Forgetting Tabitha: An Orphan Train Rider

by Julie Dewey

“I had morning sickness for a few weeks, and it was challenging with Edna hovering. I told her it was a stomach bug and she believed me. Now I feel better, energetic actually, the baby is moving, want to feel?”

  She grabbed my hand before I could say no and placed it directly on her belly, sure enough the baby kicked.

  “Ha! I felt that!” What a delight. Perhaps this was cause for celebration rather than worry and angst. I told Mary so, but she feared over Edna and Pap, not wanting to besmirch their good name.

  “They dislike Scotty, which is not fair. Just because he doesn’t dress like they do and hold a higher degree gives them no cause, no cause at all. He is a man now, Eddie, a truly good man. If he knew I was with child he would find a way through this.”

  “It seems trouble follows him, does it not? Are you sure you won’t change your mind about this?”

  “I am certain. I wanted this. I love this child already and love Scotty more than I ever thought possible.”

  “Well then, I must go find him for you. I will say I have business for the paper. Wait, where do you suppose he is?”

  “He is in the city, the last place you want to go. They won’t believe you, nor will they let you go back to the city un-chaperoned, you are only a boy.”

  “Hmmm, you are right, I never wanted to go back to that rotten place but if I must I will do it. I have to figure out a way to get their permission. I am not a boy, I am a young man. You must stop thinking of me that way. Why New York anyhow? What’s there for Scotty?”

  “He was searching for Pauli and Candy.” Mary told me all about Pauli and Candy, and more about Scotty than I had ever known. He was no different from Mary, myself, or Gert even. We were all survivors. Children that were orphaned for various reasons, with a legacy no less.

  “I have a delicate situation at home, did you hear about my friend Gert?” I proceeded to tell Mary about my trysts with Gert, neither of us was so perfect after all. She was devastated that such a thing could happen in our small town. No matter what, she would see to it that Gert was taken care of. She would volunteer to help her and tend her every need while I was away. I knew this to be true as Gert could be in no better hands than those of the three women I was lucky enough to call my family.

  I rose early the following morning, my bags were packed and I needed only to feign an excuse to go away for a few days. Perhaps I could tell Sarah that seeing Gert in so much distress was just too unsettling, and I needed to go somewhere alone where I could think. She wouldn’t buy the story that the newspaper I worked for on weekends doing deliveries and sometimes articles would send me to the city for business.

  Before I finished contemplating this Sarah was bustling down the hallway towards Gert’s room, but she popped her head in to say good morning to me and dropped a note that was left by Mary earlier while she was heading to tutor a student before school hours.

  The note read;

  My Dearest Edmund, Eddie,

  I simply cannot let you go to New York City; it is no place for a young lad such as yourself. I remember the streets well and am certain I will find my love and be home soon. Please do not concern yourself with me, remember that I survived the streets alone as a very small child, so surely I can do so now. I have taken my allowance with me and will secure a room in a decent hotel. It will feel strange to board a train once more without you in my arms for security. I will miss you. I left Edna and Pap a note, telling them of my predicament. I hope they can find it in their hearts to make room for my child, and forgiveness for me. But I must follow my heart…for I no longer have only myself to think of.

  Love Forever,

  Mary

  I folded the note in fours and tucked it under my mattress, “Oh Mary, what have you done?”

  Chapter 17 The Fight Circuit

  Anger pulsed through my veins with such velocity it was difficult to sit still on the train ride from Binghamton to New York City. Eyes closed, my reverie was induced by the train screeching and winding along the curvaceous tracks, whistling its horn, the scenery outside my window as desolate now as it was all those years ago. Babies cried constantly as they did on my last fateful trip, people mingled, and dined. The only difference was these passengers had specific destinations and were going about their business. Some were on their way to or from a work conference, dressed in a business casual manner, gentlemen in tweed suits, ladies with bonnets and straight dresses, children in colorful prints excited by the adventure they undertook.

  I had not thought this trip would be so burdensome, forcing me to think about what I left behind both in Binghamton now and in the city all those years ago. I reflected on my siblings, little Eli would be a teenager now if he were still alive. Guilt nagged at my insides, making me nauseous at the thought of Eli in a gang or begging for food on a corner somewhere, worse he could be dead along with thousands of other orphans. Thoughts of my mother and father entered my mind although I pushed them aside, not wanting them to interfere with my current frustrated mental state. These thoughts would threaten to pull me down further under my pity, forcing me to wallow all the more from missing Mary and going back to this pit I once called home.

  Upon my arrival I took note that the city had not changed much since I left. The fast moving current of people disregarded the putrid stench of piss and shit that assaulted my nose once again. There were wall to wall people milling about in the Five Points speaking hundreds of languages. Abandoned children still paraded through the streets, picking through garbage and begging for money. The scene was nothing if not pathetic. I was overcome that I was once a child of the streets; did I really look so ragged? I spent many years begging, sweeping, and finally fighting, quite literally for my life. It was more obvious to me now than ever before, had I stayed here and not gone on the orphan train, I would surely be dead.

  I desperately wanted to help the children, put them on the trains that were still in operation and send them towards a chance for a better life. I empathized with their plight and struggle just to stay alive. Pauli helped provide me with food and shelter for a time, but more often than not I was left to my own devices, getting into trouble, fighting for survival, stealing and begging just as thousands of kids were doing now.

  I had to find Pauli and meet the child he and Candy shared, my sibling. He may be able to help me find work and keep my mind from worrying too much about Mary. If they were not here I would bide my time, help as many orphans as possible before going back to Binghamton.

  I desperately missed Mary and promised to get word to her, but that was challenging. So far I had found nothing but trouble. Employment was next to impossible in the city, the more I looked for work the more bereft I became. My money was dwindling fast. The Wrights sent me with fifty dollars, but after spending several nights in a decent hotel and paying for meals I was nearly broke again. What was it about this city that made me feel so incompetent? It was impossible to get ahead.

  I saw posters for ‘world champion fights’ on nearly every street corner. “Vladimir the Victor” was to fight the Irish immigrant named Patrick Kelly tonight. I had to be there, if Pauli was anywhere in this God forsaken city, he would be at a fight.

  I shuffled through the fast moving current of people to the arena on Anthony Street early, donned my old spy hat and slipped unnoticed behind the scenes of each team. Trainers were on hand as well as one or two doctors per team. Back when I fought, there was no doctor, just Pauli, if you broke your nose, he straightened it, and if you were bleeding you taped it. Broken ribs, you suffered through but no one ever required a doctor. This must be one hell of a match up. Vladimir wore faux leather shorts with fur trim; he was an enormous showboat, getting the crowd riled up by filling the arena with taunts and jeers at his opponent’s country. His shoulders were the size of cantaloupes and were just as hairy as the rest of him. He was imposing physically, but when in the ring facing his opponent, he gave him a death glare, his stone face not once twitching. Patrick Kelly bravely entered the ring wearing g
reen shorts to represent his country, the crowd cheered for him. The opening bell rang and Patrick held his own for the first three rounds, using interesting combinations and a fantastic straight punch, but then pain and exhaustion set in. He had taken too many hits to the gut and was no match for Vladimir. He went down ten seconds into the fourth round, when Vladimir searched the crowd, looking for someone else to fight I met his eyes, but was not up to the challenge. Yet.

  I spoke to the bookies asking them what type of money was involved if someone beat Vladimir and how many people had tried? I looked at the crowd mingling around me, thinking if I could find someone meeting Vlad’s stature, I could train him and take a percentage of the winnings to help me get by for the time being. I remembered my skills, had honed them regularly to keep in shape. I also scanned the crowd for Pauli.

  The fight atmosphere tickled my blood; I felt a surge of adrenaline watching the following match ups. Fighting had been a part of my life and once it’s in your blood it’s hard not to get sucked back in. I could practically feel myself in the ring throwing punches, jab, punch, straight, uppercut, and jab. Here was a place where you took matters into your own hands, no one made decisions for you, told you what to do or how.

  Several more days spent searching for Candy and Pauli in Five Points left me broke. I would walk everywhere I went now, and had decided to head further up town and have a look around.

  I was smitten with the Broadway theater notices and posters lining the streets advertising operettas and pantomimes, and even felt tempted towards the museums that had opened in recent years. However, the more I searched the hungrier I grew and more dire my circumstances became. I had checked the Brewery and every other factory known for fighting and gambling in town, and needed to decide whether or not I should stay or face my discord and head home. Home, that was an unusual word coming from an orphaned child, now farm boy, particularly one suspected of heinous crimes.

  I went back to the arena where the fights were held and asked around once more for Pauli and Candice. I got to talking with a trainer and he offered my one hundred dollars in an amateur bout in one week. He said I could use the facilities and eat with their team. They called themselves the ‘Gutter Boys’.

  The Gutter Boys grew up in the dredges of Five Points and were often pitted against one another anyway; they put together a team of ruffians willing to fight and so far had done quite well. They made money because most people bet against them, they were scrappy and smaller than most of their opponents.

  I agreed to the fight. One hundred dollars would get me home and give me some money left over that I could use to start a bank account.

  I started my training immediately, greeting the day with a mixture of hope and fear. I broke my fast with a plate of eggs, fried chicken, plenty of fruit and yogurt and toast, gobbling it down as if it were my last meal.

  It might not be a smart move but it was going to earn me much needed money.

  Chapter 18 Meeting Sonya

  Bereft of emotion while traversing through the countryside from Binghamton to New York, I pushed away thoughts of Sister Agnes in her black habit and the hand whittled wooden cross she wore hanging on its shoestring cord around her neck. The resolute, conservative Mr. and Mrs. Porter, the other chaperones on our train ride west so long ago threatened to creep into and cloud my mind as well. However I tried, it was nearly impossible not to have flashbacks, the stale smell of the train and the feel of the stiff wooden seats catapulted me back in time. The ride west was long and lonely; siblings were ripped apart and sold, fostered or adopted. Uprooted and afraid, the remaining kids on the train cried non-stop. It was my job to wipe runny noses and comfort the neglected children. It was a miserable position; literally gut wrenching to feel unwanted by society and to be ripped from the only anchor keeping you intact. I remembered when Edmund was taken from me, the agony of losing him brought on tremors and night terrors; I was alone again as I am this very moment, but if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was take care of myself.

  I closed my eyes in concentration when thinking about my biological parents, as well as Edmund’s. I spoke with Sister Agnes once on my Edmund’s behalf and found his mother had grown very ill with typhoid fever and had a neighbor bring him to the Sisters of Charity before her death. Typhoid was abundant in New York City on account of the sewage and sludge contaminating the drinking water and food supply. Eddie’s father remained a mystery as was his mother’s occupation. Was she a stripper, a dancer, someone who became impregnated by accident? Or did she and his father love each other? Was he a hero perhaps fighting in the war, was he a deputy attempting to keep order as New York had its largest ever influx of immigrants? Was he murdered? Was he an addict of some sort, or did he in fact hold a responsible job, but die from an accident? This we would never know, but the questions about our families consumed us and poisoned our minds with what ifs.

  Luckily this trip was to be short; a mere four hours on the train would land me in New York City, time enough to formulate a plan. I was feeling a tad woozy and clenched my belly, promising my unborn child that we would find its father. I called on my inner strength, resolute that this trip to New York would accomplish two things. One, I would find Scotty and bring him home with me, and two, I would find Sister Agnes. She was instrumental in turning my life around for the better and I couldn’t wait to visit with her.

  I would begin looking for Scotty in the Five Points, starting in Paradise Square. When the train lurched to a halt at Grand Central Station, I stumbled off the platform, looking about my surroundings expectantly for Scotty. It was wishful thinking, Scotty was not here. But several men did approach me, seeing a single woman unaccompanied in the city left me open for a wide variety of sinister propositions. Men asked where I was staying, they whistled at me and called me a star-gazer. Some even offered to carry my bags, but I declined them all, worried from the stories I heard of young women being kidnapped, and of all things, sold into prostitution. Street thugs appeared out of nowhere wishing to be helpful, but in reality they wanted my wallet, or my virtue, neither which they would get. It was a lawless, corrupt city and my inner child, that scrappy little girl who kicked, hit, and lashed out at strangers, came out to protect me. I walked with my head held high, as my inner child guided me along the grimy city sidewalks, checking my back and keeping me safe until I found my hotel and checked my bags. I had never been in a hotel alone before, but I would manage. I ordered a carriage and set about my way to the Five Points; Walton Street would be my first stop.

  I did not have a photo of Scotty, or of Pauli and Candy, in fact I had never met either of them, but I felt I would recognize them right away if crossing them on the street on account of the detailed descriptions Scotty gave me of their appearance and characters. Walking along Walton Street I saw great amounts of destitution and was overwhelmed with a need to intercede on behalf of the dozens of orphans I saw. I forgot myself, stopping to speak to numerous children; a young girl in rags approached me looking longingly at my food. I shared my sandwich with her on a street bench watching her engulf the bread and its meaty center. She had dark brown eyes, long lashes, and was covered in filth. Her outfit was threadbare, and many sizes too small. She wore no shoes and told me her name was Sonya. I inquired as to her family, and home, but she shrugged her shoulders in answer. She was painfully shy but managing, and fending for herself as so many others did. She became my shadow, following me about the city, her bare feet slapping the mud as I went in search of information on Scotty. I checked the shipping docks, thinking perhaps he picked up work there. When I didn’t see him there I went to the newspaper stands, storefronts, even hotels, but to no avail. Scotty was either currently at work or still in search of it; perhaps he had left the city all together. I had not heard from him in ten weeks and was suddenly panicked and felt very much alone. What if I never found him, I would have to go home tail between my legs and face Edna and Pap, Sarah and Uncle Sam, as well as Edmund. What would they think of me
now, that I was a no good hussy, a loose wanton woman willing to give up her future of a school teacher for one quick tumble with Scotty? It wasn’t like that and if I had to go back alone I would make sure they saw how much I loved Scotty, that he didn’t take my virtue, I gave it to him willingly, with great love. I summoned my courage at the thought of the baby and continued on my quest.

  I changed my course of action and went to several homes for unwed mothers, asking for Candy. I described her in as much detail I could, providing dates and explaining my predicament. However, no one had any record of Candy staying within their confines, and or giving birth to a child there.

  I continued my search, noting Sonya was still following me. I was feeling parched and hungry and the baby’s weight was tugging at my belly in a curious way. I had not been on my feet this much in several months and knew my body was taxed. I sat on a corner bench under a blossoming maple, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. I wished I had brought a bonnet not for propriety sake but to shield my eyes from the day’s bright sun. I closed my eyes and imagined it was 1860, so long ago. The hustle and bustle sounded the same, people came and went into and out of shops, vendors sold papers and shaved ice with flavorings, boys offered shoe shines on every corner, and the clip clop of horse hooves echoed between the buildings. The smell was no better now than it was in my past, in fact the sewage problem seemed to be more pronounced, sludge was everywhere, and I had to lift my dress so as not to ruin my hem line. My shoes were covered in slop. I would be sure to clean them properly in my hotel room, where I promised to be grateful for a proper bed and warm water to bathe in.

  I beckoned Sonya out from behind the maple and asked her to sit with me and keep me company. Together we watched a black and white finch, no bigger than the palm of my hand, flitter about building a nest in the treetops. Sonya was missing several of her teeth and I guessed she was perhaps seven years old; she spoke very little, though she seemed to understand what I said to her. I decided she would become my companion for the time being, she lived here now among the corruption and knew more about the city’s underworld. I hated to admit it but I was thinking of the fight circuit. If Scotty was unable to find work, or his family, my gut feeling told me he would either look to enter a fight or at the very least observe them and perhaps lay a wager or two.