Dotty’s Suitcase

Dotty’s Suitcase by Constance C. Greene Page B

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Authors: Constance C. Greene
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she’s in the sunshine and her mother gives her a vinegar rinse after she washes it.” Dotty spread her hands wide in an effort to bring Olive to life. “But at night sometimes it’s brown. She wears glasses and she has three older brothers. Her father’s a carpenter and he came here because somebody told him there was work for carpenters here.”
    She ran out of things to tell this man about the Dohertys. He continued to sort letters.
    â€œGood luck is all I can say,” he finally said. “More folks out of work here than’s in.”
    What if I can’t find her? Dotty thought, for a brief moment panicking. Suppose he doesn’t know where to look? What if we came all this way and Olive isn’t here? Suppose they moved someplace else if Mr. Doherty couldn’t find a job? Oh, my.
    She laid her hands on the edge of the counter and stared at the man, willing him to give her the answers she wanted. Just when she thought all was lost, he reached underneath and brought out a piece of paper. “Looks like we got a E. Doherty at number five Carey Street,” he mused, running a knobby finger down a list of names and addresses. “Can’t say he has a box, but he most likely picks up his mail here. General delivery.”
    â€œOh, please,” said Dotty, “how do I get to Carey Street?”
    â€œYou alone?” the man asked, looking hard at her.
    â€œNo, Mr. Clarke’s with me, and Jud. We’re only staying the one night. We have to get home because my father doesn’t know where I am and he’s probably worried.”
    â€œBetter watch your step over there,” the man said. “Rough crowd hangs out around there. You be careful. Don’t lose nothing by being careful, my mother used to say.”
    Dotty shifted from one foot to the other. She didn’t have time to waste.
    â€œCould you please give me directions on how to get there?” she said, keeping her voice polite by an effort.
    The man shrugged. “Long’s you know what you’re doing.” He went to the door of the post office and, after staring at the sleigh with Mr. Clarke and Jud in it, he said, “Follow this here main street for two blocks. Then bear right, take the next left and you’re there. Can’t tell you exactly where number five is, but there’s bound to be somebody there can. Mind what I say. Watch your step.” He turned and went back inside.
    â€œDid you ask him about a telephone?” Jud said.
    â€œI forgot.” She jumped up beside him. “We can ask when we get to Olive’s. Maybe they have one.” She gave Mr. Clarke the directions, leaving out the part about watching her step.
    Carey Street was a sad little street. Everything in it was dingy: dingy buildings, dingy snow, dingy sky, dingy people. It looked as if it could use a good wash. The houses leaned against one another like weary people going to sleep with their eyes open. Thin men and women walked dispiritedly along the narrow sidewalks. The sound of Sarah’s hooves was loud in the stillness. Dotty felt eyes watching her from behind the murky windowpanes. She saw curtains pulled aside to allow the watchers a better view.
    What a place for poor Olive to live, she thought. I wonder where she goes to play. I wonder if they jump rope here, or play marbles or Kick the Can. Or baseball. Or any of the games we played together. I wonder if her friends live here too.
    â€œIt’s number five,” she told Mr. Clarke. Just think. Olive’s right near somewhere and she doesn’t even know that I’m here too. She doesn’t even suspect that I’m getting closer every minute.
    â€œSlow down, Sarah,” Mr. Clarke said, pulling in on the reins. Sarah pranced and lifted her feet high. She had a new lease on life. Men passed, their collars turned up, their hats pulled down, their faces and hands red and raw in the cold wind and drifting snow.

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