SATURDAY MORNING,
SEPTEMBER 30, 1871
- Justin -
Justin waved to his mother, who stood in the kitchen door of their big white colonial house. He paused for a moment and looked with satisfaction at the little goat shed he had built. He had just painted it red with a neat white trim around the door and window. The white picket fence and gate that surrounded the enclosure looked pretty on the lawn at the side of the house. And tomorrow he’d bring home the kid that Grandpa had promised him.
He ran down the long driveway that led to the street. Across the road a field of dry grass looked golden as itrippled in the morning breeze. He paused to catch his breath, then turned toward the two-mile walk to downtown State Street, where his father’s jewelry store was located.
Father said if I helped at the shop and showed I was dependable, we’d pick up my goat tomorrow. And today of all days I had to go and get up late. Justin hurried along.
It was hot and dry, and Justin could taste the dirt that was stirred up as he ran toward town. When he approached the stable where their horse, Ginger, was boarded, he paused to catch his breath again. Should he take the horse? No, in the time it would take to get her ready, he could make it to the shop.
It was Saturday morning and the city of Chicago was just waking up. Horses pulling carts of vegetables from the prairie farms crowded the dirt streets to the farmers’ market, stirring up dust clouds along the way. There had been no rain for months, it seemed, and dust was everywhere.
Justin never wanted anything as much as he wanted that cute little kid. Why, he’d been at the farm when she was born, and every time he went to his grandfather’s, that baby goat followed him all over the place, bleating softly, her little tail wagging like the second hand on a watch.
Ticktock. That’s what I’ll name her.
He reached the family’s jewelry store just as the clocks inside began to chime nine o’clock. The big broom, dustpan, and trash barrel were already outside the door, and Justin knew what his father wanted him to do without asking. He set to work first by brushing away dust from the wooden sign on the front of their store, just as his father came out. The winds had blown so much dirt from the dry earthen road that the painted gold words, BUTTERWORTH’S JEWELS AND TIMEPIECES, could hardly be seen.
Justin’s father pointed to a cluster of dirt that had gathered under the roof of the entrance. “Don’t forget to sweep near the door, son. The wind has piled the dirt up like drifting snow.” Father locked the door. “In case anyone comes, I’ll be back by the time you finish—about fifteen minutes.” He walked up the street toward his favorite café, where he met Mr. Palmer every morning for coffee.
Justin moved into the entry and began to sweep when SMASH! A girl racing down the wooden sidewalk suddenly turned into the entrance and collided with Justin. “Look what you did,” he complained, giving her a shove. “You knocked over my dustpan, and now everything is dirty again!”
“Sorry.” She glanced at the display of jewelry in the window. Justin looked at her tattered skirt and grimy blouse and knew she couldn’t possibly shop at such an expensive store. He told her so.
“Is that how you treat your customers?” The girl stood haughtily. “I’m looking for a gift for … my mother.”
Indeed! This girl was definitely not a customer! “We don’t have anything you can afford,” Justin said, picking up his dustpan.
“How do you know that?” The ragamuffin had her hands on her hips and her head cocked defiantly. “How do you know how much money I have?” She turned away to leave, but after peering down the street again, she moved back into the shelter of the entry. “How much is that necklace?” she asked, pointing to a pink cameo on a gold chain on display in the store window.
“Too much.” Justin tried to sweep around her feet. “Move away.”
“I asked you, how much?”
Justin sighed, looked closely at the small tag attached to the necklace. “The price tag says one hundred and fifty dollars.”
“It ain’t that pretty,” she snapped.
“The cameo is hand carved.”
“It ain’t got jewels on it. You ain’t got jewels in this whole window,” she scoffed, gesturing at the showcase. “This is just gold and silver. I don’t believe there’s a jewel in the store.”
“Don’t be stupid. We don’t put jewels out here. We keep our jewels in the safe in the back room.”
“So this is your family’s store?”
“Yes. My name’s Justin Butterworth—like on the sign.”
The girl’s brown eyes grew large. “So, you’re tellin’ me there’s real sparkly kind of jewels in there? I ain’t never seen a real honest-to-goodness ruby … or diamond. Where’d you get them?”
“From around the world—emeralds from Colombia, diamonds from Africa …”
“How come we don’t have jewels here in Chicago?”
“’Cause precious stones don’t grow here.”
“What do you mean ‘grow’? Stones don’t grow. I’m not stupid, Justin.”
“They do so grow. They grow in the ground.”
“Well, who plants them in the first place?”
“Nobody plants them! They just grow on their own. It takes millions of years.” He thought of his geode collection. “I have rocks with gems growing out of them, right in the back room here.”
“Show me.”
“Well, I don’t have the key or I’d prove it.”
“I guess your father doesn’t trust you very much, if he won’t even let you have a key.” She went to the sidewalk and looked up the street again. Then she returned to Justin. “So does your pa pay you for sweepin’?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The girl ignored him. “I’ll bet you’re only about … twelve.”
“I’m thirteen. Who are you, anyway?”
“Poppy,” she answered. “I’m twelve.”
“Poppy … what? Don’t you have a last name?”
“No. I never knew my folks. Just call me Poppy. That’s what everyone else calls me.”
Justin stopped sweeping. “Well, if you haven’t got folks, why are you lookin’ for a gift for your mother?”
Poppy sniffed and stuck up her nose. “I live with my … aunt. She’s like a mother. But I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” She looked at Justin more closely. “It looks like you have to work, however—even though your father owns the store and all.”
“Father promised me that if I helped him on a regular basis and showed I’m dependable, I’d be able to have a pet.” Why am I even talking to this guttersnipe, anyway? He started sweeping again, blowing the dust up in angry swirls.
“What kind of pet?”
“A goat,” Justin answered without stopping.
Poppy threw back her head and burst out laughing. “You want a goat?”
“Yes. A goat! Why not?” he snapped. “Is that so strange?”
“I’d rather have a kitten than a goat for a pet. Where would you get it?”
Justin sighed. Is there any way to get rid of this girl? “My grandpa’s goat had two kids. One is sold, and Grandpa told me I could have the other one.” He gestured to the street. “Isn’t your mother … aunt looking for you?”
Poppy ignored Justin’s question. “Goats don’t make good pets.” She clamped her fingers on her nose. “And goats stink.”
“My grandpa’s goats do not stink!” Justin threw down the broom. “That’s ’cause they’re taken care of, and washed and brushed and fed and … loved. And from the looks of you, no one loves you very much, or you’d be washed and brushed and fed and …”
“Loved.” She turned away and looked up at the roof, her head cocked in a sassy sort of way.
Maybe she’ll leave now, Justin hoped. Father would be upset if he knew this little tramp has been hanging around our store. Justin began scooping up dirt with the dustpan and throwing it into the trash bin.
“How can you love a goat?” Poppy asked, still looking away.
“It’s easy. She runs to me when I go visit, and her tail wags like the second hand on a pocket watch. In fact, I’m going to name her Ticktock.” When Poppy snickered and rolled her eyes, Justin added angrily, “I’ll prove it to you if you come back on Monday. We’re getting Ticktock on Sunday and I’ll be here on Monday afternoon after school. I’ll bring her with me. You can see for yourself what a great pet she is.”
Poppy stood still, staring at him. She didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she said, “Well, if you bring your goat on Monday, I’ll come to see her.”
“You can show me those jewels, too—the ones that grow in the ground. If you can get a key, that is.” Poppy looked cautiously up and down the street, then walked off onto the crowded sidewalk.
She’ll never show up on Monday, Justin thought. She was hanging around here only ’cause she’s scared of someone. That’s why she kept looking up the street. Still, he wanted to prove that he had a goat and that his father trusted him with a key. Then he’d show her his geode collection and prove to her that jewels really did grow in rocks.
Justin finished cleaning the entry and the sidewalk just as his father came into sight.
Whew! Poppy left in the nick of time! he thought.