“It's dark,” Violet said. Her hand found Rory's and they held on to each other tightly.
“I'm here, Vi.”
There were no streetlights and the lantern Jake had attached to a pole on the wagon didn't offer enough light for Rory to see any landmarks. Jake made another turn and Rory was certain she didn't know how to get back to the station by herself. She couldn't go back—only forward. And she had no idea what awaited them at the church. For Violet's sake, she willed herself not to be afraid, but Rory couldn't keep her left leg from shaking uncontrollably.
“Are you all right?” Jake asked, staring down at her leg.
She avoided answering him by asking about the eerie glow coming from a large ugly building up ahead. As they approached she realized that the building was the source of that terrible clanking noise.
“That's the smelter,” he said. “Hear that? That's the belts bringing tons of ore to the fire to be melted for the copper.”
A loud piercing whistle blew, making the bones behind Rory's ears ache. “What was that?” she asked.
“Shift change. The smelter burns all day and all night.” As Jake explained, a door opened and a line of men, tired and dirty, filed out. They were sweaty, which Rory found odd on a chilly night.
“It's always hot at the smelter,” Jake said. “The heat makes a nice change on a night like tonight.”
The clanking grew louder as they approached. Violet, who disliked loud noises, buried her face in the space between Rory's arm and her waist. Jake was right; it was like standing in front of an oven. The air was gray and burned her eyes. As soon as they passed, the chill returned and they could breathe freely again. Rory shivered but not just from the cold.
“How many people live here?” she asked. Maybe the streets were empty because there weren't many people.
“Enough to run the mine and support the miners,” Jake said. “Two, maybe three thousand people. It's easy enough to count the whites. They live in this area and up on the high ground. But the Mexicans are always coming and leaving. You can't count them.”
“What's the high ground?” Rory asked with suspicion.
“It's the best place to live. Away from the flooding.”
“Flooding?” Rory asked, gripping the wooden seat with her free hand. Now that they were away from the smelter, she heard the faint sound of water flowing in a riverbed.
Jake nodded. “We're in a canyon. The water comes rushing down from the mountains.” He gestured to the hills. “The mining company cut down all the trees to feed the smelter, so there's nothing to keep the water from flooding the town. The company doesn't care—the managers live on the hill. The rest of us take our chances.” His voice sounded bitter. “Last year we lost a dozen or more to the water.”
“You couldn't find them again?” Violet asked.
“Hush, Vi,” Rory said. There was simply no way she could leave Violet in a place filled with madwomen, armed men, and floods! Her plan, such as it was, had already fallen apart before she had even started. But what could she do? Any moment they would arrive at the church and suddenly there would be the priest and his translator to deal with, as well as a new family who expected to take Vi home.
Behind her, she heard little Josephine whimpering. She was cold and hungry. Mrs. Chacon tried to comfort her, but Jo was a determined crier when she chose to be. She wouldn't like it here either. If this place was wrong for Violet, it was wrong for all the orphans. Rory had a responsibility to them, as surely as she did to Vi. Even returning to New York and starting over would be better than remaining in this town. Sister Anna was bound by her vows of obedience. Mr. Swayne just wanted to finish his job and go home. There was no one to think for all the orphans but Rory. Unfortunately Rory had no idea how to save even Violet, much less all forty of them.
The wagon pulled up in front of a small nondescript building made of mud and stones, wedged between the road and the steep hill behind it. The train station had been situated on an open piece of land but this church looked as though space had been made for it only grudgingly.
“Here's the church!” Jake said.
CHAPTER Twenty-Four
RORY ONLY KNEW THE BUILDING WAS A CHURCH BECAUSE jake said so. There was no stained glass, nothing familiar. She thought of the beautiful chapel at the Foundling and the soaring grandeur of St. Patrick's. How could the people of Clifton pray in a mud hut?
Mrs. Chacon helped William and Josephine out of the carriage, while Rory and Violet clambered down. She smiled at Rory and Violet. “What are your names?”
“My name is Rory Fitzpatrick, ma'am. And this is my sister, Violet.”
“Ah,” Mrs. Chacon said. “Violet Fitzpatrick. Aged five.”
Rory gently pushed Violet behind her. “How do you know about Vi?”
“I wrote out all the lists.”
“Oh, you're the one who wrote to Sister Anna,” Rory said. It made sense, as she seemed to be Father Mandin's right- hand person, and the only one who understood what he said.
Mrs. Chacon stroked Violet's hair. “Such a beautiful color.” She paused. “But the Sisters said nothing about a sister.”
Rory tightened her grip on Violet. “I'm here to make sure she gets a good family.”
“Of course she will.” Mrs. Chacon was slightly offended. “Every family on the list was carefully selected by Father Mandin.”
“What about Mrs. Gatti?” asked Rory, holding her breath for the answer.
“She is not on the list,” Mrs. Chacon said firmly.
“That's a relief!” Rory said.
Mrs. Chacon opened the door for Rory. The sound of two dozen chattering women struck her as though she had walked into a wall. Steeling herself, Rory moved inside. The odor of cheap candles hung in the room, along with a spicy scent. If it was incense, it was a kind that Rory had never smelled before. She walked to the middle of the chapel, turning in a circle, trying to find anything that was recognizable. The cross on the wall was plain, no gilt at all. And it didn't even have the Lord Jesus on it. There were few windows. The pews were rough benches that had been pushed up against the walls. The floor was the same hardened mud as the walls. How could this be a church?
In the corner a large group of dark-skinned women waited. Rory recognized some of them from the station but others were new to her.
“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Chacon asked.
“I'm starving!” Violet cried. At the same time, Rory said, “Not now.”
Mrs. Chacon chuckled. “Perhaps some water for you, Rory? The road is so dusty.” She gave Rory a tin cup of water and put a small cake in Violet's hand and led her to a wooden pew. “Rory, don't worry,” Mrs. Chacon said when she returned. “Elena will be a wonderful mother.”
“Elena?” Rory stared at Mrs. Chacon over the rim of her cup. “Elena Martinez?” It felt like years ago, but it was only a week since she had heard that name in the Foundling dormitory.
“My good friend. We've assigned Violet to her.”
“Is Elena here?” Rory asked. She didn't plan to leave Vi in this awful place, but it wouldn't do any harm to meet the woman who was supposed to get Violet.
“Of course, everyone is. They've waited so long,” Mrs. Chacon answered. “She's over there in the corner.” She pointed to a tall woman standing apart from the others. She was perfectly still and her long face reminded Rory of her favorite statue of the Virgin Mary. Like the other women, she wore a black dress, but her shawl was emerald green. Green had been Rory's mother's favorite color; she said it reminded her of Ireland. A good omen, Rory reluctantly decided.
“She wants a family so badly.” Mrs. Chacon was solemn. “She's lost four babies already.”
Rory blinked. “Four?” Maybe this Elena didn't deserve Vi. What mother loses four children?
Mrs. Chacon shook her head sadly. “This place is bad for making babies. The air is thick with fumes and the water is full of metals from the mines. Nothing grows here. No trees. No babies.” Rory wondered if Mrs. Chacon
had also lost a child.
No babies. Rory blinked. She was accustomed to there being more babies than anyone could need or want. The first Wednesday of the month at the Foundling was proof of that. The Sisters of Charity had to pay hundreds of wet nurses to care for them. She began to understand the scene at the train station. In Clifton babies were precious and rare. What would these women do to get a healthy child?
Waiting until Mrs. Chacon's attention was elsewhere, Rory slipped through the crowd of women. She made a beeline for Elena Martinez, whose black eyes were fixed on the children. Her light brown hair was braided around her head like a crown. To Rory she seemed sad, but that might be because she knew Elena's history.
“Hello,” Rory said.
“Hello,” Mrs. Martinez said. “Are you one of the orphans?” Her voice was like a soft summer rain.
“I help the Sisters,” Rory said. “You are taking one of the children?”
Mrs. Martinez's long face transformed into a smile. “I'm taking two,” she said shyly.
For a moment Rory's hopes soared like the hot-air balloon she had once seen in Central Park. Maybe, somehow, Sister Anna had arranged for Rory to be taken too. It would be just like Sister Anna not to tell Rory and let it be a surprise. Rory might have to reconsider her plan to spirit Violet back to New York.
“A boy named William and a girl named Violet,” Mrs. Martinez said.
The balloon crashed to the ground. Two children, but not the right two.
“My name is Rory Fitzpatrick,” Rory said abruptly. “Violet's my sister.”
Mrs. Martinez looked startled, but then she held out her hand. “I'm Elena. It is a pleasure to meet you.” She glanced over to where Mrs. Chacon was arranging a table in the center of the room. “No one told me that Violet had a sister.”
“I'm not on any lists,” Rory admitted. “I wasn't supposed to come.”
“But you did anyway?” A glint of mischief appeared in Elena's eyes. “How did you do it? New York is so far away.”
“I climbed onto the roof of their taxi and then I stowed away on the train.”
Elena burst out laughing. “The Sisters must have been furious!” she said. “I was educated in a convent school, so I know how strict they are. But it sounds like something I might have done when I was young.”
Rory permitted herself to grin back. “They were pretty mad. But Sister Anna—she's in charge—knew that I would never let Violet go to just anyone.” She fixed Elena with a stern stare. “You see, I have to approve her new parents.”
“Of course. You are her family.” Elena nodded thoughtfully. “What would you like to know?”
Rory decided to start with an easy question. “What kind of mother will you be?”
Elena stared off into the distance as though she could see something Rory could not. “I don't know. I've never been a mother, not for more than a few days,” she said. “But I know what I hope to be. Kind. Wise. Gentle.”
Rory wrinkled her nose. Of course Elena had a good answer to that question. She'd say anything to get a baby. Time for something tougher. “Violet can sometimes be a little stubborn, especially about keeping her clothes clean. How would you punish her?”
Elena's mouth formed a small o. “Of course every child needs discipline, but I would never strike a child. And Ramon, my husband, doesn't believe in hitting either.”
So far, so good. Next question. “What would you do if she couldn't sleep at night?”
“That is easy,” Elena answered in a soft voice. “I would sing her a lullaby.” She hummed a gentle tune that Rory did not recognize.
Rory herself was tone-deaf. “That's not a bad answer,” she said, a little reluctantly. “But she likes her back stroked when she can't sleep.”
“I'll remember,” Elena promised.
“And what about school?” Rory asked. “Vi is smart. Will she go to school?”
“There isn't a school for the children of the mine workers,” Elena admitted. “But I have an education. I will teach her. And what I don't know, we can learn together.”
Rory opened her mouth to ask the most important question: would Elena consider taking Rory too?—but she was interrupted by the arrival of Sister Anna and the other children. A swelling of noise poured through the door like storm water through a gutter. The chapel, for all its bareness, carried sound beautifully. Across the room, Rory saw Vi and little Josephine putting their hands over their ears.
The would-be mothers were polite—but they stared at the children just as hungrily as Mrs. Gatti had. Mrs. Chacon spoke sharply to them in a strange language and they hurried to direct the newcomers toward the food-laden tables in the back of the room. Sister Anna was trailed by Father Mandin. Neither of them seemed as if they had enjoyed the ride together. Sister Anna beckoned to Mrs. Chacon for translations.
Sister Eileen came up behind Rory and whispered, “They are speaking Spanish. Sister Anna told me that many of the families come from Spain.”
“From Spain?” Elena chuckled. “No, most of us are from Mexico.” She paused, taking in the confused looks on their faces. “The copper company pays better wages than the men can earn in Mexico, so many come here to work. My husband brought us here three years ago.”
“What language do you speak in Mexico?” Rory asked.
“Spanish.” Elena's nose crinkled when she smiled. “That must be the mistake. We speak Spanish, but we are not Spanish at all.”
“Did Father Mandin come from Mexico too?” Sister Eileen asked.
“No, he's from France. He has been here less than a year and doesn't know much English or Spanish yet.”
“Then how does he talk to anyone?” Rory asked.
“Señora Chacon is here every day to translate. I too can speak both English and Spanish, and now, by necessity, French. Would you like a tortilla?”
“Tortilla?” Sister Eileen couldn't get her mouth around the strange word.
Rory decided she was hungry after all. “If it's something to eat, then yes,” Rory said.
Elena offered them a flat, round piece of bread. She showed Rory and Sister Eileen how to add beans and meat to the bread and then roll it up. Rory sniffed at the tube of food and smelled the spicy aroma she had noticed before. She asked Elena what it was.
“It's called chili,” Elena explained. “Don't you have this in New York?”
Rory took a bite. Like an explosion on her tongue, it was different from any food served at the Foundling. It burned her mouth. Waving her hand in front of her lips, trying to cool them, she asked for some water. Elena's face fell. As Rory gulped down an entire cup of water, Father Mandin clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. Mrs. Chacon translated, “The Sisters will hand out the babies now.”
The chili churned in Rory's stomach. She was out of time.
CHAPTER Twenty-Five
“SISTER, HERE IS THE LIST OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN,” Mrs. Chacon said to Sister Anna, who sat behind a small table. Rory tried to get close enough to see the paper, but the spiky handwriting was too difficult to read from a distance.
Sister Anna surveyed the room, her eyes resting longest on the dark-skinned Mexican women. “Where are the parents?” she asked.
Mrs. Chacon looked puzzled. “They are all here. No one wanted to wait another day.”
“But …” Sister Anna began.
Mrs. Chacon interrupted her. “Father Mandin chose each family with care, Sister. Over sixty people applied, but he only accepted thirty.”
Sister Anna took another look at the Mexican women. “Very well, let us begin.” Rory tensed as she waited for the first name. “Gabriela Welsh, number twenty.” Rory relaxed. Not Violet. Not yet. Rory liked Elena and knew that Vi would too, but how could Rory be absolutely sure that Elena was the mother for Vi? Rory wouldn't get a second chance at this.
“Tomasa Alvidrez,” Sister Anna stumbled over the un-familiar name. “Gabby is going to her.”
Gabriela looked darling in her Sunday-best dress, her g
olden curls falling down her back. A tall, gaunt woman stepped forward to meet her. Sister Anna stared at the fair little girl and then at Mrs. Alvidrez, whose skin was darker than the aged oak beams that held up the mud roof.
“Is this right?” Sister Anna asked. Turning to Father Mandin, she spoke quickly. “I prefer to match each child to a family that resembles her. I find it helps the parents bond with the child.”
Mrs. Chacon translated, her voice flat. Father Mandin replied, “The important thing is that Mrs. Alvidrez is a good Catholic.”
“But … ,” Sister Anna began.
With a sharp gesture of his hand, the priest cut her off. “You are too choosy, Sister. Give her the child.”
Sister Anna opened her mouth to protest but closed it again. Rory couldn't help feeling a little smug that Sister Anna was getting a taste of her own medicine. By the look on her face, Sister Anna was no better at being biddable than Rory was. But nuns were bound by an oath of obedience. Another reason, in case Rory needed one, not to become a nun.
“Of course, Father, but please remember the Foundling has the final word on the adoptions,” Sister Anna said respect- fully, but there was a hint of warning buried in her voice too. She turned to Mrs. Chacon and said, “Does she speak English?”
“Some,” Mrs. Chacon said. “We thought it best if every family spoke a little.”
“Quite,” Sister Anna said curtly. “Make sure she understands that in the next few days I will come to her house. If I am not satisfied, I will take the child back.”
Mrs. Alvidrez said, “Sí, sí.” Glancing at Mrs. Chacon, she pulled some coins out of her pocket and placed them on the table. Then she took Gabriela by the hand and led her away. Gabriela glanced back at the others but went willingly enough.
Sister Anna stared down at the coins then asked Mrs. Chacon in a sharp voice, “What is this money for?”
“Father Mandin asked the families to contribute to the cost of the wagons from the train since we are a poor parish.”
Sister Anna said, “If you had asked, the Foundling would have paid the cost.”
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