Rodzina (13 page)

After a while I started to feel bad about what I'd said to Miss Doctor. And I wasn't sure Lacey's disappearance actually was her fault. I was afraid it might be mine.

Had Lacey run away because I had snapped at her? Did she go somewhere to cry at my meanness and lose her way? Did she kidnap Dumpling because I wouldn't help her find another way to keep him? I regretted how cruel I had been to her. No, not cruel. Just not real friendly, a bit cold and standoffish. Wrapped up in myself. Kind of like Miss Doctor....I did not want to think about
that.
I threw a log the size of a locomotive on the fire.

Each day for three days the howling wind banged at the doors and rattled the windows as if trying to get in and warm itself by the fire. Each night for three nights the searchers came back shaking their heads. Miss Doctor and I didn't talk at all. She sat with a book in her lap but didn't read. I felt restless, just sitting and brooding and occasionally feeding the fire, so I took to walking up and down the hotel's two flights of stairs—up and down, up and down. Finally Mrs. Tuttle said, "Here, use up some of that energy mashing turnips and setting the table." So I did, but still I brooded.

Mrs. Tuttle cooked us hot soups and buffalo stews that Miss Doctor just picked at, but the worrieder I got, the more I ate. One night I dreamed of cabbage, and everyone knows that means bad news.

Finally, in the afternoon of the fourth day, Big Earl, followed by a crowd of searchers with red noses and frozen hair, came back with a small bundle in his arms. He laid Lacey down on the sofa and stood back. Miss Doctor hurried over to her, but I stayed where I was. There was dead silence. Dead. No. I couldn't stand for someone else to die. My hands were shaking.

"Found a barn, she did," the sheriff said. "She and that cat. Knew she had enough sense to find shelter." He didn't sound like he was about to tell us Lacey was dead. I stood up. "She was nestled in the hay with a cow and her calf. Pretty as a little red wagon in a wheat field."

He stroked her forehead, and she said loudly, "Put the milk in the meat grinder, Ro. Night is coming."

"She's alive," said the sheriff. "For now."

Everyone let their held breath go and rushed to gather around the sofa, pointing and yelling: "Pack her in ice so she don't thaw out too fast."

"Rub her hard with a rough towel."

"Whiskey. She needs a slug of whiskey and so do I."

"NO!" Miss Doctor shouted. "Get away. Don't rub her. There might be some freezing there yet. No ice—she's cold enough as it is. And she doesn't need any whiskey, though I'd say you all could do with a drop."

Mr. Tuttle placed a smaller bundle on the floor before the fire. Dumpling, shaky and half frozen, but alive. He looked up, gave a weak meow, and commenced licking his tail. Dumpling, it appeared, was fine. Lacey, though, was in a bad way, shivering and babbling.

"Get a tub in here and fill it with warm water," Miss Doctor said, which Mrs. Tuttle and I did while Miss Doctor stripped Lacey's clothes off. We lowered her into the tub and watched as her white and pinched face and hands slowly began to turn pink again. Still she shivered and babbled.

Finally we lifted her from the tub and wrapped her in all the spare blankets we could find. Miss Doctor sat by the fire with Lacey in her lap the rest of the day, humming a soft little song. Frosty as the lady doctor was, I could see there was something straight about her. She probably
was
doing the best she could, just as she said.

I watched Miss Doctor and Lacey, continued to feed the fire, and drew trees and cats with my fingertip on the foggy windowpanes.

Around suppertime Mrs. Tuttle came in and put her hand on Miss Doctor's shoulder. "Come and have a bit of supper, dear," she said. "I will watch the little girl."

Miss Doctor shook her head. "No, I can't leave her. Not now."

"But—"

"Later, Kathleen. Not now."

Me, I went and ate supper. When I returned, Miss Doctor was still holding Lacey. I sat a minute and watched them. Miss Doctor was tired and pale, but her face, when she looked down at Lacey, was soft and almost gentle. I felt a twinge in my belly that I knew was not hunger, seeing that I had just eaten. "Miss Doctor," I said, my voice a little creaky from not being used all these days. "Miss Doctor, I want to apologize to you. I know Lacey getting lost wasn't all your fault, and I'm sure you do care about us in your own cold sort of way."

She looked up at me and whispered, "No, you were right."

I was shocked into silence.

"I should have taken better care of all of you," she continued, "instead of being so consumed by my own troubles. I shall try to do better."

I had a question I could not have asked the frosty Miss Doctor who did not care about orphans, but I thought I could ask this new soft and almost gentle Miss Doctor. "Seeing Lacey there in your lap reminds me. I want to know about Gertie. She whined and complained something awful, and she mussed up your only skirt, but did you really have to abandon her in Omaha?" Miss Doctor looked up but I went on. "Did you just leave her at the railway station or did you at least find her a place to sleep? And were there other—"

"Wait a moment. Do you mean the little green-eyed girl who left the train in Omaha?"

"Yes. That girl. Gertie. Did you—"

She looked at me quizzically. "You think I just dumped her off the train?"

I was about to tell her that yes, that's just what I thought, but she continued. "Gertie 'complained something awful' because her arms and legs hurt. It could have just been what some call 'growing pains,' but still I watched her carefully. Finally I noticed small, hard nodules, or bumps, beneath her skin. My stethoscope was packed and in the baggage car, but I listened to her chest as best I could without it and feared rheumatic fever. So we telegraphed ahead to the hospital at Omaha."

In my embarrassment I had started shrinking in my seat and now was about the size of a pea.

"That's where Gertie went. It was indeed rheumatic fever, which is treated with salicylate of soda and a lot of hope. She is living with a doctor's family, getting rest and good food, and I pray she will recover without major damage to her heart. Now, does that answer your questions?"

I nodded as best a pea-sized person can nod.

Miss Doctor stretched a little. "And now I have a question for you. Why do you think so badly of me? Why would you ever consider that I would abandon a child by the side of the railroad tracks?"

"It's just that you're so cold and heartless and thought us orphans a bother and..." I stopped. It sounded wrong even to me.

"I suppose I do seem cold and heartless compared to someone like you. And I don't have your way with children. But I do care about you, all of you." She gave me a feeble little smile and went back to humming to Lacey. I sat down in the rocker and rocked and rocked, wishing someone was humming to
me.

All night Miss Doctor and Lacey sat there. People kept coming and going, wanting to know how Lacey was doing. Both Mr. and Mrs. Tuttle wanted to spell Miss Doctor so she could rest or eat or stretch her legs, but the lady would not have it.

I kept the fire up, brought Miss Doctor hot coffee, and between times prayed to the Virgin my mother had loved and the God my father did not believe in. I wasn't sure how much I believed, though it was worth a try. But I kept falling asleep—even for Lacey I couldn't stay awake all night.

In the morning Lacey was pinker and wasn't shivering or babbling. Miss Doctor finally put her in the rocking chair, cradled in blankets, and went out. "Keep a close eye on her," she said from the doorway, nodding toward Lacey, "and call me immediately if she ... if..."

"I will," I said. I put the cat on Lacey's lap, and they snuggled together.

"Miss Doctor thinks you'll likely be okay now," I said to her, "or she wouldn't have left you."

She opened her eyes. "Hey, Ro," she said.

"Hey, Lacey."

"Your hair's all messy."

"I been sitting here all night," I said, patting my head here and there. "I ain't had time to comb it."

"That's okay. You look pretty anyway."

"Like a beautiful tree?" I asked her.

"Like a beautiful tree," she said.

I cleared my throat. "Lacey, I'm so sorry I made you run away."

"How did you do that?"

"By being mean to you."

"When?"

"In the train. Remember, I wouldn't help you keep Dumpling so you took him and ran away?"

"You
were
mean. I remember. I wanted to keep Dumpling and you wouldn't help me." Her lower lip stuck out far enough for pigeons to roost on. She crossed her arms over her chest, and Dumpling jumped down.

"I'm truly sorry, Lacey."

"And I didn't
steal
him. The conductor put Dumpling in the train, and he jumped out again. I went after him so he wouldn't get lost. Then we both got lost." She stopped pouting and smiled at the cat, who sat on the rug licking his hairy toes. "Now the train is gone and Dumpling is still here with me."

"We were so worried. You could have died out there, of cold and hunger."

"It
was
mighty cold, but the cows were warm to sleep with. And we had fresh milk to drink."

"Milk? From where?"

"From the cow. I called her Maisie."

"How did you know how to milk a cow?"

"I watched the calf."

"Well, I declare," I said. "That's pretty smart thinking." I was mighty surprised and impressed by Lacey. Maybe she was right; she wasn't feeble-minded at all. Lacey smiled again and fell asleep.

So it wasn't my fault; it wasn't Miss Doctor's fault; Lacey was safe; Dumpling was with her. I was so relieved, my feet were dancing inside Papa's boots, and my heart felt like singing a little song. I went to the window and watched the lovely, lovely snow fall on this lovely little town, and I felt almost good enough to laugh.

Lacey's ears and nose and fingertips were red and crusty from the frost, and Miss Doctor spread bacon grease on them to keep them from itching so bad. It was my job to keep Dumpling from licking off the bacon fat. I warmed gallons of milk for Lacey and watched over her when she slept if Miss Doctor wasn't there. I remembered how annoying she used to be, clinging to me and asking endless questions. How I thought she was feebleminded and dumb. How she had called me a beautiful tree. Sometimes I stroked her forehead as she slept and whispered, "Get well, Lacey. Get well."

We stayed a few days while Lacey recovered. Mrs. Tuttle came in frequently to ask Lacey how she was feeling and what she might like to eat. Mr. Tuttle bounced her on his knee when Miss Doctor wasn't looking, and ruffled her red hair. The sheriff came. "The Boss," he said, "wants to know how this little critter is feeling after her ordeal." He brought Lacey a knitted potholder made by the Boss's own two hands and threw a ball around the parlor with Joe and Sammy. The few guests in the hotel visited briefly, patted Lacey's head or mine, and went on their way. Everyone cared, but no one, it seemed, wanted to take us home.

Joe, Sammy, Lacey, and I sat by the fire one afternoon while Miss Doctor and the Tuttles paid calls on people to see if they might want an orphan. "Nobody cares a hang for orphans anyway or we'd not be orphans in the first place," said Sammy.

"Some people want orphans, just not us," I said.

"Ain't nobody nowhere wants
him!
" Joe said, and the two began scuffling again.

Lacey climbed onto my lap. "
I
want you, Rodzina. I will adopt you."

I hugged her, hard. "Thank you, Lacey, but you can't do that. You're just a little girl."

"Then
you
adopt
me.
You're not little."

"But I'm an orphan, like you. You need a
family
—a mama with a soft lap and a papa with big shoulders to carry you on. And a house and a dog and an apple tree."

"Maybe someone will want us both."

"Maybe."

"I hope they will."

To my surprise I hoped so too.

Finally Miss Doctor gave up and admitted there were no homes for us in Ogden, Utah Territory. We were all to head west again. On our last night in Ogden we had a big fancy dinner to celebrate Lacey's recovery and our departure. The sheriff came, but not the Boss. And Buster and Angus, who had helped search for Lacey. There was antelope and elk and parsnips and potatoes and two kinds of pie.

I went outside to use the outhouse. Clouds streamed across the sky, making the moonlight dance on the snow. When I returned, everyone was eating and laughing, the firelight shining on their faces. Lacey sat on Mr. Tuttle's lap. He fed bits of food to her, and she in turn fed bits to Dumpling. Joe and Sammy were making faces at each other. Mrs. Tuttle spoke softly to Miss Doctor, and the sheriff was telling a joke to Angus and Buster. And I was all alone, watching them.

I sat down again and had another bite of pie. Lacey, with her mouth full, said loudly, "This is the best night I have ever had, and I hope I never die!"

Everyone laughed and called, "Hear, hear!"

Mrs. Tuttle said, looking at Miss Doctor, "Rutherford and I have been talking. What would you think if we kept Lacey and Dumpling here with us?"

Miss Doctor smiled at her.

"Oh, yes!" shouted Lacey. "But don't you care that I'm slow?"

Mr. Tuttle stood up and swung her up onto his big shoulders. "You're not slow. The world is just too dern fast."

Lacey nodded. "Too dern fast," she said, and she rested her cheek against his big bush of hair.

J
OE,
S
AMMY, AND
I were going on west with Miss Doctor—to the Boys' and Girls' Training School near San Francisco, where unwanted orphans were sent to learn trades. Sammy and Joe would be in the shoemaker's shop, Miss Doctor said; I would be trained for domestic service. I'd be a kitchen drudge—a
kopciuszek,
Mama would say. Ironing. Laundry. Sewing. Dirty pots and pans.
Probably they'll cut my hair off and make me eat mush and dry bread,
I thought. Radishes! I might as well have stayed with Peony and Oleander and saved my bottom the wear and tear of a cross-country trip. After all the time on the train, the rocking and swaying and freezing and worrying, all I would see of California was the inside of some training school.