13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Jacquelyn backtracked to Mrs. Irving’s office, where she took a seat behind the desk and then turned on the desk lamp to better study the lock. A rudimentary design. She should be able to figure this out. She unfolded a paper clip and jammed the end into the lock, wiggling it back and forth, waiting for the click of a release. But the click never came, and eventually she tired of trying. Why had this Mrs. Irving made her phone as impenetrable as a bank vault? So ridiculous. She tried another tactic, attempting first to pull the lock off with her bare hands, then hitting it with a stapler.
A little girl lingered in the doorway, watching her. “What are you looking at?” Jacquelyn said. The child’s face showed surprise, but she didn’t leave, just kept staring with deep-set soulful eyes. Well, let her watch, if that’s what she wanted. It was all the same to Jacquelyn.
When hammering the phone with the stapler didn’t work, Jacquelyn ran out of ideas. In frustration, she picked up the phone and turned it over, repeatedly slamming it against the desk’s leather blotter until the surface became scuffed and dented. When that effort failed, she knocked the blotter to the floor and slammed the phone against the top of the wooden desk, scratching the surface. Finally, she threw the phone on the floor and burst into tears. In despair, she rested her head on her folded arms and cried.
Never had she felt this frustrated and hopeless. She had to be the most miserable creature in the world.
Her tears soaked the sleeve of Jane’s dreadful dress, not that Jacquelyn cared. When she was done here, this terrible dress would go straight into the fireplace. She cursed under her breath while imagining the acts of revenge she’d carry out on her brother, Eddie, and the staff here at the home. A lot of people were going to pay for her suffering.
While she sobbed, she felt a small hand stroking her hair. Over and over again, little fingers softly combed over the back of her head, trailing onto the back of her neck. Something about the gesture seemed familiar in a way Jacquelyn couldn’t quite place. It felt good to know someone cared.
“Please don’t cry.” The child’s words came in a whisper. “I know you’re sad, but things will get better. You’re going to be fine.”
The little girl kept caressing her hair until finally Jacquelyn lifted her head to take a look. All of the girls at the home had looked the same to her, but now, seeing one close up, she could see beyond the braids and the plain uniform. This dark-haired child had a smattering of freckles across her nose and brown eyes framed by dark lashes. She looked to be about eight years old, and she was offering a handkerchief, which Jacquelyn gratefully accepted. After dabbing her eyes, she asked, “What is your name?”
The little girl giggled. “You know I’m Frances.”
“You’re a good girl, Frances. How did you know to comfort me?”
“I learned it from you.”
“You did?”
“Yes, remember? When I first came here? I used to cry, and you gave me your handkerchief and told me that change is always hard at first but that things will get better.” She smiled. “And then it did get better, and now I almost never cry anymore.”
Things will get better. This from a little girl who lived in an orphanage, or at least a place like an orphanage. Jane had apparently fed this child this inane, cheery pabulum. Well. Jacquelyn had to begrudgingly admit that a person going through a difficult time might find the words reassuring. “Thank you.”
Frances wasn’t done. “And tomorrow is Christmas, the best time of the year!”
This child was incredible. She was looking forward to a day that would bring her almost nothing. Jacquelyn said, “I admire your boundless enthusiasm.”
“Maybe you should wash your face and rest. That helps sometimes.”
Jacquelyn considered the suggestion. It wasn’t the worst advice she’d ever heard. She felt a surge of generosity toward little Frances. Later on, when all of this was over and the staff here was fired and replaced by more competent employees, Jacquelyn was going to buy a beautiful doll and have it sent to the little girl. Or maybe she’d come and deliver it herself. The idea made her grin.