by Lynn Austin
“Where’s Papa?” Soren asked. “Will he be able to find us here?”
“Your father is going to be away from us for a while,” she explained. “The police caught up with him and his Swede Gang. But don’t worry. We still have each other, Soren. And remember, no trees grow to the sky. ”
Soren saw his papa one last time when he went with Mama to visit him in jail. “I’ll be home before long,” he assured them. “They have nothing on me. Take good care of your mama for me, Soren. Promise?”
“I promise.”
But they sentenced Papa to ten years in prison for robbery. Before he finished serving his first year, he died in a prison fight. Soren had just turned ten, and now it was up to him to take care of his mama.
Chapter 25
CHICAGO
1882
EIGHT YEARS AGO
Soren’s mama was worried. He saw it in her eyes as she slid her bowl of porridge across the table to him after he’d eaten all of his. “Here, baby, you can have mine. I’m not very hungry, and you’re a growing boy.” She rose from the table and walked back and forth in front of the door as if there was something terrible outside that might try to come in. He noticed as she paced that her clothes didn’t fit her right, hanging on her slender body as if a person twice her size had given them to her. His stomach still rumbled, but he got up from the wobbly table, leaving the porridge for her. He had promised Papa that he would take care of her.
“I’ll go get some coal for the fire,” he said, pulling on his shoes. The laces had rotted away and the shoes were so tight they made his toes hurt, but they were the only shoes he had. They didn’t have money for new ones now that the factory where he and Mama worked had laid them off. They’d feared the layoffs for weeks, and it had finally happened.
“There’s no work to be found anywhere,” one of the men had said as Soren stood in line to be paid for the last time. “It’s happening all over the city and the country, too. The rich people are losing their shirts.” Soren wondered if the shirts had simply disappeared while the rich people were wearing them, and if their pants and other clothes were getting lost, too. If so, maybe he could find them. But what he really needed to find was a new pair of shoes.
Soren finished cramming his feet into his shoes and grabbed the burlap bag he used to carry coal and other items he found at the dump. “I’ll be back soon,” he told his mama. She surprised him by pulling him into her arms and hugging him tightly. He was as tall as she was now.
“I’ll find a way to take care of us, baby, don’t worry,” she said. “We’re going to be fine.”
“I know,” he said. “No trees grow to the sky.” He walked for several miles along the railroad tracks, picking up pieces of coal that had fallen from the railcars. Dozens of other boys were doing the same thing, so Soren could find only pebble-sized pieces. Still, they would keep him and Mama warm. Next he picked through the debris at the dump, searching for scraps of metal to sell to the peddler and anything else of use that the rich people had discarded. He’d found the two bowls they used for their porridge that way. One was a little chipped and the other had a small crack in it, but they were better than nothing. Sometimes he’d find cooking pots that were only slightly dented, and he’d sell them at the pawn shop on the corner. What he hoped to find today were shoes that fit him. Even if he found only one shoe, which sometimes happened, at least one of his feet would be comfortable.
After a long morning of searching, Soren limped home with just the coal. He removed his shoes and carried them for the last mile, preferring cold feet over squashed ones. He wished he still could pick pockets as he had as a boy, but he was too tall and raggedy to slip through a crowd without drawing attention to himself. Besides, he smelled like the dump. People moved away from him when he got too close.
As Soren walked down the basement steps to his apartment, he heard voices inside. The door was open, and he saw Mama pleading with Mr. Fulton, their landlord, who lived on the first floor. “One more day. I promise I’ll pay you tomorrow. We have no other place to go.”
“Fine. One more day. Then I’ll have to rent this place to someone else.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t find anything today,” Soren said when Mr. Fulton had gone. “Maybe if I leave earlier tomorrow—”
“No, baby. I know where I can find work. I’ll get money for us.” She went out that night after dark, leaving him alone in the apartment. And she must have found work, because they were able to stay in their apartment for the next several months. They had enough to eat, and Mama even gave Soren a quarter to buy a pair of shoes from the ragman.
Then one night Mama fell sick. She sent Soren upstairs to ask Mrs. Fulton for help, and a few hours later, little Gunnar was born. Soren was a grown boy of twelve and much too old to cry, but he couldn’t help himself as he held his baby brother for the first time. Gunnar reminded him of Hilde and Greta, and it was almost like having them back again. This time Soren vowed to take care of the new baby no matter what. A woman had come around to all the tenements warning everyone to boil their water on the stove before drinking it, and Soren made sure he never gave baby Gunnar a single drop of water that he hadn’t boiled first. It was up to him to earn the rent money until Mama was back on her feet, and he managed to find work as a runner at a garment factory that recently reopened, delivering piecework to the tenements and carrying the finished goods back to the factory every day. Mama was one of his customers. She worked long into the night earning a few pennies for each hem she stitched. Soren’s little family managed to get by until Mama was able to go back to work, this time as a laundress in the Palmer House Hotel. “Take good care of Gunnar while I’m at work,” she told Soren.
He scrounged through several dumps until he found enough wood and four discarded wheels to build a little wagon so he could take Gunnar with him when he made his deliveries or scavenged for coal. He dug through garbage bins behind restaurants and grocery stores and bakeries for whatever scraps of food he could find to help feed his family. Soren sang songs to Gunnar when he cried and stole clothes for him from the neighbors’ clotheslines when he outgrew his. He taught Gunnar to walk and talk and slept beside him to keep him warm at night. “You’re a good big brother,” Mama told him. “Someday soon we’ll find a better place to live than this rathole. No trees grow to the sky.”
But someday never came. In the spring when Gunnar turned four years old, Mama got sick and couldn’t stop vomiting. She grew so thin and weak that she couldn’t go to work in the laundry. Soren asked Mrs. Fulton to come downstairs to help her. “I don’t know what to tell you,” she said, pinching her nose shut. “I don’t suppose you have money for a doctor?” Soren shook his head. Mrs. Fulton bent down a few feet from Mama’s bed and shook her awake. “Mrs. Petersen . . . ? Mrs. Petersen, is there a relative you’d like me to contact to come and help you and the boys?”
“There’s no one,” she said, her voice as soft as a whisper.
“You must have a family somewhere. . . .”
“Just my two boys.”
Mrs. Fulton took pity on them and returned a while later with some chicken soup. “Try to get her to drink the broth, Soren. You and Gunnar can have the rest.” The soup was the best Soren had ever tasted. Gunnar cried for more when it was gone. But Mama couldn’t swallow a drop.
The next morning when Soren tried to wake her up, Mama didn’t move. He ran upstairs to the landlord’s apartment where they were eating eggs for breakfast. Soren couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten an egg. “Please help me,” he begged. “Something’s wrong with my mama.”
Mr. Fulton came downstairs with his wife this time. He bent down beside Mama’s bed to shake her awake, then quickly stood again. “Take the boys upstairs to our apartment,” he told his wife. Mrs. Fulton tried to herd Soren and Gunnar toward the door, but Soren held back.
“I don’t want to leave Mama here all alone. I need to help her.”
Mr. Fulton shook his head. “There’s not
hing you can do, son, I’m sorry. She’s gone.”
Soren didn’t have to ask where Mama had gone. The angels had taken her just like they’d taken Hilde and Greta. He crouched down and hugged Gunnar tightly. Soren was sixteen and too old to cry, but he did. Gunnar wept with him.
Eventually, Mrs. Fulton convinced Soren to come upstairs with her while her husband notified the authorities. She made eggs for them to eat and sliced thick pieces of bread. Sick as he was with grief and sorrow, Soren wolfed down the eggs and bread and watched Gunnar do the same. “Do you have any money at all to bury your mother?” Mr. Fulton asked when he came upstairs again.
Soren shook his head. He knew where Mama hid the tea tin with her money in it, but he didn’t trust the man. Besides, he and Gunnar would need that money to live on. In the end, Mama was buried in a pauper’s grave. Soren had no idea where.
A week later Mr. Fulton knocked on their basement door. “I don’t suppose you have money for the rent, do you?” Soren showed him everything he had. He couldn’t count very well and didn’t know how to add up all the pennies and dimes he had earned that week. Soren was old enough for a factory job and had heard they were hiring again, but who would take care of his brother all day? Gunnar was skittish and shy and frightened of strangers. It terrified him when people yelled, and he would cling to Soren, who was the only one able to comfort him. “It’s not enough,” Fulton said after counting the change. “Sorry, but I have to rent this room to someone who can pay for it.”
Soren tried not to reveal his panic. “I’ll find a job and pay you as soon as I can.”
“You’re already a week behind, and I can’t afford to wait. I got plenty of people wanting to move in here. Don’t you have any relatives who’ll take you in? Aunts and uncles?” Soren didn’t know what Mr. Fulton was talking about. The only ants he knew of were the insects.
“Everyone has a family somewhere,” Fulton said. Soren didn’t reply. He had never heard Mama or Papa talk about a family. “I’ll give you another day to think about where you can go, but I need you out of here after that.”
Soren gathered up all their bedding the next evening, along with the few pots and pans they owned, and loaded everything into his wagon. He found a place in the alley behind the neighborhood bakery where the heat from the ovens came through a grate, and he built a little shelter there. He let Gunnar curl up in the wagon away from the stray rats that roamed the street and tucked the blanket around him against the cold night. “Are we going to live here from now on?” Gunnar asked.
“Just for a little while until I find a job. No trees grow to the sky, remember?”
A week later, Soren awoke just after dawn and left Gunnar sleeping while he walked down the alley to rummage through the garbage bins. He hadn’t been able to find a job yet, but today he would walk across town to the stockyards and look for one there. Once he found work, he would look for a safe place nearby where his brother could hide all day.
Soren was deep in thought and worrying about finding work when he heard Gunnar scream. He dropped the rotting potatoes he’d found and raced up the alley as fast as he could. Three men stood over Gunnar and were trying to pull him out of the wagon while he screamed in terror. One was a stranger, one a policeman, and the third one, who was tugging on Gunnar’s arm, was Mr. Fulton. “Let him go!” Soren shouted. Fulton quickly released Gunnar, and Soren scooped him up. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here!”
“You boys can’t live like this,” Fulton said, shaking his head. “It isn’t right. You’ll freeze to death come winter.”
“He’s right,” the officer said. “We can’t have you sleeping in the street.”
“You can’t arrest us,” Soren said. “We aren’t doing anything wrong!” He wanted to run but knew they would easily catch him if he was carrying Gunnar. And Gunnar couldn’t run fast enough to get away.
“Now, now . . . calm down,” the officer said. “We’re here to help you, not arrest you. Mr. Miller and I want to take you to the orphans’ home where he works. You can sleep in a real bed and get plenty of food to eat.”
“What are orphans?” Soren asked.
The three men looked at each other. “They’re children who don’t have a mother or father to take care of them,” Mr. Miller, said. “We help them find new parents and a home to live in. You want a good life for your brother, don’t you?” Soren didn’t know what he meant by “a good life.” This was the only life he knew. “Come on, you’ll be safe with me, I promise.”
“What about our things?” Soren asked. He still held Gunnar, who wasn’t going to let go of him for any reason.
“Leave it all. This stuff is no good,” Fulton said.
“Maybe not, but it’s ours. It’s all we have.”
“Gather up what you want, then,” Mr. Miller said. “But you can leave the dishes and clothes. We’ll cook all your meals for you and give you new clothes at the orphanage.”
Soren took the tattered blanket out of his wagon and wrapped it around Gunnar. It had always been on Mama’s bed, and he remembered Papa sleeping beneath it during the day while Soren took care of Hilde and Greta. “I made the cart for Gunnar,” he said. “We might need it.”
“You won’t need it, son,” Mr. Miller said. He had a kind face and a warm smile that made it easier to do what he asked. “If you leave it here, maybe someone else can use it.” Soren decided he was right. He carried Gunnar to the waiting horse and wagon. Mr. Miller patted the driver’s seat and invited Soren and Gunnar to climb up beside him.
“Their mother was a good woman,” Mr. Fulton said as Mr. Miller prepared to leave. “She tried hard to take good care of them. Her sons were everything to her. Make sure you find a good home for those boys, okay?”
They drove a very long way, crossing two bridges before coming to a halt in front of a large two-story building made of bricks. It had a big sign outside that Soren couldn’t read. He heard children’s voices, and when Mr. Miller escorted them around to the back, he saw the children playing in the yard. A kind-looking woman with gray hair and a flowered dress came out to greet them. “Welcome. I’m Mrs. Miller, the matron. We’ve been waiting for you. What are your names?”
“Soren Petersen. My brother is Gunnar.”
“Well, this will be your new home for a little while. Come inside, and I promise we’ll take good care of you.”
Soren was still clutching Mama’s blanket as he followed her inside with Gunnar clinging to his leg. “How old are you boys?” Mrs. Miller asked as she led them into a huge, warm kitchen where several women were chopping vegetables and kneading bread and stirring a huge pot on the stove. The aroma of spices and baking bread made Soren’s stomach rumble.
“I’m sixteen and Gunnar is four,” he said. He knew their ages because Mama always kept track of their birthdays and told them whenever they turned a year older.
“Have you eaten breakfast yet?” Mrs. Miller asked. “I’m guessing you haven’t since it’s still early in the day. Sit here at the table and I’ll fetch you each a bowl of porridge. Do you like porridge?” Soren nodded. It had been a long time since he’d had any warm food, let alone porridge. The bowlful she set in front of him was unlike any he’d ever tasted—thick and sweet and made with milk. After he and Gunnar gulped down their food, Gunnar lifted the bowl to lick it. “Would you like some more?” the matron asked. Soren was too stunned to reply. Mrs. Miller chuckled and refilled their bowls. “Eat as much as you like. You’ll always have plenty of food here. When you finish, I’ll fix you a warm bath and bring you some clean clothes to wear.” Neither Soren nor Gunnar had ever had a bath. He couldn’t get used to the feeling of being clean, as if he had exchanged his old skin for new. Afterward, Mrs. Miller led them into a large room with rows of beds. “This will be your bed, Gunnar.”
“Where’s Soren’s bed?” he asked.
“I’ll show him in a minute. You’ll sleep in this room with the other boys your age, and Soren will sleep in the dormitory
upstairs with boys his age.”
Gunnar wrapped his arms around Soren’s leg like a vine. “No! I want to stay with Soren!”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. We have rules—”
“I don’t want to stay here! Take me home, Soren!”
“Let me talk to him,” Soren said. He waited for the matron to back away, then crouched down beside Gunnar. “We need to stay here so we’ll have food to eat. You don’t want to be hungry anymore, do you? And wouldn’t you rather sleep here than outside where the rats run around? Remember how scared you were of them?”
“I want to sleep by you.”
Soren cupped his hand around his brother’s ear, whispering so only Gunnar could hear him. “I’ll sneak into your room and sleep right beside you as soon as everyone falls asleep, okay?” Gunnar answered with a hug.
Soren saw Miss Flora for the first time at an Easter party. She was beautiful with hair like gold, and when she walked into the dining room it was as if warm sunshine and light entered with her. She reminded him of Mama, except Miss Flora’s eyes were the color of wood, and Mama’s had been as blue as clear water. And Mama had been much thinner than Miss Flora, especially in the end before she died. Soren had worried that he and Gunnar would forget what Mama looked like, so he pulled his brother onto his lap and whispered, “That’s what our mama looked like, remember? She had hair that color and the same beautiful smile. When we see Miss Flora, she’ll help us remember her.”