Homecoming (11 page)

He stood up, his legs sturdy and brown. He held out a dirty hand and Dicey put the
money into it.

“Can you do it, Sammy?”

“I think so.”

“If there isn’t anything right to buy, don’t buy anything.”

“Dicey—I wouldn’t do that.”

No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t be bullied. They watched him walk back and enter the
bakery. They heard a jingle of bells as he closed the door. Then they waited, silently,
for what seemed a very long time, studying the front of the big car. It stared back
at them with empty glass eyes.

Dicey turned her head when she heard the shop door open with a jingling of bells.
Sammy had a big white bakery bag in one hand. In the other, he had a round cookie,
half-eaten. His eyes met Dicey’s, and he quickly shoved the rest of the cookie into
his mouth.

“It’s fine,” he said. “She had a couple of old doughnuts, and
some rolls and a pie she said she couldn’t sell after two days. She said she’d call
our parents, but I said I didn’t remember the phone number yet. She said maybe my
sister would. So I said I’d come out and you’d tell her the number after you ate because
I thought you were pretty hungry.”

Dicey jumped to her feet. “Good job, Sammy,” she said. “Okay, let’s go. I don’t want
to answer any more questions. We’ll eat as soon as we’re out of sight. We’ll eat the
pie—that’s worth waiting a little for, isn’t it?”

They trotted down the road and around a corner. Once out of sight, they sat on the
grass to eat, breaking pieces of apple pie off with their fingers and licking all
the sticky sauce before seizing another portion. They were too hungry to save much
for later; only two rolls were left in the white bag when Dicey put her map into it,
rolled down the top and led them off again. She wanted to get to a creek she had seen
on the map. It was a little creek that fed into the mouth of the Connecticut River.
There might be fish in it. If they could fish, then they could have breakfast before
they set off. And then it wouldn’t matter so much that they didn’t have any money
left.

They didn’t have one penny left. Not one.

Four miles up the road they found the creek. Dicey led them up it, away from the road.
The creek was bordered with marshes, but if you went a few yards back the land got
higher, dryer. It was posted:
NO HUNTING. NO FISHING. NO TRESPASSING
. But Dicey figured they had to risk it. A small fire, during daylight hours, that
wouldn’t be so noticeable.

She set James and Sammy fishing down by the creek and took Maybeth back into the trees.
Together they cleared a place for a fire, surrounded it with stones, then gathered
twigs, leaves and branches to burn, plus four slim branches on which they could thread
the fish.

For all their patient waiting, James and Sammy caught only two fish. Those Dicey cooked
and shared out among them, dividing the fish and the two rolls evenly. It was not
enough, not after a long day’s walk. They went silent to sleep hungry, thirsty, huddled
together to keep warm.

Dicey woke early and dug up some worms. She took the line and hook down to the creek
and tried to catch breakfast. Fish bit in the early morning. The fishing boats that
went out from Provincetown went out when night was still dark, so that as the first
light brought out the fish they could be there, nets down and ready.

Birds awoke. The sun came up, although you couldn’t see it through overhanging clouds.
The water gurgled quietly at Dicey’s feet. She heard an occasional motorboat, far
off, but no cars. However, off in the distance there was a humming that suggested
heavy traffic. This noise was carried to her on a steady wind that blew from off the
land toward the water.

No fish were biting. Not that morning.

She heard James calling her with panic in his voice. Slowly, she trudged back to her
family.

“I told you,” Sammy said to James, “because the fishing line was gone.”

“I didn’t know where you were,” James said. “Why didn’t you say where you were going?”

“You were asleep,” Dicey answered. “Let’s get going.”

She did not say a word about eating. They did not ask her.

It was a subdued four children who returned to the road, walked over the little bridge
and through a tiny town that didn’t even have its own post office building, just one
section of the laundromat set aside, and a small flag flying outside to show where
the post office was. They walked through town and on, north along the Connecticut
River. It was a low, gray morning,
and Dicey thought someday soon it would rain again. She didn’t have the energy to
care about that. Besides, you could drink rain water.

By noon they were at the town of Old Lyme and Dicey had identified the distant rumble,
grown louder now, as the Thruway. Here Route 1 joined the Thruway to cross over the
broad river.

They passed the Thruway entry ramp and a shopping center backed up against the fast-moving
highway. They cut through to the river’s bank and stood looking up at the soaring
metal that arched overhead to cross the river.

When Dicey realized that the bridge had no walkway, she stared out over the river.
It wasn’t terribly broad, but it was much too broad to swim.

If there was no walkway, they would have to walk on the shoulder of the road. Someone
would be sure to stop them. If they didn’t get run over first. Cars and trucks and
buses—all hurtled over that bridge as if the devil himself was chasing them. He’d
be chasing them from both directions then, Dicey thought; he’d catch you either way.

Dicey crouched down where she was and buried her face in her knees. How could they
go forward from here? The railroad bridge downriver had a draw section in the middle
that was raised up. They couldn’t cross there. It was miles and miles upriver to the
next bridge. Tears welled up behind her eyes and the corners of her mouth pulled sharply
down.

You don’t cry, she said to herself. Not you.

No money, no food, no way to go forward. The silence behind her told her that her
brothers and sister were watching her. Maybe they could just all stay right here,
without moving, and turn to stone. Then her troubles would be over. Dicey opened her
eyes and studied the darkness of her knees. There was nothing more she could do. Nothing.
She had done her best and that
wasn’t good enough and now she could do no more. That was it. The end.

She sighed and felt a small hand on her shoulder. Maybeth. She raised her head to
look out again over the impassable river.

At least it was beautiful, with curves and marshy islands and yachts moored along
the edges. At least the trees that crowded up to the top of the bluff spread above
them, proud and growing. A solitary, two-masted sailboat glided down the river. She
watched it.

“Dicey?” Maybeth said.

“Yes, Maybeth,” Dicey answered, without turning her head. Food, money, a way forward.
They had none.

“What’s wrong?”

Dicey almost laughed. “What’s right?” is what she wanted to answer, but she didn’t
speak. Never mind even the way forward, you couldn’t get food without money and they
had none.

Kids just couldn’t earn money.

She had, yesterday. She had earned seventy-five cents in all. They could eat something
today, if they had seventy-five cents now.

James asked, “What’re we going to do now?”

“I dunno,” Dicey said. So, she had to earn some money. But how? There was that shopping
center. It had a big parking lot, and a supermarket. She pictured it carefully, and
then pictured herself coming out of the market with two big bags filled with groceries
after she had earned money somehow, bags filled with fruit and meat and breads and
cans of vegetables and a pan to cook things in. And a can opener; it would be just
her luck to forget the can opener.

In her daydream, the Dicey she saw walking out of the store with enough food for her
family to eat for days, with her eyes smiling and a big grin stretching her mouth,
that Dicey tripped
and fell. The food scattered over the ground. The wheels of cars squashed the scattered
oranges and bananas. A dog took the package of hamburger meat and ran away with it.
The people around went off on their own ways, carrying their own heavy bags of groceries.

Was this how Momma felt? Was this why Momma ran away? Because she couldn’t think of
anything more to do and couldn’t stand anymore to try to take care of her children.

Dicey said to herself, I’m getting as bad as Momma. Imagination doesn’t do any good.
Then her mind flicked back to the people with their heavy bags.

That might be a way. If they all did it. They might earn something.

She turned her head and ran fingers through her hair. They had to look neat or people
wouldn’t trust them.

“Listen, we could carry groceries to cars out at that shopping center. People might
tip us.”

“I wanna eat first,” Sammy said.

“We can’t.” Dicey looked directly into his eyes. “We don’t have any money left, you
know that. All we’ve got is this,” and she held up the white bag in which she was
carrying the map.

“Dicey? Is everything going to be all right?” Sammy looked scared.

Momma always reassured him, whenever he was afraid or when she’d been angry because
she was worried. She always smiled at him and said everything would be all right.
And somehow, it always was.

“I hope so,” Dicey said. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you, if this idea works and we can
earn some money, the first thing we’ll do is buy a quart of milk. The first forty
cents we have. That’s a promise.”

The fear stayed in Sammy’s eyes, but he nodded his head.
Dicey tidied them up as much as possible. She had not noticed how dirty they’d become.
Maybeth’s hair was a tangled mess. James’s hands were brown with dirt and his nails
were black. And Sammy looked—well, Sammy looked like most six-year-olds, so that might
be okay. Her own shorts were grubby, her knees stained. But her dark hair was always
kept short, so that must look all right. They’d just have to try it.

They stationed themselves outside of the entrance doors, where the paper bags were
brought out on a rolling belt. Maybeth looked at the people going in and coming out
and shook her head. Her eyes grew big and pleading. Dicey understood. She told Maybeth
to sit quiet at the far end of the belt. Maybeth nodded and ran off. She sat and didn’t
move a muscle, just sat quiet as if she was waiting for her mother to come and take
her home.

Most of the people the children approached said, “No, thank you,” with a kind of puzzled
look, as if it didn’t often happen that someone offered to carry their grocery bags.
Some, especially ladies with babies, said yes, with a grateful look, and Dicey or
James or Sammy would carry huge bags out to large station wagons. The people would
give them a dime, or some nickels.

True to her word, at the end of the first half-hour, when they had forty cents, Dicey
went inside to buy milk. They ducked around the corner of the building to drink it,
careful not to spill any as they poured it into their mouths. The cool, rich liquid
flowed down Dicey’s throat and settled gently into her stomach. The carton was soon
empty. “Better?” Dicey asked. “Better,” they said. They returned to work.

All afternoon they went up to strangers and asked if they would like their bags carried.
Dicey learned to read the no or yes in people’s eyes before they spoke it. Then, unexpectedly,
the way good luck always surprises you, they had a piece of very good luck.

An older man and a little girl came out of the busy store. They stood waiting for
their bags to emerge from the metal doors the rolling belt used.

Soon, the man moved to a group of three grocery bags. The little girl followed beside
him. Dicey stepped up to him. “Would you like me to carry those bags?”

He looked at her. “We’ve got three,” he said hesitantly.

“My brother could help too,” Dicey said.

“The car is across the lot, by the restaurant,” he said.

“That’s okay,” Dicey said.

The man waited, hesitating, maybe, for her to say more, to ask again. When she didn’t
speak, that seemed to decide him and his eyes twinkled at her. “Why not?” he said
to the little girl. “Sure,” he said to Dicey, “you and your brother carry these two
and I’ll take the third. Be careful—there are some eggs in there somewhere. We did
remember the eggs, didn’t we?”

“Grandpa,” the girl spoke. “You keep asking that. Stop teasing. But Grandpa”—her mouth
puffed out sulky—“you said I could carry a bag. You said.”

He shook his head at her.

“You said I could because I’m your helper on the boat.”

He ignored her. Dicey ignored her too, not liking the tone of her voice.

“But I’m bigger than him,” the little girl said, pointing at Sammy. “It’s not fair.”

They walked along to the car. Sammy carried the lightest bag. The man and Dicey carried
the heavier ones. The little girl trailed behind. To make conversation, the man asked
Dicey how much money they’d earned, and she answered that they hadn’t counted yet.
He asked her how long they’d been at it, and when she answered all afternoon he said
she must like working. Dicey shrugged. He said he himself liked working, but
he wasn’t sure if he didn’t like it because it made vacations so much more pleasant.

Dicey smiled at this.

“So you’re all in it together,” the man said. He didn’t say it nosy, but as if he
was really interested in her, Dicey.

Dicey wanted to answer, even though she couldn’t tell him the truth. “We want to get
our mother a birthday present,” she said.

“What are you thinking of getting her?” he asked.

“She needs a new ironing board,” Dicey answered.

“Your father can help you out a little, can’t he?” the man said. Dicey knew that was
the way this man would do it.

“He’s not around,” she said shortly.

The man just nodded. They had come to the car. It had Pennsylvania license plates.
He held the rear door open while she and Sammy put the bags inside, and then he put
his own bag in. He put his hand in his pocket. “How many of you are there?” he asked.