by Neil Enock
I was there. And children are my oath-sworn duty.
Back then, they weren’t generally called Orphan Trains, and no one thought ill of a family expecting a child to work a farm alongside adults — all farmers’ children did. And many of the children sent west weren’t teens fit for physical labor, but young children abandoned by impoverished parents, rescued from slums where parents had died of disease or addiction, or surrendered to churches by parents who either had not wanted them or wanted them to have a better life.
As I said, I generally wasn’t worried about these. East coast cities suffered tens of thousands of homeless children, but orphanages were scarcer in the west. A family wanting to adopt had little option but the out-placement children arriving on the train, and competition could be fierce.
We arrived at a restaurant which had been cleared of tables to make room. Reverend Shapes and Sister Charity sorted the children and asked them to please stand still and talk to the nice ladies and gentlemen, and stop chewing your hair, Agatha.
A woman in a pale dress, clearly her Sunday best for this occasion, kneeled on the swept floor to address this Agatha, with a man looking stoically hopeful close behind her. “We’ve waited ever so long for God to bring us a child. Would you like to come and be our little girl?”
She nodded, hair still in her mouth but smiling now, and the woman enfolded her into a warm embrace, squeezing her eyes against tears.
At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened, as the sight was a little blurry for me, too. As I said, children are my duty, charged by the Queen herself. My task is to protect human children from human threats. I have enough Fae blood, too, that it’s more than just duty.
I slipped down the line to where the male youths were clustered, trying to look detached and pleasant and unconcerned and useful all at once. The two pleased men were there, too, watching from a distance. I stepped up to the boys and put out my hand to the one who had scented danger on the platform. “Welcome to Indiana. I’m Robin Archer.”
“Hello, sir.” He hesitated, just for an instant — clever lad — but did not say more.
I gave him a secret smile to acknowledge that he was right to hesitate. This would be simpler if he trusted me. “Who are they?”
“Who?” he said, too quickly.
Well, I suppose he wouldn’t trust me so quickly. “The two men, the ones you recognized on the platform.”
His eyes widened. “You — you know, too?”
“I know nothing except that you know them, and would rather not.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing going on, sir.”
This wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. “Let me know if you need a friend. Good luck to you all, boys.”
A beefy farmer walked up; his face solemn. “Good afternoon, boys. I’ll be honest, I’m looking for farm help. I lost my oldest son last year, and it’s hard keeping up. I’ve got two younger sons and a daughter, and my wife’s a true angel, but there’s just so much to farming and I need the hands. It’s hard work, but it’s honest and I’ll pay you a fair wage, and you’ll live like one of the family.”
One of the New York boys sniffed a derisive laugh, but another lifted his chin and said, “I appreciate your honesty, sir, and I’d be glad of a chance to try your work. I figure if a fight with the Plug-Uglies can’t scare me, there’s not much to your farm work which can.”
The farmer’s tanned face creased into a grin. “We’ll see if you still talk that way when you got a sore cow that needs milking.” He put out a hand. “I’m Sam Miller.”
“Davey Cotters, sir.”
I drifted back, watching the other children and prospective homes. It wasn’t common here, but every water hole could draw predators, so it was good to keep an eye open.
A young boy pointed giddily to a couple in the crowd. “Are you Red Indians?” he demanded.
Look, it was a different time. He was a street child from an east-coast city of mostly European immigrants where the native populations had long gone, and the West was hardly more than the fantastic stuff of adventure stories. He would learn better. You would have done no differently in his place.
The couple laughed, and the man turned to the boy. “I’m not, but my wife is half, and some of our neighbors are Miami. One of them gave me this for our new son.” He drew off the bow and arrow, tucked into a small quiver, which had caught the child’s eye.
It was a real bow, unstrung and somewhat downsized, and the boy’s eyes were saucer-wide as he reached to touch it. “Wow,” he breathed.
The couple exchanged glances, and the wife stepped forward. “Would you like to talk a while?” she invited.
I left them to their introductions and walked on, scanning the crowd and watching the children. They were mostly starting to relax, giggling and talking with the anxious would-be parents.
“I don’t see Greenly anywhere,” someone was saying quietly to the mayor. “I think he stayed out of town today.”
“Good, good.” The mayor nodded. “I didn’t want to have to order him out. Poor man. We all felt bad denying him, but I told him we just can’t entrust a child to a man who hasn’t got that drink under control.”
I joined them. “Pardon me, sirs.”
“I’m Mayor Landa. Pleased to meet you.”
“Robin Archer, thank you. Pardon me, but did those men apply to your committee?” I indicated the two who had smiled on the platform.
The businessmen frowned. “I don’t know that I’ve seen those men before. Are they local fellows?”
“I think they’re here for a boy.”
The mayor straightened with importance. “Not without approval from the committee. We have a responsibility.”
So did I, and those men made the boy uncomfortable, which made me uncomfortable.
Sam Miller and Davey Cotters were waiting to speak to Reverend Shapes, and I took the opportunity. “Davey,” I said, “my name is Robin Archer. What can you tell me about that boy?”
He followed my eyes. “Who, Harry? We knew each other before. Before the train, I mean. What do you want to know?”
“How does he know the men watching him?”
“What men?”
To be fair, Davey had his own concerns today. “Did Harry have any kind of trouble which could follow him out here?”
Davey shrugged. “His dad’s in prison. Harry wasn’t a part of that, don’t be scared of him, sir.”
“No worry there, Davey. Thank you.”
The initial rush around the children had slowed, and now Sister Charity was introducing them and prompting each to say hello. I saw the pleased men slip toward the rear door, and I rushed for the front. I eased around the corner, between the two buildings, and paused just at the rear corner, where I could hear voices and the splash of liquid against the planking. Smell it, too. Disgusting.
“What if he doesn’t want to tell us where it is?”
“Give me an hour with that boy, he’ll want to tell every secret he ever had.”
“He was doing okay for himself after Big Harry got picked up. He might be a bit of a scrapper.”
“Not tied to a chair, he ain’t. And nobody’s enough of a scrapper to stand up to what I’ve been thinking. We start by smashing one toe, see, and move through every bone of the foot one at a time, just one foot, and then up, and then—”
“Shut up, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t want any part of that.”
“You won’t be so squeamish when we get our hands on that money. You’ll want a piece of it, then.”
“I was a part of that job too. That money’s part mine already. Don’t try to cut me out of this.”
“It was Big Harry who cut us out. Only fair that his boy make it right.”
There was a rustle of cloth as they repackaged themselves, and then the squeak of hinges.
<
br /> It was a jaded story, asking a child about a father’s hidden loot, but criminals never tired of cliché. Though Harry wouldn’t see the weariness of it if these two got hold of him.
I circled the building and returned through the front door. I worked my way back to Harry, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. I leaned beside him and propped a heel on the wall. “They knew your father?”
He scowled. “I knew you were lying.”
“No, I didn’t know when I asked. I know now, just as I know they plan to take you and make you tell where the money is hidden.”
“And I suppose you want to help.”
“I’d like to.”
He laughed. “I’m not so dumb. Oldest touch in the book, to set up the threat and then pose someone as the angel to get you out, only the angel is part of the same gang. But usually they don’t dress up an actual woman as the angel.”
“I’m not a woman,” I said with a sigh.
He gave me a skeptical look.
“Nor a man, either,” I agreed.
His skepticism turned to a confused frown.
“And I’m not an angel, real or false. I’m something else entirely. And my task, whether you believe me or not, is to keep you and the others who came on the train safe.”
He snorted. “Sounds like an angel to me.”
“I don’t need you to believe in me, Harry. Only to believe me.” I flicked my eyes to the two men, now at the far side of the room. “Don’t go with them, no matter what they offer you.”
“Not likely.”
“Good.” I started away.
“Hey.”
I turned back.
“I don’t know where it is.”
“I don’t care,” I answered. “That’s not what I’m here for.”
He blinked once, and I walked away.
The little boy was now clutching the Miami quiver to his chest with one hand, hugging it like another child might hug a doll, and grinning fiercely as he held the wife’s hand with the other. It looked like that had ended well.
I saw Mayor Landa and one of the two men in close conversation across the room. The mayor looked uncomfortable. I started toward them.
“Sir, this is irregular, and we have the children’s welfare to consider—”
“You got no reason to think I won’t take excellent care of that boy,” the man said. “You got nothing bad said against me.”
“I don’t have much good said for you either, Mr. Smith, and I don’t know you well enough to hand a child over to you.”
“That’s no child, that’s nearly a man, and he’s been handling himself all right in a New York street gang, so what do you think he’s got to fear from me? Ain’t I got a right to adopt same as any other citizen?”
Mayor Landa caught sight of me behind Smith and seemed to remember his declaration. “The same as any other approved citizen, yes, and you haven’t been approved. If you want to apply to the committee, sir, that’s fine, and there’ll be another train along—”
“I don’t want to wait that long!” snapped Smith — if that was his real name. “I want that boy, today.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr. Smith,” said the mayor firmly.
“See if you get re-elected,” growled Smith, turning away.
I followed him at a distance and worked my way to the rear of the crowd, edging closer to Smith and his companion. It was hard to pick out their whispers over the happy chatter.
“…not gonna work.”
“What if we just follow home whoever adopts him? Take him from there?”
“Only if he ain’t adopted here, he gets back on the train, and we have to…”
They pushed their heads closer together, and I couldn’t hear more.
Well, now there were more people at risk than just Harry, which was bad enough. I worked my way back to Mayor Landa. “Excuse me, Mayor, but do you have a sheriff here?”
“Sure, Sheriff Tillerson. Why?”
“Call him here, and I’ll explain.”
“He’s probably around, it being such a big day.” The mayor turned to scan the crowd, and I turned with him.
Which is why neither of us were prepared for Smith to jump forward and pistol-whip Harry solidly in the face. Scrapper or not, Harry wasn’t expecting a sucker punch with the butt of a revolver, and he was staggered.
Smith grabbed the stunned boy and pulled him around between himself and the startled onlookers. “I’ll be taking this one with me,” he said, leveling the gun and swinging it slowly back and forth to cover the room. “Looks like none of you had your heart particularly set on him, so I guess you won’t mind much.” He started for the door, pulling Harry with him. The boy’s face was bleeding and he wasn’t recovered enough yet to fight back.
Normally I carried a Colt 1877 Thunderer, which would have been enough to end the situation promptly. Smith was looking back and forth over the whole room, leaving small openings, and if you know anything about me or my kind, you know a quick shot over a slouching boy would have been simplicity itself. But the M1877 had a delicate temperament and was at this moment deposited with a gunsmith for yet another repair on the trigger spring. I had only my bare hands for stopping Smith.
Harry blinked and tried to rub blood from his eye, and Smith gave him a little shake. “Nothing funny, boy, or I’ll lay you another,” he warned.
Harry’s eyes caught mine, and everything he’d protested was vaporized in his pain and fear. His voice was small but clear. “Help.”
Smith snatched up Harry and bolted out the door, jerking it shut behind him. By the time we had it open again and pushed the crowd of us through, they were on a bay horse. Smith had Harry half in front of him, still using him as a shield as he turned the horse up the main road.
“Stop him!” cried Reverend Shapes. “Don’t let him take him!”
“That’s my horse!” shouted someone else. “He stole my horse!”
“Somebody has to have a gun!”
“Don’t shoot! You’ll hit the boy!”
Smith spurred the startled horse past the crowd and pulled Harry around to cover his back.
The young boy who was going to live near the Miami was gaping beside me, and I snatched his precious new bow and braced it to string. It wasn’t a heavy draw. There was only one arrow, but then, there was only one abductor.
Mayor Landa saw me and pointed, as if I could have missed the object of all our consternation. “Stop them! Shoot the horse!”
I nocked the arrow, sighted on the galloping figures, adjusted for distance and wind and speed and the horse’s rocking stride. I released.
Portals to the Twilight Land are brutally difficult for me. I cannot charm humans into cheerful cooperation. I cannot sing to shame the birds, I cannot craft magic armor, I cannot give golden coins which turn in the morning to twigs and leaves. My one true inheritance is the special gift of projectiles beyond human skill. I prefer the firearm, as you know today, but I am capable with a bow.
The arrow sped, arced, and plunged over Harry’s wide-eyed stare into Smith’s neck. He convulsed, and the horse balked at the cruel yank on the reins. Smith and Harry tumbled to the dirt, where Smith kicked one leg and reached uselessly for the arrow.
“You shot him!” gasped Mayor Landa.
“Of course,” I said. “The horse didn’t do anything.”
I started at a run. Harry rolled and began to crawl away. I ignored the high-tailed horse as it circled, going directly to Smith and bending to jerk the arrow free. He screamed and choked. I didn’t much care. “Shove a bandana or something in that if you want to live,” I suggested.
I turned to see a man closing on us with a Remington in his hands. “You must be Sheriff Tillerson,” I said. “Better arrest him quick.”
“And what about you, mister?” he s
aid. “We all just watched you shoot a man.”
“To save a life,” I said. I reached out and caught the collar of Harry’s shirt as he stood, half-restraining and half-supporting him. “Ask young Harry here, and I think he’ll tell you this so-called Smith is wanted for robbery. Part of his gang is already in prison. There might be a bounty on him.”
Harry nodded shakily. “That’s true. All of it. He helped steal fifty thousand dollars two years ago, down in Indianapolis. Killed a teller. And Smith is his real name.”
Well, even I can be surprised.
The sheriff trained his gun on the downed Smith. “I’d be obliged if one of you would fetch me the doctor and my handcuffs.”
I pulled Harry close and we started walking back to the crowd of people surging toward us. We didn’t have much time. “You didn’t want anyone to know about your father being in prison.”
He grunted. “I know how it is out here,” he said. “They think we don’t, but we do. They don’t want a kid they think is going to be trouble. They already know we’re street kids, gang members. When they find my dad’s in prison for robbing and killing—”
“Reverend Brace set up out-placement because he believes blood doesn’t breed true,” I interrupted. “He thinks the eugenics men are wrong. He thinks if you take a child out of the trap of poverty and crime, he can learn something other than poverty and crime. That’s the reason behind these trains in the first place. The question is, do you agree with him?”
Harry shook his head. “No, the question is, do these people agree with him?”
“Indianapolis just opened free kindergarten for both white and colored children. Look how many of these folk showed up for you, even knowing what you just said about streets and gangs. And look at me. These kids left on church doorsteps — I was one of those, with a note asking them to bury me when I died. Things like me don’t usually live.”
He looked up at me, blood glistening on his face.
