Being that it's been a spell since my last post (I'm starting to talk like my characters) maybe a refresher may be in order in the way of re-reading Episode 12 No? Okay then, carry on...
It was just four hours ago that William
was tossing and turning is his bedroll, one side towards the fire then
the other all night long. Half of him was always freezing and the other baking. Now it was only
half past nine and the sun was already hot as an oven with no way to relieve it. He looked at the
horse beneath him.
“I'm sure glad I don't have to carry
someone on my back in this heat.”
“You don't weigh nuthin' to that
horse. He's strong, you're just a fly to him,” said Ben.
“Even a fly might be too much.”
Kohn's horse was out front,
occasionally he would stop and hold up a fist. Ben and William would
pull on their reins and be silent while Kohn sniffed the air, or got
down off his horse, examined the dirt and brush, then he'd get back on his horse and scan the horizon. They had been in the desert for two days and no
sign of Ruby or the Huettes, at least none that Kohn had mentioned,
he hadn't said a word in almost a day.
“Hey Kohn, what makes you think they
weren't on the road in their car? We're nowhere near a road,” said
Ben. “I'm no tracker but...”
Kohn Nodded. “No tracker.”
In the afternoon they stopped under the
shady wall of a canyon to rest the horses.
“Do you think we'll get attacked by
Indians?” William asked Ben.
“No, it's 1922, it's not like in the
pictures. I don't think it ever was to be honest.”
“There are still Injuns, and we're
out here on horseback sleeping by our fire at night, it's just like the pictures, cept I didn't
know it was gunna be so hot.”
“Indians live on reservations now and
they don't go attacking anyone.”
“So who are they?” William pointed
up to the top of the canyon. A dozen or more Indian silhouettes on
horseback stood watching them.
It had been months since I'd seen
Charlotte face-to-face, it was safer that way. This good news
couldn't wait though. I made the bold move of going straight to the
Millard Mansion to speak to her myself. She had been breathtaking
even when she was in the depths of sorrow, I wanted to see with my
own eyes when she learned I had found her baby. I'd be a dirty liar
if I claimed I hadn't imagined her perhaps hugging my neck in her joy and gratitude.
Olaf, the milk boy who had delivered my
letters, had told me her quarters were the right two dormers of the
third floor. Growing up in Nebraska never gave me a lot of
opportunities to learn climb real good, and it was plain daylight,
but that didn't matter to me none, knowin' what I know'd.
A drain pipe got me to the first and
second floor roofs before I had a chance to look down, which, when I
did, I realized was a big mistake. The tiled roof was steep and
slippery, but I managed to overcome my fear and maneuver myself next
to a dormer window. With quaking hands my pocket knife, I popped the
window open and climbed inside.
I had just, for the first time in my
life, committed a crime.
I found myself in a dressing room with
fancy wall paper, oriental rugs, walnut furniture and finely
crocheted lace on every surface. Like most houses of that stature,
the top floor was reserved for servant's quarters, but her area had
been converted and adorned to match her class; a finely appointed
tower for Rapunzel.
I panicked for a place to hide when I
heard the door latch turn, but there was no where to go, no time. A
young maid walked into the room with a basket stacked high with white
linens. The high load kept her from seeing me right away. I realized
in my enthusiasm I had not thought out any sort of plan, I just
started climbing drain pipes and opening windows, assuming Charlotte
would be waiting for me at the top with open arms. My mind raced for
what to do. It would be a matter of seconds before the poor girl had
the fright of her life.
I had nothing.
An unfamiliar silhouette in the edge of
her eye cause her to look my way. She made a meek little squeel and the basket flew up
in the air. The air was a storm of white sheets and pillow cases. She
made her escape on the other side of it. I ran and caught her at the
door. I planted my foot against it. I grabbed her wrist and prepared
to place my hand over her mouth to prevent the inevitable scream, but
there was none. She fell to the ground and curled up like a potato
bug with her knees to her chest and her head between them.
I let go of her arm.
“Miss, its okay,” I began
unsteadily. “You see, I'm a friend of Charlotte's, of Miss
Charlotte's.” The lump of maid on the floor only quivered and
whimpered. “I didn't mean to frighten you, I think we frightened
each other hehe. But the um, laundry seems to have taken the worst
fright hehe.. Awe, get up will ya miss, I'm not going to hurt you or
nothin, promise.”
I touched her back gently but she only
whimpered and tightened her little cocoon.
This was a girl who had been
mistreated.
What do I do now? Nothing was working.
It was only a matter of time before one of the staff went to see what
was taking her so long. The laundry laying about the room was clean.
Some of it was still somewhat folded after it's flight.
If I was going to get out of this
without wearing handcuffs I was going to have to think like a maid.
I left her by the door. She could slip
out, but I had to take the risk. I picked up the
nearest sheet off the floor and carefully folded it, turned the
basket right-side-up and placed the sheet square in the bottom. I did
another sheet, and another. I could see the maid looking up at me,
her head cocked in perplexity. I pretended to pay no attention.
“I'm in service myself you know” I
said, “waiter at the Country Club, even worked a party here last
Christmas. Folded a few thousand tablecloths in my day, yessir.”
“You're doing it wrong.” She said.
“It's right for a table cloth.”
“wrong for bed linens.”
“Show me.” I held out a sheet in
her direction.
She got up and cautiously picked up a
nearby pillow case. With a couple deft moves it was a tight perfect rectangle
and in the basket. A sheet took her not much longer. Between the two
of us the basket was soon full and the floor empty.
“I should really launder them all
over again.” She looked at the basket with heartbreak.
“The floor is spotless, no harm done.
I won't tell... if you won't”
“Yeah, okay I guess. Well, just what
are you doin' here mister?”
“Looking for Charlotte.”
“Miss Charlotte's a lady, you're no
friend of hers creepin' in upstairs windows an such.”
“What's your name girl?”
“Opal.”
“That's a pretty name. Opal, I'm
sorta workin' for miss Charlotte, helping her find something she'd
lost, something she's plenty sad over. The thing is see, I think I
found it.”
“You're the fella that writes them
letters, and you've found her baby!”
“Um, yeah actually, how'd you know,
did she tell you?” I said.
“She never says nothin'.”
“How then?”
“I thought you said you were in
service?”
“Ah, of course.” I laughed, “Where is
Miss Charlotte now Opal? I have to see her.”
“Oh sweet heavens, You don't know
what's happened, do ya?”
Bishop Clarkson Hospital was a brand
new large five story brick building with a cross standing proudly on
the roof above the front entrance. Modern sun porches on either end
at every floor that could conceivably be scaled, but I was done with
high places! The service entrance in the back seemed my
best bet. The kitchen wasn't hard to find and from there a white
smock and cap hanging by a door.
“Say fella, I'm supposed to bring
this dinner to Miss Millard, a lady who's here for hysteria and melancholy but they
messed up the room number and I'm new so I don't know where to go.”
“You might be new, the man said, but
you don't work in no kitchen.”
“Well sure I do.”
“Not with white skin you don't.”
Before I knew it I was out behind the
hospital again and brushing the dirt off my shoulders. Now they knew
me and had orders to keep me out.
Two nuns glided silently by me. They had come
from a small convent by the hospital for the sisters who served
there.
I got an idea just then. A horrible,
horrible idea.
No comments:
Post a Comment