“Well, looks like you’ll be here at Parsnip Pass till day after tomorrow,” the first man said. “But don’t think you’re going to hang around here gettin’ into mischief. You want to eat, you got to work. What’s your name?”
“Eli,” Emily told him.
“Then come along, Eli, and I’ll show you how to muck the stable.”
For the next few hours, Emily fed the horses and forked out the muck from the floor of the stable. She pulled up buckets of water from the well, brushed the horses, rinsed the tin plates after dinner, washed the men’s socks, soaked beans, and generally made herself useful.
Her arms were stronger than when she’d first left home. Her legs were steadier, her back was straighter, and she had a good appetite at mealtime. The way-station men let her put Rufus in a little pen outside the door, where he had fresh water, fresh grass to crawl through, and whatever bugs he could catch.
When another coach to Redbud arrived two days later, the way-station men were sorry to see her go.
“Good luck to you, Eli,” they told Emily as she climbed aboard with Rufus in his little box.
The driver of the stage wasn’t especially glad to have her, as there were six Chinese workers on board already, heading west to build a railroad; he did not know how well a small boy would get along with them.
But Emily was used to being quiet, being alone, and being polite. The six workers spoke to each other in Chinese and ignored her, so Emily played with Rufus and tried to imagine how shocked everyone in the stagecoach must have been—Uncle Victor in particular—when they’d discovered she was missing. Because she had slipped out in the middle of the night, it would have been hours later and several way stations farther before anyone had realized she was gone. Jackson was so good at lying, she was sure he had made up a good story, and Mr. Muffit, who was really an inspector, would have backed him up.
All afternoon they rode, and after the next stop, where Emily got off and stretched, she curled up on the backseat. She knew that by the following morning, she would be in Redbud. This was such a happy thought that she began to doze at once, Rufus’s box clutched in her hand, and finally fell asleep to the rocking of the stagecoach and the snoring of the Chinese workers.
The next way station was not a place for passengers to get off—just to change horses—and Emily opened her eyes only long enough to see a fresh team being led out from the stable as the station men with their lanterns led the other team back to the barn.
But suddenly, before the stagecoach started off again, it dipped and swayed. Someone sat down on the seat next to her, and a low voice said, “You’ve come to the end of the line, Emily Wiggins.” The man with the tiger tattoo had a tight hold on her arm.
Emily stared in dismay at her uncle. How could this be?
While the Chinese workers sat dozing, Uncle Victor continued in his growly voice, “The next stop is Redbud. If that aunt of yours is there waiting for you, you’ll tell her you’ve decided to live with me. We’ll go to the nearest courthouse or whatever they’ve got, and we’ll sign a paper saying that you’re Emily Wiggins, daughter of Constance Wiggins, my sister, and I’m your legal guardian.” He gave her arm a little twist. “And from now on, you scheming, sniveling good-for-nothing, you’ll do as I say.”
A week ago, perhaps, Emily Wiggins would have cowered before her uncle, too frightened to speak. But the long sleep in the stagecoach had refreshed her, the work at the way station had given her confidence, and the food had given her strength.
Emily stared into the eyes of the man with the tiger tattoo and said, “I won’t.”
A look of surprise flashed over Uncle Victor’s face, and then he growled, with a cruel smile, “You will!”
It was then that Emily realized he was holding Rufus’s box. Thumpa thumpa thumpa—her heart almost stopped. She reached out to grab the box, but Victor only narrowed his eyes and held it out of reach.
“When we get off this coach, Emily Wiggins, you will tell your aunt goodbye. And if you don’t…” He held the box up even higher, and Emily could hear the scritch, scratch of Rufus’s little claws on the sides as Victor tipped it back and forth. “If you don’t,” he continued, “if you give one hint to your aunt that you don’t want to go with me, I will squash your turtle flatter than an old piece of shoe leather. I will crack his head to pieces like a walnut. I will throw him in a pig trough for the hogs to eat, and I will make you sorry you were ever born.”
Emily felt weak. How could this have happened? Jackson had planned her escape so carefully, and now…! For one brief moment, she almost wondered if Jackson had told her uncle where she was. But then Uncle Victor went on:
“You and that boy thought you could trick me, huh? Thought I’d go all the way to Redbud thinkin’ you were asleep under that old man’s jacket? When I finally figured out you’d stayed behind, I got off at a station to wait for the next coach to Redbud, ’cause I knew you’d be on it.” His eyes narrowed. “And every day a coach passed us going back to Callaway, a coach we could’ve been on, I got madder and meaner. If there’s any more trouble, first it’ll be your turtle that goes, and then it’ll be you.”
Emily’s eyes flashed in return. “Even if I tell Aunt Hilda I want to go with you, she’ll know! She knows I don’t want to live with you, and she’ll make you let me go!”
Her uncle laughed, a rumbling laugh from deep inside his chest, and his gold tooth gleamed. “I’ll bet I’m twice as big and twice as strong as that aunt of yours, and there isn’t a judge alive who’ll believe you rather than me, your next of kin. Even the Child Catchers know that!”
One of the Chinese workers opened his eyes and watched for a moment, then closed them again. But Emily’s eyes filled with tears. How could she have believed that Jackson, her friend, could plan something like this? The man with the tiger tattoo didn’t need any help being mean. There was enough meanness inside him to fill a bathtub, Emily thought. Her tears only made him laugh, and every so often he would tip Rufus’s box and make him go skidding from one side to the other. Some of the Chinese workers watched and listened sleepily, then drifted off again.
As the sky began to lighten, Emily pressed her face against the carriage window to stop the tears. She had thought perhaps she would see signs of Redbud before they got there, but all she saw were scrub pines and sand and a coyote or two.
Uncle Victor stared out the window over Emily’s shoulder. “If this isn’t the saddest, meanest, driest, hottest country I ever did see,” he said. “I’d get out right now if there was a living soul to put us up.”
I could be happy anywhere with Aunt Hilda, Emily thought, but I wouldn’t be happy even in a palace with you!
At long last Emily saw some fence posts, and farther on, some cattle. A cottage…some sheep…some trees…a barn…and finally the driver blew his bugle to announce to the little settlement of Redbud that the coach to the West was coming in. The Chinese workers roused themselves and stretched.
“Now, remember,” Uncle Victor said, grabbing Emily’s arm so hard that it hurt. “You tell your aunt you’re coming with me. And if you don’t…” He shook Rufus’s box so hard that it rattled, and Emily felt her anger growing bigger and bigger inside her chest like a balloon.
The Chinese workers began to talk among themselves. This was a way station where they could get a bite to eat before the coach went on. Emily thought how often she had imagined this moment—had imagined how happy and excited she would be when the stagecoach pulled up and her aunt was there to meet her. How happy to have a place where she belonged. Where she was loved.
There was another blast from the bugle, but this time it was to hurry along a large flock of sheep crossing the road some distance from the station. But the sheep would not be hurried, and the stagecoach had to stop.
“It’ll be a few more minutes, folks,” the driver called down. “We’ve got to wait for these sheep. You can get out and stretch a bit if you like.”
One of the Chinese workers opened the door an
d got out.
“It’s okay, driver,” Uncle Victor called back. “My nephew and I will get off here. He’s excited to be with me again.”
He climbed out, pulling Emily after him.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Emily muttered angrily.
“No more liar than you are, dressing up like a boy,” Uncle Victor muttered back.
Far down the road, Emily could see a small group of people standing in front of the way station. She was quite sure that the woman in the group, in a blue-checked dress, was Aunt Hilda. And there, standing right beside her, was…Jackson!
What would the neighbor women tell her to do if they were here? Emily wondered.
“She surely would not want Rufus to be hurt,” Mrs. Ready might say.
“But what can she possibly do?” Mrs. Aim would ask.
And Mrs. Fire would answer, “Give it a go, Emily. Go!”
Uncle Victor had one hand on the back of Emily’s neck, and in his other hand he held the box with Rufus in it.
He pushed her roughly forward, and at that very moment the Chinese worker stuck out his foot. Down Uncle Victor went.
“Good day!” the man said, smiling at Emily.
Instantly she stepped hard on Uncle Victor’s wrist, forcing his fingers to let go of the box. “Ow!” he bellowed.
Quick as a flash, Emily snatched up Rufus’s box, and rising to her feet, one bootlace flapping, she ran. On she raced, faster than she had ever run, through the baaing sheep, with Uncle Victor behind her. She ran so fast that the wind whistled in her ears.
“Aunt Hilda!” she bellowed, in the greatest, loudest voice she had ever known, sending the sheep scattering in all directions. A few seconds later she threw herself into her aunt’s arms.
But Uncle Victor was right at her heels. “You miserable little wretch!” he exclaimed, panting, his clothes askew. He turned to Emily’s aunt. “Well, Hilda,” he growled, looking at the three men who had come to the way station with her. “I see you’ve brought a few farm boys to welcome me to Redbud. I’m here to tell you that the girl’s coming to live with me, and if you fight me on this, I’ll take you to court.”
Thumpa thumpa thumpa, went Emily’s heart, and she clung to the round woman even harder. In the horse-drawn wagon behind her aunt, a black dog with a red kerchief around its neck wagged its tail and showed its pink tongue.
“Hello, Victor,” said Aunt Hilda. “Jackson here told me exactly what you are up to, and I’d like you to meet my three closest neighbors out where I live.”
Emily looked around. One of the men was carrying an ax. Another was carrying a pitchfork. And the third man was holding a shotgun.
“How do you do?” said the man with the ax. “I live just up the road from Hilda, and I’m a lawyer.”
“I live down the road from Hilda, and I’m the judge in these parts,” said the man with the pitchfork.
The third man held on to his shotgun. “I live over by the river, and I happen to be the sheriff,” he said. “We’d welcome you to Redbud, mister, but I’d suggest you buy yourself a ticket for the first stagecoach heading back to where you came from.”
“And Emily stays here,” said the judge. “That is Emily, isn’t it?”
Aunt Hilda held Emily out in front of her and looked her over, smiling.
“It’s Emily, all right,” said Jackson, grinning.
“I’m pretty dirty,” Emily said, embarrassed.
“It’ll wash,” said Aunt Hilda.
“We cut my hair,” said Emily.
“It’ll grow,” said her aunt.
“My turtle needs some grass and something to eat,” said Emily, opening the box and letting Rufus have some air. “And I’m pretty hungry myself.”
“Honey,” said her aunt, “I got us a mess of beans on the stove, some bread on the table, and a pie on the shelf. I’ll fix you up in no time. And I’ve told Jackson he doesn’t need to go any farther. He’s going to make his home right here with us.”
“Hooray!” shouted Emily, throwing her arms around Jackson and giving him a hug. Jackson’s smile was as wide as a dinner plate.
Uncle Victor had slunk off to the way station, but now he was coming back.
“Hey!” he yelled. “They say there’s no place for me to sleep in there. This lousy town have a hotel where a man can lie down?”
The three neighbor men laughed.
“Why, we’re just country boys here in Redbud, mister. No hotel to put you up, and if there was, they wouldn’t take the likes of you,” said the sheriff. “Might be we could find you a bunk in the jailhouse. Or maybe a pigpen you could use. Course, the next station’s Crow Point, if you want to walk.”
There was a sudden commotion down the street as a group of women approached, each holding a parasol.
“There he is!” cried a familiar voice. “Oh, Vic-tor! We’ve been looking for you!”
“Oh, Tiger Man! Remember us?” called another. And turning to her friends, Petunia cooed, “I told you he was on his way to Redbud, the man with the tiger tattoo!”
“And the handsome curling mustache!” said Marigold.
As the women rushed forward, Uncle Victor took off for Crow Point, and the last anyone ever saw of him, he was running to beat the band.
The sheriff chuckled. “He’s got himself a twenty-mile hike.”
Aunt Hilda reached down and gave Emily the longest, tightest hug she’d ever had.
“And I’ve got me about twenty acres for you and Jackson to explore to your hearts’ content, with plenty of grass for your turtle,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
And dooby dabby,
don’t you know,
that’s exactly
what they did.
About the Author
PHYLLIS REYNOLDS NAYLOR says she was never as quiet as Emily Wiggins, but she never had such excitement either. And she is extremely glad that she never had a relative like Uncle Victor. It was great fun figuring out what would happen to Emily next, as long as Phyllis herself didn’t have to go through it.
Phyllis Naylor tries never to write the same type of book twice in a row. Many readers know her best through her book Shiloh, winner of the Newbery Award, but others have followed her boy/girl battle series, beginning with The Boys Start the War and The Girls Get Even. Her most recent book, about a girl in Kentucky coal country, was Faith, Hope, and Ivy June.
Mrs. Naylor lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland, with her husband, Rex. They have two grown sons and four grandchildren: Sophia, Tressa, Garrett, and Beckett. She is the author of more than 135 books. When she is not writing, she enjoys attending the theater, swimming, and doing almost anything with her family.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2010 by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Ross Collins
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Naylor, Phyllis Reynolds.
Emily’s fortune / Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: While traveling to her aunt’s home in Redbud by train and
stagecoach, quiet young Emily and her turtle, Rufus, team up with Jackson,
fellow orphan and troublemaker extraordinaire, to outsmart mean Uncle Victor,
who is after Emily’s inheritance.
eISBN: 978-0-375-8965
0-7
[1. Orphans—Fiction. 2. Voyages and travels—Fiction. 3. Inheritance and
succession—Fiction. 4. Uncles—Fiction. 5. West (U.S.)—History—
19th century—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.N24Em 2010
[Fic]—dc22
2009013096
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.0
Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, Emily's Fortune
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