24

When Lilly Gray woke, she prayed for a miracle. On her tender knees, she fervently asked God to whisk her away from the place where she was confined and back to her own clean sheets and fluffy feather pillow, back to Mazy and Molly and Jack hogging half her bed, back to the smell of biscuits baking and bacon frying. Instead, she saw the same ugly ridged tin walls, the same old junk hanging from the same old beams and breathed in the same musty air.

For the first time she noticed her mud-stained skirts and missing shoe. “A perfectly beautiful outfit ruined,” she said to the dog.

The dog wagged her tail and came up for a pat on the head.

“You’re glad to be here, aren’t you, girl? You’re feeling safe and happy this morning.” Lilly bent over her knees and unbuttoned her spats. It was a tedious job without a buttonhook. “Just look at this.” She held the kid-leather spat out for the dog’s perusal.

The dog tugged it from her hand and began to chew.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” she said. “You might as well eat them. They can’t be saved.”

She took off her other spat and shoe. Her stockings had long laddered runs and bloodied holes in the knees. Her skirt was stiff with mud, and she had no idea what had become of her hat. She was a mess, a complete mess. And the dog was not much better. Her short fur was matted, and little bits of mud flaked off her feet when she walked.

Maybe she’d use some of the water to wash up a bit so she would be presentable when Daddy John came to get her out. Oh, he was going to be so mad. That awful man who drowned the puppies would pay for stealing her. He would pay. And Mama—well, that mean-spirited fellow didn’t want to face her mama.

Anger helped get Lilly up off the pallet she had made. Moving the puppy from one side to the other, she straightened their bed as best she could. The puppy mewled in its puppy way, and the mother licked it all over with her slurpy tongue.

“At least one of us will be clean,” Lilly said.

Looking about the room, she decided she would pull one box off the stack to use for a table. They could keep their water there and the packet of potatoes and corn bread. Her stomach growled. Should she eat it all now or try to save some? Would the man bring more? She guessed he wouldn’t have brought the first packet if he meant for her to starve to death. She went to get the water jar.

Right inside the door, Lilly found the answer to her prayer. Her own little miracle—comfort from home. How could she have missed her valise and her wicker carryall last night when she saw the jug of water? She would swear it wasn’t there, which meant the man had come a second time and she hadn’t heard the squeaking door. That wasn’t good. She didn’t want him to catch her sleeping. Maybe she should throw the latch on this side of the door and lock him out like he locked her in. But, no—then he couldn’t bring more food and water. Oh, she was mad enough to spit.

She decided she was wasting her energy on the man. Here she’d just received a blessing, and she wasn’t taking time to appreciate it. She took her miracles back to the box table. The smell of fried chicken was enough to make her mouth water. But she wasn’t about to eat at the table without first washing her hands. Using her box stool, she stood on it and unhooked two battered granite pans. One would do for a washbasin, and one would do for the dogs’ water bowl.

There was a quandary in the midst of many quandaries. She couldn’t very well wash up on the same table she ate on, and she didn’t want to take another box from her privy wall. Then it wouldn’t be private. She burst into tears. Why did everything have to be so hard?

Her tears upset the dog, so Lilly blotted her eyes on her sleeve. If she and Kate were playing house, what would they do? Seeing the obvious answer, she went to the privy wall and moved the wooden boxes around until one stuck out, making a sort of shelf. She put her washbasin on it. Perfect. Just as she’d marked out the rooms on the flat rock beside the creek where they’d played house, Lilly had her living quarters arranged. There was the box that served as a kitchen table. There was the bedroom where her “baby” slept contentedly. Here was her washstand and there was her privy.

She poured some of the precious water into the pan and washed her face and hands. Lifting her skirt, she found a clean bit of petticoat and dried herself.

“There, much better.” Unfastening the wooden toggle that held the lid of the wicker hamper together, she lifted the lid and feasted her eyes on fried chicken, hard-boiled eggs, red ripe tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, biscuits, cake, and pie. She clapped in delight. “We’ve got a feast, doggy, a veritable feast. What should we sample first?”

She guessed they’d best start with the chicken. Everything else would keep. She picked up a drumstick and sniffed it suspiciously. The grease it had been fried in smelled stale, but the meat hadn’t turned. She ate the two legs but gave the dog the breast. She needed it more than Lilly did since she was nursing a puppy. They also ate most of what was left of the potatoes and corn bread from the brown paper packet.

Tears threatened again when she saw Mama had packed her toothbrush and a tin of Colgate’s dental powder in the bottom of the hamper. Mama never let her eat one meal without cleaning her teeth afterward.

She washed her hands again in the same water. That was disgusting, but she didn’t want to waste it. After she wet her toothbrush and sprinkled on the clean-tasting powder, she went as far away from her bed as she could and brushed, rinsed, and spat there. She used the linen towel from the hamper to dry around her mouth. When she finished, she spread the towel over the top of the box. It looked cheery there with its embroidery of bright yellow daisies and spread-winged bluebirds.

Next she looked through the valise. She had one day dress, one petticoat, one nightgown, several pairs of pantalets, several pairs of clean hose, and her everyday shoes. Also she’d packed her hairbrush, some ribbons, and a comb. No need to be less than tidy. She laid the dress along with clean undergarments across her bed. Best of all was finding her small Bible. This she laid atop the towel beside her brush and comb and the watch and fob she’d unpinned from her jacket. The watch didn’t tick but sloshed when she shook it. Everything looked right at home on the table. The things she didn’t need right now were packed back inside the valise. She closed it and put it beside the door in case she had to grab it in a hurry when Daddy came.

Before she changed, she looked through the crack beside the door. There was no one out there, but still she changed lickety-split. It felt good as anything to get out of that corset. She liked to be fashionable as much as anyone, but this was not the place. She folded the traveling outfit around the corset and left them on the floor. She never wanted to wear them again—not even if Aunt Remy washed them with her homemade lye soap.

She walked around the room liking the feel of her comfortable, broken-in shoes. This was a boring place. How would she spend the rest of the day? Maybe she should clean up the dog’s spot. Then she’d have to wash her hands again. How much water was left? Only a third of a jar. She tried to save it, but she was so thirsty and the beagle was also. She could watch for her daddy to come. It probably wouldn’t be long now.

The dog watched every step she took. “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you or your baby here in this dreadful place. You’ll like my house. I’ve got a brother and two sisters and a cat and kittens.” She shook her finger in the dog’s direction. “Promise you won’t chase the cats? or the rooster? He’ll turn on you if you do.” She knelt beside the dog and pointed to a teeny round spot on her forehead. “See that? There’s where I got flogged once. Mama threatened to make rooster stew, but I cried and begged her not to.”

With a huge, bored sigh she flung her arms wide and fell backward on the pallet. “That rooster’s living on borrowed time.”

Her fall startled the mother dog. She jumped and, tucking her tail, cowered in front of her.

Lilly stroked the top of the dog’s head and her ears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She started laughing. “Besides, I cracked my head. I forgot I wasn’t on my bed at home.”

The dog lay down beside her. The puppy, ever hungry, wriggled their way.

“I’ll bet we make a pretty picture—a girl with a cracked head and a dog with pointy fur. When you get finished with this feeding, I’ll comb the mud out of your hair. How’s that?”

The dog pointed her long nose at the wicker basket and whined.

“It’s not time for dinner. You can tell by the light it’s not nearly noon yet. Besides, my largesse only goes so far.”

The dog rested her head on crossed paws, feigning interest.

“Largesse? It’s from the French largesse. It means giving generously. It’s the opposite of stingy. Largesse was last week’s new word. Before that the word was cipher.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Cipher has two meanings actually. It could mean an insignificant person or figuring numbers. It’s a pretty word—don’t you think? If I have triplets when I grow up and get married, I could name them Verily, Inasmuch, and Cipher. I’ll bet in the whole history of the world there’s never been triplets with those names. But enough of that. You need to stop paying attention to me and feed your baby.”

Lilly’s eyes grew heavy. She was having trouble keeping them open, as if there were itty-bitty fishing sinkers attached to her lids. Sitting up, she shook her head. She needed to stay alert. What if Daddy walked by and she missed him? After all he didn’t know she was up in the treetops.

The dog yawned mightily.

“Thanks. That helps a lot.” Lilly yawned too. She lay back down and stroked the puppy’s soft fur. It felt like Aunt Alice’s fancy coat. Her eyes closed. She would rest them for a minute.

Lilly woke hours later bathed in perspiration. The sun was bearing down on the tin shack like a furnace. If it weren’t for the deep shade provided by the trees, Lilly figured they’d be toast. It would only get hotter as the day wore on. She needed to do something. There had to be a way out of this place.

She drank some more water and topped off the dog’s dish. The dog shouldn’t have to beg. There was only a quarter of a jar left. She made her way around the room pushing on each tin panel—one might be loose. No such luck.

Tipping her head way back, she studied the roof. If she had a pole, she could poke it through the flimsy-looking thatch. But she didn’t have one, and besides, what good would that do?

Frustrated, she went around the room again until she came to the door. Leaning up against the wall was the piece of wood that blocked the opening of the door from the inside. She fiddled with the latch to see how it worked. It was simple enough—a length of wood lay between two heavy metal pieces that were screwed to the wall and acted as notches to hold the wooden bar. Through the crack she could see a bit of the outside bar. Could she lift it from inside? All she needed was something to slip through the opening and pry the block up.

She went around the room again. It was making her dizzy. How did she expect to find the right tool when she didn’t even know what she was looking for? She climbed up on her step box for a different view. There was something long and polelike lying atop the rafter that she hadn’t been able to see from the floor. She moved the box in front of where the pole should be and tiptoed to grab it. The box tipped and she fell. Her chin hit the corner of the shelf she’d made on the privy wall. Wash water splashed her face when the basin slid off.

Lilly held her chin with both hands. It stung like fire, and there was blood on her fingers when she dared to look. If she kept this up, she would be maimed like the poor beggar children in India she had once seen in a book in Aunt Alice’s library. The blood on her fingers made her feel as dizzy as walking around the room had.

She took her valise back to the pallet and got out her comfy cotton nightgown. She ripped the ruffled flounce off the bottom of the gown, then tore the rest into large squares. After pouring a bit of water over one square, she used it to dab her chin. The flounce she tied around her chin and knotted atop her head like Mama had done Kate’s flannel. Thinking of Kate made her think of her teeth. What if she’d knocked one out? With the tip of her tongue she felt each one. All were in place and none was loose. Thank goodness for that.

To get her mind off her trials, Lilly ate a piece of chocolate cake. It was so good she licked her fingers. The dog got a buttered biscuit and the rest of the potatoes from breakfast.

Undeterred in her quest, she moved the box for better balance and climbed back up. Her fingers wouldn’t quite grasp the pole. As she stood on the box with her hands on her hips, she pondered what to do. This was getting tiring. Jumping down, she went to the table box and got her brush. With it in hand she could move the pole. Straining, being careful not to fall again, she shoved it off the other side of the beam. The pole hit the floor and rolled all the way to the pallet. The dog nosed it suspiciously. Lilly felt like she’d won the hundred-yard dash like the boys at school ran on field day. She deserved a blue ribbon.

The pole was actually a sawed-off broom handle—or maybe a hoe handle. That didn’t matter as long as it would move the bar that barricaded the door. When she looked outside, it was quiet and still as a graveyard after dark. She shoved the pole through the space between the door and the frame. It went in, but the fit was so tight she couldn’t move it up and down. Now what? She jerked it back and forth. This was very hard work, but she was making progress. The frame and the door now had grooves from the pole. It seemed to take a very long time, but finally she could slide the handle under the outside bar and move the handle up against it. It didn’t matter, though. The bar was too heavy. She couldn’t budge it.

Something tickled her brain. Her daddy came to mind. She once saw him pry a heavy rock out of the ground using a pole and a piece of wood he called a fulcrum. That was what she needed—a fulcrum and something to position it on so it would be higher than the heavy bar on the other side of the door.

The old chairs might work. From atop the box, she lifted them down one by one and lugged them to the door. Though the seats were missing, the frames were intact. She spaced them a few feet apart so she could situate the wooden bar across them. Her jaw clenched in frustration. The chairs were not tall enough for the piece of wood to be used as a fulcrum. Narrowing her eyes, she stood and surveyed her creation. She wasn’t giving up. This was a puzzle to be solved and she would solve it.

Two trips to the privy wall answered her problem. Two of the wooden boxes set on end were exactly right. Why hadn’t she seen that before she got the chairs down? No matter. Standing behind the fulcrum, she levered it up against the outside bar. The bar moved! She shouted for joy. She could taste freedom, and it was as good as chocolate cake.

Her celebration was short-lived when the broom handle was jerked from her hands. Her heart thudded to a stop. She always wondered if you could really die from fright; now she knew you could. The door screeched open, and she stepped backward to the pallet.

The bushy-bearded man was on the ladder. He set a jar of water just inside the door. “I ought to knock your silly brains out. I ain’t never seen the like—don’t appreciate nothing.”

His head disappeared below the threshold, then like an afterthought reappeared. “I’ll give you fair warning. I’ll leave this door swung wide so’s you won’t roast in here like a pig on a spit, but if I see hide nor hair of you, I’ll nail this door shut and you’ll have a fine tin coffin.”

Lilly held her breath as he climbed down the ladder, then jumped in fright when his head bobbed up again like an apple in a dunking tub.

“And another thing, missy. Iffen you hear anybody calling for you, you keep still else I’ll drag you to the pond and let you watch that there dog trying to swim outen a gunnysack. Don’t think I won’t.” He slapped another paper packet on the floor. “Enjoy yore fine queezeen.”

“Cuisine,” Lilly couldn’t help but whisper in his absence, “from the Latin coquere, ‘to cook.’”

The dog stuck her wet nose against Lilly’s arm as if to say, “For pity’s sake—shut up.”