Chapter 18

In Which I Discover a Fondness for Books

Me?”

“We would not ask you if we didn’t absolutely need you, Charity,” Aunt Kitty was saying.

It was three o’clock, and we were about two miles from Jenkintown, tucked into an abandoned shack in the woods along Shady Oak Lane. We’d come out here to meet Mr. Pinkerton, Mr. Bangs, and the helpful operative who was to portray the wandering book peddler. Only we were missing someone.

“He took ill just before we boarded the train,” Mr. Bangs explained.

“But why me? Why do you need me to play the part?” I asked. “How come none of you are doing it?”

“Mrs. Warne cannot for obvious reasons,” said Mr. Pinkerton. “And as we’ve told you, Mr. Maroney described the peddler as having brown eyes. Mr. Bangs has blue eyes, and mine are gray. That leaves only you, Nell.”

Aunt Kitty held her tongue, but I knew she wanted to remind Mr. Pinkerton to maintain our aliases and call me Charity.

I looked hard at the three of them standing there waiting for my response. Mr. Bangs was tugging on his thick mustache and watching me with a worried expression.

As much as I wanted to show Aunt Kitty and the others that I could be a good help, I was also a mite bit scared. What if I got caught? Just like Mr. Pinkerton had warned me—and I knew from Aunt Kitty’s confounded vocabulary drills—I could put the whole case in jeopardy. Mrs. Maroney might see through my disguise, Flora might recognize me by my walk, or any number of things could spoil the secrecy.

“Look deep inside yourself, Nell,” whispered Mr. Bangs with an encouraging wink. “Find the thing that gives you strength.”

I took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. Just then a piteous braying rang out from deep in the woods behind us. It was followed by a familiar hiccup, and I knew right away what it was. That sweet mule Lucky Pete must have slipped cruel Flora’s rope and run off to celebrate his freedom.

“Yes,” I announced with another deep breath. “I will do it. Show me my costume.”

Not thirty minutes later, after Aunt Kitty had taken off for town, I began my slow trek toward Mrs. Maroney and her money. My hair was slicked back under a dirty slouch hat, and my dusty boots stuck out from beneath a ratty pair of men’s trousers. I wore a threadbare coat that bore grease stains on the arms, and my cheeks were smudged brown with dirt and grime. Mr. Bangs slipped false teeth into my mouth that made my lips curl up as if I were in a permanent sneer, and I hid as much of my face as I could beneath a false brown beard and spectacles. The clothes smelled so bad, my eyes stung with tears, and I knew Mrs. Maroney and Flora would keep their distance.

When I got closer to town, I dragged my left foot with every step, so that if they were watching my approach, they would not recognize me by my gait. Clomp-drag, clomp-drag. The only other sound on Shady Oak Lane was the quiet whisper of the wind through the treetops.

“He’s here, he’s here!” came a wild cry once I reached the fence line of the property. I could see Mrs. Maroney’s sister and husband in the doorway. Flora and Mrs. Maroney were standing in the yard staring at me closely. Aunt Kitty was behind them on the garden path, there in her role as the faithful Madam Imbert. She was to offer Mrs. Maroney encouragement to follow her husband’s orders in case she wavered.

“Oh, my stars, I cannot bear it!” Mrs. Maroney wailed hysterically, clutching a bulky canvas bag to her chest. “It is too much to ask!”

I tried to ignore her theatrics and focus on my role as the book peddler. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a neatly bound novel and presented it to her. “Would you like to buy some books?” I said, my words low and husky. My heart was pounding fast for fear that Flora still might know me by my voice. But the false teeth made it so hard to speak, I barely recognized myself.

Mrs. Maroney tilted her head and peered into my face. She was checking to see that my eyes were brown, just as the letter said. Keeping my hands steady, I opened the book and held it up to her. With her own trembling fingers, she took the slip of creamy paper that marked the page. On it was a message written by Mr. Pinkerton just before I’d started down Shady Oak Lane, but it looked enough like Mr. Maroney’s handwriting that even I was deceived at first glance.

My Dearest Wife,

This is the book peddler I told you about. Buy a book for Flora. (But only one. You know how she can get.)

Give him the entire package for me.

Your loving husband,

Nat-Bat-Cuddly-Wuddly-Cat

Mrs. Maroney let out a few more anguished wails.

“Madam Imbert, what shall I do?” she cried, her eyes wild. “I want to keep it, but he demands I give it over!”

“You must trust that your husband knows what he’s doing,” Aunt Kitty said in her calmest voice. “This is part of the plan he has for your happiness. You’ll see what adventures lie ahead—for you and for dear, sweet Flora.”

Suddenly Flora grabbed at the bag.

“Is there candy in this sack?” she demanded. “Are you giving away my candy? Give it back! Give it back to me now!”

And with that, Mrs. Maroney shoved the canvas bag into my arms and tried to quiet her daughter. As I slowly hobbled my way back down the path and out onto the dusty lane, I could hear Mrs. Maroney calling, “Charity Englehart! Where is Miss Charity? I need her to entertain Flora. Now!”

I tried not to smile, lest my false teeth and beard fall right off my face and reveal my true identity. But my heart was a burning candle of pride, and I could not hide it under a bushel. My clomp-drag stride gained a little bounce as I marched back down Shady Oak Lane toward the shack where Mr. Pinkerton and Mr. Bangs waited.

Before long, however, my elation gave way to hard, cold fear. I still had more than a mile of walking ahead of me, carrying what might very well be fifty thousand dollars. I whispered the amount into the wind, again to hear what it sounded like.

Fifty thousand dollars.

I shifted the bulky sack in my arms. With every step, as the woods grew a bit darker, the bag seemed heavier. I jumped at the sound of a twig snapping. I shuddered with every gust of wind. I worried that my luck had turned. What if Mrs. Maroney changed her mind and was chasing me down with a shotgun in her hands? What if she rallied some of the townsfolk to find me, crying, “Robber! Thief! Book peddler!”

Then I heard it. I was about a half mile away from the shack when my ears picked up the rumbling of wheels and the thunder of hooves. A wagon was barreling down Shady Oak Lane from town, and it was going to reach me in a matter of minutes.

I broke out in a run, my daddy’s boots carrying me faster than I ever dreamed possible. But the wagon was already on me, and I jumped into a ditch before it could run me down.

“Stand up and dust yourself off this minute!”

That was Aunt Kitty’s voice. I popped my head up from the leafy green undergrowth and looked toward the buggy. Four white horses whinnied and stomped, eager to get running again. And my aunt stood at the rail, holding the reins and looking fiery-eyed—like some sort of windblown Messenger of the Apocalypse.

“I said stand up this instant. We’ve got to hurry! Mrs. Maroney might change her mind, and you’re easy prey all alone on this road. Jump in!”

I did just that, and we were off with such a start, my slouch hat flew clean off my head and tumbled down the lane behind us. I decided to peel off my beard, glasses, and stinking jacket, too.

“Good work,” Aunt Kitty said with a smile, though she never took her eyes off the road for even a moment. “You were very brave to do that, Nell. And I thank you for your help. Once we collect Mr. Pinkerton and Mr. Bangs, and we head for Philadelphia, we will see what’s in the bag. But I believe it is the stolen money. And then we shall know that the honors of the day belong to a girl!”

The pride burning inside me now wasn’t just a candle; it was a blazing fire. I looked off to the woods to collect myself. I wasn’t used to her making a fuss.

“Thank you, Aunt Kitty,” I began, turning back to face her. “You’re so brave yourself, I cannot bear to ever let you down.”

“What?” she snapped, a little peevish as she urged the horses faster down the lane. “Nell, take those ridiculous false teeth out of your mouth. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

I decided the fussing and complimenting could wait for another time.