Becoming Johanna by C. A. Pack Page A

children would
trample the resulting lawn to death in just a few weeks. So nature
took its course, and dozens of feet pummeled the dried up blades of
grass, making mowing unnecessary.
    During Josefina’s long,
boring work periods, she planned her escape. Sometimes, when she
dragged the trash out to the alley at night, she looked longingly
past the gate. It looked dark and forbidding, but she could see
lights beyond the alley, and hear threads of conversation and
bursts of laughter coming from what lay beyond. All she had to do
was climb over the wall.
     
    One night, Josefina
witnessed something unusual. A tall boy wearing a hooded sweatshirt
ran down the alley, but stopped for a moment to pull money out of a
wallet he held in his hand. To Josefina’s amazement, he stuffed the
money in his pocket and threw the wallet into the gutter, where it
nestled among the trash that had found a home in its crevices and
corners. Josefina’s heart beat faster. Her imagination got the best
of her. She furtively searched the surrounding area to make sure no
one stood watching her and climbed the fence to retrieve the
wallet. She had never climbed a fence before and found it daunting.
It was not unyielding, and it swayed under her weight. The top had
a roll of barbed wire fastened to it, but it looked like others may
have taken this route before; the wire was flattened and easier, if
just as painful, to climb over.
    The wallet was like a
small treasure trove. It held no money—the thief had seen to
that—but it contained a driver’s license, a credit card, and a
library card. She scrambled back across the fence. She considered
finding the wallet a sign that she should leave. I have to make
plans . She didn’t consider the idea of
turning the wallet in. She already knew the matron would throw it
out, rather than invite the police into
the foundling home. They would probably accuse Josefina of the
theft, after all, she had left the
grounds, so who’s to say she didn’t mug the owner? No. This was
providence. She had been sent this wallet
as a means to an end, the end of her association with Peakie’s Foundling home.
    She didn’t think of the
blood the barbed wire left dotting her hands and legs until another
girl commented on it.
    “ I fell,” Josefina
lied.
    “ Klutz,” the girl replied.
“You’d better repair your skirt before the matron sees
it.”
    Josefina looked down and
saw a tear in the fabric. “Right,” she muttered. She quickly
finished her tasks and rushed to the shower room where she washed
off the blood and kitchen stench. That night, after mending her
skirt, she lay in bed under the thin blanket allotted to each
child, and she planned her future. The name Joan A. Carr was
printed on the driver’s license. Initials J. C. just like Josefina
Charo. According to the birthdate on the license, the owner was
nineteen years old, just a couple of years older than
Josefina. This can’t be coincidence. It
must be fate. The library card held an
additional morsel of information—Joan Alice Carr. Of course, she couldn’t
become Joan Carr. Someone with that name already lived nearby and
was probably in a police station at that moment reporting the
theft. No. That name would never do at all. She would have to come
up with a way around it. But first, she had to figure out how she
would get away.
     
    The state forced the
foundling home to pay Josefina a meager wage, because she held two
positions, exceeding the hours required to satisfy her room and
board expense. At first, she carried the money she earned in her
pockets and then tucked it in her socks and underwear. When it
became too bulky, she slipped it inside the lining of her winter
jacket by cutting the stitches on a pocket and then re-sewing it.
It wasn’t that she had a lot of money, but she was afraid to
exchange small bills for larger denominations, because someone who
didn’t have her best interests at heart—which would be everyone at
Peakie’s—might try