Still House Pond (24 page)

Next she looked through the valise. She had one day dress, one petticoat, one nightgown, several pairs of pantalets, several pairs of clean hose, and her everyday shoes. Also she'd packed her hairbrush, some ribbons, and a comb. No need to be less than tidy. She laid the dress along with clean undergarments across her bed. Best of all was finding her small Bible. This she laid atop the towel beside her brush and comb and the watch and fob she'd unpinned from her jacket. The watch didn't tick but sloshed when she shook it. Everything looked right at home on the table. The things she didn't need right now were packed back inside the valise. She closed it and put it beside the door in case she had to grab it in a hurry when Daddy came.

Before she changed, she looked through the crack beside the door. There was no one out there, but still she changed lickety-split. It felt good as anything to get out of that corset. She liked to be fashionable as much as anyone, but this was not the place. She folded the traveling outfit around the corset and left them on the floor. She never wanted to wear them again—not even if Aunt Remy washed them with her homemade lye soap.

She walked around the room liking the feel of her comfortable, broken-in shoes. This was a boring place. How would she spend the rest of the day? Maybe she should clean up the dog's spot. Then she'd have to wash her hands again. How much water was left? Only a third of a jar. She tried to save it, but she was so thirsty and the beagle was also. She could watch for her daddy to come. It probably wouldn't be long now.

The dog watched every step she took. “Don't worry. I'm not leaving you or your baby here in this dreadful place. You'll like my house. I've got a brother and two sisters and a cat and kittens.” She shook her finger in the dog's direction. “Promise you won't chase the cats? or the rooster? He'll turn on you if you do.” She knelt beside the dog and pointed to a teeny round spot on her forehead. “See that? There's where I got flogged once. Mama threatened to make rooster stew, but I cried and begged her not to.”

With a huge, bored sigh she flung her arms wide and fell backward on the pallet. “That rooster's living on borrowed time.”

Her fall startled the mother dog. She jumped and, tucking her tail, cowered in front of her.

Lilly stroked the top of the dog's head and her ears. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.” She started laughing. “Besides, I cracked my head. I forgot I wasn't on my bed at home.”

The dog lay down beside her. The puppy, ever hungry, wriggled their way.

“I'll bet we make a pretty picture—a girl with a cracked head and a dog with pointy fur. When you get finished with this feeding, I'll comb the mud out of your hair. How's that?”

The dog pointed her long nose at the wicker basket and whined.

“It's not time for dinner. You can tell by the light it's not nearly noon yet. Besides, my largesse only goes so far.”

The dog rested her head on crossed paws, feigning interest.

“
Largesse
? It's from the French
largesse
. It means giving generously. It's the opposite of stingy.
Largesse
was last week's new word. Before that the word was
cipher
.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “
Cipher
has two meanings actually. It could mean an insignificant person or figuring numbers. It's a pretty word—don't you think? If I have triplets when I grow up and get married, I could name them Verily, Inasmuch, and Cipher. I'll bet in the whole history of the world there's never been triplets with those names. But enough of that. You need to stop paying attention to me and feed your baby.”

Lilly's eyes grew heavy. She was having trouble keeping them open, as if there were itty-bitty fishing sinkers attached to her lids. Sitting up, she shook her head. She needed to stay alert. What if Daddy walked by and she missed him? After all he didn't know she was up in the treetops.

The dog yawned mightily.

“Thanks. That helps a lot.” Lilly yawned too. She lay back down and stroked the puppy's soft fur. It felt like Aunt Alice's fancy coat. Her eyes closed. She would rest them for a minute.

Lilly woke hours later bathed in perspiration. The sun was bearing down on the tin shack like a furnace. If it weren't for the deep shade provided by the trees, Lilly figured they'd be toast. It would only get hotter as the day wore on. She needed to do something. There had to be a way out of this place.

She drank some more water and topped off the dog's dish. The dog shouldn't have to beg. There was only a quarter of a jar left. She made her way around the room pushing on each tin panel—one might be loose. No such luck.

Tipping her head way back, she studied the roof. If she had a pole, she could poke it through the flimsy-looking thatch. But she didn't have one, and besides, what good would that do?

Frustrated, she went around the room again until she came to the door. Leaning up against the wall was the piece of wood that blocked the opening of the door from the inside. She fiddled with the latch to see how it worked. It was simple enough—a length of wood lay between two heavy metal pieces that were screwed to the wall and acted as notches to hold the wooden bar. Through the crack she could see a bit of the outside bar. Could she lift it from inside? All she needed was something to slip through the opening and pry the block up.

She went around the room again. It was making her dizzy. How did she expect to find the right tool when she didn't even know what she was looking for? She climbed up on her step box for a different view. There was something long and polelike lying atop the rafter that she hadn't been able to see from the floor. She moved the box in front of where the pole should be and tiptoed to grab it. The box tipped and she fell. Her chin hit the corner of the shelf she'd made on the privy wall. Wash water splashed her face when the basin slid off.

Lilly held her chin with both hands. It stung like fire, and there was blood on her fingers when she dared to look. If she kept this up, she would be maimed like the poor beggar children in India she had once seen in a book in Aunt Alice's library. The blood on her fingers made her feel as dizzy as walking around the room had.

She took her valise back to the pallet and got out her comfy cotton nightgown. She ripped the ruffled flounce off the bottom of the gown, then tore the rest into large squares. After pouring a bit of water over one square, she used it to dab her chin. The flounce she tied around her chin and knotted atop her head like Mama had done Kate's flannel. Thinking of Kate made her think of her teeth. What if she'd knocked one out? With the tip of her tongue she felt each one. All were in place and none was loose. Thank goodness for that.

To get her mind off her trials, Lilly ate a piece of chocolate cake. It was so good she licked her fingers. The dog got a buttered biscuit and the rest of the potatoes from breakfast.

Undeterred in her quest, she moved the box for better balance and climbed back up. Her fingers wouldn't quite grasp the pole. As she stood on the box with her hands on her hips, she pondered what to do. This was getting tiring. Jumping down, she went to the table box and got her brush. With it in hand she could move the pole. Straining, being careful not to fall again, she shoved it off the other side of the beam. The pole hit the floor and rolled all the way to the pallet. The dog nosed it suspiciously. Lilly felt like she'd won the hundred-yard dash like the boys at school ran on field day. She deserved a blue ribbon.

The pole was actually a sawed-off broom handle—or maybe a hoe handle. That didn't matter as long as it would move the bar that barricaded the door. When she looked outside, it was quiet and still as a graveyard after dark. She shoved the pole through the space between the door and the frame. It went in, but the fit was so tight she couldn't move it up and down. Now what? She jerked it back and forth. This was very hard work, but she was making progress. The frame and the door now had grooves from the pole. It seemed to take a very long time, but finally she could slide the handle under the outside bar and move the handle up against it. It didn't matter, though. The bar was too heavy. She couldn't budge it.

Something tickled her brain. Her daddy came to mind. She once saw him pry a heavy rock out of the ground using a pole and a piece of wood he called a fulcrum. That was what she needed—a fulcrum and something to position it on so it would be higher than the heavy bar on the other side of the door.

The old chairs might work. From atop the box, she lifted them down one by one and lugged them to the door. Though the seats were missing, the frames were intact. She spaced them a few feet apart so she could situate the wooden bar across them. Her jaw clenched in frustration. The chairs were not tall enough for the piece of wood to be used as a fulcrum. Narrowing her eyes, she stood and surveyed her creation. She wasn't giving up. This was a puzzle to be solved and she would solve it.

Two trips to the privy wall answered her problem. Two of the wooden boxes set on end were exactly right. Why hadn't she seen that before she got the chairs down? No matter. Standing behind the fulcrum, she levered it up against the outside bar. The bar moved! She shouted for joy. She could taste freedom, and it was as good as chocolate cake.

Her celebration was short-lived when the broom handle was jerked from her hands. Her heart thudded to a stop. She always wondered if you could really die from fright; now she knew you could. The door screeched open, and she stepped backward to the pallet.

The bushy-bearded man was on the ladder. He set a jar of water just inside the door. “I ought to knock your silly brains out. I ain't never seen the like—don't appreciate nothing.”

His head disappeared below the threshold, then like an afterthought reappeared. “I'll give you fair warning. I'll leave this door swung wide so's you won't roast in here like a pig on a spit, but if I see hide nor hair of you, I'll nail this door shut and you'll have a fine tin coffin.”

Lilly held her breath as he climbed down the ladder, then jumped in fright when his head bobbed up again like an apple in a dunking tub.

“And another thing, missy. Iffen you hear anybody calling for you, you keep still else I'll drag you to the pond and let you watch that there dog trying to swim outen a gunnysack. Don't think I won't.” He slapped another paper packet on the floor. “Enjoy yore fine queezeen.”

“
Cuisine
,” Lilly couldn't help but whisper in his absence, “from the Latin
coquere
, ‘to cook.'”

The dog stuck her wet nose against Lilly's arm as if to say, “For pity's sake—shut up.”

25

Copper was working on nothing but fear. The relief train had delivered them to the site of the wreck just a short time ago. Their approach had been so calm it was eerie. The last half mile of undamaged serpentine track winding through hills of bucolic farmland and apple orchards in no way prepared her for what she was soon to face. But just as the train rolled puffing and blowing across a rickety trestle that spanned a deep ravine, she could see and smell the smoke.

The scene they walked into was right out of a nightmare. A long length of track stuck up from the rails like a ladder leading nowhere. Back down the rail, three undamaged cars and a caboose sat placidly on the tracks as if they were waiting for a porter to shout, “All aboard!” A pile of lump coal lay burning itself out on the bank, sending up puffs of dark smoke like signals of distress. Debris was everywhere—crates of smashed eggs, a busted drummer's shoe trunk disgorging boots and high-tops, coops of lifeless chickens, an upended safe, shattered glass, wooden benches, and a twisted pair of spectacles. Suitcases spilled their contents out onto the ground. Copper searched it all, looking for something familiar.

Straight ahead the locomotive sat, still hooked to another train car that dangled over the steep side of the ravine. At least she thought it was the engine—a head-on collision with another train had pleated it like an accordion. Beyond that was the other train. According to the conductor who had brought them to the scene, it was not a passenger train but a freight carrying supplies to Jackson, and one of its cars was loaded with dynamite. “Enough to blow us all to kingdom come,” he'd reckoned.

Men scurried up the bank from the creek far below, hauling water to other men who manned the hand-operated water pumps hosing down a boxcar which Copper supposed held the explosives.

Copper walked with John to the edge of the ravine. She caught her breath when she saw the smoldering heap of mangled steel and shredded wood far below. A path wide as the beds of several wagons made the steep hillside look as if it had been scraped clean by a giant's sledge.

A burly, bearded man with a badge on his chest approached. “Hard to believe, ain't it? The force of the wreck whipped them cars through the trees like they weren't no more substantial than a pat of butter. Looks like they was cleared by the grim reaper, don't it?

“'Course, they weren't anything substantial, mostly saplings,” the man continued. “The railroad keeps the right-of-way pretty clean.”

When no one replied, he elbowed John. “Say, you come to work or what? We don't need no gawkers here. And if you're searching for a loved one, you'll have to go wait in the family tent with the others. It's only about two miles off-site. You understand we can't have civilians milling about such a dangerous place, slowing down our progress.”

Copper exchanged looks with John. He stepped forward, introducing them. “Yes, we're here to work. We came on the relief train just now.”

“And the little lady?”

“She practices medicine. We're ready and able—just show us what you want.”

The sheriff eyed John's broad shoulders. “You go on down there.” He motioned to the gully. “They can use more strong backs.”