The Forgotten Home Child

by Genevieve Graham

  “I know that’s a surprise to you,” David said, filling the silence. “You’ve had it hard with Mistress Adams, but her husband is a good enough bloke. He’s a quiet man. Keeps to himself mostly. What you probably don’t know is that the family used to have a young son, but he got killed last year when a wagon rolled on him. He was only eight. Master Adams has never been the same since Frederick died. He spends most of his time in the fields or in town now. Can’t blame him. Mistress Adams was always strict, but she’s much worse these days.”

  Winny peered ahead at her mistress, feeling as if the woman was a stranger to her all over again. She had never made mention of a son. “I had no idea.”

  “No, they don’t talk about him. He was a good lad, though. I liked him.”

  “What about Helen and her sisters? Where are they?”

  “All of them married and moved away. I never thought Helen would even have a suitor, she being who she is and all.”

  Winny suppressed a laugh. “You’re mad, talking that way!”

  “Made you smile, though, didn’t I?”

  There was no mistaking the Renfrews’ farm. When they crested the last hill, fields of cows spread out as far as the eye could see, and Winny’s hands ached at the thought of all that milking. In the midst of the greenery stood a bright red barn surrounded by sheds, two silos, and a large windmill. Set to the side was a brick farmhouse, its cheery, wraparound porch and gabled windows decorated with intricate swirls of white wood trim. Beyond all the buildings rolled another wide, open pasture with a cluster of trees where a group of children played. She could hear their happy shouts and laughter from where she stood.

  “You said the Renfrews’ farm was big, but this is…” She was at a loss for the right words.

  “Master Renfrew is very wealthy. Sort of a king out here. Some say he might run for mayor.”

  Something in David’s tone made Winny glance up at him. “You don’t like him?”

  “No. He comes off as a friendly sort, but he’s cruel with his Home Boys. He’s locked them up without food for days, tied them outside in the winter. He’s just rotten.”

  “But how can he run for mayor if that’s the kind of man he is?”

  “It’s all about appearances. The people who know about him are either working for him or they’re intimidated, so they keep quiet.”

  Winny could clearly see what David meant about appearances. The house’s clean white exterior gleamed, and the windows sparkled in the sunlight. She was sure Mistress Renfrew had all the finest things, and she imagined the wonders she might see if only she could look inside.

  While the Adamses got out of the truck, Winny reluctantly tied her boots back on then followed David’s lead and began unloading the food and yarn into a small tent that had been set up next to the house. As they passed the front door of the house, a woman emerged with her hands in the air, a wide smile on her face, and Winny almost dropped the bushel she was carrying.

  “There you are! There you are!” the woman cried, her arms held out toward Mistress Adams.

  It was her, the same Mistress Renfrew, the woman who had taken Mary from the station. If she was here, that meant Mary was too.

  eleven JACK

  Jack sat on his bunk, absently scratching dried blood off his lip. Almost every day over the past month, Warren had come after him with some complaint or threat. If it wasn’t him it was Cecil, and that was usually because Cecil put himself between Warren and Jack when things started getting rough. Warren was like one of those horseflies that chased them all over the fields, only the boys couldn’t outrun him.

  Jack didn’t remember why Warren had hit him this time. Didn’t really care anymore. He’d had enough.

  “I’m gonna fix this,” he said to the brothers one night.

  Edward and Cecil were lying quietly on their pallets, wrapped in their blankets. The temperature outside had dropped as the sun went down, and the air in the bunkhouse was raw and cold. If this was autumn weather, Jack couldn’t imagine what winter would be like here.

  “Mr. Keller promised they’d look after us,” he continued. “But they ain’t been doing that. I reckon we’ve been forgotten. So we gotta remind them.”

  “What’s the plan, Jack?” Edward asked, propping himself onto one elbow.

  The door creaked open, and Quinn’s bulk filled the frame. As the boy squeezed between the cots toward his own, Jack heard a tiny sound.

  “What’s that you got, Quinn?”

  Quinn’s face widened with a smile, and he dug a tiny grey cat out of the bib of his overalls. “Got a cat,” he said, holding the little creature up. She mewed her hellos at the boys, and Quinn turned her so he was nose to nose with her. “She likes me.”

  “Looks that way,” Cecil agreed. “What are you gonna call her?”

  Quinn lay down and the kitten curled contentedly on his chest. “Cat.”

  Edward chuckled. “Good enough, mate. She looks happy as a queen.”

  Quinn drew his finger along the soft line of the kitten’s back and quietly began to sing. “God save our gracious cat, God save our noble cat—”

  “God save our cat,” the other boys chorused.

  Back in the orphanage, Jack and the brothers had sung that tune every morning before their porridge with milk and molasses. They’d sung to avoid the master’s cane.

  “Think our king knows we’re over here?” Cecil asked. “Think old Eddie would help us out if he knew?”

  “Doubt it,” Edward said.

  “Cat’s purring,” Quinn murmured. A low, contented rumbling vibrated within the broken wooden walls, and they all paused to listen.

  “At least someone’s happy,” Cecil said.

  “Jack,” Edward said, shifting his attention back. “What’s the plan?”

  “It ain’t without risks,” Jack replied, “but it’s all I got.”

  “Everything we’ve ever done has been risky. Let’s hear it.”

  “We need to get word to Barnardo’s. If I can get into town and find the post office, I can write a note to Mr. Keller. They’ll have to come get us if I do that. I’ll tell them about Warren, and I’ll ask about the girls.”

  “How are you gonna do that?”

  “I’ll hitch a ride in the back of Warren’s truck next time he goes in.”

  “I don’t like it,” Cecil said. “He’ll see you. He ain’t that stupid.”

  “Don’t know about that,” Edward put in. “But I agree it’s too dangerous. Even for you, Jack.”

  Jack had thought that at first too, but there were no other options. “He always drives around with those seed sacks and crates in the back. I can hide in there, wait until he parks, then jump out. He’ll never think to look for me there.”

  “Maybe we should all go,” Edward said. “Look out for each other.”

  “A group of us would get caught. If I’m on my own, I can hide easy. I just have to find the post office, then it’ll be fine. I’ll hide in the back again and be back before you know it.”

  “What if he catches you?” Cecil asked.

  “What does it matter? He’s gonna beat me no matter what I do. I might as well get beat for a good reason.” Jack took a deep breath, let it out slow. “The only problem is if Barnardo’s takes us out of here, they may split us up. But which is worse: splitting up or living here with Warren for another year? Either way we lose.”

  For a few moments, Cat’s purr was the only sound in the bunkhouse, then Edward asked, “When will you go?”

  “The next time Warren goes to town.”

  * * *

  It was two more weeks before Warren decided to head in, and every day leading up to that dragged on forever. On that morning, he yelled for the boys to come and load some heavy crates onto the truck, and as they worked side by side in silence, Jack knew his friends’ hearts were pounding just as his was. When Warren headed inside the house, Cecil leaned towards Jack.

  “Get in,” he whispered.

  Jack hopped
onto the bed then snaked between the crates, letting his friends stack the rest around him until he couldn’t see anything beyond the pine box in front of his eyes. Trapped inside a cage of his own making, he clenched his jaw, trying to keep calm. Maybe he couldn’t do this. Maybe it was a stupid idea. Warren would kill him if he found him. But no, he reasoned. If he couldn’t see out, that meant Warren couldn’t see in. He’d be all right. He had to be. He swallowed his fear, determined to see this thing through for all their sakes.

  “Come back to us safe,” Edward murmured from some place Jack couldn’t see.

  Minutes after the boys left him there, Jack heard Warren return and get into the truck. He breathed a sigh of relief as the engine started. He hadn’t seen Jack.

  The trip into town took half an hour, but to Jack it felt like much longer. Crammed between the crates, he flinched whenever Warren hit a bump, and his face knocked against the wood so many times he lost count. When the road evened out, Jack let himself breathe a little easier, but he couldn’t escape the suffocating sense of dread. He was outside the prison walls, but he sat a mere two feet behind his jailer.

  Eventually, the truck slowed and pulled to a stop, and Warren got out. Jack could tell they were in town, because he heard voices and vehicles all around. Then, all of a sudden, he could see sky. Jack held his breath as Warren lifted one of the crates and carried it off. He hadn’t looked down, hadn’t noticed Jack. This is where it gets tricky, he thought. He was still too deeply buried to attempt escape; he’d have to wait until he could move, and pray Warren didn’t see him before that happened.

  Warren carried a second crate inside the shop then came out again. After two more trips, Jack was only partially covered. He had to move now. As soon as he heard the squeak of the shop’s door, he quietly pushed the remaining crates off him, leapt up, and vaulted over the side of the truck, then dashed across the street and out of sight. He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb, marked by the ragged condition of his clothes and face, so he kept to the shadows, backing between buildings when anyone looked in his direction. If anyone knew how to hide, it was Jack.

  The town of London, Ontario, was larger than Jack had thought it would be, with more people than he’d expected walking along its sidewalks, more cars on the roads. Stone buildings bordered the wide street, and the sky was lined with electric wires. Down the middle of the lanes stretched two pairs of metal rails for streetcars, which rattled past and clanged their bells when people strolled in front.

  Scanning the street from an alley, Jack saw numerous places of business: a bank, a hotel, offices, and storefronts, but where was the post office? After a moment, he spotted it farther up the street. He’d have to cross the road. Tugging his cap low, he kept his head down and stepped into the crowd just as a strong hand clamped onto his shoulder from behind. He whirled around, came face-to-face with a man in a policeman’s cap, and froze like a cornered rabbit.

  “Who might you be?”

  “Jack, sir.” He hadn’t seen a policeman since the day they’d been taken to the orphanage, and he didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. “I’m off to the post office is all.”

  “Is that an English accent I hear?” The man’s thick grey moustache twitched as he took in Jack’s disheveled appearance. “You’re one of them Barnardo boys, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Please, sir. I don’t mean no harm.”

  “I bet your master is looking for you. What’s his name?”

  Jack stalled, hoping to avoid any trouble. “I need to send a letter off to Barnardo’s, sir.”

  “What sort of letter?”

  Jack thought about lying, but then he wondered if maybe this accidental meeting was a good thing after all. Maybe the policeman would help him. Wasn’t that what they were supposed to do?

  “Sir, Barnardo’s said they need to hear how we are doing, and my mates and I, we’re not doing so well. Our master is a cruel man. I’ve come to write to Barnardo’s because we need them to come and take us away from his farm.”

  “You haven’t given me the man’s name.”

  “Mr. Warren, sir.”

  One eyebrow lifted beneath the black cap. “Mr. Warren, huh? You know, I might be tempted to lock you up just for lying, never mind trying to damage a good man’s name.”

  Jack’s mouth went dry. “Are there two Mr. Warrens living around here? Because the one I know is as mean as they come, sir.”

  “Don’t be smart, boy. No, there’s only the one, and I’ve known him a very long time.” He glanced over Jack’s shoulder and a smile crinkled his eyes. “As a matter of fact…” He held up a hand. “Hey, Warren! I’ve got something here I believe belongs to you.”

  Jack’s urge to flee was overwhelming, but the policeman gripped his arm. Despite the quaking in his knees, Jack lifted his chin defiantly as Warren approached.

  “Why thanks, George. This is a surprise.” Warren’s smile was as hard as flint. “Didn’t expect to see you here, boy. But I guess it would be too much to expect a lazy halfwit to follow the rules and stay put.” His hand had curled into a fist, and his thumb slid back and forth over his fingers. He nodded to his friend. “I’ll take it from here. I appreciate your help.”

  As soon as the policeman turned and disappeared around the corner, Jack tried to wrestle out of Warren’s grasp. He knew what would happen once they were out of sight of the town.

  “Help!” he yelled as Warren dragged him toward the truck. “Somebody help me!”

  But no one did. One couple dropped off the sidewalk to go around him, hostility drawn in tight lines on their faces. Other people walked by, some staring with interest, others offering friendly greetings to Warren.

  “Can someone help me? Please!” Jack cried, but it was as if the entire town was deaf.

  “What is it with you, boy?” Warren hissed in his ear. “You like to get hit?”

  “I just want to send a letter,” Jack tried. “Please, can’t I just—”

  He shoved Jack against the truck and pulled his arms behind him, then he grabbed a coil of rope and wound it tightly around Jack’s wrists. The other end was attached to the bed of the truck.

  “I ain’t done what I came here to do,” Warren said, yanking the knot snug. “So you’ll just wait here. Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. We’ll leave soon enough.” That terrible smile returned. “I hope you’re feeling spry, because you ain’t riding back.”

  twelve WINNY

  Winny forced her eyes away from the sight of Mistress Renfrew embracing Mistress Adams and caught up to David inside the tent. She set her bushel on a table then followed him back to the truck and grabbed the next one. The whole time they unloaded the produce, she scanned the crowd, looking for Mary, but she could see no sign of her.

  “Who are all these people?” she whispered to David.

  “I told you. The Adamses have an annual family party. Mistress Adams has four sisters and seven brothers, and I think two of Master Adams’s brothers are here as well,” he said. “Everyone brings their children and grandchildren, so there’s well over a hundred folks coming today.”

  Winny’s gaze went to Mistress Adams. “So Mistress Renfrew is…”

  “Mistress Adams’s sister,” David confirmed, picking up another bushel.

  Winny couldn’t keep the smile from her face. If the two were sisters, surely that meant they visited each other fairly often. And if Winny could convince her mistress to bring her along…

  “I think my friend Mary is here.”

  David stood straighter, surprised, then he peered around. “Your friend? There’s a Home Girl here?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Renfrew picked her up from the train station when we first arrived. I recognized the name when you mentioned it, but I wasn’t sure it was really her until I saw her just now. Do you think I’ll be able to find Mary? Will I get a chance to talk with her?”

  “Yeah. Should do, anyway. After you’re done with your work, they’ll want you out of
the way.” He smiled. “I’m happy for you.”

  Winny felt giddy with excitement. I’m here, Mary! she wanted to yell. I’m coming!

  After he’d put his bushel down, David lifted his chin toward a heavy-set man with slick dark hair and a laugh that drowned out everyone else’s. He had his arm wrapped around one of the women’s waists. From the way she was moving, Winny thought she looked uncomfortable, despite the polite smile on her face.

  “That’s Master Renfrew,” David said. “Listen, when all this welcome dies down and people get to work, you’ll want to keep your distance from that man. He wouldn’t think twice about coming after you. He likes pretty women no matter who they are, and he’s not likely to take no for an answer.”

  The woman slid out of Master Renfrew’s reach, but not before he gave her behind a squeeze.

  “Thank you,” Winny said to David, unsettled. She hadn’t seen that kind of behaviour since the streets of London. “I will.”

  Mistress Adams strode towards them. She was like a locomotive speeding out of a tunnel, the way she could roar into sight. “Why are you just standing here? You’ve got everything under the tent? Good. All right. You can start cutting up those cucumbers now, girl.” She turned, already on the move again, and tossed David’s orders over her shoulder as she went. “You’re to meet the Home Boys behind the barn with the firewood.”

  As Winny sliced vegetables, she listened to the sounds of children playing and adults laughing over cider and biscuits. So this is what a happy family sounds like, she thought, and she grinned. I’m going to see my family today, too.

  After what felt like hours, Mistress Adams told her she could go. “We’ll do the rest ourselves.”

  Winny looked skeptically at the table, still holding her knife. “Really? There’s a lot still to be cut.”

  “Yes, really. My sisters and I get most of our talking in while we’re canning. It makes the work go quickly. You may wander around the property, but don’t go far. There’ll be plenty of dishes to wash when we’re done.”