Homecoming (10 page)

Sammy dug wells for the water to run into. Maybeth arranged shells and water-polished
stones into an intricate design. James skimmed rocks out over the water.

“We’ll get going again tomorrow,” Dicey said.

“I’m not sure, Dicey,” James protested. “I don’t think I should, yet.” Dicey looked
at him. He looked like he meant what he said.

“We could stay here,” Sammy added. “It’s okay here.”

Dicey sat down beside the fire, her knees drawn up under her chin, poking at the blaze
with a long stick and thinking. They had to go. But what if James wasn’t better and
it hurt him? Should she wait another day?

Louis and Edie came up silently behind her and surprised her with some chords on the
autoharp. Dicey welcomed the music, but she had wanted to avoid any further contact
with them.

Edie played and sang. Louis took Maybeth by the hand and led her in a galloping dance
up and down the beach. Sammy trailed them in a jig of his own, while James clapped
time energetically. Dicey watched him—some brother! He was no more sick than she was.
They were leaving tomorrow, if she had to drag them out of the park herself.

The dance over, they all relaxed around the fire while Edie continued to sing. Louis
held Maybeth at his side. Sammy curled up against Dicey. The sky turned black velvet.
Deep satin water curled against the sand.

“We gotta go to sleep,” Dicey said, after a while.

“Don’t go yet, Danny,” Edie said, putting down the autoharp. “I don’t know when I’ve
had a better time.”

Dicey stood up and dusted sand from her fanny. Barely awake, Sammy waited beside her.
James stayed seated, his eyes reproachful.

“Maybeth?” Dicey spoke gently.

Maybeth came over.

“Goodnight, honey,” Louis said.

Maybeth didn’t answer.

“Doesn’t she ever say anything?” Louis asked.

“Sure. Sometimes.”

“Wait,” Edie said, “we’ll come with you.”

They climbed up the steep path. At the top of the hill, Dicey turned to say good night,
so they would go away, but Louis was holding on to Edie’s arm and pointing.

Between the trees they saw a bright light that rhythmically flashed red.

“What is it?” Dicey asked.

“Shut up,” Louis said. “Move it, Edie.” They slipped away into the darkness.

He was right, Dicey realized. It was a police car going along the road that ran past
the campsites. She pulled her family into the bushes and told them to lie down.

“It’s a police car,” James said quietly. “Heading toward our camp.”

“I dumped the bag in the trash,” Dicey said.

“That’s where they’ll look,” James said.

“I can’t see what’s going on,” Dicey said. “Lie quiet, everyone.”

Darkness rustled through the trees. Faintly, the water lapped at the shore. Dicey
thought. “We’re going up to the woods past the playground, long way around,” she said.
“We’ll sleep there and get out of here at first morning.”

“But . . . ,” James said.

Dicey felt Maybeth’s small hand on her arm. “But nothing. You’ve been fine all day
today, and you know it. Don’t lie to me, not anymore. I won’t believe you.”

They waited a long time, then began a silent journey across the dark park. They made
a wide circle around their campsite. They saw nothing, they heard nothing, only the
insects and the noise of the wind. Dicey was sure of her direction, but she wasn’t
sure just where they were until she saw the pale emptiness of the playground before
her. They were so tired by then that they just stumbled into the woods beyond and
slept there, slept uneasily.

T
hey awoke in pale, predawn light. Mist lay in patches along the ground. The wet, black
trunks of trees loomed out of the foggy half-light.

“It’s still true,” James said.

It was damp, and their clothes were sodden. Dicey wanted to get moving, right away.
“Ready? Let’s use the bathrooms and then get out of here.”

Dawn gilded the sky when they arrived at the park entrance. The fear, which had stayed
beside them since the night before, retreated at the promise of a bright morning.
The sound of a car motor gave Dicey warning. She drew her family back into the cover
of the woods.

“Why?” James asked.

“Shut
up
,” Dicey whispered fiercely. “Lie down. Lie still. I don’t know, but I don’t want
anyone to see us.”

A police car, followed by another police car, roared along the main road. Both slowed
down and turned onto the dirt road. They stopped, just inside the gates, one behind
the other. Leaving his motor running, a policeman got out of the first car and walked
to the car behind him. His leather boots shone. He wore dark glasses and had a gun
at his belt. He leaned into the window by the driver’s side and unfolded a
map that Dicey recognized as a map of the park. He pointed to parts of it.

Dicey strained to hear what they were saying, but the motors drowned out their voices.

The policeman nodded his head sharply, twice, and strode back to his own car. The
flashing lights on top of the police cars were turned on. The two cars roared down
the road.

“Let’s go,” Dicey said. “On the double.”

They hurried down the road.

“What was it?” James said.

“I don’t know,” Dicey said.

“Were they after us?” James asked.

“I don’t know,” Dicey said.

“Or Louis and Edie,” James said. “Nobody knew we were there. People knew Louis and
Edie were there—they bought food every day.”

“We bought food, too.”

“Only that first day. How long ago was that?”

“I can’t remember. But we did take those lunches.”

“Sammy did that. That wasn’t us.”

Dicey thought aloud: “Louis and Edie are runaways; and maybe more. Anyway, we got
away in time.”

The children walked the long morning through. Conditioned by the earlier hard days,
refreshed by the days at the park, both their muscles and spirits were in good tone.
The road wound south, following the coastline.

At noon, they rested by the roadside, leaning back against one of the low stone fences
that ran all over this countryside.

“I’m hungry,” James said. “Aren’t you?”

“We haven’t passed a store of any kind since that one town,” Dicey answered. “And
no garages.” Then, like a black fist punching at her head, she realized: “My map!
I don’t even
know where we are. How could I forget the map?”

“Should we turn around?” James asked. “That town had a grocery store.”

“That was miles back. Besides, you might as well know. We don’t have much money left,
just twenty-six cents. I was going to try to get work at the store by the park, but
I was afraid we’d get too conspicuous when we had to stay. So now, we have to keep
going,” Dicey said. “We’ve seen railroad tracks, right? That means there must be more
towns ahead.”

“But what’ll we eat?” James asked.

“For now, nothing. We can’t. We’ll just have to keep going and see what happens. If
I had my map I could see where the water is and we could fish or clam or find mussels.
I need a map.”

They were tired when they stood up, more tired than when they had sat down. The folds
of the hills and the symmetry of the trees no longer had the power to please them.
They walked more slowly than before. The feeling that she did not know what to expect,
or when to expect it, made Dicey jumpy.

In an hour they passed a sign marking the limits of a town called Sound View. Dicey
felt better. Soon the houses sat closer together and the welcome sight of a small
shopping center placed on two sides of a crossroads greeted them. Shopping centers
on this road were quite different from those on Route 1. These were small, fancier.
They had no huge parking lots, just a row of parking places right up against the sidewalk.
Instead of large glass windows plastered with sale signs, these stores had small panes,
like house windows. Everything looked clean.

Dicey instructed the other three to stay where they were, while she crossed the street
and went into a Texaco station. The office was occupied by one man with a fringe of
hair around his shiny head who was dozing with his feet up on a wooden desk. He snored
gently.

His head snapped up as Dicey closed the door loudly. His blue eyes studied her. “What
can I do for you?”

“I’d like a map, please, of Connecticut.”

He pulled out a drawer and selected one map from several file folders there. “That’ll
be fifty cents,” he said.

“But I don’t have any money,” Dicey said.

“Okay,” he said. He replaced the map in its folder, closed the drawer, and once again
raised his feet to the top of the desk.

“I have to have a map,” Dicey said.

“Paper’s expensive, kid. We don’t give maps away anymore.”

“Who does?”

“Nobody.” He closed his eyes.

Dicey stood, chewing on her lip. Money, money, money, always money. And she couldn’t
get into the drawer, find the right map, and get out the door—not fast enough to make
it. “Mister?” He opened his eyes. “I really want one.”

“That’s tough on you, kid. I’m sorry.”

“Could I work for one?”

“Doing what?”

“I dunno. There must be some chore—something. Sweeping? Washing? Are the bathrooms
clean?”

“My bathrooms are always sparkling clean,” he said. He closed his eyes. Dicey stood
thinking. She wondered if she could pump gas. It didn’t look hard.

“That window,” the man said. The office had a large plate glass window that faced
the pumps and the street. “That window needs washing. You know how to use a squeegee?”

Dicey didn’t even know what a squeegee was. “Sure,” she said.

“I didn’t get to it yesterday,” the man said, lumbering into a closet and pulling
out a bucket, a rag and a long-armed utensil that had to be the squeegee.

“Inside and out,” he said.

Dicey nodded.

“All over and no streaks.”

Dicey nodded. If he would just let her get to work on it.

“I’ll give you the map and a quarter too. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

Dicey began on the outside of the window. She signaled her family to wait, and James
nodded to show he understood. The three sat down on the curb, facing Dicey. Dicey
filled the bucket, added some cleanser from a bottle she found in it, sloshed the
mixture together and began spreading the water over the window. She did it in four
sections, wetting the glass, pulling the squeegee down over it firmly, squeezing the
squeegee out and repeating the last step twice. The glass gleamed. Then she went inside
and did the same thing. A few cars pulled in, were filled with gas and pulled out
again. Every time a car pulled away, Dicey looked to be sure her three were still
there.

She finished, emptied the bucket and put it away. The man came in from filling a car.
He handed her a map and a quarter. “You got an audience,” he said.

“They’re friends.”

“Well, that’s a good job. If you’re around later in the week . . . ”

“Thanks, mister,” Dicey said.

“You earned it, kid.”

Dicey returned to her family, the map in her hand.

“You were hours,” James said. “I’m so hungry my stomach hurts.”

“The map cost fifty cents. So I washed the window. And got a quarter more, too.”

“Let’s eat,” Sammy said.

They walked along the front of the first section of the shopping center, but saw only
a restaurant and some clothing stores.
They crossed the street and entered a small market filled with specialty goods, delicatessen
items and huge, fancy pieces of fruit. Everything on the shelves cost much more than
fifty-one cents. The people who worked in the store stared at the Tillermans suspiciously,
and Dicey hurried them out.

“But I want to eat,” Sammy protested. “I’ll die if I don’t eat.”

Dicey pulled him firmly out the door. “Hush up—you don’t know what people will think,”
she whispered fiercely in his ear. He snuffled. “Look, you won’t die, not in one day.
Starvation takes days and days.”

A small bakery, its windows filled with decorated cakes and layered pastries, also
did business in the second part of the shopping center. Dicey would not let them linger
before its windows, but she sat them down around her on the curb just beyond it. Their
knees were up against the fenders of a blue Cadillac car.

“Okay,” Dicey said. “We’ve got to do this smart.”

“What do you mean?” asked James.

“We’ve only got fifty-one cents, and around here that won’t buy enough to feed even
one of us. This is a ritzy area. So—we want some bakery goods, because they’re cheapest,
but not at full price. So, we’ve got to make that lady in there feel like giving us
a lot for our money. So, we’ve got to make her feel sorry for us.”

James nodded.

“I’ll go tell her how hungry I am,” Sammy volunteered.

“No, you won’t and have her start asking questions.” Dicey snapped. Her own stomach
was taut within her, and she was having trouble thinking well. “It’s got to be done
right. By the right person.”

“That’s you, isn’t it?” James asked.

“Not this time, it isn’t. Nor you, either. People don’t take to us the right way,
not at first. Maybeth would be the best one.”

Maybeth shook her head mutely. Her eyes grew large and stared at Dicey.

“I know.” Dicey sighed. “So Sammy, it’s you, after all.”

“Good-o,” Sammy said. “Give me the money.”

“Not so fast. If she asks you, we’re staying in a summer house—where?” Dicey searched
her memory. “In Old Lyme and we went for a walk and got lost, and there’s nobody home
this afternoon to come and get us in the car. Do you have that? And we’re hungry.
That’s if she asks you.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“We need enough food for lunch, and maybe dinner too. For just fifty-one cents. So,
unless she’ll give you two loaves of bread for it, sort of hem and haw. Say that’s
too much. Tell her you’ve only got fifty-one cents. Ask her if this road will get
us home. Be sort of brave and pitiful—do you know what I mean, Sammy? But whatever
happens, don’t tell her the truth.”