William S. and the Great Escape (18 page)

It was after Clarice confessed to her parents that the really surprising thing occurred—at least it certainly
surprised Clarice. It turned out that her parents were
not
angry at her for having hidden the four runaway Baggett kids in their basement. In fact, they seemed rather pleased about what she had done—and proud of her for having pulled it all off in such a clever and well-organized way.

That part of her confession went smoothly, but later, when her father asked her why this Miss Hardison seemed to think that some of the Baggetts had recently committed a murder, she didn't do quite as well. But finally she had to admit that she did exaggerate just a tiny bit in the letter she'd sent to the runaways after they left for Gold Beach. And when her mother asked her why, she said she did it so those poor little Baggetts would realize how important it was for them to stay in Gold Beach and never come back to Crownfield and their awful relatives.

It wasn't until then that Clarice's father remembered to tell her that, according to their aunt, the Baggetts had already arrived and the children had been taken away. And that was when Clarice absolutely insisted that they, the three of them, had to do something about it. She was the one who started it, but it was her mother, Adele Ogden, attorney, who decided, when she heard that one of the runaways was the boy who'd played the part of Ariel, that she should get in touch with her friend Julia Scott and tell her about it.

When she did, she asked Miss Scott if she knew that the four youngest Baggett kids, including that talented
boy who'd played Ariel, had recently run away from their dreadful family and that they had gone to live with an aunt in Gold Beach. But then the Baggetts had found them and forcibly taken them back to that crumbling farmhouse out on Old Westbrook Road.

Miss Scott had answered that she hadn't known, but that she thought William was a great kid, with an amazing amount of talent, and that she would be willing to help in whatever way she could. She was the one who suggested that a trip to Gold Beach to meet with the children's aunt might be the first step. And so it was. The four of them—Miss Scott, Jefferson and Adele Ogden, and Clarice, too—had driven all the way to Gold Beach for a conference with Aunt Fiona.

That was when Fiona Hardison told them about how she had taken care of the two youngest Baggetts for two whole years right after their mother died, and then had them snatched away from her. And, more recently, how threatening and violent Big Ed and two other enormous Baggetts had been when they came to her house and took all four of the children away. When they heard that, the Ogdens and Miss Scott were even more determined to arrange for the children to be returned to their aunt.

During their conference in Gold Beach, the two Ogden lawyers told Aunt Fiona that it was usually very difficult to take children away from their biological parents or, as in this case, biological father and stepmother, no matter
how bad they had been at parenting. But then the Ogden's told her that they might have a case if any or all of the following things were true:

1. If the parent had a reputation as a violent person.

2. If there was proof that the children had been mistreated or poorly fed.

3. If the parent had misled the welfare people who were assigned to his case.

4. If the children would testify that they preferred to live with a reliable friend or relative who had agreed to care for them.

And Fiona Hardison's answers had been:

1. Yes, he has.

2. Yes, there is.

3. Yes, I'm sure he has.

4. Yes, I'm sure they would.

“Well then, my dear,” Adele Ogden, attorney, had said, patting Aunt Fiona on the shoulder, “I'm sure we can win the case in any court of law.”

And Jefferson Ogden, attorney, added, “That may not even be necessary, Adele. I have a feeling that if we give Mr. Baggett a realistic picture of where the trial
was almost certain to wind up, he'll come around to our way of thinking about the future of his four youngest children.”

As soon as they returned to Crownfield, they contacted Mrs. Montgomery, the social worker, to gather some more information that might be useful. Things about how Big Ed and most of his older offspring had lots of unpaid traffic tickets and fines for driving under the influence and driving without a license. And how the four Baggett teenagers who were supposed to be going to Crownfield High School almost never attended. And when they asked Mrs. Montgomery if she would like to be present when they confronted Ed Baggett, she said she would, but she'd feel better about it if her policeman husband could be there too, because she had always found Mr. Ed Baggett to be rather intimidating.

So they arranged a date when all six of them— the two Ogden lawyers, Aunt Fiona, Miss Scott, and Mrs. Montgomery, along with her husband, Sergeant Montgomery—could show up unannounced on the Baggetts' front steps. So they did. And that was when William went to the door and let them in.

By the time the visit was over, Big Ed was stomping around the farmhouse, yelling and roaring, even forgetting to limp, and finally shouting at William and Jancy, “Get out, and take those little brats with you, and
I hope I never see any of you again, long as I live.”

Sometime later William wished he'd yelled back. Wished he had, for once in his life, yelled back at Big Ed. But of course he didn't. Right then, while it was all happening, the only thing that filled William's mind was a rising tide of hope that made him just stand there grinning while Big Ed raged and swore. The last thing William
S
. did as a Baggett was to hold the door open for his little sisters and brother and their six rescuers, and close it firmly behind him.

S
o that was that, and only a day later they were back with Aunt Fiona in Gold Beach. Back in the nice old house on Eleanor Street, and this time no longer needing to listen constantly for the threatening sound of a noisy car or the stomp of heavy boots on the front steps. Instead there were only minor problems connected with getting everyone ready for the start of a new school year. William would be going to Gold Beach Junior High. Jancy and Trixie would be in sixth and first grade, at the same elementary school where Aunt Fiona taught fourth grade. And a neighbor on Eleanor Street, who had preschool kids of her own, would be able to take care of Buddy during the school day.

Then came William's thirteenth birthday, and Aunt Fiona baked a cake and, as a birthday present, gave him some extra money to buy school clothes. That was on the Friday before school started, and after they all sang happy birthday and ate the cake, William got ready to go shopping. Aunt Fiona was planning to take Jancy and the
little kids to a dress sale at JCPenney, but Buddy refused to go.

“I don't suppose to go shoppin' with girls,” he kept saying. “I want to go shoppin' with Willum.” So William wound up having to take Buddy with him. They went to Montgomery Ward, and William got some new pants and shoes, and two pretty snazzy new shirts. And Buddy wasn't too much trouble. Except for sticking his tongue out at all the plaster mannequins and trying to push the buttons on a couple of cash registers, he behaved pretty well.

On their way home, when they happened to go past a pet shop, Buddy tugged on the back of William's new shirt and said, “Let's go in there. See the picture? They got aminals in there.”

“Animals,” William corrected. “
Animals!
Okay, but just for a minute. It's almost time for dinner.” So they went in and looked at some bright-colored fish in an aquarium and two noisy parrots—and then, at the back of the shop, two cages full of guinea pigs.

When William looked at the blob-shaped little animals, it brought back a bunch of Baggett memories, including Jancy's tear-wet face that terrible day when Sweetie Pie went down the drain. And that, of course, reminded him of the part Buddy had played in the whole tragedy. William once again found himself thinking that even a four-year-old ought to have enough brains to know
you shouldn't try to bathe a guinea pig, or anything else, in a toilet. It really had been mostly Buddy's fault, even if the twins had put him up to it. Dumb kid!

Grabbing Buddy's arm, he gave him an angry jerk toward the front of the shop. “Okay, kid. I've seen enough. Let's get out of here,” he said.

But Buddy wouldn't come. Planting his feet firmly, he pulled away and said, “No. Not yet. Not till I buy a gunny pig for Jancy.”

William stared in surprise, and then started to grin. “Real good idea, Buddy boy,” he said. “Good thinking. Except you don't have any money.”

“I know,” Buddy agreed, “but you do.”

“Not enough,” William told him. But he looked through his pockets anyway and found he did have a little leftover change. When he told the pet shop owner how much money they had, it turned out that guinea pigs were on sale that day. On sale, the owner said, because he'd recently had some unexpected guinea pig litters, and besides, on the first week of September most of his regular customers were too busy shopping for school things to think about buying a new pet. So a few minutes later, William and Buddy were on their way home again, carrying a dusty-orange-colored guinea pig in a cardboard box with breathing holes.

They were nearly home when Buddy said, “What's his name? What's the new gunny pig's name, Willum?”

William thought for a minute before he said, “How about Act Two?”

“Achoo?” Buddy asked.

“No,” William said. “Act Two. His name could be Sweetie Pie, Act Two.”

Actually, Jancy decided to name her new guinea pig Pumpkin because of his shape and color. But when William told her how Buddy had insisted on buying it, she told Buddy her guinea pig was going to have a middle name too. “His name is going to be Pumpkin Buddy Hardison,” she told him. “Would that be all right?”

Buddy said it would.

So, just like before, things were real good at Aunt Fiona's—almost everything. The only downer for William was the fact that there was no Miss Scott at Gold Beach Junior High. In fact, there wasn't even a drama department at the small high school where he would be going the following year.

Oh well
, William kept telling himself,
don't think about it. You can't have everything.
Not that that kind of thinking helped very much. Nothing did, really. Not even reminding himself that as soon as school got under way he'd be too busy to wonder about what
Shakespeare
play Miss Scott was working on this year, and whether there might have been a role in it for him. A
Shakespearean
role for William
S
. Hardison, which would soon be his real name, as well as his future stage name. Just as soon as
Aunt Fiona, with the Ogdens' help, finished the official change-of-name papers for all four of the kids.

But the very next day, the Saturday before school started, he got a letter from Miss Julia Scott. The first part of the letter was just kind of chatty. She wrote about how she was going to miss having him in her eighth-grade English class, and what books she hoped he'd be assigned to read. But then she got to the important part.

It seemed that Miss Scott had been asked to be a director at a kind of drama camp someplace near San Francisco next summer, and that the play she would be directing was going to be
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. “
And I so much want you to try out for the role of Puck. Knowing you as I do, I'm certain that you'll get the part
,” her letter said.

Your natural ability to clown around and really lose yourself in a role, as well as your size and stature, make you perfect for the role. I'm sure your aunt will agree to let you spend part of the summer away from home. Living quarters are being provided for the cast, and I can arrange for your transportation
.

William read the letter on his way upstairs, and when he'd finished reading he yelled, “Wahoo!” and ran the rest of the way, waving the letter over his head.

Dashing down the hall, he almost ran over Jancy, who was just coming out of her room. As he started reading the letter to her Trixie showed up and, a few minutes later, Buddy. “Why was Willum going, ‘Wahoo'?” Buddy asked Trixie.

“About a play,” Trixie said. “About a play he's going to do.”

“Oh,” Buddy said. “Do we get to play too?”

“No, I don't think so,” Trixie was saying as they went on down the hall. “It's not that kind of play. I think maybe it's another thing you can't do till you're ten years old.”

William read the letter over and over again for most of the afternoon.

So it was all arranged. Aunt Fiona had no objections. In fact, she said she thought it was a wonderful opportunity for William to develop his natural God-given talents.

So that left only the business of getting through the school year with his usual good grades, and in the meantime practicing the role of Puck as often as possible.

He started right away, reciting Puck's lines for the kids as well as Aunt Fiona, and thinking up ways to prance and pose while he was putting the magic love potion on people's eyes. As always, he had a very appreciative audience. Jancy said she thought he was going to be an even better Puck than he was an Ariel.