Having been assigned to stoke the boilers when the orphanage was able to get coal delivered, Finn searched for a way out of the maze of connecting cellars beneath St. Vincent’s, but so far had no luck. After the janitor caught him wandering off several times, he started keeping a closer eye on him, asking him what he was up to and making it harder for Finn to explore. When Finn wasn’t stoking the boilers, he was mopping floors or washing dishes in the dining hall, making it difficult to memorize the nuns’ routines or watch for opportunities and ways to escape.
On the other hand, Pia’s days never changed. Working under the watchful eyes of Sister Agnes and the other nuns who helped in the baby ward while she and Edith ate and slept, she had no freedom at all to wander or search for unlocked doors. Still, she tried to determine the length of drops from windows and the likelihood that the ground below might eventually lead to an escape route. Finn thought they could climb over the play yard fence and scramble down the rocky cliff to the river, if only the weather would change so they’d be allowed outside. She reminded him that the fence was tall and topped with pointed black spires, but he said they could get over it if they found something, or someone, to give them a boost up. He could lift her onto his shoulders and help her over, but it would be impossible for him to follow, and the nuns would probably stop him before he could.
They talked about moving the slide or the roundabout over to the fence to climb on, but the slide was anchored to the ground and he was certain the roundabout was too heavy. They thought about getting the other boys to help lift them over the fence, but they might tell someone what they were planning, or would want to come too.
Then on a dark, dreary afternoon, while Finn was telling Pia about a back door in the kitchen that led out to the vegetable gardens, Sister Ernestine marched into the recreation hall and ordered the boys to line up against one wall. Certain someone had overheard her and Finn talking, Pia dropped her eyes and concentrated on her cross-stitch, her heart pounding. Chairs scraped over the floor and footsteps hurried across the room as the boys put down their toys and books, the older ones helping the younger ones move over to the wall. Pia got up and edged closer, sitting behind a group of other girls so she could hear what was going on.
“Stand up straight and smooth your collars,” Sister Ernestine ordered the boys. She pointed at one boy’s feet. “And tie your shoes!” The boy dropped to one knee and did as he was told.
Mother Joe entered the room with Nurse Wallis a few seconds later, her face pinched, her chin in the air. “Here they are, Nurse Wallis,” she said, then stood waiting with her sinewy hands in her sleeves. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have made them clean up a bit first.”
“They’re fine, Mother Joe,” Nurse Wallis said. “Thank you for accommodating me on such short notice.” She started moving down the line of boys, studying each one up and down. Some of the boys smiled hopefully at her, while others stared with frightened eyes. Halfway down the line, she stopped in front of a gangly, dark-haired, green-eyed boy.
“What’s your name?” she said.
“Kafka,” the boy said.
“We call him Thomas,” Mother Joe said.
Nurse Wallis nodded once to acknowledge Mother Joe, then said to the boy, “And your surname?”
The boy furrowed his brow and looked at the older boy standing next to him. “Your last name,” the older boy said. “What’s your last name?”
“Bobek,” Kafka said.
Nurse Wallis gestured for him to step out of line, then kept moving. She stopped in front of a curly-headed blond in a button-up shirt who looked to be about five years old. “And your name?”
“Gerhard,” the boy mumbled, staring at his feet.
“Gerald,” Mother Joe corrected him.
Nurse Wallis asked the boy to step out of line. “Thank you for telling me the truth, Gerhard,” she said to him. “Do you know your last name?”
“Nussbaum,” the boy mumbled.
“Well, I have good news, Kafka and Gerhard,” the nurse said. “I’ve found both of you new homes.”
Kafka beamed at Nurse Wallis, but Gerhard started to cry. Nurse Wallis knelt in front of him, the hem of her long uniform jacket folding over on the floor. “What’s wrong, little one?”
Gerhard turned and stretched one hand toward an older boy standing against the wall, fat tears sliding down his red cheeks. “Mein bruder,” he cried.
The older boy smiled at him with flooding eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but Nurse Wallis chimed in.
“Your brother?” she said.
Gerhard nodded frantically.
Nurse Wallis straightened and crooked a finger at the older boy, smiling and telling him to come stand beside his brother. “It’s all right,” she said to Gerhard. “Don’t cry. Your brother can come too.”
The older boy ran over to Gerhard and put a reassuring hand on his small shoulder. Gerhard wrapped his short arms around his older brother’s waist and squeezed, beaming through his tears.
Pia swallowed the lump in her throat and glanced over at Finn, who was at the end of the line. Did seeing the brothers so happy together tug at his heartstrings too? Certainly it reminded him of his older brothers, just like it reminded her of the twins. To her surprise, he was scowling, his eyes fixed on Nurse Wallis. Why was he looking at her like that? Was he scared, confused, angry? It was hard to tell. Then she had another thought, one that made her heart race. What if Nurse Wallis took him too?
When Nurse Wallis started herding Kafka, Gerald, and his brother toward the door, Mother Joe trailing behind them, Pia breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re so grateful for this, Nurse Wallis,” Mother Joe said. “Surely God will hold a special place for you in heaven. And, of course, there’s nothing that makes us happier than seeing our children find new homes. Bless you, my dear.”
Nurse Wallis stopped and turned to face her. “Thank you for trusting me, Mother Joe,” she said. “I’ll return for more as soon as I can.” She glanced back at the boys, all of them still standing ramrod straight along the wall. When her eyes landed on Finn, she faltered, a strange, startled look on her face. She quickly looked away and hurried into the hall, ushering Kafka, Gerald, and his brother out ahead of her.
Pia turned her attention to Finn again. He was staring at the door, watching the nurse leave, the peculiar expression still on his face. Why had he and the nurse looked at each other that way? It didn’t make sense. She went back to the corner and sat down again, waiting for him to sit nearby so she could ask. But Sister Ernestine clapped her hands, announced it was time to return to the wards, and started ushering the boys from the room. Pia got to her feet and rushed to catch up to Finn, a strange tightness building in her chest. Something about the way he looked at Nurse Wallis made her nervous. If he was worried about her taking him, why did he still look unsettled when she left? She hurried past several of the other boys and reached out to tap him on the shoulder, but Sister Ernestine grabbed her by the arm and held her back.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Miss Lange,” she snarled. “And no jumping ahead in line.”
Pia pulled away from her grasp, but not before feeling a funny sensation in her chest, like a slowing of her heart. Something was wrong with Sister Ernestine, but it didn’t feel urgent, like anything that would sicken her right away. It probably had something to do with her age, and Pia didn’t care, anyway. She had more important things on her mind. She started toward the door again, but Sister Ernestine made her wait until the last orphan filed out of the room. By the time Pia reached the hall, Finn was nowhere to be seen.
The following day, the sun finally reappeared, and everyone was allowed outside for a few minutes after breakfast. Sister Ernestine stood shivering on the steps with her arms crossed, a sour look on her face. Pia walked across the yard toward the river, waiting for Finn to come outside with the rest of the boys. After lying awake most of the night worrying about Nurse Wallis taking him the next time s
he came back, she could hardly wait to see him.
Brown swaths of frozen grass lay bared by the wind, and mounds of snow leaned against the fence and playground equipment, one massive drift stretching through the back fence like a giant sand dune, nearly reaching the top of the high spires. If the drift had been made of dirt, Pia could have walked up and over it to the other side. She tested it to see if it would hold her weight. Her shoes broke through the thin, icy crust, but the snow beneath was firm. She took a few steps, holding her arms out for balance, and climbed higher. Her heartbeat picked up speed. This could be their chance. She jumped down and glanced around the yard, searching for Finn. The boys had come outside, but she didn’t see him anywhere. Rubbing her hands together and pacing back and forth, she pretended she was trying to stay warm, when in reality she felt like she’d stepped inside a furnace, her nerves making her roast inside her coat. Her mind raced, thinking of everything they had to do when they were free. The first place they needed to go was her old apartment, to ask the people living there if Vater had returned. If he hadn’t, they would knock on the neighbors’ doors to see if they knew anything about the twins. After that, she wasn’t sure what would happen. Hopefully they’d find her father right away. She plunged her hands in her pockets and checked the door again. She didn’t see Finn anywhere.
Melting snow dripped from the trees and the bars of the swing set while great sheets of ice cracked and slid down the slide. A girl shrieked and ran away from a boy playing blind man’s bluff, making Pia jump. She scanned the yard for what felt like the hundredth time. Why was Finn taking so long to come outside?
She clenched her jaw and went over to two boys playing kick the can near the slide. One was tall and lanky, with a big nose, and the other was short and muscular. Despite their size, they looked to be only about ten years old. When they saw her approach, they stopped playing.
“Do you know Finn Duffy?” she said.
The lanky boy put a protective foot on the can. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s from our ward.”
“Do you know where he is?”
The boys glanced at each other, then looked back at her, puzzlement lining their faces.
“You didn’t hear?” the muscular one said.
Pia’s stomach knotted. “Hear what?”
“He’s gone,” the lanky one said.
Pia drew in a sharp breath. “What do you mean, he’s gone? Gone where?” Panic beat against her rib cage like a trapped bird.
“When we woke up this morning his bed was empty.”
“He wasn’t at breakfast either.”
Pia’s heart dropped like an anvil in her chest. Finn had left without her. He had escaped and abandoned her. He’d said something once about going alone and coming back for her, that maybe it would be easier, but she didn’t think he was being serious. How could he do that to her, especially without telling her first? A dull, empty ache gnawed at her stomach and she felt like she might be sick.
“Where do you think he went?” she managed.
“How are we supposed to know?” the lanky boy said.
“Did he say anything to either of you before he left?” she said. “Did he leave a message for me or anything like that?”
The boys shook their heads.
“Do you think he got out on his own?” she said.
“You mean escaped?” the lanky boy said.
“Nah,” the muscular boy said. “If he escaped, we’d all be locked in our wards right now, and the nuns would be in running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”
“I say he got adopted,” the lanky boy said, “either that or he got sent to the Home for Industrious Boys. That’s what happens when you’re his age.”
“Where is that?” Pia said.
“How the heck would we know?” the lanky boy said. “We only heard about the place, we ain’t never been there.”
Pia reached blindly for the edge of the slide, certain she was about to fall over. But her hand caught nothing but air, her feet slipped out from under her, and she landed hard on a patch of ice. Pain shot through her elbow and arm, and the sound of cracking bones exploded in her mind.
The muscular boy leaned over her, his shocked face blocking out the blue sky. “Holy shit. Are you all right?”
She closed her eyes, struggling to catch her breath, and cradled her throbbing arm in her hand. No. She wasn’t all right. She didn’t think she’d ever be all right again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BERNICE
Sitting at the Pattersons’ worn kitchen table, Bernice sipped her coffee and leisurely read the newspaper while flecks of snow swirled against the backdrop of a white flannel sky outside the window, clinking against the glass like tiny pebbles. It was Sunday, the boys were napping, the Pattersons had gone to play bridge with their friends, and she relished the rare few hours of peace and quiet. The past two months had been exhausting, asking for donations and looking for immigrant children, not to mention walking farther and farther in the cold every day to make sure she didn’t visit the same houses twice. As usual, she read the obituaries to see how many deaths were attributed to the Spanish influenza. The list contained fewer and fewer names every week, but apparently the terrifying sickness hadn’t been completely eradicated. Every time she saw a child’s obituary, she couldn’t help thinking about taking little Joseph to meet Mr. and Mrs. Winston. Seeing the shocked looks on their faces when they’d opened the door had undoubtedly been the highlight of her month.
“Who is that?” Mrs. Winston had gasped when she saw the infant. Her eyes were still swollen from crying.
Mr. Winston frowned at Bernice, clearly wondering what the hell she was doing bringing a baby to their home.
“This is Joseph,” Bernice said. “He was abandoned at the train station, naked except for a diaper and—” Before she could finish, Mrs. Winston stepped forward to take him.
“May I?” she said.
“Of course,” Bernice said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, darling,” Mr. Winston said.
Mrs. Winston ignored him and gathered the swaddled boy in her arms. “Oh my word,” she said. “Look at this perfect little angel.” With a gentle finger, she pulled the blanket down from Joseph’s chin to get a better look. He blinked up at her, studying her face with curious blue eyes, his perfect pink lips in a tiny O. “Who could do such a thing to an innocent child?”
“Unfortunately, in a city this size,” Bernice said, “babies are abandoned quite often.”
Mrs. Winston gaped at her, shocked. “How dreadful,” she said. “What happens to all of them?”
“Normally they’re sent to orphanages, poorhouses, even asylums,” Bernice said. “But since the flu started, the orphanages have become severely overcrowded, so several temporary houses have been set up to take in the extras. Even so, I’m sometimes asked if I know of anyone who can take in an orphaned or abandoned child. And when I saw little Joseph here, you were the first people who came to mind.”
Mr. Winston opened his mouth to say something, but Bernice didn’t give him a chance.
“I know you’ve only recently suffered the tremendous loss of your precious son,” she said. “But I can tell you’re good, honest folk who loved your child with all your heart. You’re the kind of people who make wonderful parents. And babies as young as Joseph fare far better in a loving home than in an institutional setting. He’s barely three months old and likely wouldn’t see the age of one if he were left in an orphanage.”
Mrs. Winston turned to her husband, her eyes flooding. “We can’t turn him away,” she said. “I’d never be able to live with myself.”
A war of conflicting emotions—agony, confusion, fear—played over Mr. Winston’s face. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said. “We don’t know anything about this boy. What if he’s sickly or has some kind of mental infirmity? I couldn’t bear to see you suffer again.”
“I’m going to suffer forever,” Mrs. Winston said. “Forever
. Nothing in this world or the next will ever heal my broken heart. But this poor boy had his heart broken too—and by his own mother, no less.”
“I swear on my brother’s grave there’s no reason to be concerned about Joseph’s health,” Bernice said. “He’s been examined by a doctor and is surprisingly healthy, considering what he’s been through.” She took a folded paper from her pocket and held it out to Mr. Winston. She had written it with her left hand to make it look like the scrawl of a witless woman. “This was pinned to his blanket.”
Mr. Winston took the note and read it out loud. “Please find my Joseph a good home. I got nothing and can no longer care for him. He don’t fuss much and his appetite is good. Tell him I love him and he will be in my prayers.”
The Orphan Collector Page 24