“And what’re you gonna do in Bluefield?” Woodrow wanted to know.
Again Joseph ignored the question. Nobody said anything for a spell, and Woodrow certainly could not put up with that.
“Let me tell you about
my
mama,” he blurted out, emphasizing
my
like it was the most important word in his sentence. “She just disappeared.”
He crossed his arms, looked at Joseph, and waited for the inevitable reaction. He was not disappointed.
“Whadda ya mean?” Joseph said, perking up all over.
“Well, me and my daddy, we got up one morning and she was gone. That’s all. Nobody’s seen her since.”
“But you don’t mean like
poof
!” Joseph said, snapping his fingers. “And she vanished into thin air?”
“Prob’ly not, but we didn’t see her go,” Woodrow said. “So we don’t know what happened.”
Then Woodrow abbreviated the story about his mother for Joseph, added the New Year’s Eve phone call, and told him what we were planning to do in Bluefield.
“No foolin’?” Joseph said, and you could tell he was immediately sucked into the Belle Prater mystery, just like everybody else.
“Here’s a picture of her,” Woodrow said and drew the snapshot from his pocket. Joseph looked at it and handed it back without commenting.
“Wanna come along and help?” Woodrow asked Joseph hopefully.
“I reckon so” was Joseph’s surprising reply.
And the Belle Prater search team grew to four.
The
sky had darkened by the time we got to Bluefield. Pap removed suitcases from the luggage bin under the bus, and Cassie answered the passengers’ questions as they disembarked. Woodrow, Joseph, and I stood outside the door, waiting for her to finish up.
As the toothless man passed he said, “Now, you young’uns don’t forget to read the signs!”
We assured him we would not forget, and he struck off walking down the street.
The Lucky brats appeared and paused beside Woodrow, while their mama barged on, still lost in her own world.
“That’s right, I promised somebody a nickel, didn’t I?” Woodrow said.
The children were all eyes as Woodrow rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He was always proud to show off how much money he
had these days. Before coming to live with Granny and Grandpa, he never had two nickels to rub together.
“It was nearabout impossible to tell who was the best,” Woodrow said, as he plucked three nickels from the change. “So I’ve got one for everybody, how’s that?”
The children grinned as they took their nickels and ran to catch up with their mama.
Woodrow turned to Joseph. “Don’t you have to be somewhere at a certain time?”
“Don’t worry ’bout it,” Joseph mumbled. “I got time to help you look for your mama.”
Cassie kissed Pap goodbye, and said to us, “Let’s fly.”
Taking our cue from Cassie, we all acted like we had wings. Chirping and flapping our arms, we swooped down on Bluefield and landed on a corner, where we stopped and looked around.
It was a pleasant, cozy town with sidewalks running along in front of neatly painted houses, and big old oak trees growing beside paved streets. It seemed like a place you could snuggle up in.
On the next block there was a homey eatery with a red-and-white-striped awning over the entrance. The front window was filled with cute baskets of fruit, and on the glass were the words JILL’S CAFÉ.
“Let’s go in here and get something to eat first of all,” Woodrow said. “It’s nearly lunchtime, and I’m starved.”
Woodrow was always starved. Grandpa said he had hollow legs.
When we started to go in, Joseph said, “I’ll just wait out here.”
“What for?” Woodrow said.
Joseph pointed to a sign: WHITE ONLY.
“We’ll find another place,” I said quickly.
“They’re all alike,” Cassie said. “Gypsy, let’s you and me go in and get everybody’s food and bring it out here.”
“Yeah, and I’ll stay with Joseph,” Woodrow said.
Nobody mentioned that it was too cold to eat outside, but that hateful sign left us no choice.
“You can get me a hot dog and some pop in a cup,” Joseph said to me, and handed me a quarter.
“Same for me,” Woodrow said, and gave me a quarter as well.
So Cassie and I went in together, placed the orders, then carried them outside. Woodrow and Joseph had found a bench at a bus stop, and we huddled together with our food, girls in the middle and a boy at each end of the bench.
For a while we were too busy eating to talk. Before long, over the noisy smacking of our lips, we heard Woodrow say, “Joseph, you workin’ for the FBI?”
“No!” Joseph replied with a laugh. “Why’d you ask me that?”
“I thought maybe that’s why you can’t tell us what you’re doing here,” Woodrow said. “Maybe it’s top secret.”
“Woodrow!” I snapped at him. “Maybe it’s personal!”
“No, it’s okay,” Joseph said with a big sigh. He must have figured Woodrow was not going to let up. And he was right. “You see …”
Joseph studied his fingernails like he saw something interesting there. He picked a piece of lint off his jacket and stared across the street at a house where a refrigerator was being delivered. I knew he was searching for the right words. Even Woodrow managed not to hurry him.
Joseph tried again. “You see … my daddy …”
He stalled again.
“Your daddy’s dead, right?” I tried to help him.
“Not exactly,” Joseph said.
“
Not exactly
means he’s alive, right?” Cassie said.
“Mama always told us we should think of him as dead, but he’s not really,” Joseph said.
“Is he in a coma?” Woodrow said.
“No, he’s not in a coma!” Joseph said, and laughed again. “Woodrow, you really are a nut, you know that?” Then he went on quickly, running all his words together, “MydaddydisappearedtooonlyitwaswhenIwasababy. HedesertedMamaandmeandEthan.”
Silently we unscrambled his words and absorbed them.
“And you still don’t know where he’s at?” Cassie said at last.
“I didn’t for a long time, but two Christmases ago, he sent me this coat, and Ethan a watch. It was the first and last time we heard from him in all those years.”
Joseph put his hand into the pocket of his coat and brought out a tiny brown scrap of paper. He sat there staring at it.
“Mama let us keep the presents, but she threw away the package, because his address was on it. Later I dug it out of the trash, and tore away this corner where the address was printed. I’ve been carrying it around ever since.”
“Did you write him?” I said.
“I wrote about twenty letters,” Joseph said. “But I tore them all up. Never mailed a one. I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Cassie said. “He’s your daddy, ain’t he?”
“Yeah, but what if …” Joseph started and stopped.
“I know how you feel,” Woodrow interjected. “After all, he deserted you.”
“Yeah, but then he sent the Christmas package with this address on it, like he was trying to reach out.”
“The same with Mama’s anonymous phone call,” Woodrow said. “You just don’t know what to think, do you?”
We were each inside our own thoughts as we finished eating in silence.
“So what’s the address?” Cassie asked after a while. She reached for the scrap of paper in Joseph’s hand and read aloud, “One-eleven Appalachian Street, Bluefield, West Virginia.”
For a split second I guess I absorbed some of Cassie’s talent for seeing into the future, because I knew what she was going to say next.
“I know exactly where that’s at, Joseph. It’s on the other side of town, but this is a small town, so it’s not far.”
“Well, let’s go! Let’s go!” Woodrow cried, jumping to his feet. “We gotta get started. Now we got two people to find.”
We left the bench and headed in the direction of Appalachian Street, agreeing to ask people about Aunt Belle along the way, and show her picture. Joseph suggested we take our time and do a thorough search. He wanted to tag along with us and shore up his confidence before going to his daddy’s door. He was nervous.
“I don’t know what scares me most—finding him and him telling me to go away, or not finding him at all.”
I was proud that he now felt comfortable enough to confide in us.
“What are you going to do if he’s not there?” Woodrow asked.
Joseph shrugged and tried to be nonchalant. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll prob’ly strike out for California to find Ethan.”
Nobody said what they thought of that plan.
“I know,” Joseph said after a few moments. His shoulders slumped. “It’s stupid.”
“Have you thought of calling your daddy?” Woodrow said.
“Yeah, I tried to get his number from Information,” Joseph said. “But they didn’t have it. Maybe he’s got no phone.”
“Or maybe he’s not here anymore,” Cassie said.
“Yeah, thanks, Cassie,” Joseph said glumly.
“Sorry,” Cassie mumbled.
We soon found ourselves in the midst of a congested business district for the next several blocks, and a lot of people were in the streets.
The first place we stopped was at a movie theater.
The Country Girl
, with Grace Kelly, was playing. We showed the ticket seller Aunt Belle’s picture and asked if she had seen this lady. No luck. Next we went to a department store, then a grocery store, a drugstore, a couple of cafés, a post office, a bank, and more stores, but the only thing we learned was that most people couldn’t care less. Some of them were rude to Joseph, and he started waiting outside for us when we went into a place. We felt bad about that, so Cassie and I took turns waiting with him.
Then came the freezing rain, so that we were not only cold but wet on top of it. You can’t get more uncomfortable
than that, and being in a strange town somehow made it worse. Tomorrow, I thought, with a feeling I imagined to be homesickness, I can spend the whole day curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, reading Nancy Drew, with Mama and Porter close by.
My eyes fell on Joseph’s thirteen-year-old face, which was old with worry. If he didn’t find his daddy, what would he be doing tomorrow? Where would he go? He had no family near, and no one he could call for help.
If a white boy was in a strange town in Joseph’s predicament, he could go to the police and they would help him. But a black boy? Well, they were liable to throw him in the jailhouse, or something worse.
“I didn’t know how hard it would be,” Woodrow admitted sadly, as we were taking shelter under an overhanging storefront. “And I didn’t count on this weather.”
“Let’s go directly to Appalachian Street,” I suggested. I started to add, “Then we can return to the bus station,” but decided against it.
“Okay,” Woodrow agreed. “Maybe the rain will let up and we can do some more searching later.”
I was thinking how nice it would be if we were invited inside at the Appalachian Street address to warm up and dry out. We left our shelter, with Cassie leading the way and Joseph beside her on the sidewalk. Woodrow and I followed.
“Don’t you think it’s strange,” Woodrow said to me,
“that we should run into a boy who is also looking for one of his parents today, just like I am?”
“I guess so.”
“I think it’s a sign. Don’t you think it’s funny how that old man kept talking about signs?”
“It was hilarious,” I said.
“No, I don’t mean funny ha-ha. I mean odd.”
“And how’s that?”
“He kept saying, ‘Read the signs!’”
“He was repetitious all right.”
In front of us Cassie and Joseph stopped at a corner. Uh-oh, another sign. This one read Appalachian Street. Joseph seemed nailed to the sidewalk, but Cassie forged ahead, searching house numbers.
“Here it is!” she called from a few houses down. “One-eleven. And it says
Lincoln
on the mailbox.”
It
was a small green house with white shutters. There was a wide wooden porch, and the front door was in the center with a window on each side. You could see the glow of a lamp through lace curtains.
“Go on,” Woodrow encouraged Joseph. “If anything goes wrong, well … we’ll be waiting ri’ cheer.”
Joseph crossed the patch of yard to the front steps. When he glanced over his shoulder, we could not read his face. Then he abruptly made a U-turn and came back to where we stood.
“I’m scared,” he said. “What if he don’t want to see me? What if he’s mean?”
“Why don’t we all go to the door and ask for directions?” I said. “We can say we are lost and we have to find our way to the bus station.”
“That’s good,” Woodrow agreed.
“So we get directions, then what?” Cassie said.
“We say how cold we are,” Woodrow said.
“And maybe somebody will invite us in to get warm?” I said hopefully.
“Maybe so,” Joseph said. “Then what?”
But nobody had an answer for him.
“Joseph, you do the talking,” Woodrow said. “Whoever answers the door may be suspicious of English walnuts.”
We all followed Joseph across the yard and up the steps. As we reached the door, it opened. A very tiny gray-headed black woman, dressed in a neat blue housedress, peeped around the door. Not one of us had ever seen a midget before, not face-to-face anyhow, but there she was.
“What’n the world can I do for you?” she chirped in a nasal and childlike voice.
Joseph could do nothing but stare at the little woman. He was tongue-tied. It was plain he was going to be worthless in this project, and much to my surprise, Woodrow was not faring any better.
“We’re lost,” I spoke up. “Maybe you can help us out?”
The woman’s eyes flitted from Joseph to me, back to Joseph, then to me again before she spoke. “Like the old song goes, ‘I once was lost, but now I’m found.’ What’re you looking for?”
“I’m so-ooo cold!” Cassie suddenly blurted out, as she wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s freezing’ out here.”
The wee lady looked at her and Woodrow then, paused for only a moment, and without a word stood aside and held the door open for us. Cassie, Woodrow, and I had to squeeze past Joseph to get in, for he was still in a state of shock and had not moved. Only when he was left standing there alone did he come to his senses.
“Much obliged,” he mumbled, and entered the house behind us.
Just like the woman, the room was tiny but very warm and inviting. At one glance my eyes took in the lace curtains, a cozy overstuffed sofa and armchair to match, bookcases lining one wall, and best of all, a fireplace roaring with flames.
“This feels good,” Cassie said, rubbing her hands together before the blaze.
Woodrow, Joseph, and I joined her.
The woman closed the door and stood against it. I figured she did not know what to make of us, but the feeling was mutual.
“This is real nice of you,” I said. “We’re awful cold.”
Her eyes rested on me, but she still said nothing. I realized that with my shoes and pants splashed with mud, and my hair dripping into my eyes, I was just one of the gang. Joseph, in his fine Scottish coat, was the one who might be considered overdressed now.
Cassie introduced herself.
“And I am
Miz
Lincoln, as my students used to say. I’m a retired teacher.”
She emphasized the word
Miz.
That’s what all kids called their teachers. And there was that name Lincoln. Joseph’s expression was unreadable, but he could not take his eyes off her.
Woodrow and I said our names, then everybody turned to Joseph.
“Jo … Joseph,” he said.
“No last name?” Miz Lincoln said.
“Just Joseph,” he repeated softly.
Miz Lincoln studied his face curiously.
“How’s about some hot tea?” she said to him.
“Oh yes, ma’am, we’d like that,” Joseph answered.
“Then y’all sit down, and I’ll start the water to boil.”
With those words, she left the room.
“Wow, a real honest-to-God midget!” Woodrow whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, and turned to Joseph. “Who do you reckon she is?”
Joseph just shook his head and looked into the fire.
Miz Lincoln reentered the room, carrying a tray that held a creamer, a sugar bowl, a dish of sliced lemons, cups, and spoons. Shortly we were all settled on a rug before the fire, sipping our tea. Our coats were in a pile by the hearth, except for Joseph’s. He had insisted on keeping his on.
Miz Lincoln was sitting on the sofa, her small slippered feet dangling, her arms crossed over her chest, quietly observing us.
“Uh … ’scuse me,” Woodrow said politely, “but something’s the matter with my tea.”
We all looked into Woodrow’s cup, and sure enough it looked funny. There were clouds floating in it.
“Did you put lemon in it?” Miz Lincoln asked him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And did you put milk in it, too?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, there you have it. You’ve clabbered the milk. Lemon and milk don’t mix, my boy.”
“Oh” was all Woodrow said as Miz Lincoln took his cup. You could tell he felt embarrassed.
“One of life’s small lessons for you,” she said kindly. “It’s a thing everybody’s gotta learn sooner or later. Isn’t it nice to get it over with?”
She took Woodrow’s cup into the kitchen, returned with a clean one, and poured a fresh cup of tea for him. He added only milk this time.
Miz Lincoln turned to Joseph. “I’ve been looking at that god-awful coat,” she said. “Where did you buy it?”
I’ll have to say that startled us all good and proper. I thought I saw some temper in Joseph’s eyes, but he answered polite enough, “My daddy bought me this coat.”
“Well, I might look like a clown, but I’m no dummy,”
she said bluntly. “And that’s the ugliest coat ever made. Your daddy’s got no taste. Who might he be anyhow?”
Joseph was completely dumbfounded.
“And where’d you get this team of yours?” she went on, making a sweeping gesture toward me, Woodrow, and Cassie.
“I … I m-met up with them on the way here,” Joseph stammered. “They were f-friendly to me.”
“Where are y’all from?”
“I’m from Asheville, North Carolina,” Joseph said.
“And we’re from Coal Station,” Woodrow said.
But Miz Lincoln seemed not to hear Woodrow.
“I am your Aunt Carlotta, your father’s sister,” she said to Joseph.
“My father’s what?”
At that Miz Lincoln busted out laughing.
“Didn’t anybody ever tell you there was a midget in the family?”
Joseph shook his head slowly.
“I’m adopted,” she explained. “I’m a good bit older than Reeve, and I practically raised him by myself.”
“Reeve?” Joseph repeated the name.
“Yeah, Reeve Lincoln, your old man. I think your mother called him Line. Most folks do.”
“That’s right,” Joseph said. “Where’s he at anyhow?”
“I wish I knew, honeybunch. I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of that scoundrel for almost two years.”