LATE MONDAY NIGHT,
OCTOBER 2, 1871
- Poppy’s Safe Place -
Poppy waited until she was sure everyone was asleep. Then, moving quietly, she rolled off the mattress and onto the floor where her clothes had been thrown.
No! She would not wear those old, raggedy clothes again. Claire had given her the pretty dress and she wanted it back. Cautiously, she crept to the tattered armchair where Ma had tossed the new dress. Poppy reached for it silently and slipped it over her head. She couldn’t reach the buttons, but it didn’t matter. This was her dress and she’d never give it up. She felt through a pile of clothes on the floor until she found an old knitted sweater. She put her arms into the long sleeves and buttoned it in the front.
Carrying a shoe under each arm, Poppy crawled to the door and pulled it open an inch at a time. Once, Ma snorted, and Poppy froze, waiting to hear Ma’s even breathing again. Then she opened the door gradually until her eyes became accustomed to the darkness and the stairway leading up to the street door became visible in the murky shadows.
Up one step, then another. One step, then another. The noises of wild laughter and revelry had ebbed, and Poppy knew it had to be close to dawn. She had to get far away before she was missed. If Ma woke up and found her leaving, Poppy would never escape and Ma would surely beat her until she was black and blue.
Poppy reached the front door and released it slowly. The night air swept in on a cool breeze, and the moonlight cast a soft glow on the street. Poppy closed the door quietly behind her, then sat on the front steps to put on her shoes. She tiptoed down to the dirt street and onto the board sidewalk, and then she scurried up the block toward Justin’s house.
Two dark shadows stood on the corner of the block, so Poppy squeezed into an alley. She shivered in the cold wind, waiting until the shadows disappeared into the night. I hope no one stops me or grabs me, she thought. She had heard stories about the vicious hoodlums who stalked the streets of Chicago day and night—hiding in places even worse than Ma Brennan’s.
Breathlessly she darted to the main road, her shoes clickety-clacking and echoing on the dark streets.
At last, she saw Justin’s house in the distance, on an acre of farmland. The house was dark, but it stood out silent and silver in the moonlight.
She tiptoed to the fence where Ticktock was kept, unlatched the gate, and opened it quietly.
Ticktock heard her and trotted out of her little shed, whimpering and bleating. Poppy looked toward Justin’s house. There were no lights on and no one seemed to be stirring. The sound of Ticktock’s whines hadn’t carried that far, she hoped.
“Hush, Ticktock,” Poppy whispered, bending down to pet the goat. “It’s just me, Poppy.” The stars glistened above the pasture, and the lawn and trees were swathed in moonlight. How still it was. Not a harsh sound—nothing but the wind.
As Poppy went into the shed, Ticktock trotted close behind her, bleating eagerly again as she butted Poppy’s backside. Poppy giggled. “You silly little goat.”
Inside, the hay smelled sweet. Poppy reached for the quilt, lay down on the bed of straw, and pulled the blanket over her. Ticktock nibbled at the fabric. “No, no, Ticktock,” she whispered. “Come here.”
The goat came closer and nudged her hand, as if requesting for Poppy to pat her. Poppy scratched the goat’s head and neck and then pulled Ticktock down next to her.
“Let’s go to sleep. I need to get up and leave before someone finds me.” She fixed the quilt over both of them. “There.” Ticktock seemed to understand, because she folded her legs and leaned against Poppy. Soon the little goat dropped her head and became quiet.
Poppy put her arms around Ticktock. “You’re my first best friend, Ticktock,” she whispered. “I wish I could stay here with you forever.”
She closed her eyes, and for the first time ever, she felt safe—at least for a little while.