Homecoming (5 page)

“Maybe we can find some on the ground,” James suggested. “If we look.”

“Anyway, we’ve already got dinner for tonight.”

James studied the map. “Where were we yesterday?” he asked. Dicey showed him. “Only
there? We’ll never get to Bridgeport.”

“Yes, we will. We’ve just got to keep moving, that’s all.”

“Why?” James asked.

“Because that’s where Aunt Cilla is,” Dicey said. “And Momma might be there too.”

“What if she’s not there?” James asked.

“She will be,” Sammy said. “Don’t say that. She knows we’re going there.”

“That’s how much you know,” James said.

Sammy attacked James. He hurtled his little body at his brother, using his feet to
kick as fast as his hands pummeled. Dicey pulled him off.

“Cut that out, Sammy. You hear me? Do that again and I’ll whip you for sure.”

Sammy stood, sullen and silent.

Maybeth had watched this. “Momma said to do what Dicey tells us,” she reminded Sammy.

“Anyway, it’s time to go,” Dicey said. She took Sammy’s hand and pulled him, none
too gently, after her. In her other hand she carried the grocery bag that held their
clothes and food.

It was another hot day. The white pavement of Route 1 shimmered in the heat and in
the fumes from gas and oil. The noise of traffic pounded in Dicey’s ears. Her feet
marched beneath her, step, step, step, plodding. As repetitive, as relentless, her
mind marched over the same problems: money, food, distance, where to sleep, Momma:
step, step, step.

They marched, rested, marched, lunched on water and a box of stale doughnuts, walked,
rested, and once again on the final lap, Dicey carried Sammy on her back.

They were more tired at the end of the second day than they had been the day before.
They had spoken little all day. Once again, Dicey led them off Route 1 toward the
water to find a place to sleep. This second night they sheltered in a small stand
of pines, a few yards from the road, and within sight of a big brick house. They couldn’t
risk a fire, so they ate the hot dogs uncooked.

The one bright spot in the day had occurred in the afternoon, when Sammy spied a dime
on the sidewalk outside of the supermarket where Dicey bought the doughnuts. Added
to the two pennies Maybeth and James had picked up earlier, Dicey figured that they
were only twenty-one cents out of pocket for food. That left her with three dollars
and fifty-nine cents. Still enough.

On the morning of the third day, the sky was overcast. James awoke with his usual
observation, “It’s still true.” He was the only one with the energy to speak. The
others were too hungry and thirsty. They assembled themselves quickly to return to
Route 1.

A breakfast of milk and bananas (fifty cents) gave them energy. As they came closer
to New London and the busy Thames River, Route 1 became increasingly cluttered with
restaurants, bars, quick food chains and shopping plazas. Sammy found a quarter on
the roadside.

“I’m tired of doughnuts,” Sammy said, as they approached a supermarket.

“What do you want then?” Dicey asked. “Doughnuts are cheap, that’s why I get them.”

“I want a hamburger and french fries. I want a Coke.”

“Not possible,” Dicey said. “How about peanut butter sandwiches? We could spread the
peanut butter with our fingers. And if I get a whole loaf of bread, we could have
them again for dinner, so that would be okay.”

The younger children agreed without enthusiasm. She found a loaf of bread on sale
for fifteen cents and a jar of peanut butter for seventy-one cents. That totaled eighty-six
cents, for lunch and dinner. That would leave them with two dollars and forty-eight
cents. Still enough?

Dicey didn’t say to herself,
enough for what.
She couldn’t have. Neither could she have said what amount of money would not be
enough.

Before going to the checkout line, Dicey drifted by the meat counter. Hamburger was
expensive. Chicken, on the other hand, wasn’t too expensive, not by the pound. But
would they be able to cook it? She lingered by a package of chicken wings, which,
at twenty-nine cents a pound, held some interest for her. Then she wandered over to
the fruit and vegetable counter and discovered potatoes. Potatoes were cheap. You
could eat all of a potato. If they could just build a fire.

That night it was in an unfinished house in a new development that they slept. Dicey
picked out the house, but would not let them go into it until dark. Until then, they
wandered around the maze of roads in the development, watching the children at evening
play. At last it was dark and Dicey let them return to the half-built house. Only
the joists had been put in for walls, but the rough floors were down. They lay on
plywood. Dicey gave Sammy and Maybeth the extra clothes from the bag to make pillows.
Dicey lay on her back and looked up, past the roof frame to the sky. Low clouds reflected
light from the ground, which blurred softly as she fell asleep.

Fear of being caught woke Dicey before dawn. She knew that construction work began
early in the day. It was one thing to be seen camping in the woods; that might be
kids having a night out with their parents’ permission. But four kids sleeping in
an unfinished house—that would be police business.

She woke them all at the first gray light. “It’s still true,” James said. But he seemed
to expect no response.

After a skimpy breakfast of milk, they started out and soon were crossing the Thames
River on a bridge that arched like a rainbow, high enough to allow huge cargo ships
to travel under it. The river, seen from the height of the bridge, seemed blue and
sparkling clean. They knew better, because they had seen it close up. But the look
of it refreshed Dicey. It reminded her of the sea, and it reminded her that they were
heading for the water.

Sammy, cranky since the time he’d gotten up, had to be dragged away from the railing
of the bridge. He had to be scolded every few steps to keep up. He never answered,
just kept his eyes fixed to the ground. His jaw muscles worked. Dicey ground her teeth
and stamped her feet in anger, still walking.

Step, step, step, on hard concrete sidewalks that made their feet hurt. Stop at the
lights, then start again. Horns blared. Engines roared.

They ate lunch sitting on a bench at a bus stop on Route 1, finishing the bread and
peanut butter, scooping it out with their fingers and licking it off. It was not really
enough for lunch, none of them was satisfied, but Dicey pushed them on, to get out
of the city.

When the smaller, quieter Beach Road turned off of Route 1, she told them to go on
it. Immediately, even though the sky hung low and heavy with moisture, even though
James protested and Maybeth’s eyes glistened, even though Sammy lagged behind
and her voice was hoarse with nagging at him, Dicey felt better. They were heading
toward the water.

At a small supermarket, she purchased two pounds of chicken wings and four potatoes.
Instead of starting right off, she pulled out her map and showed the younger children
where they were. “It’ll be less populated,” she pointed out. “We’ll be able to have
a fire and—”

Rain began to fall, in fat drops that slapped the ground.

Dicey’s heart sank. You couldn’t build a fire outside in the rain. She hoped maybe
the rain would stop, but she didn’t think it would. She had never eaten a raw potato.
She couldn’t imagine eating uncooked chicken. She didn’t know what to do.

So she urged them up and on.

“It’s raining,” Sammy said.

“I know that,” Dicey said.

“It’s like a bath,” James said. “It’ll clean us off.”

“It’s cold,” Sammy said.

“Not that bad,” Dicey answered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sammy said. “And you can’t make me anymore. You can’t.”

Dicey’s patience was at an end. She spoke bitterly. “No I can’t. And maybe I don’t
even want to. You’ve been a pill all day. I’ll tell you what, you don’t think I’ll
leave you, but I will. I’ll be glad to leave you behind.”

“I know.” Sammy’s voice was low. “So go ahead. Go on, because nobody cares about me
except Momma, and Momma will come find me but she won’t find you, so go ahead.”

“All right, I will. Come on, you two.” Dicey stood up and strode off. James followed
hesitantly. Maybeth waited.

“He’s been holding us up all day long,” Dicey called back. “And now he’s doing it
again. It’s not fair to the rest of us.”

She saw Sammy bend over and pick up something. She saw
Maybeth go back to Sammy and hold out her hand to the little boy. Sammy put his hand
in hers and came trudging after.

Dicey walked ahead of the others through a rain that resolved itself into drifting
mist. It was gray, cool, chilling. She clutched a grocery bag in each hand and then,
as the brown paper grew sodden, under each arm. She didn’t allow an afternoon rest,
just kept moving ahead.

They came to marshlands, tall grasses and cattails, shadowy in the gray afternoon.
They passed bigger houses that had larger lawns. Then Dicey saw water on the right,
a large inland pond. You couldn’t sleep near it though; it was surrounded by sharp-edged
marsh grass that grew only on muddy ground. However, opposite it a sign pointed to
a dirt road running off into sparse, piney woods.
PUBLIC BEACH
, the sign said.

Dicey turned and waited for the others to catch up with her. Rain had plastered their
hair down over their foreheads. Beads of moisture hung from their eyelashes, and their
faces glimmered with water.

“Let’s go there,” she said.

“How far is it?” James asked.

“I don’t know,” Dicey answered. “But it’s sure to be deserted, isn’t it?”

The growth of pines was not thick enough to do more than interfere with the rain,
and the needle-carpeted ground underfoot was damp. Their feet squished in their sneakers.

The beach at the end of this road was backed by low, rolling dunes, which flattened
out to a narrow belt of sand before giving way to the placid gray water. The four
children stood atop the dunes and looked down over the empty sand. Three picnic shelters
had been erected for the pleasure of the people of Noank, three open-sided structures
with shingled roofs, tables, and in each shelter a stone fireplace for cooking.

“It’s going to be all right here,” Dicey said softly.

“Look,” Sammy said, coming up beside her. “Look what I found, all together. Somebody
must have had a hole in their pocket.” He held out a little square hand to show Dicey
a cluster of pennies and nickels.

“Good for you, Sammy,” she said. Her relief at finding shelter and a way to build
a fire had washed away the anger of the day. She smiled down at him. “And look what
I have for us.”

She pulled gently at the top of the smaller grocery bag. The bag split, but she caught
it from the bottom. “Chicken. And potatoes.”

All together they ran down toward the nearest shelter, through the gentle rain. Halfway
down the incline, Sammy tripped. He rolled the rest of the way, not trying to stop
himself. When he came to join them under the roof of the picnic shelter, he was a
sight. Dicey giggled. Then she laughed helplessly. Sand coated his wet hair and face
and clothing. He looked like a cookie rolled in sugar.

At first, she thought Sammy was going to get angry. Even so, she couldn’t stop laughing;
and James and Maybeth joined in with her. But instead, Sammy smiled, threw up his
arms and executed a stiff little jig, joining in their laughter. For just that moment
he was again the little boy Dicey remembered, who loved to wrestle and tickle and
never asked you to stop, who made games out of everything and anything.

The younger children scoured the beach for pieces of wood. Dicey went back to the
woods to get needles and dry branches of quick-burning pine.

When the fire had burned down to coals, Dicey spread the potatoes out on the grate.
Then they all went back down the beach to find more driftwood. They returned with
arms laden, and Dicey turned the potatoes, rinsed in rain drops, over and
then arranged the chicken wings near to the edge of the fire so they wouldn’t scorch.
Rain padded softly on the beach and water. The fire spat when chicken fat dripped
into it. The smell of cooking chicken rose faintly on the air. The four children stood
watching by the stone hearth. Their skin dried, then their hair and finally their
clothing.

They tried to pull one of the tables over nearer to the fire, but it was bolted to
the cement floor, as was every bench, so they ate in the chilly air beyond the fire’s
heat. The food was hot enough to warm them from within.

They ate without speaking, first wolfing it down, then savoring each bite, chewing
on the narrow bones, eating every scrap of potato. There was more than enough chicken.
Everyone was stuffed full by the time the food was gone, even James.

“I wish we had some butter,” Sammy said.

“Or salt,” Dicey added.

“Barbecue sauce is what I want,” James said, “and some corn on the cob and some watermelon
for dessert or a sundae, a chocolate sundae. I wish we had that.”

“I wish we had Momma,” Maybeth said.

Silence fell again.

Dicey got up and put two fat pieces of wood on the fire. She sat down in front of
it. James gathered up the bones, put them into the trash can and came to sit with
her. Sammy and Maybeth followed him. The fire glowed feverish on their faces. While
the early evening light was still adequate, Dicey spread her map out.

“We’ll go there tomorrow,” she decided quickly, pointing her finger at a green square
labeled “State Park.” “It’s the one I told you about. We’ll rest a day there. How
does that sound to you? We’ve been walking for four days now.”

“It sounds great,” James said. His finger traced the red Thruway
markings down to Bridgeport. “It’s a long way,” he said. “Why is it all yellow there?”

“Densely populated area,” Dicey said.

“Like yesterday?”

“Yeah.”