CHAPTER EIGHT

Julia heard a scream which she thought was her own, just as the alarm system blasted out its ear-shattering clanging. Lights flashed on and the place seemed to come alive with noise and motion. She stared at the open door of the record office. The scream she had heard had come from the doorway and standing there, eyes wide with fright, was Meg. Frightened into blind flight, Meg turned and rushed back down the hallway. Julia started after her, but when she heard the voices of Miss Marshall and the others, she froze in her tracks. Her shoes and bag were lying just inside the door. She snatched them up and hid herself behind a row of filing cabinets.

She heard Meg squeal and—as much as she wanted to—Julia forced herself not to interfere.

“How did you get out of the cellar?” she heard one of the women yell.

“The door’s open,” a man said—an old man’s voice; the night watchman, no doubt, Julia decided.

“I locked it myself,” the woman said.

“You most likely forgot, Martha.” It was Miss Marshall’s imperious voice. “You forgot to turn the key in the lock once before. Remember?” she added icily.

“What was she doing upstairs?” Julia heard the matron ask.

“Most likely just wandered around and got herself lost,” the night watchman said.

Miss Marshall boomed, “Will someone please turn off that blasted alarm. It’s breaking my eardrums.”

Julia heard footsteps coming all the way up the stairs. They crossed the hall. A switch was obviously thrown somewhere because the alarm went dead and the lights blinked out. She listened, waiting to hear footsteps coming into the records office to investigate, but she heard only the footsteps of someone going back down the hall and down the stairs. She heaved a sigh of relief and sagged against one of the cabinets.

She heard poor little Meg crying hysterically. Julia tried not to think of the punishment that lay in store for the child. Extra work, quarter rations, solitary confinement. Julia remembered it all only too plainly, and she could not keep back the tears that welled up in her eyes. If only she could do something. What? What would be gained by trying to rescue Meg? They’d only throw trouble her way as well.

The voices kept on for a short while. She heard the night watchman again mounting the stairs and checking the rooms. Luckily she was not discovered. She stayed huddled in the corner of the record office and waited until she felt it was safe to make her escape.

After a long while she took a deep breath and screwed up her courage. She stepped out of her hiding place and headed for the door, clutching her shoes and her bag tight against her body. Again she had to open the door of the record room, this time from the inside, as the night watchman had pulled it closed when he reset the alarm. The beam, fortunately, did not control the opening or closing of the door, only the traffic that passed through it. She saw the little alarm light blinking at her. She repeated her earlier actions, this time in reverse.

Silent as a cat she crept down the stairs. Everything was as still and as quiet as purple velvet. The lower floor was empty. She rounded the corner of the hall and headed for the door to the fruit cellar. She half expected it to be closed and locked and was wondering what she would do about Meg, when to her surprise she saw the door was standing open. They obviously changed their minds about confining Meg back in the cellar. She wondered if they had a more terrifying cell of confinement which they now used.

But she mustn’t think about Meg and her problems; she had problems of her own, she reminded herself. Quickly she went into the fruit cellar, slipped on her shoes and made her way up through the cellar door with the broken hinge. She hurried across the grounds until she found the crack in the wall. She retraced her steps back through the tiny graveyard, the open field and the overgrown path.

Once out of sight of the orphanage, she rested against a tree and tried to get her breathing back to normal. She slipped her hand in her purse and pulled out the record card she’d taken. There was no moon and the card was but a blur. The printing on it was totally illegible in the darkness of the night. She pushed it back into her handbag and found she had also taken Miss Marshall’s cigarette lighter.

She stiffened and turned sharply when she heard someone say, “Thief.”

Her eyes were wide, her mouth open. A scream lay ready in her throat. She saw no one. The wood was empty. Only trees and shrubs and the tall grass kept her company. Yet she was certain she’d heard a man speak. She strained, looking hard into the darkness. She heard no one—no sound at all but that of her own heavy breathing.

Julie pushed herself away from the tree and started back toward the train depot and safety. As she walked along, again she felt the strange yet familiar presence directly behind her. However, whenever she turned to check, she found nothing there.

Yes, she was a thief, and the thought suddenly bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Yet, strangely enough, there was a pulsing in her temples that kept telling her that there had been nothing wrong in what she’d done.

She shook her head. She thought back over the last few days. She couldn’t understand why she’d been compelled to do what she did. It was as if she had acted under the power of someone else. It hadn’t been the timid, reserved Julie Carson who stole into that office and pilfered the files.

Just as the town clock struck the one-thirty bell, she tapped on the railway stationmaster’s door.

“Miss Julie, child. My you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Mr. Petticord said. “I see you made it, all right.”

“Not without incident,” Julia said as she entered the cozy little room.

“What happened?”

Julia told him as quickly as she could.

Mr. Petticord shook his head. “Poor little girl. You say you knew her?”

“Yes, she was just a tiny thing but she remembered me. Oh, Mr. Petticord, I just can’t stop thinking about what they’ll do to that poor baby.”

“Now, now. You’ve survived their hellish treatments; this little Meg will survive it, too. Don’t think about it anymore, Miss Julie. Put it out of your head. There’s nothing that can be done now.”

Julia sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said resignedly.

Mr. Petticord brightened. “And you think you found what you went after?” he asked anxiously.

Julia roused herself. “Yes,” she said, slipping the record card from her bag. “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. There wasn’t time inside the orphanage and there wasn’t any moon or light to see by once I got outside.”

“Well, look at it, girl,” Mr. Petticord urged. “Look at it. What does it tell you?”

Julia scanned the card. Again she saw her name, “JULIA CARSON,” printed in big letters at the top. Again she saw the blank filled in under “Date of Admittance.” The next line held what she needed to know: “Name of Parents: BRIDGET BISHOP (FATHER UNKNOWN).”

“My name is Bishop,” she said, feeling a strange tingling running through her. She stared at the name and felt like shouting it out loud. “Bishop,” she repeated happily.

“That was your mother’s name,” Mr. Petticord reminded her. “It says there that your father was unknown,” he added as he read over her shoulder.

Of course, Julia thought. He’s right. My father’s name might well have been anything...Carson, even. The medium and the fortune teller might still be wrong in saying my name is not Julia Carson.

She looked back at the card.

“Place of birth: BELHAM, MASS.”

Julia frowned. “Belham, Massachusetts? I’ve never heard of it,” she told Mr. Petticord.

He rubbed his chin and cocked his head to one side. “Can’t say I have either.” Then he snapped his fingers. “But we can sure find out quick enough. I have the train listings for every city and town in the country. If there ain’t no railroad into that place Belham, then the book’ll tell you which is the nearest station. I’ll go check.” He hurried toward the office and was back with a thick, dogeared tome which he flipped open and started scanning the listings. “Massachusetts...Here we are,” he said. “Belham, Belham.... Yep, Belham. It’s near Salem,” he added, running his finger across the page. “Must be a tiny little place ’cause there ain’t no trains go anywhere near there. You change trains at Salem to a town called Peabody. From Peabody you gotta take a bus or shuttle into Weaver, which is a pretty good piece northeast of there, and Belham is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Weaver, but there ain’t no signs of a bus or anything going into Belham.”

“Massachusetts.” Julia said. She felt a warm glow around her heart. “At least I know now where I came from. You have no idea how wonderful it is to know that you have a home state and a home town.”

Mr. Petticord was going to remark that a hometown was a place where one was born and raised, but he thought better of it.

“What time can I get a train out of here?” Julia asked, suddenly restless and anxious to get started.

“There’s one at seven-thirty in the morning. It’ll take you to the capital where you can change trains. I’ll get busy and write you up a ticket.” He started toward the ticket cage, but hesitated and turned back. “It would be a lot quicker for you to fly,” he said, but he had a questioning look on his face.

“Fly? I’ve never been on an airplane in my life. I’d be frightened to death. The train will do very well, even if it is a bit slower.”

“You have old-fashioned thinking, Miss Julie,” he said brightly. A broad grin spread across his face. “I guess that’s why I like you as much as I do.”

“Thank you, Mr. Petticord. You’re a very wonderful man and I will never forget you.”

Mr. Petticord cleared his throat and looked embarrassed. “You’d better get yourself into bed. Get some sleep. I’ll get you up in plenty of time to make the train.”

Julia was tempted to admit she was hungry, but she didn’t want to take time for food. Having been raised to know what hunger felt like, she did not mind sleeping on an empty stomach. She was used to it.

Soon she would be on her way home, she told herself as she went into the little room next to the depot office. “Belham,” she said. “Bridget Bishop. Belham, Massachusetts.” It all had a nice, strong ring to it, she decided. Father unknown. Of course, it was possible that her name really was Bishop. Bishop could well have been her father’s name, her mother’s married name. She sat up in bed, realizing that she had not examined the rest of the card.

The remaining portion of the front of the card had been blank, she remembered, but she’d forgotten to look on the back of the card. More information might be printed on the reverse side.

She got the card out of her purse and flipped it over. There were several blocks that were empty of information. At the very bottom of the card one single blank was filled in: “Reason for orphanage: MOTHER DECEASED.”

Julia stared at the words. “Mother deceased,” she said, letting her hand drop into her lap. Had all her efforts been for nothing? She had found out where she came from only to discover that her father was unknown and her mother was dead. What good would it do her to go on to Belham now? She would only find a dead end when she got there.

Or perhaps her father was still living. Perhaps there was someone in Belham who knew Bridget Bishop and who knew who Bridget Bishop had married, or who had sired her child.

Wearily Julia crawled back into bed. She had lain down earlier with a much lighter heart. She had thought her journey would end at Belham, but now she realized that Belham might be only the beginning of a long and tedious search.