Shoeshine Girl by Clyde Robert Bulla

Palmville
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    The train stopped at Palmville, and Sarah Ida had a sudden thought. What if she didn’t get off? What if she just rode on to the end of the line? Maybe she could find a place where everything was new and she could start all over again.
    But people would ask questions. How old are you? . . . Only ten and a half? What are you doing here all by yourself? Someone would be sure to find her and bring her back.
    Anyway, it was too late. Aunt Claudia had already seen her. Aunt Claudia was at the station, looking through the train window and waving her thin hand.
    Sarah Ida picked up her suitcase.
    â€œHere, little lady, I’ll help you with that,” said the porter.
    â€œI can carry it myself,” she said, and she dragged it off the train.
    Aunt Claudia gave her a kiss that smelled like cough drops. Then they took a taxi. They rode through town, and Aunt Claudia talked. “You’ve grown, but I knew you the minute I saw you. You’ve got your mother’s pretty brown eyes, but you’ve got your father’s jaw. Look—over there. That’s our new supermarket. Things may seem quiet to you here, after the city, but I think you’ll like Palmville. It’s getting to be quite a city, too.”
    Sarah Ida said nothing.
    â€œWe’re on Grand Avenue,” said Aunt Claudia. “It’s the main street.” The taxi turned off the avenue and stopped in front of a square, gray house.
    While Aunt Claudia paid the driver, Sarah Ida looked at the house. It was old, with a new coat of paint. It had spidery-looking porches and balconies.

    They went inside.
    â€œThere’s the telephone,” said Aunt Claudia. “Your mother wanted you to call as soon as you got here.”
    â€œWhy?” asked Sarah Ida.
    â€œSo she’d know you got here all right.”
    â€œYou call her,” said Sarah Ida.
    â€œAll right.” Aunt Claudia went to the telephone. “I’ll dial the number for you.”
    â€œDon’t dial it for me,” said Sarah Ida. “I’m not going to talk to her.”
    Aunt Claudia’s mouth opened and closed. Then she said, “It’s been a long trip, and I know you’re tired. Come on upstairs. Shall I help you with your suitcase?”
    â€œNo,” said Sarah Ida.
    They climbed the stairs. Aunt Claudia opened a door. “This is your room.”
    Sarah Ida looked about the room. It wasn’t bad. She rather liked the rag rugs on the dark wood floor, and she didn’t mind the rocking chair. But the window curtains were fussy. So was the bed cover. And the pictures on the wall were terrible—a fat girl looking at a robin, and a horse with a blue ribbon around its neck.
    She waited for Aunt Claudia to ask, “How do you like it?” She was going to answer, “I like plain things.”
    But Aunt Claudia didn’t ask. “Maybe you want to unpack now,” she said. “We can talk later.”
    â€œWe can talk now if you want to.” Sarah Ida sat down on the bed.
    Aunt Claudia sat in the rocking chair.
    â€œWe don’t have to pretend,” said Sarah Ida.
    Aunt Claudia looked puzzled. “Pretend?”
    â€œAbout anything. You don’t have to pretend you want me here—”
    â€œI do want you here!” said Aunt Claudia.
    â€œI doubt that. I doubt it very much.” Sarah Ida kept her voice cool. “I certainly didn’t want to come. And I wouldn’t be here if my father and mother hadn’t wanted to get rid of me for the summer.”
    â€œWe’re not off to a very good start, are we?” Aunt Claudia smiled a little. “Here’s the way I understand it. Your father’s work takes him away from home a lot. You and your mother have had a few problems. Your mother isn’t well—”
    â€œThat’s what she says,” said Sarah Ida.
    â€œYour mother isn’t well,” Aunt Claudia said again,