Dicey watched them playing, proud that she had thought to get the ball. Glad in her
heart that she had been able to give it to them.
They had finished lunch and washed and dried the plates and glasses by the time Father
Joseph arrived. He carried two large shopping bags, which he passed to Dicey. “Clothes,”
he told her.
He gathered up the younger children and walked off down the street with them. James
walked beside him. Sammy ran ahead. Maybeth trotted behind.
Dicey was alone in the house. It felt strange to be alone. Being alone inside was
very different from being alone outside. Inside, there was nothing to do. And she
felt full of energy.
She wanted to take a walk but she couldn’t leave the house empty. So she sorted through
the bags of clothes.
The clothes were worn, but clean and pressed. Their own clothes were worn out, but
that was somehow different. Other people’s old clothes—Dicey quelled the thought.
She must remember to be grateful. For Dicey and Maybeth there were dresses, for the
boys shirts and trousers. Dicey didn’t like dresses. There was no underwear. No blue
jeans. Two pairs of shoes, heavy leather shoes that tied with laces. She would have
to tell Father Joseph what they needed. Or maybe Cousin Eunice could give them the
money for shoes and underwear.
In an hour, Father Joseph returned. The children were not
with him, but another man was. He wore a business suit of olive green and had a round
face and yellow-brown eyes that protruded. Goggle eyes. He had round fat fingers,
and he jingled the money in his pocket. He peered at Dicey.
They all went to sit at the kitchen table. “The children are staying at camp for the
afternoon,” Father Joseph said to Dicey. “You and I will go pick them up, so that
you can learn the way. Is that all right?”
Dicey nodded. She wondered if she should have changed into one of the dresses.
“This is Sergeant Gordo. He works with the Missing Persons Bureau of the Police Department,
and he is also a personal friend of mine.”
“How do you do,” Dicey said.
“How do. Hot enough for you?” Sergeant Gordo asked. He laughed at his own joke. “Well.
I understand you’ve got a missing mother.”
Dicey nodded.
He took a pad out of his rear pants pocket and prepared to write with a ball-point
pen. “Give me her particulars,” he said.
Dicey didn’t understand.
“Name, age, weight, description, any distinguishing marks, last seen.”
“Liza Tillerman, thirty-six,” Dicey said. “I don’t know how much she weighs.”
“How’s she built? Fat? Thin?”
“She’s regular,” Dicey said. “Sort of thin, I guess, but she has a regular shape.”
“Height?”
“Two or three inches taller than I am.”
“How tall are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stand up, will you?” His eyes measured her. “She’d be about five-six or seven. Any
scars or moles?”
“She’s got a big mole on her chin, and one at the back of her neck, under her hair.
There are more, but those are the big ones. She’s got blonde hair, long blonde hair.
Hazel eyes, like mine. A round face, with high cheekbones.”
“What was she wearing when she took off?”
“Blue jeans. A sweater—a big, red, man’s sweater, with holes in the elbows. Sandals.
A purse over her shoulder.”
“Rings? Watch?”
Dicey shook her head. Momma didn’t have jewelry.
“Wedding ring?”
Dicey shook her head. The two men exchanged a glance.
“When did you last see her?”
“I’m not exactly sure. It was early in June.”
“Where was it?”
Dicey told him about the mall in Peewauket. She told him about the car and how they
had left it there.
He snapped his notebook shut. “I’ll see what I can do for you,” he said.
Dicey swallowed. “Do you think she’s dead?”
He pursed his lips. “I can’t say that, not now. If she is, we’ll find out soon enough.
Dead bodies stink, so we find them.”
Dicey nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Father Joseph seemed to understand that and he changed the subject. “I’ve put in a
call to the church in Maryland.”
“Crisfield,” Dicey said. His eyes studied her briefly.
“Yes. The priest there will see what he can find out. Your people aren’t Catholic.”
“No,” Dicey said. “We aren’t anything. At least, I don’t think we are.”
His eyebrows went up. “Your cousin Eunice is a devout
Catholic,” he said. “She was raised in the Church. But of course it was her father
who was a Catholic—her mother converted when they married. She herself is very traditional
in her devotion—she still chooses to keep meatless Fridays, for example.”
But none of this interested Dicey. Her attention remained with the officer.
“How long will it take you?” she asked Sergeant Gordo.
“I can’t say now, can I? Maybe a day. Maybe a year.”
“No, I mean if she’s dead.”
“That’ll take less time. If there’s any possibilities I’ll show you some pictures—oh,
within a week.”
“So if you don’t tell me anything in a week—”
“Then we can be reasonably sure she’s alive. Father Joseph tells me you don’t have
any idea what made her leave you.”
“She didn’t say,” Dicey said. She looked at him. She didn’t like him, but he could
help her. “Do you want to know what I think?”
He took out his pad again. “Anything might be useful.”
“I think she ran out of money and didn’t know what to do, so she just—forgot about
us. Her mind just erased us. Because she was so worried about us. Does that make sense?”
“The kind of people we deal with? Anything makes sense. Was she worried about anything
in particular?”
“Everything. Always. She lost her job. That was why we were coming to Aunt Cilla’s
house—here.”
“What about welfare? Or unemployment compensation?”
Dicey shook her head. “Momma said she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t even go talk
to anyone. She said charity was not for the Tillermans.”
“I wish more people felt that way,” Sergeant Gordo said. He folded his notebook and
put it away again. “Well, I’ve got work to do.”
Father Joseph stood up too. “And we have some children to pick up.”
“But I can’t leave the house. Cousin Eunice said not to leave the house empty and
unlocked, and I don’t have a key. Can’t you get James first and then the other two?
James can show me the way on Monday morning.”
Father Joseph looked doubtful.
“James will remember all right. He’s smart.”
“Oh yes, that’s very clear. I guess we can do it that way.”
Dicey saw them out, and when they had gone she sat waiting on the hall staircase for
her family to return to her. It seemed like a long time, waiting there in the dim,
silent hallway.
At last they were at the door, James thin and thoughtful, Maybeth, who hurried up
to take Dicey’s hand, and Sammy, who stood grinning by the doorway. Dicey thanked
Father Joseph and said good-bye to him. She took her family to the kitchen. She gave
them fruit and then they all went out to the backyard. Sammy wanted to play catch
with Dicey, but she wanted to talk.
“What did you do? What was it like?”
“I talked with the teachers,” James said. “It’s a school building and they have arts
and crafts and games in the afternoons. All the teachers are priests,” he said, taking
a huge bite of banana and chewing it. “They’ve got a library just for the school and
labs with Bunsen burners and chemicals in cupboards. I knew almost all the answers
to their questions,” he reported proudly. “I think I’ll like it.”
Dicey was glad to hear that.
“They talked to me as if I was a high school student,” James added.
“What about you Sammy? What did you do?”
“Played.”
“Played what?”
“Blocks, sandbox. We had running races and I came in second. Some of the boys I beat
were in third grade.”
“What about the girls?”
“No girls in my camp. All the girls are in one, all the boys in another.”
“So yours was all girls?” Dicey asked Maybeth. She nodded. “What did you play?” Maybeth
didn’t answer. “Did you stand with the teacher all the time?” Dicey guessed.
“Yes,” Maybeth said in a small voice, with a small smile.
Dicey rumpled her hair. She wanted to know more about what they had been doing. Each
of them had had an entirely separate afternoon. “Did anybody look friendly?” she asked.
“I didn’t see any of the guys,” James said. “They were figuring out what classes to
put me in. They asked me what prayers I knew, and what about the Gospels and the saints.
I don’t know anything about any of those. Catechism,” he pronounced the new word.
“They’ll teach me.”
“You sound glad about going to school.”
“Boy, am I.” James smiled at her, his hazel eyes smiling too. “These fathers, they’re
all so smart. Really smart. I never had a teacher like that, not even one. These guys
know so much. And they really want to teach me what they know. You can tell that.
Yeah, I guess I am glad. So would you be.”
“I doubt it,” Dicey said. “It takes different things to make me glad.”
“Like what?”
“Like knowing we’ve got food.”
“Be serious, Dicey.”
“The ocean,” Dicey said. “And lots of room outdoors. But mostly the ocean. And the
food too, that was serious.”
“Father Joseph said to tell you we’re all enrolled. He said you should take us on
Monday.”
“What was it like where Sammy and Maybeth were?”
James shrugged. “Playgrounds mostly, next to schools. Blacktop. Lots of jungle gyms
and swings. The teachers for the girls, where Maybeth is, are nuns.”
“Did you like the nuns?” Dicey asked Maybeth.
Maybeth didn’t answer.
“All the other girls were wearing dresses,” James reported.
“We have some dresses,” Dicey said to Maybeth. “Father Joseph brought them today.
Do you want to go try them on? And see how they look?”
Maybeth nodded. Dicey took her upstairs and she tried on the dresses. Cousin Eunice
had come home before they got back downstairs.
Dicey found Cousin Eunice sitting again in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to
come to a boil. The little woman looked tired. She had taken off her glasses and was
resting her forehead on her hands, rubbing her eyes. Dicey sent the children outside
to play in the backyard and cautioned James to keep them out there. She sat down facing
Cousin Eunice. “Are you tired? Can I get you something?”
At that moment the kettle whistled. “I’ll make the tea,” Dicey said, hopping up. She
poured the water and dipped the tea bag in.
“Thanks,” Cousin Eunice said. “Yes, I am tired. And I have an instruction class tonight—”
“An instruction class?”
“Religious instruction. I am studying to . . . I am studying. But my feet hurt so,
I don’t know if I can go tonight. Well of course I can, but—”
“What kind of work do you do?” Dicey asked. The woman was almost curled over onto
the tabletop. Her face was pale and her eyes lacked expression. Dicey couldn’t imagine
what kind of work would make a person look like that.
“I’m a junior foreman. We attach the lace insets to lingerie, my girls and I. You
know, on slips and nighties there are lace panels, or the cups of brassieres.” Dicey
didn’t know, but she nodded anyway. “I’ve been quite successful in my work. There
are only half a dozen junior foremen who are women, and only one senior foreman. But
it’s tiring—the supervising and the sewing and the quality control. It’s a responsibility.
You wouldn’t believe some of the pieces of lace they expect us to set. We have to
mend some of the pieces before we can even baste them in. And I’m on my feet most
of the day, what with one thing and another. When Mother was here, she knew how tired
I was.” Her small, high voice droned on. “She’d always have a cup of hot tea waiting
for me when I came in the door. And dinner on the table at six. I do get so hungry.”
“Do you always get home at the same time?”
“Oh yes, at twenty to six, precisely.” Dicey made a mental note. “But I have to begin
dinner if we’re to eat before my class.” Cousin Eunice replaced her glasses and pushed
herself up from the table, tottering a little in her high heels. She put a pot of
water on to boil. She opened the can of tuna and the can of soup. Dicey tried to help,
but she felt clumsy—as if she was interfering, not helping. So she set the table and
found the noodles for Cousin Eunice.
“And did you get the living room done?”
“Yes I did.”
“Good. You washed the windows?”
“Oh no. I forgot that. I’ll do it in the morning.”
“Oh dear, in the morning we’ll do the upstairs. And take the sheets and towels to
the laundromat. And do our personal laundry. I think we’ll have to let the windows
go until next week. Although they get so dirty.”
“I’ll do them,” Dicey assured her.
“And the floor. Did you damp mop?”
“No, no I’m sorry, I didn’t. I didn’t know what you meant by that.”
“We’ll just have to do the living room as well, tomorrow. Somehow.”
“I’ll do it, don’t you worry about it.”
Cousin Eunice poured the noodles into the boiling water.
“But Cousin Eunice?”
“Yes, Dicey.”
“You know that Father Joseph brought us some clothes.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yes, it was nice. We are grateful. You’ll tell him, won’t you?”
“Yes I will.”
“But—we need underwear, and there wasn’t any. And blue jeans or shorts, just one more
each, so that when we play we won’t ruin good clothes. And sneakers. At least, the
others need sneakers. I can still wear mine for a long time. I guess I don’t have
to have a second pair of shorts.”
“Oh dear.”
Dicey pushed the forks around on the table, as if she was still setting it.
“So we’ll have to go shopping tomorrow too,” Cousin Eunice said.
“Thank you,” Dicey said.
“I don’t know how much things for children cost.”
“Neither do I. I’m sorry,” Dicey said. “Maybe I could get work?”