Emily's Fortune Read online

  ALSO BY

  PHYLLIS REYNOLDS NAYLOR

  Faith, Hope, and Ivy June

  THE BOY/GIRL BATTLE BOOKS

  The Boys Start the War

  The Girls Get Even

  Boys Against Girls

  The Girls’ Revenge

  A Traitor Among the Boys

  A Spy Among the Girls

  The Boys Return

  The Girls Take Over

  Boys in Control

  Girls Rule!

  Boys Rock!

  Who Won the War?

  For my grandson,

  Beckett, with love

  CONTENTS

  ONE. A Turtle Named Rufus

  TWO. Orphans, Strays, and Roustabouts

  THREE. Jackson

  FOUR. Five to a Bed

  FIVE. Surprising News

  SIX. Followed

  SEVEN. Hiding

  EIGHT. A Horrible, Terrible Thought

  NINE. Fever

  TEN. Trouble

  ELEVEN. The Secret Is Out

  TWELVE. Breaking Away

  THIRTEEN. Going Home

  When eight-year-old Emily found herself alone in the world, she didn’t have much: a few dresses, a couple of books, and a small green turtle named Rufus.

  She also had her socks and underwear. Emily never said underwear aloud—never said anything very loud—because her mother worked for the wealthy Miss Luella Nash, and the old woman liked quiet. Peace and quiet. Calm and order. Crackers and cheese, and a perfectly brewed cup of tea.

  When she drove her carriage, however—and Luella always insisted on driving herself—she went a little bit crazy. Her neighbors called her Loony Lu. Her eyes would bulge, her mouth would grin, and she would lean so far forward she could have grabbed the horse by its tail.

  “Faster!” she would call. “Faster!” And she’d slap the reins against the animal’s side until the horse went racing through the streets of the town and the carriage rocked from side to side.

  “There goes Loony Lu!” people would say.

  Once she was home again, however, Miss Luella Nash would hand the reins to a servant, straighten her bonnet, and step elegantly from the carriage, nodding politely to the neighbors who studied her from beyond the gate.

  As for little Emily, her father had died in a steamboat accident when she was just a baby. Ever since, she and her mother had lived in Luella’s big house, in the back room behind the kitchen.

  Sometimes Emily’s mother took her into the parlor to visit Miss Nash. Emily had to make sure that her hair was curled, her ears were clean, her nose was blown, her teeth were brushed, her nails were trimmed, her clothes were pressed, and her socks had not a wrinkle in them. She even took off her shoes so they wouldn’t make any noise. And on the rare occasion that Miss Luella Nash asked her a question, Emily answered in a voice so soft it could have been the squeak of the lid on a mustard jar.

  Miss Luella Nash seemed to believe that grown-ups were always right. If the carriage master upset the horses and said that the gardener had done it, Luella Nash believed him. If the gardener bumped the rose trellis and said that the maid had done it, Luella Nash believed him too. And if the maid knocked over a vase and said that Emily had done it, then of course Luella Nash believed that also.

  “Dismissed!” she would say to Emily at the end of a visit, waving the fingers of one hand and sending her from the room.

  So little Emily was not allowed to be seen or heard unless she was on her best behavior, and Miss Nash would not let her do any work about the place, except for buttoning her own dresses and tying her own shoes, combing her own hair and brushing her own teeth. Emily was not allowed to help the servants with the dusting because Miss Nash wanted it done just so. She could not feed the chickens, wash the dishes, husk the corn, gather the berries, or mop the floor. Everything had to be done exactly as Luella Nash thought right.

  Emily’s mother encouraged her to do as much as possible in the room they shared. Emily learned to make a bed and shake a rug and sweep a floor and scrub a tub. But most of the time she could only sit at the window and watch the neighbor children at play. She was not allowed to join them because she might get hurt, Miss Nash had said. She was not allowed to go to school because she might learn bad words. Her mother taught her to read and write, but still…How will I ever get along in the world if I can’t do anything? Emily asked Rufus, her turtle, as he sat on the back of her hand and together they watched the world beyond the window.

  • • •

  One terrible day, however, something awful happened: Constance, Emily’s mother, had gone to market with Miss Nash, and on their way home, with Luella at the reins, the carriage tipped over and fell into the river. Only the horse was saved.

  Emily was now an orphan.

  “What will become of me?” she cried. “Where will I go?” Her sobs were no louder than the little puff-puff-puffs she used to make blowing soap bubbles on the porch with her mother.

  The neighbors—Mrs. Ready, Mrs. Aim, and Mrs. Fire—tried to help.

  Mrs. Ready always repeated the problem.

  Mrs. Aim always asked the question.

  And Mrs. Fire always had an answer.

  “She doesn’t know what will happen to her,” said Mrs. Ready.

  “Did Constance have a plan?” asked Mrs. Aim.

  “We will ask Emily and see,” said Mrs. Fire. So they did.

  Emily wiped her eyes with one small fist. “Mother said that if anything ever happened to her, I should go live with the one who loved me most,” she whispered, weeping.

  “And who would that be?” the women wanted to know.

  “I have an aunt Hilda in Redbud,” Emily breathed.

  “What?” the women said, leaning forward so they could hear. “An anthill in Bedbug?”

  “Aunt Hilda in Redbud,” Emily repeated, a bit louder. “She is my aunt by marriage.”

  “An aunt by marriage in Redbud,” Mrs. Ready echoed.

  But Mrs. Aim asked the question: “Don’t you have any blood relatives?”

  “Only Uncle Victor,” Emily whispered, more softly than ever.

  “What?” asked Mrs. Aim, leaning closer still. “Old hunk of pickle?”

  “Only Uncle Victor,” Emily replied, “but please don’t send me to live with him. I don’t even know where he is.”

  Emily didn’t want to talk about her uncle Victor, on her mother’s side of the family, because she did not want to live with him. She was sure he didn’t love her at all. It was true she had only met Aunt Hilda, her father’s sister-in-law, once. But she remembered a kind face, a warm lap, and big arms that hugged her tight. Aunt Hilda also sent cookies at Christmas.

  Uncle Victor, however, had the silver-black hair of a wolf, the eyes of a weasel, the growl of a bear, and a tiger tattoo on his arm. He had a gold tooth that gleamed when he opened his mouth, and he could crack two walnuts in the palm of one hand just by squeezing his fist. He never came to see Emily’s mother unless he wanted money. The only thing Uncle Victor was afraid of, it seemed, was love.

  “Why don’t you like him, child?” the women questioned.

  “He’s never said a kind word to me or my mother,” replied Emily. “The last time he visited us, when I was six, he took our money and made my mother cry.”

  “Why, we’ve seen him here ourselves,” said Mrs. Ready, remembering.

  “And he is your mother’s brother?” asked Mrs. Aim. “How awful!”

  “Then we shall write to your aunt Hilda and ask if she will take you in,” said Mrs. Fire, and off the letter went.

  • • •

  Meanwhile, the servants began to close up Miss Luella Nash’s house. They polished the silver and put it away. They aired out the blankets a
nd put them in chests. They covered the chairs and lowered the blinds. Emily was afraid they might pack her up too, so she was even quieter than usual. She sat on the back steps with Rufus and stroked his tiny head with one finger.

  Lawyers came in and out, studying the paintings on the walls and writing numbers in their books. They argued over the lamps, counted the candlesticks, and bumped into each other in the hallways.

  Finally a letter arrived from Aunt Hilda:

  My dear Emily,

  What sad news it is about your mother. Of course you may come and live with me. I have a small house here in Redbud, and I love to cook. Like your mother, I don’t have much money, but I raise chickens and a few sheep, and there are wide-open spaces where you can play. My cat and dog will keep us company.

  I’ll be watching for you every time a stagecoach comes in.

  Your loving

  Aunt Hilda

  “How will I get to Redbud?” asked Emily.

  It was a long way off, the neighbors explained, and the journey would take many days. They would drive her to the train station themselves, and once she got to Trumpet Junction, a stagecoach would take her the rest of the way.

  “I wonder if Emily can do this,” said Mrs. Ready anxiously. “She has never done much of anything before.”

  Mrs. Aim looked at Emily. “Can you do this, child?” she asked. “Can you stand the stopping and starting, the thumping and bumping, the swinging and swaying, and the smell of four sweaty horses?”

  “I must,” Emily whispered determinedly.

  “And she will!” said Mrs. Fire. “A train leaves for Trumpet Junction this very day, so let’s pack her things in a carpetbag and get her to the station.”

  But somebody else

  was on the way

  to Luella’s bighouse!

  Now, who in

  flippin’ flapjacks

  could it be?

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  There were three heavy knocks on the door of Luella Nash’s big white house. With all the servants busy upstairs and the neighbor women at work in the kitchen, it was Emily who answered.

  There stood a large woman in a gray dress, gray shoes, and a gray hat over her gray hair. She was holding a gray notebook in her hands.

  “Emily Wiggins?” the woman asked. “The child who never goes to school?”

  Emily swallowed. “Yes,” she said, in her teeny, tiny voice.

  “I am Miss Catchum,” the woman said. “Your present circumstances have been brought to our attention. It is my job to find a place for you to live, now that your dear departed mother is gone.” She dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief, but Emily didn’t see any trace of a tear.

  “But I have a place to live,” Emily told her quickly. “I have an aunt Hilda down in Redbud.”

  “I know, but she is only your aunt by marriage,” Miss Catchum said. “I have looked up your records and I see that your closest living blood relative is your mother’s brother, Victor. According to clause number thirty-one D in paragraph ninety-two of section one hundred and eight of the Regulations Regarding Orphaned Children, such children are to be kept off the streets at all costs by residing with their closest living relative, their next of kin.”

  Thumpa thumpa thumpa, went Emily’s heart.

  “But…he won’t want me!” she protested. “He doesn’t even like me! He doesn’t like children at all!”

  “How do you know unless we ask him?” said Miss Catchum. “Our office gets a bonus for every child we place with a relative, and a super-duper-dinger-zinger bonus if it’s the closest living relative of the mother herself. I’m sure your uncle Victor will look deep in his heart and provide for his orphaned niece.”

  Emily was not so sure. The man with the silver-black hair of a wolf and the eyes of a weasel and the growl of a bear and the tiger tattoo had never sat Emily on his lap, never given her a hug, and certainly never sent cookies at Christmas. Emily knew without a doubt that if Uncle Victor looked deep in his heart, he would only see a way to get rid of her.

  Mrs. Ready, Mrs. Aim, and Mrs. Fire had been listening from the hallway, and together they came to the door.

  “Please let Emily live with one of us until the matter can be settled,” said Mrs. Fire. “We shall take the best care of her.”

  “I’m afraid that wouldn’t do,” said Miss Catchum. “She might get away, and then I would lose my super-duper-dinger-zinger bonus. The orphans’ home will lock her in until her uncle can be found.” She turned once more to Emily. “Get your things together, dearie, and I’ll be back around shortly to pick you up.” The woman in the gray dress and hat and shoes went out to her gray carriage with her gray notebook and shook the reins of her horse. A gray one.

  As soon as she had gone, the neighbor women put their heads together.

  “Now, that’s a problem,” said Mrs. Ready.

  “How can they send her to live with someone who doesn’t even like children?” asked Mrs. Aim.

  “They shouldn’t and they won’t!” Mrs. Fire declared.

  “We must see that Emily is on that train before Miss Catchum comes to collect her.”

  And before Emily could say “Ready…Aim…Fire,” the women finished packing her carpetbag, then hustled her and the little box that held Rufus out to their carriage next door.

  Halfway to the train station, they saw a carriage coming toward them. A sign on the driver’s door read:

  CATCHUM CHILD-CATCHING

  SERVICES

  ORPHANS, STRAYS, AND

  ROUSTABOUTS

  ROUNDED UP QUICKLY

  Mrs. Ready and Mrs. Aim pushed Emily to the floor, where she couldn’t be seen, and Mrs. Fire kept her eyes straight ahead as they passed the Catchum carriage. When the danger was gone, Emily crawled back up on the seat, her bonnet dangling from one ear, and the horse galloped on.

  When they reached the station, the kind women bought a ticket for Emily and gave her the lunch they had prepared. Then they took her out to the track, where the big black engine was belching smoke and shooting sparks.

  “Remember, dear Emily, that you are a little child traveling alone,” said Mrs. Ready.

  “And what should such a child do?” asked Mrs. Aim.

  “She should keep her eyes open, her ears clean, and her chin up,” said Mrs. Fire.

  “And be prepared for anything,” the three women said together.

  Emily thanked them for their help and climbed aboard. The whistle blew, the engine belched again, and the cars jerked forward. It was all Emily could do to remain upright.

  • • •

  She found a seat by a window and set the carpetbag at her feet. It was very crowded in the car and the benches were hard, with wooden backs. Emily pressed her face to the glass and waved to the three women who had been so helpful.

  Far off in the distance she could see a tiny white speck up on a hill. She knew it was the last she would see of the big white house where she had lived since she was a baby.

  Puff, puff, puff, went the steam engine. Wheet, wheet, wheet, went the whistle.

  Emily thought she might fall asleep to the rhythm, but suddenly a gray horse pulling a gray carriage came dashing along the platform. Emily looked over to see Miss Catchum leaning out her window yelling, “Stop! Stop!” and waving a handful of papers.

  Emily gripped the edge of her seat with her fingers. But the big iron wheels of the train were going faster, and before long Miss Catchum, the station, and the three neighbor women were far behind. Emily sat back and let out a long breath.

  When her heartbeat had slowed to normal, she took Rufus out of his box with the small holes in the lid. She let him crawl along her arm so that he could see out the window too. She had no father, no mother now, and no home till she got to Aunt Hilda’s. All she had was a little green turtle, some lunch, and a carpetbag of clothes. A tear rolled down her cheek and fell on the turtle’s face. Rufus tipped back his head and drank it.

  Then Emily remembered something el
se about Uncle Victor. The last time he had come to visit, two years before, he had made her mother cry, as usual, and Emily had glared at him from the doorway.

  “Whatcha got there?” he’d growled, his weasel-like eyes looking at Emily’s cupped hands. “Something for me?”

  “No,” Emily had told him. “It’s Rufus, my new turtle. Mother bought him for me.”

  “Ha!” said Uncle Victor, and his “Ha!” sounded like gravel hitting the side of a barn. “All a turtle’s good for is turtle soup.”

  Emily had run and hidden in a closet. And after Uncle Victor left the house that day with some of Mother’s money, Emily had hoped he would never come back. Now, of course, there was nothing for him to come back for.

  After Rufus had crawled around a bit, Emily gently put him back in his box. “You are all I have in this world, and I’ll take care of you forever,” she promised.

  Except for church on Sundays, Emily had never been with so many people all crowded together. Was everyone in the world going to Trumpet Junction? she wondered, looking at the dozens of bags and boxes tucked beneath the seats.

  The man beside Emily was falling asleep. His head tipped back and his mouth fell open. Sssnnnoooggghhh, he went.

  The woman next to him was knitting a cap. Click, click, click, went her needles.

  The small child at the end of the row was wailing loudly, Wah, wah, wah, and wiping her eyes with one smudgy fist.

  Row after row of people filled the train car, and a potbellied stove in the middle kept some passengers too hot, while those around the edges of the car were too cold.

  Every so often the train jerked, or rocked from side to side. If it rocked to the left, Emily tipped against the sleeping man. If it tipped to the right, the sleeping man leaned over on Emily and almost flattened her against the window.

  After several hours, the small child who had been wailing wanted to see out the window, and Emily kindly agreed to change places. Now the mother and child sat by the window, and Emily sat at the end of the bench on the aisle. And next time, when the car tipped, everyone toppled over onto Emily, and Emily landed on the floor.