Before We Were Yours(62)

If there’s anyone I could trust with the information about Grandma Judy, it would be Abby, but it’s safer to catch up on things at the office, so I do that instead. “Long story. So why are you awake at this hour?”

“Working. Discovery tomorrow. Laundering and mail fraud. Major case. They’ve hired Bracken and Thompson.”

“Ohhh…big guns.” The legal chatter brings me squarely back home to Baltimore. Whatever nonsense came over me at Trent’s house is quickly eclipsed, and I’m glad because I need it to be. “Tell me what’s happening.” My senses heighten in a way that has nothing to do with the night or a glance over my shoulder that finds Trent still watching me.

Abby launches into the details of the investigation, and my mind homes in. I’m struck by one undeniable fact.

I miss my old life.





CHAPTER 16


Rill

“Rise and shine. Looks like finally some sun today!” Miss Dodd says as she unlocks the door to the basement room. Miss Dodd is new here, since two days ago. She’s younger than the others, and nicer too. If I can get her alone, I plan to ask after Camellia. Nobody will tell me where my sister is. Mrs. Pulnik said to shut my yap about it and stop bothering the workers.

Danny Boy says Camellia’s dead. He says he woke up and heard Mrs. Murphy telling Riggs that Camellia died after they put her in the closet and what to do about it. Danny Boy says Riggs carried her body out to the truck to go dump it in the swamp. He saw the whole thing with his own two eyes. He says my sister’s gone, and good riddance.

I don’t believe a word that comes out of Danny Boy. He’s hateful clean through to the bone.

Miss Dodd will tell me the truth.

Right now, she’s more worried about the stink in the room. It’s moldy and drippy down here when it rains, and on top of that, Fern’s been wetting the bed every night since they took away Camellia and Gabion. I tell Fern not to, but it doesn’t help.

“Mercy, that smell!” Miss Dodd gives us a worried look. “This ain’t a fit place for children.”

I move between her and the wet cot. I’ve piled it with covers because that’s all I can figure out to do to hide it. “I…I spilled the slop pot.”

She looks at the corner. The cement is dry under the pot. “Did somebody have an accident in the bed?”

Tears pop into my eyes, and Lark backs away toward the corner, taking Fern with her. I grab Miss Dodd’s apron and duck my head away at the same time because I’m expecting a smack. Even so, I’ve got to keep her from going upstairs to get Mrs. Pulnik. “Don’t tell.”

Miss Dodd’s brown eyelashes flutter over soft gray-green eyes. “Why in the name a’ Saint Francis not? We’ll just wipe up the mess, and it’ll be all right.”

“Fern will get in trouble.” I guess Miss Dodd doesn’t know yet what happens to kids who wet the bed around here.

“Oh, heaven’s sake. No she won’t.”

“Please…” Panic runs inside me like a flood tide. “Please don’t tell.” I can’t lose Fern and Lark. I don’t know for sure what’s happened to Camellia, and after four days, I figure those people won’t be giving Gabby back either. I’ve lost my brother. Camellia’s gone. Lark and Fern are all I’ve got left.

Miss Dodd puts her hands on either side of my face and holds me real gentle. “Ssshhh. Hush up, now. I’ll see it’s took care of. Don’t you fret, little pea. We’ll keep it just ’tween us.”

My tears just come harder. Nobody’s held me this way since Queenie.

“Quieten down, now.” Miss Dodd looks over her shoulder nervous-like. “We best get upstairs before they come lookin’ for us.”

I nod and choke out “Yes’m.” It’d be the worst thing if I got Miss Dodd in trouble. I heard her tell one of the kitchen women that her daddy died last year and her mama’s sick with the dropsy and she’s got four little brothers and sisters living on a farm up in north Shelby County. Miss Dodd walked and hitched rides to Memphis to find work so’s she could send the money home.

Miss Dodd needs this job.

We need Miss Dodd.

I get Fern and Lark together, and we march through the door ahead of Miss Dodd. Riggs is hanging around by the boiler, nosy as a kitchen-door dog. Like always, I keep my head down and watch him from the corner of my eye.

“Mr. Riggs,” Miss Dodd says just before we get to the stairs, “I’m wonderin’ if you could do me a favor? Ain’t no need in tellin’ nobody about it.”

“Why, yes’m.”

Before I can stop her, she asks, “You think you might could mix up some Clorox and water and rub it over the cot that’s settin’ there by the door? Just leave me the bucket when you’re done. I’ll wash up the rest afterwhile.”

“Yes’m. I’ll d-do it for ya. I sure will.” His crooked teeth poke out of his smile, long and yellow like a beaver’s. “Reckon these kids’ll b-be movin’ up-upstairs soon.” He waves at us with the handle of his shovel.

“The sooner the better.” Miss Dodd doesn’t know how wrong she is. Once we get upstairs, there won’t be a locked door between us and Riggs. “A room in the basement ain’t right for young’uns.”