The Forgotten Home Child

by Genevieve Graham

  “No, mate. We’re all in this,” Jack told him.

  “You dare hurt my daughter?” Warren roared in their faces. In his hand, he carried a pitchfork, which he jabbed in the air as he yelled. “You dare to even touch her? You’re gonna be sorry you even thought about it.” He spun toward Stella. “Which one?”

  Sniffing dramatically, Stella stepped toward them, her boots crunching on the new snow, and a cold certainty shuddered through Jack. He was the one who had put his foot down and pulled her off Quinn. He was the one her father hated the most. What would Warren do to him this time?

  She started on the left, slowly passing Edward and Cecil. When she came to Jack, vengeance sparkled under her lashes, and he braced himself. But she kept walking. With her eyes on Jack, she stopped in front of Quinn.

  “This one,” she said.

  Jack stared at her in disbelief. “Quinn didn’t—”

  Warren’s face was red as beets. “You three get in the bunkhouse.”

  They hesitated, and Quinn started to follow them, not understanding.

  “Not you, moron,” Warren said, shoving Quinn. “Don’t you move.” He turned to the other three, swinging the handle of the pitchfork. “Get in there!”

  Jack’s stomach curdled with fear for Quinn. Desperate, he tried to reach him, but fast as a snake, Warren jabbed Jack’s side with the sharp end of the pitchfork. At first, Jack didn’t understand. It felt like he’d been punched, but when he looked down, blood was blooming through the thin material of his shirt. Then everything seemed to happen at once—Edward was yelling and Cecil was trying to get past Warren, but Warren used the fork to shove them all into the bunkhouse then slid a board across the door, locking them in.

  For a moment, they heard nothing over their thundering heartbeats, then there was a sharp cry of pain outside, and the boys pounded on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. When Quinn’s sobs grew louder, they started kicking a loose board on the wall, and Jack felt a jolt of pain in his wounded stomach every time he slammed the heel of his boot against the splintering wood. The board finally gave way, and they pulled it back so they could see outside.

  It was too late. Quinn sagged, unconscious, against the pole where he’d been tied, and still Warren’s buckle came down. Off to the side, the sisters held on to each other, pale with shock. Did they understand what they’d done? Did they regret any of it? Only having fun, they’d said. We can do whatever we want.

  That was true. They could. But one day Jack would be able to do whatever he wanted. And as he watched the farmer pummel Quinn, his strikes cold, cruel, and purposeful, he clutched the wound in his side and vowed that someday he would do the same to Warren.

  fourteen WINNY

  Winny pressed her cheek against the cow’s bristled side, warming her face as she milked. Her fingers no longer cramped from the grip, and her rhythm was strong and confident. She’d never have thought cows would be her saviours, but the heat in the barn every morning was heavenly. It was after she finished, when she carried the full buckets of milk to the house and began her list of chores, that winter chased her down and her feet went from sharp, constricted agony to frozen numbness. Only when she finally laid her head down at night, with the sheep cuddled around her, did she feel warm again. But she could never truly rest. Not when she knew Mary was suffering elsewhere.

  Every day since the Renfrews’ party, Winny had wracked her brain trying to think of ways to see Mary again and to help her get away from that farm, but with all her chores and Mistress Adams watching her like a hawk much of the time, there was no way to escape. She’d never make it to the Renfrews and back without being missed. One time she’d even asked her mistress if she might go to the Renfrews on any errands, but Mistress Adams had waved her away and told her to get back to work. Winny didn’t know what else to do.

  Her milking done, Winny shuffled through the barn door with the buckets and made her way through the fresh snow and to the house. Mistress Adams was waiting in the doorway as if she’d been expecting her.

  “I’ll be right back with the eggs, Mistress,” Winny said quickly, setting the milk down.

  “Good,” Mistress Adams said. “And then you will go to school.”

  Winny almost knocked over the buckets. “This morning?”

  Joy buzzed through her veins at the very thought. She’d loved lessons at Barkingside, and at school she could be away from the farm, and… maybe Mary would be there too!

  “Yes,” her mistress said, matter-of-fact. “Sending you to school is a requirement on our contract with Dr. Barnardo, and since there is less for you to do here in winter, this is a convenient time for me.”

  “Will David be going?”

  “No. He’s already finished school.”

  Winny suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands. Part of her wanted to reach out and touch her mistress, let her see how happy this news made her, but she clenched them together instead.

  “Thank you, Mistress.”

  “I expect you to do your very best at school.” Mistress Adams’s expression softened slightly as she studied Winny. “When you are no longer living here, you will need to depend on your education to do well in life, Winnifred.”

  Winny couldn’t believe her ears. Her mistress had never said her real name. Not in front of her, anyway. “I promise I will work very hard.”

  “There’s one more thing.” Mistress Adams stepped back into the house for a moment then reappeared. “You cannot go to school in those terrible old boots. Take these.”

  She held out a pair of worn but solid leather boots. Stunned by the gesture, Winny wordlessly took them from her, removed her old ones, and slid her stockinged feet into the new boots. Her toes wiggled, confused by all the unexpected space.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” she whispered.

  “I should have given them to you earlier, but money is tight. I can only do what I can.”

  “I’m just so grateful that you did now, Mistress.”

  “You’d better get going,” she said brusquely, pursing her lips. “Don’t make a fool of yourself at school. Listen to the teacher and mind your own business.”

  A half hour later, Winny started up the road toward the school, her mind racing ahead. Would Mary be there too? If she was, and if they saw each other every day, she knew Mary would get stronger, and they could work together on a real plan to get her away from Master Renfrew. Maybe, given time, Winny could even convince Mistress Adams to take Mary in. It seemed like a faraway dream, but then again, until this morning, she’d never thought she’d be going to school again. Especially in new boots. What if, one day, instead of going to school, she and Mary just ran away?

  A cold, raw wind sliced across the fields, and she came to her senses. They could never run away in the winter. They’d freeze to death.

  When she reached the school, she scanned the faces of the children outside, but she couldn’t see Mary anywhere. A small, young woman with a practical black coat wrapped around her shoulders stepped outside the school’s door and rang a shiny brass bell.

  “Good morning, boys and girls,” she called. “Welcome back from your Christmas holiday. Come and line up now, in rows of two.”

  Winny fell into line beside another girl and gave her a smile, wondering if she might manage to make a friend here. But the girl’s nostrils flared as if Winny had stepped in sheep manure—which she knew she hadn’t.

  “You’re a Home Child, aren’t you?” the girl hissed, moving away. She turned to a friend, standing behind them. “I won’t go to school with a stupid Home Child. The whole place stinks now that she’s here.”

  “She’s not allowed in our school,” her friend agreed loudly. “She’ll make us sick. We need to tell Miss Burton.”

  A third girl chimed in, and they formed a small semicircle around Winny. “She’s a sick, disgusting orphan,” she declared. “Not even her parents wanted her.”

  “We’ve got two more over here,” a boy shouted up ahead.

&
nbsp; “Home Child! Home Child! Home Child!” the children chanted, louder and louder.

  Winny covered her ears, crushed by sadness and reminded of her first day at the orphanage many years ago. She’d been excited to meet new children and make friends, but the girls there had pointed and laughed cruelly at her shorn head. Back then, Mary had stepped in and set things straight, and none of the girls had ever come after Winny again. But Mary wasn’t here now. How Winny wished she was. She’d always known how to handle bullies. Or at least she used to.

  Winny felt a hard shove from behind, and she fell to her knees on the hard, snowy ground, landing beside two boys. Above them the other children crowded, taunting and yelling, throwing hard, icy snowballs, even kicking one fallen boy in his side. When one of the girls rubbed a handful of snow in Winny’s face, she instinctively pushed her away, and the girl staggered back, cursing with words Winny had never heard before. Her friends rushed forward, and Winny curled into a ball, covering her face with her hands.

  “That’s enough!” Miss Burton’s voice called out. “Get back in line. You should be ashamed, resorting to violence. For shame. Really, I don’t know what to say.”

  Winny peered up through her fingers and watched Miss Burton usher the other children into the school. The two Home Boys were watching Winny, and she offered them a cautious smile. It didn’t matter that she’d never seen either of them before. In that moment, they were kin.

  “You all right?” one of them asked, getting to his feet. He looked about fourteen. His nose was bleeding, and there were red splatters on his shirt.

  “Yes, I think so.” She pulled a rag from her pocket and offered it to him. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Thanks. I’m Ralph,” he said, wiping his face. “And this is Jim.”

  “I’m Winny.”

  “What do we do now?” Jim asked, looking at the school. “I can’t go back to the farm yet.”

  “I dunno. I—”

  “You three.” Miss Burton had reappeared, and she let out an unhappy sigh as she considered them. “That was hardly the welcome I would have liked to extend to you, but I suppose it was to be expected. We’re not used to having Home Children in our school, and I’ve never actually taught a Home Child. Tell me, have you had schooling before?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ralph said. “Dr. Barnardo’s made sure we had regular lessons.”

  “So you can read and write?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Winny replied.

  “Good,” Miss Burton said kindly. “You’re here to learn, just like the other children. We will all work together, and over time, I hope they will learn to be more civil. I will expect good behaviour and attitude from you three just as I do from them. Of course, if there are any problems, I am obliged to tell your masters.”

  They nodded and followed her quietly into the school. Winny kept her eyes averted from the other children, ignoring their stares. She was here, in school, and she was determined that nothing else would take away from this day. Only after she and the two boys had taken their seats at the empty desks at the back of the classroom, far from the warmth of the stove, did she let herself look around. The three girls who had started the fight in line were sitting together on the far side of the room, casting seething looks Winny’s way. Beside them sat another girl with beautiful, flaxen hair. She was facing front, so Winny couldn’t see her face, but she couldn’t help staring at her lovely pink dress, with its clean white lace and soft cotton sleeves. Winny could only ever dream of owning anything so pretty.

  As if the girl felt Winny watching her, she turned, and Winny caught her breath.

  Charlotte.

  Winny almost burst from her chair, she was so happy to see her friend. The last time she’d seen Charlotte was at Barkingside, where she’d been waiting for her mother to return for her. There had never been any talk of her coming to Canada, so what a welcome surprise this was! But Charlotte was shaking her head, slow and deliberate, her baby-blue eyes wide, and that’s when Winny understood. The other children didn’t realize Charlotte was a Home Child. Winny gave a tiny, imperceptible nod to assure Charlotte she wouldn’t let on, and she saw a hint of a smile touch her friend’s face.

  For most of the day, Winny stared at the back of Charlotte’s head, wondering when they might have an opportunity to speak. She had trouble focusing on what Miss Burton was saying because of all the questions in her mind. How on earth had Charlotte come to be here? Had her mother never returned for her? When had she arrived in Canada? Where did she live? The family who had taken her in must be good people, because Charlotte looked healthy and immaculate.

  After school, Winny dawdled in the schoolyard, hoping Charlotte would stay behind, but she left with the other girls. Winny’s heart sank with disappointment as she watched them go, laughing to each other about something. Maybe they were even laughing about Winny. Maybe after all this time, Charlotte didn’t want to be her friend anymore. Why would she, since she could be with all the other girls? Suppressing a shiver, Winny started out on the road alone. She’d only walked a short way when she heard Charlotte’s call.

  “Winny!”

  “Where are you?” Winny asked, peering around.

  Charlotte popped out from behind a cluster of snow-covered bushes, her smile bright as sunshine. “Here!”

  Winny raced over to her, and they hugged tight, squealing with happiness.

  “I thought you’d changed your mind, that you might not want to—” Winny started.

  “I pretended I forgot something at school and told the girls to go on without me,” she replied. “I would never forget you, Winny. Oh, you’re absolutely frozen.” She unwrapped her scarf and wound it around Winny’s neck. “Here,” she said, holding out her muff for Winny’s hands.

  “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “It’s all right. We’ll take turns.”

  The rabbit fur was soft and warm on Winny’s cold, chapped hands. She almost cried at the exquisite sensation. “I want to know everything,” she said as they began to walk again. “When did you come? Are you living with good people?”

  “I left a month after you. I live with a very nice family in town.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful! You look so happy!”

  Charlotte dropped her gaze, and her fingers picked at her coat. “It’s not all been happy news, I’m afraid. Before I left, the Home told me my mother had died.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She reached for Charlotte’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know how much you loved her.”

  “I knew there was a reason she hadn’t come. In a way, I reckon hearing she was gone made it a little easier to take. At least I knew she hadn’t forgotten about me. And then I was lucky to be taken in by a lovely family.”

  “Tell me about them. Do they treat you well?”

  “Oh yes. Mrs. Carpenter is often ill, and they couldn’t have children of their own, so she decided she’d like to take in an older girl. I’ve become her adopted daughter as well as a helper around the house.” Her eyes glistened. “They want me to call them Mum and Dad, so I do, but it still doesn’t sit right with me. I mean, I know she’s gone, but in my heart I still have a mum. I can’t just pretend she never existed.”

  “Oh, Charlotte. Of course not,” Winny replied gently. “But look at you now. You’re being cared for by a loving family and doing so well. Your mum would understand. I know she would.”

  Charlotte nodded, blinking back tears. “You always knew what to say, Winny. I’ll never forget how you made me feel less alone when I first arrived at Barkingside.”

  The girls walked on in companionable silence for a while, then Winny asked if she’d been going to school long.

  “Oh, yes, since September. The Carpenters said they will send me to Toronto for nursing school when I’m eighteen if I keep my marks up.”

  “Nursing school! You’re so lucky.”

  She hadn’t meant to sound envious, but Charlotte’s gaze was sympathetic. “I know I am, Winny. I feel guilt
y at how lucky I am, really. I look at you and the other Home Children, and I know I should be with you, but because of the Carpenters, I can hide among the regular people here and pretend.”

  “Don’t feel bad, Charlotte. I’m glad at least one of us is being looked after. It’s just the luck of the draw, ain’t it?”

  “I suppose.” She glanced shyly over. “No one but the Carpenters knows I’m from Barnardo’s. My new mum says I don’t have to tell, and I’d rather not.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.” She passed Charlotte the muff, her hands deliciously warm for the first time in a long while.

  “What about you? Tell me what is happening with you.”

  Winny told Charlotte everything from meeting up with the boys on the ship to the long, quiet ride to the farm. She told her about Mistress Adams and the sheep in the barn where she slept, and she showed off her new boots. But when Charlotte asked about Mary, Winny melted into tears.

  “I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw her. She talked about her master, saying the most awful things. Oh, Charlotte. I have a terrible feeling that he might have—”

  “Oh no,” Charlotte said, suddenly pale.

  “Mary said he wouldn’t leave her alone, and then I saw bruises on her neck.” She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing away the memory. “I promised I would come back to her as soon as I could, but it’s so hard to get away from the farm. Mistress Adams has me so busy, and now with school… all I can do is hope I see her again soon. It breaks my heart that I can’t do anything for her.”

  “That’s terrible. When you do see her, please tell her I send my love.”

  “She’ll be ever so glad to hear about you. We’ve been wondering, you know.” The road split, and Charlotte turned onto a trail Winny hadn’t noticed before. The town must be in that direction, she realized. She wondered if she would ever see it.

  Winny tilted her head the other way. “This is my road.” She reached out and embraced Charlotte again. “I wish I could stay longer with you, but I’ve chores to do, and they must all be done in time for me to get some supper. If I’m late, I’ll go hungry.”