Wild Heart (26 page)

"No, they won't."

She wanted to stamp her foot and shake him by the shoulders. "They
will.
Don't you see, you have to
hide,
not run. Then, once we find your parents, everything will be different."

"Why?"

"Because—that's just the way it works. You're nobody now, but when you have people behind you, important people, everything will change."

He looked skeptical, but he said, "Then I'll hide."

"Yes." She hugged him, exultant. "But not out there." She pointed toward the door. "That's where they're looking for you, out there. It's too dangerous."

"Where, then?"

"In my world. It's the last place they'll look. Stay right here, Michael, and promise you won't leave. Stay here and play with Hector. I won't be long."

"Sydney—"

"Promise."
With her pleading eyes and her clutching hands, she begged him to trust her.

"All right. I promise." He blinked when she kissed him on the lips. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get dressed and pack a bag."

"Where are we going?"

The idea must have been there all along, growing in her mind without her conscious knowledge, because suddenly it was a full-blown scheme. "We're going to the Palmer House Hotel."

Chapter 14

“Mr
.
and Mrs. Vernon Tuttle, Topeka, Kansas."

Michael printed the letters as fast as he could, trying to ignore the sharp-eyed man behind the marble counter watching every stroke of the pen. When he finished, he looked at what he'd written and wished he could do it over. It looked false; the man was going to know it was a lie.

"Welcome to the Palmer House, Mr. and Mrs.—" The register book sat on a big revolving plate. The clerk spun it around and read, "Tuttle. From Kansas. How are you folks this morning? Just get in?"

His mind went blank. All he could think of to say was, "Fine. Yes."

Sydney slid her arm through his and leaned against him. "Tell him about the room, Vern," she said in a soft voice, but loud enough for the desk clerk to hear. "Tell him what we'd like."

Miehael cleared his throat. "We just got married," he recited. "We would like—"

"Well, congratulations! Isn't that nice."

"Yes. Thank you," he said, thrown off his stride. He had to start over. "We just got married, and we would like the honeymoon suite, but we don't have reservations." He let his breath out slowly, listening to the echo of the words while he watched the clerk's face for signs of disbelief. He hadn't been this nervous when he let the zoo animals go.

"Ah. Well, now, that might be a bit of a problem." The
clerk looked sad and started leafing through the pages of the book.

Sydney gave Michael a nudge with her elbow. He looked at her blankly for a second, then remembered. "We'll pay cash, and we'll stay for a whole week."

The clerk gave him a quick, very polite up-and-down look. Michael was glad he was wearing Philip's black coat, waistcoat, high-collared shirt, and paisley necktie. Sydney had parted his hair in the middle and made him put on a pair of Dr. Winter's silver spectacles. If anybody asked him what he did for a living, he was supposed to say, "Cattle."

"I do hope you can accommodate us," Sydney said in a sort of purring voice, nothing at all like her real voice. She looked so strange in her aunt's ugly veiled hat, Michael was afraid to look at her, afraid he might laugh. "I've
always
wanted to stay here. I just know we'll love it—and then you can start having your meetings here, Vern. Of the Topeka Cattlemen's Association," she explained to the clerk. "They've been having them at the Richelieu, but I just think that hotel is too hoity-toity for its own good. Now,
this
—" She gazed around at the huge, echoing lobby, with white marble columns holding up the ceiling and plants everywhere, and a fountain in the middle splashing as loud as a waterfall.
"This
is real class."

That did it, although Michael wasn't exactly sure why. Before he knew it, a boy in a purple uniform was taking their two suitcases—"We're having the rest sent," Sydney smiled at the desk clerk—and leading them across the carpeted lobby to a gold-colored cage Michael didn't realize was an elevator until it started going up. Luckily he had been in one before, with Sam, or he might have done something stupid. Sydney grabbed his hand, and he remembered she hated heights. Her fear made him forget all about his. He put his arm around her, not caring if the bellboy saw, and she gave him a shaky smile.

Their room was gorgeous.
Rooms;
there were two—no, three if you counted the bathroom. Sydney told the bellboy what they wanted to have for breakfast, and she told him they wanted it here, not in the dining room. Then Michael gave him a quarter and he went away.

As soon as he was gone they both burst out laughing. It was the tension, he knew, not because anything was really funny. They looked at all the rooms, Sydney turning around with her arms out, pretending she was dancing, touching things and saying, "Oh, look at this—oh, and this—" They had a living room full of heavy, velvet-covered furniture and pictures on the walls of flowers and fruit. The bathroom had a bathtub as big as a bed, and white tile everywhere, a marble sink with gold handles, towels thick as pillows, and mirrors on all the walls. The bedroom was almost as big as the living room, and with a bed in it the size of... he didn't know what. "The size of Kansas," Sydney said, and they burst out laughing again.

She sobered first. "I've got to go call Philip," she said, picking up the purse she had just thrown on the bed.

"You left him a note."

"Yes, but I want to tell him we got here, let him know we're safe."

"Are you going to tell him where we are?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe."

"Should I come with you?"

"No, you stay here. You can't come out at
all,
Michael. Nobody can see you."

"Okay," he said quickly, so she would stop frowning at him like that.

"Okay." She took the key to the room and went out.

When she came back, she pretended she wasn't upset until he pried out of her what was wrong. "He wasn't very understanding," she finally admitted. "He said I've gone out of my mind." She looked small and disappointed as she dropped down on one of the fat, velvet-covered chairs in the living room. "So I didn't tell him where we are. 'Someplace safe,' I said, but that's all, even when he yelled at me."

"Are you afraid he would tell the police?"

"No, but he might tell my aunt."

Michael nodded; telling the aunt would be worse than telling the police.

"And he'd definitely come here and try to make me go home."

"Sydney." He sat down on the edge of the low table in front of her. "Is this the right thing to do?"

"Yes,"
she said, and she made her hand a fist and banged it on the sofa arm of the chair, "This is the last place in the world they'll think to look for that wild man who set all the animals free. All we have to do is stay here and wait until Mr. Higgins finds your parents. I know it doesn't sound like much of a plan, but if we stick to it we'll be safe. And you have to admit, Michael, it's better than you being in jail."

"But now you'll be in trouble, too. For being with me."

"No, I won't. Because I'm not here, I'm in Joliet. I left this morning for a visit with my old school chum, Mary Kay Blayney. She got married last year, and I've never met her new husband."

He laughed—she looked so pleased with herself. "Is there really such a person?"

"Yes, and she'll tell that story if I ask her to. But it won't come to that, I know it won't."

They both jumped when two loud knocks sounded at the door. But it was only the man with their breakfast. They had ordered so much food, it came on a rolling cart with a long white tablecloth. "I'll do this, Vern," Sydney said, taking a coin out of her pocketbook. She had coached him on the train about how much to tip the boy with their suitcases, but not the man with their food. If they were really going to be here a week, he would probably need another lesson in tipping.

Eggs, bacon, porridge, and toast had never tasted so delicious. "When did you eat last?" Sydney wondered, staring at him.

He remembered to swallow before answering. "Can't remember."

"Two days? Three? You look as if you're starving."

"I'm not starving." There had been long winters when he had starved. This wasn't anywhere near that bad. He hoped she wouldn't ask
what
he'd eaten last; the answer would spoil her appetite.

She didn't have much of one anyway; either that or she was pretending so he could have almost all the food. She poured herself another cup of coffee and sat back in her chair and watched him while he ate. When there was nothing left on his plate or hers, she poured him more hot chocolate from a heavy silver pitcher, and he drank it while he looked at her.

"What day is this?" he asked.

"Monday."

"I lost track. What day was the zoo?"

"Friday."

So. He had stayed hidden for three nights. "I thought of you on Saturday. How was your party?"

She sent him a soft, slow smile over the top of her cup. She had the prettiest eyes, and when she smiled they got narrow and twinkly. "Awful."

"It was?"

"I wanted to dance with you, and you weren't there."

He wanted to get up and kiss her, but his arms and legs felt pleasantly heavy; he didn't have the strength. The morning sun shone on the side of her face, lighting up the green in her eyes and the red in her hair. "You look beautiful, Sydney."

She didn't blush or look away. She said, "So do you."

That made him laugh. He set the cup on his thigh and rested his head against the back of his chair. The sun felt warm on his right arm and right knee. Through the open window, the noise of horses and people and vehicles was all mixed together into a faraway blur. Sydney was talking about going shopping. "You'll be needing some things," she said, and started mentioning what they were. He listened to her soft voice rise and fall, rise and fall. He used to fall asleep in the summer listening to the hum of crickets in the trees. Sydney's voice was like a waterfall. Music. Water splashing on rocks, playing different notes.... .

"Michael. Wake up." She took the cup out of his hand and put it on the table. "All right, now.
Up
we go."

"I'm not Sam," he protested, but he let her pull him to his feet. They went into the bedroom, she holding his hand. "I can do this." But she just kept doing what she was doing, pulling the covers back and plumping the pillow, lightly pressing him down on the bed, making him stretch out. She even took his shoes off. .

"Close your eyes," she said, and he did, but when she tried to move away he kept her hand. "What? A good night kiss?" Smiling, she bent over and put her lips on his forehead.

"I'm not Sam," he said again. She lifted one eyebrow. Then she kissed him on the mouth.

"What will you do while I'm sleeping?" he asked with his eyes closed.

She started to tell him in her waterfall voice.

* * * * *

When he woke up, the shadows on the blank white ceiling overhead bewildered him; he had no idea where he was. But a second later it all came back—he was in the Palmer House Hotel. The clue was the pillow under his head and the soft mattress under his body. Sydney had put him here, and he had pretended this was normal, nothing out of the ordinary. But as far as he could remember, it was the first time he'd ever slept in a bed.

It wasn't too bad.

How long had he been sleeping? He got up and padded over to the window and drew back the curtain. From the light he judged it was either late in the afternoon or early in the morning; in the city, with no dew or crickets and no birds to speak of, he couldn't tell.

He combed his hair with his fingers and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his clothes before he opened the door to the living room. He opened it quietly, in case Sydney was sleeping.

She wasn't there.

"Sydney?" No answer. Through the open door to the bathroom, he saw that that room was empty, too.

:.-- =

He turned on the gaslight and went in. His face looked the same in all the mirrors: terrible. No wonder she hadn't much wanted to kiss him. At least his beard didn't look too bad—he had shaved before they left her house, so he wouldn't look like a wild man when they registered at the Palmer House. But his skin was pasty, his bones stuck out, and his eyes had blue circles under them. However much sleep he'd gotten today, it hadn't been enough.

A bath, that's what he needed. He began to fill the tub with hot water, expecting it to run out and turn to cold after a few minutes, like the Winters' tub did. This one didn't, though; the water stayed boiling hot until he turned it off, and then he had to add cold to it before he could get in.

"Ahhh." He lowered his backside into the tub slowly, an inch at a time. "Ahhh." The hot water made his sore shoulder ache at first, but it was a pleasant, numbing ache. When he was all the way in, nothing showing but his head and the tops of his knees, a simple, humbling truth came to him: he liked living in civilization better than the wilderness. Because this bath had a cold stream, as Philip would say, beat all to hell.

He had almost fallen asleep again when he heard the door in the living room open and close. He sat up straight, tense and quiet, then relaxed when Sydney called softly, "Michael?"

"I'm in here."

He had left the door open. She poked her head in, saw him, and jumped back, smacking her hip on the doorknob. "Oops, sorry." He saw her face turn pink before she ducked it and disappeared.

He didn't know why that made him want to laugh. Made him feel happy, in fact. Sydney had looked a little silly, but that wasn't it. It must be because he was usually the one doing the silly things and making a fool of himself. It was nice, once in a while, having it the other way around.

"I've brought you some clothes," she called through the door in a very casual voice. "I'll leave them on the bed."

"Thank you. I'll be right out."

"Oh, take your time."

But he washed his hair and scrubbed himself clean in a hurry, because now that she was here, soaking by himself in a tub of hot water wasn't nearly as much fun.