Dotty’s Suitcase (9 page)

“What'll we do now?” Jud asked, his eyes glazed with fatigue.

“Sleep,” she said, They lay down in front of the fire, still wrapped in the soggy warmth of their outdoor clothing.

Jud hooked his index finger over his nose and slid his thumb into his mouth. Dotty started to say her prayers. Halfway through, her mind emptied itself of everything, and they both slept.

CHAPTER 14

When Dotty awakened, morning was creeping timidly through the window, as if it were afraid it might not be entirely welcome. The room was filled with the smell of sleep. The fire had gone out. It was very cold.

A tall man stood watching her. In each hand he held a bundle of money. Their money. Hers and Jud's. “That's mine,” Dotty said sharply, sitting up. She saw her jacket and hat lying, neatly folded, on the back of a chair. She knew she hadn't put them there, had, in fact, worn them when she lay down to sleep.

“So it is,” the man replied, frowning at the money as if it had done something wrong.

“It belongs to Jud and me,” Dotty said belligerently. It was
his
house, after all, she told herself.

“Didn't say it didn't. I wondered what made you kids so lumpy.” The man's clothes were brown and wrinkled, like his face. “You must admit it's something of a shock when a man comes into his house and finds two lumpy kids stretched out, dead to the world. Couldn't figure out what made you and the boy so lumpy.” His face wasn't unfriendly. “So I took off your jackets and things so you'd be more comfortable, and look what I found.” He put the money on the table and threw two logs on the fire to get it going again.

“I must say I was glad to discover what made you such an odd shape. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes, please,” said Dotty.

“If you want a wash, there's a bathroom through there.” He gestured with his thumb. “And there might even be soap and a towel.”

He poked the stove and put on a pot of water. Dotty went into the bathroom and washed. She was stiff and still tired, but she was alive. The thought was strangely exhilarating. They had survived.

She sat at the small, rickety table and watched the man stir oatmeal into the boiling water. Wait'll Jud found out what was for breakfast!

The silence stretched out. The man asked no explanation of her presence here and seemed to accept it as a matter of course.

“We were lost in the woods,” Dotty said. “And we saw your light so we came in. But first we knocked on the door over and over. The house was empty and we'd come a long way in the storm and we were tired.”

The man nodded. “It wasn't a fit night out for man or beast,” he said.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Out for a walk. I always walk at night, no matter what the weather. It was a magnificent storm, wasn't it?” He turned toward her. “The excesses of nature have always been a splendid mystery.”

He put down a bowl of oatmeal in front of her and offered a jug of milk and some brown sugar. “White sugar's bad for your teeth,” he cautioned as if he were her father or Aunt Martha.

“You want to let him sleep?” He pointed to Jud.

“Oh, yes, for a little while. He's only eight, you see. I'm twelve so it wasn't so hard on me.” Her voice rang righteously in her ears.

He nodded in agreement. “That's true. The older one gets, the better one is able to stand up to adversity. Until one gets very old.” He sat down and they ate their oatmeal.

Dotty's spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. “It was good,” she said. “The best oatmeal I ever had.”

“I'm a pretty fair cook,” the man said. “And getting better all the time. Where are you bound for with all that money? California? I understand they have more salubrious winters in California than we do here.” His face was long and homely, his eyes kind. “I'm not sure it's a good idea for two kids to be on the road with all that cash. Never can tell what might happen.”

“We found it,” Dotty said. She told him about seeing something thrown out of the big black car and how they went to investigate, about finding the suitcase in the weeds.

“So we picked it up and ran because we thought the man who'd thrown it was coming back,” Dotty went on. “We got lost. Then a boy picked us up and he was going to Boonville and I have a friend in Boonville named Olive Doherty and so we decided to ride with him and he got in an accident and it turned out he found out about the money and he wasn't so nice so we ran away and we got lost again and it started to snow and”—she shrugged—“here we are.”

Jud sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Who's that?” he asked.

“Sorry,” the man said. “My name is Rufus P. Clarke.” He put out his hand, and he and Dotty shook hands.

“I'm Dotty Fickett. And this is Jud. He's not my brother—he's just a neighbor. We go to the same school. He's eight—or did I tell you that?”

“I believe you mentioned the fact. It's a pleasure to have you both. I don't have many visitors, living out here. Practically none, in fact.” Idly he ruffled the bundles of money.

“What's he doing with our money?” Jud asked rudely.

Dotty shot him a fierce glance, telling him to mind his manners. “He took off our jackets so we'd sleep better and he found it.”

Mr. Clarke went to the stove and ladled out a bowl of oatmeal for Jud. He brought it back to the table.

“Don't worry about your money, Jud,” he said. “Sit down and eat while it's hot. I've given up on money.”

Jud stood with his hands behind his back, frowning at the bowl of oatmeal.

“Eat,” Dotty commanded.

“How come you gave up on money?” Jud asked. “I never heard of anybody doing that before. What is it?” he asked, sitting down.

“It's delicious,” Dotty said. “Eat.”

“Well, it's the root of all evil, sometimes,” Mr. Clarke said. “Money can cause a lot of trouble.”

Jud leaned on his elbow and stirred the oatmeal thoughtfully. Then he put his head to one side, as if he were listening to strange voices. “I never had any so I wouldn't know,” he said at last.

“Me either,” said Dotty.

“Well,” Mr. Clarke said slowly, reluctantly, “I used to have a lot. A big house and cars and everything that went with them. A wife and two beautiful children. Then I lost everything in the stock market and suddenly I found myself without the house and the other things.”

“But you still have your wife and your children,” Dotty said quickly.

“No,” he said. “My wife left me. She took the children with her.” Jud's spoon stopped in midair. His mouth dropped open. Dotty could see the unchewed oatmeal inside. She turned away, unable to bear the sight of it or the look on Mr. Clarke's face.

He continued with his story as if hearing it for the first time. “It wasn't just the money. To be fair, I don't think she minded losing it as much as I did. I was too stern, too demanding. Not loving enough.” He shot them a fierce glance. “I spent all my time making the money and none of it enjoying what I'd made. I blamed her for lots of things. I never blamed myself. That's the trouble. There's no one I can blame for my lack of caring, showing them I cared. No one at all. I put money ahead of everything.”

Jud's spoon ricocheted wildly inside his empty bowl and made the only noise in the room. Dotty didn't know where to look. She had never heard, never imagined such talk. Except on the radio. Or in the movies.

“So,” Mr. Clarke said at last, “I've taken to the woods. I rather like it. Solitude has many virtues. Makes you look yourself in the eye, think about things you thought you'd forgotten.” He sat down at the table and folded his hands.

“If you can stand solitude,” he went on, “you can stand yourself, and that's something a lot of people never find out: if they can stand themselves.”

He smiled at them for the first time.

“If I had to choose between having a lot of money and none at all, I'd choose none. Makes life a lot simpler, having none at all.”

“Still,” Dotty said, absently frowning at Jud, “still, it's better if you have a choice.”

“A good point,” Mr. Clarke agreed. He got up and went to the window. “Storm's about over,” he said.

They looked out and watched a few snowflakes swirl aimlessly in the air.

“You kids put on your stuff. I expect it's about dry by now, and we'll have a path cleared to the barn in no time,” Mr. Clarke said. Sure enough, their jackets and hats were warm from the fire, their mittens stiff and dry, stretched out on the hearth. And Mr. Clarke had even stuffed their boots with paper to help them dry too.

“You thought of everything,” Dotty said. “You took good care of us. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I'll have you in Boonville before you can skin a cat,” he said.

“You will? How?”

“Hitch up Sarah and she'll have us there in short order.” Mr. Clarke put on a vast brown overcoat and a hat with ear flaps which he pulled well down over his weathered face. “We're only about five miles from Boonville right now. You tell me where your friend lives and you'll be knocking on her door before lunchtime.”

“Who is Sarah?”

“My horse. Don't know what I'd do without her. Dress warm now, and I'll be back for you in a few minutes. And don't forget this.” His finger tapped the bundles of money lying on the table. “When you get back home, you'll have to find whom it belongs to and get it back to them.”

“We think it belongs to the bank,” Dotty said. “They had a robbery Thursday. We think the robbers were the ones who threw the money out of the car, on account of they didn't want the police to catch them with it.”

Jud made a terrible dark face at her.

“I don't think that, she does. I think it's finders keepers, that's what I think,” he said.

Mr. Clarke paused with his hand on the latch. “Here you have a moral dilemma,” he said thoughtfully. “You have a choice, after all, Dotty and Jud.”

“I do?” they both said.

He took a shovel from the corner. “Sure. You can either keep the money and tell yourselves finders keepers, or you can return it to its rightful owner. In this case, the bank.”

“They already got plenty of money,” Jud said. “And we don't.”

“It isn't theirs,” Mr. Clarke said. “It belongs to the depositors—people like you. And me.”

He opened the door. Snow was packed in a tight white fence up against it, barring his way.

“That's why I keep a shovel inside. The choice between right and wrong. Always a tough decision to make.” He began to shovel. “Just let me get this out of the way and then shut the door behind me.”

When he'd cleared away the snow fence, Dotty shut the door and thought about what he'd said.

Jud tugged on his boots. “You and your big mouth,” he sneered. “You got a big mouth, Dotty Fickett, and that's the truth.”

CHAPTER 15

The snow and wind had retreated, leaving masses of heavy clouds sitting on the horizon, taking a breather. Each tree branch stood stark and still against the gray sky like a beautiful piece of sculpture.

If only I could paint, Dotty thought, I would paint this now, this minute, because when summer comes I will have forgotten how it was, how it looked, how it really was.

She watched as Mr. Clarke hitched Sarah to the sleigh. He looked different now, with his thick warm hat pulled well down over his forehead. Under it, his face looked abandoned. His long chin settled under his coat collar as he stroked Sarah's neck and told her to be a good girl, that they would soon be on their way.

“There's a nice girl,” he told her. “Be patient. It's only a little while now and we're off to Boonville, Sarah, old girl. It's an adventure for us, isn't it?”

And Sarah sighed and whiffled through her nose at him and stamped her feet urgently, anxious to begin her journey. Sarah's nose was wide and pink and soft as a length of velvet, Dotty thought. Timidly she patted Sarah on her nose, then she hopped about on one foot, then the other, to keep warm.

Imagine going to Boonville to see Olive! And in a sleigh! She could picture Olive's face when they drove up. Olive would shout and holler and scream with joy! Dotty hugged herself in anticipation.

Mr. Clarke went into his cabin to get a warm lap robe for the trip. Jud scuttled into the barn just to give it the once-over. “I wish we could stay here for a while,” he'd confided to Dotty. “I like it here.”

Dotty walked toward the forest that surrounded the house. She imagined herself alone out here, in the midst of nowhere. Completely alone. It was God's will that she and Jud had found this place. If they hadn't stumbled on it, they might still be wandering.

Or they might be dead. Tears sprang to Dotty's eyes at the thought of herself and Jud frozen solid under a snowdrift. Daddy and the girls and Aunt Martha and Uncle Tom would carry her body back home and bury it under the apple tree after the ground thawed. It would most likely be May and the apple blossoms would be out, spreading their fragrance thickly over everything. Then people would go back to the Ficketts' house, where the ladies would have a handsome spread set out in the kitchen, and everyone would remember Dotty fondly and tell tales of how kind and gentle she'd been, how she'd made everybody laugh. They'd talk in tender tones of how well loved she'd been. Dotty got herself so worked up, thinking of the day in May when she would be laid to rest, that she was filled with very fleeting regret that she and Jud had gotten out of the storm.

Mr. Clarke called from the cabin door for her to come in for a minute. He held up a small black case. “I found this,” he said. “It'll be just right for you to carry the money in. It'll be safe inside this.” Briskly he began to pack the bundles of money Dotty and Jud had stuffed inside their jackets.