“Never mind that. The point is we’re free now,” he said. “Mr. Keller said folks want us so bad out there that they pay the Home to bring us. And nobody wants us here in England. Nobody.” He looked at Winny. “What do you say, Irish? Anybody gonna miss you when you’re gone?”
Her face fell. “Nobody.”
He suddenly wanted her smile back. “Don’t worry. I bet you’ll get the very best family over there. They’ll love you and take care of you, and one day you’ll marry a prince.”
“The ship’s moving,” Edward said quietly.
Seeing the gangplank had been raised, they ran to the side of the deck and watched as the thick ropes connecting the boat to the pier were tossed loose. The black line of water between ship and land widened, and Jack’s heart thudded with the sense of being trapped yet again. The coast of England faded into the distance, becoming smaller and smaller until it was blocked out altogether by the ship’s oily belch of smoke.
“Aren’t you scared?” Mary asked him softly.
“We’ve faced worse,” he reminded her. “Everyone says this is a good thing for us. We’ve no choice but to believe them.” He turned and leaned his back against the rail. “Would you rather be hiding in doorways? Or back in the tunnel, eating whatever you can steal?”
“I didn’t mind that,” she said. “As long as we were together.”
“Jack will make sure we are,” Winny said. “He’ll take care of us again.”
He swallowed hard and drew the girls in close as the familiar, welcome weight of responsibility returned to his shoulders. For so long, he’d had no idea where the two of them were and if they were all right, and not knowing had made him feel unsteady. Now that he had them again, it was a relief to carry that burden. But the truth was, he couldn’t look into Winny’s trusting eyes and assure her that everything would be fine. They were going into the unknown, and he couldn’t make her that kind of promise. He would do everything he could to protect them, but he couldn’t lie. Not to Mary, and not to Winny.
four WINNY
What do you say, Irish? Anybody gonna miss you when you’re gone?
Jack’s question had burrowed into Winny’s mind. Even now, tucked into a bunk in the belly of the ship with a scratchy grey blanket tickling her chin, she couldn’t shake it. She stared at the metal slats over her head and listened to the quiet breathing around her, feeling all alone in a roomful of girls.
When the ship rocked slightly, moving with the sea, Winny rolled her head toward Mary. Just like at the orphanage, then at Barkingside, Mary had secured the bed right beside hers. It comforted Mary to know Winny was safe. It comforted Winny to watch Mary sleep. Winny still recalled those nights at the orphanage when she’d heard Mary crying to herself, missing Jack so much it hurt. Winny had gone to her every time, crawling into her friend’s bed and curling up around her. Here on the ship, Mary’s sleeping expression was calmer than Winny had seen it in three years. She had her brother again, even if it was only for now.
Winny wondered about her own brothers. Did they miss her? They’d been so young when she’d left. Only Harry would have been old enough to even remember her. Her mother would, of course. Unless—could a mother ever completely forget her child? Winny pictured her as she’d last seen her, hunched over a bucket, scrubbing a filthy brush over a filthier frock, and wondered if she ever thought of her only daughter. Did she question where Winny was? Would she care that her little girl was sailing across the ocean right now, miles and miles away from home?
Barkingside had done more for Winny than her mother ever had. Maybe someday, once she’d made something of herself—a lady’s maid or a governess, perhaps—Winny would go back to England and find her family again. What would her mother think of her then? Wouldn’t it be grand to one day return to the Home and show all the little girls there that it was possible to do well? All they had to do was put their life in the right person’s hands.
Jack called her Irish, but the truth was Winny didn’t remember much about Ireland. As an eight-year-old child, she’d huddled with her family in the belly of a reeking boat, and her father had told them stories he’d heard about England, trying to brighten the shivery darkness with hope. Winny had clung to every word just as she had clung to his hand when the family finally disembarked. To her disappointment, England was no warmer, the sky no bluer than in Ireland, but the sudden, overwhelming noise and bustle of the city had been terrifying.
Harry was six back then, Freddy was four, Jimmy was two. Sam was born a few weeks after they landed. They all squeezed into two rooms of an old stone building that housed two other families, and they all fought the rats for space. The air was choked with soot from grimy chimneys, and Jimmy had coughed constantly. At least they were protected from the rain, until the puddles seeped under the door, anyway.
Despite London’s filth and the lack of food, her father always claimed this was where their lives would start fresh. He’d toss Winny in the air until she cried with laughter, and say they’d soon have so much money they’d be spreading butter on bacon. Less than a year passed before he died in the factory, caught up in the machinery. Stupid man, Mum had said. Stupid, stupid man.
The next two years had been hard and hungry. Winny had done what she could to help, but they barely scraped by. When she was ten, her mum brought home a strange man named Stuart, who gave them each a stick of candy.
“He’s going to stay with us,” Mum had said.
“Doesn’t he have his own family?” Winny asked.
Her mother told her no and to stop asking rude questions. Stuart was there to help them. He would be their new father. Winny eyed him skeptically, but she couldn’t deny that he brought home enough money to pay the rent. The boys were so young they didn’t seem to mind this new member of their family, but for Winny, no one but Da could ever be Da.
Stuart had a big, booming voice because he was partly deaf from the machines in the factory. He’d bellow for her mother to bring him his meal; he’d bellow at Winny to keep the boys quiet. His face grew alarmingly red if Winny didn’t do as he said right away, and she was sure his shouts could be heard down the street. It didn’t take long for Winny to know she was right, and her mother was wrong. This man was not her new father; he was a brutish lout who got worse with every order he gave.
“Bring me gin,” he roared at Winny one night.
She glared back. “You can get it yourself. I’m making supper.”
“Bring it now.”
“I won’t.”
She’d never seen him move so fast. He shot to his feet, his chair falling back with a clatter, took one long stride, and slapped her. The unexpected sting of his hand blazed like fire through her face. Behind her, her brothers gasped. Her mother looked taken aback, but she didn’t come to her daughter’s aid.
“Don’t hit me, Stuart,” Winny said through tight lips, her eyes streaming from the impact. “You can’t hit me. You’re not my father.”
So he hit her again, told her not to talk back or he’d give her a whupping she would never forget.
Winny pressed her hand to her cheek, still hot from the slaps and wet from her tears. “Mum?” she whispered, afraid to look away from him.
“Stuart,” her mother said carefully. “Leave the girl. Here, I’ve your gin for you.”
He wheeled on Winny’s mother this time, and she cried out when he struck her. The cup flew from her hand and smashed on the floor, splashing gin on Winny’s bare toes.
“Get me my gin!” he roared, turning back to Winny. She quickly found a cup and filled it without another word.
After that, Stuart’s strikes became a regular occurrence. When he hit baby Sam a couple of weeks later, Winny rushed over and snatched the baby out of his reach, which only made him angrier. He chased her down and, just like he’d said, he gave her a whupping she would never forget.
The next morning after Stuart left for work, Winny went to her mother. Dried blood rimmed her lips, and her right eye had swollen
completely shut. “Please, Mum. Make him leave,” she said, picking at her fingernails. “We don’t need him.”
Her mother raised tired eyes from the washing and took in the terrible sight of her daughter’s bruised face, then she looked back down and continued to scrub. “But we do, Winny. Is ye paying the rent? Does ye want to eat? Stuart pays for us, so he ain’t leaving.”
“Then I am,” Winny said softly.
Her mother nodded, and to Winny’s dismay it looked like she’d been thinking about that very thing for a while. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll do fine.”
For a week or so, Winny lived by herself on the street, huddling in doorways, shivering in the rain. Hunger twisted through her, and she wobbled unsteadily when she stood. Desperate for company, she reached out to strangers, smiling, wishing them well, but they took her for a beggar and pushed her away. Worse than the pain in her stomach was the cold she felt on the inside, the deep hurt that came with being unwanted. She’d never felt so alone.
Then along came a tall, willowy girl with a mop of long black hair.
“Think of us as your family,” Mary told her that first night. They’d found an open space where they could lie on their backs and look up at the heavens, bundled close together for warmth, and Winny had never felt so calm. “It may be rough out here, but as long as you’re with us, you have a home.” Mary turned her head so she could smile at Winny. “I’m glad to finally have a sister.”
Winny held on to Mary and the boys like a lifeline and swore never to let go.
One day, Cecil asked her to go to the market with him, and Winny knew he needed her to be the bait. He let her pick out a mark by herself, and she chose a young lady wearing a pale-coloured coat, her hood rimmed in shiny white fur. To Winny, she looked like a snowflake in a coal mine.
Cecil scouted for threats, then nodded. “Right. Let’s go. Be quick, though. Looks like she’s almost done her shopping.”
Moving to her usual spot, Winny gazed up with her saddest expression, but the woman didn’t notice her. She was laughing at something the handsome young baker was saying, her lovely eyes sparkling. Winny sniffed to get her attention, and the woman glanced down. Disgust bloomed on her face, and she waved a pale grey glove at Winny.
“Get away from me, you vile little beggar. Probably covered in fleas.”
“I don’t got fleas,” Winny said, scratching her head and hoping that was true. “I’m only hungry is all.”
“What are you staring at? Don’t come near me. I’ll call the police.” The woman turned to the baker. “The brat stinks. How do you—”
In dashed Cecil. He snatched the purse from that pale grey glove, and Winny chased after him, blood pounding. Her heart nearly jumped from her chest when she heard the tweet of a policeman’s whistle right behind her, but she kept on running, darting through the crowd even after she lost sight of Cecil.
Then suddenly, the ground was gone from beneath her feet.
“Hold up, girly,” a man said, tossing her over his black wool shoulder. “You’re coming with me.”
“Let me go!” Winny kicked, but the bobby held her tight. Across from her, Cecil stood panting and sweating, red circles burning on his cheeks. A second policeman’s hand was clamped on his shoulder.
“We wasn’t doin’ no harm,” Cecil tried. “Let us go.”
“Give it here, lad. Give it without a fuss and I might go easy.”
Cecil reluctantly handed over the purse, and the policeman passed it to the simpering woman who had appeared beside them.
“What’ll you do with them?” she asked, eyeing Winny and Cecil as if they were rats.
“Workhouse, I s’pose.”
Winny gasped and caught Cecil’s eye.
The woman frowned. “Not prison?”
“Not much difference, ma’am.”
The policeman grabbed Cecil by the back of the neck and shoved him ahead. The one holding Winny started marching as well, but she couldn’t see where they were going.
“Please, sir!” she cried, pounding her fists against his back. “Put me down! I’ll be good!”
“Quiet, girl.”
“But please!”
He stopped suddenly, then Winny heard a familiar voice and her heart grew wings.
“Excuse me, sirs. These children are with me.” Jack’s voice was low and deep, though it cracked on the last word. “I’ll just take them—”
“With you, eh? How old are you, boy?”
“Sixteen, sir,” he bluffed. Winny knew very well he was only thirteen. “Their parents asked me to watch them, but you know how children are. I looked away for a second and they were gone.”
Mary was with him, and she walked around the bobby so she could gaze up at Winny. “He’ll put you down soon, love. I’m sure he will.”
Instead, the two policemen produced their nightsticks. “You might be a good storyteller, boy, but you’ll all be coming with us now. We’ve been watching you lot for a while.”
“Get your hand off me,” Winny heard Edward say. Of course he was there too. He wouldn’t leave Cecil.
She twisted around so she could see, and that’s when she spotted two more uniforms. One held Jack’s arm, another had grabbed Edward. No one needed to hold Mary. She wasn’t going to run off on her own.
“ ‘You know how children are,’ ” Cecil muttered to Jack, clearly offended. “Nice.”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” the bobby said, patting Winny’s bottom. “Nobody’s going anywhere.”
But that had been a lie, hadn’t it? The policemen had dumped them at the orphanage, then the Barnardo’s people had come for them, and now they lay in cold bunks on a ship, on their way to a strange land across the ocean. No, the policeman had been wrong about no one going anywhere.
Not all the girls at Barkingside had been chosen to go to Canada. Winny couldn’t imagine what she would have done if Mary hadn’t been picked as well. Sometimes when Mary had worried about leaving Jack behind, Winny thought about their friend Charlotte, who had arrived at Barkingside a few months after they had. A pale blond thing, meek and silent as a shadow, Charlotte stayed huddled on a cot in the far corner of the room. Every time any door swung open, she swivelled toward it, crystal-blue eyes wide with expectation, and every time she slumped with disappointment.
“Do you see that girl there?” Winny had asked Mary. “The bonny little one in the corner? She looks sad. She needs a friend. I’m going to say hullo.”
As Winny approached her cot, the girl eyed her warily.
“I’m Winny,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Charlotte Mary McKinley.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
“Can I sit a spell with you?”
After a moment, the girl shifted, making room for Winny to sit on her bed. “I’m only here for a little while.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
Charlotte explained that her mother had left her at the Home, but only temporarily, while she got back on her feet. She’d be back soon, Charlotte insisted, then they’d go home together. Winny hadn’t seen any sign of Charlotte’s mother, but she didn’t feel it was her place to question the girl’s plan, so she just sat with her and talked. Before long, Charlotte had become Winny’s welcome companion. She was a sweet, delicate girl, and Winny was happy to take care of her. But Charlotte had not been chosen to go to Canada, so a little piece of Winny’s heart remained in Barkingside with her.
“You still awake?” Mary whispered groggily. “Go to sleep.”
“Just thinking,” Winny whispered back.
“About what?”
“Charlotte. Do you think her mum has come for her yet?”
“Doubt it.”
Most of the time Winny tried to avoid the subject of mothers around Mary. It wasn’t that hard to do, because Winny didn’t like to think about the last time she’d seen her own mother. She didn’t like remembering that sudden, cold wind at her back as the door slammed behind her. She knew that sometimes M
ary still thought of her own with a sort of resigned longing. But Charlotte clung to a need for her mother, convinced she would return for her one day. As much as Winny wanted Charlotte to be happy, she was quietly envious. What would that be like, knowing her mother still wanted her? To know someone wanted her?
Winny closed her eyes at last and let her thoughts drift.
No, Jack. No one will miss me when I’m gone.
five JACK
On the morning they were supposed to arrive in Halifax, Jack stepped onto the deck and spotted Winny and Mary leaning against the rail, scouting for land. With the thick fog blanketing the sea, he doubted either of them would see anything for a while.
Edward and Cecil lounged behind them, backs against the wall, long legs stretched in front.
“I can’t wait to get off this boat,” Edward muttered.
“If I never see another plate of fried tripe and onions it’ll be too soon,” Cecil agreed.
They’d had practically the same food every day for two weeks. To Jack it all smelled like seasickness. He was looking forward to being on land again, but now that their arrival was imminent, he felt apprehensive. Though he’d tried to ignore them, Mary’s and Cecil’s words had gotten under his skin. He didn’t want to think about the fact that this reunion with the girls might be temporary.
“Doing all right?” he asked, bumping Mary’s shoulder with his.
She gave him that searching look he knew so well from their childhood, and his stomach knotted. She knew he didn’t have the answers, but she looked to him just the same. She was waiting for something, trusting that he would never let her down.
“It’ll work out all right,” he told her, because he had to say something.
“Don’t worry too much, Mary,” Edward said. “I think Canada will be good for us. Think about it. They taught us so much at the Home that we’ll know how to do just about anything out there, and we can get paid work once we’re eighteen. Wouldn’t have happened that way if we were still in London. No one was ever gonna offer us jobs back there.”
The Forgotten Home Child Page 4