Forgetting Tabitha: An Orphan Train Rider

by Julie Dewey

  I had only been at the home for three weeks when one morning while making the bed I shared with a girl of fourteen, named Mira, I noted my few belongings scattered across the floor. There before me was the photo of my mother ripped up into pieces. I could no longer control my anger, I had been a good Christian girl for so long but I had so few items left. I ran to find Mira nearing the showers and clocked her one right in the nose. I didn’t stop there, I punched, kicked and hit her ferociously until her friend Dottie was able to get her arms around me from behind and pull me off. I knew it was Mira, she called me a bratty kid, told me I had it easy and I had it coming to me. She told me I needed to toughen up and forget my mama. She heard me crying in my sleep and knew I had a treasured object under my side of the mattress.

  Mira was bleeding badly and I was glad. All the anger I had bottled up since my mama died just came out of me and I couldn’t control it. Tears streamed down my face in torrents and mixed with my snot, which I wiped on my thin woolen blanket that spread evenly across my portion of the bed. My breathing was rapid and I clenched my teeth, deciding what to do next.

  I was not allowed dinner and had a meeting with the ward of the Elizabeth Home at six that evening. While everyone was in the dining hall eating their gruel I quietly grabbed my belongings from the floor along with the tattered pieces of my photograph and ran for the door. I ran without stopping until I found the stoop on Mulberry Street and sat down breathless. Letting my anger and sadness pour out of me I cried and punched at the stairs until my fists bled.

  I waited for Scotty, Tommy and Karen to appear all night but none of them came. It was cold and blustery; I tried to stay awake and make myself unnoticeable by pulling my knees up to my stomach and slinking deeper in the corner. I worried about the bolloxed men who would be leaving the pubs soon. I woke to street sounds, boot blacks setting up their stations, trains and horns screeching and honking, I had fallen asleep sometime near dawn. My fingers were swollen and blue, my toes near frozen. I went to the shop to get my sweeping job back but the matronly woman shooed me away. I had nowhere to go and nowhere to turn. I was alone and scared.

  I missed my da and the old Irish tunes he sang sweetly to us after dinner, and the way he was always coddin’ around. I missed my mama for more reasons than I could count. I even missed Mrs. Canter and all her handouts. I had only one choice…. I wiped my bloody hands across my dirty skirt, pulled up my knee socks, sucked in my breath and walked towards my destiny.

  Chapter 4 Orphan Train

  “Children, children, line up for your breakfast.” The Sisters clapped their hands to organize us in a single file line before leading us into the mess hall where we were fed a hot morning meal of porridge with chunks of fruit and sweet milk. Afterwords they bathed us, putting our worn clothes in a large pile to be burned, claiming cleanliness was godliness. I thought it wasteful and remembered how my mama wove scraps of old material into her knitting giving it new life, but here we were to dispose of our old clothing for fear of flees and lice. We were stripped of our personal belongings too but I managed to smuggle the tattered remains of my photo into my underwear before anyone got a hold of it. Our hair was washed, brushed and braided and we were dressed in proper dresses complete with bows around our middles. The boys were in suit coats, long socks, knickers and dress shoes. What little hair I had was made desirable with a feminine pink headband. I hated pink and I hated headbands even more but the Sisters said I needed to look young, cute and especially clean. We were given instruction on proper manners, for example, the Sisters told us over and over “don’t speak unless spoken to” as well as “clasp your hands together and stand still, no fidgeting.” We were to smile and be expressive when meeting our prospective families, hiding our pain, burying it deep.

  Then we were given new names.

  “You will be named Mary.” Sister Agnes handed me a Bible and told me to hold it close to my chest.

  “Mary?” I stuttered.

  “Yes, it’s a very comely name and now you must erase anything about your old self or any religious beliefs you have had in the past. Can you read Mary?” Sister Agnes asked.

  “Yes, I can.” I could hardly get used to my new name, but I could read.

  “Well then study the Bible, fill your mind with pure thoughts and set about being the best Christian you possibly can. Can you do that?”

  “Uh huh.” I uttered very quietly.

  The following morning we boarded a massive train following the Erie route west heading for Illinois; it would travel northwest through New York before making stops in all the major cities in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana along the way. Our stops were coordinated ahead of our arrival by the Sisters who corresponded with churches at our destinations. They did their best to describe the ages and demeanors of the children on board the Orphan Train to interest local families who wanted a child of their own or were in need of farm hands. The laboring children were given over freely in exchange for their care that consisted of clothing, a bed to sleep in at night, and a few hot meals throughout the day. Most of the children were hoping they would be loved as well.

  WANTED:

  HOMES FOR ORPHAN CHILDREN

  A group of orphans under the auspices of the Sisters of Charity

  Will arrive in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania on November 1st

  Children on board looking for homes and or work include:

  Baby girl of 6 months, good disposition

  Female siblings ages 11 months and 2, in good health

  Boy of 4; small for his size, good demeanor

  Twin girls age unknown, criss crossed eyes, shy, otherwise good health

  Boy of 6; blue eyes, blond hair, quiet and shy, adequate health

  Siblings 7 and 8, a boy and girl respectively, friendly and hard working.

  Girl of 10 with short hair, malnourished, previous experience as laundress

  Twin boys aged 12, hard workers, experience with horses

  Boy of 13 with reading and writing skills and good singing voice

  2 boys of 14, well fed, disciplined workers, nice disposition

  4 lads 15 years old with various work experience, all capable and healthy.

  PLEASE NOTE: SIBLINGS KEPT TOGETHER WHENEVER POSSIBLE.

  Sister Agnes had frizzy brown hair that always strayed from her bun and she wore wire spectacles with thick glass making her eyes appear like large saucers. Her frame was wiry like her hair but she was otherwise unremarkable in her appearance, it was her genuine kindness that became evident to all the children she was to chaperone for the trip. She pushed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath; already overwhelmed by the task of managing so many orphans. There were a dozen and a half of us for the trip and at the last minute a blubbering child of five, who was very small and undernourished for his age was added to the mix making for nineteen. The child was given the Christian name, Edmund.

  “Mary, will you be kind enough to look after Edmund today?” Agnes asked placing the child beside me and settling him with a snack.

  Several hours later, she approached the two of us again. “Well he seems to be doing quite well in your company, perhaps he can be your charge for the trip, would that be all right with you?” she asked.

  “Certainly Sister,” I responded, unwilling to do or say anything that wasn’t Christian. I had never cared for a child before but remembered my mama’s words, “we do what we must to help others and get by.”

  Edmund was a clingy child who was not on the Want Ad because of his late addition. It was obvious he had not been properly cared for as he was not fully potty trained and had very few words to his vocabulary. He sucked his thumbs and had difficulty making eye contact. He was ornery and sickly, always crying with snotty boogies, eye mucus, and a whistling sound emanating from his chest. It gagged me but if I were to become a Christian I would have to do my best to care for Edmund, which meant wiping his snot and patting his back so he could cough up the thick phlegm plaguing his chest and
causing him distress. He held onto me for dear life, making me wonder what his five years had been like up until now. I asked Agnes what was on my mind and she said, “never mind about that, all that matters is what happens now.” It would be a difficult placement not only due to his poor health but he had pressing dark features. His skin was olive toned and his hair was dark like his eyes. If he was mistaken for a Spaniard he had no chance whatsoever for adoption. His nose was big for his face and his lashes were long and dark, he was a pretty boy although he was extremely shy.

  I was going to be lucky to get adopted. I was a freckle faced ten year old, had untamed spiky reddish hair that made me look like a boy in spite of my headband and calico dress. I ate like a boy and fought like a boy if anyone tried to cheat me. I had developed a chip on my shoulder according to Agnes. Adoptive parents wanted babies and darling children or conversely they wanted strapping lads who could work a farm. I was neither and Edmund was neither and as we found at our first stop, we were not wanted.

  The first stop west was in Pennsylvania. It only took us half a day by train to get there so the children on board weren’t weary from travel although our bums were sore from the wooden bench seats. Typically, the small children rode in the carriages with Sister Agnes while the older charges road in the boxcars, becoming known as “boxcar children.” We wore our traveling outfit aboard the train and were now instructed to change into our Christian attire. I put on my dress with bow and changed Edmund’s nappy, which gagged me at once given the gigantic size of the turd he delivered. He held in his bowel movements for days, giving him stomach cramps and then when he had to go it was epic. I dressed him in the suit he was given for formal attire. I had to change him frequently as he only had one alternative outfit and if he should have an accident there were no basins to wash the clothing in properly. I put my photograph shreds snuggly against my underwear seam and smoothed my skirt as I had seen my mother do. We were told to forget where we came from, forget our old lives and old selves and even our names but I would NEVER forget my mother.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tight to prevent the tears that were welling in my heart from spilling out. The city and all of its memories, both good and bad, were behind me now, my mother and father were dead and I was alone in the world. As I held Edmund nestled to my chest, feeling the vibration from his wheeze, a tear escaped, I quickly wiped it, sucked in my breath and made the decision to look forward. I would try.

  As the train neared its destination the nineteen orphans were given further instructions on how to behave on the platform.

  “Remember, children, only speak when spoken to, your new families want respectful children, show your manners and smile!” Sister Agnes handed out lemon flavored lollipops and allowed us a few moments to suckle them. Several of the train riders were crying and others clutching their stomachs. Agnes assured us that, “we were God’s children and there was a place for each of us.” She told us to hold our chins up and think of our bright future. When lollipops were finished and faces wiped clean, Sister inspected our clothing and ushered us from the train to the platform, touching each child in some way, a gentle hand on the shoulder or a pat on the back, her way of providing assurance and confidence to us.

  “Stay together now children, line up in order of height like we practiced. Taller children stand in the back, smaller ones in the front.” Sister Agnes spoke as we took our places on the stage in Philadelphia’s town center. The sugar surge from the lollipops helped to lighten our spirits and energize us before greeting the families that gathered in anticipation of our arrival. I held the pint sized Edmund’s hand and wiped his sticky chin, and then smiled my brightest smile. Someone had to think I was worthy. I could work hard and could even read and write. I tried putting Edmund down on the ground to stand on his own but he wouldn’t have it. Nor would he go to Agnes, he fussed and cried which brought on a coughing fit causing a spectacle ensuring that no one would want him at this destination. However, when he got back into the fold of my arms he calmed right down and laid his sweet cheeks on my neck. His tears and snot wet the rim of my dress collar but I didn’t mind, when it dried I would just flake it off. My arms grew tired from holding him but my heart wept; poor Edmund, whatever happened to him in his short life? He was endearing himself to me and I would do whatever I could to help him find a home.

  After an hour on the splintered wooden platform paraded like cattle, four children were officially adopted. Two big strapping fellows that rode in the boxcar were taken together by a dairy farmer; the boys seemed glad of it and thanked Sister Agnes for her kindness. It was very Christian of them and I put it in my head to remember for when my time came. Then two of our youngest went to a couple who must have been unable to bear their own children. The proud parents held the babies up in delight, cuddling and kissing them already.

  Sadly, fifteen of us remained orphans and boarded the train once more feeling an uncanny mix of apprehension and excitement as we headed towards our second destination in Ohio. The smaller children were terrified of the dark and had difficulty sleeping. Edmund’s lungs rattled and wheezed at night and his coughing fits kept the majority of us awake. I laid him across my lap and pat his back with cupped hands and this did help bring up the phlegm that clogged his airways. He had no place to spit the mucus so he swallowed it down once more. Agnes did her best to quell the fears of the kids by singing lullabies at night and sacrificing her own sleep to ensure everyone was comfortable, warm, and felt safe.

  Aside from a quiet thirteen year old boy I was the oldest charge in the carriage portion of the train so I did my best to help calm the children. I told them stories from my days on the farm, describing the funny things the animals did. I told them about Harriett the hen who chased me around her pen when I tried to steal her eggs, she would cluck and flap her wings at me while I gathered our breakfast. I told them of my pony Oliver too and how I used to brush and braid his long tail sometimes adding wooden beads in the braid for decoration. However, when Sister Agnes heard me recounting my days on the farm she reminded me I was to forget everything from my past. I had difficulty making up stories so I relied on the few my mama told me; Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood were favorites.

  The children grew more sullen as we traveled west, tummies grumbled and germs passed between us causing colds and numerous fevers. We were given pails containing a snack of crackers and orange juice to curb our appetites until we stopped at night for a more filling supper. Our dinners were preceded by a prayer, and if we were able to coordinate our meal with a stop we would gather with those from the box car and take our supper together. Dinners included fresh bread, sweet milk, a protein, and green, and while the food was not delectable it was more than most of us had seen before so we gobbled it down.

  I learned later that many of the children aboard the train were from my ward and that some of them had parents that were alive. They were handed over to strangers for numerous reasons. Some folks were doing hard time in jail, others were drunkards or drug addicts who had fallen prey to the opium dens, the majority, however, were financially incapable of caring for their children. The poverty stricken city produced so much crime resulting from immigration that even those with good intentions handed their flesh and blood to the Sisters hoping they would have a better life in the country. The thirteen year old boy with the lovely singing voice and sunken eyes told me that his mother was a prostitute and could no longer care for him. I held his hand tightly, knowing he felt abandoned and unwanted like I did. I thanked my lucky stars above that I had a good mama who would never sell me out or send me away as long as she was alive. I felt a little remorse towards the girl who I beat up at the Girls’ home because she must not have had any love before and didn’t know just how nice a comfort it was.

  As the train rolled along westward we made several stops at churches, opera houses and town halls. Agnes handed out sweets and repeated her instructions, then we cleaned our faces and marched onto the platform where we put on our b
est show, smiling, being delightful, and praying for a family to want us. Many boys didn’t necessarily want families but rather work and often that is what they were offered. As long as they were fed and had a bed at night the family could adopt them for free in exchange for their labor. The next two boys adopted out went to a mill owner who wished to expand his operation. They were given room and board in exchange for work and seemed quite happy about it, they said their goodbyes to those of us left on the train and started their new lives.

  Several more babies and toddlers were adopted by families that would love them as their own. You could see it in the eyes of the new parents, the tenderness they showed when examining their prospective new child, counting their fingers and toes. There was love in their embrace when all the paperwork requirements were met and they were able to take their child home. It was something to marvel at, the way parents just knew which child was meant for them. I couldn’t deny the children this love although I was growing more anxious and insecure as the train traveled west, changing lines from the Erie to the Lackawanna in Chicago.

  Edmund was painfully shy and guarded. He gripped my hand tighter than ever and particularly so on the platform. One eager man came towards Eddie, as I had begun to call him. He tried to be friendly and get Eddie to talk before he stuck his dirt-ridden fingers in the little guy’s mouth to examine his teeth. Eddie chomped right down on them, spitting out the yucky residue left from the stranger’s fingers and proceeded to wail so loudly that any attention he called to him or to me for that matter was unwanted. I took Edmund back into the train that afternoon and cuddled him as if he were mine. He was a lovely child once you got past his quirky behaviors, fears, and snotty nose. As long as I had Eddie to care for I would surely never be given a home. But I secretly liked being needed by Eddie and grew to adore him.