From your standpoint. Jack didn’t like the sound of that. “Farmer Warren,” he said, wondering how on earth to be civil about it, “is—”
“He’s a monster,” Cecil finished for him. “Me and the lads have grown up in a lot of different places, and we’re used to gettin’ beat on, but before we came here there was usually a reason for it.”
Edward nodded beside him.
“You’re saying Mr. Warren’s attacks were unprovoked?”
“Yeah,” Cecil said. “Unprovoked is right. Unprovoked and—”
“Excessive,” Edward said.
Mr. Brown looked at Jack. “Would you say the same?”
Jack took a deep breath. “Yeah. If you drop an egg, you’re not supposed to get your head punched in or cow dung spread in your face. If you answer a question the wrong way, you’re not supposed to get whipped so bad you can’t sit for two days.” He glanced at the others. “If you talk to a girl, you shouldn’t get knocked down to the point where you’ll never get up again.”
Mr. Brown didn’t move for a moment, and Jack wished he could read past the man’s thick round spectacles. Could he guess from their tone what had happened? Did he understand why they couldn’t say anything more about Quinn’s death?
“It was terribly sad news to hear about your friend. I am very sorry for your loss,” Mr. Brown said eventually. “Is there anything in particular that happened that you would like to report? Anything that explains why, after all these months, you all decided to run away on the night in question?”
The words were on the tip of Jack’s tongue, but Edward spoke first.
“No, sir. I think you could safely say that we’d had enough of Master Warren’s abuse. Also, we needed to get Quinn to a doctor, and Master Warren wouldn’t do anything to help him. The truth is, sir, we’re just sorry we didn’t run sooner.”
Mr. Brown wrote something in his notebook, then he removed his spectacles and pinched the top of his nose. “I’m afraid I cannot do much without specific complaints. I can record that there was abuse or neglect, but without an actual charge there is little more I can do.”
Warren would get away with this, Jack thought bitterly. And without a charge, did that mean the three of them would be returned to his farm? Jack ground his teeth, swearing that would never happen. If they were sent back, he and the brothers would run again. They’d never stop running.
Dr. Cogan cleared his throat. “Jack, would you please stand up?”
Confused, Jack got to his feet.
“I have a particular charge. Pardon me, Jack.” The doctor lifted up the bottom of Jack’s shirt, revealing the ugly evidence of Warren’s pitchfork, still healing. “I believe stabbing an unarmed boy with a pitchfork warrants serious attention, don’t you, Mr. Brown?”
The inspector paled. “Yes,” he said. “I see now. You boys will not be returned to Farmer Warren, and I will file a report.” He flipped through his book, frowning at the names. “There are other farms still waiting for a Home Boy—”
“We’d like all three of them to stay here,” Mrs. Cogan said.
Her husband agreed. They’d already completely outfitted the boys in their sons’ old clothes and were paying each boy eight dollars a week for working. Their room and board was free.
Seeing there was little left for him to say, Mr. Brown closed his book and got to his feet. “I’m very sorry you’ve had to go through this, boys,” he said, meeting each of their gazes. “We try our best, but sometimes that’s not enough.” He looked at the Cogans. “But I’d say you’ve been very fortunate, finding good people like this.”
It wasn’t an apology, but Jack could see the sincerity in his expression. “Sir,” he said, mustering his courage one last time, “I wonder if you might do me a kindness, seeing as you are the inspector for this area.”
“Quite possibly. What is it you’d like, son?”
“I’m looking for my sister and her friend.”
* * *
Jack watched with apprehension as Dr. Cogan slid a knife through the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Here, at last, was Mr. Brown’s report. The boys crowded around the kitchen table as the doctor read the letter out loud. When he neared the end, he leaned back in his chair and regarded the boys.
“Barnardo’s has decided to fine Mr. Warren for negligence,” he told them. “No charges are being laid.”
“That’s it?” Cecil asked. “A fine?”
Hardly an eye for an eye, Jack thought, his blood simmering. Warren would pay a hundred dollars to Barnardo’s as Quinn slowly turned to fertilizer beneath the dirt.
“What of my sister?” Jack asked. “Have they found her?”
Dr. Cogan flipped the paper over then checked the envelope for another, but Jack knew the answer before he spoke.
“They’ve said nothing of the girls, I’m afraid. I imagine they’ll keep looking and let us know. You’ll have to make do with that.”
Jack reached for another piece of paper and began to write back to Mr. Brown, detailing both girls’ full names and histories as well as anything else he could think of.
“No, sir,” he said. “I can’t make do. Not anymore. Not when it’s about Mary.”
eighteen WINNY
— 1937 —
Winny was up to her elbows in mud. Spring was a pretty time to live on a farm, but it also meant endless, dirty work. As the fields beyond sprouted with corn and wheat, Winny tended the smaller vegetable garden—a chore she’d come to love. Seeding, weeding, and harvesting gave her a feeling of accomplishment like she’d never known before. She was digging rows and dropping in seeds when Mistress Adams’s shadow fell over her.
“Your friend is back at my sister’s home,” she said.
Winny jumped to her feet. “Is she all right?”
“My understanding is that she is well.” Mistress Adams scanned the fields. “As luck would have it, I have to go and visit my sister today. You may ride with me after you’re done planting here.”
Without thinking, Winny grabbed her hand, remembering the mud on her own too late. “Thank you, thank you, Mistress. You are very kind.”
To her surprise, Mistress Adams said nothing about the dirt, only wiped her hand on her apron and walked back to the house. Her heart racing with anticipation, Winny finished the garden as fast as she could, and soon she was sitting in the front seat of her mistress’s truck, bumping along the pitted road toward the Renfrews’ farm. The closer they got, the more her thoughts filled with Mary. Was she really all right? Would the baby be with her?
“I’ll be in the house with my sister,” Mistress Adams told her when they arrived. “You may go and see your friend, and I will come for you when I am ready to go.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
As soon as the door closed behind her, Winny sprinted down the slope toward the little shed where Mary lived. It felt like another lifetime when she’d last been here, rushing around the frozen hut, searching in vain, but today would not end that way. She knew for certain that Mary was here. When she reached the bottom of the hill she spotted her, standing just outside the hut.
“Mary!”
Mary spun toward her, and Winny could have cried with joy. Mary’s eyes were still shadowed with fatigue, but there was a light within. She stood straight, not cowering as before, and as she got closer, Winny saw no bruises.
“Winny,” Mary breathed, wrapping her arms around her as if she were hanging on for dear life.
Winny blinked back tears, slightly unsettled to feel the soft cushion of Mary’s still-swollen belly against her own thin frame. “Mary, I—” She didn’t know where to begin. “Are you all right?”
Mary stepped back, her eyes lowered with shame. “You know what happened?”
“What he did to you was never your fault. You know that, don’t you?”
“They call us sluts, Winny. They call us whores. Maybe that’s all we are.”
“No, we’re not. We never were. Oh, Mary, you know
that.”
All at once the tight lines in Mary’s face melted away, and she gave Winny the most beautiful smile. “It doesn’t matter now. None of it does,” she said. “Winny, you changed everything for me. I don’t know how you made them believe you, but because of whatever you said, Master Renfrew has left me alone since I’ve been back, and my mistress promises he won’t bother me again. I thought I was lost. I thought there was nothing anyone could do, but you saved me. Thank you.”
“You know I would do anything for you, Mary. I only wish…”
The unspoken words hung in the air between them, then Mary turned away. “Come inside,” she said softly.
Winny entered the tiny, dark hut where her friend had lived by herself for so long, and she ached at the emptiness within. The walls were bare, the furnishings primitive, and yet Mary had set her bed as neatly as if she’d still been at Barkingside. That’s when Winny noticed Mary’s trunk, mostly hidden beneath her cot, and she assumed everything Mary owned was in there.
But Winny saw no baby clothes, no crib. There was no sign of an infant.
“Where’s your baby?”
Mary’s hands went to her stomach. “Can you believe it, Winny? That I had a baby? It’s still a wonder to me.” She sank onto her cot, and Winny sat beside her, fascinated by the sudden tenderness in her voice. “When he was inside me, everything felt so different. Even with Master Renfrew about, I felt like I had something to live for as long as I had my baby. I knew he was going to be a boy, Winny. I knew it all along. My little son.”
As Mary spoke, her expression changed, the dark places filling with light. “I felt him move, Winny. It was the most magical thing, knowing he was in there, growing, and I was the one person in the world who could keep him safe. I touched his little elbow and foot when it pressed inside me. I sang to him, and I talked to him every night. He was all I had in the whole world.” Her gaze dimmed slightly, and her hands moved to her knees. “He gave me hope.”
Winny was afraid to break the spell, but the question had to be asked. “Where is he now?”
Mary took a deep, shuddering breath and stared straight ahead, somewhere beyond the rough, grey wall of her hut. “I never really saw him. The nurse called me an unfit mother. The minute he was born, she wrapped him up and took him away, and all I could see was a glimpse of black hair sticking out from inside the blanket. I heard him crying in her arms.” The broken sob that escaped her throat was like nothing Winny had ever heard. “Not my arms, but hers. How could I be an unfit mother, Winny, when I never even got to touch my baby? He was mine, and they took him away from me.”
Winny was crying before Mary had finished speaking. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to comfort her. She wrapped her arms around Mary, and they wept together until they could hardly breathe.
“I sit here day after day,” Mary gasped through her sobs, “night after night, needing my baby, but I shall never see him. He was mine—as much as he was that monster’s—and I feel broken without him. And now his life is ruined as well as mine.”
“Why? Why is his life ruined? Surely they will take care of him, wherever he is.”
“Because he’s a bastard!” she exclaimed. “Think about it, Winny! No one will want anything to do with a Home Girl’s bastard baby. Nobody will ever want my son but me.”
Winny had seen far too many orphans in her lifetime. She knew Mary was right.
“What does your mistress say about the baby?” she asked carefully. “Will she not let you keep him here?”
“Of course not. She wouldn’t want any sort of reminder of her husband’s indiscretions, would she? Oh, I know that I should be thankful that she’s been kind to me in other ways since then—she brings me my food now and has given me a lock for my door. But she tells me I must forget my baby and move on with my life. She doesn’t understand.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “How can she say that? How can she think I could ever forget him?”
Winny couldn’t imagine a way that she or anyone else could ease Mary’s pain, and her helplessness made her feel even worse. Then she thought of the light that had come on in Mary’s eyes when she’d first spoken of the baby, of the hope that unborn child had given her. Winny could give her hope. She reached for Mary’s hand and held it between hers.
“You and I will find him when we’re free. We’ll find him, and we’ll find Jack and the others as well,” she told her. “We’ll raise him together, like a family.”
“Do you promise?” Mary whispered, her eyes gleaming with urgency.
“I promise.”
Something eased in her expression, and Winny caught a glimpse of the old Mary. The stronger, more confident Mary she’d known so well.
Just then the door opened, and Mistress Adams stood in the doorway. She looked from Winny to Mary. “You are Mary, I presume.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Mistress Adams took in the room, her jaw tight. “I am sorry for your situation, and I hope it has improved of late.” Then she turned to Winny. “It’s time to say goodbye. I’ll be waiting in the truck.”
As her mistress left, Winny pulled Mary into her arms. “I will come back soon. I promise. Oh, Mary. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Winny. You’re the best friend anyone could have.”
Winny gazed into Mary’s eyes, searching for the strength she’d seen before. “Will you be all right?”
Mary didn’t look away. “I think so. I’m safe, and I’ve been shown kindness. Knowing you are near makes it easier as well. And now, because of you, I have a dream. That will keep me going.”
* * *
On the drive back to the farm, Winny was quiet, her mind running over everything Mary had said. She was exhausted by all the emotions they’d just shared, but she breathed more easily. Mary wasn’t as strong as she’d once been, but she was still a fighter. A fighter with scars. She would survive this.
“Mistress,” Winny said quietly. “I need to thank you for whatever you said to your sister when I first told you what had happened. Mary is so much better now.”
Mistress Adams nodded, her eyes straight ahead. “I did it for my sister. Her reputation rests on her husband’s. I merely reminded her of that.”
“Thank you just the same,” Winny said.
“Your friend—” She hesitated, then her voice dropped. “She’s just a girl. Of course I knew that, but I suppose I understood better when I saw her today. I am very sorry about what has happened to her. No one deserves that.”
They drove without speaking for a while, then Mistress Adams broke the silence. “How did you meet your friend?”
Winny was taken aback by the question. She had lived here for almost a year, and Mistress Adams had never asked her anything about her life before the farm. “We met a long time ago in London. She’s like a sister to me.”
“Do you have any actual sisters or brothers?”
“I have four brothers, but I’ve no idea where they are. Or my mum.”
“You don’t know where your mum is?”
“No, Mistress. She sent me into the street because she couldn’t afford to feed me, and her new husband didn’t like me. That’s when I met Mary.”
Mistress Adams glanced at Winny then, her brow knitted with concern. “That must have been difficult for both you and your mother.”
“I like to think she didn’t have a choice. It was hard to make a living in England.”
“That’s how it is here, too. The Depression wiped out many of the farms, and there are no jobs in the cities. It has been a terrible challenge to keep afloat, but I can’t imagine being so desperate I would have to send my children away.”
Winny studied the passing fields, not sure how to respond.
“I suppose you are aware that I have four daughters,” Mistress Adams said after a moment. “Things are not always easy between mothers and daughters, but I do miss them now that they’re married and living their own lives. I miss my son even more.” She hesit
ated. “He died just over a year ago. I’d give anything to have one more day with him. I’m sure your mother would, too. With you, I mean.”
Winny thought hard, forcing the faded image of her mother back into her mind. Could her mistress be right? Was it possible that her mother might actually grieve for her? Anybody gonna miss you when you’re gone? Jack’s words rang in her ears. Maybe someone did. It was nice to think of that.
“That’s kind of you to say,” Winny said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
The sounds of the road beneath them filled the cabin of the truck as they continued on, and Winny looked through her window, trying to remember her mother’s face.
“Your teacher sent me a letter,” Mistress Adams said, her voice lighter. “She wrote that you are an excellent student with commendable manners and attitude, and that you are at the top of your class.”
A flush of pleasure rose up Winny’s neck.
“She has suggested extra lessons—”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, it’s not that. She would like you to work on more advanced subjects and has asked if you might spend more hours at school and fewer working for me.”
Winny’s heart sank. “Oh.”
“Tell me, Winnifred. What do you see yourself doing when you are no longer living at our farm?”
Winny was surprised by her interest. “Well, I have been thinking that I might like to be a nurse someday.”
Mistress Adams smiled, and the expression transformed her face. “When I was a girl, I considered becoming a nurse as well. In fact, my parents named me Florence after Florence Nightingale. Have you heard of her?”
How strange, to be reminded in this way. “I read a book about her back at the Home in England,” Winny replied. “Why didn’t you become a nurse?”
“We didn’t have the money for school, so I married a farmer. And my daughters have all done the same.” She regarded Winny. “I would like you to go to nursing school when you have completed your studies here. I would like to know that at least one girl has left my house with a future in store. If you are able to pass the entrance examination next spring, you may go.”
The Forgotten Home Child Page 15
