The Orphan Collector

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  “Yes, Sister Ernestine,” the girls said in unison.

  Without another word, Sister Ernestine left and the room went dark. The door shut and the key turned in the dead bolt. The only sounds were her footsteps clomping down the hall and the night wind whistling through the cracks around the windows. After a long minute, the girls started whispering and giggling. Someone started humming. Someone else cried softly into her pillow. Gigi curled up beside Pia and put an arm around her, mumbling something Pia didn’t understand.

  “Welcome to ward six, Pia,” a voice said in the dark. It sounded like it came from the next bed.

  “What kind of name is Pia?” someone else said in a mocking tone.

  A girl snickered, and another joined in.

  “I was named after my great-grandmother,” Pia said. She started to say her name was German, then stopped. Who knew what the other girls had been taught before they came to the orphanage?

  “Well, don’t thank your mother for that,” the mocking voice said.

  Some of the girls giggled.

  “Don’t listen to them,” a third voice said. It sounded like Jenny.

  Pia sat up on one elbow and looked around the room, trying to see her. It was too dark.

  “Can we call you Pia piddle?” someone said.

  “How about wee-wee?”

  “Maybe her mother thought she was a real pisser.”

  More laughter.

  “Stop it,” Jenny said. “Her mother died from the purple death.”

  Several gasps sounded around the room and the laughter subsided.

  “Did you see her die?” the first voice said.

  “Yeah, tell us what happened,” the mocking voice said. “Did her eyes bleed all over her face?”

  “Don’t say that,” Jenny said. “You’ll scare the littles.”

  “Oh, come on,” the mocking voice said. “We all saw what happened to Sister Anne.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have to talk about it,” Jenny said. “I had nightmares for a solid week after she collapsed in the recreation room. So did Gigi.”

  “We all did,” someone else said.

  “I didn’t see my mother die,” Pia said. “When I woke up in the morning she was already gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” a small voice said.

  “Me too,” someone else said.

  “My mother is coming back to get me soon,” the small voice said.

  “No, she’s not,” the mocking voice said. “I told you a hundred times, Sister Ernestine is lying. She told you that so you’d stop crying. She tells all the kids that.”

  “She does not!” the small voice cried. “My mother is coming back! She told me she was!”

  “Shhh,” Jenny said. “Be quiet. Do you want to get punished again?”

  Everyone stopped talking and the room grew quiet. Iron bed legs creaked and bodies moved on mattresses.

  Then Jenny whispered, “Pia?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If Sister Ernestine catches anyone talking or crying after lights out, they get three lashes with a leather strap. And don’t get scared if she comes into the room in the middle of the night to force us out to the outhouse. She does that sometimes, mostly when she’s in a bad mood.”

  “Yeah,” the mocking voice said. “And she makes us sit two to a hole and stay there until we go. Even in the winter.” Whoever it was, she sounded sad and solemn now.

  “Thanks for telling me,” Pia said.

  “Welcome,” Jenny said.

  Then the room went quiet again.

  Pia turned toward the window and lay on her side, tears filling her eyes. Somehow, she had to get out of there.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Sister Ernestine burst into the room a few minutes after sunrise with brooms and a wicker basket. She left them by the door and marched down the rows of beds, yanking the covers off and slapping anyone who didn’t get up right away. Before she reached Gigi’s bed, Pia shook Gigi to wake her, realizing at the same time that her nightdress felt wet. She lifted the blanket and looked underneath. Urine soaked the sheet and one side of her nightdress. The other girls were already up and making their beds. Pia jumped up, dragged Gigi off the mattress, and set her on her feet, half-awake and mumbling. Her small, wrinkled nightie hung yellow and wet around her thin legs. Trying to hide the stain, Pia pulled the blanket up to the pillow. Sister Ernestine stopped at the foot of the bed and glared at her wet nightdress.

  “Strip the bed, Miss Lange!” she yelled.

  Pia did as she was told, the stench of urine filling her nostrils. Sister Ernestine grabbed Gigi by the arm and dragged her into the aisle.

  “You know what happens to wet-the-beds,” Sister Ernestine snarled.

  Gigi started to cry, struggling to break free of her grasp. Sister Ernestine pulled a leather strap from beneath her habit and lifted it in the air. Pia rushed toward her, one hand up to block the strap, the other reaching for Gigi.

  “Stop!” she cried. “She didn’t do it!”

  Sister Ernestine froze, staring at her. “What did you say, Miss Lange?”

  “I said she didn’t do it.”

  “I heard that, but apparently you’ve already forgotten the proper way to address me.”

  “I’m sorry, Sister Ernestine. She didn’t do it, Sister Ernestine.”

  A savage glee danced in the nun’s eyes. “Then who did?”

  “Me, Sister Ernestine,” Pia said. “I did it.”

  Sister Ernestine let go of Gigi, who ran whimpering into Jenny’s arms. “Come take your punishment then, Miss Lange.”

  “But it was . . . it was my first night here, Sister Ernestine,” Pia said. “I was exhausted and scared and I didn’t know if I was allowed to get up to relieve myself. And I don’t know where to go. I tried to hold it, but I—”

  “That’s no excuse,” Sister Ernestine said. She gestured for Pia to move closer, the leather strap hanging from one hand. The other girls stood silent, barely moving. A few of the younger ones started to cry. Pia did as she was told and closed her eyes, bracing herself. The leather strap hissed through the air and slapped against her wet nightdress, hitting the back of her thighs like a knife. Her knees gave out and she collapsed on the floor, her thighs on fire. It felt like her skin had split open. She turned over and held her arms up to protect herself, tears streaming down her hot cheeks. The nun lifted the strap again, ready to strike a second time.

  “Please, Sister Ernestine,” Pia begged. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Sister Ernestine let the strap down. “It better not, Miss Lange,” she said. “And I’m not talking about the mess. I punished you for lying. Gigi wets the bed every night. Now tell me, did you learn your lesson?”

  Pia gritted her teeth against the pain and struggled to her feet. “Yes, Sister Ernestine,” she managed.

  “Good,” she said. “Now don’t forget it.” She slipped the strap back beneath her habit. “I know you don’t believe it now, but someday you’ll thank me for being hard on you. The sooner you learn right from wrong, the easier your life will be.” She looked around. “Isn’t that right, girls?”

  “Yes, Sister Ernestine,” everyone said at the same time.

  Sister Ernestine nodded, a satisfied look on her face, then marched toward the door, where she turned and waited. “Now get yourselves to work.”

  Some of the girls hurried to retrieve brooms and the wicker basket from the nun while the rest pushed the beds into the center of the room in a thunderous scrape and rumble, making the floorboards and windowpanes rattle. Pia limped over to her bed and slipped off her urine-soaked nightdress, her legs screaming in pain. She touched the tender skin on the back of her thighs and checked her fingers, expecting to see blood. To her surprise, there was none. Gigi watched with tears in her eyes, her rag doll crushed to her chest. The older girls swept behind the beds and dusted the windowsills, while others stripped the mattresses and put the sheets in the wicker basket. Jenny took off Gig
i’s wet nightdress, put it in the basket with the sheets, and told Pia to do the same.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  Pia nodded and dropped her nightdress and the wet sheet in the basket.

  “Sorry you had to sleep there. Sister Ernestine gets mad if we switch beds.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Pia said.

  “She’ll send you and Gigi down to the laundry to find fresh underwear,” Jenny said. “But not until you’ve had to wear the wet ones all day.” She gave Pia a weak smile and went back to helping the others.

  Under the watchful eye of Sister Ernestine, two girls carried the wicker basket out of the room and set it in the hall. Once the beds were slid back into place, everyone got dressed and lined up to go to breakfast.

  In the dining hall, Pia winced when she sat down, the pain in her legs almost unbearable. She moved to the edge of the stool to take her weight off her thighs, but it only helped a little. After eating bowls of cold, lumpy porridge, the girls lined up against the wall. Several nuns appeared to take them off to various jobs—some to the laundry or sewing room, others to the kitchen, some to clean rooms and halls. Pia had no idea if she’d be scrubbing floors, peeling potatoes, polishing shoes, or washing dishes. And she didn’t dare ask Sister Ernestine.

  A nun carrying a lantern came toward her. She was short and chubby, with a kind face and a wine-colored birthmark on one cheek.

  “Hello, dear,” the nun said. “I’m Sister Agnes. As you probably guessed, here at St. Vincent’s everyone but the youngest among us is expected to do his or her share. And you’re no different, you know.”

  Pia nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, Sister Agnes.”

  “There’s no need to be worried, dear. Mother Joe thinks she’s found the perfect place for you.” She crooked her finger at her. “Now follow me.”

  Pia trailed the nun up the steps and into the hall, trying to ignore the sharp pull and sting in her thighs. Sister Agnes walked faster than seemed possible for her size, her habit rasping along the floorboards like a black cape. She seemed to float down the corridor, leaving a pleasant-smelling cloud of lavender soap and something that smelled like cinnamon in her wake. Pia found herself wanting to move closer to her, to escape, however briefly, the heavy odor of urine and sorrow that seemed to emanate from every corner of the building. At the end of the hall, they took a right and started up a wide set of stairs. With every turn and junction, the orphanage felt more and more like a never-ending maze of hallways and rooms and staircases. How would she ever find a way out?

  At the top of the stairs, they turned down a shadowy passageway that seemed to head away from the main building. It felt more like a tunnel than a hall. At the end, Sister Agnes opened a door and waited for Pia to go through. Pia stepped over the stone threshold into what looked a hospital ward filled with doll beds. When she realized what she was looking at, she gasped.

  Row after row of iron cribs lined the high-ceilinged space, and babies of all ages and colors, some two and three to a mattress, filled every one. Some stood, red-faced and wailing, clasping the tall white crib bars in their small fists. Others cuddled blankets while lying on their backs or sides, or sat up drinking bottles or sucking their thumbs and fingers.

  Immediately scanning the cribs for Ollie and Max, Pia blinked back tears, cursing herself for crying and making it harder to see. Most of the babies appeared peaked and thin, while some looked clearly ill. A toddler with patchy brown hair balanced on one leg, his other leg shrunken and crippled. Another little girl was blind, her lids half closed, her eyes milky and white. Sister Agnes continued down the center aisle, ignoring the small hands that reached out for her from between metal bars. Then she stopped and looked back at Pia, who stood frozen at the door.

  “Are you coming, dear?” she said.

  Pia nodded and started moving again, her heart thrashing in her chest, her watery eyes racing over every crib, every small face, every baby who looked the same age as her brothers. One baby was too thin, the next too bald. That one had dimples; this one had red hair. That baby’s nose was too wide, the next one’s cheeks too plump. Then she saw a blond head and blue eyes peeking out between the white bars of a crib, a baby boy sitting up and staring at her. She rushed over and picked him up, certain it was Ollie or Max. But her heart sank. It was a girl. Sister Agnes hurried back to where she stood, took the baby from her arms, and put her back in the crib.

  “What are you doing?” she said. “You’re here to help, dear, but you must follow the rules.”

  Pia dropped her flooding eyes. “Yes, Sister,” she said.

  “Come along now,” Sister Agnes said. “There’s no time to dawdle.”

  Pia swallowed the burning lump in her throat and followed the nun to the other end of the room, searching every tiny face for familiar features. When they passed the last of the cribs, a fresh flood of tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Her brothers weren’t there.

  In an open space at the end of the room, a pale-faced girl with a mop of brown curls changed a baby’s diaper on a blanket-covered table. She looked to be a couple of years older than Pia, but shorter and sturdier. Her sleeves were rolled up, showing her thin, muscular arms, and she stood with her legs apart, as if to steady her stance. She pushed a clean diaper beneath the baby’s bottom, pulled the front of it up and over, and pinned it together in one swift motion, like a factory worker who performs the same job over and over. Then she pulled the baby’s nightdress down, picked her up, and placed her on one hip. Only then did she notice Sister Agnes and Pia.

  “Edith, dear,” Sister Agnes said. “This is Pia Lange. She’s here to help you take care of our youngest charges.”

  “It’s about damn time you found someone,” Edith said. She brushed past them and put the baby girl back in her crib.

  “Edith!” Sister Agnes said in a shrill voice. “How many times do I have to scold you about using that kind of language?”

  Edith returned and glanced at the nun, an exhausted look on her face. “Sorry, Sister,” she said. “It slipped out. I’ll say ten Hail Marys and two Our Fathers.” All the fire had gone out of her voice.

  “Say ten of each,” Sister Agnes said. “And when you’re finished, mind your tongue. I don’t have time to keep reprimanding you. Woe betide you if Mother Joe heard you talking like that!”

  “Yes, Sister,” Edith said. She pulled a diaper from beneath the table and trudged past the nun to get another crying baby.

  “As I was saying,” Sister Agnes said, watching Edith as she worked, “Miss Lange is here to help. She’s old enough, and it’s our understanding that she has experience with babies.” She turned to Pia. “You had twin baby brothers. Isn’t that right, dear?”

  Pia went rigid and her heartbeat picked up speed again. “How... how did you know about my brothers?”

  “Why, Mother Joe told me, of course. She told us all what happened. You poor thing, losing your entire family all at once.”

  The blood drained from Pia’s face. “What... what do you mean?” she said. “What did Mother Joe say?” She started to tremble, her stomach growing tighter and tighter. Did the nuns know something she didn’t?

  Sister Agnes furrowed her brow. “She said you lost your parents and brothers to the flu.”

  Pia dug her nails into her palms, struggling to stay upright. “No,” she said. “That’s not what happened. I...”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Sister Agnes said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Please forgive me.”

  “But why... How does Mother Joe know anything about my family? How does she know about my brothers?”

  Sister Agnes shrugged. “Because that’s what the woman who brought you here told her. Oh dear. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to say anything. The good Lord knows I have a hard time keeping a watch on my heart and my words. Is there any chance the woman was confused?” She made a move to put her hand on Pia’s arm, but Pia pulled away, shaking her head.

  “No. I mean, yes,” she
said. “She must have been confused. I lost my mother, but my father is in the war, and my brothers might... they might still be alive. I just don’t know where they are.”

  Sister Agnes crossed herself. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize... I’ll pray for them.”

  “I thought Ollie and Max might be here,” Pia said. “But I don’t see them. Do you know if anyone dropped off four-month-old twins in the last week or so? They have blond hair and blue eyes and—”

  “No, dear,” Sister Agnes said, her eyes sad. “I’m afraid we haven’t had any twins come in, girls or boys.”

  Pia opened her mouth to say more, but Edith appeared and handed her a baby.

  “He’s wet,” she said, and went to get another.

  Pia stood frozen, holding the wiggling baby, his legs dangling. The infant was naked, except for his wet diaper, and her hands were wrapped around his tiny bare chest. She was still reeling from the shock of what she’d just been told, her mind spinning with questions, and for a moment she forgot about avoiding skin-to-skin contact. Then the baby started to wail and she knew she had to act. Fighting the urge to hand him to Sister Agnes, she took him over to the table and started changing his diaper. Whether she liked it or not, she had to get used to touching babies because working in the baby ward was the only way she’d ever know if someone dropped off Ollie and Max. She took off the baby’s wet diaper and reached for another. Were her hands shaking because of what Sister Agnes said, or because something was wrong with the baby? When she finished changing him, she dressed him in a clean sleeping gown, lifted him up, and instinctively bounced him up and down.

  Sister Agnes smiled at her. “I can already see that Mother Joe was right about you,” she said. “It certainly looks like you know what you’re doing. Your brothers were very lucky to have a big sister to help take such good care of them.”

  Pia chewed on the inside of her cheek, gazing at the baby to avoid the nun’s kind eyes. No, they weren’t, she thought, they weren’t lucky at all. And if you knew what I did to them, you wouldn’t let me anywhere near the baby ward. In fact, you’d probably have me arrested.