Escape to the World's Fair (4 page)

T
HE RIVER RATS

A
s soon as the
Addie Dauphin
came in, the dock seemed to spring to life. Crews of men strode single file down the gangplanks, carrying crates and bales of straw and cotton. Another team rolled big wooden casks up a ramp to the boat's deck; still more men used ropes and pulleys to haul a load of trunks on board. Jack had been thinking back to New York a lot over the past day, and the dock made him think of the crowded sidewalks of that city—so much hustle back and forth. There was even a group of older boys who loitered by one of the gangplanks, shoving one another jovially the way some of the street-gang kids did back on the Lower East Side.

Jack watched everything, mesmerized, until he felt someone nudge his shoulder.

“Come on, Jack. We've got to get our tickets.” Alexander pointed toward the ticket window, where a line had begun to form.

The boys by the gangplank paused their shoving to stare at Jack and the others as they passed. Jack just nodded, the way Daniel had taught him. As he could see that the boys—there were four of them—were only a year or two older than he was. One of them, who seemed to be about Alexander's age, had an unlit cigar stub clamped between his teeth. His eyes had narrowed suddenly, and Jack realized the boy was squinting at Eli.

Some people aren't going to look too kindly on a black boy traveling with you,
Eli had said when Jack had invited him to leave the Careys' farm with them. Now Jack understood what Eli meant by “some people”—he could see by the look on this strange boy's face that he was one of those.

Jack met the boy's look with a cold and defiant glare, one that he hoped said,
We don't care what you think.

Harold, though, was friendlier. “Ahoy!” he called happily to the boys.

The tallest boy in the group grinned. “Whatever you say, kid.”

The line at the ticket window had gotten longer. Alexander lined up first since he was holding the money for their fare. Frances and Harold stood behind him, followed by Eli and Jack.

They had been waiting only a few minutes when the man at the ticket window caught sight of them. He scowled, then stood up from his seat and leaned out his window.

“Blasted kids!” he barked at them. “What are you doing?”

Jack froze. He glanced over at the others. They hadn't been doing anything—just standing in line.

“This line is for
first-class
transport!” the man shouted. “Not the likes of you urchins.”

The grown-ups ahead of them in line had turned to glare at them. Jack could see that they were certainly dressed first-class—the men in suits and straw boaters, the women in fresh white dresses. Jack looked down at his grubby shirt and dirty fingernails. He and his friends all wore the same things they'd worn for the orphan-train journey, along with a few secondhand items from the Careys, and everything had become dull with dust.

A burly man from the steamboat crew came up next to them. “You heard him,” he said, nodding toward the ticket window. “These folks in line are the
paying
passengers.”

Alexander was indignant. “Is that so?” he snapped. He began to reach for his pocket. “Well it just so happens that
we've
got mo—”

Frances grabbed Alexander's hand, stopping him mid-sentence. Jack realized she was trying to keep him from pulling out the money Zogby had given them. She shot Alexander an insistent look that to anyone else might have seemed flirtatious, but, Jack knew, really meant
be quiet.

“Uh . . .” Alexander said, turning red as Frances kept his hand clasped with hers.

“It just so happens that we've got
no idea
where to board!” Jack said to the burly man. “Is there another line?”

The man pointed toward the end of the dock. “You'll board there, with the rest of the river rats.”

He was pointing toward the gangplank where the four older boys waited. Jack realized just then that the rough boys' clothes were at least as worn and dirty as his own—if not more so. To the man, Jack and his friends probably looked just like those boys.

“‘River rats'?” Alexander repeated.

“That's what we call you charity cases,” the man replied.

Jack's mind raced.
Charity cases—
that must mean those boys were riding for no charge.

“Thank you, sir,” Jack told the man. He stepped out of the line and motioned for the others to follow him as he walked down the dock.

“What's going on?” Eli whispered.

“He thinks we're with those other boys and says we should get on the boat with them.”

“But Zogby gave us money for first-class tickets,” Alexander said.

“Which we can
keep
now!” Frances pointed out. “Who knows when we'll need it?”

“Exactly,” Alexander said, even though Jack was pretty sure it was Frances's idea to hold on to the money in the first place.

“Right,” Frances muttered, letting go of Alexander's hand.
“Exactly.”

“Can we use the money to buy ice cream at the Fair?” Harold asked.

“Shh!” Frances scolded. “We have to stop talking about the money!”

They were close to the gangplank now, where the four rough boys stood and watched them warily.

One of the boys smirked. “Glad you 'cided to join us,” he drawled. He had an accent a little like Eli's, only with more twang in the way he said his
a
's. Next to him was the tallest boy, who grinned, showing two missing teeth in front. The second tallest boy shrugged and spat, and the fourth one—the boy with the unlit cigar—wouldn't even look at Jack, choosing to stare off into the distance.

Whatever the boy was looking at must have gotten his attention because suddenly his eyes widened. He spat out his cigar and tucked it in his pocket. The other three boys began to appear anxious as well, shuffling their feet and fidgeting. It seemed to Jack that there was someone nearby who was making them uncomfortable.

He turned and saw a man strolling along the dock. A wealthy man, Jack guessed, from the way his suit looked as freshly pressed and crisp as a new handkerchief. His black hair was parted so precisely down the center of his head it was almost painted on, and he had a trim black and silver beard that tapered to a point below his chin. He walked much more slowly than anyone else on the dock, but all the deckhands and crew made a point to stay out of his way.

He smiled at the boys by the gangplank as he passed. A satisfied smile, it seemed to Jack—the kind of smile that he'd seen on folks like the Pratcherds whenever a kid got in trouble at the ranch in Kansas.

“Who's that fellow?” Alexander whispered.

“I don't know,” Jack replied. “But I don't like the looks of him.”

“Neither do I,” said Frances, as she pulled Harold closer to her.

The five of them stood and watched the bearded man walk all the way to the ticket office. Then a long, low whistle sounded, and Jack turned back to see the older boys making their way across the gangplank ramp to board the boat.

“We'd better go,” Frances said. She took Harold's hand and led him onto the ramp. Eli followed, and Alexander stepped onto the gangplank after him. Jack meant to as well, but he found himself hesitating, one foot still on the dock.

He looked up at Alexander. “It's funny—it was my idea that we should all go to St. Louis, but now that we're getting on a boat it seems . . . so . . .”

“So final?” Alexander finished.

“Like we're leaving everything else behind. And everyone. All our friends.” He thought about the kids who had stayed with the Careys and thought even harder about the ones who they couldn't rescue from the Pratcherds back in Kansas. “It's like we're leaving them behind once and for all.”

Alexander tugged Jack's sleeve. “Come on. I don't want to forget our friends either, but you have to start focusing on what's ahead. We haven't left everyone behind—haven't we got Eli with us now?”

Jack nodded. He checked his pocket to make sure the medallion Zogby had given them was still there. Then he started to follow Alexander across the gangplank, which felt unsteady and strange under his feet. The only thing he could do now was keep going.

“And one of these days,” Alexander added, “we'll get someplace where we can build Wanderville again.”

A bell began to clang, followed by another low whistle, and the boys hurried the rest of the way onto the boat.

Jack took his first step onto the steamboat
.
He wished the deck felt more like solid ground so that he could feel sure of something. But he didn't feel sure at all.

T
HE LOWER DECK

“W
here do we go now, Frannie?” Harold asked once they were aboard the
Addie Dauphin
.

Frances had no idea. She had thought they could follow the older boys, but by the time she'd reached the deck she'd lost track of them.

She and Eli and Harold were on the lowest deck of the steamboat, next to a flight of stairs. Looking up the stairs, Frances could see fancy woodwork in the ceiling, as well as glimpses of the finely dressed passengers gathering up there.

“I reckon they wouldn't let me go up to the higher decks,” Eli said warily.

Frances knew that there were places where Eli wasn't allowed just because of his skin color, but this was the first time they'd come across one. “Then we'll just stay down here,” she declared. She wasn't going to go anyplace he couldn't.

A few moments later Jack and Alexander had come on board and joined them. Frances turned to grab Harold's hand so that they could all find a place to sit, but he had wandered over to a row of cotton bales in one of the cargo holds.

“These look like big pillows!” he said, scrambling to the top of one of the bales. He flopped over to lie down. “Ow!”

“Get down from there, Harold!” Frances sighed. Alexander reached over and grabbed the boy's belt to help him climb down.

“This one isn't soft at all,” Harold complained. “I flopped down on it and it's hard underneath! Like a big box under there!”

Just then Frances felt a big hand on her shoulder. She whirled around and found herself looking up into the face of the burly man they'd seen on the dock.

“This is no playground,” he hissed. “Keep that kid away from this cotton. And stay over there by the luggage hold!” He pointed to an area of the lower deck where dozens of trunks were strewn and stacked. “There's benches over there.”

Frances stammered a quick thank-you, and she led her four friends to the luggage hold.

It was dim among all the trunks, so it took a moment to make out the four other figures who sat slumped on the rough wooden benches. But Frances knew they had to be the boys they'd seen on the dock.

The tallest boy spoke up. “Well, if it ain't Queenie and her royal court.”

Frances just rolled her eyes. “My name's Frances.”

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty,” the second-tallest boy replied.

Frances knew better than to respond to that. She and Harold sat down in the corner farthest from the older boys, and she set her face in the
I don't care
look that she used to wear whenever she rode the Avenue B Line. Jack and Alexander and Eli pulled up another bench facing Frances and Harold.

“Are they bothering you?” Alexander whispered.

“No,” Frances whispered back, and it was the truth. “It's fine.”

But that didn't seem to settle Alexander. “Well . . . I'll—I mean,
we'll
—make sure they leave you alone if they bother you.”

Frances wondered why Alexander was acting like some kind of noble prince all of a sudden. “Just ignore them, all right? I'm pretty sure they're ignoring us.”

She could see over Alexander's shoulders that the older boys had turned their backs. Two of them seemed to be brothers—the tallest boy and a boy who looked like him except his blond hair was darker. The boy who'd had the cigar in his mouth wore a cap with the brim pushed way back. And the second-tallest boy was barefoot, and the legs of his trousers didn't match because they'd been made from two different worn-out pairs. At first Frances had thought that these boys were hoboes, but there was something about the way they slouched in the dim cargo hold that made her think otherwise. She knew hoboes chose to live the way they did—but with these boys, she wasn't so sure they'd had a choice.

Frances could hear more bells now, ringing from the upper deck, and as the whistle sounded an extralong call, the great steamboat began to move. It chugged slower than a locomotive, and even slower still than Mr. Zogby's automobile. After all that had happened that day, Frances was finally beginning to relax. Harold leaned against her with a soft sigh, too. Everyone seemed to be calmed by the gentle huffing of the great boat's engine.

Everyone, it seemed, except for Eli. He rose from the bench and pulled aside one of the luggage trunks so that he could stand by the deck rail and look out across the water.

• • •

Eli didn't say anything at first when Jack came over to stand by him. Together they watched the riverbank go by and the town of Hannibal slip farther away. Jack noticed Eli was holding his mouth tight and biting his lip. Like he was thinking hard about something.

“Eli?” he asked.

But his friend didn't answer.

Jack tried again. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Eli muttered, but Jack could tell it was
something.
Frances and the others must have, too, because she and Harold got up from their bench and came over, followed by Alexander. Eli nodded at them in greeting. “Just not sure if I should've left home.”

“You mean because of your pa?” Jack asked. He knew that even after everything Eli had been through with his father, it was still hard to say goodbye when they'd left the Careys' farm.

Eli took a deep breath. “My ma would have wanted me to stay with him. I was all he had after she died.”

Jack nodded. Hearing Eli talk about these things always reminded him of his own family. Jack had been sent west to avoid a fate like his brother's, but maybe it would have been better if he'd stayed for his mother's sake. Even if it meant putting up with his own father, who was a lot like Eli's.

He put his hand on Eli's shoulder, and Frances did, too.

After a long silence, it was Harold who finally spoke in a small, soft voice.

“I was sad too when we were at the orphan home,” he said. “Because it meant me and Frances didn't have anyone else, or a home, or anything. But now we have Wanderville sometimes.” His voice began to get louder and stronger. “Maybe we can have Wanderville right here, so Eli can feel better!”

“Here?” Frances sounded wary. “Here on the
boat
?”

“We're not going to be on the boat very long,” Jack said, even though he could see that the idea of rebuilding Wanderville was making Eli smile.
But still . . .
“I doubt we'd have time to build—”

“Why not?” Alexander replied. “Wanderville can be anywhere we want it to be, right? Even on a steamboat.”

Harold marched over behind one of the benches and found a spot between two big trunks. “This is the hotel where we can stay. It doesn't even cost anything.”

Eli grinned and went to lie down on one of the benches. “Everyone gets their own big bed . . .”

“. . . with three pillows,” Alexander finished.

Jack started laughing. “What do we do with
three
pillows?”

“One's for sleeping. Two are for throwing!” Frances laughed.

“No, the other two are for your feet,” Eli put in. “Haven't you ever had your foot fall asleep?”

By now Harold was standing on one of the benches. “Wanderville has the best bakery!” he called. “Hot buttered rolls, three for a penny!”

“That sounds delicious,” Frances said. “What about pie?”

“
Strawberry
pie,” Jack added. They'd had some at the Careys' once and it was one of the best things he'd ever tasted. “Only a penny for the whole thing. And nobody ever kicks you out of the shop for looking in the cases.”

“Here we come!” Harold yelled, hopping over to another bench with Eli close behind.

But just then the four older boys stood up and glared from their corner. They pulled three of the benches closer to them so Harold and Eli couldn't use them.

“Aw!” Harold complained. “You're messing everything up!”

“Is that right?” the boy with the patchwork trousers replied. “Just what do you think you're doing in our place?”

“This isn't just
your
place,” Alexander muttered.

Jack and Eli stood behind him, keeping an eye on the older boys, who had started to step forward.

The roughest-looking one, who Jack thought of as Cigar Kid, seemed to be sizing up Jack and Eli and Alexander. “Well, we're here, and we're not going anywhere,” he said.

“And we want to know what this crazy kid is talking about,” the tallest boy replied, pointing to Harold.

“That's my little brother!” Frances shot back.

The tall kid's brother grinned. “And who are
you,
Queenie?”

Frances smirked and crossed her arms defiantly. “I think you answered that question yourself.”

Alexander was defiant, too, Jack noticed, but in a way that seemed much more dangerous. His mouth was tight as he stared down all four of the boys.

“Why don't you go jump in the river?” he growled.

Cigar Kid stepped closer. “How about we PUSH you in?” He shoved Alexander. Hard.

Alexander stumbled back a few steps, then squared his shoulders and slammed the boy back.

“
Fight!
” one of the other boys jeered. “Get 'im, Dutch!”

Cigar Kid swung at Alexander, hitting him in the side, but Alexander jabbed an elbow back. Then the barefoot boy stepped up and grabbed Alexander's shirt, pulling him off balance, and Alexander swung at him, and the tall boy, too.

“Hey,” Frances said, her voice warning.

“Alex—” Jack called. Alexander was tall and wiry, but he was nuts to try to fight all these boys. Jack felt his hands clench into fists, but he didn't even know where to begin swinging.

Suddenly the tall boy swept his foot out and tripped Alexander, who fell back with a thud.

“
Fight
!” the boys shrieked again.

“Hey!” Frances said. “That's enough.”

The boy who was called Dutch tossed his cigar aside, then leapt down and planted his knee right on Alexander's chest. His fists were raised and pulled back. Alexander coughed and sputtered, but his fists were aimed, too.

Oh no,
thought Jack.
It's about to get really bad.

“HEY!” Frances shouted. “I said that's enough!” She barreled forward and shoved Dutch over, then she smacked Alexander's arm. “
Quit it!
” she screamed. “Quit it already! Both of you!
All
of you! DO YOU WANT TO GET THROWN OFF THE BOAT?!”