, but I escaped. I won't go back. They hit me and locked me up in a room.”

“You weren't at the Quaker house. The people there are much kinder. Do you remember that you told me your mother was a Quaker, and so were you when you were growing up? Do you remember that?”

Jane looked distressed. “I thought you were my mother.”

“No, I am but your friend, but I would like to see you with a place to sleep at night.”

“Well, I am glad you aren't my mother,” Jane whispered, “because I wouldn't want him to be my father.”

Robby knew Jane meant his father, who would yell at her to get out if he found her at their table. Jane was daft, all right, daft as she could be, but she had wits enough to dislike Da.

Jane ate her porridge and a large hunk of bread with butter quickly, all the time staring at Martha. “Can I touch your hair?” she asked.

Robby could see that Ma was about to protest, but Martha spoke before there was a chance for Ma to say anything. “I'll come and sit beside you so you can reach me easily.” She stood and moved to sit on the bench on the other side of the table. Jane caressed her hair.

For a little while no one spoke. “Jane,” Martha said after a bit. “Robby and I would like to take you to the Quakers. Would you hold my hand and walk with us there?”

“It's some distance, quite a walk, dear.” Ma had just filled the dishpan with hot water. “Let me take you, Jane. Martha has not been well, and the walk might be too much.”

Jane drew herself away from Ma. “No, I want to go with this little girl. I think she might be my little girl.”

“No,” Martha whispered. “I am not your little girl, but I will come to see you often.”

“Martha,” said Ma, “I'm afraid I can't let you go. Your father is coming back here for a noontide meal. I've no desire to be explaining to the man why you ain't here.”

“It's early yet. Likely I'll be back.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Should I happen not to be, just tell Papa you tried to stop me. I'll deal with him when I get home.” She leaned to look at Robby. “Can you show me the way?”

“I can.” He climbed from the bench, but he looked at his mother. “I was going to feed Miss Stone her porridge.”

“Leave that to me, son.” She frowned and shook her head. “It's Martha that troubles me now, her weak as that kitten yesterday and now traipsing off for such a walk.”

Martha stood too, and held out her hand to Jane. “Don't fret, Mrs. Hare. We will be fine,” she said, and she led Jane to the back door.

Ma sighed. “You surprise me, Martha. You're a determined little thing, and brave.”

Martha laughed. “Not brave, but I do know to do right. My mother taught me that.”

“She knows to do right,” Jane repeated. “She knows to do right.” Martha led her out, and Robby followed.

“Let me get you a shawl, child,” Ma called from the back door, but Martha waved her away.

“The sun is warm,” she called.

Jane held out one arm. “The sun is warm,” she repeated.

Outside the iron fence around Christ Church burial ground, Robby pointed inside to a grave near where they stood. “That's Benjamin Franklin's grave. He was real important in starting our country, but his stone just says he was a printer.”

“I know who Benjamin Franklin was, Robby.” Martha sighed. “Do you think me stupid? I had fine tutors when we lived in Boston.” She pointed to a nearby bench. “Let's sit and rest a bit.”

When they were settled, Jane leaned toward Martha. “I saw Robby at a different cemetery,” she said in a half whisper.

Robby bit at his lip. “She means St. Mary's Churchyard,” he said. “I go there sometimes because that's where Lolly is buried.”

“Not at night,” said Jane. “You shouldn't go at night.”

Robby stood. “We'd best move on if we're to be home by noontide.”

They had walked another block when Jane stopped moving. “Don't go to the cemetery anymore at night, Robby, please.”

Robby looked at Martha and rolled his eyes as if to say he had no idea what Jane could mean. “I won't,” he said, trying not to sound impatient. “Now let's quit talking about graveyards and get some walking done. Martha, why don't you tell Jane about Benjamin Franklin's kite?”

By the time the story was finished, the hospital was in view. Jane stopped walking and tugged her hand away from Martha. “I won't walk that way, not in front of that place. They put me in chains there.” Her face twisted in thought. “I can't remember when that was, but I remember the chains.” Her face brightened. “Now I remember. My mother came, and she made them take the chains off.” She rubbed at her wrist. “Do you know where my mother is?”

Martha stepped closer to Jane. “We won't let anyone put chains on you.”

Robby had heard that mental patients were kept on the third floor, and he felt certain Jane's story about chains was true. “There's a medical school on the first floor,” he said. “I'm going to work there, Jane, sweeping floors and such, but we aren't going into the hospital, not now.” He reached for Jane's arm. “We'll just walk by really fast.”

Martha leaned around Jane as they walked, and she studied the hospital. “I've thought about being a nurse when I grow up,” she said. “Papa says that nursing isn't a fit job for a lady, but I disagree. Maybe I'll work in that hospital.”

“You'll go against your father?” Robby was surprised.

“He'd give in.” She laughed. “Papa almost always lets me have my way. I'm not sure about nursing. It is just an idea I had. I might want to be a teacher.” She shrugged. “I just know I don't want to be what Papa wants me to be, a proper lady who stays home and does fancy needlework.”

They walked on another block before they saw the little girl across the street. She was small, probably about six. Her hair fell in yellow ringlets, and she stood with matches in one hand. “Oh, look, Robby.” Martha grabbed his arm. “See her matches. She's just like the little girl in Hans Christian Andersen's story. I want to help her. Let's go over and buy some from her.”

Robby shook his head. “I've no money,” he said. “Besides, she's not going to freeze today like the girl in the story. Let's move on.”

“I've got some coins in my pocket,” said Martha. “You stay here with Jane. I'll be right back.” She dashed across the busy street.

“She's a pretty little girl,” said Jane, smiling.

Robby took her arm in a firm grip. It would not do for Jane to dart out into the street, trying to get a closer look at the little girl. Robby did not like to look at her himself. She reminded him too much of Lolly. She was about the age his sister had been when she died, but he could see that this little match girl was much thinner. She wore a big apron with pockets for her matches and the pennies she got for them. Her dress was shabby and, like the little girl in the story, she wore no shoes.

Martha was talking to the child now. Robby took Jane's other arm too, and he turned her away, toward the window of the butcher shop where they had stopped. “Look what's in this window,” he said. “Isn't that the biggest goose you've ever seen? I wonder how many people it would take to eat a bird that big.”

“I'm not hungry now,” said Jane. “We just had porridge, remember?” She strained against his hold. “I want to see the little girl.”

Robby glanced over his shoulder. “No,” he said. “We've no time to cross the street. Besides, here comes Martha.”

“Her name is Dolly,” Martha told them when she had made her way back. “She's a darling little thing. I'm going to ask Papa for some dollars, and I will bring them back here and give them to her.”

They began to walk on. “Doubtless,” said Robby, “she moves from place to place to sell her wares.”

“No,” Martha said, and she turned to wave at the child. “She told me she is always in this area.”

Robby wanted to change the subject. He did not like to think of the child, so thin and so like Lolly, even their names so close. “Just another block,” he announced, and soon they stood in front of a tall white house with a sign that read
QUAKER ALMSHOUSE.

“The steps are too high,” said Jane, and she edged backward, toward the street.

“They're not too high for us.” Martha tugged slightly at Jane's hand. “Come with us, dear. We need to go inside.”

When Robby knocked at the door, it was opened by a pretty lady. Her dress and bonnet were white, but she also wore a sort of apron made of light blue material. “My name is Robby,” he said to the lady. “This is Martha.” He touched Jane lightly on the shoulder. “And this is Jane. She needs a place to stay.”

They stepped inside, and Robby noticed the lady slid a bolt back in place to lock the door. She introduced herself as Miss Ferguson and led them into a small office, where she invited them to take chairs on one side of a small white desk. The lady sat behind the desk and took a piece of paper from the drawer. “Now, Jane,” she said. “What is thy last name?”

Jane closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “I don't remember, but I know I used to have one. My mother told me about it, but she is in the cemetery now.”

“Oh, I see.” Miss Ferguson nodded knowingly. “Well, no matter, we will give thee a nice clean bed and find work for thee to do about the place.”

“No chains.” Jane folded her arms across her chest. “I don't like chains.”

“No one is forced to stay in our house, but we do lock the doors.” She looked at Robby and Martha. “We have others, too, who might wander out without meaning to leave.”

“Oh, please stay, Jane,” said Martha. “This house is so clean and bright. You will be safe here.”

“Yes,” said Jane, “clean and bright.”

Miss Ferguson stood. “Say good-bye to thy friends, Jane, and we shall start with thee having a nice warm bath.” She rang a small bell, and a girl came into the room. “Show these people out, Tillie.” She turned to Martha and Robby “Thank thee for bringing Jane to us. Please feel free to visit us on Sunday afternoon if thee would like to do so.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Ferguson,” said Martha. She kissed Jane's cheek. “We will visit you, Jane. We will.” Tillie led them to the door, and outside they heard the bolt slide back into place.

Robby looked up at the sun. “It's awful near to noon,” he said.

“I saved a few coins.” Martha touched her pocket. “I'm not sure they are enough to take a trolley.”

“There's a trolley track just one street over,” Robby said. “Let's hurry.”

They turned at the corner and covered the block quickly. A trolley car pulled by two big horses had stopped on the next corner. “That's just enough for one fare. Do ye have nothing more?” the driver asked when Martha gave him her money. Martha took a step backward, but Robby stopped her.

“You ride,” he said. “That way you will be home before noon. Tell Ma I'm coming.”

He watched the trolley pull off, then turned to walk away. He had not gone far when he saw her. The little match girl had taken a new position on the edge of the street, as if to cross when the chance came. What came, though, was a runaway horse, black with reins flying loose. It came fast, so fast there was no time even for a scream.

Robby saw the horse run into the girl, knocking her onto her back and racing away. A lady and a gentleman came to kneel beside the child, and Robby bolted toward them. “Dolly,” he called. “Dolly, are you hurt?”

The man gathered the child into his arms. “Are you her brother?” he asked when Robby was beside him.

“Yes.” The word was out of his mouth before he could think.

“She's breathing, but she's unconscious.”

“We've got to get her to the hospital,” said Robby. “We've got to get her to Dr. Bell.”

The lady had already flagged down a coach. “Take this child to the hospital, please,” she called to the driver, and she ran to open the door for the man, who laid Dolly on the empty seat. Robby scrambled in and onto the other seat.

“Thank you,” Robby called through the open window as the coach pulled away. He drew in a long breath. Then he dropped to his knees to be closer to the little girl, taking her hand between both of his. “Dolly,” he said. “Dolly, please wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered, but they closed again. She moaned. “I'm hurt. Hurt so bad.”

“Just hang on,” Robby said. “Hang on and Dr. Bell will help us.”