Dotty’s Suitcase (11 page)

“I forgot.” She jumped up beside him. “We can ask when we get to Olive's. Maybe they have one.” She gave Mr. Clarke the directions, leaving out the part about watching her step.

Carey Street was a sad little street. Everything in it was dingy: dingy buildings, dingy snow, dingy sky, dingy people. It looked as if it could use a good wash. The houses leaned against one another like weary people going to sleep with their eyes open. Thin men and women walked dispiritedly along the narrow sidewalks. The sound of Sarah's hooves was loud in the stillness. Dotty felt eyes watching her from behind the murky windowpanes. She saw curtains pulled aside to allow the watchers a better view.

What a place for poor Olive to live, she thought. I wonder where she goes to play. I wonder if they jump rope here, or play marbles or Kick the Can. Or baseball. Or any of the games we played together. I wonder if her friends live here too.

“It's number five,” she told Mr. Clarke. Just think. Olive's right near somewhere and she doesn't even know that I'm here too. She doesn't even suspect that I'm getting closer every minute.

“Slow down, Sarah,” Mr. Clarke said, pulling in on the reins. Sarah pranced and lifted her feet high. She had a new lease on life. Men passed, their collars turned up, their hats pulled down, their faces and hands red and raw in the cold wind and drifting snow. Some of them stared at Dotty and Jud and Mr. Clarke without interest. Their own misery absorbed all their strength and left no room for anything else.

A group of boys gathered outside a store which advertised “Newspapers, Magazines, and Smokes.”

“Can you tell me where number five is?” Mr. Clarke called to them. The boys looked as if he had spoken in a foreign tongue. They turned wordlessly to one another and then looked away. Perhaps they were deaf, Dotty thought.

One boy, bigger, bolder than the others, called out, “Doherty, is it? They're down a ways. On the right. Second floor.” He stepped back and was immediately swallowed up in the throng.

Mr. Clarke pulled up his coat collar and once again gave Sarah the go-ahead signal. Dotty felt like getting out of the sleigh and running to find Olive by herself. But she stayed where she was, and after what seemed a year they arrived at 5 Carey Street.

Before they'd even come to a stop, Dotty jumped out, ran up the path, and knocked on the door. She waited, heart doing flip-flops. There was no sound from behind the door. She knocked again. Maybe they were out shopping or something. She knocked a third time.

“Who's there?”

“It's me, Dotty!” Dotty cried, hugging herself. But that wasn't Olive's voice, and it didn't sound like Mrs. Doherty's either.

After another long wait the door creaked open slowly, and an old woman with a face so wrinkled she might've been a hundred years old peered out.

“I've got nothing for you,” she said in a high voice. “I give it all away, every last scrap I had. And there's no more food to be had. Except one onion and some celery tops and I'm using those for soup. So be off and don't bother me.” She started to close the door.

“I'm looking for Olive Doherty,” Dotty said indignantly. “Not for food. They said at the post office she lived here.”

The door opened a fraction of an inch. “That'll be the upstairs people then,” the old woman said.

“Upstairs?”

“Upstairs is what I said,” the woman snapped, “and upstairs is what I meant. Now leave me be.” The door closed with an angry bang.

Dotty saw a flight of stairs leading to the second floor of 5 Carey Street. “She's up there,” she called to Mr. Clarke “I'll run up to make sure she's home and I'll be down in a sec.” She leaped up the stairs, feeling this was her last chance. Please be home, Olive, a voice drummed in her head. Please be home. She banged on the door. “It's me!” she cried. “It's Dotty!” As if there were only one Dotty in the world.

“Dotty who?” a voice asked from behind the door.

“Why, Dotty Fickett!” she replied.

The door opened and a woman stood there, her face gaunt and filled with sadness.

“Mrs. Doherty?” Dotty asked. She wasn't sure. But it had to be. Only a few months ago she'd seen Mrs. Doherty, strong and bossy, full of life, wringing her hands as she directed her husband and her sons on how to load her davenport into the truck.

“Mrs. Doherty,” Dotty repeated. “It's me, Dotty Fickett.”

Mrs. Doherty, for it was she, put out one of her hands. She almost touched Dotty, then seemed to think better of it. Her hand fell to her side and “Where did you come from?” she whispered as if her throat hurt.

“From home. I'll tell you about it. Is Olive here?” If she says no, I'll die. I'll just sit down and die. That's all there is to that.

“Olive?” Mrs. Doherty frowned as if she weren't exactly sure who Olive was.

“Oh, of course. Of course she's here.” Mrs. Doherty's face brightened and she looked much younger, more the way Dotty remembered. “Come in. I don't know what's happened to my manners.” She stepped aside. “You'll have to forgive me. We don't have much company these days. I've almost forgotten how to behave.” She gave a little laugh.

“I know she'll love to see you. She talks about you all the time. All the old days, the good times. Olive!” She raised her voice. “Olive!”

Dotty laid a finger against her lips. “Surprise,” she whispered. “I want to surprise her.”

“What do you want, Mama?” Dotty heard Olive ask.

Dotty held out her arms, ready to give Olive such a bear hug she'd completely lose her voice for a minute.

“It's me, Olive!” she shouted.

The door opened, Olive peeked out, and when she caught sight of Dotty Fickett, her mouth dropped open, her face bunched together in the middle, and she began to cry as if her heart would break.

CHAPTER 18

Olive was teasing. That was it. Olive was always joking and kidding around. In a minute she'd stop crying.

Dotty looked at the floor. I shouldn't have come, she thought. It was a mistake. Her stomach felt hollow. She had thought it would be so grand, such a treat when they got together again. She had thought that when she saw Olive after all this time everything would be wonderful. Life would be as it had been before they were separated.

“Don't, Olive,” Mrs. Doherty said, her arms rigid and stiff at her sides, as if they'd been starched. “Please don't.”

Olive's face was slick with tears as if she'd just come from a very sad movie. She wiped it on her sleeve. “I'm sorry, Mama,” she said. Then, “Where did
he
come from?” she asked, her eyes wide with amazement. For a minute she sounded like the old Olive.

Dotty turned. Jud stood there, clutching himself.

“He has to go to the bathroom,” she explained.

Mrs. Doherty put out her hand. “I'll show you,” she said to Jud.

When they had gone, Olive and Dotty stared at each other. “I can't believe you're here,” Olive said at last. “I was going to write you a letter, to tell you—”

“You won't believe how I got here,” Dotty interrupted her. “We've got to talk. Let's go to your room and close the door. Like the old days.”

But Jud was already back, hitching up his corduroy pants. “How about the telephone?” he said.

“We have to call home,” Dotty said, frowning at Jud. “We have to call home to tell them we're all right. Daddy doesn't know where I am.”

“My ma will be tearing her hair out in big bunches, she'll be so worried,” Jud announced gloomily. He put his finger up his nose in an exploratory fashion, and Dotty knocked his hand down.

“We don't have a phone,” Olive said quickly. “Most folks around here don't either. But I think there's one down the street someplace. I'll ask Mama.” She flushed. “I'm sorry I can't offer you any refreshments. Mama and I were going to go to the store today. We might have some saltines, though.” She opened the cupboard door. Dotty couldn't help noticing it was almost empty.

Boldly Jud said, “How about a cookie?” Dotty stepped on his foot and made a furious face at him.

Olive rattled the box. They could hear crumbs bouncing around inside.

“I guess they're all gone,” she said and put the box back. Her hair didn't seem to be as red as it had, and it had lost its beautiful shine. And although she and Dotty had been almost the exact same size, now Olive was at least an inch, maybe more, taller. She was wearing a cotton wash dress that Dotty remembered. Mrs. Doherty must have let down the hem. Even so, it was much too short. Olive's arms seemed to have grown too. The sleeves of her sweater reached just below her elbows and refused to go farther. Her wristbones jutted out angrily, looking for a fight.

Nervously Olive began firing questions at Dotty. “How'd you get here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? Where'd you get the money for the bus?” As she talked, her face became animated and two bright spots of color appeared high in her cheeks.

“Slow down,” Dotty said. “Let's go to your room where we can have some privacy.”

“You got to tell Mr. Clarke,” Jud said stonily. “He's waiting.”

“Who's Mr. Clarke?” Olive asked.

“He brought us here,” Dotty said, “in his sleigh. It's very complicated. Go down and tell Mr. Clarke I'll be there in a second. And get the suitcase. It's under the blanket.”

Jud thumped out without a word.

“You got a suitcase!” Olive shouted. “Mama! Dotty got her suitcase at last!”

She threw her arms around Dotty and kissed her. “Oh, that's wonderful!” she cried. “I'm so happy for you.”

Tremendously pleased by this display of affection, Dotty said, “And that's not all. Wait'll you see it. It's beautiful. And wait'll you see what's inside. You'll never believe it, Olive. It's like something in the movies.”

“Oh, tell me,” Olive begged. “Please. Now. Right this minute.”

“Wait till Jud gets back,” Dotty said. “Then I'll tell you everything.”

She smiled at Olive and Olive smiled back. Coming to Boonville had not been a mistake, after all. It was all right now. Olive was herself again.

Then they heard Jud thudding back up the stairs. He was running.

“He's gone,” Jud announced in a flat voice. He looked at Dotty, his face flushed, then his eyes flicked away. “Mr. Clarke's skinned out. Suitcase and all.”

“That's not funny!” Dotty cried. She flung open the door and raced down to see for herself.

It was as if she'd dreamed them: Mr. Clarke, Sarah, the sleigh. The street was empty of everything but the dingy snow and an old cat, rummaging through the garbage, its ribs making a pattern underneath its mangy fur. When it saw her, it came to rub against her legs, its eyes full of hunger and dislike.

Dotty raced back. “Why'd you leave it with him?” She shook Jud until his head wobbled back and forth on his neck. Mrs. Doherty came to the kitchen door.

“Lands,” she said. “Leave him be, Dotty.”

Dotty released him, ashamed of herself.

“How'd I know he was a crook?” Jud said. “I thought he was a nice man.”

And this time it was Dotty who burst into tears.

CHAPTER 19

A great many tears were shed that day at 5 carey street.

“There, there,” Mrs. Doherty said to Dotty. “We'll have a nice cup of soup,” and she boiled water, to which she added salt, a couple of carrots, and a cube of beef bouillon.

“We'll let it sit a minute,” she said, “to gain strength.”

They sat at the kitchen table gazing at one another, speechless.

“How's Mr. Doherty?” Dotty asked, to break the spell. “And the boys?”

To her amazement, Olive put her head down on the table, her arms over her ears, as if they hurt, as if she were trying to drown out the sound of her own sobbing. Her mother got up and went to the stove, looking intently at the soup, willing it to become strong.

“What did I say?” Dotty said, dismayed.

Jud patted Olive on the shoulder, over and over. “There, there,” he said to her, in imitation of Mrs. Doherty. “There, there.” Jud's voice and patting hand were like a small metronome, marking time.

“I'm sorry,” Dotty said. “I didn't mean to upset you. I'm awful sorry.” So far, the reunion with Olive could not be called a success.

Olive sat up at last. “It's not your fault,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Mama, why don't you lie down and rest? You'll feel better if you do.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Doherty. “I think I might.” Jud put his hand in hers and escorted her to the bedroom. When she'd gone inside, he gently closed the door and stood looking at it. Olive poured out the soup, and they sat at the table to eat. The carrots floated in the pale brown liquid like little orange Life Savers. Jud scooped his out and when he thought no one was looking, slid them into his pocket.

Olive finished first. She laid down her spoon and said, “My father's dead.”

Dotty covered her mouth with her hand. Jud huddled over his soup plate and said nothing.

“Dead?” said Dotty stupidly.

“He had pneumonia. Not very long after we got here. He wouldn't go to bed. He went out every day looking for work. When he couldn't get out of bed one morning we finally called the doctor. But we waited too long. Because we didn't have the money to pay him. That's why we waited.” Olive's eyes met Dotty's, then pulled away.

“So he died.” She laced her fingers together. “And the boys joined the WPA. You know,” she said to Dotty's puzzled look. “The Works Progress Administration that Mr. Roosevelt started, to find jobs for people. They build bridges and dams and Lord knows what all. But they keep busy, and the WPA feeds them, and the work is mostly outdoors so they stay healthy. That's something. We know they're all right, at least. They'll survive. That's what Mama says. They'll survive. And we will too. We all will.”