Rodzina (12 page)

We climbed back on the train. Miss Doctor sat alone in the seat behind Lacey and me. She began her usual sighing and clucking over her skirt. "Miss Doctor," I asked her, turning around, "why don't you just put on another skirt instead of fussing about this one?"

She blew softly through her nose. "I would wear another skirt if I owned one, but this suit is my only suit."

Her only suit? No wonder she had been so careful of it. "I thought doctors were rich," I said.

"Some, perhaps. But I am a doctor without patients, without prospects, and far from rich."

"Miss Doctor, if you can't get rich, why are you a doctor anyway? There aren't too many lady doctors around."

"My father was a chemist," she said. "He used to let me help him in his laboratory, teach me things. After he died, my world shrank to my mother's world—music lessons, china painting, and visits from other women with nothing to do. I wanted more." She took her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. "I wanted to
know
things. So I studied medicine. Now I want to
use
what I know."

"Don't you want to get married and have babies? Mrs. Bergman, who lived beneath us on Honore Street, used to say that women need—"

"What women need is more exercise, shorter skirts, and their own way once in a while." She closed her eyes.

The train lurched suddenly. We were riding on the very edge of a cliff, stone walls hundreds of feet high on the right and, on the left, the wild river far below, rushing and splashing over the rocks.

Joe and Sammy pressed their faces against the windows, gleefully shouting, "We're goin' over! We're goin' over!" and "That was a close call!" and "Look at that curve ahead. We'll never make it! We're goners for sure." Miss Doctor kept her eyes closed, while Lacey and I looked down at our laps.

"Spooky," said Joe, pointing out the window.

I looked. The huge rocks seemed like the turrets and spires of ruined castles, where wicked witches might live, or one-eyed monsters, or ghosts. "Yeah, spooky," I agreed.

"Let's tell ghost stories," said Sammy. He pulled his sweater up over his head and stumbled up and down the aisle. "Where is my head? Booo! Where is my head?"

"Don't be dumb," said Joe, kicking him in the shin.

"Joe, don't kick your brother," I said.

"Joe ain't my brother," said Sammy, kicking Joe back.

I grabbed them and pulled them onto the seat with Lacey and me before the other folks in the car wearied of the racket and rumpus of orphans and threw us out the window.

"Ro, you tell us one," Lacey said.

I shook my head. "I don't know any ghost stories. Mama didn't like them. She liked happy stories."

"Make one up, then."

"Well, I could try, I suppose. Okay ... once there was a little boy. He—"

"What was his name?" Lacey asked.

"Frank. Let's say his name was Frank. He—"

"How old was he?"

"Gee whiz, Lacey. That stuff doesn't matter." She stuck out her lower lip and crossed her arms. "Ten, okay? Let's say he was ten."

She nodded and I continued. "One night, one very rainy night, when the wind blew hard and lightning flashed and thunder rumbled through the land..."

Lacey squealed and pulled her skirt over her head. Good. Maybe now she would let me get on with the story. This was fun, this making up a brand-new story. "...thunder rumbled through the land, his mama and papa called him down from his bedroom in the attic. 'Frank,' they said, 'we must go out for a while. There are ghosts and spooky things abroad tonight, so you'd best stay in your room and keep the door locked.'

"Frank begged to go along, but his papa said, 'No, no, you must stay here.' So Frank locked the door behind them and crept up to his room in the dusty, spidery attic, where he sat down on his bed, all shivery and trembly from fear."

"He had to sleep in a room all by himself?" Sammy asked. "No wonder he was so scared."

"Quiet, you mug," I said. "Suddenly from downstairs came loud oo-ey noises."

"What are oo-ey noises?" asked Joe.

"You know, sounds like 'ohhhh' and 'oooo' and 'eeee' and such. Frank's face grew pale as a pork chop. The moaning got louder and louder. 'Fraaaaa-nk,' the spooky thing moaned. 'Where is Fraaaaa-nk?'

"Frank could hear the thing walking around downstairs—
ka-thud, ka-thud.
And then those
ka-thuds
became louder and louder. The thing was coming up the stairs—"

"Wait a minute," said Joe. "I just remembered. The door to the house was locked. How did it get in?"

"Dummy," said Sammy. "Spooky things don't need no unlocked doors. Go on, Ro."

"The thing was coming up the stairs, making more oo-ey noises and calling, 'Where is Fraaaaa-nk?' Louder and louder,
ka-thud, ka-thud,
until the door swung open with a bang, and there was..." I looked wildly around the car for inspiration, for I had gotten so caught up in my own story that I had failed to think just what it was, creeping up those stairs. "...and there was a woodstove clomping in,
ka-thud, ka-thud,
coming closer and closer..."

"A
woodstove
asked Joe. "That's what was so scary? A
woodstove
stomping up the stairs?"

"You better stick with potatoes and forget about stories," Sammy said. The boys laughed so hard, they fell right off the seat and rolled around the aisle of the train until Miss Doctor grabbed each one by an ear and sat them down next to her.

"That was a mighty puny story to tell boys, Rodzina," said Lacey. "It didn't even scare
me.
Even I ain't afraid of a
woodstove.
"

Here I was taking care of those kids like I was ordered to, and all they did was complain. First they begged me to tell a story and then they grumbled because they didn't like it. You'd think since we orphans were all in the same boat, we could at least be polite to each other, but they weren't acting very polite. They could hurt someone's feelings if they weren't careful.

Well, no matter. I was finished with them now. Let them tell each other stories and answer their own dumb questions and wash their own sticky faces.

I stood up. Sticky faces reminded me: I ought to go wash mine before we reached Ogden. The water in the bucket had a layer of ice over it.
I'll wash later,
I thought.
Like in July.
So I just smoothed my hair and straightened my dress and sat down again. Maybe there was such a thing as hot water and soap in Utah Territory. I hadn't washed more than my hands and face since the orphan home and was starting to smell a bit like old cheese.

We pulled into the depot.
Here we go again,
I thought. I felt like a ham in a butcher shop, all pink and juicy and waiting to be bought and paid for.

It looked mighty cold and snowy outside. Miss Doctor had us gather our suitcases and follow her to the door.

"Here, now, little lady," said the conductor to Lacey, who was hauling Dumpling as well as her suitcase. "We can't have you taking that cat away." He lifted it from her arms.

"No, give him back to me." She stretched her arm up, but the conductor lifted Dumpling out of her reach.

"We need this cat, missy," he said. "Why, without him, the mice would eat us up in no time."

Lacey turned to me, face all red and scrunched up like a raisin. "Please, Ro, Dumpling wants to be with me. Tell the man to give me my cat."

"Tell him yourself," I said, ignoring her sad face and her eyes swimming with tears. "I have more important things on my mind than you and that cat." Not only was I sore at her for siding with Joe and Sammy, here I was facing slavery again. I turned my back as Miss Doctor took her arm and steered her away from the cat and the conductor.

The station was lonely and silent. We climbed down onto the platform, where an icy blast of wind near to blew us right back to Wyoming Territory. The cold made my teeth hurt, and the snow was blinding, sharp and hard. It encased my whole face in an ice blanket, and I had to keep slapping it to bits in order to breathe.

Two people, bundled up like Christmas packages, hurried over. Miss Doctor shook their hands and turned to us. "This is my high school chum, Mrs. Rutherford Tuttle, and her husband." We shook their hands too, and stood there nodding at each other until I thought we'd turn into icicles right there on that platform in Ogden, Utah Territory.

Finally Mr. Tuttle said, "It's much too cold for conversation out here. Let's get you and your bags and—"

Suddenly there was a cry of "You'll never tell, ya stinkpot! I'll croak ya first!" from Joe.

Sammy jumped onto Joe's back, shouting, "Oh, yeah? Well, I'll clobber ya, clonk ya, slug, sock, and conk ya!" And then a great splintering noise as Joe and Sammy crashed through the railing and fell six feet onto the frozen ground below.

Miss Doctor and the Tuttles raced down to them, clucking and fussing like barnyard hens. "They are fine," Miss Doctor called up. "They might have a few bruises but no broken bones." I myself thought that a pity, for broken bones might have slowed down the wrestling a bit.

Juggling all our suitcases, I went into the waiting room, where I was joined by Miss Doctor, the Tuttles, Sammy, and Joe. I stomped my feet, broke the ice over my face, and breathed in the slightly warmer air as Miss Doctor examined the boys more closely. "We need sal ammoniac and tincture of arnica for those black eyes, but will have to do without. I am surprised that you don't have more serious injuries, the way you—" She suddenly stopped talking and looked around. "Where's Lacey?"

Nowhere. Lacey was nowhere. We searched the waiting room and the platform, but she was not there. Mr. Tuttle flagged the train, which was preparing to pull out of the station. While Mrs. Tuttle stayed inside with Sammy and Joe and me, he and Miss Doctor helped the conductor search every car and the landings between. But no Lacey.

Could she have lit out on her own? The Tuttles piled us into their wagon and headed toward town. We saw nobody, and the snow kept falling harder.

T
HE
T
UTTLES' HOTEL
was a big, drafty barn of a place. The parlor, warmed by a huge stone fireplace, was crowded with stuffed sofas and chairs but, thankfully, no animal heads. Through an archway was a big wooden desk and a small wooden bar; opposite, stairs climbed to the rooms above. I had already been in a hotel before, so I wasn't too impressed.

Mr. and Mrs. Tuttle unwrapped themselves and proved to be tall, pretty people. She had a hat made of feathers perched on her pompadour. He had a lot of frizzy brown hair and was kind enough to notice how scared I was about Lacey. Taking my arm, he said, "Don't worry. Big Earl's coming to lead the search. He knows this country as well as I know my dear Kathleen's face."

Big Earl? Turned out he was the sheriff, a Rocky Mountain of a man with a turned-up nose and tobacco stains in his yellow mustache. "Wahl, now," he said, walking around a bit before sitting down and scratching his big belly. "Wahl, now, let's think."

There was a long pause while he fingered his mustache. Radishes! Was there no way to make this sheriff fellow
move?

"Wahl," he said again, "it's almighty cold outside. I'd say she musta headed for shelter. That's just common sense."

"Poor Lacey ain't got common sense," said Sammy, wiping his teary nose and eyes on his sleeve. "She's feebleminded."

I jumped up. "No, she ain't. She's just different. A mite slow."

"Don't matter anyhow," said the sheriff. "Don't mean she ain't got common sense. Why, even a goose got common sense, and geese is sure a far sight slower than any little girl." There was another long pause while the sheriff scratched his chest and snapped his suspenders. "Wahl, I'll go fetch Angus, and we can search to the west toward Merton's place. Tuttle, find Buster and head south. There are a few homesteads that way. The boys," he said, nodding toward Joe and Sammy, "can do what Mrs. Tuttle needs doin' here. And you," he said to me, "keep this fire going strong. We're gonna need it by the time we get back."

As the men left, the sheriff patted Miss Doctor on the shoulder with a hand like a bear paw. "Don't you worry none, little lady. You just stay here and try not to worry. I'll find that youngster—got to, or the Boss will have my hide."

"Isn't
he
the boss?" I asked Mrs. Tuttle.

Mrs. Tuttle smiled. "He calls his mother the Boss because she's so much bigger than he is." Bigger than Big Earl? My eyes bugged. I would have given a hundred dollars, if I had a hundred dollars, to see
her.

All afternoon Miss Doctor and I sat watching the blowing snow—me at the window to the left of the fireplace, Miss Doctor to the right. Each time the door opened, I jumped, but only the wind and a few strangers came in. No sheriff and no Lacey.

After too many hours of this, Miss Doctor came over and put her hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off. She left without saying anything. A short time later she was back again. "Talk to me. I am worried about Lacey too, and I think we could ease each other."

"I want no ease from you," I said. "I want nothing from you but to be left alone." Suddenly all my bad feelings of the last few weeks bubbled over like sewage in Bubbly Creek near Honore Street. "How could you?" I shouted. "How
could
you let Lacey get lost? You were responsible for us, but you care for nothing but yourself and your books and your dumb old skirt!"

I stopped to catch my breath and wipe my eyes with my fists. "You don't care about us at all, and now Lacey is lost, and it's your fault!" I looked right at her.

"I am doing the best I can," she said, her cold voice surprisingly small. "I am a doctor, not a baby nurse. But I am doing the best I can." Her glasses fogged over so I could no longer see her eyes. She gave a jerky little wave and went back to her seat to the right of the fireplace.

"Well, your best is not good enough," I called after her, but not very loud. "In fact, your best is ... lousy."

I fed wood to that fire until it was hot as Hades in there. I don't mean to curse; I mean Hell itself couldn't have been hotter than that parlor, but feeding the fire was something for me to do besides fret.