Dotty’s Suitcase (7 page)

She took off her hat. Her head itched. She'd never worn the hat for such a long time before.

She stretched it out over the suitcase. Even in the dim light its colors were bright and clear. She wished she had a comb. It would be nicer if her hair were combed. There was no sense in rummaging through Jud's pockets. He didn't know what a comb looked like. Every time his hair got long enough to get hold of, his mother chopped it off with her dull scissors. Most times Jud's head looked as if the chickens had been scratching in it. After she'd knit her own hat of various bits and pieces of wool Aunt Martha had given her, she'd started on one for Jud. As a surprise. Then the next time she'd gotten mad at him, she'd told him she wasn't going to knit him a hat like hers after all. All he'd said was “Thank God for small favors,” a favorite expression of his mother's, and her feelings had been hurt. She hadn't let him see that her feelings were hurt. Now wild horses couldn't make her knit him a hat.

Gary came back. “We got a ways to go,” he said. “Maybe you'd better go inside.” He jerked his thumb in the direction he'd taken. “This is the last gas station until we get to Boonville.”

“I'm all right,” she said. “I'm just anxious to get there.”

“How about him?” He pointed to Jud. “You don't think you better take him inside?” He hopped up into his truck.

“I'll watch the suitcase for you,” he said.

“It's all right,” she said again. “Why don't we get going?”

“Have it your way.”

And try as she might, Dotty couldn't go back to sleep. She wanted to, very much, so she could pick up her dream and find out why Olive had been crying. She kept her eyes closed and willed herself to sleep. It didn't work. She thought about the money she was holding. How much was there? Enough for new shoes for her father?

“My Uncle Tom said we're in for a blizzard.” Dotty opened her eyes and sat up straight. “Mr. Kimball's pigs were hollering, and Uncle Tom says that always means a blizzard's coming.”

“That right?” He sounded bored.

Dotty thought, Why am I so boring? I bet I bore a lot of people. The more interesting I try to be, the more I bore people. Why don't I shut up and act inscrutable? I
am
inscrutable. Ever since Dotty had learned that word, she'd been looking for an opportunity to use it in a conversation. So far no occasion had arisen.

She wished she were older and could flirt with Gary the way her sisters would have. Or Janice. She would have liked him to look at her with admiration in his eyes, the way she'd seen boys look at Mary Beth and Laura. Even if you didn't think you'd recognize admiration in a boy's eyes, it was amazing the way you did once you'd seen it. Absolutely amazing. She must remember to tell this to Olive.

She felt her mouth shiver. She wanted to make him look at her and tell her she was pretty.

I've never been anywhere, she almost said aloud. And now here I am, going to Boonville in a truck with a stranger. Alone. Jud stirred in his sleep. Well, almost alone. Jud was the chaperon. The thought made her smile.

“Understand you people had a bank robbery over your way,” Gary said. Dotty's fingers tightened on the suitcase handle.

“Sure did,” she said gaily. “Radio said the robbers were still at large yesterday. Said they were driving a big black car and that they were armed and dangerous and one of 'em had mean, squinty eyes. A lady saw 'em and that's what she said.”

If anybody ever had to describe me on the radio, Dotty thought, what would they say? I am not the kind of person people remember. I have a forgettable face.

Dorothea Frances Fickett, alias Dotty Fickett, aged twelve and a quarter. Brown eyes, brown hair, and sallow complexion. Long hands and feet. Mole on left shoulder. Ugly.

But possessing a kind heart. Not always. Sometimes. I hope I have a kind heart. A pretty face isn't everything. As Aunt Martha says, a pretty face can hide a heap of sins. Think of Janice.

The truck racketed through the night. Dotty's head fell against Jud and he cried out in his sleep. He looked as if someone had removed all his bones, so relaxed and limp he might've been a large doll. Little drops of spittle ran down his chin, and she thought he was looking at her through the slits his eyes made.

She had never been out this late. Outside, there was nothing but blackness. Soon, she hoped, the lights of Boonville would shine in the distance. She stole a glance at Gary. And discovered he was stealing a glance at her. They stared at one another, as unblinking as a couple of babies.

“How old are you?” she asked, not having planned to.

“Sixteen,” he told her. His bony white ankles shone in the darkness. He didn't seem to have on any socks.

“Your feet must be cold,” she said.

“Not so's you'd notice.” He gestured toward the suitcase. “That's pretty big for such a little girl. You must have all your duds in there. You planning to stay in Boonville awhile?”

“Oh, no. Only just the night. Olive's not expecting me, you see.” Dotty felt her face grow animated, like an actress doing a scene. “Olive and I are best friends,” she went on. He seemed to be listening, giving her his complete attention. It was an exhilarating sensation, to be given the complete attention of such a good-looking boy.

“Olive's father moved to Boonville to find work. But we write to each other all the time.” Dotty's lips and eyes and hands moved in unison. She felt as if she were sparkling. Next to her, Jud stirred.

The snow was falling fast now, coating the roadway, making it slick.

“We're in for a big one,” Gary said. His foot pressed down on the accelerator and the truck gained speed.

“Don't you think you ought to slow down?” Dotty asked. Up ahead she could see a car approaching. It seemed to be swimming at them through the snow. The wind picked up handfuls of snow and flung it at them as if they were having a snow fight. It was beautiful and exciting and scary. Gary leaned over the wheel, his face in the headlights of the oncoming car bright with the thrill of battle.

“Move over!” he shouted. The driver of the other car didn't seem to hear. As Gary grunted and wrestled to stay in control, the car swerved into their path, forcing the truck over to the right and into the woods at the side of the highway. A deep ditch separated the woods from the road. With a great shudder, the truck settled into the ditch as if it would never leave. And the car that had swerved into their path went merrily away from them, scattering snow in its wake into the black night, intent on arriving at its destination on time.

CHAPTER 12

Dotty rested her head against the suitcase as if it were a feather pillow. And the suitcase, one of its sides caved in, rested itself against the truck's dashboard. Through the gap in the cardboard Dotty saw the brilliant green-and-white new money, arranged neatly in stacks, each bound by a strip of brown paper. The sight was blinding. She tried to push the broken sides of the suitcase together and failed.

Gary lay back in his seat, his eyes closed, a tiny trickle of blood running from his nose, which was small and pointy and might once have appealed to her. Funny she hadn't noticed his nose before. It looked to her sharp enough to poke a hole through a piece of paper. His chest moved up and down, so he wasn't dead. His cheekbones lay so close to the skin they looked as if they might break through at any moment.

The headlights of the truck shone as if nothing had happened. They cut a lazy path through the falling snow, which coated the windshield and enveloped the truck in a thick, heavy curtain.

Beside her, Jud jiggled. Oh, Lordy. Only Jud would have to go to the bathroom at a time like this.

“Can't you hold it?” she whispered.

He rolled his eyes at her and motioned toward Gary. When Dotty turned, Gary's eyes were wide open. He was looking at the money and smiling.

“Well, I declare!” he said in a high voice. He put out his hand and slid it inside the suitcase, where it stayed as if caught in a trap. He touched the money gently.

“I never,” he said softly. “I figured you for a little something,” he said to Dotty, “but never nothing like this. I guess this is my lucky day, eh?” He stretched his face into a ghastly smile, and she wondered how she could have ever thought he looked like Gary Cooper. The adventure was turning sour.

“I found it,” she said, against her will. Jud jabbed at her. “We did,” she said. “Jud and me. Somebody threw it out of a car and we picked it up.”

“How come nothing like that never happened to me?” Gary asked. “Never found so much as a nickel on the sidewalk even. Never had two bills to rub together. Never. Been working since I was younger'n you too. Hey,” he said softly, “my dad'll go crazy when he sees folding money. Plumb crazy. Been wanting to help him out. Now I can,” he said, grinning at her, becoming lively. “Guess I'll have to charge you for a couple tickets to Boonville. One way. Wouldn't want to cheat you none.” He smiled, and she turned away.

“Travel's not cheap,” he went on. “One ticket for you”—he thrust out his thumb but didn't touch her—“and one for the little punk.”

There was a stillness inside the truck. Only the wind and the snow moved outside. Dotty swallowed and the noise was deafening. Jud huddled up next to her, and they waited for Gary to make the next move.

“Your nose is bleeding,” she said at last. “Aunt Martha says you should put ice on the back of your neck to stop a nosebleed.”

Gary wiped his nose along his sleeve. “We sure could use your Aunt Martha along about now, now couldn't we?” He reached over and took a couple of bundles of money from the gap in the suitcase. “Gasoline's high, costs twelve, thirteen cents a gallon, and this old buggy's a regular gas eater. And now she'll need repairs. A new fender, maybe, maybe even a couple new tires. Or maybe”—he ruffled the tightly bound bills with his finger so they made a slight breeze—“maybe I might better turn her in on a new model. A shiny, brand-new model. Whatdya think about that?” He winked at them.

“Jud has to go to the bathroom,” Dotty said in a high, hoarse voice.

“Well, now. That's too bad.” He shook his head. “Told you you shoulda used them facilities at the gas station. Trouble with young folks these days is they don't listen. Never do what their betters tell 'em.” He leaned past Dotty and cuffed Jud on the ear.

Dotty felt as if she were strangling. “You keep your hands to yourself,” she said, the words jamming together in her throat. “I'll take him.”

“No, you don't. You stay right here where it's cozy and warm, and make sure no burglars get in. I'll see the little punk does his business. It's gonna be cold in that bathroom, ain't it, little punk?” Gary opened the door and put one leg out into the storm.

“You stay here,” he directed her, and to Jud he snapped, “Move!”

The door handle was slick under Dotty's fingers. She pushed down. It was now or never. She was afraid, afraid of Gary, afraid of the storm. The storm, she decided, was the lesser of the evils confronting them. They could hide inside it. It was their escape hatch. In the dark of the truck she clutched the suitcase and prayed.

Gary pushed open the door on his side. The wind grabbed it and tried to yank it out of his hand. “Make it snappy,” he barked.

Dotty eased open her door. She said to Jud in a low voice, “When I jump, you jump. Then run like the devil.” The door swung open, letting in the snow, which had been waiting for them.

“Jump!” she whispered. In the headlights they saw Gary coming around to their side.

She jumped with Jud so close behind she felt his foot hit the back of her legs. This is how it feels to bail out of an airplane, she thought. The snow folded itself around them like the cold fingers of a cold hand.

As they ran, it seemed to her, then and after, that Gary's voice surrounded them. He was hiding behind a tree, and when they drew near, he would spring out at them, throw them to the ground, take their money, and then stomp them to death. And leave them to the mercy of the blizzard. She was sure his pointy nose possessed extraordinary powers, that even through the wildness of the wind and the snow he could get their scent.

But he didn't spring at them. Once or twice she was certain she heard him. “Dotty! Jud!” he called. “Come on back! Let's go to Boonville.” The wind sang in the trees. “Boonville!” it sang. “Go to Boonville!”

They trudged on, Dotty lugging the suitcase, holding it together with her frozen hands. Snow coated their clothing, their eyelashes, their eyebrows.

“You didn't go to the bathroom,” Dotty said, as she remembered.

“I don't have to any more.”

She pointed to a tree. “Go,” she said. He went.

“What'll we do now?” he asked when he came back.

“We're not going back there, I can tell you that.” She jerked her head in the direction of the truck. “He'd skin us alive.”

“We're not?” The wind caught his words and tore them out of his mouth. “What're we going to do then?”

“First we get rid of this.” She thrust her hand into the gaping suitcase, pulled out rolls of bills, and stuffed them inside her jacket. She did the same to Jud. His jacket was so filled with money he looked fat. “Here, put the rest in our pockets.” Miraculously she transferred the money from the suitcase to their persons without the wind getting any of it.

“You said nobody threw nothing out of that car,” Jud said, suddenly furious. His face stood out, crimson in the whiteness. “I figured us for pals. Pals share.”

“I wasn't going to keep it. You know I was going to split it with you. Besides, Jud”—she put her face up against his—“there might be about a thousand dollars in there,” she said in a whisper.

Even over the sound of the wind she could hear him catch his breath. A thousand dollars. Or a million. Or a trillion. They were all one and the same. Money to buy new shoes for Daddy, or a new car. Or both. Things for Aunt Martha and Uncle Tom. A tiara and a lace veil the color of cream for the girls. A suitcase with her initials on it for herself.