The idea raised Isabelle’s gray eyebrows. “Chester?”
“The children have no pets, and I think the chance to play with and pet a dog would be such a treat for them. The girls at least. Some of the boys might be a tad rough for a...” She scrambled for the right word to speak of Chester’s rather dandy nature. “...gentlemen like Chester.”
The older woman pondered the idea, one eye squinted in consideration. “I shall have to consider that. I’ve never been to the Home, you know. Of course we give—everyone does—but I’ve never been active in the cause before now. And visit? Well, I don’t mind saying I fear it would be such a dreary place.”
Everyone does not give, Ida corrected silently, remembering a surprisingly frank lament Daniel had recently given her over dwindling contributions. But I aim to change that, one sock at a time.
At that moment, Leanne stood and gathered her notes to begin the formal portion of the gathering.
“Well,” whispered Ida to Isabelle, “it certainly can be dreary, but I like to think we’re about to change that.”
“Thank you, first of all, to the gracious Isabelle Hooper for opening her home to us this morning. I know so many people have fled the heat to The Islands or farther north, but I am delighted to find y’all here and willing. Ida, I wonder if you would tell the story of baby Meredith’s booties. It would help the ladies understand what we’re up against.”
Ida told the story of poor Meredith’s booties and the confrontation those innocent pink feet had launched. She was a good storyteller, and it pleased her to see compassion or humor or sadness reflected in the eyes of her audience. At the right moment, Ida reached into her pocket and produced a lone, sad white sock. Plain, graying and with a lamentable hole in the heel, it seemed to tell the whole story of the Parker Home for Orphans in a single object.
Then, timing it carefully for full dramatic effect, Ida produced Meredith’s booties. Her heart leaped at the oohs and ahhs that erupted from the women, some of whom even clapped. “It breaks my heart to think of all those girls without a single bright, cheerful thing that someone made with love for them. It’s just socks, I know, but didn’t the war teach us that it’s so much more than just socks? I want each of these girls to know someone cares enough to give them something pretty. The scriptures tell us ‘Happy are the feet of those who bring good news.’ I dearly hope you’ll join me in bringing good news and happy feet to these children.”
“Of course we will,” declared Isabelle in such a voice of enthusiasm that it dared any woman in the room to consider otherwise. “If my own feet were any smaller, I’d march you right up to my armoire and dump out my stocking drawer for you to take back this afternoon.”
The room erupted in laughter, and Ida caught Leanne’s eye. It had begun. Leanne handed out single sheets of paper with the instructions written out. “There are three sizes of patterns, but if you have a pattern you know well and can adapt to a size close to one of these, that will work just fine. It’s variety we’re looking for here, so be as creative as you like. At the bottom of each of your sheets is a list of girls. There are six of you here, so we’ve assigned four girls to each of you. Since there are twenty-six girls total, Ida and I will take the final two girls.”
“Look,” said Ida, pointing to the list that had been given to Isabelle, “another I.” How could she have forgotten there was an Ingrid at the Home? Ida was also pleased to see both Gitch’s and Donna Forley’s names on Isabelle’s list. She was growing especially fond of both girls.
“Another I indeed. Perhaps I will need to pay you all a visit. And bring Chester.”
Of course, Dr. Parker would be aghast at the thought of Chester’s appearance at the Home. Ida knew, however, that it would take only one visit for the children to capture Isabelle Hooper’s heart. And if that required the chaos of a little white dog, well then, it was a tiny price to pay.
* * *
“Socks?” Mother looked as if she found the idea preposterous.
“I suppose I ought to be thankful we don’t live in a climate that requires sweaters.” Daniel’s spine stiffened at the look Mother was giving him. They were sitting on the porch again, discussing the Home. Lately his weekly visits to his mother had become a chore. He loved his mother, and was grateful for all the support she’d given him in taking over the Home when his father died, but lately her staunch support had begun to wane as he began to implement his own views. Consciously or unconsciously, it was becoming clear to Daniel that Amelia Parker had expected him to simply replicate his father’s administration. Any divergence from “the way things have always been done”—such as the one he’d just described in Miss Landway’s little project—was met with a scowl.
It had begun to be “Miss Landway’s Little Project” in his head, although every day it seemed less and less “little.” His industrious new nurse did not deserve the look Mother was giving down her nose at the moment. Daniel surprised himself by stooping to name-dropping to gain her approval. “Leanne Sample Gallows—who happens to be a dear friend of Miss Landway’s, by the way—has gathered some very prominent names to lend a hand.”
“However did she manage that?” Mother inquired as though it were an impossible feat, blotting her forehead. Again Daniel was struck by how sour she appeared of late. “Most families of prominence are out of town this time of year.”
Daniel swallowed the “Well, we are not out of town” that was simmering on his tongue. Mother seemed to try his patience so easily lately. His days of fleeing Charleston’s heat for The Islands farther along the coast or up into the cooler mountains for weeks at a time were long gone, surrendered to the weight of his responsibilities. If he was going to live up to his father’s memory, he couldn’t give the Home less than his full time and attention. Besides, he had little reason to wish himself anywhere other than town. The midsummer temperature was decidedly uncomfortable, but Daniel did not fear malaria and other summer-borne diseases the way other Charlestonians did. As for comfort, Daniel welcomed the idea of migrating the full population of the Home to some cooler summer locale one day. Present circumstances, however, gave no indication that such luxuries could come his way anytime soon. The best he could do these days were the pair of treasured concrete bathhouses the Home had off one of the dormitories. The cool, sheltered swimming “holes” made summers bearable at the Home, and while it had been one of his father’s only amenities to the compound, it was certainly the most appreciated.
He took a sip of his coffee, trying again to ignore his mother’s customary glare of bafflement at his beverage preference. He pressed on in the conversation. “Did you know Isabelle Hooper hosted the lady knitting volunteers for their first meeting yesterday?”
“Well, of course I knew that!” Mother snapped, as if the mere hint that she was not aware of all Charleston’s social events would not be tolerated. “She invited me.”
This was news to Daniel. Miss Landway had been dutifully providing him with project updates, asking his opinion on some issues and even waiting for approval before acting on others. She seemed so energized by the progress that he’d come to enjoy and even anticipate her reports. Just a few days ago, Miss Landway had shown him her current work on Mrs. Smiley’s surprise blue slippers, holding them up with a pride of craftsmanship that made him grin. As a matter of fact, Daniel now found himself hiding an amused smile every time Mrs. Smiley complained about her aching feet. Mrs. Smiley’s grousing producing a smile? That alone served as evidence that Ida Landway was proving to be a great asset to the Home.
“You declined Mrs. Hooper’s invitation?” Daniel felt a pinch of annoyance. Normally, Mother had her hand in everything to do with the Home. He didn’t think she could knit, but according to Miss Landway at least one of the recent volunteers was new to the skill and had received many eager offers from potential teachers, so that proved no impediment. No, he suspected his mother’s decl
ine had little to do with yarn and needles, and that bothered him. Whatever bee she had in her bonnet these days, she shouldn’t be taking it out on a project to benefit the orphans.
Mother puffed herself up at his question. “I had a previous engagement.”
Daniel’s annoyance pinched harder. “I’m sure you could still participate. As a matter of fact, I’m positive that a prior engagement needn’t stop you. Mrs. Gallows will be moving to Washington, DC soon and plans to knit her socks there and ship them to the Home.”
“How very dedicated of Mrs. Gallows, bless her heart.” When he grunted his disapproval at the snide tone, Mother squared her shoulders. “I fail to see how such an odd form of support is at all useful. Whyever do the children need colored socks?”
He’d had the same initial reaction, of course, but Miss Landway’s persistent arguments had turned his opinion. He had the uneasy feeling that the nurse would be shifting his opinion on many topics in days to come. Looking at his mother, currently mired in her mental monuments of “how it is done,” Daniel reminded himself that new ideas were worth exploring. The day he couldn’t entertain a new idea that acted for the children’s benefit should be the day he handed over administration of the Home to someone else.
“I don’t think this is about necessity, Mother,” Daniel countered, keeping his voice more pleasant than his current mood. “I’ve come to agree with Miss Landway’s fresh assessment that while the children’s garments are plain and practical, they are without any cheer whatsoever.” He poured himself more coffee, noticing the many colors in his mother’s good china. Was it in fact more pleasant to drink coffee from this cup and saucer than from their more utilitarian Home counterparts? Perhaps. “No one is saying that we don’t meet the children’s physical and educational needs,” he went on, “but Miss Landway believes the Home ought to be a visually joyful place. Happy to look at. Cheerful to be inside. She contends that the environment can sway the children’s mood and outlook. I must say, I’m coming to see her point. We are serving the children in many important ways, but I am open to the idea that we could be more creative in boosting their spirits.”
“Boosting their spirits?” Mother found this as inappropriate as colored socks, evidently.
Daniel leaned in, a little shocked at his own urge to defend a scheme he’d found absurd a mere week ago. “I’m surprised at your reaction, Mother. Do not orphans deserve to be happy? I wouldn’t divert funds from their food or education for this, yes, but if pretty socks give them some pleasure and their creation brings new friends to the Home, I don’t see how I could possibly object.”
When Mother looked as if she might be formulating a list of how he could object, Daniel pressed on. “It serves no useful purpose for you to buy a new hat, but it makes you happy. It is human nature to want beautiful things around us.”
“I am not an orphan.” Her mouth drew into a sour little bow. “I am not surviving on the kindness of others.”
She’d just inadvertently made his point. Daniel did not want the children to merely survive. He wanted them to thrive, to grow into full and healthy adults who contributed great things to the world despite the poor hand war and poverty had dealt them. How had Mother come to lose sight of that goal he knew she once shared with his father?
Daniel put down his coffee. “Mother, you are among the most charitable women I know. I admit, this is unconventional, but we are living in a new age and perhaps new methods are called for. I find I can’t understand your objection.” It was the closest he’d come to an outright challenge of his powerful mother’s position in many months, and he didn’t regret it. Yes, Amelia Parker had once moved philanthropic mountains in Charleston. Still, Daniel couldn’t dispute that in her short time at the Home, Ida Landway had done more for it than his mother had all year. Hadn’t his father once told him, “When God shows you the path, start walking”? It was time Daniel Parker stepped out onto his path.
“I don’t object,” Mother balked, startled by his challenging tone. “I just find it...frivolous.”
“Come to the Home the day the socks are delivered,” Daniel challenged. “I think you will find the children do not agree with you.”
Mother waved him away. “Goodness.” It was her stock reply for when she did not have a reply, and Daniel’s cue that he had won this particular battle. For now.
Walking back from his visit an hour later, Daniel passed by the hardware store to pick up a few things MacNeil had requested. He stopped in front of the window, taken aback by the display. “Montgomery Ward’s Coverall House Paint—the Best Paint for Your Money” the arrangement boasted, showcasing a pyramid of paint cans in two dozen or so colors. The style of painting homes in an array of colors had indeed caught on in recent years, a fashion completely ignored by the Parker Home for Orphans. With amusement, Daniel noted that the paint came in fifty-gallon drums at a considerable discount. With a piercing shame, he noted that the color closest to the Home’s current walls was named #36: Deep Drab. When God shows you the path, start walking.
Daniel walked inside the store.
Chapter Ten
Ida smiled at the face Gitch made while she applied a bandage to the girl’s finger. “Better today?” The cut was tiny, but Ida knew that sometimes “care” went beyond a small strip of well-tied gauze. In fact, Gitch had been in to have her bandage changed every day since the small mishap on Monday with some scissors, and it was clear her repeated visits had nothing to do with medical necessity.
“Not much,” Gitch proclaimed, inspecting her new bandage with a carefully displayed doubt. Ida found the girl’s face so sweet, her smile so charming with its half gaps of just-budding teeth, that she couldn’t find it within herself to shoo the child from her office.
“Oh, I imagine it will be better in no time. You’ve taken excellent care of that finger. I wouldn’t wonder if you became a nurse yourself one day. You’ve got the knack, I can tell.”
That pronouncement lit the girl’s face up like a lantern. “Really?”
Ida returned her gauze and scissors to their drawer under the examining table. “Absolutely. I’ve got a sense for it, being a nurse myself and all. You’ve got caring eyes, and that’s important.”
“So do you, Nurse Landway. I’m glad you’re here.” She pointed to the watercolor of some flowers Ida had tacked to the wall yesterday. “That one’s new.”
“It is. Do you like it?”
Gitch studied the painting with narrow eyes worthy of an art critic. “Not as much as the blue one. But it’s nice.”
“Well,” replied Ida, “it’s nice to know I’ll never have to worry about false praise from you.” The child was as honest as the day was long—often with mixed results. Ida could see much of herself in Gitch. Perhaps that’s why she had grown so fond of the child. She’d grown fond of all the children beyond any of her expectations. It was becoming easier to see why Dr. Parker worked the long hours he did. To leave something undone for any of them poked at her conscience like a physical pain. Just Tuesday she’d woken twice in the night to check on a child who had developed a worrisome cough.
Despite having been duly treated, Gitch seemed in no hurry to return to class. She stubbed her shoes against the exam table, fiddling with the dingy pinafore tied over her dark blue dress. “Can you make me one of those?” She pointed shyly to the band of yellow daisies Ida had embroidered on the collar of her white blouse. “You could put it on my pinafore.”
Ida heard Dr. Parker’s voice cautioning her from the back of her brain. To decorate one child’s pinafore would likely start an avalanche of requests, or complaints of preferential treatment, as the baby booties had done. Still, while the socks would soon be ready for twenty-six girls at their current production rate, the child’s clothing seemed to cry out to Ida in its colorless sadness, twisting her heart. It was so hard to have to do everything in batches of t
wenty-six when she saw each child so clearly as an individual. Still, she wanted to show Dr. Parker she had learned her lesson.
A solution hit her just as Gitch’s lower lip began to pucker out. “You know, you’re smart enough to learn how to do this yourself.”
“No I’m not.” Gitch’s self-doubt grew a lump in Ida’s throat.
“You are. Besides, how will you ever know if you don’t try?”
“I suppose.”
“Have you ever sewn? Mrs. Smiley has taught you basic mending, hasn’t she?” Mrs. Smiley was all about practical skills. Surely she would have taught the girls how to mend their own clothes.
“The older girls.”
“Well, this is like sewing, only with colors—so it makes a picture. It only looks hard. I’ve done it since I was not much older than you—and you, Lady Gwendolyn, are loads smarter than I was back then.” Ida took every opportunity to praise anything she could in the children, for they seemed to be so thirsty for affection and affirmation. Mrs. Smiley was effective and efficient, but Ida could see the girls needed to feel loved in even the smallest of ways.
“What about Donna? She’s smart.”
Donna Forley was indeed very clever. Ida had taken an immediate liking to the older girl who’d been her first guide around the Home. Ida wasn’t alone in her affections, for Donna had caught the eye of Matty Hammond, and everyone at the Home knew the young couple had eyes for each other. “Do you think Donna might want to learn, too? Or any of the other girls?”
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