Mail-Order Kid: An Orphan Train Rider's Story

by Marilyn June Coffey

  The train picked up speed. Scenery whipped by faster and faster, until the train flew down the tracks. Children cried until Teresa’s stomach curdled. Should she cry, too? She felt lost as the train sped on and on and on. For hours, it seemed, the coach rolled past brick walls and ugly tenement buildings with the morning sun occasionally glancing off windows.

  A Sister gave Teresa and Mary an apple and a slice of bread. Mary broke the bread and took the bigger piece for herself, but Teresa didn’t care. Her appetite had fled. She chewed tiny bites of bread until they melted; even then, she found swallowing difficult. They shared the apple as the train whistled. Instead of houses, brick walls sped by on either side. All turned dark. Teresa dropped the apple and clutched Mary as children screamed. Then as suddenly as darkness had fallen, the train burst into light. They rushed by the backyards of wooden houses in another city, the train’s long whistle sounding.

  “Look what you done,” Mary pointed to the apple, covered with dirt and rolling under the seat ahead of them. Teresa jumped down to get it, but Mary stopped her. “Don’t. It ain’t fit to eat now.”

  After supper, Sister Agnes brought milk for the girls. When she handed them bottles, Mary refused. “I ain’t no baby.” But Teresa grasped hers, sucking even after the milk was gone. The empty nipple made a fine spluttering noise, but Mary said, “Stop that,” and grabbed the bottle.

  “When will we go back home?” Teresa asked Mary.

  “We’re not going back. We’re going to a place where they give out mothers and fathers, and each of us will get some.”

  A mother and a father? Could it be true? Teresa didn’t remember her actual mother or father; her earliest memories were set in the Foundling, but the orphanage seemed distant as the train jerked forward, gathered speed, and rumbled down the track.

  When Teresa heard the car door clang, she saw a handsome woman enter their car. Her tailored gray outfit matched a gray bonnet edged with white lace. Oh, look at her, dressed so fine. Teresa pulled her faded dress over her knees.

  Sister Ursula clapped, “Children, this is Mrs. Spallen, the Foundling agent. She’ll speak to each of you.”

  When Sister Ursula stopped talking, the children’s cries welled, and Teresa plugged her ears. She turned to the window. The train swept through a hilly land, sometimes empty of houses, sometimes with little houses scattered along the ridges.

  Then Mrs. Spallen appeared next to their seats.

  “Here, Teresa, let the lady sit.” Mary scooted over, squashing Teresa to give Mrs. Spallen room. Teresa noticed the agent’s smooth face, without a pockmark or pore as so many nuns had. And the woman smelled so clean. Teresa smiled and raised both arms. Mrs. Spallen leaned across Mary to pick Teresa up and place her on her lap; Teresa threw both arms around the agent’s neck and kissed her fragrant cheek.

  “Aren’t you sweet!”

  “She always does that,” Mary said. “It don’t mean nothing.”

  “Does she?” Mrs. Spallen rumpled Teresa’s curls as Teresa snuggled into Mrs. Spallen’s lap.

  “Do you girls know where you’re going?”

  “Hays, Kansas,” Mary’s voice sounded hoarse.

  “Both of you?”

  Mary nodded.

  “Now do you know your new family’s name?”

  “Mine’s Schumacher,” Mary said.

  “And you, Teresa?”

  But Teresa hid her face. The agent groped in her tapestry purse.

  “Here it is,” she said. “Bieker. Beeeeeeeeee like a honey bee. Beeeeeeeeeker. Can you remember that, Teresa?”

  “Beeeeeeeeeeeker.”

  “Good. You’ll help her remember it, won’t you, Mary?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  •

  By morning, the train stopped in a city, then sped through vacant country, stopped in another city, and again left. At each stop, Teresa expected to meet her parents, these Beeeekers, but each time the children remained on the train, sometimes watching nuns bring fresh milk and clean diapers aboard. Finally, after five days and four nights, Teresa arrived in Kansas City where they all changed trains, boarding a small local to cross the wide prairie state of Kansas. Teresa happily climbed on board. She was almost home!

  Still in everyday clothes, she envied the orphans being dressed in their finery, getting ready to join their families at towns along the Kansas route. At the first stop, Teresa smashed her nose against the sooty window to see the nuns give children to their parents, but she noticed that the children seemed reluctant to leave the nuns. One boy clung to Sister Ursula’s arms. Were the Sisters giving children to strangers? At the next stop, she listened to the calling of numbers and the matching of tags until truth claimed her. I won’t see my mother and father but strangers pretending to be my parents. Why are the Sisters doing this? She trembled.

  Finally, the nuns changed the clothes of the few remaining children. Teresa and Mary dressed up, and the nuns pinned a numbered tag to each bodice. Teresa’s tag read “4,” Mary’s read “3.”

  “Your new parents have a tag that reads ‘four’ also,” Sister Ursula told Teresa. “That’s how we’ll know which person to give you to. See. Your name’s on it, too.” She watched the nun point out some dark marks on the tag. “And your new parents’ name is Bieker. Do you think you can remember that? Bieker.”

  Bieker. That’s what Sister Edna called her nose, “Here. Blow your beak.”

  When the train pulled into Hays, Kansas, that Wednesday, May 4, 1910, Teresa saw the town was bigger than the villages where the train stopped earlier. She quivered as the train stopped alongside an attractive brick building with a roof that drooped oddly—the Hays railroad depot. What would these Biekers be like? She so hoped they’d be as kind as the nuns and wear nice clothes.

  When the Sisters ushered the children inside the depot, a huge crowd surged forward. Teresa’s heart leaped. The depot seemed as full as Grand Central Station. No sooner did she step inside than hands reached to pick her up. Perfect strangers lifted her and fussed over her.

  Frightened, she glanced at Sister Ursula who nodded her head and smiled. Teresa then promptly kissed the cheek of the stranger who held her. Maybe this is my mother. She kissed the woman again. Soon this person and that one held her, cuddled her, and carried her around the crowded waiting room.

  One man told her he was Mr. Funk.

  “Wouldn’t you like to come home with me?” he said. She noticed that Mr. Funk’s clean cheek smelled almost like perfume when she kissed him. Maybe he will be my father. When she saw Mr. Funk’s handsome wife, her hopes rose.

  Then a big man with bushy eyebrows claimed her. “Oh, aren’t you cute,” he said when she kissed his cheek. She liked the way his strong arms secured her. I want this one for my father. She snuggled closer; he was her favorite among all those who carried her.

  “Attention please! Attention please!” She heard Sister Ursula call and clap. “Will those receiving children come forward please?”

  The crowd quieted. About a dozen adults moved toward the nuns; the others held back. The man with bushy eyebrows stood at the front of the crowd, still holding Teresa. “Let’s see your number.” He looked at her bodice. “Four.”

  “As we call out your number,” Sister Ursula said, “please step forward to claim your child. Examine the child we selected for you. If it’s satisfactory, take it to your home and treat it as you would your own flesh and blood.”

  The Sister called number one. A couple broke out of the crowd to take a boy about Teresa’s age, Albert. Then a woman swept up two-year-old Gertrude. Next, Mary stepped forward to leave with the Schumachers. Afraid she’d never see Mary again, Teresa held out her arms, but Mary walked away. Finally, the nun called, “Four.” The bushy eyed man set Teresa on the floor, and she walked to meet Conrad and Elizabeth Bieker, her new caretakers.

  They appeared ancient, all shriveled and old and coarser than the Funks or the man with bushy eyebrows. How could they be her parents? They weren’t
even good looking. Mr. Bieker, a short man with a mustache, was mostly bald and his few hairs were gray. Heavyset Mrs. Bieker had thin wisps of black hair pulled tightly away from her face. How drab she looked! Both Biekers stooped, especially Mrs. Bieker, whose long black dress dragged on the ground. Teresa didn’t hold up her arms to them, and neither of the Biekers touched her.

  “Pardon me,” said the man with bushy eyebrows. “I’m Mr. Tillison, a barber here in Hays with two young boys, and I’m wondering if I could buy this little girl from you. My wife’s not here with me, but I’m sure she’d agree.”

  Mr. Bieker shrugged and held up his hands, but Mrs. Bieker tugged sharply on the elbow of his jacket and spoke to him in a foreign language. Teresa watched Mr. Bieker lumber to the nun. The little girl grasped Mr. Tillison’s hand. How happy she’d be if he bought her! She watched eagerly as Mr. Bieker and Sister Ursula returned.

  “You wish to buy this child,” the nun said.

  “Yes. She’ll make an excellent sister to my two young boys.”

  “But are you Catholic?”

  “No, Presbyterian.”

  The nun shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s out of the question. If you were Catholic, we could perhaps consider it.”

  Teresa’s hope flickered like a flame doused in water.

  As the Biekers and Teresa started to leave, Mr. and Mrs. Funk intercepted them, offering cash in exchange for the girl.

  “Catholic?” Mr. Bieker said.

  Mr. Funk shook his head.

  Mr. Bieker shrugged and moved, with Mrs. Bieker and Teresa, toward the exit. He held her hand lightly. Once, when they passed a middle-aged couple, Mrs. Bieker hissed, “Jude,” and twitched her long black skirt away.

  Outside, Teresa saw the other children leaving with new parents. She wanted to run to Sister Ursula, but the nun was gone. The Biekers took Teresa to their horse and buggy. Mr. Bieker lifted her up front to sit between his and Mrs. Bieker’s shoes. The overcast sky, which drizzled off and on, turned the spring day unseasonably cool. Mrs. Bieker covered the girl’s lap with a dark Russian shawl.

  The horse and buggy moved rapidly out of town, over a bridge and up a gently sloped hill that seemed endless. As the buggy crested the hill, Teresa saw the western Kansas prairie over the horse’s head. Her stomach dipped as though she were a bird flying. The prairie loomed much larger than it had through the train window—as large and flat as a fallen sky.

  The three traveled quietly to Schoenchen, twelve miles south of Hays. Teresa tried to chatter, but her new parents couldn’t understand her. The Biekers spoke seldom, but when they did, they used harsh words she’d never heard. The language sounded like dogs barking.

  Teresa’s heart sank. Who are these people? Where are they going? How can I possibly live with them? Oh, how awful to have no mother! For there was no one to turn to, not for miles and miles. Surrounded by silence except for the sharp clop of the horse’s hooves and the ominous whir of buggy wheels, Teresa chewed her nails.

  2

  Becomin

  g a Bieker

  After the buggy crested the high land that divides Big Creek and Smoky Hill river valleys, the road dropped off and the prairie turned hilly. Down they went. At the bend of the swift-flowing Smoky Hill River they turned, crossed the bridge, and entered Schoenchen. Teresa gazed in dismay at the dilapidated village, its streets cluttered with simple cracker-box houses, some little more than shacks. To her relief, they drove past a fine stone cathedral. Then they stopped by a T-shaped wood-and-stone house. Although tiny, it looked substantial.

  “Yours?” she said, but no one answered.

  Mr. Bieker lurched out of the buggy, then helped Teresa and Mrs. Bieker down. Mrs. Bieker grasped the girl’s hand and picked up her bundle of clothing. As they walked to the house, a small black-and-white barking animal and a gray, fuzzy animal rushed toward them. Teresa jumped. She’d never seen such creatures. When the black-and-white animal licked her hand, she squealed.

  “Fanny.” Mrs. Bieker pointed to the barking animal. “Kitty.” She pointed to the other one. Then she opened a tall door, and they entered the house, stepping directly into the main room.

  Inside, Teresa could barely see her hand until Mrs. Bieker lit a lamp. Then the room swelled with golden light, which illuminated a kitchen along one wall, a table and chairs, and a big bed in the far corner.

  When Mrs. Bieker sat down, sighed, and removed her shoes, Teresa took her shoes off, too. When the girl resisted the removal of her good clothes, Mrs. Bieker slapped her. Blood drained from her face. She’d never been slapped.

  Next Mrs. Bieker carried the girl’s good garments, with Teresa at her heels, into a small bedroom, empty except for a mattress lying on the floor and a wooden crate. Teresa plopped on the soft mattress, squishy like a pillow but thicker. She talked while she watched Mrs. Bieker fold her good clothes and place them in the wooden crate. Her fine new hat rested on top.

  When they returned to the main room, Mr. Bieker sat at the table drinking a yellow liquid with white bubbles on top. He beckoned, so she went to him and let him lift her on his lap. As he drank, he rubbed her legs. She leaned uneasily against his chest.

  A bit later, Teresa glanced out her bedroom window to see an enormous brown four-legged creature staring at her. She screamed. When both Biekers ran into her room, she pointed at the strange animal.

  Mr. Bieker laughed and shrugged, “Kuh.” He led her outdoors to the pen where the Kuh stood, staring and slowly chewing. They walked right up to the creature, big as a horse.

  “Kuh.” Mr. Bieker stroked the animal and placed Teresa’s hand on the short stiff fawn-colored fur—“Kuh”—the fur warm, the muscle beneath stout. She smiled and stroked.

  At bedtime, Mrs. Bieker removed Teresa’s dress but not her petticoat, then left. The girl waited for the woman to bring her a nightgown, as the nuns did, but she didn’t return. She’s not my mother.

  Teresa’s bedroom was so dark she could barely see the shape of the window, but she didn’t mind. The strange darkness was an adventure. So was being alone. She’d never been alone. She stretched out on the plush feather mattress. She touched her hair, her hands, her belly, and her ears to make sure that the blackness took nothing away from her. It didn’t. She preferred isolation to being in the main room, afraid of what the Biekers might do next. She rolled on her side and drifted to sleep imagining that her mother floated on a cloud holding out a filmy nightgown.

  Teresa woke early the next morning and for a moment couldn’t remember where she was. Dawn’s thin light crept through her window, so she walked over and peered out. Her bedroom overlooked a big yard but no houses, for the Bieker house stood on the edge of town. Beyond the yard, fields stretched so far she thought she could see the world’s edge. No way to escape. No one to befriend her. She would just have to make-do.

  When the Biekers stirred in the main room, she picked up her clothes to go ask for help dressing. Soon after she dressed, Saint Anthony’s bell rang. Mrs. Bieker put her finger to her lips, so Teresa stopped talking as the Biekers bowed their heads, fingered their beads, and whispered strange words.

  Later, still barefoot and wearing her everyday dress, she entered the cathedral with the Biekers. The sanctuary was enormous; she clung to Mr. Bieker’s hand as he chose a pew near the altar. Hardly anyone was there, just the Biekers and one other man and some old women.

  As soon as the service began, Teresa relaxed for the priest spoke the familiar Latin she knew from the Foundling. After the service, the priest, Father Wenzel, smiled at Teresa and said, in English, “Well, what have we here?” When she reached up her arms to be picked up, he smiled and shook her hand instead. She squirmed with pleasure.

  Before the noon meal, Saint Anthony’s bells rang out, and again the Biekers stopped to finger their beads and murmur. After the meal, Teresa, talking all the way, walked with Mr. Bieker two and a half blocks to the post office on the far side of town. Both walked barefooted. She enjoyed dust swirli
ng around her toes, the warmth of his hand around hers.

  The houses they passed seemed oddly quiet. No children played in the yards, no dogs barked. The only people she saw that day were at church.

  Afterward Mr. Bieker took Teresa to his store, a rectangular wooden building on the lot next to his house. She scrutinized the groceries he stocked and watched him wind a handle on a wooden box and talk into its funnel.

  “What’s that?” She pointed, but he didn’t reply.

  Then Mr. Bieker sat on a chair, put the little girl on his lap and lifted her dress. He touched her all over her body, even her private parts, and then rubbed her rump hard against his own body. How strange! Is this what fathers do?

  After Mr. Bieker finished, he gave her a lemon drop. She sucked it eagerly, releasing its sweetness into her mouth. The sweetness lasted a long time.

  •

  A few days later, young Father Wenzel greeted Teresa and Mr. Bieker in the parish priest’s tidy rectory. When Mr. Bieker dropped her hand, the little girl held up her arms to the priest. Mr. Bieker swatted them, “Nein! Nein!”

  Nein, nein, everything’s always nein, nein with Mr. Bieker! Nein, nein, shhhh, shhhh, don’t tell. She ran to Father Wenzel and flung herself against his legs. Mr. Bieker scampered forward, grabbed her shoulder, and pulled her away.

  The priest gestured toward his sitting room. “Won’t you come in?” How his refined English enunciation caressed the girl’s ears! At last, someone who spoke proper English as she did, not like Mr. Bieker’s broken English when he told her, “You wait here.”

  Teresa could hear the men’s voices at the front door, speaking polite German goodbyes to one another. The language sounded like a cascade of thick harsh tones. How she hated it! Her mother never spoke German!

  Teresa peered around the priest’s sitting room admiring its wingback chairs and serpentine-back sofa, its tea table and whatnot shelves, its Oriental carpet in Indian reds and buffs—so pretty, not a hovel like the Biekers’ shanty with its single drab main room used for cooking, eating, and sleeping. Oh, if only she could live with the Wenzels! She would feel so safe. She stroked the shiny dark wood of an armed chair, and then started at a noise in the next room. Probably his wife in the kitchen.