Rodzina

by Karen Cushman

  As I reached to tuck in his shirt, he pulled roughly away. "Keep yer mitts off me."

  "Sammy, tell your brother—"

  "Joe ain't my brother," Sammy said, but he moved in to fix Joe's shirt and slick down his hair.

  "Now me, Ro," said Lacey.

  "Rodzina," I murmured as I unbraided her hair. Now, my hair was all right—yellowish and a little wavy but ordinary. But Lacey's hair was gorgeous, almost alive, snapping and sparkling, standing out about her head like the halo around a streetlight on a foggy night. I could have hated her for her hair alone. I may have pulled a little harder than necessary as I brushed and rebraided it.

  We rounded a sharp bend, and the train leaned way over. I saw Nellie grab Miss Doctor's skirt in her sticky hand and hold on tight. Frowning, Miss Doctor yanked her skirt away so hard, Nellie almost fell down. Why is that lady doctor so frosty and unfriendly? I wondered. Would it have killed her to be nice to us, orphans that we were? Why, doctors were as rich as cream. She was bound to have hundreds of skirts. So what if a little jelly got on this one? I feared Nellie would disappear like poor Gertie for the crime of touching Miss Doctor.

  I waved Nellie over to me, dusted her off, and smoothed her hair. "Here," I said to her, "hang on to my skirt." She did.

  Mr. Szprot got all us orphans together to practice our singing for tonight. Why folks would be so blamed eager to hear orphans sing I don't know, but it seemed to be so. Mr. Szprot stood in the front of the car, his cigar waggling and his hands waving around like he was drawing pictures in the air while we sang, loud and lively and out of tune. "Yankee Doodle" was my favorite, for Chester's voice broke each time on the last word—han-dy—and it was better than the whole rest of the song.

  Singing made me warm, so I got myself a dipperful of water to wash my face and cool off. Mickey Dooley came over and asked, "Water you going to do with that?" but I ignored him. Did you ever notice how folks with the least to say talk the most? Take Mickey Dooley.

  We passed more farms and less prairie. Then a clump of small wooden houses, shops, even a church. And there we were in Grand Island, which was neither grand nor an island, far as I could see.

  The sun was setting as we stepped out of the train onto a tiny platform, and the sky was lit up like the Fourth of July—fluffy white clouds, bursts of gold, and flames of orange. Then darkness fell like a velvet cloak. Never had I seen such a sunset, and it clean broke my heart. I took a deep breath and then another and another. The air smelled so good, pure and clean, like nothing bad ever happened here. Not like Honore Street in Chicago, with its slaughterhouses, garbage dumps, and creeks bubbling with sewage.

  We lined up on the platform. Miss Doctor had two of the littlest girls by the hand. "Rose and Pearl Lubnitz are going back home," Mr. Szprot told us. "Their mother changed her mind about giving them up and wants them back." He chewed his cigar a bit. "Better for them, I suppose. I find in general orphans come to no good end."

  Miss Doctor frowned and nudged him. "While we go to engage someone to take them back to Chicago," he went on, "you alley rats stay right here."

  We all watched them walk into the station. Lucky Rose and Pearl Lubnitz. You could hear sighs and whimpers and out-and-out crying from those left behind. I'd wager every one of us wanted a mama to go back to, someone who'd take us from this train and back to Chicago, where'd she'd say, "It was all a misunderstanding. I am not dead and you have not been sent away," and would make us pound cake and lemonade and tuck us into bed.

  I shook my head and began to read the announcements pasted on the wall:

  WIFE WANTED BY WESTERN GENTLEMAN.

  Must be clean, good cook, and have pleasant

  disposition. No children or annoying relatives.

  Write Henry Spurior, Moose Lick, Montana.

  Ha! I thought. That might be a good position for Miss Doctor, after she gets rid of us orphans, except for the part about "pleasant disposition."

  MY SETS OF TEETH CANNOT BE BEAT!

  Dr. Everett's PAINLESS Dental Parlor.

  Teeth extracted positively without

  pain by the use of Vitalized air.

  NO PAIN OR NO PAY

  Dentures 5.00. Perfect fit. Fillings 50 cents,

  1.00 for gold. Ten years guarantee.

  273 Merchant Street at Oak.

  HOURS 830 AM to 8 PM,

  Sunday 10 AM to 5 PM.

  * We are no Floating Dentists *

  WE ARE HERE TO STAY.

  WHEREAS SOME EVIL DISPOSED PERSON

  or Persons is employed in Circulating

  Scandalous reports injurious to the

  Character of Mrs. Turk, No. 6 Miller Street,

  whoever will give information of the

  Offender or Offenders so that they may be

  brought to Justice shall be handsomely

  Rewarded for their trouble.

  GAUNT'S HAIR RESTORER.

  One bottle will completely restore all

  Gray Hairs to their natural color.

  * READ OUR TESTIMONIALS *

  Available from shop of C. E. Gaunt,

  lobby, Prairie Queen Hotel.

  And here we were on the notice board, for sale just like hair restorer!

  WANTED: HOMES FOR CHILDREN

  A company of twenty-two homeless children

  of various ages and sexes, having been

  thrown friendless on the world, will be at the

  Grand Island Schoolhouse on March 30,1881,

  for the purpose of finding new homes.

  Persons taking these children must be

  approved by the agents who are accompanying

  them and must promise kind treatment,

  good moral training, decent clothes,

  and a fair common school education.

  An address will be made by

  the Placing-Out Agent, Leonard R. Szprot.

  PIE AND COFFEE WILL BE SERVED

  The notice didn't say a word about selling us or giving us away for servants. It even sounded a bit like they cared what happened to us. But I knew better.

  "Hey, Cabbage Eater, got any smokes?" Spud asked me. He grinned with his big, stickout teeth. "I'm dyin' for my coffee and smokes."

  When I shook my head no, he moved on to join his pals, who were panhandling on the station platform. They asked, "Got a penny for an orphan?" of all those getting on and off the train or just lounging on the benches, waiting for something to happen. Unfortunately Spud asked, "Got a penny?" of a man in a checked coat before he noticed it was Mr. Szprot! Spud was rewarded not with smokes but with a smack and a shove back into line. I got a frown from Mr. Szprot.

  Finally we all walked together to the schoolhouse. Papa's boots, being too big, rubbed and chafed my feet, and my knees itched something awful.

  We were shown into a big room with a table full of pies and cakes on one side and rows of benches end to end on the other. While we climbed up on the benches so that folk could get a good look at us, I took a gander at them. There were some fifty or so men and women, looking the way I imagined farmers would look: weathered and tired, in faded cotton broad-brimmed hats and limp bonnets. They hadn't bothered to put on their Sunday clothes just for us.

  What if one of them picked me? I did not want to go home with any of these strangers. I slouched behind the others so no one could see me.

  After we sang a round or two of "There's a Light in the Window" and "Home on the Range," Mr. Sourfaced Szprot stood up. "I have the pleasure," he said, "of bringing before you a select group of Chicago's homeless waifs." He waggled his cigar a time or two. "Do not call them unfortunate children, for although without home and family, these children are fortunate indeed to have this opportunity to find good homes away from the ignorance, poverty, and vice in which they were found in Chicago."

  He went on, but I was too angry to listen. I was not found in ignorance and vice, and no Mr. Sourface was going to talk so about my mama and papa. I could almost see them there before me, gentle
Papa cradling a book in his big hands, Mama sewing flowers on hats late into the night for ten cents a dozen, Papa and Mama smiling as they swung me around in a Christmas Eve dance.

  When Szprot finished talking, the farmers and their wives walked by, looking at us like we were puppies or wagons or some kind of furniture for the parlor—coat racks, maybe, or horsehair sofas—and not people at all.

  I watched the other orphans peering intently into strange faces, trying to decide who might be good to them and who wouldn't. The little boys and girls did as they had been coached, pulling on coattails and asking softly, "Can I go with you and be your little boy?"

  Was there maybe someone here, young and sweet looking, I could count on not to treat me unkindly? I could go up to them and ask ... but I was too embarrassed to do that. What if I pulled on the coattails of a person who didn't want a Polish girl in her father's boots? And what if she walked away and everyone could see I was unwanted? Why, that would be terrible. But likely there was no such person here anyway, so it didn't matter.

  The farmers checked us over to see if our legs were strong and backs straight. One of them felt Spud's muscles, then stuck his dirty old hand in Joe's mouth to examine his teeth. Joe bit him, of course. Miss Doctor grabbed Joe by the arm and sat him in a far corner. I could not hear what she said to him, but her mouth moved faster than the wheels of the train. When she came back, she sent Sammy over to sit with Joe. No one would be taking those two particular orphans.

  A friendly-looking man and woman stopped in front of Mickey Dooley, smile on his face and cap on his head as always. "How are you, young fellow?" the man asked.

  "Fit as a fiddle, sir," said Mickey, his voice a little squeaky.

  "Are you Irish?" the man asked.

  "Yessir, indeed, sir," said Mickey Dooley, tipping his cap, his eyes looking this way and that at the same time. The man took the woman's arm and they moved on.

  One farmer said Mickey was too small and his skin too fair for farm work, and a woman blessed herself when she saw his eyes. Mickey saw me watching. "There's a henway on your neck," he said.

  "What's a henway?" I asked, feeling my neck.

  "Oh, about six pounds," he said with a wink. Nothing made him unhappy, even being unwanted.

  I could see lots of people stopping to talk to Lacey, she was so pretty and sweet looking. But the first thing she said each time was, "My name is Lacey and I'm slow." And the people moved on.

  "Lacey, over here," I called to her, as softly as I could to avoid being noticed. She climbed down off her end of the bench and came and stood in front of me. "Why are you telling people that?" I asked her.

  "I want people to know about me straight out and choose me anyway."

  I shook my head, knowing no one would choose her anyway. Maybe she was better off.

  Two babies and three of the biggest boys were chosen first. Then Kitty, by a rancher and his wife with five little ones of their own. Children were being taken right and left. Some were crying at being separated from brother or sister, some laughing, some hanging on to someone else like they were straps in a streetcar and if they let go, they'd fall right down.

  Poor orphans. What would happen to them?

  A man and a woman dressed in shiny black stopped in front of me. They were tall and skinny as broomsticks with cold, squinty eyes and lips that looked like they hadn't smiled since Abraham Lincoln got his first long pants.

  Oh, no, I said to myself, I am not going anywhere with you. You look like you'd step on kittens.

  I stuck out my tongue, and off they swept, the Broomstick Twins, to give some other orphan nightmares.

  A creaky old voice right beside me said loudly, "What about this one, Oleander? She looks capable enough."

  "But she's so big and lumpy," said another voice. "And that nose. We could park our wagon in it. You think she might be Jewish, Peony?"

  "Not with that yellow hair."

  They were talking about me, those old ladies who wanted someone capable even if she had a big nose. They seemed cheery with their pink cheeks and bright eyes and flowers on their hats.

  "We need an older girl," the person called Peony said to Mr. Szprot. "How old is this one?"

  Mr. Szprot said, "Near fifteen, ma'am." I was hoping for lightning to strike him for that lie, but nothing happened. "She is very experienced with children."

  "We got no children," said Oleander. "Just a mother and some old aunties. They need a lot of hefting and cleaning up after. Can she do that?"

  "Can she lift a hundred-pound sack of flour?" asked Peony.

  "And scrub a wood floor?" added Oleander.

  "Is she sturdy enough of stomach to tend the chamber pots?"

  "And wash old feet?"

  "Can she sew, mend, launder, and iron?"

  Mr. Szprot kept nodding, chewing his cigar, and saying, "Without a doubt, without a doubt," all the time looking at me with his beady eyes so I feared to say a word.

  "Boil ashes and lye for soap? Butcher hogs? Hull, shell, grind, sift, boil, bake, pickle, and pop corn?" More nodding from Old Sourface.

  "We'll take her," said Oleander and Peony together.

  I knew it. Melvin was right. People didn't want children, they wanted feet washers and hog butchers.

  "I don't want to go with these old ladies to be a nurse, a cook, and a slave," I said to Mr. Szprot. "How would it look if the Aid Societies placed me with them and I died of too much butchering and baking?"

  Mr. Szprot chewed on his cigar. "We'll take that chance," he said.

  "No, please, I don't want to go!" But Mr. Szprot was determined, and the frosty Miss Doctor wanted to get rid of all of us so she could read her book and brood. I would rather die right here and now in some horrible fashion, I thought, than go with Peony and Oleander. I would jump out a window. Or fling myself into a lake. Or throw myself in front of racing horses. But we were on the ground floor of a building miles from any water with lots of farmers and orphans but no racing horses. I was doomed to go on living.

  While Oleander and Peony signed a paper for Mr. Szprot, Lacey came up and grabbed my hand. "I don't want you to go," she said. "I'm scared. I don't like to be scared."

  "Quit hanging on me, Lacey. I have troubles of my own. And don't start crying." I wiped her nose on her skirt and pushed her back into line with the others. "It makes your eyes all red and your face snotty."

  As we left, I saw Hermy the Knife being led by his ear by a big old farmer in overalls. I couldn't believe someone had taken Hermy rather than Mickey Dooley just because Mickey was small and pale and Irish and his eyes wandered. That was going to be one sorry farmer.

  Peony and Oleander and I climbed into a wagon, and Oleander picked up the reins. If I didn't get out of this right now, I was doomed.

  After a few minutes of clip-clopping, I said, "I don't want to go with you, you know."

  "That ain't up to you," said Oleander. "We got this paper."

  We rode a little farther. "I'm not as strong as I look."

  "Doses of molasses and cod-liver oil will soon build you up."

  More clip-clopping. "I can be difficult."

  "We know how to handle difficult girls." She snapped her whip.

  "Well, then," I said, "I will run away."

  Peony and Oleander looked at each other and laughed. "Not much place to run to here on the prairie," said Peony.

  Clip-clop, clip-clop, farther away from the train and closer to having to heft and sift and pickle for the rest of my life. Mama? Papa? Help me. What should I do?

  Use your head, Rodzina, I told myself. Mama and Papa aren't here but you are. Use your head.

  Clip-clop, clip-clop. I could barely see the lights of Grand Island behind us. Finally I said, "I'm surprised you wanted me, what with my being Polish and all."

  "Don't know much about Polish," said Peony. "Ain't Jewish, is it?"

  "No," I said.

  "Polish ain't colored, is it?" asked Oleander.

  "No," I said.


  "Or Italian?"

  "Or Spanish?"

  "Or French? I won't have none of those heathens in my house."

  "Oh, no. None of those."

  "Polish is a good Christian thing to be?"

  "Oh, yes. Why, we pray four hours every day. And do no work on Sundays. Or Wednesdays. Or Fridays. Or feast days. Or eves of feast days. Or..."

  Oleander looked at me, slowing the horses down a bit.

  "And we keep our bodies covered at all times. Never even take our clothes off to wash. We seldom wash. In fact, we never wash." Now Peony looked at me.

  "And we fast by eating only meat. A lot of meat. Good beef and pork, bacon and lamb roasts. Why, we like meat so much, we even put ground earthworms in our bread. And I am very, utterly, earnestly Polish," I ended.

  I watched to see how they had taken all this hogwash. The clip-clops got slower and slower and finally stopped. "Trouble," Oleander said.

  "Big trouble," said Peony, looking me up and down. Clip-clop, clip-clop again, faster and faster, as we turned in a big circle and headed right back to where we'd started.

  I fairly danced out of the wagon.

  The farmers and their wives had all gone home with the orphans they'd bought. Mr. Szprot and Miss Doctor stood outside, lining up the remaining children for a march back to the train. Peony found Mr. Szprot and tore up that paper right in front of him. They got back in the wagon and left with no orphan at all. I reckon just wasn't anybody good enough for them.

  Mr. Szprot stared at me, his face like a thunderstorm brewing, so I lined up behind Miss Doctor with the rest of the unwanted children. Most of the big boys were gone. Horton was missing—taken, I guessed. But there were still a couple of the babies, including Nellie and Evelyn, with us, and I saw the rest of my group of unlovables: Lacey and Chester, Spud, Mickey Dooley, Joe, and Sammy.

  "Rodzina," said Miss Doctor when she saw me, "Mr. Szprot said you had been taken. What are you doing back here?"

  "They didn't seem to like Polish people," I said.

  She frowned at me. "You cannot just walk away from arrangements we have made for you. You are not in charge. We know what's best for you and are responsible for your welfare. We..." What about being responsible for Gertie? What about her welfare? Miss Doctor went on and on. Finally we began the walk back to the train.