August 14th, 2007
The Adventures of Dirty Rachel
By
Mary Fallon Fleming
Chapter 2
The diffuse sunlight that filtered down through the trees and then through the broken branches on top of the lean-to woke Rachel late in the morning. As she opened her eyes, she didn’t know, at first, where she was. She sat up like a shot. When had she ever slept this late in her life? On her hands and her knees she crawled to the entrance of the den, crushed leaves clinging to her old black leggings. Jamie was walking back from the creek with the bucket in his hand.
“Well, good morning,” Jamie said.
“Morning,” she said. She stretched.
“I stole us some eggs while you were sleeping,” he said. “Want one?”
“But they hang people for stealing,” Rachel said.
“So what do you want to do about it, starve?” he said.
She considered this. “Yes, please, I want one,” she said.
They sat down together. “Go ahead, you can grab one. I already washed them off in the creek,” he said.
The egg tasted so good. She put the whole thing in her mouth and chewed it slowly.
“Oh, my gosh, you put that in your mouth all at once?” Jamie chuckled. “You’ll choke.”
Rachel shook her head from side to side and chewed. She knew how to eat an egg.
“You know, that dark hair of yours would look pretty if it ever came near a brush,” Jamie said. He paused. “I know where we could get you all fixed up, and we might get lunch, too,” he said.
Rachel scowled and swallowed the last of her egg. “I don’t want to get fixed up,” she said.
“Well, guess what, Pipsqueak, we’re going over there, because one egg is not going to hold me all day,” he said. He stood her up and brushed the leaves off of her with his hands. “Come on, let’s go.”
They walked through the woods, through the haloes of light that broke through the cool shadows and speckled their path as they went. The trees were like sentinels and harbingers of good fortune, sheltering them from the sun and the keen eye of the authorities. Rachel’s heart was light as she followed Jamie’s footsteps, trying hard to march fast enough to keep up with his longer stride.
“Where are we going?” Rachel asked.
“To the cat house,” Jamie said.
“The cat house? What’s that?” Rachel said.
Jamie smiled a half smile. “You’ll see,” he said. “Besides, you’re too young to get it.”
Rachel ran a few steps to catch up with him. “I am not,” she said.
“Are too.”
“Am not!”
But the argument ended there. They had reached the edge of the woods. Jamie put his finger to his lips and peered out between the last trees.
“What are you doing?” Rachel asked.
“Shh! Be quiet. I just want to make sure there’s no constables loafing on the boardwalk,” he said. Rachel waited quietly while he perused the locale. “All right,” he said. “It looks like the coast is clear.”
He left the woods behind him and ventured out onto the verdant bank that abutted the creaky old boardwalk. Rachel followed. It was a warm spring day, and it felt good to be out in the sunlight. She took a deep breath. She stepped out into the grass, wondering what a cat house might be, and speculating about what kind of amazing events might transpire for them that day.
After they left the quay, Jamie crossed over Main Street and led Rachel up a narrow lane where she had never been before. The alley ran up and up the hill, and Rachel’s boots slipped on the cobblestones, but she climbed onwards, trying to keep pace with the tall, lanky Jamie.
Then, on the corner of Elm Street, they came to a brilliant pink Victorian house with white trim. It was three stories tall, and it had a wrap-around porch with a neat white railing. It stood in a large corner lot, and the garden was full of roses of every color and hydrangeas of white and lavender. The garden was well-tended and inviting. The porch had a swing. To Rachel it looked like something out of Candy Land.
“Is that the cat house?” Rachel asked. It was splendid. She wondered how many cats you had to have to be known as a cat house.
“Yup,” Jamie said. “Come on, let’s knock on the door and see if Althea is around.”
Rachel followed Jamie up the white steps to the porch, and Jamie lifted the brass gargoyle-headed knocker and let it fall. They waited. A matronly woman answered. She was dressed in a marvelous black suit with a high lace collar.
“Why, Jamie, how are you? We haven’t seen much of you lately,” she said.
“No, Miss Margaret,” he said. He looked down at his scuffed brown boots. “Some of your patrons—I mean, the last time I was here I saw Judge Ogle.” He paused before continuing. “I don’t want to go to no orphanage, Miss Margaret.”
“I see,” Miss Margaret replied. “Well, you should be in school, but I can understand what you mean. I grew up in an orphanage. There’s no one here right now. Would you and your little friend like to come in for some pie?”
Rachel smiled when she heard the mention of pie. Pie—when was the last time she had pie? Is it blueberry, apple? she thought. Ummm, I can’t wait.
Jamie smiled too. “Well, yes, I’m sure we’d both be much obliged. Oh, and this is Rachel.” He opened his arm toward her and bowed as Miss Margaret stepped back from the door and ushered them in. Rachel walked inside. It was cool and dim. It took a moment for her eyes to accommodate to the light.
The foyer was just a coat closet with oak coat hooks hanging on the dark green walls.
“Come along, children,” Miss Margaret said. “Would you like to sit in the parlor to eat your pie?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Rachel said. She had never been in a parlor before.
They followed Miss Margaret down the hallway. They passed the stairway on the left, and then Miss Margret opened two enormous mahogany doors on the right. Rachel’s lips parted in awe. She walked down two shallow steps and found herself standing in fairy land.
The parlor had four huge windows with fluffy cream-colored lace curtains that let the sunlight filter in gently. A big painting of a fine black horse hung over the fireplace. It had a massive gilt frame, and Rachel thought she had never seen anything so handsome. She and Jamie sat down on the sofa together. It was soft and springy, and Rachel felt herself sinking luxuriously into its cushions. She ran her fingers over its brocade of dull gold. Miss Margaret left the room to fetch the pie and returned in short order carrying two plates heaped with large portions of sweet-smelling apple pie. Rachel’s mouth began to water as a plate was set in front of her on the elegant cherry coffee table. Miss Margaret handed her a spoon. It’s real silver, she thought as she clutched the slender handle in her little fist.
“No, dear, like this,” Miss Margaret said as she showed Rachel how to hold the spoon between her fingers.
Rachel didn’t like holding her spoon that way. She scowled, and as soon as Miss Margaret turned her back to go fetch the tea, she grasped the spoon in her fist again. Then she dug into her apple pie like a hungry piglet.
The tea was served. Rachel stared at the china tea pot, embellished lavishly with purple flowers and gilt heavily with gold. All the fragile cups and saucers matched it. Not one broken cup! she thought.
Miss Margaret poured the tea, then sat down in the over-stuffed chair. “So, Rachel, I know Jamie’s story, but I don’t know what happened to you,” she said.
Rachel looked down at her lap and folded her small hands. “I ran away from the orphanage yesterday,” she said.
“Oh, I see,” Miss Margaret said. She paused. “Do you know how to read?”
Rachel shook her head. “No, ma’am,” she said.
Miss Margaret seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “All right, I have a proposition for you,” she said.
Rachel sat wondering what a proposition was.
“You learn to read, and me and the girls will look out for you for awhile,” she said.
Rachel wasn’t sure she wanted to learn to read, but the thought of the delicious apple pie and fairy-tale parlor made her smile.
“Your mouth is full,” Jamie said. “We don’t want to see food all over your teeth. Chew, swallow, then smile.” He continued. “Do you mean Miss Althea might teach Rachel how to read?”
“And you’ll be studying too,” Miss Margaret said. “Does that sound good to you, Rachel?”
Rachel looked at her fingers again and silently nodded yes, it did.
Miss Margaret stood up and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Althea! Althea!” she called out.
A moment passed, then two, and a creaky door opened upstairs. Rachel heard footfalls, and a young woman appeared on the landing.
She had long auburn curls, thick and glossy, and a heart-shaped face and smooth complexion. He large eyes and her full lips gave her face a little pout. Her dress was made of yellow gingham, and she had a soiled white apron and a goose-feather duster in her hand.
“Jamie!” Her face broke into a sunny smile. She grabbed her skirts with one hand and came tripping lightly down the stairs. As soon as she was close enough, she gave him a big hug.
“Hey, Miss Althea,” he said. “This is Rachel.”
Althea stepped back and Rachel could feel her direct gaze. Uh-oh, what do I look like? she thought.
“I would like you to teach the children to read. We’re going to let them stay with us. When it was just Jamie, I knew he could take care of himself. But now with this other little one, I would be unable to sleep nights wondering what could be happening to her,” Miss Margaret said.
“All right, I think that would be splendid,” Althea said. She stepped back two steps to inspect her new charges.
Rachel submitted to Althea’s perusal. She wasn’t too sure about the reading, but she was heartily grateful to the Virgin Mary for one thing: Nobody had mentioned anything about a bath.
