No Ocean Too Wide

by Carrie Turansky

  Katie froze and stared at the lantern, for surely that was what it was.

  “I say there, young lady, what are you doing out here in the dark by yourself?”

  Katie’s heart thumped hard. “Who…who are you?”

  “Charlie Peterson.” He lifted the lantern higher so the light shone on his craggy face. “I’m the groundskeeper and night watchman. And who are you?”

  “Katie…Katie McAlister.”

  “Well, Miss Katie, you best step down from that crate and come with me.” When she didn’t move, he looked her up and down. “Did you hear me, lass?”

  She snapped out of her daze and stepped down, still clutching the message from Garth. No doubt she would be punished for sneaking outside without permission.

  His gaze dropped to the note in her hand, and a frown creased his forehead. “Are you passing messages to the boys?”

  “No! I mean yes, but only with my brother, Garth. We’re twins. And they wouldn’t let us see each other.”

  “Well now, that is a problem.” He motioned toward the building. “I think you best come with me.”

  She gave a resigned sigh and followed him, all the while trying to think of what she would say when he turned her over to the matron. But he passed the main entrance, walked around to the back of the building, and led her down a set of steps. When he reached the bottom, he pushed open the door and motioned her through.

  She stepped inside, and they walked down the hall and into a small room where a fire burned brightly in the grate. Another lantern sat on a small table with two chairs nearby. The only other furniture in the room was a desk in one corner, piled high with books and papers.

  “Now then, take a seat and you can tell me your story.” He pulled out one of the chairs for her.

  “My story?”

  “Yes, why you’re here and more about that brother of yours. You said his name is Garth?”

  “Yes sir.” Katie lowered herself into the old wooden chair facing the fireplace. Mr. Peterson gave her a cup of tea, and she told him what had happened to bring them to Grangeford.

  The old man sat opposite her, nodding now and then and asking her a few questions, but mostly he just listened, watching her with a soft light in his gray eyes. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry to hear about your mum. I lost my mum when I was about your age, so I can imagine how hard that must be for you.”

  Katie swallowed and tried not to cry. She’d barely had time to think it through, but the old man’s kind words helped ease that dreadful ache in her chest a bit. It had been a long time since anyone cared enough to ask about her family and truly listen to what she had to say.

  Mr. Peterson poured himself a second cup of tea and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. “So, Miss Katie, it sounds like you have a decision to make and not much time to make it. Will you ask to be put on the list for Canada?”

  “I don’t want to go so far away from home.” But did she really have a home now that Mum was gone and her brother was being sent away?

  “Do you have any other family who might take you in?”

  Katie stared into the fire. “I have an older sister, but she works as a lady’s maid at an estate north of London.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “Our neighbor said she would write to her for us, but we’ve not heard from her or our neighbor since we arrived.”

  “Then I say, write again.” He rose from the table, crossed the room, and opened the top desk drawer. After pushing things around for a few seconds, he pulled out a few sheets of paper and a pen and walked back to the table. “Here you go. And while you’re at it, pen a letter to your brother and I’ll see that it’s delivered to him.” He lifted his finger. “But you must promise, no more creeping ’round in the dark or sending notes through the fence.”

  Katie accepted the pen and paper and met his gaze.

  “Will you give me your word, lass?”

  “Yes sir.” She lifted the pen, considering who she ought to write to first, but then she looked up. “I don’t have any money to buy stamps.”

  His smile returned and created crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes. “Not to worry. I’ll deliver your brother’s letter and buy a stamp for the other. You just write your letter, and you best be quick about it. It’ll be time for bed soon, and you don’t want the matron to make her rounds and find your bed empty. If you’re not there, she’ll think you’ve run away and send for the police.” His eyes twinkled at the prospect.

  On some other night she might have smiled or even laughed as she imagined the matron’s overreaction when she found Katie’s bed empty and set off on a frantic search. But the heartbreaking news she had received about Mum stole any possibility of a lighthearted response.

  She bit her lip and stared at the blank piece of stationery. Now that she had paper and a pen and even the promise of a stamp and delivery, she had no idea what to say.

  Should she promise Garth she would try to find a way to sail to Canada with him? Was there time to alert Laura and convince her sister to come and rescue them before she and Grace had no choice but to follow Garth across the sea?

  5

  Andrew tossed the tennis ball in the air and swung his racket hard. The ball flew across the net and bounced just inside the service area. It felt good to be back in London and back in the company of his friend and mentor.

  Henry Dowd stepped up and lobbed the ball back. Andrew dashed forward and volleyed the ball, skimming it just over the top of the net.

  Henry hesitated a moment too long before he shifted to the left and swung. He missed the ball by at least two inches. Groaning, he shook his head. “Good shot, Andrew. That’s the game.” He jogged across the court, scooped up the ball, and walked toward the net to meet Andrew.

  “Good game.” Andrew reached across and shook hands with Henry.

  His friend grimaced. “Not my best, that’s for certain.”

  “You don’t usually let me beat you by that much.” Andrew’s grin faded. “You seem a bit off. Is everything all right?”

  Henry lifted his racket and rested it on his shoulder. “Let’s blame it on being distracted.”

  “What’s on your mind?” Andrew scooped up two more balls and walked toward the side of the court. He followed Henry out through the gate and into the shade of the tall cedar tree.

  Henry nodded toward the bench beneath the tree. “Let’s sit down.”

  Andrew studied Henry as they walked toward the bench. Traveling to Italy together had helped them forge a strong bond. Now they shared a friendship as well as their business connection. And though Henry was ten years Andrew’s senior, their common background and shared interests had solidified their friendship.

  Henry lowered himself to the wooden bench. “I received a letter from Reginald Hayworth just after we returned from Italy.”

  Andrew sat beside him. “Isn’t he the chief legal assistant to the home secretary?”

  “Yes, and he has a close connection to the royal family, which gives him a great deal of influence.”

  “What was the letter about?”

  “Apparently, Richard Jansen had a stroke and he can’t continue his investigation into child emigration. Hayworth wants me to take his place. He sent a huge packet of documents and information Jansen collected.”

  Andrew gave a thoughtful nod. “I’m familiar with child emigration. Our family has been a supporter of Dr. Barnardo’s work for a few years.” At least he and his mother had supported the cause. “What’s prompting the investigation?”

  “There is a longstanding disagreement between those who are in favor of it and those who are opposed.”

  “I’m surprised anyone would be opposed. I’ve always heard child emigration benefited both Canada and Britain. We clear the workhouses and streets of poor orphans, giving those children the opportunit
y for a better life. And Canada benefits by adding to their population.”

  “That’s been my opinion as well, but some unfortunate incidents in Canada have made some people, including Her Majesty Queen Alexandra, question the practice.”

  Andrew frowned. “What kind of unfortunate incidents?”

  “Children disappearing, others who have been neglected or injured by those who have taken them in.” Henry’s brow creased. “I’m afraid there may be a darker side to child emigration that has been hidden by those who stand to benefit from it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our government pays the sending organization two dollars Canadian for every child we send, and Canada matches those funds. The receiving homes also charge an application fee to those who want to take in a child. When you multiply those funds times the number of children emigrating, we’re talking about a significant amount of money.”

  Andrew gave a solemn nod. “Wasn’t there some kind of government investigation in the past? I seem to remember reading about it in my law studies.”

  Henry nodded. “About thirty years ago, a man named Andrew Doyle was commissioned to look into it and report his findings. He traveled to Canada and visited several receiving homes and some of the children who had been placed with families. When his report was published, it caused quite a stir.”

  “What were his conclusions?”

  “He was critical of those who were sending the children and of the process itself. He believed the program failed the children and was doing more harm than good. In fact, he recommended the government put a stop to it or at the least make several changes.”

  “What were his chief concerns?”

  “He said there needed to be more screening of those who took the children and a better system to check up on them after they were placed.”

  “Were those changes made?”

  Henry shook his head. “Initially, a few organizations took steps to improve things, but from what I’ve read, not many followed through. The number of children sent to Canada has steadily increased since then. And I’m afraid most of the troublesome policies have not been corrected, and that’s why Hayworth has been asked to launch an official government investigation.”

  Andrew fingered the handle of his racket, pondering Henry’s comments. “I heard Dr. Barnardo speak and saw a presentation given by some of the children in his care. It was quite impressive, especially knowing most of those same children were living on the streets before they were taken in.”

  “Dr. Barnardo was the undisputed leader in child emigration before his passing, but he was not the only one emigrating children to Canada. It seems more than fifty thousand have already been sent.”

  Andrew turned to his friend. “I didn’t realize there have been so many.”

  “Yes, it’s quite a surprising number, but it has been going on for many years. I believe Dr. Barnardo began sending children in the early 1880s, following in the footsteps of Annie MacPherson, Maria Rye, and a few others.”

  “It sounds like there is quite a history.”

  Henry nodded. “I’ve been reading up on it. I believe those who started it had good intentions, and probably most still do. But it’s grown so large, and with the number of children emigrating, it’s easy to see how some would slip through the cracks and come to a bad end.”

  Andrew sobered. Were those isolated cases, or were hundreds or even thousands of children suffering because of lack of proper guidelines and oversight? He glanced at Henry. “So, will you take up the investigation?”

  “It’s an important issue. Someone needs to look into it and give a fair and unbiased report. That person must be free to travel and able to spend some time in Canada this spring and summer.” Henry rested his racket across his knees. “I’m ready to accept the commission, but I’d rather not handle it alone.”

  Andrew studied his friend’s face. “You want me to go with you?”

  “Yes. I think if we tackle this project together, we can be much more efficient. We’ll need to visit some of the children’s homes here in London and Liverpool before we travel to Canada to gather information and evaluate the situation there. When we return, we’ll need to write a report summarizing our findings, then give our recommendations. Hopefully we can finish by the end of summer.”

  Andrew chuckled. “That’s all?”

  “It will take a good deal of intense work. I’m thinking we could take care of matters here and be ready to leave for Canada in two or three weeks.”

  “Can we make our travel arrangements that quickly?”

  “I’ll have Phillips start working on it today.” Henry sent him an expectant look. “So, what do you say?”

  Andrew considered it a moment more. “It sounds challenging. You know I like to travel, and I’ve always wanted to see Canada.”

  Henry cocked his eyebrow. “I thought you were going to say you’ve always had a heart for helping children and caring for the poor.”

  Andrew’s face warmed. “I am concerned about justice for the poor, especially the children.”

  Henry slapped him on the shoulder. “I know you are. I was just trying to see if I could ruffle your feathers a bit.” His grin faded. “But in all seriousness I consider this a very important commission. We’ll be responsible to the government, but more importantly to the Lord. And we must be firmly resolved to give it our best effort and cover our work with prayer.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Why don’t we start now?” Without waiting for a reply, Henry bowed his head.

  Andrew quickly ducked his head as well. He was still a bit uncomfortable with his friend’s habit of praying aloud at the most unusual times. But he appreciated his sincere faith and his practical example of seeking God’s guidance in everyday situations.

  “Father, we come to You with our hearts and minds focused on this new commission we’ve been given to investigate child emigration. We know You are infinitely aware of all the issues and people who are involved. We know You care about the poor and have a special place in Your heart for orphans and abandoned children. Help us have that same genuine concern for them. Guide us and lead us to the truth. Help us see the situation clearly and know what to include in our report and what to recommend. We ask for traveling mercies once again, and we place ourselves in Your hands. We pray all these things in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Andrew added and lifted his head.

  Henry placed his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Well, my friend, this is a significant responsibility, but it also sounds like it could be a great adventure.”

  Andrew returned the smile. “It does indeed, and I’ll be ready.”

  * * *

  Katie gulped in a deep breath and forced out her words. “I want to go to Canada.”

  Mrs. Stafford’s eyebrows rose, and she looked at Katie over the top of her spectacles. “We only send our best girls to Canada, those who are obedient and hardworking. Would you describe yourself that way?”

  Heat rushed into Katie’s cheeks. “Yes ma’am. I try to be.” Thank goodness Mr. Peterson had never told the matron she’d been sneaking outside after dark to exchange messages with Garth. She looked across the desk and met the matron’s gaze.

  Mrs. Stafford pursed her lips and looked at the open file in front of her. “Tell me about your family.”

  A lump rose in Katie’s throat, and she had to swallow hard before she could speak. She still couldn’t believe her mum was gone. It hurt too much to even think about it. “My parents were good people, very kind and loving. Dad worked as a carpenter, building houses and repairing buildings. Mum cared for our home and family until Dad died. Then we had to move, and Mum started working in a dress shop. But she’s gone now, and we’re on our own.”

  Mrs. Stafford frowned and looked down at the file. “Both your parents a
re dead?”

  Katie swallowed hard and nodded.

  “And your siblings?”

  “My twin brother, Garth, is at the boys’ home next door, and my little sister, Grace, is here with me. We have an older sister, Laura, who works as a lady’s maid on an estate near St. Albans.” Painful disappointment rose and nearly stole her voice. “But she can’t care for us.”

  “I see.” The matron dipped her pen in ink and wrote in the file for a few seconds. She looked up. “Tell me why you want to go to Canada.”

  “Garth said he’ll be going soon, and that’s why Grace and I want to go too, so we can stay together.”

  Mrs. Stafford closed the file and studied Katie. “You appear to be healthy, and you’re not a bad-looking girl, though you are short for your age.” The matron scanned her once more. “It’s a shame your eyes aren’t blue.”

  Katie clasped her hands behind her back and tried not to let the matron’s comments sting, but they did. She would never be as pretty as her sisters. They both had lovely blue eyes and wavy blond hair. Her eyes were hazel like her dad’s, and her hair was more red than brown. That wouldn’t keep her from going to Canada, would it?

  Katie met the matron’s gaze. “A person can’t help the color of their eyes.”

  “Oh, don’t fret, child. There still might be a family that would take you.”

  Katie smoothed out her expression. She didn’t want to anger the woman or make her think she was moody and fractious.

  “The Dominion of Canada is one of the most prosperous areas of the British Empire—a land of opportunity for those who are willing to work hard and be responsible and obedient.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you willing, Katherine?”

  “Yes ma’am. I always helped my mother with cooking and cleaning and taking care of my younger sister. I know how to darn and knit, and I’ve been learning to do the hand sewing to finish dresses and shirts. I’m sure I’ll be a fine seamstress one day.”

  Mrs. Stafford’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “It’s not becoming to boast about your skills. Wait until someone asks you about them before you reel off your list.”