Rory's Promise

by Michaela MacColl

  For “Auntie Sis” Sister Norine Estelle Nichols 1916–2013

  Text copyright © 2014 by Michaela MacColl and Rosemary Nichols All rights reserved

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, please contact permissions@highlights.com.

  Although this work centers around historical events, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual incidents or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Calkins Creek

  An Imprint of Highlights

  815 Church Street

  Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-62091-623-0

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014935295

  First edition

  ISBN 9781629792750 (e-book)

  Design by Barbara Grzeslo

  Production by Margaret Mosomillo

  The text of this book is set in Garamond 3.

  Cover Photo Credits:

  Train: copyright © Mark Twain Hobby Center, St. Charles, Missouri; girl:

  copyright © Shutterstock; night sky: copyright © iStock

  Jacket design by Barbara Grzeslo

  To the Sisters of the House,

  Necessity compels me to part with my

  darling boy. I leave him, hoping and trusting

  that you will take good care of him. Will you

  let some good nurse take charge of him and

  will you try to find some kind hearted lady

  to adopt him and love him as her own….

  It would break my heart to have him grow

  up without a mother to love and care for

  him.

  A letter to the Foundling Hospital, July 1870

  PART ONE

  New York

  CHAPTER ONE

  A CHILD’S CRY, SHARP AND FEARFUL, STARTLED RORY AWAKE. Her eyes darted about the shadowy dormitory. It was still dark outside; dawn was some hours away. Was it the new boy, Harry? He'd been found under a railroad bridge living on what the rats left, and he often woke with nightmares. But he usually howled. More likely it was Violet, Rory's own sister.

  After three years of minding the little kids, Rory didn't throw back the warm covers just yet. Often the orphans would cry once then fall back asleep. She'd wait for a second cry—and then try to silence that one before the other children woke. Rory pulled the covers up around her chin, enjoying the bite of chill on her face. The Sisters of Charity believed a child needed fresh air at night so until All Saints’ Day, otherwise known as the first of November, the windows stayed open.

  A hand tugged at Rory's blanket. Holding back a sigh, Rory propped herself up on one elbow and looked into Violet's eyes, bright blue even in the dim light.

  “Rory, are you awake?” Violet asked in a lisping whisper. She was five years old to Rory's twelve.

  “I am now, you little pest,” Rory answered. Her words might be harsh but she had no worries that Violet's feelings would be hurt. To outsiders, Violet might seem sweet and biddable, but Rory knew how tough she could be.

  “I have to pee.”

  “Violet, you're five now. You are old enough to pee without my help,” Rory said.

  “I'm afraid of the water closet. It's so noisy and I'm scared it will swallow me up!”

  “You can pee in the pot and I'll flush it in the morning. That way we won't wake everyone else.” Rory swung her feet off the bed onto the tiled floor. She led Violet by the hand to the brand-new water closet down the hall. It was loud, louder even than the new elevated trains on Third Avenue. Violet squatted on the little pot next to the porcelain toilet. Afterward, Rory dumped the contents into the toilet bowl. Violet slipped her hand into Rory's and the two sisters walked together down the long hall.

  When they returned, Rory wasn't surprised to find two other children curled up together on her narrow bed.

  “What are you lot doing here?” she demanded, pretending to be fierce. “You're supposed to stay in your own beds.”

  There was no answer from the children. They kept their eyes tightly closed and snored impossibly loudly and with a suspicious regularity.

  With a sigh, Rory said, “Hop in, Violet.” She shoved the kids this way and that to make room. On the strength of being Rory's real sister, Violet used her sharp elbows to make sure she had the best spot, curled up in the small of Rory's back. Within a few minutes, Rory had been lulled back to sleep by the genuine snores and quick breaths of the three younger children.

  “Rory!” A stern voice woke Rory a second time. “The children are supposed to sleep alone.” Rory opened her eyes and had to put her hand over her eyes to block the sunlight pouring in. Sister Maureen stood at the foot of her bed. Short and plump, she resembled a dumpling in her white working uniform.

  “What children?” Rory asked, rubbing her eyes with her fists. In her experience, this made her look younger, less likely to be scolded. She patted the bed. “What are these rascals doing here?” She began to shake the kids awake. “Honest, Sister Maureen, they weren't here when I went to bed last night.”

  Sister Maureen shook her head and lifted young Harry out of the bed. “Rory, this is precisely why the older children are moved out of the nursery and into the dormitory. How old are you now?”

  The dormitory that Sister Maureen was threatening wasn't too bad. Rory knew the other girls from school and liked them well enough. But the dormitory wouldn't have Violet, and as far as Rory was concerned, that was the end of the argument. Rory leapt out of bed, dislodging Violet, who almost rolled off the bed onto the spotless tiled floor. Catching Violet just in time, Rory stared at Sister Maureen over her sister's head. “I have to stay with Violet. I promised my Ma.”

  The stern look on Sister Maureen's face began to soften. “Besides,” Rory said, pursuing her advantage, “however would you get them all washed and dressed for breakfast if I wasn't here to help?”

  Sister Maureen glanced around the long narrow nursery where eighteen beds lined the whitewashed walls. Rory knew exactly what the nun was thinking. Eighteen boys and girls, ages three, four, and five, took a lot of caring for. Usually a Sister and two nurses would be responsible. For the past three years Rory had deliberately carved out a place for herself as an extra caregiver, washer, wiper-upper, hair comber, clothes darner, and the first person the children called in the night. Her position at the Foundling was unique and she fought to keep it every day.

  In a cajoling voice, Rory asked, “Please let me help, just a little longer?” She tensed, waiting for an answer. Rory had never once spent a night away from Violet.

  “Well …”

  “Thanks, Sister,” Rory said happily, shepherding the sleepy children into a line to use the water closet. As she led them out of the nursery, she heard Sister Maureen's exasperated voice.

  “But, Rory, I didn't agree to anything!”

  Rory hurried the kids into the hallway. Out of sight was out of Sister Maureen's mind. At least for today, Rory could stay put.

  CHAPTER Two

  RORY SAT DOWN GRATEFULLY, ALREADY EXHAUSTED, AND IT wasn't even breakfast yet. The children were clean and dressed and off to the dining room on the first floor of the main building. Despite all the morning hurry, Rory had found a few extra seconds to make sure that the purple bow in Violet's curly red hair was placed just so. The time it took was repaid by the sweet kiss Violet gave her as she joined the long queue of children hurrying downstairs to their first meal of the day.

  Now Rory finally had some time to herself. Moments alone were rare and to be cherished. Another reason to avoid the dormitory! Sh
e braided her long red hair into a neat plait; her fingers had grown nimble taking care of so many small children. Rory slipped into a clean pinafore skirt she had pulled from the dresser she shared with Violet. The skirt fell only a few inches below the knee—too short to be quite respectable. As she tugged on her leather boots, she could see where her big toes had stretched the leather. No wonder her toes always hurt.

  What she wouldn't give for a new dress! Or shoes that had never been worn before. There was a scarcity of donated clothing in the nursery box to fit a girl as tall as she, and shoes for her size feet were always in short supply. Rory dared not draw attention to her constantly increasing height because it always led to questions about her age. Girls in the dormitory had clothing that fit—the shoes too. But once Rory admitted that she was growing, the Sisters would insist that she move in with the older kids. The Sisters hated anything that interfered with their rules and sense of order. That was Rory Fitzpatrick in a nutshell. So Rory kept her head down and did what was best for her and Vi.

  The street noises grew louder, full of the voices of women and the cries of babies. Tugging at the hem of her skirt, Rory braced herself. Every other day Rory would go to the Foundling school, but not on the first Wednesday of the month. Today was payday for the one thousand wet nurses employed by the Foundling Hospital. The wet nurses had babies of their own at home but they provided mother's milk to orphaned babies for a substantial fee each month. Rory had assumed the duty of ensuring that no one cheated the Sisters. It was just one more way to show the Sisters how much they needed her.

  The line of women and babies snaked from the main entrance of the Foundling on East Sixty-Ninth around the corner to Third Avenue. The sight of so many women and babies was remarkable enough that drivers of private cars and carriages slowed down to stare.

  Rory began with the women at the front of the line, waiting to enter the building. The first was a woman in her thirties, with a broad face and pale eyes, holding a swaddled baby against her breast.

  “Mrs. Healy,” she scolded, “little Brian looks pale. Is he getting enough fresh air? The Sisters say that's important.”

  “Look at you, little miss bossy.” Mrs. Healy laughed. “For all you're only thirteen, you talk like one of the nuns.”

  “I'm just twelve,” Rory corrected her.

  “You look older.”

  Rory glanced about to make sure none of the nuns had overheard Mrs. Healy. “Just mind that Brian gets out at least once a day. Your eldest can take him—he's nine now, isn't he?”

  “When my eldest gets home from the shoe factory, he's too tired to mind a baby, especially a stranger.”

  “This stranger,” Rory stressed the word, “is worth ten dollars hard cash a month to your family. Remind him of that.”

  She moved on. The Sisters had never asked her to play policeman to the wet nurses, but Rory knew firsthand how deceitful people could be. It made Rory angry to think of the Sisters being taken advantage of. Babes in the wood, they were. Besides, Rory was the closest person these children had to family. She would take care of them as well as she took care of Violet, as long as she was able.

  No trickery caught her eye until she reached Mrs. O'Flanagan, who had worked with Rory's Ma in the shirt factory before she started taking babies for the Foundling. Mrs. O'Flanagan was an old hand at wet nursing. She always had a baby of her own, so she was happy to take in orphans for the stipend. When she saw Rory, she quickly turned her tall, straight body away from Rory's view.

  “Hello, Mrs. O'Flanagan,” Rory said loudly. Reluctantly, the wet nurse turned round. “How is Danny?” she asked.

  “Just fine,” Mrs. O'Flanagan said, in the thick brogue of Ireland. “He's a little love.”

  “Let me hold him, he's a favorite of mine.” Rory planted herself in front of Mrs. O'Flanagan and waited.

  “Look at you, grown so tall,” Mrs. O'Flanagan said. “You're the spitting image of your mother.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. O'Flanagan.” Now Rory knew something was wrong. Mrs. O'Flanagan and her mother had never gotten along. “But we were talking about Danny.”

  “Are the Sisters taking good care of you? They promised they would.”

  “The Sisters don't lie,” Rory said. As firmly as she could manage, she said, “Let me see him.” She held out her arms.

  Mrs. O'Flanagan held tight to the baby. “He's just fallen asleep,” she said, looking down severely at Rory.

  “I won't wake him,” Rory assured her.

  Slowly, Mrs. O'Flanagan handed the baby over. Rory snuggled the baby and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “A lovely babe,” Rory said, very quietly so only Mrs. O'Flanagan could hear. “But he's not Danny. He looks like your own boy. Brendan, isn't it? Where's Danny?”

  Mrs. O'Flanagan's eyes took on a shifty look.

  “Mrs. O'Flanagan, don't lie to me. I know Danny and that's not him.” Rory braced herself; so many things could happen to these defenseless babies.

  Finally Mrs. O'Flanagan slumped, as though Rory had pricked her and let all the air out. “The babe is just fine, Rory. He's at home. But he's got a rash. A bad one—it fair turns your stomach to look at. The nuns are so fussy they might take him away and I can't afford to lose the money.”

  “Where's the rash? In the diaper?”

  Mrs. O'Flanagan nodded. “And on his back.”

  “I'm sure it's nothing that an ointment won't cure,” Rory said. “Go get Danny and I'll make sure Sister Kathleen is fair with you.”

  “But I don't want to lose my place!”

  “I'll wait in the line for you,” Rory said. “But bring Danny right now or else I'll have to tell the Sisters and then you'll lose any chance of working for them again.”

  “You're fiercer than the nuns, you are. I won't be long,” Mrs. O'Flanagan said, but she was already edging past the other mothers. Rory leaned against the wall, knowing she wouldn't have long to wait. Mrs. O'Flanagan lived in a tenement a short horsecar ride away, decent lodging for her family paid for with the money from the Foundling. She knew she had done the right thing. Mrs. O'Flanagan would be back soon with the correct baby.

  “Well done.” A familiar voice at her back startled Rory. “I couldn't have handled it better.” Rory whirled around to see Sister Anna, the nun in charge of all the children. She had a nose for a lie; all the kids, including Rory, were wary of her.

  “Truly?” Rory kept her eyes fixed on Sister Anna's folded hands.

  “Tell me, how did you know that baby wasn't Danny? We see so many.”

  Rory looked up, eager to explain. “Danny has a birthmark here.” Rory indicated under her left ear. “But I'm sure the baby is fine. You'll see.”

  “I believe you, my dear. You've an instinct for the good in people.” In a sadder tone, she added, “And the evil.”

  “After all the Foundling has done for me and Violet, the least I can do is make sure you don't get swindled.”

  “I don't know what we would do without you, Rory.” A slight smile played on Sister Anna's lips. “But shouldn't you be in class?”

  “Sister, anyone can do arithmetic, but I'm the only one who knows the difference between Danny and Brendan.”

  “Just for today, then,” Sister Anna conceded. “But I think it's high time we had a talk about your future.”

  “Now?” Rory gulped.

  “Soon.” In the way all the nuns had, Sister Anna glided away, almost as if she was skating on ice.

  Rory narrowed her eyes as she watched Sister Anna leave. Had Sister Anna finally decided that she was too old to stay in the nursery with Violet? Rory trembled; tomorrow was the time to worry about the future.

  CHAPTER Three

  RORY ONLY HAD TO HOLD MRS. O’FLANAGAN’S PLACE FOR a few minutes before she returned with a plump and bright-eyed Danny. They quickly reached the head of the line, at an alcove off the main entrance of the Foundling, where Sister Kathleen looked like a giant seated at her small desk. Rory whispered to Mrs. O'Flanagan,
“Let me do the talking.”

  Rory stepped in front of the desk. “Good morning, Sister Kathleen!” she said cheerily.

  Sister Kathleen was a tall, thin woman who rarely smiled. Her eyes darted past Rory to the baby. “Who do we have here?” she asked.

  Rory marveled that the Sisters saw these women and babies every month but couldn't tell them apart. Rory knew everyone's name and history. She could no more mistake one child for another than she could switch her own head with Sister Anna's. Little Willie had the longest eyelashes, and tiny Mary Dolan had been born too early and still wasn't a proper size. “This is Mrs. O'Flanagan, Sister. And the baby is Danny. Mrs. O'Flanagan is a bit concerned about his rash and wonders if you could take a look.”

  Sister Kathleen was the Foundling's expert on childhood ailments, in charge of ensuring that each baby was being well cared for by his wet nurse. She removed her ledger from the desk, whipped out a clean cloth to cover the wooden surface, and indicated the baby should be placed there. The chubby little boy gurgled and threw out his fists. Sister Kathleen undid the large pin holding the cloth diaper together. “What do we have here? Oh my …” Her voice trailed off. She looked sharply at Mrs. O'Flanagan. “Have you been changing his diaper regularly?”

  “Of course she has,” Rory said quickly, holding up the clean diaper. “I know it looks awful, Sister Kathleen, but you know that Mrs. O'Flanagan has always done right by the Foundling.” Rory turned to the older woman. “This is the fourth babe you've taken?” Mrs. O'Flanagan nodded. “And as soon as she saw the baby was ailing, she asked for help. Why, a babe's own ma couldn't do more!”

  Sister Kathleen pursed her lips and considered. She examined the babe's clothes, grudgingly admitting they were clean. “When did the rash start?”

  “Just a few days ago,” Mrs. O'Flanagan hurried to get the words out of her mouth.

  “Is there anything new in the house? A different kind of food, perhaps?”

  “No.” Mrs. O'Flanagan was regretful, as if she wished she could say the family had started to eat nettles. Anything to protect the family's income.