The Orphan Collector

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  “Oh good Lord,” Mrs. Winston said, her voice trembling. “That poor woman.” She gazed down at Joseph, already bouncing him gently in her arms, as if he belonged there. “And you, you poor, sweet boy. You must have been so frightened.” A tear fell from her cheek onto his face and she gently wiped it away, then looked at her husband again, a sad, wistful smile on her face. “Can’t you see? He needs us. And we need him.”

  Mr. Winston let out a loud sigh and dropped his shoulders. “Are you certain about this, darling?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m certain. He deserves to be taken care of, and looking after him will help keep my mind occupied. If something had happened to us, you would have wanted someone to take good care of our son instead of sending him off to an awful orphanage, wouldn’t you? Besides, look at him.” She softly caressed his cheek again. “He already knows me.”

  Mr. Winston edged closer and observed the baby, worry lining his brow.

  “There’s just one other thing,” Bernice said.

  “What is it?” Mr. Winston said.

  “In exchange for the child, the orphanage asks for a donation to help cover the cost of his care until today, and to help the other abandoned and orphaned children still there.”

  Mr. Winston’s eyes went dark. “You might have mentioned that sooner.”

  “I would have,” Bernice said. “But your wife took Joseph from me so suddenly and I was so caught up in the immediate, obvious bond between them, I simply forgot. I do apologize.”

  “Whatever it is,” Mrs. Winston said, “we’ll pay it.”

  “Darling,” Mr. Winston scolded.

  “I couldn’t bear to turn him away,” Mrs. Winston said. “And I won’t. Especially because of money.”

  Mr. Winston regarded Bernice, his face hard. “How much?”

  Bernice clenched her jaw. She’d only come up with the plan a few days earlier and hadn’t been sure it would work, so she hadn’t decided on an amount. “Generally, one hundred dollars,” she said, pulling a number out of nowhere.

  Mr. Winston’s mouth fell open.

  Bernice continued before he could refuse. “I understand that sounds like a lot of money, especially during these difficult times. But I don’t need the entire sum all at once. I can collect payments whenever you can spare something. I must tell you, though, if you’re unable to make the donation, I’m afraid I’ll need to find someone else to take Joseph. Rules are rules. And I don’t make them. If I did, he’d be yours without question.”

  Mrs. Winston tightened her grip on Joseph, panic-stricken. The fear on her face nearly broke Bernice’s heart. But, she reminded herself, she had to do what was necessary to take care of Owen and Mason. Not to mention that giving a God-fearing American couple a white orphan to turn into a contributing member of society instead of letting him end up on the streets someday would be good for the city. The country too. Surely any patriot would agree with that. She wondered why the people in charge hadn’t thought of that already. Instead they were sending the white children away by train and keeping the foreigners here. It didn’t make sense.

  “We only just buried our son,” Mr. Winston said. “And as you know, funerals are not cheap.”

  A stab of guilt twisted in Bernice’s stomach, thinking of little Wallis left alone on the bed beside the nurse. He had no pillow-lined casket or solemn church service, no flowers or prayers by his grave. Instead he’d been abandoned next to a strange dead woman—most likely buried in the same coffin with her too, for all eternity. For all she knew, it was possible, even likely, that they were interred in one of the mass graves in the potter’s field. The very idea made her head swim. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to three and trying to maintain her composure. She couldn’t fall apart now, not when she was so close to successfully completing her clever plan. “I understand,” she said. “And I’m sure I can persuade the orphanage to take less, considering your circumstances. Would fifty dollars be a reasonable amount?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Winston said before her husband could answer. “That’s an acceptable amount. We’ll give it to you straightaway.”

  Mr. Winston nodded once, then stomped away to get the cash.

  Now that money, along with several other donations Bernice had collected earlier in the week, lay safely hidden beneath her mattress in the other room, where Owen and Mason lay napping. It was enough for two months’ rent, groceries, and three more train tickets for immigrant children. But it wasn’t going to last forever. She needed to do more.

  Then she had an idea. She took another sip of coffee, opened the newspaper, and skimmed the obituaries again. Surely some other white, middle-class couple had lost a child this week.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  PIA

  Pia gritted her teeth, trying not to scream as Sister Maria from the sick hall examined her injured arm. The nun’s hands were strong and calloused, and every squeeze between her thumb and fingers felt like a vise crushing Pia’s bones. If there was anything wrong with the nun, Pia never would have felt it. Between the pain, the sudden loss of Finn, and any hope of escape gone with him, she couldn’t stop crying. Sister Ernestine stood at the foot of the bed glaring down on her with an angry, disgusted face.

  “Her forearm feels broken,” Sister Maria announced.

  “Does she need to be moved into the sick hall?” Sister Ernestine said.

  Sister Maria shook her head. “No, it’s a small fracture, she can stay here. But she won’t be able to work for a few weeks. I’ll splint it and fashion a sling out of a sheet.”

  “Thank you, Sister Maria,” Sister Ernestine said.

  When Sister Maria left to get the supplies for the splint, Sister Agnes entered the ward with Gigi, leading her in by the hand. Gigi’s face was wet with tears, and she clutched the stuffed rabbit Pia had given her at Christmas to her chest.

  “What’s this?” Sister Ernestine said.

  “She saw Miss Lange fall and, for some reason, she’s been inconsolable ever since,” Sister Agnes said. “I wanted to show her she was all right so she’d stop crying.”

  Gigi let go of Sister Agnes’s hand and edged up to Pia’s bedside, then gently laid the stuffed rabbit beside her, it’s long pink ears on the pillow. Her eyes were swollen, her face crumpled with sadness. Pia hugged the rabbit under her chin and did her best to smile through her tears.

  “Thank you, Gigi,” she said. “He’s already making me feel better.”

  Gigi smiled back, then reached over to gently pat Pia’s injured arm.

  Before Pia could say anything more, Mother Joe marched into the room and shooed Gigi away. Sister Agnes took Gigi by the hand and led her toward the door, leaning over and talking softly in her ear. Before she left, Gigi turned and waved, her face glum.

  Mother Joe shoved her sinewy hands beneath her sleeves and stood over Pia, towering above her like a black wall. “It’s my understanding that no one is quite sure what happened to you, Miss Lange,” she said. “Did those boys push you, or intentionally harm you in any way?”

  Pia pushed herself up on her good arm and rested on her elbow. “No, it was my own fault. Please don’t punish them.”

  “We haven’t yet.”

  “They didn’t do anything, I swear,” Pia said. “I was asking them about Finn Duffy and I fell on the ice. Do you know where he is, Mother Joe?”

  “No need to worry about him, Miss Lange,” Mother Joe said. “Right now you have bigger problems.”

  “Was he adopted? Did you send him to the Home for Industrious Boys?”

  “That doesn’t concern you, Miss Lange.”

  “But it does, Mother Joe. Please. You have to tell me where he is. Did he escape?”

  Mother Joe glanced at Sister Ernestine and rolled her eyes, an exasperated look on her face. “Miss Lange,” she said. “I won’t say it again. If it doesn’t have anything to do with you, what goes on at St. Vincent’s is none of your business. Now mind your manners and thank God for looking after you. I sp
oke to Sister Maria and she said you were very lucky. The break in your arm could have been much worse.”

  “What about releasing me like you said you would, Mother Joe?” Pia said. “Is that any of my business?”

  Mother Joe’s eyes went dark. “I suggest you use your head for more than a hat rack and stop worrying about anything except staying out of trouble and getting better, Miss Lange. You’re certainly not going anywhere with a broken arm. So until it’s healed, I don’t want to hear another word about Finn Duffy or you being released. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to hear another word from or about you.”

  Pia knew she should stop aggravating her, but she was desperate. “But you said you’d arrange something,” she said. “You said you’d let me go.”

  “Not another word, Miss Lange. Or you’ll spend your recovery down in the basement. Is that clear?”

  Pia dropped her gaze, her eyes burning. “Yes, Mother Joe.”

  Mother Joe harrumphed, then turned and left the room, Sister Ernestine on her heels. Pia collapsed back on the bed, sinking into a pit of despair, the sharp pain in her arm throbbing with every hard beat of her broken heart.

  * * *

  Despite the fact that she could only feed and rock the babies, Pia was sent back to work in the baby ward a few days after breaking her arm. The pain had dulled somewhat, but it was always there, like the black boulder of grief inside her heart, ready to make itself known if she moved just right or tried to lift something using that hand. The minute she saw Sister Agnes, she asked about Finn.

  “I wouldn’t know the boy if I fell over him, dear,” Sister Agnes said.

  “Well, has Mother Joe said anything about one of the older boys being sent somewhere?”

  Sister Agnes shook her head. “She doesn’t tell us where every child goes. The sisters are much too busy trying to—”

  “What if someone escaped?” Pia said. “Would she tell you about that?”

  The nun’s eyes went wide. “Mercy me, I would think so.” Then she furrowed her brow, thinking. “On the other hand, Mother Joe is extremely proud of running a tight ship. If something like that happened, she wouldn’t want word to get out that someone had pulled the wool over her eyes.”

  “Would you ask her for me?”

  “Ask her what, child?”

  “If someone escaped.”

  “Oh no, child. Woe betide the nun who questions Mother Joe about her competence.”

  “Could you ask her if a boy named Finn was adopted?”

  “And who do you think she’ll suspect of putting me up to that?”

  Pia sighed. “Me.”

  “That’s right. Now take my advice before you get yourself into more trouble. I suggest you forget about your friend for now and worry about yourself.”

  “Yes, Sister Agnes,” Pia said. But that was impossible.

  * * *

  On a Monday afternoon several weeks later, after Pia’s splint and sling were removed, Sister Ernestine informed her that Mother Joe wanted to see her. Following the sister into a hallway she’d never seen before, Pia fought to stay calm. It was the first time she’d ever been summoned to Mother Joe’s office, and she had no idea what was going to happen. Maybe Mother Joe was going to tell her something about Finn. Maybe she was finally being released. Maybe there was news about the twins or Vater. Whatever it was, it was going to be very good or very bad. Instead of giving herself the vapors imagining all sorts of scenarios, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Otherwise, she might trip and fall in a heap.

  When they entered the office, Mother Joe put down her pen and gestured for Pia to take a seat on the other side of her desk. Pia did as she was told, sitting on her hands to keep them from shaking. Sister Ernestine stood near a set of bookshelves, her arms crossed over her chest. Black-and-white photographs covered the wall above Mother Joe’s head—orderly congregations of children posing in the play yard, their faces dark and somber, and groups of nuns holding babies gathered on the front steps. Some of the photos looked faded and old, while others looked more recent. Pia shivered, wondering how many children had passed through St. Vincent’s. How many had been beaten with leather straps, force-fed, or locked in a basement room? How many had died? How many had sat where she was sitting now, waiting to hear news that would forever change their lives?

  “How is your arm, Miss Lange?” Mother Joe said.

  Pia pulled her eyes from the haunting photos and tried to focus on the here and now. Part of her wanted to stop time, to give herself a moment to prepare for whatever happened next. The other part of her wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

  “Miss Lange?” Mother Joe said.

  “Um... yes, Mother Joe,” Pia said. “My arm feels fine.” In truth, it still ached, and her wrist didn’t seem as straight as it used to be, but there was no point in saying any of that. No one cared.

  “Good. I’ll get right to the point, then. Now that you’re strong again we’re sending you to Byberry to live with a Dr. and Mrs. Hudson. They’re looking for help with their children and housework in exchange for room and board. You leave this afternoon.”

  Pia went rigid. “But I... I thought you were going to release me?”

  “That’s what I’m doing, Miss Lange. Orphans are bound out all the time, but we’ve been unable to do it for a while because of the epidemic. There are still a few flu cases cropping up here and there, but we . . .”

  The rest of her words were buried beneath Pia’s thunderous heartbeat. “No,” she said, louder than she intended. “I can’t go there. I won’t.”

  Mother Joe frowned. “This is a good opportunity, Miss Lange,” she said. “If you don’t take it, I’ll offer it to someone else.”

  Pia’s heart raced, trying to figure out how to change Mother Joe’s mind. But she couldn’t string two thoughts together.

  “I thought you wanted to leave St. Vincent’s?”

  “I do, but—”

  “Well, Byberry is in the northeast section of Philadelphia. You should be thankful I’m keeping you in the city. Your only other choice is to go out West, to work for a family there. There’s a train leaving for Kansas tomorrow, and Jenny and some of the other girls will be on it. One way or another, we need to make room for incoming children. It’s your choice, Miss Lange.”

  Pia couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t leave Pennsylvania. She just couldn’t. “How long would I have to stay at the Hudsons’?”

  “Why, until you’re an adult, of course.”

  A white blinding panic rushed through Pia’s body, making her head and chest feel like they were going to burst. Tears filled her eyes, and she looked down at her pale hands in her lap, swimming like white fish in the brown sea of her worn skirt. All this time, she’d thought she was going to be let go, that she’d be free to look for Ollie and Max. Now she was just being sent to another prison. It was like being put in St. Vincent’s all over again. She took a deep breath and tried to think straight. Maybe it’d be easier to escape from someone’s house. She’d just have to come up with a new plan. “Yes, Mother Joe.”

  “Yes? What does that mean, Miss Lange?”

  “It means I’ll go to the Hudsons’, Mother Joe.”

  “Wonderful. I think you’ve made the right decision.” Mother Joe picked up her pen again. “Miss O’Malley and her driver will take you there following lunch.”

  Pia gritted her teeth. Not Miss O’Malley again. She stood on wobbly legs and turned toward the door.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Mother Joe said.

  “Yes, Mother Joe?” Pia said.

  “Make sure you’re on your best behavior at the Hudsons’. If they’re not happy with your work or you try pulling stunts like you pulled here, you’ll either be sent to a city almshouse or the Byberry Mental Hospital. After today, we no longer have room for you here at St. Vincent’s.”

  * * *

  Sitting cross-legged in the splintered bed of Miss O’Malley’s wagon and hangin
g on to the wooden sideboards as it bumped along the cobblestones, Pia shivered beneath a threadbare blanket. She wasn’t sure if she was shaking because of the cold, or because she didn’t know what lay ahead. Not only would it be even harder for Vater to find her now, she had no idea what kind of people Dr. and Mrs. Hudson were or how she would be treated. It was hard to believe anyone who’d turn an orphan into a servant could be compassionate and kind. For all she knew, Mother Joe had purposely taken her out of the frying pan and put her into the fire.

  Along with being scared, her heart ached knowing she’d never see the babies at St. Vincent’s again. Edith had warned her not to get attached, but her eyes grew misty when she thought of Alannah, who clung to Pia as if she were her mother, and little Yakov, who never cried, even when he had a dirty diaper or it was past his mealtime. There were others she would miss too—every thin, sad face would forever haunt her dreams—but her bonds with Alannah and Yakov were the deepest. With only a few minutes to say goodbye to the babies and Edith, who said little except “you shouldn’t have tried to escape” and “good luck,” she felt like she was deserting them. It felt like abandoning Ollie and Max all over again. Maybe she deserved whatever happened next.

  Despite her fear and heartache, she was grateful to be out of the orphanage and relieved to see the city coming back to life. Motorcars, horse-drawn wagons, and trolleys filled the streets, everyone hurrying to their next destination. Horns beeped, horses whinnied, men yelled, and policemen blew whistles. Many people still wore gauze masks over their noses and mouths, mostly women and young children, but otherwise it seemed the epidemic had finally come to an end. Breathing in the crisp air to clear her lungs of the smell of St. Vincent’s—the disinfectant and urine, the thick, invisible layers of sorrow and fear—she couldn’t help but feel envious of those who seemed to be returning to normal. Surely almost everyone had been touched by the flu in one way or another, but for many, the nightmare was likely over. Even if they’d lost loved ones to the disease, at least they knew what had happened to them. At least they could try to start over. She, on the other hand, felt like she was stuck in purgatory.