The Orphan Collector

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  Taking care of the Hudson children weighed on her mind too, and the possibility that she might discover they were sick or hurt when she touched them. At St. Vincent’s she had hardened herself to the fact that there was little medical help available for the orphans, and tried to ignore her aches and pains unless they were severe. Even then, the nuns wouldn’t find a doctor. The sickest babies were sent to the sick hall and never came back. The rest were nursed by her and Edith, who could do little more than give them onion or catnip tea, and make poultices out of coal oil or bread and milk. Sometimes bottles of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup were donated to the orphanage, but not often. And it didn’t seem to help much anyway, other than making the babies sleep.

  She’d never forget the time eight-month-old Ellis had come down with what Sister Agnes thought was the croup; how she had wiped his small body with a cool rag and held him for hours while he coughed, her own chest aching with each bark, only to find the next morning that he had passed away in the night. It was like losing her brothers all over again. She couldn’t stop crying the rest of the day.

  Another thing that worried her was that the father of the Hudson family was a doctor. He and his wife would never believe her if she sensed something was wrong with one of their children. Either that, or they’d think she was crazy and send her to a mental hospital like Mother Joe said. Just thinking about it made her stomach churn with nausea. And it went without saying that they could never find out what she’d done to her own brothers.

  As the driver steered the horse around wagons and trolleys, each mile slogging into the next, Pia scanned the faces on the sidewalks, desperately searching for Vater, Finn, Ollie and Max. When she saw women holding babies or pushing prams, she got up on her knees to get a better look. Mother Joe had warned her to behave, but if she had spied the twins anywhere, she would have jumped out of the wagon without a second thought. Even the threat of being sent to an asylum couldn’t have stopped her from doing that.

  She thought she saw her father once, striding along the curb at the end of Goodwell Street, his hands deep in his pockets, his eyes on the ground. The man had the same dark hair, the same broad shoulders and trimmed beard. He even walked like Vater, with a lanky stride that made his legs look a hundred feet long. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but he stopped to look up at a pedestal clock, revealing his entire face. It wasn’t him. She sank back in the wagon bed, tears misting her eyes. In this city of thousands, how would she ever find the four she needed most?

  After what seemed like forever, the wagon turned onto a residential street lined with sidewalks, massive homes, and manicured front lawns. Each house seemed bigger and more elaborate than the last, with corner towers, high-peaked gables, and porches with spindles and turned posts. Four or five families could have lived in each one with room to spare. Here and there, tattered strips of crepe hung from doorways, but not nearly as many as she’d seen in the tenements and slums.

  Finally, the driver stopped the wagon in front of a brick three-story with tall windows, ornamental trim, and white shutters. Gardens and bushes with winter-browned stems and blackened leaves filled the front lawn, and a stone path led up to the front porch. Pia trembled even harder. The outside of the house looked warm and inviting, but who knew what awaited her inside? Someone who would beat her for the slightest mistake? Someone who would send her away without a second thought if she didn’t live up to their expectations? A cold bed in a locked basement room?

  Miss O’Malley got down from the wagon and instructed Pia to do the same. Pia grabbed the blanket and climbed over the sideboard, shaking and trying not to fall.

  “I won’t be long,” Miss O’Malley said to the driver. “Follow me, Miss Lange.” She hurried along the path, went up a set of painted steps, and crossed the front porch.

  Pia wrapped the blanket around herself, gathered it under her chin, and did as she was told, her stomach churning. Miss O’Malley glanced behind her to make sure she was coming, then marched back down the steps and yanked the blanket off her shoulders.

  “This ain’t yours,” she snapped. “It belongs to the orphanage.” She thrust the blanket at her. “Now put it back.”

  Pia returned the blanket to the wagon and went back to where Miss O’Malley waited, her arms wrapped around herself, her teeth chattering from nerves. She thought about turning and running, but what if Miss O’Malley and the driver caught her again? The next stop might be an insane asylum. For now, she’d take her chances with the doctor and his wife. Maybe she’d have a warm bed and good food to eat. Maybe the Hudsons would be kind and understanding. Maybe, by some miracle, the day would come when she could tell them about Ollie and Max and they’d help her look for them. Or at least give her the freedom to try.

  “If ye pull anything like that here,” Miss O’Malley said, “or try to run again, you’ll find yourself sent away so fast it will make yer pretty little head spin. And wherever you end up will be a lot worse than St. Vincent’s. Understand?”

  Pia thought about saying she wasn’t trying to steal the blanket, but it would be a waste of breath. Instead she nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Miss O’Malley climbed the steps again, waited for Pia to follow, then eyed her up and down. “Put yer arms down and stand up straight,” she hissed. “And look happy.”

  Pia dropped her arms and tried to smile. It felt more like a grimace. Miss O’Malley studied the mailbox. Above a nameplate that read HUDSON, a copper sign read: THE ENTRANCE TO DR. HUDSON’S OFFICE IS AT THE BACK OF THE HOUSE. A handwritten sign tacked to the front door read: No Visitors.

  Miss O’Malley produced a piece of paper from her coat pocket and unfolded it. “’Tis the right place,” she said to herself, then returned the paper to her pocket and knocked. On the other side of the door, heavy footsteps hurried along a hard floor. A lace curtain drew sideways in a sidelight window and sprang back. After some jostling on the other side, the handle turned and the door opened. A tall man with blond, side-parted hair and a pencil-thin mustache came out on the porch, closing the door partway behind him. Miss O’Malley and Pia stepped back to give him room. It was only then that Pia noticed his left forearm was missing, the bottom half of his jacket sleeve folded up and pinned.

  “May I help you?” he said.

  “I’m dropping this girl off from St. Vincent’s,” Miss O’Malley said. “Mother Joe sent me.”

  “Ah, yes,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Hudson.” He studied Pia for a moment, then returned his attention to Miss O’Malley. “The nuns were instructed to send someone healthy.”

  “Aye,” Miss O’Malley said. “Miss Lange had the flu and survived. I took her from the infirmary to the orphanage myself. Mother Joe can tell ye.”

  The doctor looked at Pia. “Is this true?”

  Pia nodded.

  To her surprise and relief, he smiled at her, a warm, genuine smile that lit up his blue eyes. “Welcome, then, Miss Lange.” He went back inside and held the door open. “Please, come in.”

  Pia entered the grand house, her face growing hot, then stepped aside to await further instruction. The foyer was as big as her family’s old apartment, with a shiny wood floor and a marble-topped side table full of colored glass vases and photos of young girls in hair ribbons and white dresses. Pia had never seen such an elegant, bright room. It looked like it belonged in a castle. Miss O’Malley made a move to follow her inside, but Dr. Hudson blocked her way and she stopped short, shock and anger contorting her face.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Hudson said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we’ve got young children in the house and there’s still a lingering threat of the flu. We’ve just learned of a small resurgence in the city, so we’re not taking any chances. My wife would have a fit if I let you in.”

  “But I’m—” Miss O’Malley started.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Hudson said again. “Thank you for bringing Miss Lange to us. You’re free to go now.”

  Hearing the doctor say there were
more flu cases in the city, Pia felt ill. Was the nightmare starting up again? Did the thousands of people on the streets have any idea? Why wasn’t it being shouted from the rooftops?

  Just then, a red-haired woman swaddling an infant in her arms appeared at the other end of the foyer, her bottle-green eyes quivering with nerves. She was pretty and petite, with a delicate nose and thin pink lips. Her blue dress shimmered in the light, each seam straight and true, each fold smooth and even, in stark contrast to her disheveled hair and tired face.

  “Who was it, darling?” she said. “Did you send them away?” When she saw Pia and Miss O’Malley, she stopped short and clutched the baby to her chest, as if they’d come to steal him.

  “It’s fine, dear,” Dr. Hudson said. “I sent for someone to help with the children.”

  The woman gave him a worried look. “But I thought we were going to wait until we knew it was safe to—”

  “I know,” he said. “But don’t worry. I asked the orphanage to send someone healthy and they did. She had the flu and survived. I realize we planned on waiting, but you’re exhausted and need to rest. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

  The woman sighed and her face softened. “Oh, Dr. Hudson, you’re such a dear,” she said. “And you know what’s best, of course.” She edged closer, eyeing Pia. “Look at you, you poor thing. Where on earth is your jacket?”

  Pia shrugged, a small measure of relief washing over her. So far, the doctor and his wife seemed pleasant enough. Maybe working for them wouldn’t be as awful as she’d imagined.

  Mrs. Hudson gave Miss O’Malley a disgusted look. “Why, pray tell, isn’t this child wearing a coat, or at the very least wrapped up in a blanket? Aren’t you supposed to watch over the children in your care?”

  Miss O’Malley blanched. “I don’t work at the orphanage, ma’am,” she said. “I only do what the nuns pay me to do.”

  “Well, it’s still winter out there. Shame on all of you for being so heartless.”

  “But I—” Miss O’Malley started.

  Dr. Hudson started to close the door, forcing Miss O’Malley back across the threshold. “Thank you again for delivering Miss Lange,” he said. “If we need anything else, we’ll send a telegram to Mother Joe. Good day, miss.”

  Miss O’Malley harrumphed, then turned and marched across the porch.

  Dr. Hudson closed the door all the way and winked at his wife, clearly amused.

  Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly back at him, then reached out to put a dainty, fluttering hand on Pia’s arm. Pia stiffened and instinctively drew back. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to notice. Instead she wrinkled her nose as if smelling something rotten and pulled her hand away. “What should we call you, dear?”

  Pia looked down at herself. Did she smell bad? For the first time, she noticed the glaring difference between her clothes and the Hudsons’. Next to Mrs. Hudson’s shimmering blue dress and the doctor’s navy suit and tie, she looked like she’d rolled in mud and let it dry. Everything about her, from her dress to her leggings to her shoes, looked ancient and brown, like the sepia colors of an old photograph. Compared to her outfit, even the doormat seemed a dazzling shade of cranberry red.

  “My goodness, child,” Mrs. Hudson said, laughing softly. “Has the cat gotten your tongue?” More relaxed now, she swayed gently back and forth, rocking the baby in her arms.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Pia said. “My name is Pia Lange.”

  “Well, despite my initial reaction, Pia,” Mrs. Hudson said, “I’m glad you’re here, and I’ll be grateful for your help with the children.” She gazed lovingly down at the baby boy, who looked to be barely two months old. He blinked up at her, perfectly content. “This is our youngest, Leonard James. We call him Leo. He’s a really good baby, but with the others to care for as well, I’ll admit I’ve been a little overwhelmed.”

  “He’s beautiful, ma’am,” Pia said. And he was, with strawberry-blond hair and his father’s masculine chin. Remembering when Ollie and Max were that small, sorrow tightened her chest and she blinked back the tears forming in her eyes—partly from grief, partly from relief, partly from disbelief. Hopefully no one noticed.

  “Will you be all right for a little while, darling?” Dr. Hudson said to his wife. “I need to return to the office, but I shouldn’t be long.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She gave her husband a peck on the cheek, then turned to Pia again. “I’m sure you’re starving, but first things first. Before I introduce you to the girls, you need to get cleaned up. After that I’ll fix you something to eat and we’ll get you settled. Does that sound all right with you?”

  Pia thought about pinching herself to see if she was dreaming. From the second she’d learned she was being “bound out,” she’d been angry at Mother Joe, thinking she only wanted to punish her further. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe the old nun knew the Hudsons would treat her well, and her chances of surviving here were better than out on the streets. Then again, maybe Mother Joe had no idea what kind of people the doctor and his wife were, and Pia had just gotten lucky.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “It sounds more than all right.”

  “Come with me, then,” Mrs. Hudson said, starting toward a door at the other end of the foyer. Then she stopped and looked back at Pia’s shoes. “But please remove your footwear first.”

  Pia bent over and took off her shoes, her face burning with shame. The feet of her leggings were dirty and stained, and two grimy toes stuck through a jagged hole. Mutti would have been appalled. Surely Mrs. Hudson was too.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, her forehead creased. Then she looked at Pia with sympathetic eyes. “Don’t worry, I know it’s not your fault. After we get rid of those wretched things and get you washed up, we’ll make sure to give the floors an extra good scrubbing.” She turned and started toward the door again.

  Mortified, Pia followed Mrs. Hudson into a long hall with mullioned windows looking out over the side yard. Opposite the windows, doorways opened into rooms filled with shiny, carved furniture and decorative rugs. Floral tablecloths covered every table and sideboard, and embroidered throw pillows filled every couch and chair. Books and vases and porcelain figurines filled every shelf, and oil paintings and mirrors hung on every wall. Pia tried not to stare, but she’d never seen such a beautiful house or so many knickknacks and decorations in her life. Luckily, Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to notice her gawking.

  “Our previous nanny, Miss Bainbridge, passed from the flu a week after the parade,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Poor thing. I think she was about to leave us anyway, though. After all, she had just gotten engaged. But no one deserves to die that young. She wasn’t here with the children at the time, thank goodness.” Mrs. Hudson was talking fast, as if trying to explain everything before she forgot. “It’s a terribly ghastly way to go, from what I’ve heard. Dr. Hudson didn’t tell me the details, he tries to protect me from that sort of thing, but I heard bodies were backing up in homes, on porches, and in corners of rooms, and people were drowning in their own blood.” Then she came to a halt and gaped at Pia, her eyes wide. “Oh my word. I never asked what happened to your parents. And here I am going on and on about...” She dropped her shoulders, suddenly forlorn. “Please tell me they didn’t pass from the flu.”

  “My mother did, ma’am,” Pia said. “My father was sent overseas. The last I heard from him, he was in France.”

  “And you haven’t heard from him since the war ended?”

  Pia shook her head. “I don’t think he’d know where to find me, ma’am.”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “You poor thing. I’m so sorry. Didn’t the nuns at the orphanage try to find out what happened to your father?”

  “No, ma’am,” Pia said. She thought about asking Mrs. Hudson if she could help find Vater, but it was too soon. She had only just met the woman. “They said they didn’t have the time or resources to search for the parents of
every child who walked in the door.”

  Mrs. Hudson sighed. “Well, I suppose that makes sense. And I’d imagine they’re scared to go out into the city, anyway. I hope you can forgive me for not asking about your parents sooner.”

  “I do, ma’am.”

  “I swear I can’t remember a thing since giving birth to Leo.” She waved a hand in the air as if swatting a fly. “It wasn’t like that with the girls, though. After them I felt fine.” She started walking again. “I don’t know why that is.”

  Pia followed, relieved Mrs. Hudson hadn’t asked if she had any siblings.

  “Anyway,” Mrs. Hudson continued. “After our nanny passed, I thought about replacing her, but I was so worried about the flu. What if someone applied for the job without realizing they were sick until it was too late? Of course, when I found out how fast the illness was spreading, I let the cook and the maid go too. Paul, I mean, my husband, Dr. Hudson, was still overseas at the time. That’s how he lost his arm. A bullet hit him while he was on the front line taking care of the injured, and the wound became infected. He came home right after they, you know, removed it, and of course I was happy he wasn’t gone long. He returned right after Leo was born, you see, but he could only do so much. And he agreed we couldn’t chance bringing anyone into our home with the flu going ’round. He said more soldiers were dying from that than were being killed in battle. And money was tight too. Luckily, I had a substantial dowry when we married six years ago, but those things don’t last forever you know, especially when you have children. First they need diapers and clothes, then toys and more clothes, and food and more food.”

  Pia did her best to listen to everything Mrs. Hudson was saying, but she was talking fast again and it was a lot to take in. She was surprised little Leo kept quiet through it all.

  “That’s why I was stunned when I saw you,” Mrs. Hudson went on. “My husband has been adamant about not exposing the children to the flu. He doesn’t want me to leave the house because he’s worried I might bring it home with me. He still sees patients in his office, because he can’t drive the wagon anymore, you know, with one arm, but he promised if anyone came in presenting flu symptoms, he’d sleep in his office until enough time passed to know whether or not he was ill. But bless his heart, he’s been so worried about me, he figured out a way to find help for me too, despite his fears about the latest return of the epidemic. And here you are.” She smiled at Pia with tired eyes.