Homecoming

  In an hour, Father Joseph returned. The children were not with him, but another man was. He wore a business suit of olive green and had a round face and yellow-brown eyes that protruded. Goggle eyes. He had round fat fingers, and he jingled the money in his pocket. He peered at Dicey.

  They all went to sit at the kitchen table. “The children are staying at camp for the afternoon,” Father Joseph said to Dicey. “You and I will go pick them up, so that you can learn the way. Is that all right?”

  Dicey nodded. She wondered if she should have changed into one of the dresses.

  “This is Sergeant Gordo. He works with the Missing Persons Bureau of the Police Department, and he is also a personal friend of mine.”

  “How do you do,” Dicey said.

  “How do. Hot enough for you?” Sergeant Gordo asked. He laughed at his own joke. “Well. I understand you’ve got a missing mother.”

  Dicey nodded.

  He took a pad out of his rear pants pocket and prepared to write with a ball-point pen. “Give me her particulars,” he said.

  Dicey didn’t understand.

  “Name, age, weight, description, any distinguishing marks, last seen.”

  “Liza Tillerman, thirty-six,” Dicey said. “I don’t know how much she weighs.”

  “How’s she built? Fat? Thin?”

  “She’s regular,” Dicey said. “Sort of thin, I guess, but she has a regular shape.”

  “Height?”

  “Two or three inches taller than I am.”

  “How tall are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Stand up, will you?” His eyes measured her. “She’d be about five-six or seven. Any scars or moles?”

  “She’s got a big mole on her chin, and one at the back of her neck, under her hair. There are more, but those are the big ones. She’s got blonde hair, long blonde hair. Hazel eyes, like mine. A round face, with high cheekbones.”

  “What was she wearing when she took off?”

  “Blue jeans. A sweater—a big, red, man’s sweater, with holes in the elbows. Sandals. A purse over her shoulder.”

  “Rings? Watch?”

  Dicey shook her head. Momma didn’t have jewelry.

  “Wedding ring?”

  Dicey shook her head. The two men exchanged a glance.

  “When did you last see her?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. It was early in June.”

  “Where was it?”

  Dicey told him about the mall in Peewauket. She told him about the car and how they had left it there.

  He snapped his notebook shut. “I’ll see what I can do for you,” he said.

  Dicey swallowed. “Do you think she’s dead?”

  He pursed his lips. “I can’t say that, not now. If she is, we’ll find out soon enough. Dead bodies stink, so we find them.”

  Dicey nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  Father Joseph seemed to understand that and he changed the subject. “I’ve put in a call to the church in Maryland.”

  “Crisfield,” Dicey said. His eyes studied her briefly.

  “Yes. The priest there will see what he can find out. Your people aren’t Catholic.”

  “No,” Dicey said. “We aren’t anything. At least, I don’t think we are.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Your cousin Eunice is a devout Catholic,” he said. “She was raised in the Church. But of course it was her father who was a Catholic—her mother converted when they married. She herself is very traditional in her devotion—she still chooses to keep meatless Fridays, for example.”

  But none of this interested Dicey. Her attention remained with the officer.

  “How long will it take you?” she asked Sergeant Gordo.

  “I can’t say now, can I? Maybe a day. Maybe a year.”

  “No, I mean if she’s dead.”

  “That’ll take less time. If there’s any possibilities I’ll show you some pictures—oh, within a week.”

  “So if you don’t tell me anything in a week—”

  “Then we can be reasonably sure she’s alive. Father Joseph tells me you don’t have any idea what made her leave you.”

  “She didn’t say,” Dicey said. She looked at him. She didn’t like him, but he could help her. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  He took out his pad again. “Anything might be useful.”

  “I think she ran out of money and didn’t know what to do, so she just—forgot about us. Her mind just erased us. Because she was so worried about us. Does that make sense?”

  “The kind of people we deal with? Anything makes sense. Was she worried about anything in particular?”

  “Everything. Always. She lost her job. That was why we were coming to Aunt Cilla’s house—here.”

  “What about welfare? Or unemployment compensation?”

  Dicey shook her head. “Momma said she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t even go talk to anyone. She said charity was not for the Tillermans.”

  “I wish more people felt that way,” Sergeant Gordo said. He folded his notebook and put it away again. “Well, I’ve got work to do.”

  Father Joseph stood up too. “And we have some children to pick up.”

  “But I can’t leave the house. Cousin Eunice said not to leave the house empty and unlocked, and I don’t have a key. Can’t you get James first and then the other two? James can show me the way on Monday morning.”

  Father Joseph looked doubtful.

  “James will remember all right. He’s smart.”

  “Oh yes, that’s very clear. I guess we can do it that way.”

  Dicey saw them out, and when they had gone she sat waiting on the hall staircase for her family to return to her. It seemed like a long time, waiting there in the dim, silent hallway.

  At last they were at the door, James thin and thoughtful, Maybeth, who hurried up to take Dicey’s hand, and Sammy, who stood grinning by the doorway. Dicey thanked Father Joseph and said good-bye to him. She took her family to the kitchen. She gave them fruit and then they all went out to the backyard. Sammy wanted to play catch with Dicey, but she wanted to talk.

  “What did you do? What was it like?”

  “I talked with the teachers,” James said. “It’s a school building and they have arts and crafts and games in the afternoons. All the teachers are priests,” he said, taking a huge bite of banana and chewing it. “They’ve got a library just for the school and labs with Bunsen burners and chemicals in cupboards. I knew almost all the answers to their questions,” he reported proudly. “I think I’ll like it.”

  Dicey was glad to hear that.

  “They talked to me as if I was a high school student,” James added.

  “What about you Sammy? What did you do?”

  “Played.”

  “Played what?”

  “Blocks, sandbox. We had running races and I came in second. Some of the boys I beat were in third grade.”

  “What about the girls?”

  “No girls in my camp. All the girls are in one, all the boys in another.”

  “So yours was all girls?” Dicey asked Maybeth. She nodded. “What did you play?” Maybeth didn’t answer. “Did you stand with the teacher all the time?” Dicey guessed.

  “Yes,” Maybeth said in a small voice, with a small smile.

  Dicey rumpled her hair. She wanted to know more about what they had been doing. Each of them had had an entirely separate afternoon. “Did anybody look friendly?” she asked.

  “I didn’t see any of the guys,” James said. “They were figuring out what classes to put me in. They asked me what prayers I knew, and what about the Gospels and the saints. I don’t know anything about any of those. Catechism,” he pronounced the new word. “They’ll teach me.”

  “You sound glad about going to school.”

  “Boy, am I.” James smiled at her, his hazel eyes smiling too. “These fathers, they’re all so smart. Really smart. I never had a teacher like that, not even one. Thes
e guys know so much. And they really want to teach me what they know. You can tell that. Yeah, I guess I am glad. So would you be.”

  “I doubt it,” Dicey said. “It takes different things to make me glad.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like knowing we’ve got food.”

  “Be serious, Dicey.”

  “The ocean,” Dicey said. “And lots of room outdoors. But mostly the ocean. And the food too, that was serious.”

  “Father Joseph said to tell you we’re all enrolled. He said you should take us on Monday.”

  “What was it like where Sammy and Maybeth were?”

  James shrugged. “Playgrounds mostly, next to schools. Blacktop. Lots of jungle gyms and swings. The teachers for the girls, where Maybeth is, are nuns.”

  “Did you like the nuns?” Dicey asked Maybeth.

  Maybeth didn’t answer.

  “All the other girls were wearing dresses,” James reported.

  “We have some dresses,” Dicey said to Maybeth. “Father Joseph brought them today. Do you want to go try them on? And see how they look?”

  Maybeth nodded. Dicey took her upstairs and she tried on the dresses. Cousin Eunice had come home before they got back downstairs.

  Dicey found Cousin Eunice sitting again in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to come to a boil. The little woman looked tired. She had taken off her glasses and was resting her forehead on her hands, rubbing her eyes. Dicey sent the children outside to play in the backyard and cautioned James to keep them out there. She sat down facing Cousin Eunice. “Are you tired? Can I get you something?”

  At that moment the kettle whistled. “I’ll make the tea,” Dicey said, hopping up. She poured the water and dipped the tea bag in.

  “Thanks,” Cousin Eunice said. “Yes, I am tired. And I have an instruction class tonight—”

  “An instruction class?”

  “Religious instruction. I am studying to . . . I am studying. But my feet hurt so, I don’t know if I can go tonight. Well of course I can, but—”

  “What kind of work do you do?” Dicey asked. The woman was almost curled over onto the tabletop. Her face was pale and her eyes lacked expression. Dicey couldn’t imagine what kind of work would make a person look like that.

  “I’m a junior foreman. We attach the lace insets to lingerie, my girls and I. You know, on slips and nighties there are lace panels, or the cups of brassieres.” Dicey didn’t know, but she nodded anyway. “I’ve been quite successful in my work. There are only half a dozen junior foremen who are women, and only one senior foreman. But it’s tiring—the supervising and the sewing and the quality control. It’s a responsibility. You wouldn’t believe some of the pieces of lace they expect us to set. We have to mend some of the pieces before we can even baste them in. And I’m on my feet most of the day, what with one thing and another. When Mother was here, she knew how tired I was.” Her small, high voice droned on. “She’d always have a cup of hot tea waiting for me when I came in the door. And dinner on the table at six. I do get so hungry.”

  “Do you always get home at the same time?”

  “Oh yes, at twenty to six, precisely.” Dicey made a mental note. “But I have to begin dinner if we’re to eat before my class.” Cousin Eunice replaced her glasses and pushed herself up from the table, tottering a little in her high heels. She put a pot of water on to boil. She opened the can of tuna and the can of soup. Dicey tried to help, but she felt clumsy—as if she was interfering, not helping. So she set the table and found the noodles for Cousin Eunice.

  “And did you get the living room done?”

  “Yes I did.”

  “Good. You washed the windows?”

  “Oh no. I forgot that. I’ll do it in the morning.”

  “Oh dear, in the morning we’ll do the upstairs. And take the sheets and towels to the laundromat. And do our personal laundry. I think we’ll have to let the windows go until next week. Although they get so dirty.”

  “I’ll do them,” Dicey assured her.

  “And the floor. Did you damp mop?”

  “No, no I’m sorry, I didn’t. I didn’t know what you meant by that.”

  “We’ll just have to do the living room as well, tomorrow. Somehow.”

  “I’ll do it, don’t you worry about it.”

  Cousin Eunice poured the noodles into the boiling water.

  “But Cousin Eunice?”

  “Yes, Dicey.”

  “You know that Father Joseph brought us some clothes.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yes, it was nice. We are grateful. You’ll tell him, won’t you?”

  “Yes I will.”

  “But—we need underwear, and there wasn’t any. And blue jeans or shorts, just one more each, so that when we play we won’t ruin good clothes. And sneakers. At least, the others need sneakers. I can still wear mine for a long time. I guess I don’t have to have a second pair of shorts.”

  “Oh dear.”

  Dicey pushed the forks around on the table, as if she was still setting it.

  “So we’ll have to go shopping tomorrow too,” Cousin Eunice said.

  “Thank you,” Dicey said.

  “I don’t know how much things for children cost.”

  “Neither do I. I’m sorry,” Dicey said. “Maybe I could get work?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cousin Eunice said. She was stirring the noodles with a long-handled fork. “I was talking with my girls and they said someone your age could only get babysitting jobs. I don’t know anybody who has small children. We might advertise in the paper I suppose, but who would take care of the housework then? The girls said—you know how silly some people are—that I was a saint to take you in, that anybody else would turn you over to social services. But I said, I can’t do that, they’re my own flesh and blood. Which in a way you are, you know.”

  “Yes,” Dicey said. Then she added, because she knew it was true even though she didn’t feel that it was true, “You are being awfully kind to us.”

  Cousin Eunice nodded and smiled her foolish smile.

  “James is excited about school,” Dicey told her. “Maybeth and Sammy are enrolled in day camp.”

  “That’s nice. And you dusted?”

  “Yes. Everything.” Dicey was glad to be able to answer yes to one of the cleaning chores. “Are those your photograph albums in the bookcase?”

  Cousin Eunice nodded as she put a colander in the sink.

  “May I look through them?” Dicey asked.

  “I guess so,” Cousin Eunice said. “I didn’t keep the albums. They’re Mother’s work. Some of the pictures are very, very old. You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” Dicey said. “Will you be late coming home tonight?”

  “After ten. There’s no need for you to wait up. Mother never did. I expect you’ll all be in bed by the time I return. There’s a television in my bedroom you can watch. As long as you don’t play in there. Children like watching television, don’t they?”

  Dicey answered with more enthusiasm than she felt.

  “And tomorrow we’ll have to remember to have a key made for you.” Cousin Eunice sighed and drained the noodles.

  CHAPTER 11

  Something about Aunt Cilla’s house (even though she knew it belonged to Cousin Eunice, Dicey still thought of it as Aunt Cilla’s house, and still regretted her lost dream of it) made Dicey’s brain slow down. Maybe it was trying so hard to please Cousin Eunice that had that effect on her. Maybe it was the routine of every day, with meals, cleaning, times to drop off the little children and pick them up, shopping, mending and ironing, having the cup of tea ready for Cousin Eunice at precisely twenty of six. Maybe it was just fatigue after her long journey there. Or maybe it was that nothing seemed to happen, except the same thing happening over and over again.

  Even that was not precisely true. Sergeant Gordo called up one morning when Dicey was alone in the house. He asked her to come down to the police station, and
gave her careful instructions for getting there on the bus. She took just enough change for her fare from shopping money and rode the bus down to the old stone building, with bars on the windows of the second and third stories. There she sat in the midst of a large, busy room to look at some pictures of women who might be Momma. None of them were. All of them, Sergeant Gordo told her, were dead and unidentified. They had found the Tillermans’ car, he told her, and the Peewauket police could sell it and send the money to Dicey. He didn’t expect she would get very much for it, he said.

  “Does that mean Momma’s not dead?” Dicey asked.

  “I think we can assume that,” Sergeant Gordo said. “Now, I’ll start checking hospitals. Part of the problem is that we don’t know where to look. If you’d reported her missing right away, we’d have a better chance.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dicey said.

  “Fat lot of good that does now,” he answered. His phone rang then, and he waved her away. “I’ll be in touch if anything turns up.”

  Dicey didn’t have much time for thinking about her family. James, she knew, was perfectly happy. He studied at night and went through the heavy wooden doors into the school at a run, every morning. Now and then he would report some amazing fact to Dicey. One time he told her about Alaric’s treasure, that disappeared long ago when Rome ruled the world and America wasn’t even discovered. Nobody had ever found the treasure because Alaric hid it so well. He diverted a river, then buried the treasure in the river bed, then rerouted the river back to its old path. The treasure was somewhere there, in Italy. Only Alaric had known where. He even killed all the men who had worked to hide it, so they couldn’t tell. James pored over the maps in his history book, trying to think out where the treasure might be. James was always willing to tell Dicey what he was learning, even though he seemed to have no interest in discussing other things with her.

  Sammy, on the other hand, demanded more and more of her attention. He ran up to her every afternoon, grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the gate where she waited with Maybeth silent beside her. “Let’s go,” he said. “Let’s play ball. Will you play catch with me? Can we race on the sidewalk?” He wanted to wrestle with her after dinner and needed her to tuck him in every night.