Together Forever

by Jody Hedlund

  Drew spun her and moved her back the way they’d already come.

  “I think you’re purposefully marching me around in circles,” she said and followed his lead regardless of his antics.

  “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” His voice rumbled near her ear, the sound sending another shiver up her spine.

  Her smile couldn’t get any wider and probably made her look like a painted puppet wearing an extra broad grin. After a moment he stopped.

  “Promise to keep your eyes closed until I say so?”

  “I promise.”

  His hands fell away, and she lifted her chin to let the warm afternoon sunshine caress her skin. Around her came the ringing voices and scuffling of the children who’d followed her and Drew to wherever he was taking her.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Neumann,” Jethro said next to her. “If Mr. Brady tries somethin’ funny, I’ll protect you.” His steady chatter had kept her company all day. Thankfully he was getting used to the train’s motion and hadn’t been as sick today.

  “Thank you, Jethro,” she replied. “I’m counting on you.”

  His hand, sticky with jam, slid into hers. She squeezed it tight.

  “All right,” Drew said, “you can open your eyes now.”

  She lifted her lids and blinked against the sunlight. They were standing near the train platform. On the ground before her was a rectangular box covered with Drew’s coat.

  He lifted the box, careful not to disturb the makeshift covering that hid what was inside. “Are you ready?” he asked as he positioned the box in front of her.

  “Yes!” came a chorus from the children.

  He lifted the coat away. Oohs and aahs and gasps of delight rang out around them and echoed her own surprise. The box was filled with several dozen, perfectly ripe strawberries.

  “Where did you get them?” she asked, clapping her hands together.

  “They’re grown locally.” He beamed as though he’d created them himself out of nothing.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a fresh strawberry. Probably not since she was a little girl helping in her father’s bakery in Germany. Even then, the strawberries hadn’t been nearly as large and red as these.

  The children began jostling each other, eager to try the fruit. Several reached into the box to take a strawberry. But with a laugh, Drew lifted it out of their reach. “Don’t worry. You’ll all get to taste them. But since Miss Neumann won the race, she gets the first pick.”

  Just as eager as the children, Marianne stood on her tiptoes and peered into the box that Drew still held high. She found the biggest strawberry and, with a flourish, lifted it to her mouth. As she bit into the fruit, sweetness filled her senses. It was tender and lush against her tongue. She savored it for an endless moment.

  She could feel the eyes of every child upon her. They were waiting for her reaction with hushed anticipation. She smacked her lips together, pretending to taste the strawberry. “Mmmm . . . I suppose I better try one more just to make sure they’re good enough for the children.”

  Drew’s brows rose. Before he could say anything, she picked out another strawberry and bit into it. As she finished chewing, she once again pretended to test it.

  “What do you think, Miss Neumann?” one of the older girls asked. “Are they all right for us?”

  Several younger children mimicked the question.

  “I think I need to test a few more.” She reached to take the box from Drew. “I might even need the whole box.”

  Drew’s laughter rang out. The sound was contagious, and the children joined in, even though the youngest of them likely had no idea what was so funny.

  As she lowered the box and offered the strawberries to everyone, her gaze connected with Drew’s above their heads, and they shared a smile. The blue-green of his eyes was clear and warm and beautiful. And filled with an appreciation that made her breath stick in her chest.

  When his eyes focused on her lips still covered in sticky strawberry juice, she quickly used her tongue to wipe away the residue. As she did so, something flared in his expression, something that caused sparks in her belly.

  For a second, she wondered if he was thinking about what it might be like to kiss her. But as the children’s questions surrounded her, she forced her attention back on them, all the while conscious of Drew’s presence.

  “What’re they called?”

  “How do they grow? From trees?”

  “What about the black dots on the outside? Them ain’t bugs, are they?”

  Some ate the whole berry, tops and all, while others nibbled more carefully, savoring each morsel of the strange new fruit. When the three older boys arrived back to the train platform, the strawberries were almost gone.

  “Would you like to try a strawberry?” she asked, holding the box out to them.

  Liverpool ignored her and swaggered past. Since Drew had reprimanded him on the train, he’d made a concerted effort to snub her, as if to prove he didn’t need a supervisor, especially one as young as her.

  At the sight of the box and the few remaining strawberries, the thin boy with the scarred face veered toward her. She’d learned his name was Ned, the boy whose father had stormed into the Children’s Aid Society the previous night. When she realized he’d made his escape from New York City and his abusive father, she’d been relieved. Even if Ned didn’t like her any better than Liverpool, at least he seemed to trust Drew.

  Although Ned tried to hide his eagerness by forcing his brows into a scowl, he couldn’t conceal the interest that glowed in his eyes. He picked up one of the remaining berries, but before he could raise it to his mouth, something hit him in the back of his head, causing him to cry out in surprise and pain.

  He spun around in time to see Liverpool reach for another stone near the tracks.

  “Hey, now!” Drew said sternly, starting toward Liverpool. “Put the rock down.”

  Liverpool tossed the rock into the air and caught it in his palm, his pockmarked face a mask of defiance. All around, the other children had turned silent. Fear and intimidation could be one tactic for bending the will of children, and apparently it was Liverpool’s primary method of leadership.

  “You goin’ soft on me?” Liverpool sneered at Ned. The other older boy, Timmy, stood next to Liverpool and was the quietest of the three. In fact, if Timmy did talk, Marianne had never heard it. Even now he stared at Drew bearing down on Liverpool, his eyes widening in fear. He elbowed his companion in warning.

  “You can’t tell me if I can have a strawberry or not,” Ned replied, though his voice lacked the same conviction as Liverpool’s.

  “You eat it, I kill you,” Liverpool said. He raised the stone, his eyes daring Ned to defy him.

  “Over a strawberry?” Ned asked with a shake of his head. “You’re crazy.” With that, he stuffed the berry into his mouth.

  Liverpool’s fingers closed around the stone.

  “Mr. Brady, watch out!” Marianne called, afraid he’d get caught in the cross fire. Yet as soon as the words left her mouth, Liverpool dropped the stone and smirked at her.

  If he’d hoped to make her look like an overanxious ninny, he’d succeeded. Drew was glaring at the boy as he reached him. “You can’t bully people into doing what you want.”

  “Just following the example of my leader.” Liverpool didn’t back down from Drew’s stare.

  “You think I’m bullying you?” Drew asked.

  “You wouldn’t bring it up if it weren’t true.”

  “You know it’s not true.”

  “All I know is, you don’t mind roughing me up when it suits you.”

  Drew fisted his hand enough that Marianne could see the veins in his wrist. He continued to stare at Liverpool, his eyes radiating frustration as the muscles in his jaw flexed. Liverpool’s gaze was raw with disrespect.

  The anxiety in Marianne’s stomach twisted again. She was afraid for Drew, although she didn’t know why she should be. He wasn’t in any
danger from a boy half his size.

  Ned grabbed two more strawberries before darting away without so much as a thank-you. As he scampered back over to Liverpool and Timmy, Liverpool finally broke eye contact with Drew and started to walk away.

  “You need to respect and obey authority, Liverpool,” Drew said after him. “Otherwise the farmer who takes you in will send you right back to us.”

  Liverpool shrugged and hopped onto the stairs leading up to the train car. The other two followed.

  Watching the older boys disappear inside, Drew exhaled and shook his head slightly. Marianne wished she could have Drew’s optimism regarding the boys, but she couldn’t help but think that bringing them along on this trip had been a big mistake.

  Chapter 7

  “I wanna go ho-me.” Dorothea’s heartbroken sobs tore at Marianne. She hugged the little girl in the crook of her arm and attempted to rock her back and forth to the rhythmic swaying of the train.

  “I wanna go ho-me.” Dorothea had been saying the same thing over and over for the past hour, and nothing Marianne said or did consoled her. Yesterday Dorothea had apparently been too sick and miserable from the motion of the train to cry. But ever since their midday stop for strawberries, Dorothea hadn’t been dry-eyed.

  Marianne noticed that several other younger children had been weepy throughout the day too. At first, Marianne assumed they were just tired and restless after being cooped up in such tight quarters. But once Dorothea started talking about wanting to go home, Marianne wondered if the others were homesick too. After the excitement of the train ride and the thrill of seeing so many new sights had worn off, perhaps they were realizing the permanence of the trip, that they were going far away from all they’d ever known and would likely never return.

  Even if what they’d known had been difficult, even if they’d been deprived and hungry and neglected, at least New York City was familiar. Maybe some of them still had friends and family who cared about them and would miss them, whom they would miss in return.

  Just like Marianne desperately missed Sophie. She’d discreetly asked about Sophie at every train depot they’d stopped at along the way. But with so many passengers and children who rode the trains, the stationmasters couldn’t recollect one girl among the many who passed through every day. If only Marianne had a photo of her sister. But her family had been too poor after Vater died to do anything but try to survive.

  Marianne pressed a kiss against Dorothea’s silky blond hair. She wanted to ask Dorothea about her home, about all she was leaving, yet she was afraid such probing would only disturb the girl all the more. Instead, Marianne held her and tried to console her with promises of how wonderful her new life would be, praying the promises didn’t sound as empty to Dorothea as they did to her.

  Drew had been doing his best to soothe the other children, as well as pair them with some of the older girls who could keep watch over them. He also continued to engage the children in riddles and games, which Marianne now realized were not just a fun way to pass the time. The activities provided a distraction. He was especially talented at telling stories and seemed to reserve his tales for when the children were at their worst. He’d launch into tales of bygone days, usually involving historical figures like Joan of Arc, King Arthur and his knights, or Julius Caesar. Somehow he managed to bring the characters to life by dropping them in the midst of a dangerous adventure.

  During such storytelling, the train car would grow silent except for the rickety sounds of the train itself. Marianne noticed even Liverpool listened to the stories, although usually with his hat pulled low over his eyes as he feigned disinterest.

  Directly ahead of the engine with its plumes of billowing black smoke, the sun was nearing the horizon, leaving an amazing display of colors across the sky, swirls of pink and lavender and orange. She’d tried to direct Dorothea’s attention to the beauty of the sunset, something they couldn’t see among the crowded narrow streets of the city where brick buildings and laundry lines strung from open windows blocked the sky. But Dorothea had apparently had her fill of the new landscape and couldn’t take in anything more.

  Across the bench from her, Jethro and another boy named Sammy were peering out the window, attempting to follow the burning orb as it disappeared from sight. The two boys had been somber most of the afternoon too, occasionally voicing questions about what was coming in their new lives. She’d tried her best to keep her answers positive. But the truth was, she didn’t know what to expect either.

  Drew had informed her that by tomorrow they would reach Chicago and would switch trains. They’d then start their southern trek on the Illinois Central into the rural towns of Illinois. By tomorrow afternoon or evening they might reach the first destination where they would begin the process of placing out the children. She supposed the closer they got to the destination, the more worried the children would become and the harder her job would get.

  She couldn’t imagine it getting worse when already Dorothea’s deep sobs wrenched her heart and made her want to weep right along with the little girl. “You’ll be just fine, sweetheart,” Marianne whispered again. “Your new momma and papa will love you so much.”

  Dorothea pulled back to reveal puffy eyes and cheeks streaked with tears. “I wanna go home.” This time she spoke the words firmly, ending with a half sob, half hiccup.

  Marianne used a handkerchief to wipe the girl’s damp cheeks, then brushed away a few strands of hair from her eyes. What else could she tell Dorothea? A three-year-old couldn’t understand what was happening, where she was going, or the new life that awaited her.

  Dorothea’s brown eyes looked up at her, wide and trusting but brimming with fresh tears. What could she say that hadn’t already been said? Perhaps she ought to try Drew’s method of using distraction.

  Bending down, she tugged her valise out from under the seat and unlatched it. She dug around until her fingers connected with the item. She hesitated, unsure whether she should expose her most treasured possession, the only connection she had left to the memories of a beautiful and sacred past, to those years when everything felt normal, when she’d had a father and mother’s love, when she’d had security, when she’d been utterly blissful and free of any worries.

  She closed her eyes briefly to ward off the deep stab that came whenever she thought of all she’d lost, of how she’d never be able to regain that security and love. Perhaps this was how these orphans felt. Maybe they weren’t able to put into words their feelings, but they too were losing so much and would never regain it.

  Pushing aside her own pain, Marianne lifted the music box. It consisted of a pale oak pedestal with the wooden figurine of a young girl tending her four geese underneath the protective shade of a tree. The miniature carvings were hand-painted in bright greens, reds, and white.

  Dorothea’s sob cut off abruptly at the sight of the box, and her eyes widened.

  “This was my Mutti’s,” Marianne said. “She gave it to me just before she passed away.”

  Even though Marianne never parted from the music box and brought it with her everywhere she went, she hadn’t turned the crank once since Mutti died. Mutti had instructed her to keep the music box as a reminder to always sing and never lose sight of the music and joy that was found in living, no matter how difficult her situation.

  And although she’d promised Mutti she would, she never realized how difficult life would get and how all too often she made things worse for others instead of better. If Mutti had known the mistakes Marianne would make and the trouble those mistakes would cause, she wouldn’t have given her the treasure.

  I’m sorry, Mutti, Marianne silently apologized. I’m so sorry . . .

  She hesitated and considered slipping the music box back into her valise. But as her fingers brushed against the figurine of the girl tasked with watching the geese, Marianne swallowed the ache in her throat. Maybe she’d lost Sophie and Olivia and Nicholas, but she could do better now with these children, couldn’t she?<
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  With trembling fingers, she rotated the wooden hand crank. The geese and tiny tree began to turn to the German folksong “Alle Meine Entchen,” which meant “All My Ducklings.” At the familiar melody, she pressed a hand against the sharp pain in her chest.

  The sweet chiming song wasn’t loud, yet it drew the attention of Jethro and Sammy away from the window. Soon they were on their knees in front of the music box on her lap. Like Dorothea, they were mesmerized by the movement of the figurine and the melody coming from within the pedestal.

  When the spinning slowed, Marianne rotated the crank again, the children watching her with growing fascination. For some time she allowed the three to take turns carefully cranking the handle whenever the geese came to a standstill. Before long the others in the surrounding seats pressed in to see the music box as well until it became the train car’s main attraction.

  Finally, when darkness forced the children to return to their seats, Marianne placed the music box in Dorothea’s lap. “Would you like to hold it for the night?”

  The little girl nodded, her worries having dissipated along with her tears. She caressed the pedestal with her delicate fingers and leaned her head against Marianne’s arm. Her lashes fluttered down, and within a minute her heavy breathing told Marianne she’d fallen into an exhausted slumber.

  Maybe sharing this treasure with Dorothea and the others was the right thing to do. She hadn’t been able to speak any words to ease their hurts, but music seemed to have a way of soothing and healing and bringing hope.

  Fingers brushed against her shoulder—Drew’s strong, capable hand. In such a short time of knowing him, she’d recognize his touch anywhere. She glanced up at him. In the darkness, his face was unreadable, but when he spoke, she heard the warmth and admiration in his voice. “You were great today. The kids loved the music box.”

  Drew’s praise was a balm to her spirit. “You were great too,” she said.