by Jody Hedlund
After that, Jethro went to the match factory and worked as a match boy for a while, buying his wares at wholesale. With his quarter, he’d been able to afford ninety-seven bunches to sell for a penny apiece. He said he had to walk street after street all day long, knocking at every door he passed, usually having them slammed in his face. Still, by the end of the day, he’d sell all the matches.
Marianne hadn’t been surprised by Jethro’s tale. She’d seen too many children in his same position. But it made her sad, nonetheless, to think that a boy of no more than seven had already experienced such a difficult life. Even more, it pained her that he hadn’t known the love and safety of a family.
Marianne hugged him to her side a little tighter, knowing she shouldn’t care so much about the children already, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. After spending all day in such close confinement, how could she keep them at arm’s length? How could she stay aloof and impartial as Mrs. Trott had instructed?
The steady clacking of the wheels against the track and the constant creaking of the train car drowned out the snores and heavy breathing of the children who’d managed to fall into an exhausted slumber. Some lay on benches. Others were curled up on the floor under benches or in the aisles. They were experts at sleeping wherever they found a spare spot.
A gentle brush against her shoulder was followed by a large form sliding onto the bench opposite her. Andrew. He lifted the legs of the boy who already occupied the spot and made room for himself by draping the boy’s legs across his lap.
“How are you faring?” Drew asked.
The darkness of the car was broken only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering in through the windows. It was enough light to see the outline of Drew’s features, including that irresistible dimple on his chin.
“I’m tired,” she admitted.
“You did well for your first day.”
“So did you.” She’d actually been quite impressed with his interactions with the children. After Mrs. Trott’s rather ominous warning about him, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Certainly not the bottomless kindness and the tender, sweet way of interacting he’d shown thus far. He wasn’t afraid to discipline when needed, was in fact strict at times. His methods seemed to be a winning combination of both soft and hard, and the children adored him.
“How is your wound?” she asked. He’d gone all day without a single complaint about his arm and the stitches, but she was sure it had to hurt.
“It’s sore, but nothing I can’t handle.” He nodded at Jethro and Dorothea. “Looks like you made a couple of friends.”
She brushed her fingers across Dorothea’s forehead and into her loose hair. In the dark, the silky texture could have been Sophie’s. How often had Marianne slept next to her little sister and done this very thing to her hair, smoothing it off her forehead, telling her stories to ease her fears, trying to distract her from the cold and hunger and loss that had been their companions all too often?
Sophie. Her sister would have turned sixteen recently. A deep, familiar ache welled up within, an ache that had been growing over the past months until at times it radiated through Marianne’s whole body and she hurt all over. She still had no clue, no information about where Sophie may have ended up. After weeks of scouring the alleys and crowded tenements of the city, Marianne had resigned herself to the fact that Sophie was no longer there. Her brother-in-law, Thornton Quincy, had even hired a detective to search for Sophie. Thornton had been kind enough to spare no expense, and yet he was unable to locate the young girl either.
Marianne had begged Elise and Thornton to help her get this job with the Children’s Aid Society for one main reason—so she could continue her search for Sophie. Yes, she wanted to have the work to prove she could live independently from her sister. And yes, she’d wanted the job because she genuinely wanted to help orphans who had no way of helping themselves. But mostly it was because she suspected Sophie had left the city on a train with a group of orphans. At first, Marianne hadn’t believed Sophie would resort to the placing out, but the more Marianne thought about it, the more she suspected her sister had done so in an effort to track down Olivia and Nicholas.
The two abandoned children had been Sophie’s charges. At only one and two years of age, the pair had seen Sophie as their adopted mother. And Sophie had grown close to them as well. Too close.
When Olivia and Nicholas had been sent west through the Children’s Aid Society without Sophie’s knowledge or permission, she’d been devastated. Without a job or money to pay for a ticket, perhaps Sophie decided she had no other option than to join a placing-out group. Whatever the case, Marianne had decided that visiting the various towns the Children’s Aid Society traveled to for placing orphans might bring her one step closer to finding her sister or maybe even Olivia and Nicholas.
If only she’d been able to find solid evidence in Reverend Brace’s filing cabinet. The name of a town would have been a start. Even a sentence to confirm names would have been helpful. But after Drew’s interruption, Marianne hadn’t had the courage to sneak back into the reverend’s office and search again.
She couldn’t even be sure Sophie had gone anywhere at all. In fact, she wasn’t certain Sophie still lived. What if she’d been murdered and tossed into the Hudson or East Rivers? Although the image of her sister’s body decaying in the muck of a riverbed was too awful to contemplate, that wasn’t Marianne’s worst fear. The worst strangled her with nightmarish images, causing her to sob into her pillow at night. It was the picture of her beautiful sister trapped in a basement cellar somewhere, never seeing daylight, forced to give her body over to prostitution night after night.
“You seem sad,” Drew said softly. “What are you thinking about?”
Marianne couldn’t tell Drew she was thinking about her lost sister. If she did, he’d figure out whose records she’d been searching for, along with her ulterior motive for being an agent on the trip. Instead, she tried to lighten her demeanor so he wouldn’t grow too suspicious. “Have you ever put yourself in the children’s shoes?” she asked, avoiding his question.
Drew lifted the small shoe of the boy whose leg rested on his lap. “Would this fit?”
“Not literally,” she chastised, though his quick grin told her he’d merely been teasing. “How strange all this must seem to them—leaving their homes, starting out for the unknown, not knowing their fate.”
“It’s the beginning of a much better life for them.” He spoke with such assurance, Marianne could almost believe him. For just a few seconds. But then all the doubts came rushing back again about Sophie, Olivia, and Nicholas.
Even when she, Elise, and Sophie left Uncle’s tenement and had been homeless and hungry, they’d cared for Olivia and Nicholas as though the infants were of their own flesh and blood. When they’d gone to live at the Seventh Street Mission with Miss Pendleton, Olivia and Nicholas came along. And when Marianne moved in with Reinhold’s mother and aunt, she brought Olivia and Nicholas.
She’d never intended to part ways with them. Never intended for Reinhold’s aunt to take them to the depot and put them aboard a train with a group of children leaving with the Children’s Aid Society. What must the two children have thought when they were riding the train, having been ripped away from the people who loved them? Marianne’s heart broke every time she imagined their fear and confusion and homesickness. They’d likely huddled on the hard benches, silent and withdrawn, tears in their eyes, praying someone would take them back to the sisters who’d become their family.
“What if some of these young ones didn’t want to leave the city?” Marianne whispered, brushing Dorothea’s cheek and imagining it was Olivia’s. “What if they were torn away from a family who loves them?”
No matter how much Elise had tried to placate her and assure her that Sophie running away and losing Olivia and Nicholas weren’t her fault, Marianne would blame herself until the day she died. And she wouldn’t stop searching until she found them. Even
if she had to look for her entire life.
Drew was silent a moment and seemed to study her.
“Hypothetically, of course,” Marianne added, suspecting he could see much deeper into her thoughts than she wanted him to.
“If they were hypothetically taken away from a loving family,” he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, “then that family can rest assured the children are being well cared for in another loving home with two parents—a mom and a dad, in a wholesome environment away from the vices of the city. A place where they’ll flourish and grow and have plenty of food. A place where they’ll have godly influences, be taken to church, and also be given an education. A place where they’ll have fresh air every day and room to play and have the kind of work that will strengthen their character.”
She soaked in his words like parched soil did with a gentle rain. She wanted so much to believe him. If Olivia and Nicholas had found a home like that, then maybe they were better off. Maybe they’d been confused, maybe even terrified, at first. But hopefully over time, they would forget about their life in New York City. Perhaps it would become a distant dream, replaced by new and beautiful memories with a family who truly loved them.
Sophie, on the other hand . . . Before Marianne could stop herself from asking Drew another question, it was out. “And what about an older child, someone in her teenage years? What kind of life could she expect in the West?”
Again, Drew took his time answering, and she found herself waiting breathlessly for his response, desperate for the reassurance Sophie might have found happiness too.
“Hypothetically again,” he finally said, “such a young woman would likely find herself hired to work on a farm or perhaps as a domestic for a family in town. She’d find herself in a wholesome environment as well, away from the temptations and evils of the city. No doubt she’d be required to work hard, but such work would be good for her, help build her character, and train her to run her own house someday. And of course she’d be taken to church and given an education.”
Marianne felt her body relaxing at Drew’s description, the tension and anxiety easing from her muscles. “You make the new lives and new families sound a bit like heaven.”
“For most of them, the difference is like moving out of hell into paradise.” His slight drawl made his words all the more soothing. “And our job is to ensure that, to put them with the best possible families.”
Oh, how she prayed he was right, that Nicholas and Olivia were indeed in a better place and that Sophie was happy. If only Marianne could know for sure, then she might rest easier at night. She wouldn’t give up her search for them, but at least she’d be able to let some of the heavy load of guilt slip away.
Next to her, Jethro whimpered, as though crying in his dreams. She rubbed a hand over his arm, then bent and placed a kiss into his coarse hair.
“You’re good with the children,” Drew remarked.
“It’s easy to love them,” she said. “But I’m worried I’ll grow too attached and they to me if I’m not careful.”
“Most of them have already had too little love. In fact, for some of them, our love might be the first they’ve ever experienced. Besides, I always say it’s better to give them more love than not enough.”
She nodded, and it was her turn to study him. He leaned back, looking completely relaxed, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. What kind of life had this man come from where he could so easily dismiss his concerns? In some ways, his confident manner reminded her of Thornton. Was Drew a man born into wealth and privilege? He certainly was nothing like Reinhold, who took life as seriously as it had been given to him.
“Since we’re to be partners on this trip, I really should know more about you,” she said.
He didn’t say anything but instead turned his head toward the window, staring out at the moonlit landscape passing by—lush forestland, thick and black, the pointed tops of spruce and pine illuminated faintly in an ethereal glow.
“I’ll tell you more about me,” he finally said, “but only if you promise to do the same.”
“Of course.” Surely, she could find some things to share with him. She wouldn’t have to tell him every sordid detail.
In hushed voices they talked for miles upon miles of train track. She was fascinated to learn—but not surprised—that he was from Georgia, his father a prosperous plantation owner. His family had more slaves than he could count and grew not only cotton but also invested in tobacco, wheat, oats, and sweet potatoes. Although Drew sided with the growing abolitionist movement regarding slavery, he saw no way to end the institution without severely crippling the South’s economy.
Drew didn’t go into much detail about his family but mentioned he was the second of two sons and that because his older brother had made it his life’s ambition to take over the plantation, Drew had decided to go to seminary to study theology. He hadn’t finished his training but instead pursued becoming a teacher. He’d taught for a few years in Georgia before moving to New York City.
When it was Marianne’s turn to share, she told him about her family’s history, how her Vater had been a baker in Hamburg, Germany, but how he lost his business when a wealthy count slandered him. Her family then moved to New York City, where Vater started a new bakery. But the competition proved too difficult, and Vater’s debts had grown until finally he was forced to sell everything. Marianne believed the loss was too much for him to bear. His heart failed soon after and he died.
Marianne skipped the years when she and her two sisters and Mutti lived with Uncle and his family in his tiny apartment in Kleindeutschland, the years she and Elise and Mutti worked in a tenement sweatshop sewing men’s vests. They’d worked twelve hours a day for six days a week and still never made enough money to do more than buy food and pay Uncle what they owed for rent.
Instead, she told Drew about Mutti dying last spring and how hard that had been. “You know the rest,” she finished. “After Mutti died, Elise went to Illinois as part of the Emigration Plan for women who needed work. She met Thornton, got married, and now here we are.”
Surely, Drew didn’t need to know about all that happened after Mutti’s death, how they’d run away from Uncle and were homeless and hungry, slept in dirty alleys and ate out of garbage cans. Olivia and Nicholas were with them, and Nicholas became sick. But God worked a miracle and brought the wealthy Miss Pendleton into their lives. For a short while they lived together happily and worked at Miss Pendleton’s Seventh Street Mission, which was a safe house for destitute women.
Unfortunately, the mission experienced financial trouble and had to close its doors. That was when Elise applied at the Children’s Aid Society and the Emigration Plan—their program to help seamstresses and domestics find work in the West.
During those awful months when Elise was in Illinois and Marianne was in charge of everyone, Marianne made the decision to pretend to be pregnant with Reinhold’s baby, so that his mother would take her in and support her. At the time, Marianne thought the lie was only a tiny one. She justified telling it because she needed a place for her and Sophie and Nicholas and Olivia to live. She wanted to keep them together and avoid subjecting them to the hardships of being homeless again.
But the lie backfired. Now here she was six months later trying to make atonement for her mistakes.
“And your fiancé?” Drew asked. “How does he fit into your story?”
She squirmed and wished she hadn’t told him about Reinhold last night. She’d been too quick-tongued. For a few moments, she fingered a loose strand of Dorothea’s hair and tried to figure out how she could refrain from answering him. Expelling a long breath, she decided she might as well tell him the truth now before the lie grew too big to handle—like it had when she’d told Reinhold’s family she was pregnant.
“Reinhold lived in the same tenement as my uncle. That’s where I first met him.”
“It was love at first sight?”
She pictured meeting the st
rong, handsome young man when she first moved in with Uncle. “Yes, I guess I have always loved him. But . . .”
Drew waited.
She swallowed hard. “Well, we’re not engaged yet.”
“I see.”
“But we will be very soon. Just as soon as we’re reunited.”
“Where does he live?”
She hesitated, considered making something up, but then forced herself to be honest again. “I’m not exactly sure. I was hoping Elise would know by now, that perhaps she would have gotten a letter from him telling us where he’s settled.”
“And why wouldn’t he send such a letter to you?”
Her cheeks began to grow hot, and she was glad for the darkness that hid her flush. “He probably has written to me. But I’ve been in transition, moving so often that the letters have likely missed me altogether.” At least that was what she wanted to believe, what she’d clung to all these months since he left the city and took her heart with him. He’d probably written to her numerous times and thought about her daily, if not hourly, as she did him. Well, maybe she’d stopped thinking about him hourly, yet he was never far from her mind.
She shook her head. “Enough about that. Now that I’ve opened my heart and given you a peek inside, you must do the same for me.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Darlin’, all you’ll see are skeletons in my heart.”
“You don’t have a sweetheart somewhere waiting for you?”
His smile faded, and once again his attention turned to the window and the darkness of the night. The hill they traveled through had been blasted away to make room for the tracks so that now slabs of stone rose sharply outside the window.
Even though their compartment’s interior became darker as they passed through the imposing rocky landscape, she could see the battle warring across Drew’s face. Was he having the same problem as her? Deciding which parts of his past to divulge and which to keep buried?
