Rory's Promise

by Michaela MacColl

  Another policeman joined hers. “Well, O'Rourke, get much of a haul?”

  “An idiot who got himself knocked out at McAllister's tavern and a kid.” Rory's policeman, Officer O'Rourke, scowled. “A little hellion. She tried to tell me she's with the Foundling Hospital but she didn't know the name of the right dormitory.”

  “These kids will lie as soon as look at you,” the other officer agreed.

  “I am not lying!” Rory protested. “Just ask Sister Anna if I am telling the truth.”

  “I don't know about you, O'Rourke, but I don't have time to go interrogating nuns.”

  “Me neither. In fact, they scare me a bit. Always have since I was a wee lad in Dublin.”

  Rory stared at them, disbelieving. “You won't send for her? But then how will I get home?”

  “Lass, that's not my concern,” O'Rourke said. Taking a firm hold of her arm, he escorted her up the short flight of stairs into the precinct house.

  “You can't do this to me!” Rory protested. “It's not right. The nuns will miss me.”

  O'Rourke snorted. “The likes of you ain't missed by nobody.”

  Rory's jaw dropped. Was it possible? Wasn't she important to somebody? Well, Violet, of course. But Violet couldn't help her. Rory's heart ached when she thought of how frightened Violet would be when Rory wasn't sitting beside her at supper. This was what happened when she disobeyed the Sisters and didn't respect authority. The nuns had warned her. And before that, Ma had warned her too. When would she learn?

  O'Rourke led her past a wooden counter where a line of people were shouting at the duty officer. Rory tried to dawdle so she could listen, but O'Rourke propelled her into a large room that seemed to be occupied by enormous men in blue uniforms. The noise was deafening. He led her to a hard bench against a wall then sat down at a desk across from her. “You'll wait here until the matron comes to collect you,” he said. “Don't move; I've got my eye on you.”

  Rory felt tiny on the bench. Even her legs weren't long enough to touch the floor; the back of her thighs ached as her feet dangled. She leaned back against the wall and looked around. The room was filled with policemen, criminals, and victims, all talking at the top of their voices. Sometimes Rory had to look twice to tell the difference between the criminals and the victims. A policeman escorted an old lady, clutching a stole around her shoulders, to stand in front of Rory.

  “Do you recognize the miscreant who stole your purse?” he asked.

  “Maybe her …” the old woman said, peering through thick spectacles at Rory.

  Rory eyes widened. “I didn't steal anything! Ma'am, truly I didn't!” She sat up straight and tried to look innocent.

  “Not her, Mrs. Montgomery,” the policeman said. “I meant the pictures.”

  Rory looked over her shoulder and noticed the wall was covered with hundreds of cards. Each card had a hand-drawn portrait of a criminal with a description beneath of his or her criminal record and unusual habits. She slumped against the wall in relief. As Mrs. Montgomery nearsightedly looked at the cards, Rory idly read the card at the end of her nose about “Gentleman Joe Dapper.” That couldn't be his real name, Rory thought. She read on. Gentleman Joe dressed like a gentleman and talked his way into society weddings and made off with the gifts. He was partial to presents from Tiffany's. Looking at his posh face, Rory would never have pegged him for a criminal. Even Sister Anna could have been fooled by him. But on consideration, Rory decided her Ma would have seen right through Gentleman Joe.

  “Do you like the rogues’ gallery?” O'Rourke said in her ear, startling Rory. “Just be thankful I'm getting you off the streets so your picture will never be up here. I don't suppose you can read, but each of these men and women are desperate criminals.”

  “I can read, Officer O'Rourke. The nuns taught me.” She added pointedly, “Because I live with them!”

  He scowled. “You are a stubborn one.” He stepped aside and revealed an older woman with a narrow face and dark beady eyes staring down a pointed nose. She wore a black uniform and a sour expression.

  “Matron, here's the one I told you about. Watch her, she likes to kick.”

  “After a few days staying with me, she'll be as biddable as a lamb,” the matron said. She held out a hand that was red and cracked.

  Rory's eyes burned from the smell of lye.

  “C'mon, girl,” the matron beckoned.

  Rory shrank against the wall. “What about Sister Anna? Won't you tell her I'm here?” She winced to hear how scared she sounded.

  “See what I mean?” O'Rourke said to the matron.

  The matron grabbed Rory's shoulder and shook her. “Liars don't prosper here,” she said. “You'd better remember that.”

  CHAPTER Nine

  “I’ M NOT LYING!” RORY CRIED.“I BELONG TO THE FOUNDLING. ” Rory felt as if she were sinking beneath the surface of a lake. If she didn't find someone to listen to her, the waters would close over her head and she would die.

  “Lying or truthful—it don't matter,” the matron said to O'Rourke, as though Rory hadn't said a word. “All the children end up on the trains in the end. Such an economical solution to the problem.”

  “What problem? What trains?” Could the matron's trains and Sister Anna's be the same? That seemed unlikely.

  “Don't be afraid,” the matron said, although Rory could see clear as day that the matron relished Rory's fear. “After you're unclaimed for a few days—”

  “Days!” Rory squawked.

  “Hush, don't interrupt me. After a few days, we'll send you to Children's Aid. They take all the poor children who have some work in them and send them west. It's a fresh start you'll have.” The matron's smile didn't reach her eyes.

  “Please, just tell Sister Anna I'm here,” Rory begged. “My name is Rory Fitzpatrick. She'll come for me, I know she will.”

  “If she comes, she comes. Now I don't want to hear another whine out of you or you'll find out what it's like to miss a few meals.” With a sharp gesture, she indicated that Rory should precede her down a long hallway. Swallowing hard, Rory forced her feet to move. The matron took her up three flights of stairs to the top floor and unlocked a door that opened into a large cell. A window was set high in the wall. Now that the sun was down the only light came from a dim electric bulb high overhead. A girl lay on a bench bolted to the wall. In the corner was a chamber pot with an ill-fitting lid. Rory could tell by the smell it hadn't been cleaned today. The matron shoved her inside.

  “No fighting or you'll feel the back of my hand.” The door clanged shut behind her and Rory heard the squeak of the key closing the lock. She turned slowly to face her companion. The other girl looked a little older than Rory. She had dark black hair and pale green eyes. Her dress was filthy, as if she had fallen in the mud, and the hem badly needed mending. Her bare feet had a calloused look as though she rarely wore shoes.

  Rory gave her a tentative smile and met with a cold stare. “Hello,” Rory said finally.

  “What do you want, Red?” the other girl answered.

  “My name's not Red. It's Rory.”

  The girl burst out in cruel laughter. “That's a boy's name.”

  “It's my name.” Rory shrugged. “Do you have a problem with that?” That was how kids on the street talked in Hell'sKitchen.

  With a nod, as though Rory had passed a test, the girl said, “I'm Brigid.” Rory could hear the Irish in her voice. “What are you in for?”

  “The policeman thought I was a thief,” Rory said, blushing. “But he was wrong.”

  “That's what everybody says,” Brigid said. “It's never true.”

  Rory started to protest but then wondered what possible difference it could make what Brigid thought. “So what did you do?” Rory asked.

  Brigid shrugged. “The coppers caught me picking a gent's pocket.”

  “Oh,” Rory said, making sure to keep her voice neutral. In the old days she'd stolen food to eat, but never money. She had always known in
a pinch she could explain food thievery to her mother, but never cash. But who knew what would have happened if she hadn't found sanctuary at the Foundling for her and Violet after Ma died. Rory might have become a thief too. She couldn't judge Brigid without living her life. “What will happen to you now?”

  “I'll pay for my crimes,” Brigid said, her expression as gloomy as the single light bulb in the ceiling.

  In a tiny voice, Rory asked, “How?”

  “With my very life,” Brigid said, hiding her face in her hands.

  Rory could feel the blood draining from her head and, without willing it, took a step backward. Brigid peeked from between her fingers and burst out laughing. “Look at you, Red. You shouldn't be let out on the streets without a minder. I'm only joking. I got no family so it's the orphan train for me. But it'll be the end of me too. Kids never come back.”

  “From where?” Rory asked.

  “Don't you know nothin’?” Brigid said. Without waiting for an answer she said, “Poor kids get put on trains to the West like farm animals.”

  “But sometimes they go to specially chosen homes and they get to be part of new families,” Rory said, parroting Sister Anna. But was she sure about that? Sister Anna had let Rory believe that she and Vi could stay together. What else had she lied about?

  Brigid snorted and looked pityingly at Rory. “Not likely. The people out there need workers, so they meet the trains and pick out the strongest and best. Then they put them to work. To those farmers you're no better than a beast.”

  Rory's breath caught in her chest. “That's … that's … why, that's slavery!”

  “It gets worse,” Brigid said, leaning forward to whisper in Rory's ear. “Some of those men want wives and don't care how young they are.”

  Rory's knees buckled and she sank down to the bench.

  “Still, it might be better than thieving or begging on the streets.” Brigid looked her over. “You must do pretty well to keep so clean.”

  “I'm not a beggar,” Rory explained. “I live at the Foundling.”

  “What's that?”

  “An orphanage on the East Side. The nuns there have been good to me. I get room and board and school.”

  “Do they make you work for it?” Brigid asked.

  “No, of course not,” Rory said with indignation. “I help with the babies, but that's because I want to stay with my little sister. They want me to learn a trade and get apprenticed out. But I make myself useful so they keep me with Violet.”

  “It sounds too good to be true,” Brigid said flatly. Rory sighed. “From here, it looks like heaven.”

  “Why'd you leave if it's so good?” Brigid shot back.

  “I ran away even though I should've known better.” Rory rested her chin on her hand and sighed again. “Sister Anna is going to kill me.”

  “You think you're ever going to see her again?” Brigid laughed, then she started to cough. Rory smacked her on the back until she recovered her breath.

  “Of course I'll see Sister Anna again,” Rory said, willing it to be true. “She'd never abandon me here.” But there was doubt in her voice where there had never been any before. After the cruel things Rory had said, what if Sister Anna didn't ever want to see her again?

  “If that's true, I'd like to meet this nun of yours.” She closed her eyes and shortly began snoring, leaving Rory alone with her fears.

  What if Sister Anna left Rory to rot here? Sister Anna had hundreds of children to look out for; what if she decided she could do with one less? Violet would be sent off to the Wild West and Rory might never see her sister again. Loaded on a train like cattle, Rory would be claimed by a family more interested in her strength of body than her strength of mind. She would never finish her education. Worse yet, she might be taken in by a cruel family who would beat her and never give her anything more than scraps to eat. They would chain her to a post and make her turn a spit like a dog. Or maybe she would have to sleep with the cows. She might get scalped like the settlers in the Wild West Weekly magazine. Rory pinched herself hard before she worked herself up to hysterics. Of course, Sister Anna would come.

  But what if Sister Anna couldn't find her? It was a big city and Rory had gone all the way to Hell's Kitchen, miles away from the Foundling. A tear rolled down her face, followed by another one. Rory rarely cried unless she was hurt, but she had really ruined things for herself this time. She had thrown away everything in a fit of temper. Her eyes felt heavy and she closed them just for a moment.

  When she opened her eyes again, the harsh electric light hurt her eyes. Brigid was still sleeping. As Rory wondered what had awoken her, she heard voices in the hall, muffled and indistinct. She rushed to the door and put her ear to the crack in the jamb.

  “Officer, if Rory told you she was with the Foundling I am confused why you did not send for me at once. We have been searching for her for hours. This is the third precinct I have visited.” It was Sister Anna! She was speaking in what Rory thought of as her most nunnish voice.

  O'Rourke sounded like a whipped dog, all his bravado and bullying gone. “Sister Anna, we thought she was lying and didn't want to disturb you.”

  “Nonsense, O'Rourke. Rory is honest to a fault.” There was a brief silence; Rory pressed her ear against the door. She didn't want to miss a word.

  “This is not the first time you've mistreated one of my children,” Sister Anna went on, implacable. “I think I shall ask His Excellency the Archbishop to write a letter to the chief of police. Again.”

  Rory almost giggled when she heard O'Rourke whee-dling, “Ah, ma'am, I mean Sister, there's no call to do anything like that, is there? I'll just unlock this door and you can take your lass with you. No harm done!”

  The door lock squeaked and Rory jumped back. No sooner had the door swung open than Sister Anna stepped inside, filling the doorway with her tall frame. Her dark nun's bonnet shadowed her face. “Rory, it's time to go.”

  Rory wanted to run and hug Sister Anna, but that would never do. She contented herself with waking up Brigid to say goodbye. “This is the nun I told you about. She came. I knew she would!”

  CHAPTER Ten

  RORY FOLLOWED SISTER ANNA TOWARD A WAITING HORSE CAB. She hung back to rub the horse's nose, postponing the trouble she knew was coming. His coat was rough and his eyes were dull; the horse looked like he needed as much help as she did.

  “Rory!” Sister Anna's voice made her start.

  “Yes, Sister.” Rory climbed in. Sister Anna settled back in the seat as the cab lurched forward. Silence filled the cab and Rory wasn't interested in breaking it. She leaned away and pressed her ear into a leather seat that smelled of mold, her eyes fixed on the shadowy city passing by. She'd forgotten how loud the taverns could get, although she well remembered not being able to fall asleep at night. A woman in a scanty dress stumbled out of a tavern and hit the side of the cab. The cabbie shouted at her, using such language that Sister Anna covered Rory's ears.

  “I've heard worse, you know,” Rory said.

  “I know,” Sister Anna said sadly. “But no child should hear such things.” She took Rory's hand and didn't let it go until they reached the Foundling.

  Back home, Sister Anna brought Rory to the kitchen. Rory loved the Foundling kitchen. There was an enormous cast-iron stove in one corner and shiny copper pots hanging from the ceiling. Rory knew the cook's secret; there was a fat black cat that liked to sleep on the floor under the stove. Cook doted on the animal but Sister Anna would never allow her to keep it. As they walked in, Rory saw the tip of a black tail disappearing into the pantry.

  The cook had kept a bowl of stew and fresh bread for her. Rory wolfed it down, all the while waiting for the axe to fall. Sister watched her eat, still silent.

  Finally Rory could not stand to wait another moment. Stumbling over her words, she said in a rush, “Sister, I'll take any punishment you have for me if only you'll let me stay with Violet!”

  “Rory …” Sister Anna sounded ti
red. “I don't want to punish you, but you have to face the facts. Violet is going.”

  “I thought you cared about us,” Rory said, keeping her voice quiet. Sister Anna had rescued her and deserved a chance to explain. “After all we've been through, how can you split us apart?”

  Sister Anna sighed and sank into a chair next to Rory. “Someday you'll see that I'm doing the right thing by Violet. I understand why you were upset. To someone your age, three years with your sister seems like an eternity. But we must move forward, and Violet needs a home.” She removed her bonnet and placed it on the table then ran her hands through her short hair. “That's better. It's been a very long day.”

  Rory stared, distracted by Sister Anna's never-before-seen hair. “You've got red hair too,” she said, wonder in her voice.

  Sister Anna smiled. “Perhaps that's why I understand you so well.” She reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Rory's ear. “Today when you left my office …”

  Heat flushed Rory's face to the tips of her ears.

  “I was furious,” Sister Anna said. “And frightened. I am very glad that we found you and brought you back to where you belong. We see so many children. It doesn't do to get attached. But you, Rory, have managed to find a special place at the Foundling.”

  Rory wiped the bowl with a bit of soft bread and waited. There had to be more.

  “Rory, you have many good qualities. But you have just as many faults. The worst is how you tend to leap first and ask for permission afterwards. It shows that you don't respect authority. Orphans don't have that luxury.” Sister Anna sighed. “I wish they did.”

  Relieved, Rory glanced up at Sister Anna. She was startled by the remnants of worry in Sister Anna's expression. How exhausting it must be, Rory thought, to be responsible for all of the children. Loving them but having to send them away all the same. Knowing some would succeed but many wouldn't. How could she do it?