It’s been a couple hours since Teresa left to trade in the dirt bike and the sun is starting to fall quickly. We’re definitely going to have to stay the night and leave in the morning. Most of the kids seem ready for sleep, but I know they’re hungry because Judd won’t shut up about it. Despite me telling him explicitly not to, he has polled the other children several times and it seems everyone is hungry and they would all prefer “sketties”. I informed them that there aren’t any good Italian joints in Holden, but they don’t seem to care. 

“It’s not fancy,” Judd protests. “It’s just noodles and ketchup.”

“Noodles and ketchup?!” I demand. “If I can get you out of here in one piece, Judd, you’re gonna get some real spaghetti. And I’ll even throw in a meatball.”

A steady clip-clop sound stirs the kids, and I crane my neck past the watermaster’s doorway to see Teresa riding a beautiful paint, but it appears to be pulling a large wooden sled. The kids don’t seem to mind as they run around the horse to hop on the cobbled-together planks.

“They couldn’t spare any wagons,” Teresa says in response to my incredulous stare.

“We should leave in the morning, yeah?” I ask, as I run my hand down the horse’s neck.

“Yeah,” Teresa says, as she scans the twilight haze. “They need to eat and rest anyway, right?”

“Are you asking me if children need to eat and sleep?” I reply.

“Probably avoid Larry’s?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “But I don’t know what else there is around here.”

“You could try Laura’s,” the watermaster chimes in.

“You’re telling me the two main places to eat in this hole are called Laura’s and Larry’s?” I ask without turning around.

“Holden ain’t no hole!” the man protests. “I was just tryin’ to help!”

“Laura’s sounds great,” Teresa says. “Can you point us?”

I walk alongside the horse – the kids already named her ‘Sketties’ – while Teresa drags the gang for their maiden voyage around the block to Laura’s Diner and Café.

I have to admit that Laura’s is kind of quaint. There’s a definite difference from Larry’s in both atmosphere and clientele. An older lady in an apron greets us as we usher in our dirty dozen.

“My my,” she says with every bit of charm as Mrs. Claus, “What a wonderful brood you have here. Here, why don’t you help me pull some tables together?”

Teresa and I help arrange a mismatched collection of wooden tables. One is actually some beat-up old card table – the flimsy collapsible ones you used to get at Walmart. We have the youngest, a very little girl named Trudy, sit next to Teresa, and Judd sits right next to me. The others are well behaved enough – or exhausted enough – to sit around the rest of the tables. The hostess brings us some waters, and I see her little, homemade nametag says ‘Alice’.

“I’m afraid we’re out of most of our menu,” she says as she carefully sets down some brown goblets. “But we do have a big pot of beef and potato stew.”

“You ain’t got no sketties?” Judd protests.

“Sorry sweetie,” Alice says, ignoring my fussing about Judd’s manners.

“Fourteen bowls of stew sounds good,” I offer. “Maybe some bread if you have it?”

“Enough for five or six,” Alice suggests meekly.

“We’ll make it stretch,” I reply.

Judd continues to huff and puff over the meager prix fixe menu.

“Hey look,” I say quietly to him. “You’ll get your sketties when we get you back to Tumblewood.”

My comment suddenly stirs the whole table like a pogo stick in an anthill.

“We don’t wanna go back there!” Judd shouts. The rest of the kids seem to be in agreement.

“Whattaya mean?” I reply. “You said you came from Tumblewood Orphanage.”

“It’s not an orphanage!” snaps the same little girl from the bus – I think her name is Marnie.

“You asked where we came from,” says Judd. “You didn’t ask where we wanted to go! It’s like the Cotton Eyed Joe song, remember?”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Teresa interjects.

Judd leads a sudden and urgent chorus of the opening lines of Cotton Eyed Joe just before Alice comes out with the first round of stew. The protesting subsides as more and more mouths become occupied by spoonfuls of stringy beef and crusty chunks of bread.

Dinner is a sullen affair after the revelation that Teresa and I mean to return these vagabonds to whence they came. They sit and pout while they pick at the beef, carrots, and taters. I can actually see the tears marking lines in their dirt-stained faces. I am caught off guard by how hard my heartstrings are being pulled. I haven’t been with Judd for maybe half a day, and I already feel compelled to at least try and right his life’s wrongs to a degree of conviction that would have been unimaginable just twenty-four hours ago. I used to really take joy in trying to intervene in students’ messy lives – as much as a public school teacher could anyway. And I know there was a certain degree of pride in being some kind of white knight or virtue signaling social justice warrior, but it was good work just the same.

We settle up with Alice and ask about accommodations for the night.

“Well, Miss Laura has some rooms around back. “Ya’ll’d hafta double up in the beds though.”

“I think some of these tikes could probably triple up if needed,” I laugh.

“I agree,” Teresa says. “It’s a pretty even split. I’ll take the girls and you take the boys?”

Alice helps me and Teresa shuffle the kids through some semblance of a washroom assembly line and even rustles up some ill-fitting bed clothes for the twelve of them.

“This is really too much,” I suggest.

“Don’t be a fool,” Alice replies. “You two certainly have your hands full.”

“Not for long,” Judd blurts, and a couple of the girls start crying again.

***

It doesn’t take long for the boys to nod off – probably sheer exhaustion for most of them. Even Judd is out in a matter of minutes. In the girls’ room, Teresa is posted up by the door in an old wooden rocking chair.

“If I’m being honest, I’m not so sure we’re headed to Gridley tomorrow after all,” I say quietly.

She looks down at her boots and lets out a sigh.

“It’s been a wild day,” she says after a long while. “But I’m kind of thinkin’ you’re right.”

We stare at each other for a long while, not saying much.

“I guess we’ll figure it out tomorrow,” she adds. She crosses her ankles and arms, leans back, and closes her eyes.

I shut the girls’ door quietly and cross the hall back to the boys’ room. There, I find a rocking chair of my own and collapse into it. All at once, I drop my face into one hand and begin sobbing. I try to be as quiet as I can, but the day’s emotions were a kaleidoscope of rage, hope, pain, fear, and gratitude. I wish I could say the guys we put down today were the first, but this new reality has been dog eat dog from the beginning. I think it just hit me harder today because of the kids – and because I didn’t have the booze dulling my senses. As the tears continue, all I can think to say through my muffled gasps is ‘thank you’. I repeat it again and again and again.

After a while, the catharsis of my tears steadies me, and I am certain I feel the touch of His hand on my bowed head.

“Your work today was just the beginning,” He says.

“I’m so sorry for what I’ve done,” I whisper.

“I believe you,” He says. “Now, go live in the word of God and show these kids that light.”

And the weight of his hand is gone.

I continue to whisper ‘thank you’ over and over. But now it is with a fire in my chest and purpose in my hands. And it’s then I realize, this rescue was for all of us.

Matt Hebert is an engineer and self-published author. His dopamine-fueled creative pursuits have spanned from chicken keeping, sand sculpture, acting, and public speaking, but writing is nearest and dearest to his heart. He lives in Bellevue with his wife and two daughters. You can find him on Instagram at @jerkofalltradeshebert or email him at matt.hebert.books@gmail.com

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