Wanderville Page 4

  He looked across the aisle at Harold. The little kid must have some idea what was happening, because he had slunk down in his seat. His sister leaned over just then and squeezed his shoulder. She leaned in close to talk to Harold, but Jack could still hear her words.

  “Wherever we’re going,” Frances told her brother, “you and I are going together.”

  She looked up and met Jack’s eyes. Wherever we’re going, she repeated to herself, her voice hushed.

  Jack wanted to say something just then. He wanted to say he finally had a plan. Except he didn’t—not yet.

  Miss DeHaven was coming back down the aisle. This time, she was leading the boy from the back of the car. He had his cardboard suitcase in hand, and he was followed by Mrs. Routh and the bearded man.

  “Colin is our first placement on this journey,” Miss DeHaven announced. “And not our last.”

  Jack watched as Colin walked past. He was holding the handle of his suitcase so tightly, Jack noticed, that his knuckles had gone bloodless and white.

  When Colin got to the end of the train car, he turned back to wave goodbye, his expression grimly brave. He’s wondering if he’s going to be someone’s new son now, Jack thought, or someone’s new servant.

  The man was still walking up the aisle to the end of the car, and Jack reached out and tugged his sleeve.

  “Mister?” he asked. “You need that piece of paper?” He pointed to the handbill the man was carrying and gave his most winning smile. “I could sure use it for practicing arithmetic.”

  The bearded man shrugged and gave it to him, then followed the others out. Jack tucked the handbill in his sleeve and looked around to see if anyone had noticed him taking it. Nobody had. Well, except for Frances.

  Frances turned to her little brother. “Harold? I bet you can’t count twenty barns between here and the next stop.”

  “I bet I can,” Harold shot back. He turned to the window. “There’s one . . . two . . .”

  “Keep counting,” Frances said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Three . . . four . . . ,” said Harold, not looking away from the window.

  She motioned for Jack to follow her down the aisle.

  “What does it say?” Jack asked as Frances smoothed out the paper a moment later. They were hiding in the train privy, which had an awful smell, but if the handbill had bad news on it, they didn’t want to read it in front of Harold.

  “‘A company of homeless children from the East,’” she read out loud, “‘will arrive at Sheltonburg, Missouri, on Friday, May 6, 1904. Come see them at the depot house.’”

  “Today?” Jack said. “It’s happening today? They’re going to send us all off with strangers? I thought we were going to Whitmore, Kansas.”

  “Sheltonburg is the next stop,” Frances realized. The train had just pulled away from the depot of the town where Colin’s new life was beginning. “We’re not even in Kansas yet.”

  “We’ve got to do something,” Jack said. “Don’t you think so?”

  Frances nodded, slowly at first.

  “They’ll be taking us off the train, won’t they?” Frances said. “I know what we can do. . . .”

  “Sheltonburg!” the conductor called as the train lurched to a stop a few minutes later. Jack and Frances had only just run back to their seats from the privy.

  “I counted fourteen barns,” Harold told Frances.

  “Good job,” she said, though she was barely paying attention. Both she and Jack kept their eyes on the door to the next car.

  Any moment now, Miss DeHaven would come storming in and announce that they were leaving the train. And then it would all begin to happen, turning like gears in a clock. First, she and Harold and Jack would file off with the others. But then, instead of going into the depot, she’d grab Harold and the three of them would hide in town until they could stow away on a train back east. That was the plan, at least.

  But what happened instead was a stony-faced conductor came and stood at the door, as if to guard it. Then Mrs. Routh came in, and she hurried straight over to Nell and her sister. “Gather your things,” she told the girls. Her voice sounded hopeful, though she seemed to avoid looking at any of the other children.

  In a moment the two girls were following her out, holding each other’s hands tightly. The conductor who was standing guard stepped aside to let them through, and then they were gone.

  Jack slumped in his seat.

  “What’s happening?” asked a boy sitting near Jack. “Where are they going?”

  Everyone crowded to the side of the car that faced the depot. But only one of the older boys, Lorenzo, was tall enough to see over the crowds on the platform.

  “Miss DeHaven just got off the train, dragging the four little kids from the other car,” he reported. “And that girl Nell and her sister just joined them. Now she’s forcing a comb through their hair and fussing with their clothes.”

  “So only a few of the kids are being selected today,” Jack said, low enough for just Frances to hear. Only a few, he thought bitterly. A few were still too many.

  Frances sighed. “Just the little ones. And those sisters, who didn’t look suited for hard work.”

  “But they could still end up with some brute who’ll make them scrub floors,” Jack whispered. “Or separate them.” If only he’d been able to get off the train, he thought, maybe he could have done something.

  Lorenzo called out again. “They just went into the depot building. I can’t see them anymore.”

  After that, there was no news. The train stood for a full hour at the depot. Jack picked at his fingernails, and Harold listlessly turned the pages of Frances’s old Third Reader. Frances, meanwhile, tugged idly at the ridiculous, itchy bow on her new dress collar. She desperately wished she could get off the train and see what was happening to Nell and her sister and those other children—to see if the grown-ups who came to “select” you really looked you over like livestock, if they picked you because your hair color matched their own hair—or rejected you if it didn’t. And what if some other family picked your brother but not you?

  But the conductor fellow wouldn’t budge from his spot guarding the door to the train, and all Jack and Frances could do was wait.

  Finally, Mrs. Routh and Miss DeHaven boarded the train again, just before the departing whistle blew. The train slid forward and soon resumed its usual motion. Mrs. Routh was quiet as she picked up the food basket and began to pass out sandwiches.

  Miss DeHaven, on the other hand, was more talkative than they’d ever seen her. “Extra sandwiches this evening!” she declared as she handed them out. “That’s because we found six quite suitable homes for your young companions in Sheltonburg.”

  Frances felt sick as she did the math in her head. There should have been five homes, one each for the four youngest children and then a fifth for Nell and her sister. Six homes meant that the sisters hadn’t been allowed to stay together.

  She put the sandwich in her front pocket. She wasn’t hungry all of a sudden.

  She looked across the aisle and guessed Jack had figured out what had happened to the Swedish girls. He’d turned his face to the window, his mouth a grim line.

  Frances pulled her coat collar up and hunched down into it to hide her face.

  “Why are you crying?” Harold asked her.

  “I’m not,” she lied. She wiped her cheek, giving him the best smile she could manage. The tears kept coming long after Harold had fallen asleep.

  7.

  Voices in the Night

  A jolt hit Frances in her sleep, and she awoke with a gasp.

  The train wasn’t moving.

  She felt another shake. “Frances, wake up!” It was Jack, his voice a rough whisper.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered. There were none of the usual depot noises, just the sound
of the other kids sleeping.

  “Shh!”

  It was then that she heard footsteps—boots, she realized—and voices: Miss DeHaven and Mrs. Routh and someone else, a man.

  “Who’s that?” she asked Jack. The man’s voice sounded stern. She could just make out the words inspection and Kansas. She gasped. “We’re in Kansas? Already?” Her eyes had started to adjust to the dark, and she could see Jack nod.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “We’re jumping off this train! For real, now.”

  “What?” Frances said. “How?”

  “Wait!” Jack whispered suddenly. “Listen.”

  They couldn’t see the man in the dark, but Jack had heard Miss DeHaven call him Sheriff.

  “Sheriff, everything here is in order,” she’d said. “Mrs. Routh will give you the details. The children are all healthy and strong enough to work.”

  “Let me just see the children, ma’am,” the sheriff said. Jack and Frances could hear his footfalls coming a little closer.

  “Of course. The standard inspection. But it’s so very late. I think we should just let the little dears sleep.”

  “Ma’am, welcome to Kansas,” the sheriff said. “We’re mighty thorough here.”

  Mrs. Routh’s voice broke in. “Please just do what my husband says, Miss DeHaven. You know it’s the right thing. We’re just outside Whitmore, and we ought to check the children over before . . . before they’re all gone.”

  Jack’s breath caught in his chest. Before they’re all gone. That was all he needed to hear. He looked over at Frances’s stricken face.

  She spoke in the faintest whisper she could manage. “I’ll wake up Harold.”

  Jack crept out into the aisle and looked around, desperate for a plan. If they just ran out and down the iron steps, they’d be seen. And the sheriff—what would he do? He was Mrs. Routh’s husband. Would he be as kind?

  From the sound of the fellow’s voice, it seemed to Jack that he wouldn’t show as much mercy as his wife. If they ran off the train, the sheriff would chase them down. Jack was sure of it. That’s what lawmen did.

  Jack searched for ideas. Most of the glass lamps hanging from the ceiling had spent their kerosene, and the only other light came from the iron stove in the far corner. The spring air was still cold at night, so it was stoked with coal every evening. Jack could see the fiery glow behind the door. He had an awful flash of recollection—the flames in that room at the factory and how he’d doused them. And how it wasn’t enough to save Daniel, only himself.

  But now here he was, and he had another chance to do something, to help. And suddenly he had an idea.

  Jack opened the door in the stove’s potbelly. He picked up the water bucket—it was nearly full. He drew out the long steel water dipper and tucked it into his belt. Then he heaved the bucket backward and flung all its contents at the stove.

  SSSSHHHHH!!!! The stove hissed ferociously and erupted into a huge cloud of steam, followed by the great clang that resulted from Jack swinging the bucket hard against the stove.

  Now half the children in the car were awake, shouting and screaming.

  “Uh-oh!”

  “Someone’s in trouble!”

  “Train crash! Did the train crash?”

  In the midst of the chaos staggered Mrs. Routh, who was desperately trying to turn up one of the hanging lamps. Jack looked over in time to see Frances drag Harold into the aisle. “Go!” he heard her tell her little brother, who went running into the car behind theirs. She had just enough time to shoot Jack a grin before she took off after Harold.

  A voice snapped at him. “You!” He glanced back and saw Miss DeHaven coming down the aisle after them. He still had the dipper, so he leaped on a nearby seat and swung it at one of the lamps, which fell with a crash into the aisle at Miss DeHaven’s feet. He turned and darted into the next car and down the long aisle.

  He didn’t look back as he ran.

  “Harold,” Frances started, though she was nearly out of breath. “Harold, you need to trust me.” They had made it through two more cars and were standing on the rear deck of the last one. “And trusting me,” she panted, “means we jump off this train.”

  “Right now?” Harold asked.

  “No, when it’s moving, silly. Yes, I mean now.” She glanced back to see if anyone else had followed, but the rest of the train seemed nearly empty, save for a few bewildered passengers who had scowled at them for disturbing their sleep. Now Frances was waiting for Jack to catch up—if he even made it through the frenzy he’d created in their train car.

  “But what about . . . ,” Harold began. “What about the people who might come and take us? The good people?”

  “With a good home?” Frances asked.

  Harold nodded, his eyes full of wishes.

  Her heart twisted at the sight of his face. How could she tell him about what might happen if they stayed on the train, how they might never see each other again, just like how they never again saw Aunt Mare? She had to call upon all her inner strength. “The good people will wait for us, Harold. But right now we have to get off this train.”

  Just then, they felt a familiar lurch. The train was about to move.

  “What if they don’t wait?” Harold asked. The car began to slide slowly.

  “Hey!” Jack called.

  Frances spun around. Jack was racing down the narrow corridor of the last car, making a considerable clamor. No—it was the boots of the sheriff running after him, though he sounded like he was at least a full car behind Jack.

  “Now!” screamed Jack as he reached the deck.

  “Help me with Harold!” Frances called. She swung over the rail of the deck and braced her legs. It was like getting off the Sixth Avenue trolley, she thought. Just . . . bigger. And getting faster. She landed easily and kept running alongside.

  “Reach out and grab Frances!” Jack told Harold, lifting him under his arms. Before Frances knew it, Harold was holding her, and together they tumbled to the ground. Still, they were safe.

  Jack could feel the train gaining speed. “Come on!” Frances cried.

  The sheriff was close enough to call to him now. “Boy!” he shouted. His mustache was one big dark frown. “Stay right there!”

  Here I am again, Jack thought as he swung over the deck rail. It seemed that no matter how hard the world pushed, he still had to jump. His legs bent into a crouch. He looked down at his feet and saw the ground speeding by, getting faster with every moment.

  “Can’t stay!” he shouted. And so he jumped free.

  8.

  A Field of Nothing

  “Kansas sure is dark,” said Harold as the three of them walked.

  They hadn’t stayed to watch the train disappear. “We have to put some distance between us and the spot where we jumped,” Jack had explained. So they’d run down an embankment and then headed straight away from the tracks, following the faint half-moon in the sky.

  Frances’s eyes couldn’t make out anything in the dark except a horizon. “What’s this we’re walking across, a field?” she asked Jack. She was glad to have Harold clutching her hand; without it she would have felt as if she were drowning in all this night.

  Jack reached down and felt rough, dry grass and hard ground. “I don’t think there’s anything planted out here. Just a field of nothing.” Turning to Frances, he whispered, “At least we’re not on someone’s farmland, which means we won’t get caught for trespassing.”

  Frances nodded, then added even more quietly, “True, but it also means there’s nowhere to hide. No barn or stable or any place where we can go.”

  “We’ll find something,” Jack mumbled. He couldn’t let himself give in to the feeling that maybe he shouldn’t have dragged Frances and Harold off the train. “Anyway, it’s so dark. Maybe no one will see us, right?”

  Frances didn�
��t say anything for a moment. “I guess,” she said finally.

  Truthfully, the darkness was unlike any Jack had ever seen. In the city the streets were electric-lit, but out here there weren’t even any shadows, just the constant gray-black that felt heavy on his eyes like a haze. He wondered if a person could become deranged walking around in so much darkness. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you, Harold?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “No,” said Harold. “Just wolves.”

  “Wolves?” Frances began to laugh, but then her face twisted and Jack was pretty sure she was wondering to herself the same thing he was: Wolves. Does Kansas have them? “Well,” she said at last. “I don’t see any.”

  Jack was the one to laugh this time. “Because, you know, we don’t see anything at all. Except maybe that tree over there.”

  They hadn’t given any thought to what direction they’d walk, but they found themselves making their way toward the only tree in the near distance, a crooked thing with a thick trunk.

  “It’s nice,” Harold said when they finally reached it. He plopped down on the ground beneath it and leaned back against the trunk. By the time Frances and Jack sat down on either side of him, he was already asleep.

  “I guess we’ll sleep here,” Jack said, idly kicking at the tree stump.

  “And then what?”

  “Then we walk some more in the morning?” Jack suggested. He wondered what Daniel would have done. He shrugged, pushing the memory of his brother out of his mind. If he let himself dwell on what had happened, he’d never be any good to Frances and Harold—never be able to help them the way he should have helped Daniel back in the factory, and that would mean . . . He took a deep breath. He couldn’t allow this train of thought to continue. “Maybe we’ll look for food?”

  “I’ve saved a sandwich,” Frances said. “I’ll give that to Harold.”