Orphan Train Escape

by Rachel Wesson

  “I like him. He doesn’t look like a kind dog, but he is.”

  “You can’t judge people or animals by how they look, Lizzie. It’s what’s inside their hearts that matters. Scamp won’t win any beauty prizes, but he has a heart the size of the ocean.” Carl looked up to catch Miss Collins smiling at him. He clenched his jaw. He didn’t want her looking at him the way she was, as if he was someone to be admired. He knew better.

  “That’s like Jacob. I know you don’t like him, but he is the best brother ever.”

  “I like Jacob, Lizzie. Why would you think I don’t?” Even as he asked the question, Carl knew the answer. Adults didn’t give children enough credit. They picked up on signs most adults missed.

  “’Cause you never speak to him. When he comes near you, you walk away. You do that with me too. Why don’t you like us, Mr. Watson?”

  Carl looked into her piercing blue eyes but instead of Lizzie he saw Hope, his sister who’d disappeared all those years ago.

  “I like you both just fine,” he said gruffly.

  “Why don’t you tell us stories like you do with the others? I thought it was because of Jacob’s face, but you said it didn’t matter what a person looked like.”

  Carl stuttered, not knowing how to explain his behavior without scaring her. She was completely innocent of what the future could hold for her and her brother. She stared at him waiting for his reply.

  “Lizzie, don’t be asking questions. Mr. Watson has his reasons.”

  Carl looked at the boy, shame making his collar feel tight. He had hurt these two children by making them believe he didn’t care. He did, if he was honest he cared too much. He had warned Miss Collins not to get personally involved yet he was guilty of doing that. But he couldn’t let them believe he disliked them. That wasn’t fair.

  “Jacob, Lizzie, I do like you. Both of you. It’s just you remind me of some people I knew once, and those memories are rather painful. Now why don’t we go back and join the others?”

  “Who?” Lizzie said, staring up at him, her thumb in her mouth and the other still rubbing Scamp’s stomach.

  “What?” he replied.

  “Who were those people?”

  “Lizzie, will you quit asking questions. Mr. Watson doesn’t need to explain himself.” Jacob threw a glance at Carl and he saw the curiosity and was it fear, lurking in the boy’s eyes.

  “My sister and brother. Now come on children, we have to get things packed up and back onto the train. Jacob, can you take care of Lizzie while I check on the other children?” He didn’t wait for an answer but limped quickly toward a group of children playing chase.

  Why did he continue taking children on the orphan trains? It was madness, especially as each journey became more painful than the last. Scamp whimpered as if reading his thoughts. It amazed him how the dog tuned into his feelings.

  “Wish you could talk to me. Would you tell me to go find another job? One that didn’t involve children.”

  The dog didn’t bark but stared at him, head tilted sideways as if asking him could he live with himself if he sat in comfort in New York while these trains still ran, carrying their precious cargo? At least if he were present, he might be able to ensure the children didn’t go to unsafe places. There was a huge difference between a place where they would be worked hard and one like he and Tim had ended up in. Tim. He’d failed his brother. He couldn’t afford to fail any other child.

  The train’s whistle announced it was time to rejoin the others. “Come on Scamp, we can’t let them leave without us.” But when he looked down, Scamp was gone. Carl searched for the animal but couldn’t see him until he saw a black head poking out of the train window. Scamp was sitting on Miss Collin’s knee. Ungrateful hound – what was he doing sitting with someone else?

  Chapter 26

  Bridget tickled the dog behind his ear, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t help wondering about Carl Watson and his family. She hadn’t meant to listen in on his conversation with Lizzie and Jacob. The children reminded him of his own family. She’d assumed he was an only child as he hadn’t mentioned any siblings. But then he hadn’t said anything about himself. All she knew was what Father Nelson had told her, he was a teacher having been in the seminary for a few years.

  “That’s where you got to.” His voice sounded gruff. “Down Scamp. I apologize Miss Collins, I hope he didn’t get your skirt muddy.”

  “I encouraged him. I love animals. He’s a good dog aren’t you boy?”

  Scamp obviously agreed if the wagging of his tail was anything to go by.

  “Why don’t you take a seat too Mr. Watson, you look tired.” She glanced up at him. “Are you in pain? You seem to be rather pale if you don’t mind me saying?”

  He sat, his hand caressing his knee. “Thank you, Miss Collins. My leg is acting up. I may have overdone the walking.”

  “Did you have an accident?” Bridget wished she could take the words back as soon as they left her mouth. He gritted his teeth in response, his lips tightening into a thin line. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “I fell out of a wagon when I was younger. My leg got caught. I have limped ever since.”

  “I’m sorry, that must have been very painful.”

  He glanced at her and for a second she thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. The moment passed.

  They sat in silence, the only sound being Scamp who seemed to be laughing in his sleep.

  “At least he is happy,” Bridget said, smiling at the dog.

  “What would it take to make you happy, Miss Collins?”

  She looked up quickly to check if he was being sarcastic, but he seemed to be genuinely asking.

  “If I could find nice homes for all these children, it would help.”

  “We do our best, that’s all we can do.”

  She opened her mouth to ask was it? But something stopped her. When he didn’t say anything else, she looked at his face to find he had fallen asleep. The poor man was exhausted. She took a rug one of the children had been using but had left on the seat and put it over him. He didn’t move.

  She took the liberty of examining him as he slept. He looked younger now his face wasn’t screwed up in disapproval. But perhaps he had been in pain and she had assumed it was something else. Scamp shuffled nearer to Mr. Watson, his head lying on the man’s lap. The dog clearly adored his owner and they said animals were a good judge of character. What she had taken to be coldness and indifference appeared to be a mask hiding a great deal of pain, not all of it physical.

  “Miss Collins, can you come? Two of the boys are fighting and it’s upsetting the younger girls.”

  “Yes, Sarah. Coming.”

  With a last look at Mr. Watson, she walked toward the opposite end of the car where the fight was escalating.

  Chapter 27

  Their last day as a group finally arrived. The next town would host the first meeting with families who had contacted the Outplacement Society. Mr. Watson addressed the group while Bridget sat in the middle of them, two babies on her lap and young girls cuddled to either side of her.

  “Tomorrow, we will meet our first group of prospective families. When we arrive at the town, I will take you to the hotel we will be staying in. Miss Collins will take the girls and I the boys. All children will change into these fresh clothes first thing in the morning. When you are dressed, please help the younger ones. Girls, I have lovely white aprons for you to put on over your dresses.”

  Bridget saw him glance at her when he made this comment, but she decided to ignore it. These children needed her. The fear on their faces, especially on those of the boys who struggled to mask it behind indifferent or sullen expressions, hit her hard. She had ignored the warnings to keep her distance and not get involved on a personal basis. The majority of these children had been deprived of love for far too long and what little she could give them, she was happy to provide.

  “Come o
n children, let’s say a prayer we all find nice homes,” she said before they settled down on, or in some cases, under, the hard benches in an effort to sleep.

  “Are you being adopted too, Miss Collins?” one of the boys asked her.

  “Not quite, Jacob but I won’t be returning to New York. I am to be married at the end of our trip. I hope my new husband and home are nice.”

  She looked to the ground but sensed Mr. Watson’s eyes on her. When she met his gaze, she saw surprise and something else…could it be disappointment? Hadn’t he been told about her circumstances? By the look on his face, he hadn’t.

  “So, who wants to lead us in the prayer?” Bridget asked.

  Sandra, a ten-year-old, put up her hand. “I pray for a ma as nice as the one who left me.”

  “She wasn’t that nice if she left, was she?”

  “Peter, apologize to Sandra, that remark wasn’t kind,” Bridget scolded.

  “She didn’t have a choice. She died,” retorted Sandra, with tears falling down her face.

  “Come on children,” Bridget quickly intervened. “This isn’t helping. Let’s all pray. Dear Lord, please find me a family who loves and treats me well. Thank you.”

  The children bowed their heads, but she caught Mr. Watson’s gaze on her again. This time his expression was one of rebuke. Why was he against her praying?

  She would ask him, but first, she had to get the children settled for the evening.

  “Bridget, do you promise they won’t take us?” her brother asked.

  “Liam, I promise. Tomorrow you just do as I say, and we will be fine. Nobody is going to split up my family,” she said.

  “I love you Bridget,” Liam said.

  “I love you too, darling,” she whispered back, kissing him and Annie on the head. Nothing and nobody would make her let these children go. They were a family and that was the way they would stay.

  Chapter 28

  Bridget wanted to talk to Carl again. Maybe he would share his story if she made more of an effort to get to know him. He was sitting at the far end of the passenger car, reading a newspaper. She walked up to him, but he didn’t acknowledge her presence. She didn’t know if he was ignoring her or hadn’t seen her.

  “Please, excuse me, Mr. Watson, but I was wondering if you could explain the process to me. For when we reach our first town? I have never been at a child…” She was about to say “auction” but that wasn’t right, so she let her sentence hang in midair.

  “The process? It is quite simple really. We get the children to look the best they can. This is why I insisted on white aprons. You may believe I was just being fussy, but I want to do all I can to get these children placed in homes. Their appearance does make a difference. They will be lined up in ages, oldest down to toddler. The families who signed up and expressed interest will be invited to pick their child and then the next family and so on. This will continue until we run out of children or willing families, whichever happens first.”

  Bridget had to fight back tears. How could he dismiss the placement of a child in a new family in a strange town so easily? With effort, she composed herself before asking, “What about siblings? Surely we can ask that they stay together?”

  “We can ask, but few can afford to adopt two children,” he explained. “Those that do adopt more than one tend to adopt boys to work on their farms.”

  “But what if a sibling is placed at this next town and the other is left?” she asked, afraid to know the answer.

  “That child will travel with us until we reach the next destination. He or she will continue until they are placed, or they return to New York.”

  Bridget stared at him for a couple of seconds, hoping to see some reaction to what he had just said but he might as well be reading Greek from a foreign paper. Surely, he had to care. At least a little bit.

  “You mean they may never see each other again? That’s inhumane.” She tried to keep a lid on her temper.

  “Is it? Is offering to bring them both back to New York to the tenements where their lives will be cut short due to illness, abuse or…”

  All attempts at restraint fled. “Stop it. Surely you cannot be as heartless as you pretend. These children have nobody. They need someone to fight on their behalf.”

  “In some towns the people who find the families do a great job. They find those who have good hearts and are willing to offer a child a proper home. At the very least they find people who will treat the child well even if they are only looking for workers.”

  “What do you mean workers?” Bridget couldn’t help the accusing note in her voice. Given the stories the girls at the sanctuary had told her, especially Bella’s, she knew more than she ever wanted to know.

  “Nobody explained this to you, did they?” Mr. Watson asked, in a much gentler tone.

  Bridget shook her head. They had but she sensed he was going to give her additional details.

  “Farmers are having a difficult time of things at the moment. They need workers for the land but cannot afford to pay the wages grown men would command. So instead they turn to the children.” Mr. Watson ignored her gasp of horror and continued. “In return for a promise to school the children in the winter months, provide them with shelter and food, they indenture a boy until he is twenty-one years old. When he reaches that age, he is free to leave. The family must provide him with a new suit and some wages at that time.”

  “Free to leave? You mean he is their property?”

  “Not exactly. If the circumstances prove unsatisfactory the boy can write to the agency and one of our staff will investigate. He can then be removed if his situation is as bad as he alleges.”

  “But most of the older boys cannot read or write properly. They weren't given enough schooling. How are they supposed to contact anyone?”

  “I do not make the rules, Miss Collins. The agency is supposed to inspect the placements within a year of the child being placed.”

  “I can guess from what you are not saying, this doesn’t happen a lot.”

  She saw the despair in his eyes before he looked away. He did care more than he showed. She wondered why he fought so hard to put on such a cold front. It didn’t help the children or her.

  “You don’t believe they are doing the best they can, do you?” she asked him, wanting to force him to admit the truth.

  “America is a large country and the agency’s resources are stretched. There isn’t the time or the money to always do the right thing.”

  “But that’s no excuse. These are children. Innocent children,” Bridget pleaded.

  “I am aware of that Miss Collins.”

  His tone stopped her mid-tirade. Something told her she was pushing him too far. Not only did he understand more than she realized, he was as disgusted by what he described as much as she was. Although, looking at him, at his closed inscrutable expression, she wondered if that was just her imagination.

  “What of the girls? How do we prevent them from becoming…” Her cheeks flamed but she had to continue, “workers?”

  She knew by his expression he knew what she meant.

  “We try to make sure they are being adopted for the right reasons. The girls are expected to help out in the house or on the farm. If you are suspicious that is not the reason behind the choice, you must speak up. In private though, Miss Collins. You won’t do anyone any good by throwing a fit of temper in front of a whole town. Remember this is only one group of children. There are hundreds, if not thousands, more to be placed.”

  She heard his message loud and clear. Do not rock the boat.

  “I will do my best not to disappoint you, Mr. Watson.”

  She walked away without letting him respond. She had to compose herself before she faced the children. She couldn’t let them sense her fears, that would be unkind.

  Chapter 29

  The next morning came far too quickly for everyone. The children acted out, partly out of excitement, some out of fear. Even the babies sensed something as
all four of them cried at once. It took every ounce of patience she had not to throw her hands into the air and scream at everyone to stop. Mr. Watson, on the other hand, looked and acted so calm you would think this happened every day.

  “Please write to me if you need anything,” she said to the older children, but where would they write to? Something stopped her from telling them to write to her care of Riverside Springs. What was she supposed to do to help them if they did write? She didn’t know the answer, but she felt strongly each child should know someone cared.

  “Write to me care of Lily’s sanctuary. Lily will pass your letters onto me.” She gave the older children the address.

  “Do you think I will get picked, Miss Bridget? I tried to look my best, but my hair keeps standing up,” Sally asked. The poor girl had a horrible limp, the result of an untreated broken leg. Bridget suspected her disability would put some people off, but she hoped to be proven wrong.

  “You look lovely and, more important, Sally, your kind nature will shine through. Any parent looking for a child would be lucky to have you.”

  The young girl beamed although there was still a flicker of unease in her eyes.

  “Will I get picked? Look how strong I am, I have muscles.” The lump in Bridget’s throat got bigger as Charlie tried to flex his arms. The poor child was skin and bone. She wanted to hug him close and never let go.

  “Some mother will be lucky to get you, Charlie,” she whispered as she put her hand briefly on his head.

  “I promised your ma I would look out for ye Charlie, I told ye that.”

  Bridget smiled at Daniel, thinking he was possibly the last child they would pick, despite his good heart. His hair grew in tufts as if chunks of it had been pulled out over time. His pock marked face looked better than it had done when he first arrived at the sanctuary. The dirt was gone as were the worst of the bruises he had been covered in. He had lived on the streets of New York too long not to pick up certain traits. She prayed prospective parents would see past the tough guy act to the wonderful young man behind it. She would have been lost but for Daniel helping with the younger children, particularly Charlie.