Providence (2 page)

“Daddy, we weren’t doing anything. I was just reading my book in the shade back there when Caleb passed by. He just stopped to talk, that’s all.”

Daddy’s eyes showed no mercy. “Don’t you be lying to me on top of all this,” he said, waving toward the barn. “I know what teenage boys want from girls.”

“But it wasn’t like that, Daddy. Honest, we were just talking.” Daddy took a step forward and I thought he was about to raise his hand to me. Mama must have thought it, too, because she stepped between us.

“Joe, please, we can talk about this after,” she said. Just then sirens wailed as fire trucks turned up our road. Someone on one of the neighboring farms must have seen the smoke and called for help. “Help is on the way,” she said.

Daddy must have heard the sirens too then, because he stepped back and walked toward the sound. Mama turned to me and took me by my shoulders. “What were you thinking, child, talking back to your daddy like that? If you have a lick of sense you will stay out of his way until he has time to cool down. Go spend the night with your friend Tammy. Maybe by morning, everything will be all right.” She looked over her shoulder in Daddy’s direction. The volunteer fire fighters were climbing up the hill behind him. “Go on, now. Get away before all these folks leave.”

Now Daddy has always had a temper, and I’ve received more than my share of his whippings, but I’d never seen him that mad before. It only took a minute for me to decide that Mama was right. I would be a whole lot safer away from him for a while. I couldn’t go to Tammy’s house, though. We hadn’t been friends in years, at least not the kind of friends that have sleepovers. Besides, the fire in Daddy wasn’t going to die out overnight. Every time he looked at that charred building, it would flicker up again.

I ran back to the house and went straight to the third board in the upstairs closet floor. That little hiding place was my own personal safe. I didn’t have much cash in there, but what I had I had come by honestly. At least, mostly honestly. Last year, Mrs. Gordy, my English teacher, had a talk with Mama and Daddy. She told them I had real potential, but that I needed some time every week for reading and thinking. Now Mama and Daddy don’t put much stock in that kind of thing, but I think they were a little afraid of Mrs. Gordy. They came home from school and told me to take every Wednesday afternoon off from my chores to go to the library to smarten myself up. Daddy warned me about what would happen if the results didn’t get Mrs. Gordy off his back.

Every week, I walked from school to the library where I read books about places around the world. I never faced much competition for the books I wanted. Almost all of the kids there stayed in front of the rows of computers. Most of the kids I knew from school had computers at home and cell phones in their pockets. I wondered if these library kids’ families subscribed to the same thinking as Daddy did. He would never allow these things in our home, and let us know in no uncertain terms that we were not to bring the subject up. I never really minded that much, though. I guess you really can’t miss what you never had.

So I kept reading my books, and before long I knew I wanted to go to college, then travel around the world and write a book about my own adventures. My teachers all told me if I kept my grades up, I’d be sure to get a scholarship. Even if they didn’t have to pay a penny, Mama and Daddy would never go for that though. In their minds, college was a big waste of time—especially for a girl who belonged on the farm, helping her family make ends meet. As far as they were concerned, I would stay on as the unpaid help until I found a husband to tell me what to do. So each week, I took a longer route to the library, stopping along the way to pick up pop bottles and cans, which I then turned in for nickels and dimes. I hid the money in a box under the third board from the right in the floor of the upstairs hall closet.

One day, my route took me behind the Main Street Bookstore. I found a whole box of books with their front covers torn off. Since they were in the trash, I figured I could take some home and it wouldn’t be stealing. It didn’t take too long to figure out that a new box was put out the third Wednesday of every month.

One afternoon, the owner, Mr. Tyler, caught me back there. He asked me if I wanted to work a couple of hours a month pulling off the covers. That way, I would know which books I was taking. He didn’t pay much, but he paid me in cash. So one Wednesday a month, I skipped the library and went straight to the bookstore.

Mama complained about me bringing home trash. Daddy said, “You can’t judge a book without a cover.” Neither ever asked where the books came from. I kept bringing the books home and putting the money under the board. Now, I know a wiser girl would have turned all of that money over to her daddy for the good of the family. Hiding it away was playing with fire, and I have a knack for getting burned, but that money tied me to other activities that I had no permission for and it fed my dreams for a different future. So with every deposit I made into the Bank of Becky, I added a new place, a new adventure to the list I wrote in my notebook. I tried real hard to not think about the consequences if I got caught.

With the barn in flames and Daddy’s temper ablaze, I pulled out my money and went to my room. I grabbed my backpack and stuffed my notebook, some clothes, and a couple of books inside it. I counted my money and put half of it in my bag. I thought it would be enough to last me until Daddy had time to calm down. I left the other half of the money on the kitchen table to help pay for a new barn. I hoped that might make me more welcome when I returned.

The train’s shrieking whistle brought me back to the here and now. Had I slipped off into a doze? Was the baby okay? I opened my eyes and concentrated on how the boxcar shook, rattled, and swayed along the tracks. I held the baby tighter. This wasn’t the way I had pictured my travels starting out. I had no fancy traveling clothes, no luggage, and no plane tickets in hand. My dry lips reminded me of just how unprepared I was. Even if I could get into my backpack without putting down the baby, I knew there was nothing to eat or drink in there. My lack of supplies made me wonder about my traveling companion’s situation. So I opened the gym bag that had doubled as her cradle and looked inside. No food. No diapers. No nothing.

Now, I may be only sixteen years old, but I know a whole lot about taking care of a baby. As the oldest of nine, most of the feeding and changing and rocking fell to me. And although you would never hear Mama say so, I’m darn good at it. Which is why, as I brushed a ringlet from the baby’s forehead, I whispered, “I just might be the luckiest thing to happen to you in the few days you’ve been on this earth.”

As soon as the words passed through my lips, I laughed at myself for saying it. Truth be known, I’ve never been lucky to be around. As hard as I try to do the right thing, something bad always seems to come out of it. “No, Baby Girl, I’m no one’s lucky charm,” I said. “But I’m afraid for the moment I’m all you’ve got.”

I felt her breath like a whisper on my cheek and wondered what her mama was thinking, leaving her in an old train car. I started thinking about all the ‘what ifs.’ What if I hadn’t been sitting against the barn this very morning, just trying to get a moment’s peace? What if Daddy had listened to my side of the story? What if that lightning storm hadn’t started up just as I happened upon this rickety old train? And what if—what if I didn’t hop into this very car with this little bundle in it?

Now the last thing I needed was a baby to take care of, but what choice did I have? I could just leave this little one on the train, but if no one had seen the two of us in that car, what chance was there of someone else finding her? I couldn’t risk her not surviving the wait. I could go to the police to tell them about my discovery, but they were sure to call Mama and Daddy right away. That would not end well.

I could hear Daddy now. “If ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ were candy and nuts, we would all be living in a sweet world. And this ain’t a sweet world, Becky. So stop wasting what few brain cells you have on ‘what ifs’ and start working on what
is
.”

In this instance, Daddy may have been right about concentrating on the here and now. This baby was hungry. Her once peaceful body heaved as she tried to catch her breath between cries. I was worried about how long it had been since her last feeding, and about my lack of supplies. I also admit to worrying that her cries would draw attention to the boxcar, and trouble would find me again. I hoped that the rain that was tapping like a drum on the metal walls would drown out the baby demanding to be fed. Maybe the constant bumping and rocking of the car soothed her, or maybe she just wore herself out crying, but the baby finally fell back asleep.

Deciding my best course of action was like answering a multiple-choice question with no right answer. I remembered what they told us in school about taking a test—if you can’t see the right answer then pick the one that seems the least wrong. Making sure this baby was safe and keeping me out of Daddy’s reach for the time being were at the top of my needs list. This made the least wrong choice easy enough to see.

When the rain stopped, the air hung heavy over us. It wouldn’t be long before that old rusty boxcar heated up like an oven, baking us inside. We had been on the train for hours, so this baby was sorely in need of a bottle and a clean diaper. I grabbed hold of her bag and slid toward the door. Keeping a safe distance back so we didn’t bounce out of the opening, I waited for a place to hop out. A raindrop hanging from the roof of the train car wiggled back and forth. It broke free and landed on my cheek. I wiped it away and found an eyelash on my finger. I looked at the dark crescent of hair, made a wish, and blew it off my finger. Having no idea where this train was heading, I used my wish in search of a safe place for us to get off.

The train lurched to a stop. I threw my arm out to brace myself and to protect the baby as I was flung onto my side. My aching arm let me know it was definitely time to make a change. Like Daddy always said, “When opportunity knocks, you go running out that open door.” I held the baby close to my chest and swung my legs out of the car. My feet didn’t meet the ground, so I wriggled my butt toward the edge of the car floor until my toes touched the gravel. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to go, but life had already served this baby a few too many jolts.

The first thing I saw was a giant sign by the side of the tracks. I knew right away that this baby and I had just shared a first in our lives: we had crossed the state line. The sign had a picture of two huge peaches on it, just smiling and making eyes at each other. In big, bold letters it said “Welcome to Watson’s Grove, Georgia! There are no strangers here—just friends we haven’t met!”

“Well,” I said to my tiny traveling companion, “this looks like a good enough place to spend a few days.”

CHAPTER 2

I walked down the road with the baby curled up against my shoulder. A big part of my money was in nickels and dimes, and it was weighing heavy in the bag on my back. I saw a gas station up the block and headed in that direction. I was hoping for a bathroom, and for once my wish came true. The door was locked, so I asked the old man by the tanks for the key. He started giving me a hard time, saying it was only for customers. I was about to point out that I didn’t have a car when I noticed a little convenience store behind the tanks. “Is that your store?” I asked.

“Yup,” he grunted.

“Well then, I’m about to become your customer,” I said. I marched over to the little store and looked around. I grabbed a baby bottle, water, and formula mix and put them on the counter. I stared at the shelves a little more. Mama never used anything but cloth diapers, and the store sold nothing but disposables. I finally snatched a package from the shelf along with a package of wipes and told the old man I was ready to pay. He took his time ringing up the sale, giving me time to add a bottle of soda and a candy bar for me to the order.

The old man muttered, “You want anything else?”

“No that’s all,” I said. “And the key to the restroom,” I added.

“I told you,” the old man said. “The restroom’s just for customers.”

“I am a customer,” I reminded him.

“You’re a store customer,” he said. “The restrooms are for gas customers.”

The baby started to fuss. I looked that man straight in the eye and said, “Fine, then you won’t mind me changing my baby right here on your counter.” He grunted and handed me the key. He made me so mad that I paid the whole bill in nickels.

After I took care of my needs, I changed the baby’s diaper and gave her a little rinse to cool her off. I mixed her a bottle and headed out the door. Now, I pride myself on being honest, so even though that clerk was one of the nastiest people I’ve ever met, I felt pretty badly about the lie I’d just told. I don’t even know why I said she was my baby. That lie surely would lead me into bigger troubles.

A park bench across the street under a big weeping tree looked inviting. I sat in the shade feeding Baby Girl and thinking about what to do next. I didn’t need to dig into my backpack again to know there wasn’t enough money for the two of us to get by on for long. I was hoping my situation would change faster than the money could disappear, but my gut was reminding me that wishing something doesn’t make it true.