The Orphan Collector

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  Burying her face in her hands, she wailed and shuddered, each violent sob wrenching the strength from her body. Reality hit with a final, crushing thud. Her parents were dead. And her brothers might be too. She really was an orphan now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  PIA

  1924

  By the third week in November, it had been raining for three days straight. The wind gusts broke branches from trees and sent them whirling across lawns like they were made of paper. Muddy water ran along the sidewalks and pooled in the roads, making Pia’s walk back to the Hudsons’ feel like a jungle trek. Normally she enjoyed the leisurely stroll home after dropping off ten-year-old Margaret, eight-year-old Sophie, and seven-year-old Elizabeth at school, even when it snowed, but now she couldn’t wait to get back to the warmth of the house. She clutched her jacket collar under her chin, blinking against the icy drops hitting her face like a hundred tiny bullets, and skirted around men wielding umbrellas and women pushing baby prams. Thankfully, she was wearing gloves, a habit she’d developed years ago, no matter the weather. Dr. Hudson thought wearing them might help dull unwanted sensations when she left the house, and luckily he’d been right. She was glad, too, that she hadn’t brought Cooper with her today, given the five-year-old’s inclination toward catching cold.

  Along with making her cold and wet, the miserable weather seemed to mirror her mood. After helping Mrs. Hudson get breakfast ready while listening to Dr. Hudson read an article in the morning newspaper about the new immigration act signed by Calvin Coolidge limiting the number of southern and eastern Europeans, Arabs, and Jews allowed into the country—the purpose of which was to preserve the American ideal of homogeneity and stabilize the ethnic composition of the population—a feeling of sadness had come over her that she couldn’t seem to shake. Maybe the new act reminded her of her parents and how they’d come here seeking a better life, only to find death instead. Or maybe it reminded her of Nurse Wallis’s hatred for Germans, which, of course, reminded her of her lost brothers, and how every clue over the last five years had led to more dead ends.

  They thought they’d found Nurse Wallis once, a few years ago when Dr. Hudson talked to a hospital payroll clerk who had a record of a nurse with the same last name. But when they went to the address on the other side of the city, the woman who answered the door was not the Nurse Wallis they were looking for, and she’d never heard of any other nurses by that name either. Dr. Hudson had called St. Vincent’s numerous times to see if Nurse Wallis had been back to get more children, but no one had seen her since the spring of 1919. It was like she’d disappeared from the face of the earth, which only strengthened Pia’s suspicions that she had something to hide. Where the rattle had come from remained a mystery too. No local asylum employees had ever seen it before, nor did they have any memory of an immigrant being brought in with an infant, and the postman didn’t remember dropping the package off either. If only they’d questioned Rebecca further before sending her away. She’d lied about her baby, so who knew what else she’d been lying about?

  The third wave of the flu epidemic had finally subsided during the summer of 1919, nine months after the terror began. Everyone said the aftermath was chaos and record-keeping had been a muddled mess, with children unaccounted for and families separated or wiped out completely. Hundreds of children, too sick or too small to remember their names after being picked up by visiting nurses, had been given to other people or sent away, some by mistake. Pia wondered how many times Nurse Wallis had taken advantage of the situation, how many times she’d made money off lost orphans and other children. And how many other people were like Pia, looking for vanished sons and daughters and siblings? No hospitals or orphanages or temporary homes had any information on Ollie and Max, so she still believed Nurse Wallis knew where they were. Her greatest fear, other than her brothers being dead, was that they’d been sent to another state on one of the orphan trains. But she’d heard promising stories too, stories that gave her hope—like the one about the mother who fell ill and came home to find her three children gone, then opened her door two years later to find one standing in the hall, clinging to a Red Cross worker’s hand.

  Everywhere she went, the open-air markets and trolleys, the alleyways and crowded streets, she looked for little boys of about six; blond-haired twins with Mutti’s blue eyes and Vater’s strong chin. But like Nurse Wallis, it seemed Ollie and Max had disappeared off the face of the earth. And maybe they had. Maybe she was searching for ghosts.

  Even now, she could still picture them sleeping in her parents’ bedroom cubby, their little legs pulled up to their distended bellies, their soft-skinned faces, their long eyelashes like feathers on their pale cheeks. If she’d known back then what she knew now, she would have crawled in the cubby with them. The guilt of what she’d done and her failure to find out what happened to them felt like a bleeding wound inside her heart, constantly ripped open by the slightest poke or nudge. And today, for some reason, it had all come flooding back, bringing to the forefront all she had been through and all she had lost.

  Realizing now that she would need to change out of her wet clothes before checking in with Dr. Hudson to see if he needed help, she walked faster. After her feelings about Leo and Elizabeth had proved to be accurate all those years ago, there’d been several more instances when she’d known something was wrong with a member of the family—Sophie with strep throat, Margaret with an eye infection, and even Mrs. Hudson, who came down with pneumonia during the winter of 1921. Dr. Hudson believed that, like the nurse he’d worked with on the battlefront who helped him save soldiers, Pia had helped save his loved ones’ lives by making it easier for him to figure out what was ailing them before things turned more serious. It didn’t take long before he asked for help when he was stumped by some of his patients’ symptoms, and over the years she’d assisted him in diagnosing kidney stones, impacted bowels, impending heart attacks, lung infections, swallowed objects, fractured bones, and more.

  While she was glad to help him and his patients, at the same time she dreaded putting her hands on strangers, waiting for the first stab or twist or throb of pain to strike. After a while it seemed as though the patients’ suffering had become part of who she was, like an invisible, heavy burden carried in her body and soul. Or maybe it was her shattered heart that weighed her down. She often wondered what an X-ray of herself would look like. Would it show the broken bones and ruptured masses, the enlarged organs and rotted membranes of all the ill and damaged people she’d touched? Or would it show the emptiness and sorrow she carried inside, like a black space in the night sky?

  She’d never forget the time Dr. Hudson asked her to lay hands on a three-year-old girl, brought in by her frantic mother in the middle of the night. The child was curled up in a ball, howling in pain, her face covered in sweat, her lips blue. When Pia reached beneath her frilly pink dress and touched her tight belly, she fell to her knees, a violent cramp shooting up through her chest, her stomach muscles hollowing out. The mother screamed and grabbed her daughter, gaping at Pia as if she’d hurt her child. After Pia pulled herself together and stood, she asked to speak to Dr. Hudson privately. Whatever was wrong with the girl was going to take her life, of that she was sure. Two hours later, when Dr. Hudson came home from the hospital, he said the little girl had died of either gallstone colic or ptomaine poisoning, which was milk sickness brought on by drinking milk from a cow that had eaten snakeroot. Afterward, Pia cried all night, knowing how much agony the little girl had been in before she died, and trying to understand why God allowed children to suffer so. It felt like losing Ollie and Max all over again.

  Still, despite her discomfort, she couldn’t say no to Dr. Hudson after everything he and Mrs. Hudson had done for her, not to mention treating her like family and helping her search for her brothers. They’d even started paying her several years ago, along with continuing to supply free room and board. She had Christmas dinner and opened presents with them, and they gave h
er gifts and a cake on her birthday. Despite the fact that she didn’t deserve their kindness and generosity, she was thankful for it. She cared about them and thought they cared about her, and she loved the children more than she would have thought possible. Margaret, Sophie, Elizabeth, and Cooper treated her more like an older sister than their nanny. And they needed her—at least she told herself they did. At the same time, she felt like she was living someone else’s life. Perhaps that was her punishment.

  Now her eyes started to burn and, as she’d done countless times before, she pushed the painful memories away and tried to think about something else. Remembering the new library book she had picked up the previous day, Howards End by E. M. Forster, she lifted her chin. Later, after the children were tucked in bed, she’d lie in her bedroom and read about three families in England: one wealthy, one poor, and one German. It was a small distraction, but it was something to look forward to, something to keep her from thinking too much. Every day she tried to remind herself that it was never too late for a miracle to happen, that someday she might find her brothers. Still, it would never erase what she had done. Nothing would.

  When she turned the corner onto the next street and neared the Hudsons’ house, she furrowed her brow. A strange man was at their front door. Visitors had been welcome again since the end of the epidemic, but most of them were friends, couples from church, or the mothers of the girls’ classmates. The man at the door, in scuffed boots and a ripped vest, rain soaking his scraggly hair, didn’t look like anyone from the Hudsons’ close circle. Maybe he was looking for Dr. Hudson and hadn’t seen the sign pointing to the office. She shoved her hands in her pockets and hurried up the sidewalk.

  “May I help you?” she said.

  The man spun around, grabbing the newsboy cap off his head. “Um, aye. I’m here to ask about a friend.”

  She went up the steps onto the porch. “Are you looking for Dr. Hudson?”

  “Nay, I’m looking for a girl named Pia Lange.”

  Pia stiffened, her skin prickling. Who was this man, and what did he want with her? How did he know her name, unless... unless this was the miracle she’d been hoping for. Her heart went into her throat and it took a moment to find her voice. “Are you here about my brothers?”

  His brows shot up. “Is it you, Pia?”

  She wiped the rain from her eyes and squinted at him, trying to figure out how he knew her name. His bristled face looked familiar and strange at the same time, the hazel eyes and copper-colored hair, the deep dimple in his chin. And then she knew. His voice was deeper, more mature, but his accent and the way he said her name were unmistakable. Five years had changed her best friend into a man.

  “Finn?” she said in a weak voice. Her legs and arms started to tremble. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  He threw his arms around her and hugged her tight, squashing her face against his damp collar. “They told me ye were here,” he said. “But I figured you’d be gone by now. I thought I’d never see ye again.”

  She pulled away, trying to breathe normally. “Where have you been?” she said, surprised by her anger. “Why did you leave St. Vincent’s without me?”

  He frowned, his face going dark. “I didn’t leave,” he said. “Ye should know I’d never desert you like that. I was taken.”

  “What do you mean you were taken? By whom?”

  Before he could answer, the front door opened and Mrs. Hudson appeared. Except for the fine lines around her eyes and a few light hairs streaking the hair above her forehead, she looked the same as she had when Pia first arrived—but this time, her hair was as neat as her dress, her eyes bright and lively. She regarded Finn, frowning as she took in his ragged clothes and dirty boots. “What are you doing out here in this miserable weather, Pia?” she said. “And who is this?”

  “This is my friend Finn,” Pia said. She felt breathless and confused, and more than a little overwhelmed. “We lived across from each other growing up, and we were in the orphanage together.”

  “Oh my goodness, yes,” Mrs. Hudson said. Her displeasure at his appearance vanished. “I remember you telling me about him. Well, bring him in out of the cold and damp. You’ll catch your death out there.”

  Finn gave Pia a doubtful look.

  “It’s all right,” Pia said, trying to smile. “You should have seen me the first time she let me in.” She moved toward the door and motioned for him to follow, grateful but not surprised that Mrs. Hudson was inviting him in just because he was a friend.

  “Come in, come in,” Mrs. Hudson said. “You’re letting in the chill.”

  Finn shrugged and followed Pia into the foyer, then stepped aside and stood dripping on the rug. He raked his fingers through his wet hair and gaped up at the vaulted ceiling, his mouth hanging open. Pia took off her gloves, put them in her jacket, hung it on the coat tree, and offered to take his.

  He glanced down at himself. “I’m afraid I’m a right mess. I’m not dressed properly to come visiting.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Hudson said. “We don’t care what you’re wearing. If you’re a friend of Pia’s, you’re welcome here.”

  Finn hesitated, looking at Pia with doubt-filled eyes. She nodded and he finally took off his jacket, revealing a ragged wool vest over a wrinkled, graying shirt with missing buttons. A length of frayed rope held up his trousers.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson said.

  “Forgive me, ma’am,” Finn said. “I told you I wasn’t—”

  “No worries,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I’ll find a change of clothes for you. Dr. Hudson wears about the same size, and I know for a fact he has too many pairs of trousers and shirts.” She turned to Pia. “Why don’t you take him into the parlor while I see what I can come up with. And fix him a cup of hot tea while you’re at it. He looks chilled to the bone.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Pia said.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Finn said. “But I don’t want to impose. I only came here looking for Pia.”

  “Well, now that you’ve found her,” Mrs. Hudson said, “you must stay a bit. I know she’s happy to see you, and you have a lot of catching up to do.” She gave Pia a wink and started out of the foyer, then stopped and spun around. “Oh, I don’t mean to be rude, but please take off your boots before you go into the parlor. And don’t sit on the furniture until you’ve changed. I’ll be right back.” Then she turned and disappeared.

  Finn gave Pia a weak smile.

  “Don’t take it personally,” she said. “She’s always been like that.”

  “If you say so,” Finn said. He took off his boots and put them side by side on the rug. Jagged holes riddled the toes and sides of the leather, and his socks weren’t much better. “I’m sorry for shocking you like this, but I didn’t know—”

  “There’s no need to be sorry,” she said. “I’m just glad you found me. Come on in, I’ll make some tea and you can tell me what happened.”

  In the kitchen, she put the teakettle on to boil and offered him a seat at the table. When he shook his head, she remembered what Mrs. Hudson said about changing his clothes before he sat down. Her thoughts were a jumble and she couldn’t think straight. Standing on the opposite side of the table, equally as awkward and bashful as he was, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, that he was here, in the Hudsons’ kitchen. A strange mixture of confusion and elation roiled in her stomach. Finn had grown into a man, and he was here, staring at her, a million questions on his face. That she was happy to see him was an understatement. At the same time, he was a stranger.

  “I’m mighty disappointed ye thought I left without you,” he said.

  She put her hands on the back of the chair, squeezing so hard her knuckles turned white. “What was I supposed to think? One day you were there and the next you were gone.”

  “Believe me when I say it wasn’t my idea.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Mother Joe said a family in Iowa wanted to adopt me so she was sending me on a
train with a pack of boys from other orphanages. I put up a hell of a fight, but some big fella wrangled me into a cart and took me to the station. Except there weren’t no bloody family waiting when I got off.”

  Pia gasped. “Oh my God. That’s horrible.” She started to ask him another question, but Mrs. Hudson came into the kitchen with a change of clothes, socks, shoes, and a wool overcoat.

  “These should fit,” Mrs. Hudson said. “You’re welcome to use the water closet to clean up and get changed. I’ve put a shaving kit in there for you too.”

  “You’re too kind, ma’am,” Finn said. “But I have no money to pay you.”

  Mrs. Hudson pshawed and piled the clothes in his arms. “No need to pay me a thing,” she said. “Just hurry along and tidy up.”

  Finn smiled at her, a smile that was both grateful and embarrassed, then did what he was told.

  “How amazing that he found you after all this time,” Mrs. Hudson said after he was gone.

  “I know,” Pia said.

  “He must really care about you.”

  Pia nodded because she didn’t know what to say. Her cheeks grew warm.

  “Well, I’ll be upstairs in the playroom with Cooper,” Mrs. Hudson said. “But I expect you to tell me everything later.” She chuckled and gave Pia another wink, then turned and left the kitchen.

  While Finn was getting washed and dressed, Pia took a serving tray with a silver carafe and two teacups into the parlor and waited in one of the wingback chairs, thinking about what he’d said. All this time, she’d been wondering if he’d left St. Vincent’s without her. And until she saw him on the porch, she hadn’t realized how resentful she’d been, despite the fact that she didn’t know what really happened. Maybe she couldn’t imagine him letting a nun force him to do something against his will. She should have known better. He never would have abandoned her. And Mrs. Hudson was right. It was amazing that he’d found her after all this time. That had to mean something.