Becoming Johanna (3 page)

The woman sighed. She took
a couple of twenty-dollar bills and shoved them back in Josefina’s
hand. “Here. You may want to use it for mousetraps.”

She followed the woman’s
gaze and shrieked when she saw a mouse sitting on the
stove.

The bus driver grabbed the
mouse by the tail and threw him out the door. “That one’s gone, but
you’d best do what she said. You want to be ready for him when he
tries to find his way back in.”

The old woman handed
Josefina the key and left, taking the bus driver with her. The girl
leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.
What have I done?

Her fear and exhaustion
was stronger than her disillusionment, and she fell asleep where
she sat.

Josefina opened her eyes
and gasped at her surroundings. Then she remembered running away
from Peakie’s. Sunlight seeped through the bare, filthy windows.
She stared at the dingy walls and the dirty floor. She still sat in
the same spot she had fallen asleep in earlier that morning. Her
stomach growled.
I need food. And cleaning
supplies. And something to sleep on.
She
left her suitcase in the tiny fridge, hoping it would be safe from
mice there. All she had to worry about was the odor of stale milk
permeating everything she owned.

She carefully noted her
address and memorized how to get back before exploring the area.
Her new home was only a few blocks from a shopping area. In the
grocery store anchoring one end of the strip mall, she purchased
cans of soup and a box of crackers, as well as cleaning supplies.
She also bought a cup, a plate, and small pot. The store didn’t
sell silverware, but she bought a box of plastic utensils to tide
her over. She wanted to buy bread and cheese but feared it might be
too attractive to mice. Instead, she bought individual cups of
noodles that just needed boiling water, and cans of tuna and peas.
She spent more on cleaning supplies than she did on food but knew
she really needed them.

She walked past all the
stores in the strip mall and found a “bargain” store at the
opposite end. Inside, she found a futon—a sofa that folded flat
into a bed—on sale. “Can you deliver it?” she asked.

“
It’s going to cost you
extra.”

“
But I’m only a couple of
blocks away.”

“
It’s going to cost you
extra. Do you want it or not?”

“
Okay.”

She also selected a card
table, a folding chair, a blanket, and a pillow. And an alarm
clock. If she was going to get a job, she needed to know the time.
She negotiated the delivery price with the salesman, who told her
they would deliver her stuff that afternoon. She paid for
everything and felt very,
very
poor. She would have to look for a job as soon as
possible, but first, she needed to clean her cottage
and get settled.

An old building sitting
opposite the shopping center caught her eye as she headed
home.
Home.
She
didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but buried the feeling when she
realized the timeworn building housed a bookstore.
Artiqua Literaria.
A
bell rang when she open the door. Inside, she felt like she had
been transported through time. The polished wooden shelves and
creaking oak floor, though well kept, looked like they could have
been there for a hundred years. She inhaled deeply, recognizing the
slightest hint of lemon oil.

“
May I help you, dear?” A
“pink and white” lady sat behind the sales counter. The elderly
woman’s pale, powdered skin was highlighted by pink cheeks and
topped by a cap of frothy white curls.

“
Can I look
around?”

“
Of course, dear. Just be
careful. Many of the books are very, very
old.

“
You can leave your
parcels here,” she continued. “It will make your visit more
enjoyable.”

Josefina put down her
groceries and walked to the farthest corner to begin her
inspection. Each book was more interesting than the one before it.
She loved books and had read every one available to her at
Peakie’s. So much so, the home ran out of books for her to read.
She discovered a first edition of
Heidi
by Johanna Spyri. She was so
engrossed in the book, she didn’t hear the bell ring when someone
else walked in.

The bookstore proprietor
greeted her old friend. “Malcolm! I’m so glad you came. I have that
manuscript I told you about. You are the only
person who could possibly authenticate it.” She disappeared
into a small office and emerged with a box containing a medieval
document written on calfskin vellum.

Malcolm slipped on the
pair of cotton gloves he always carried in his pocket and picked up
the top sheet. “Intriguing. I won’t know until I inspect it against
the original
,
but
it would be quite a find if it’s real.”

“
Imagine—a fourteenth
century manuscript that contains the missing stories from the
original
The Canterbury Tales
by Geoffrey Chaucer. That would certainly put my
little store on the map.”

“
It would,
indeed.”

“
Let me wrap it up for
you.”

While he waited, Malcolm
wandered about. He spied a familiar face, reading. He felt almost
certain it was Josefina from Peakie’s Foundling Home.
Imagine seeing her so far from the home.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but aren’t you from
Peakie’s … ”

Before he could finish,
the girl shoved the book back on the shelf, grabbed her packages,
and fled the store without looking at him.

He removed the hastily
replaced book, which stuck out further than the others on the
shelf. He took note of it and smiled.
She
has good taste.

Josefina scrubbed all
afternoon and laid out mousetraps where she thought rodents might
try to enter. She had just finished washing windows when her
furniture
arrived.

She had them place the
futon on the far end of the living area, and they leaned the
folding table and chair in the part of the room nearest the
kitchen. They dumped everything else on the futon.

“
Thanks.” She stood at the
door waiting for them to leave. They seemed reluctant to depart
until she said, “Don’t let me keep you. You must have other
deliveries to make.”

“
Yeah, lady, and we
usually get tips when we make them.”

Josefina froze. She knew
nothing about tipping. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a
dollar. “Here.”

“
You’re all heart, lady,”
the delivery boy said with a sneer. “You’d better keep this. I
think you need it more than we do.” He stuffed the bill back in her
hand and slammed the door as he left.

Josefina felt the sting of
tears, but fought it. This is what she wanted—to be on her own—and
she’d have to learn the ropes as she went along.

It didn’t take her long to
set up her new home. She opened the legs to the card table and
pushed it into the corner with the chair under it. That took all of
ten minutes. She played around with the futon, unfolding the
cushion into a bed, and then folding it again into something
resembling a couch. That took another ten minutes. She placed her
pillow and blanket on top of the cushion, and then put the other
items she’d purchased in the kitchen. She boiled some water for tea
and ate soup and crackers for dinner. After cleaning up, there was
nothing to do, so she put on her nightgown and made up her
bed.

She found it hard to fall
asleep. Every time a vehicle drove by, the lights illuminated the
room. Every distant sound she heard made her think there was a
prowler outside. And softer sounds made her wonder if mice were
skittering about inside her walls. She’d fallen asleep the night
before on the dirty floor quite easily, but tonight—even in her new
bed—sleep eluded her for hours.

The next morning, Josefina
looked for mouse droppings. She relaxed when she didn’t find
any.
Okay. I can live
here
. Now she needed an income so she
could continue living there. She put on her skirt and blouse and
walked back to the shopping area, inquiring at every store if they
needed help. She struck out there but overhead a woman saying her
daughter had just been hired at LOI Book Services. She had no idea
what or where that was but figured it couldn’t be far. She
approached the woman. “Excuse me. I couldn’t help hearing that your
daughter had just been hired at a book services company. I’m
wondering if you could tell me where it’s located?”

“
You must be a stranger to
these parts. It’s right in the heart of town, across from the motor
vehicle bureau.”

“
You’re right,” Josefina
admitted. “I am new in town. I just arrived yesterday. Could you
point me in the right direction?”

The woman swung her arm in
the direction of the grocery store. “It’s just down the road a
piece—about a mile.”

“
Thank you,” Johanna said,
and headed in the direction the woman had pointed. Twenty minutes
later, she found herself on the outskirts of the business district.
She kept her eyes open for the motor vehicle office. She had an
idea that she hoped would work.

Inside the MVB, she found
herself waiting in a succession of lines. The woman at the head of
the first line told her to stand in a second line, and the man at
the front of the second line told her she would have to wait until
someone became available to talk to her. She didn’t mind the wait
at first, but as the hands on the clock slowly made their way
around, she became more and more aware of the amount of time being
wasted on a wisp of an idea, when she should have been looking for
work.

She heard the name Joan
Carr announced over the loudspeaker—and froze. What were the
chances that a girl whose wallet was stolen near the foundling home
would be here today? Then she realized they were calling
her
and walked up to the
counter.

“
Hi,” she said
meekly.

“
What can I help you with
today?” The guy on the other side of the counter was in his early
twenties and had a friendly face behind his thick
glasses.

“
It’s my license. I was in
such a rush to replace it when it was stolen, I didn’t notice that
they got the name wrong. It’s not ‘Joan A.’ It’s Johanna. And it’s
not ‘Carr.’ It’s Charette. I just noticed the mistake, and I need a
new one in a hurry. I’m going out of town, and I have to take it
with me.”

“
What happened to your
picture?”

“
I spilled something on
it.” She didn’t go on to say she did it on purpose to make it
harder to tell the photo wasn’t of her.

The clerk peered at the
picture and the information on the card. “How do I know this is
your card? Do you have another form of identification?”

She reached for her
wallet. She couldn’t use the library card or credit card, because
they were in the other girl’s name. Then her hand brushed against
another piece of paper. She pulled it out and stared at the name on
the top. She had tried out the name Johanna Charette the day
before, when she asked to have her futon delivered. Luckily, they
hadn’t written the address on her copy. They had scribbled it on a
separate form that they taped to the furniture.

“
I don’t know if this
would help,” she said, thrusting the yellow receipt into the
clerk’s hand. She opened her eyes really wide and sighed. “I really
need your help.”

It took him a while to
respond. “And you say everything else is the same?”

“
Yes,” she answered. “They
just muddled the name. Everything was crazy that day,” she
continued, warming up to her deception. “Something broke down that
wasn’t supposed to break down, and everyone was running around. I
was so interested in watching the chaos that I never checked my
license before leaving. Please
help
me.”

Again, he hesitated and
looked like he internally debated the veracity of her story. Then,
he smiled. “Okay. Give me your information, and I’ll have a new one
sent out to you.”

“
No!” she exclaimed. “I
mean you can’t,” she corrected herself. “I’m going out of town,
like I said before, and I need it right away.”

A real tear slipped down
her cheek—a tear of frustration—and the clerk could not bear to
hurt a pretty girl during her moment of need. “Okay,” he said.
“Wait here.” He went to one of the many vacant desks clustered
behind him and inserted a form. He typed in her information with
the corrected
name. He returned to the
counter with part of the form he had just filled out. “I’m going to
have to take another picture. I can’t call up your old one right
now. And you’ll have to take another eye test.”

“
Okay,” she said. She read
the eye chart, smiled for the picture, and held her breath while
she waited for the machine to spit out the finished
product.

“
Here you are.” He handed
her the license. “Is there anything else I can do for
you?”