by Lynn Austin
“They aren’t ruffians, Mr. Wingate. They’re orphaned children in need of love and affection.”
“And sometimes discipline.” He sat down behind his desk, straightening a pile of papers that was already neat. “Was there something in particular you wished to discuss with me, Mrs. Merriday? As you can see, I have work to do.”
Flora turned without saying another word and fled outside to her carriage. “Take me home,” she told Andrew. She was much too upset, too shocked to spend another minute with that abusive little martinet. He must be fired immediately. She would call a board meeting and tell them what she’d witnessed. Edmund was home when she arrived, and she told him about the new director and her instant dislike for him. “If he treated the children that harshly right in front of me, what must he be doing when visitors aren’t present? I still can’t forget the sound of that riding crop on those poor boys’ shoulders.”
“My dear, you must report this to the board immediately. But in the meantime, I suggest you pay another unexpected visit and see for yourself if he is always so abusive. Get more ammunition for the battle, you might say.”
Flora returned the following afternoon, waiting until the children had all returned home from school. Once again, the yard was deserted, the building unusually quiet. She went in search of Mrs. Miller and found her in the little girls’ dormitory, quietly reading a story to them as they sat stiffly on their beds. “What’s going on, Mrs. Miller? Where is everyone?”
She closed the book and led Flora out to the hallway. “The children are being kept in their rooms as punishment. We’ve had runaways, Mrs. Merriday. The two boys you saw fighting yesterday—”
“Did they run away because of Mr. Wingate?”
“Most likely . . . and because of what happened after you left.” She had lowered her voice to a whisper and paused to glance around as if afraid of being overheard.
“You can trust me, Mrs. Miller. I have the highest regard for you and the wonderful work you do here. Please tell me the truth.”
Tears filled Mrs. Miller’s eyes. “Mr. Wingate beat those boys after you left.”
“No . . . !”
“Then he locked them in the coal cellar as punishment. They climbed out through the coal chute and ran away.”
“Oh no . . . no . . .” Flora felt so shaken she had to lean against the wall. She shouldn’t have left in such a hurry yesterday. She should have stayed and taken charge of the orphanage. She should have ordered Mr. Wingate to leave immediately. “What are the boys’ names?” she asked, wanting to know them as individuals with names and personalities.
“The two you saw fighting are Ronald Darby and Daniel Nobel. They’re best friends, Mrs. Merriday. The argument was just their rough-and-tumble way of getting along. They come from terrible backgrounds and don’t know any better. And there was a third boy who ran away with them. Mr. Wingate had locked him in the cellar the night before. His name is Soren Petersen.”
Flora felt dizzy. “What? I don’t believe it. He would never run away and leave his little brother. Did Gunnar run away, too?”
“Oh, Mrs. Merriday . . . I thought you knew.” A chill went through Flora as Mrs. Miller rested both hands on Flora’s arms. “The younger Petersen boy has been adopted.”
“Adopted! That’s impossible. Our policy in this orphanage is very clear—we do not separate siblings. Ever!”
“It happened last summer, while you were away. The new director arranged it—”
“Where is he?” Flora hadn’t known she was capable of such fury as she strode into his office with the matron hurrying behind her. Mr. Wingate sat behind his desk, writing something. He looked irritated at the interruption.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Merriday.”
“First of all, it is completely unacceptable to punish all of the children in this home just because three of them have run away.”
“Punishment acts as a deterrent against future runaways. The children learn that such behavior won’t be tolerated and that their actions adversely affect those who remain behind.”
“That’s outrageous!” Flora turned to Mrs. Miller. “Go let those children out of their rooms at once so they can play outdoors.”
The director was on his feet. “It’s not your place to override my decisions—”
“Do it!” Flora said. She saw a faint smile on Mrs. Miller’s face as she hurried off to obey.
“You have no right, Mrs. Merriday—”
“Secondly, if it’s true that those boys ran away because you beat them and locked them in the coal cellar, I will have you arrested and thrown into jail for assault. We do not use physical punishment in this home—ever! Do you understand?”
“My contract clearly states that I have the right—”
“I’m not finished! I’ve been told that one of the runaways is Soren Petersen, and that his brother has been adopted. How is that possible when our charter clearly states that we do not separate families?”
“It turns out that they were only half-brothers. They had two different fathers, and apparently their mother was never married to the second man. Since that makes the younger one a bas—”
“Don’t you dare say it!” Flora shouted. “No one in this home will ever use that terrible word to describe one of our children. These little ones are children of God! And given the circumstances of our Savior’s birth, He might well have been called by the same name.”
Mr. Wingate looked defiant. He drummed his fingers on his desk, refusing to give in or to offer Flora an apology. “I examined the Petersen boys’ records, and saw no reason to keep them together since the younger one—”
“We keep them together because they are a family!” She had to grip the back of the chair as her entire body trembled with rage. “Soren took care of that child for his entire life! The only family either one of them had left in the world was each other!”
“Happily, that’s no longer true. Gunnar now has a new family. I’m convinced it will be much better in the long run for the younger boy to be raised in a good Christian home. I’m sure you can understand that, Mrs. Merriday.”
“I neither understand nor agree. My sister and I are also orphans. We lost our mother when I was an infant and our father when I was twenty. My sister and I have been together all our lives, and I can well imagine how devastated we would be if someone separated us. It would be even more devastating if Becky and I were as young as those boys are.”
“Nevertheless, my mandate here at the orphanage is to find homes for all the children. That’s what I’ve done. The adoptive family had no interest in taking a boy as old as Soren. Experience has shown that older children have too many ingrained behaviors. They cause problems and can disrupt a well-settled home. Soren’s behavior here has proven that to be true.”
“I’ve been told that you locked him in the coal cellar.”
“To separate him from the other children, yes. He couldn’t control his anger.”
“No wonder he ran away!” Flora was appalled. She couldn’t believe that Wingate wasn’t backing down in the face of her outrage. He remained unmoved by her anger and her arguments, unconcerned that he was being reprimanded by a founding board member and benefactor. “What you’ve done to those two brothers is a terrible injustice! One that I’ll make sure you pay for!” She was shouting, but she didn’t care.
“You’re entitled to your own opinion, Mrs. Merriday, but I’m simply doing what the board of directors hired me to do.” He sat down in his chair again and picked up his pen.
She was getting nowhere with this obnoxious man. She would deal with him later, but for now she had to try to repair some of the damage he had done. “What’s being done to find Soren and the other boys?” she asked.
“We’ve notified the police, but Chicago is a big city. They’ll bring the runaways back to the orphanage if they find them, but they won’t waste time searching for them.”
“Waste time? That’s completely unacceptable!”
“What would be the point in bringing them back? All three boys are nearing the age when they would be released. We try to find jobs and housing for the young men before they leave the home, but Darby and Nobel showed no interest in getting a job, let alone an education.”
“Your disdain for the children in your care is despicable! You haven’t heard the last of this, Mr. Wingate.” She slammed his office door on her way out.
Edmund saw her distress the moment he arrived home from work. “My poor darling,” he said when she’d told him the story. “He has no right to treat you or those children that way. How soon is the board of directors able to meet? That man must be fired.”
“I’m trying to arrange a meeting as soon as possible. But it’s still too late for those poor brothers. The younger one has been in his adoptive home for three months already. And the older one is . . . well, who knows where he is? Living on the streets of Chicago.”
“You did everything you could.”
“But I still won’t be able to reunite them.” Or to adopt them herself. She should have listened to Becky. She should have followed her heart and taken those two boys home with her. Now it was too late.
Flora convened a meeting with the orphanage’s board of directors, but the chairman wasn’t convinced of the need to fire Mr. Wingate. “We had a difficult time finding someone with his experience—and someone who was willing to work for such a meager salary. Besides, Wingate asked for and was given a one-year contract, which we would have to pay out in full if we were to let him go.”
“That’s outrageous! He should be in jail!”
“He had it written into his contract that he has the right to use corporal punishment in extreme cases.”
“I never would have allowed that,” Flora said.
The chairman simply shrugged. “You weren’t here, at the time—”
“I would offer to pay out his salary myself, just to be rid of him, but I can’t bear the thought of rewarding him for what he has done to those two boys—not to mention the Petersen brothers.”
“I agree that Wingate must be reprimanded,” the chairman concluded. “But it looks as though we will either have to pay him or give him a second chance.”
The board chairman went to the orphanage with Flora the following afternoon to tell Mr. Wingate of their decision. “Make no mistake,” Flora told Wingate, “I wanted to have you fired. The other board members didn’t witness your abuse the way I did. Instead, they’ve voted to issue you a warning and put you on probation. But from now on there will be absolutely no beatings or confinement of our children. And if I hear even a whisper that you’re being harsh, I will have you fired and make certain you never work with children again.”
“Yes, Mrs. Merriday.” At least this time he seemed contrite.
“And you cannot separate siblings, even half-siblings. Ever! Is that clear? From now on, the board and I reserve the right to review every adoption proceeding before it becomes final.”
“Yes, Mrs. Merriday.”
The word final pounded into Flora’s heart like a spike. Little Gunnar’s adoption was final. He was gone, and so was his brother, Soren.
Chapter 21
CHICAGO
1888
TWO YEARS AGO
The knock on Flora’s front door at two o’clock in the morning awakened her from a sound sleep. She went with Edmund to answer it and was surprised to see Fergus Miller, the orphanage’s handyman and husband of the matron, standing on her front step. Her heart sped up. “Mr. Miller, please come in.” He stepped through the door far enough for it to close but no further, as if he had no right to be inside such a fine home. Given the late hour and the worried expression on his face, Flora feared the worst. She swallowed and asked, “What brings you here, Fergus?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. and Mrs. Merriday, but I thought you would want to know that there has been a terrible incident at the orphanage tonight.”
Edmund tightened his arm around her shoulder. “What happened?”
“Not a fire, I hope?” Flora asked, holding her breath. Fire was the institution’s greatest fear. They tried to provide ways of escape and to teach the workers and children what to do in an emergency. But Flora knew how quickly a building like the orphan home could go up in flames and how many lives would be lost if it happened when the children were asleep.
“No, Mrs. Merriday, thankfully not a fire. Three intruders broke into the office tonight and tried to rob it. When Mr. Wingate confronted them, he was attacked and brutally beaten. Two of the robbers got away, but the police managed to catch the third. He was the most vicious of the three and wouldn’t stop beating the director. The police had to pry him away.”
Nearly a year had passed since Flora and the board chairman warned Mr. Wingate about physically punishing the children. He’d been forbidden to bring his riding crop into the building or to lock anyone in the coal cellar. She’d heard of no other incidents since then, but the atmosphere at the orphanage still felt oppressive to her. “Was Mr. Wingate badly injured?” she asked.
“Some broken bones, cuts, and bruises. But the police think he’ll survive.”
Flora noticed a look of hesitation on Mr. Miller’s face and asked, “Is there something more I should know?”
“Well, the thing is, the youths who attacked him used to live in the orphanage. It will give our young people a bad name when the public hears about it in the news tomorrow. They won’t like their kids going to the same neighborhood schools as our orphans.”
“Do you know the boys’ names?” she asked with a sinking feeling.
“We believe Daniel Nobel and Ronald Darby were the two who got away.”
“I’m not surprised. They both held grudges against Mr. Wingate for beating them and locking them in the basement last year.” She was reminded of the saying that those who lived by the sword would die by the sword. Wingate himself had taught those boys that violence was an acceptable form of punishment. “What about the third boy?” she asked, dreading his reply.
“The one who got caught is Soren Petersen.”
“Oh no.” Flora needed to sit down. She backed away and sank onto the bottom step in the foyer.
“Is he the young man you told me about?” Edmund asked. “With the younger brother?”
Flora nodded. “Mr. Wingate arranged for Soren’s brother to be adopted. It was a huge injustice.”
“That’s why he kept beating Mr. Wingate after the other two boys fled,” Miller said. “He was demanding to know where his brother was and threatening to kill Wingate if he didn’t tell.”
“Where is Soren now?”
“In jail. He’ll be charged with assault and attempted murder.”
Flora closed her eyes. She couldn’t imagine the patient, tenderhearted young man she’d watched with his little brother a year ago doing such a vicious thing. But she understood it. “Do you know which jail?” she asked, rising again. “I want to see him.”
“Not tonight, dear Flora,” Edmund said. “I’ll take you to see him first thing tomorrow, I promise. But it’s too late now. Besides, if the young man was in a murderous frame of mind, he may need a night in jail to settle down.”
They thanked Mr. Miller and sent him off. Flora returned to bed but didn’t sleep. Edmund tried to comfort her, but even he couldn’t ease the guilt she felt. “I blame myself for not helping Soren . . . and for not firing Mr. Wingate a year ago. I should have adopted those two boys, Edmund. I longed to, and I could picture them living here with us so clearly, but . . .”
“Why didn’t you say something to me, darling? I would have been willing.”
“I don’t know. . . . I can’t explain it. I thought adopting was a sign that I lacked faith. That I didn’t believe God would give us a baby of our own. I kept rationalizing all the reasons why I shouldn’t adopt a child from the orphanage because I wanted to prove to God that I had enough faith to believe I would get pregnant. When He didn’t honor my faith, I got angry with Him�
��and all along He was showing me an orphanage full of children who needed our love.”
“Oh, Flora. I’m so sorry. I wish I had known.”
“When I first saw Soren and little Gunnar, I instantly felt as though they were ours. But I didn’t act because . . . because . . . I stubbornly insisted on having my own way, my own child, instead of accepting what God was offering me. Am I making any sense?”
“You should have come to me, Flora. You could have talked with me about how you felt.”
“I know, I know. I guess I didn’t want you to know how mixed up I was, how badly I still wanted my own way. We had both agreed to accept God’s will for us.”
“I don’t know what to say. How can I make all of this better for you?”
“I don’t know. I just wish . . . I wish I hadn’t ignored my instincts. I wish I had adopted those boys when I had the chance. Now look at the mess I’ve created.”
“Don’t place the guilt on yourself, Flora. This Wingate fellow is the one to blame, and it sounds like he paid the consequences for it tonight.”
Edmund rode with Flora to the jail the next morning. They arrived just in time to hurry into court for Soren’s preliminary hearing. It had been a year since Flora last saw him, and she barely recognized him at first. Soren was filthy and ragged and obviously hadn’t bathed in months. The cuts and bruises on his face and hands from last night’s fight hadn’t been doctored and were crusted with dried blood. But the biggest change Flora saw was the deadness in his eyes, the look of hatred on a face that had once showed such tenderness and love. She understood why the police had shackled his wrists. He did indeed look frightening.
The bailiff read the charges against him: breaking and entering, assault and battery, attempted murder. There hadn’t been time to hire an attorney, so Edmund stood beside the court-appointed one when the judge asked Soren how he pleaded. Edmund advised him to plead not guilty.
“Your honor, the state requests that no bail be set,” the state’s attorney said, “and that Mr. Petersen be remanded to the county jail as a danger to society. The victim, Mr. Wingate, suffered a vicious beating at the defendant’s hands. What’s more, the defendant has no fixed address and no family ties, making him a flight risk.”