“No matter. I just don’t want him to see that news story.”
Frances bent to tuck the folded newspaper inside her journal. As her fingers rested on the soft blue cover, she felt a pang of loneliness. Even though Johnny had rejected her, she didn’t want to forget him. She couldn’t forget him.
A shout came from one of the little boys. “Miss Kelly, I lost my dog!”
“That’s Walter,” Frances said. “His little stuffed dog never leaves his side.” She stood and asked Eddie, “Why don’t you tell me what the news story is about?”
Eddie shook his head. “Just read it.”
But Frances had to tend to the children. She found Walter’s dog on the seat under his jacket, but the requests and complaints and arguments didn’t stop. The children were bored and restless. The closer they came to Harwood, the more nervous they grew and the more frequently they fussed and cried.
She had no sooner soothed Lucy, who had last-minute fears about not being chosen, than Will Scott began to sniffle. Frances squeezed into the seat next to him and handed him a clean handkerchief. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose, but Frances could see that he was embarrassed.
“It’s all right to cry,” Frances told him. “It’s only natural. My brothers and sisters and I all cried when we came west on an orphan train.”
“I’m not an orphan,” Will said. “I have a father. Someday maybe he’ll come for me.”
Frances smiled and patted his shoulder. “We had a mother who sent us west to give us a chance for a better life than we’d had on the streets of New York. One day she did come.”
Will looked up hopefully. “My father works for Carnaby’s Circus. It’s become a traveling circus, so maybe the circus will come to wherever I’m living, and Father will come looking for me. Do you think so?”
Frances skirted the answer and said, “I think your father misses you very much.”
“He tried to teach me some of the circus jobs so I could work along with him, but I couldn’t seem to learn to do them right. Mr. Carnaby wouldn’t hire me.” Will’s voice dropped as he said, “I guess I can’t do anything right.”
“Of course you can,” Frances said. “It takes special talents to work in a circus, but there are countless jobs that require entirely different talents. life has many paths, and someday you’ll discover the path that’s right for you.”
Will stuffed his damp handkerchief into the pocket of his jacket and sat up, his back straight. “You told us your mother came for you,” he said to Frances, “so I’ll keep looking for my father. Someday he’ll come for me, too.”
Frances didn’t get a chance to read the newspaper until the children dozed. Remembering Eddie’s caution not to let Seth see the newspaper, she checked on Seth’s whereabouts. He was sleeping in his seat at the back of the car, his long legs stretched out under the seat ahead of his, his hat over his face. Frances pulled out both her journal and the newspaper, then opened the paper and began to read.
The major stories dealt with whites rioting in Memphis and the continued, sporadic fighting between union and Confederate forces in Texas who wouldn’t admit the war was over.
Then a short news item caught Frances’s eye. It described the rise of robber gangs in the West, young men who had learned a new kind of warfare under Confederate raiders such as William Quantrill. The February robbery of the Clay County Savings Association in Liberty, Missouri, was called the first postwar bank robbery in the country.
Although none of the law enforcement professionals or witnesses quoted were absolutely sure, Frank and Jesse James were named as the suspected leaders of the band who stole cash, bonds, gold, and silver and shot a man to death.
The item went on to say that since the February robbery, banks had become a prime target. Suspects in other robberies were named: the Daltons; the Youngers, who rode with the James gang; and the Connally brothers.
Frances sighed. Riots, robberies, shootings, deaths … Lee might have surrended the year before, but the hatred engendered by the war continued.
It wasn’t until she was about to fold the paper and put it away that she noticed a story near the bottom of the page: “Robbery at Gunpoint.” Someone had made a small pencil mark in the margin next to the story. Eddie?
Frances scanned it quickly, reading about the robbery of the owner of a large and successful New York City dry goods store. Carefully, feeling the prickles that told her something was wrong, she read it again. The owner had given a description of the robber long, dark, curly hair and blue eyes. The robber also had the same height, weight, coloring, and probable age as Seth. Frances well remembered that Seth, on boarding the train, had been newly shaved, the skin on his chin and jawline much lighter than on the rest of his face.