Homecoming

  “We gotta go to sleep,” Dicey said, after a while.

  “Don’t go yet, Danny,” Edie said, putting down the autoharp. “I don’t know when I’ve had a better time.”

  Dicey stood up and dusted sand from her fanny. Barely awake, Sammy waited beside her. James stayed seated, his eyes reproachful.

  “Maybeth?” Dicey spoke gently.

  Maybeth came over.

  “Goodnight, honey,” Louis said.

  Maybeth didn’t answer.

  “Doesn’t she ever say anything?” Louis asked.

  “Sure. Sometimes.”

  “Wait,” Edie said, “we’ll come with you.”

  They climbed up the steep path. At the top of the hill, Dicey turned to say good night, so they would go away, but Louis was holding on to Edie’s arm and pointing.

  Between the trees they saw a bright light that rhythmically flashed red.

  “What is it?” Dicey asked.

  “Shut up,” Louis said. “Move it, Edie.” They slipped away into the darkness.

  He was right, Dicey realized. It was a police car going along the road that ran past the campsites. She pulled her family into the bushes and told them to lie down.

  “It’s a police car,” James said quietly. “Heading toward our camp.”

  “I dumped the bag in the trash,” Dicey said.

  “That’s where they’ll look,” James said.

  “I can’t see what’s going on,” Dicey said. “Lie quiet, everyone.”

  Darkness rustled through the trees. Faintly, the water lapped at the shore. Dicey thought. “We’re going up to the woods past the playground, long way around,” she said. “We’ll sleep there and get out of here at first morning.”

  “But . . . ,” James said.

  Dicey felt Maybeth’s small hand on her arm. “But nothing. You’ve been fine all day today, and you know it. Don’t lie to me, not anymore. I won’t believe you.”

  They waited a long time, then began a silent journey across the dark park. They made a wide circle around their campsite. They saw nothing, they heard nothing, only the insects and the noise of the wind. Dicey was sure of her direction, but she wasn’t sure just where they were until she saw the pale emptiness of the playground before her. They were so tired by then that they just stumbled into the woods beyond and slept there, slept uneasily.

  CHAPTER 6

  They awoke in pale, predawn light. Mist lay in patches along the ground. The wet, black trunks of trees loomed out of the foggy half-light.

  “It’s still true,” James said.

  It was damp, and their clothes were sodden. Dicey wanted to get moving, right away. “Ready? Let’s use the bathrooms and then get out of here.”

  Dawn gilded the sky when they arrived at the park entrance. The fear, which had stayed beside them since the night before, retreated at the promise of a bright morning. The sound of a car motor gave Dicey warning. She drew her family back into the cover of the woods.

  “Why?” James asked.

  “Shut up,” Dicey whispered fiercely. “Lie down. Lie still. I don’t know, but I don’t want anyone to see us.”

  A police car, followed by another police car, roared along the main road. Both slowed down and turned onto the dirt road. They stopped, just inside the gates, one behind the other. Leaving his motor running, a policeman got out of the first car and walked to the car behind him. His leather boots shone. He wore dark glasses and had a gun at his belt. He leaned into the window by the driver’s side and unfolded a map that Dicey recognized as a map of the park. He pointed to parts of it.

  Dicey strained to hear what they were saying, but the motors drowned out their voices.

  The policeman nodded his head sharply, twice, and strode back to his own car. The flashing lights on top of the police cars were turned on. The two cars roared down the road.

  “Let’s go,” Dicey said. “On the double.”

  They hurried down the road.

  “What was it?” James said.

  “I don’t know,” Dicey said.

  “Were they after us?” James asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dicey said.

  “Or Louis and Edie,” James said. “Nobody knew we were there. People knew Louis and Edie were there—they bought food every day.”

  “We bought food, too.”

  “Only that first day. How long ago was that?”

  “I can’t remember. But we did take those lunches.”

  “Sammy did that. That wasn’t us.”

  Dicey thought aloud: “Louis and Edie are runaways; and maybe more. Anyway, we got away in time.”

  The children walked the long morning through. Conditioned by the earlier hard days, refreshed by the days at the park, both their muscles and spirits were in good tone. The road wound south, following the coastline.

  At noon, they rested by the roadside, leaning back against one of the low stone fences that ran all over this countryside.

  “I’m hungry,” James said. “Aren’t you?”

  “We haven’t passed a store of any kind since that one town,” Dicey answered. “And no garages.” Then, like a black fist punching at her head, she realized: “My map! I don’t even know where we are. How could I forget the map?”

  “Should we turn around?” James asked. “That town had a grocery store.”

  “That was miles back. Besides, you might as well know. We don’t have much money left, just twenty-six cents. I was going to try to get work at the store by the park, but I was afraid we’d get too conspicuous when we had to stay. So now, we have to keep going,” Dicey said. “We’ve seen railroad tracks, right? That means there must be more towns ahead.”

  “But what’ll we eat?” James asked.

  “For now, nothing. We can’t. We’ll just have to keep going and see what happens. If I had my map I could see where the water is and we could fish or clam or find mussels. I need a map.”

  They were tired when they stood up, more tired than when they had sat down. The folds of the hills and the symmetry of the trees no longer had the power to please them. They walked more slowly than before. The feeling that she did not know what to expect, or when to expect it, made Dicey jumpy.

  In an hour they passed a sign marking the limits of a town called Sound View. Dicey felt better. Soon the houses sat closer together and the welcome sight of a small shopping center placed on two sides of a crossroads greeted them. Shopping centers on this road were quite different from those on Route 1. These were small, fancier. They had no huge parking lots, just a row of parking places right up against the sidewalk. Instead of large glass windows plastered with sale signs, these stores had small panes, like house windows. Everything looked clean.

  Dicey instructed the other three to stay where they were, while she crossed the street and went into a Texaco station. The office was occupied by one man with a fringe of hair around his shiny head who was dozing with his feet up on a wooden desk. He snored gently.

  His head snapped up as Dicey closed the door loudly. His blue eyes studied her. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like a map, please, of Connecticut.”

  He pulled out a drawer and selected one map from several file folders there. “That’ll be fifty cents,” he said.

  “But I don’t have any money,” Dicey said.

  “Okay,” he said. He replaced the map in its folder, closed the drawer, and once again raised his feet to the top of the desk.

  “I have to have a map,” Dicey said.

  “Paper’s expensive, kid. We don’t give maps away anymore.”

  “Who does?”

  “Nobody.” He closed his eyes.

  Dicey stood, chewing on her lip. Money, money, money, always money. And she couldn’t get into the drawer, find the right map, and get out the door—not fast enough to make it. “Mister?” He opened his eyes. “I really want one.”

  “That’s tough on you, kid. I’m sorry.”

  “Could I work for one?”


  “Doing what?”

  “I dunno. There must be some chore—something. Sweeping? Washing? Are the bathrooms clean?”

  “My bathrooms are always sparkling clean,” he said. He closed his eyes. Dicey stood thinking. She wondered if she could pump gas. It didn’t look hard.

  “That window,” the man said. The office had a large plate glass window that faced the pumps and the street. “That window needs washing. You know how to use a squeegee?”

  Dicey didn’t even know what a squeegee was. “Sure,” she said.

  “I didn’t get to it yesterday,” the man said, lumbering into a closet and pulling out a bucket, a rag and a long-armed utensil that had to be the squeegee.

  “Inside and out,” he said.

  Dicey nodded.

  “All over and no streaks.”

  Dicey nodded. If he would just let her get to work on it.

  “I’ll give you the map and a quarter too. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.”

  Dicey began on the outside of the window. She signaled her family to wait, and James nodded to show he understood. The three sat down on the curb, facing Dicey. Dicey filled the bucket, added some cleanser from a bottle she found in it, sloshed the mixture together and began spreading the water over the window. She did it in four sections, wetting the glass, pulling the squeegee down over it firmly, squeezing the squeegee out and repeating the last step twice. The glass gleamed. Then she went inside and did the same thing. A few cars pulled in, were filled with gas and pulled out again. Every time a car pulled away, Dicey looked to be sure her three were still there.

  She finished, emptied the bucket and put it away. The man came in from filling a car. He handed her a map and a quarter. “You got an audience,” he said.

  “They’re friends.”

  “Well, that’s a good job. If you’re around later in the week . . . ”

  “Thanks, mister,” Dicey said.

  “You earned it, kid.”

  Dicey returned to her family, the map in her hand.

  “You were hours,” James said. “I’m so hungry my stomach hurts.”

  “The map cost fifty cents. So I washed the window. And got a quarter more, too.”

  “Let’s eat,” Sammy said.

  They walked along the front of the first section of the shopping center, but saw only a restaurant and some clothing stores. They crossed the street and entered a small market filled with specialty goods, delicatessen items and huge, fancy pieces of fruit. Everything on the shelves cost much more than fifty-one cents. The people who worked in the store stared at the Tillermans suspiciously, and Dicey hurried them out.

  “But I want to eat,” Sammy protested. “I’ll die if I don’t eat.”

  Dicey pulled him firmly out the door. “Hush up—you don’t know what people will think,” she whispered fiercely in his ear. He snuffled. “Look, you won’t die, not in one day. Starvation takes days and days.”

  A small bakery, its windows filled with decorated cakes and layered pastries, also did business in the second part of the shopping center. Dicey would not let them linger before its windows, but she sat them down around her on the curb just beyond it. Their knees were up against the fenders of a blue Cadillac car.

  “Okay,” Dicey said. “We’ve got to do this smart.”

  “What do you mean?” asked James.

  “We’ve only got fifty-one cents, and around here that won’t buy enough to feed even one of us. This is a ritzy area. So—we want some bakery goods, because they’re cheapest, but not at full price. So, we’ve got to make that lady in there feel like giving us a lot for our money. So, we’ve got to make her feel sorry for us.”

  James nodded.

  “I’ll go tell her how hungry I am,” Sammy volunteered.

  “No, you won’t and have her start asking questions.” Dicey snapped. Her own stomach was taut within her, and she was having trouble thinking well. “It’s got to be done right. By the right person.”

  “That’s you, isn’t it?” James asked.

  “Not this time, it isn’t. Nor you, either. People don’t take to us the right way, not at first. Maybeth would be the best one.”

  Maybeth shook her head mutely. Her eyes grew large and stared at Dicey.

  “I know.” Dicey sighed. “So Sammy, it’s you, after all.”

  “Good-o,” Sammy said. “Give me the money.”

  “Not so fast. If she asks you, we’re staying in a summer house—where?” Dicey searched her memory. “In Old Lyme and we went for a walk and got lost, and there’s nobody home this afternoon to come and get us in the car. Do you have that? And we’re hungry. That’s if she asks you.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “We need enough food for lunch, and maybe dinner too. For just fifty-one cents. So, unless she’ll give you two loaves of bread for it, sort of hem and haw. Say that’s too much. Tell her you’ve only got fifty-one cents. Ask her if this road will get us home. Be sort of brave and pitiful—do you know what I mean, Sammy? But whatever happens, don’t tell her the truth.”

  He stood up, his legs sturdy and brown. He held out a dirty hand and Dicey put the money into it.

  “Can you do it, Sammy?”

  “I think so.”

  “If there isn’t anything right to buy, don’t buy anything.”

  “Dicey—I wouldn’t do that.”

  No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t be bullied. They watched him walk back and enter the bakery. They heard a jingle of bells as he closed the door. Then they waited, silently, for what seemed a very long time, studying the front of the big car. It stared back at them with empty glass eyes.

  Dicey turned her head when she heard the shop door open with a jingling of bells. Sammy had a big white bakery bag in one hand. In the other, he had a round cookie, half-eaten. His eyes met Dicey’s, and he quickly shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “She had a couple of old doughnuts, and some rolls and a pie she said she couldn’t sell after two days. She said she’d call our parents, but I said I didn’t remember the phone number yet. She said maybe my sister would. So I said I’d come out and you’d tell her the number after you ate because I thought you were pretty hungry.”

  Dicey jumped to her feet. “Good job, Sammy,” she said. “Okay, let’s go. I don’t want to answer any more questions. We’ll eat as soon as we’re out of sight. We’ll eat the pie—that’s worth waiting a little for, isn’t it?”

  They trotted down the road and around a corner. Once out of sight, they sat on the grass to eat, breaking pieces of apple pie off with their fingers and licking all the sticky sauce before seizing another portion. They were too hungry to save much for later; only two rolls were left in the white bag when Dicey put her map into it, rolled down the top and led them off again. She wanted to get to a creek she had seen on the map. It was a little creek that fed into the mouth of the Connecticut River. There might be fish in it. If they could fish, then they could have breakfast before they set off. And then it wouldn’t matter so much that they didn’t have any money left.

  They didn’t have one penny left. Not one.

  Four miles up the road they found the creek. Dicey led them up it, away from the road. The creek was bordered with marshes, but if you went a few yards back the land got higher, dryer. It was posted: NO HUNTING. NO FISHING. NO TRESPASSING. But Dicey figured they had to risk it. A small fire, during daylight hours, that wouldn’t be so noticeable.

  She set James and Sammy fishing down by the creek and took Maybeth back into the trees. Together they cleared a place for a fire, surrounded it with stones, then gathered twigs, leaves and branches to burn, plus four slim branches on which they could thread the fish.

  For all their patient waiting, James and Sammy caught only two fish. Those Dicey cooked and shared out among them, dividing the fish and the two rolls evenly. It was not enough, not after a long day’s walk. They went silent to sleep hungry, thirsty, huddled toge
ther to keep warm.

  Dicey woke early and dug up some worms. She took the line and hook down to the creek and tried to catch breakfast. Fish bit in the early morning. The fishing boats that went out from Provincetown went out when night was still dark, so that as the first light brought out the fish they could be there, nets down and ready.

  Birds awoke. The sun came up, although you couldn’t see it through overhanging clouds. The water gurgled quietly at Dicey’s feet. She heard an occasional motorboat, far off, but no cars. However, off in the distance there was a humming that suggested heavy traffic. This noise was carried to her on a steady wind that blew from off the land toward the water.

  No fish were biting. Not that morning.

  She heard James calling her with panic in his voice. Slowly, she trudged back to her family.

  “I told you,” Sammy said to James, “because the fishing line was gone.”

  “I didn’t know where you were,” James said. “Why didn’t you say where you were going?”

  “You were asleep,” Dicey answered. “Let’s get going.”

  She did not say a word about eating. They did not ask her.

  It was a subdued four children who returned to the road, walked over the little bridge and through a tiny town that didn’t even have its own post office building, just one section of the laundromat set aside, and a small flag flying outside to show where the post office was. They walked through town and on, north along the Connecticut River. It was a low, gray morning, and Dicey thought someday soon it would rain again. She didn’t have the energy to care about that. Besides, you could drink rain water.

  By noon they were at the town of Old Lyme and Dicey had identified the distant rumble, grown louder now, as the Thruway. Here Route 1 joined the Thruway to cross over the broad river.

  They passed the Thruway entry ramp and a shopping center backed up against the fast-moving highway. They cut through to the river’s bank and stood looking up at the soaring metal that arched overhead to cross the river.

  When Dicey realized that the bridge had no walkway, she stared out over the river. It wasn’t terribly broad, but it was much too broad to swim.