Dotty’s Suitcase by Constance C. Greene Page A

giddap once again. Halfway down the driveway, Dotty looked back. The woman stood at the open door, looking after them, her hand to her hair. And at the windows the crowd of pale, watery faces pressed against the windows, misting them, watching the visitors leave.
    â€œYou warm enough?” Mr. Clarke asked after he’d turned right as the boy had directed him. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his face looked less desolate than it had.
    â€œWe’re fine,” Dotty told him. Beside her, Jud snuffled loudly. “Just fine.”
    She hugged herself and smiled in anticipation, thinking of how Olive would look, how astonished she’d be when she saw the sleigh in front of her house and who was in it. Why, Olive would shout and laugh and carry on something terrible when she saw Dotty. Dotty could hear her voice, how she’d cry out, “I don’t believe it! How on earth did you get here!” Then she’d throw her arms around her friend Dotty and urge her into the house, where they could settle down for a long talk. Dotty reminded herself to introduce Mr. Clarke, and Jud, too, if he behaved himself. Olive would probably want Dotty to stay for at least a week, but she’d have to explain how they got there in the first place and that they had to get back home. She’d show Olive the suitcase, once they’d locked themselves in Olive’s room and settled on Olive’s four-poster bed.
    It would be like old times.
    I can hardly wait, Dotty thought, her lips turning up at the corners. I can hardly wait.

CHAPTER 17
    They followed directions and presently saw a sign reading “Boonville: 2 miles.” Dotty’s face grew warm with pleasure. They were there. Almost. At last.
    â€œHey there!” A man leaned out of his car. “Get a horse!” he cried.
    Jud stood up in the seat, dragging his half of the blanket with him.
    â€œWe already did!” he shouted back.
    A woman driving a blue Nash honked at them and smiled. Beside her in the passenger seat sat her dog, looking very important, very haughty, like a dowager being taken out to tea. The dog looked them over and, before the car turned the corner, he relented and Dotty could’ve sworn he smiled at them.
    â€œOh, I love it here!” Dotty cried. “Everyone’s so friendly. I didn’t think they would be in such a big city. Olive must be very happy here.” She scanned the faces of the passersby in the hope that one of them might turn out to be Olive.
    â€œWhere does your friend live?” Mr. Clarke asked.
    â€œWhy,” said Dotty, astonished, “I don’t know. When I write to her, I send the letter to a post office box.”
    â€œWell, then, we’ll locate the post office and you can run in and ask.”
    â€œHow about us telephoning home?” Jud said in a hoarse voice. “You promised we would when we got here.”
    â€œRight you are,” Mr. Clarke said. “You might ask at the post office about where we can find a telephone.”
    A very clean and shabby old man with tiny periwinkle eyes and dressed in a coat that hung almost to the ground directed them to the post office. Then he ran his hand over Sarah’s soft pink nose. “She’s a beauty,” he said softly. “Used to have one just like her. Got too much for me to feed so I had to sell her.” He patted Sarah once more and watched them go, smiling a sad little smile.
    â€œDo you know the Dohertys?” Dotty asked the man behind the post office counter. “They have Box 23. I’m looking for Olive Doherty.”
    The man stopped sorting letters and gazed at a spot over Dotty’s head, trying to think. “Doherty,” he said. “What’s the first name?”
    â€œEdward. They only moved here a couple of months ago. Six or seven, I think. Olive’s my friend. She has red hair and she’s about my size. Her hair isn’t always red. Only when