The Lunch Thief

Cynthia always walked the three blocks home from school, but today it seemed more like three miles. She opened the gate to her apartment complex, climbed the steps to the second floor, and dumped her backpack in front of the brown door numbered 12. Then the fourth grader hunted amongst books and gum wrappers for her keys.  

“Oh no!” she screamed. “I forgot them again.”  Cynthia plopped herself on the cold bench next to her door, chin cupped in hands, brown hair dangling in her lap. She looked over at Mrs. Vincent’s apartment and could smell the aroma of baked cookies wafting through the cool autumn air.  She saw the slender gray-haired woman waving at her through her kitchen window. Then Mrs. Vincent disappeared.  

Mom won’t be home for another hour. Cynthia sighed. I’m gonna be bored. Again! Why do I always forget my keys? She pounded her fists on her knees.

Suddenly, Mrs. Vincent opened her door. “Why don’t you wait in here?”

Cynthia jumped to her feet and walked over to #9.

“Come into my kitchen,” Mrs. Vincent said, her voice kind and soft. “I have a surprise for you.”  The old woman’s face lit up as she pointed to a kitchen chair.  “Have a seat.”

Sitting down, Cynthia thought, It will be easy to see Mom arriving from work. The kitchen window looked out to her apartment. And this chair is a lot more comfortable than that old bench. The golden light from the setting sun gave the room a heavenly glow.

“Would you like some chocolate chip cookies and milk? They’re freshly baked.”

Cynthia nibbled a warm cookie and sipped cold milk then remembered. “Thank you, I am so hungry. This is perfect.” 

“Didn’t you eat lunch today?” asked Mrs. Vincent. She took a seat across the table and helped herself to a cookie too.

“No. Joe Ferguson stole my lunch.”

“Are you sure about that?”     

“Not exactly. But he’s always getting into trouble.” Cynthia played with the crumbs on her plate, her eyes fixed to the tabletop.

“Maybe it was taken by someone else. Someone who was hungry.”  

Mrs. Vincent reached to the bookshelf in back of her chair and placed a large black book on the table. “It says in the Bible ‘Feed the hungry! Help those in trouble! Then your light will shine out from the darkness, and the darkness around you shall be as bright as day.’”

Hours later, after dinner, Cynthia said, “Mrs. Vincent is so nice, Mom. Why is she so good and others, like Joe Ferguson, are not?”

“I don’t know, honey, but thank God for the Mrs.Vincents of the world. If it wasn’t for her, you and I would be on the street.”

“How’s that?” Cynthia asked.

“After your daddy died, we had no money to pay the rent or buy food. Mrs. Vincent let us stay rent free for two months until I found a job.”

“No wonder her kitchen is so bright,” said Cynthia.

The next day, after Reading time in school, Cynthia’s fourth grade class had lunch. When her table was dismissed to get their lunches from the cloakroom, Cynthia’s lunch bag was missing. She patted her pocket with the money in it and thought, I have my backup plan ready. She had enough money to buy a hot lunch. Since I put the ham sandwich, apple, and chocolate milk in a bright orange bag, I know I’ll catch the thief. I’m just like Nancy Drew.

Down in the school cafeteria she found a seat with her classmates and began searching the room for an orange bag. Joe Ferguson gulped down his food. He tossed a white bag into the trash bin, and then trotted to the playground with a ball tucked under his arm. Mrs. Vincent was right, she thought. What a smart lady.  

At the far end of the room sat Henrietta Kunkle, a girl with curly blonde hair who kept to herself. She came to school in dirty clothes. Her hair looked as if it hadn’t been combed in a month. Henrietta’s back faced Cynthia, so the young detective decided to snoop.

Cynthia placed her tray on the table close to where Henrietta sat. On the chair next to the girl was a bright orange bag. Voila!  But something sparked her curiosity. Henrietta had eaten half the sandwich leaving the apple untouched, the chocolate milk unopened.  

The little girl put everything back into the bag, handling each piece as if it were made of gold, then left the lunchroom. 

Cynthia followed.

Henrietta walked with eyes focused at the floor to the first-grade area, a short distance from the cafeteria. She knocked on Mrs. Greene’s door. After a few long seconds a tall woman answered. 

“Mrs. Greene, would you please give Jimmy his lunch. He forgot it this morning.” Henrietta handed her the orange sack.

“Sure thing. Thanks for remembering.” 

Suddenly, Cynthia felt less like Nancy drew trying to catch a thief and more like a confused Alice in Wonderland. Things just weren’t adding up.

After school Cynthia followed Henrietta out the classroom and down to Mrs. Greene’s room.  She greeted a tiny boy, smaller than the other first graders, with a warm hug.

Instead of going right home, Cynthia followed Henrietta and her brother. As the children walked hand in hand, Cynthia kept a discrete distance. She was relieved it was still mid-afternoon. This isn’t the kind of neighborhood Mom would want me to walk through at night, she thought.

Cynthia ducked behind a dumpster when she saw Henrietta and her brother stop to cross the street. She heard Henrietta say, “Whenever you cross the street, Jimmy, look both ways.”

When the children were out of sight and around the next corner Cynthia ran across the street, backpack thumping. The air smelled bad, like the girl’s bathroom, the buildings had windows boarded up with plywood.  

She noticed the two children cutting through a parking lot behind a deserted building. They stopped at an abandoned SUV. Cardboard covered the windows and the tires were deflated. A woman appeared from the front seat holding a crying baby.

That night, after doing homework, Cynthia said, “Mom, would you make two lunches for me tomorrow.  PLEASE!! And put two drinks and two sandwiches in the second bag.”

“My word, Cynthia.  What for?”

“I found the lunch thief, Mom. It’s a girl named Henrietta. And her little brother Jimmy…they’re homeless.” Cynthia’s voice quivered. 

Her mom put her arms around her and hugged Cynthia very tightly. “That could have been us? Huh, Mom.” Her voice was small and frail. Her mother just hugged her tighter. 

The next day, after Reading, Cynthia’s group was dismissed before Henrietta’s. Cynthia waited in the cloakroom for Henrietta to appear.

Henrietta popped in the small room, head bobbing, searching like a squirrel in winter looking for an acorn.  Cynthia waited for everyone to leave before she spoke.

“Henrietta, this is yours.” She handed her a large orange bag.

For a moment, Henrietta looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Then her eyes went bright with unshed tears. “Thanks,” she mumbled and darted from the cloakroom.

Down in the lunch room, Cynthia watched Henrietta eat her meal. Then Henrietta grabbed Jimmy’s sandwich and headed for the cafeteria door. Again, her blue eyes sparkled as she smiled at Cynthia.  

Later, when mom arrived home from work, she asked, “How did you feel when Henrietta accepted your gift?”   

“Like electricity shot from my toes to my hair. I think God told me I gave light to a very special person.”

“I think I’ll have a talk with the Homeless Committee at church. Let’s see what they can do to find an apartment for Henrietta’s family,” Mom said.  She headed for the kitchen to prepare dinner.

“Good idea, Mom! Then you can have that good feeling too.”

The sun was setting, so Cynthia hit the kitchen light switch.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Mom said.

“Can I go talk to Mrs. Vincent?” Cynthia asked.

“Sure, but be back in fifteen minutes.”

Cynthia rushed out the door and over to #9 to tell Mrs. Vincent about the lunch thief.

Michael Thal is the author of Goodbye, Tchaikovsky, the story of a child prodigy waking up deaf.